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Authors: Ayelet Waldman
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she wanted to make a sale at some point.
“Okay, so. What do you have to show me?” I asked.
Kat reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “There isn’t much new on the market. We saw almost everything the other day. But I found one place we haven’t looked at yet.”
It took a good forty minutes to wind our way up to Mulholland Drive. The house, when we finally arrived, didn’t look too bad, if you happened to be a devotee of bad 1970s architecture. And who isn’t, really? I could barely bring myself to get out of the car, and it was only Isaac’s urgent need to get to a bathroom that convinced me to go inside.
The listing agent was waiting for us in the kitchen, and I was full of something akin to admiration when I saw the avocado green appliances and orange Formica cabinets. You’ve got to appreciate that kind of devotion to the palette of the period—and 1973 was such an
interesting
year for colors.
“It’s beautiful!” Ruby announced, her voice almost reverent.
“What?” I said, staring at her.
“This house. It’s just like
The Brady Bunch!
I want to live here, Mama. Please, can we live here?”
With Peter’s purchase of TiVo he and Ruby had lately become devotees of all the television shows we used to watch when we were kids. Ruby was absolutely obsessed with both
The Brady Bunch
and
The Partridge Family
, and wandered around singing, “I Think I Love You,” and howling ‘Oh my nose!’ at odd intervals.
“You’re right, little lady, this is a beautiful home! Let’s see if we can convince your Mommy to buy it for you!”
I shot the listing agent who had made this comment a baleful scowl. He smiled back. Unlike Kat, this realtor looked the part. His blond hair was sprayed and marceled into a high wave that perched on his head like a sparrow on a tree branch. He was impeccably turned out in a black linen jacket and matching pants. I’d never before seen linen so crisp and unwrinkled. A gold ring in the shape of a horseshoe flashed on one knuckle, and it was all I could do to keep from telling him that he had the thing upside down—all the luck would leak right out of it. Worst of all, I had never met anyone so perky, not even when I had tangled with a religious cult. He had greeted Kat with an effusive hug, and begun to rave about the house as soon as we walked in the door.
My frown at his comment to Ruby seemed to faze him not at all. “This place is a true gem,” he shrilled. “Honestly, I can’t even believe I’m letting you guys in! I should be saving it for my own clients.” He waggled a reproving finger at Kat, as if my friend had forced him to open the doors of this dump to us.
“Now just look at this carpeting,” he said, flinging open the double doors to the dining room. “It’s in perfect condition, but if you don’t like it, you can tear it right up. Who knows what’s underneath. Could be parquet!”
Kat winced, and I nearly laughed. The mauve shag carpeting probably concealed something, but it was more likely to be bare cement than anything else.
The real magic of the house, however, was that it seemed to have been designed by someone with homicidal feelings toward small children. I’d never before been somewhere quite so kid-unfriendly. The circular staircases had no railings and led down to cement floor. I kept Isaac’s hand tightly in mine, because I didn’t trust him to avoid the spiky wrought-iron sconces that were placed just at the level of his eyes.
We drifted aimlessly through one hideous room after another, the children amusing themselves by making faces in the mirrors that lined every wall and some of the ceilings. The master bedroom was nearly the death of Ruby, although it was hardly her fault. How could she have expected that the sliding glass doors would lead to a sheer twenty-foot drop to the asphalt below.
“They must be redoing the balcony!” the agent said, Ruby swinging from his hand. I couldn’t bring myself to
“Okay, so. What do you have to show me?” I asked.
Kat reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “There isn’t much new on the market. We saw almost everything the other day. But I found one place we haven’t looked at yet.”
It took a good forty minutes to wind our way up to Mulholland Drive. The house, when we finally arrived, didn’t look too bad, if you happened to be a devotee of bad 1970s architecture. And who isn’t, really? I could barely bring myself to get out of the car, and it was only Isaac’s urgent need to get to a bathroom that convinced me to go inside.
The listing agent was waiting for us in the kitchen, and I was full of something akin to admiration when I saw the avocado green appliances and orange Formica cabinets. You’ve got to appreciate that kind of devotion to the palette of the period—and 1973 was such an
interesting
year for colors.
“It’s beautiful!” Ruby announced, her voice almost reverent.
“What?” I said, staring at her.
“This house. It’s just like
The Brady Bunch!
I want to live here, Mama. Please, can we live here?”
With Peter’s purchase of TiVo he and Ruby had lately become devotees of all the television shows we used to watch when we were kids. Ruby was absolutely obsessed with both
The Brady Bunch
and
The Partridge Family
, and wandered around singing, “I Think I Love You,” and howling ‘Oh my nose!’ at odd intervals.
“You’re right, little lady, this is a beautiful home! Let’s see if we can convince your Mommy to buy it for you!”
I shot the listing agent who had made this comment a baleful scowl. He smiled back. Unlike Kat, this realtor looked the part. His blond hair was sprayed and marceled into a high wave that perched on his head like a sparrow on a tree branch. He was impeccably turned out in a black linen jacket and matching pants. I’d never before seen linen so crisp and unwrinkled. A gold ring in the shape of a horseshoe flashed on one knuckle, and it was all I could do to keep from telling him that he had the thing upside down—all the luck would leak right out of it. Worst of all, I had never met anyone so perky, not even when I had tangled with a religious cult. He had greeted Kat with an effusive hug, and begun to rave about the house as soon as we walked in the door.
My frown at his comment to Ruby seemed to faze him not at all. “This place is a true gem,” he shrilled. “Honestly, I can’t even believe I’m letting you guys in! I should be saving it for my own clients.” He waggled a reproving finger at Kat, as if my friend had forced him to open the doors of this dump to us.
“Now just look at this carpeting,” he said, flinging open the double doors to the dining room. “It’s in perfect condition, but if you don’t like it, you can tear it right up. Who knows what’s underneath. Could be parquet!”
Kat winced, and I nearly laughed. The mauve shag carpeting probably concealed something, but it was more likely to be bare cement than anything else.
The real magic of the house, however, was that it seemed to have been designed by someone with homicidal feelings toward small children. I’d never before been somewhere quite so kid-unfriendly. The circular staircases had no railings and led down to cement floor. I kept Isaac’s hand tightly in mine, because I didn’t trust him to avoid the spiky wrought-iron sconces that were placed just at the level of his eyes.
We drifted aimlessly through one hideous room after another, the children amusing themselves by making faces in the mirrors that lined every wall and some of the ceilings. The master bedroom was nearly the death of Ruby, although it was hardly her fault. How could she have expected that the sliding glass doors would lead to a sheer twenty-foot drop to the asphalt below.
“They must be redoing the balcony!” the agent said, Ruby swinging from his hand. I couldn’t bring myself to
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