Cursed (2 page)

After a few Saturday jogs in
Central Park, a Saturday afternoon movie and one Sunday brunch later, she started to wonder why Friday and Saturday nights were off limits for their budding romance. He was at her apartment three or four nights per week but he always had a lot of weekend plans with the guys. And near the end of the summer he was spending a lot of time getting out of the city with his family who had rented a house in the Hamptons for the month of August. It was all explainable until that fateful Monday morning.

Dylan had silently appeared, with two coffees in his hand and a dimpled smile on his face. He was wearing his best light blue button down shirt, khaki’s and Oakley sunglasses perched just right on his wavy blonde hair. He looked good and, unfortunately, he knew it. She remembered quite clearly standing up and taking the coffee, smiling in gratitude while pulling the small piece of plastic from the lid and asking him how his weekend was. Never expecting anything more dramatic than an off-handed comment about lousy traffic getting back to the city, she immediately felt she asked the wrong question. His perfect smile faltered for a second but he regained his composure quickly. A cold business-like look replaced the easy going nature and the blue eyes that had reminded her of summer skies gave way to a hard icy blue she never noticed before.

The response had been simple, matter of fact, straight to the point and shredded her heart in one cold, rehearsed swipe.

“Sarah, I got engaged.”
He then had the audacity to see if they could go to lunch together and “talk” about it which, in Dylan code was: lets-grab-a-sandwich-and-eat-it-at-your-place-so-we-can-have-a-quick-roll-in-the-sack-before-going-back-to-work.

Sarah couldn’t remember how long she sat in shock at her desk staring at her computer screen and the mountains of paperwork on her desk. Sometime before lunch, she picked up her pocketbook, the black and white picture taken in front of their house of her parents and the family’s golden retriever Rex, and small snow globe with the statue of liberty that someone gave her as a non-New Yorker joke, and walked out. She called her boss later in the day when she had arrived at her parent’s home in
Connecticut and explained she had to quit for personal reasons. He did not seem overly surprised and she rapidly surmised that by then the news of the betrayal was spreading all over the office. She was glad she left when she did.

Besides a few trips with her dad into the city to pack and bring back her belongings
– which luckily didn’t amount to much – she stayed at home and sulked. After weeks with her sole responsibility of walking Rex and devoting her days to watching sappy movies, endless phone calls with her childhood best friend Lisa, and feeling sorry for herself, her grandmother Rose arrived. The vibrant octogenarian appeared on the first Sunday in October under the pretense of a family meal and announced Sarah needed to pull up her bootstraps . . . it was high time to start over.

Her grandmother had arranged an interview with an old friend Henry Wadsworth, the editor-in-chief at
Muddy River; a small publishing house in Boston.
A perfect place to start over
, so she was told. Sarah was ordered to pick out a suit or two and head up to Boston the next morning. The interview would be Tuesday morning and she was already booked at the Ritz, courtesy of her grandmother, for four nights to get a feel for the city and if all goes well, look for an apartment.

Which led her here, to the final flight of stairs leading to the top floor, one bedroom vacant apartment in a swanky section of
Boston’s revived South End. She had found the apartment online that morning and felt completely drawn to it even though she was hesitant on the price. Henry had offered her a job on the spot and was paying her well; her New York wages in Boston. She was ready to start anew.

This last flight of stairs had winded the realtor and she stopped at the top landing to catch her breath. Sarah waited; feeling excited and a bit winded herself. Or, maybe it was just thinking about that terrible incident with two-timing Dylan that made her chest feel tight.

“Remember what I said, dear.” Mrs. Casey cautioned, looking pointedly over the top of her glasses. Sarah nodded in reply, fearing the owner may be on the other side of the door listening. She took another look at the door and realized it was carved mahogany too and marveled at the luxuriousness of what she had seen so far.

Mrs. Casey nodded once and rapped softly at the door.

“It’s open,” called a deep voice from the other side of the door.

Mrs. Casey twisted the brass handle and stepped inside. Sarah followed keeping her eyes downcast.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Brown” Mrs. Casey said warmly. “This is Sarah Carter.”

“Good afternoon Mrs. Casey, Miss Carter. Please, take a look around.” He sounded pleasant enough, but he didn’t cross the room to greet them and shake hands. He stayed in the shadow of the hallway. Maybe he had trouble walking? Mrs. Casey had not been specific on the disfigurement.

Mrs. Casey started her introduction to the apartment. “The previous tenant was an art dealer. He and his significant other found a prime spot for a gallery in New York, down in the SoHo district, so they moved rather quickly in August. They already had an apartment there so they left the living room furniture here.”

“The apartment comes furnished?”
This place is perfect
, she thought.

“Well, only the living room furniture.”

Sarah stood in the middle of the living room and was spellbound. An exposed brick wall dominated one side of the room - it was paired with celery green walls and chocolate brown furniture that she thought she remembered from a Crate & Barrel catalogue. To complete the room, there was a large area rug over the hardwood floors that was predominantly pale green and had the same brick red and chocolate brown as well as cream in the pattern. Tall windows across the back of the apartment gave an amazing view and they were each framed with cream sheers that looked so light and gauzy that if the windows were open she was sure they would be fluttering with each small breeze. The room was perfect; livable and comfortable yet it looked like it could have been a spread in a furniture catalogues she always poured over when they arrived in the mail.

Mrs. Casey had been pointing and talking the whole time but Sarah had been absorbing the perfect room that was slightly out of her financial reach. She was starting to think she could live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to afford it.

The realtor caught her attention, “And behind here is the kitchen.” Sarah dragged her gaze away from the windows and turned towards the open kitchen.

“Mr. Brown remodeled the kitchen himself a few years ago and the black granite and cherry cabinets are just lovely, don’t you think?” Sarah admired the small but functional kitchen with breakfast bar and looked up at the beautiful stained glass light fixture that was mesmerizing.

It was then that she mistakenly looked his way. He was standing in the darkened hallway leading to the bathroom and bedroom. Dressed in jeans with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and a brown jacket with an upturned collar, he looked like he wanted to shrink his hunched form back into the shadows. A black military style cap covered his head with a brim that hid some of his face. A light beard, as if from a few days growth, covered the rest of his face, but she could see the left corner of his mouth was either pulled down or just slack similar to a stroke victim's dipped mouth. The beard had bald spots, almost like how she remembered some boys in college had when they shaved their hair down into crew cuts and small scars from their youth would become visible. These, however, must be bigger scars – by the look of the patches and she wondered if it had been a car accident…or worse.

She pivoted on her heel slightly but the movement made him look up. She caught his eye and quickly looked away but not before noticing one eye seemed smaller, almost closed up due to a sagging eyelid. The other eye, the one that had been watching her was bright
– either blue or green.
Like the color of the sea
, she thought and then shivered – dizziness washing over her for no apparent reason.

Sensing they would be moving on to the bedroom, the landlord moved into the living room without looking up. He had a pronounced limp.

The bedroom and bathroom were freshly painted and she breathed in the clean scent. Walking across the room, high heeled boots echoing in the empty space, Sarah looked out the same dormered window he had watched them from moments before and down to the street as Mrs. Casey talked about the closet space. A sudden chill slipped over her, and she closed the navy pea coat across her bright green turtleneck sweater.
It must be the old windows
, she thought.

Mrs. Casey led her back down to the kitchen for the pièce de résistance.

“The hallway here runs down to the basement for the laundry,” she explained as she swung open the door exposing an old hallway; dark and obviously not updated. The hallway was well swept and there were some beautiful ornate coat hooks and an old faded black and white photo of a skyline in a dark wood frame. From one of the coat hooks hung a small brass bell.

Mrs. Casey stepped into the hallway behind her, “And it is also how you reach the roof deck so everyone in the building has access from this hallway. When the house was built, this was the back stairway that the staff used so it runs all the way to the basement.”
Sarah looked at the half stairs, half ladder leading up to a hatch door and realized it was the best the builder could do with the limited hallway space but it was a beautiful design.

“Could we take a peek?” Sarah asked enthusiastically.

“I don’t see why not.” She raised her voice level and called over her shoulder. “Mr. Brown?”

He was in the kitchen, just out of sight, but his presence was felt. Sounding almost startled by being included in the conversation, he said, “Yes, by all means.” The women could hear the limping footsteps as he moved closer to the doorway but stayed out of eyesight. “Just please be careful. I unlocked the door for you earlier.”

Sarah grabbed the railing and started up.

“I’ll wait for you down here, dear. You go ahead.” She smiled and waved in the direction of the hatch.

Sarah pushed open the hatch and climbed the rest of the way out. Most of the roof was covered with teak wood flooring; large empty planters dotted the deck and there were built in wooden benches. Navy blue furniture covers were spread over the chairs and tables that had been left in their groupings in preparation for winter.

She could imagine herself up here in the summer.
The thought of planters full of flowers made her smile. As she looked out at the other rooftops and the pretty garden built in the middle of the street below sealed the deal for Sarah. She had to have this apartment; she felt she was home.

Scampering back down as quickly as she could to the warmth of the hallway, she noticed the door to the apartment still open and was momentarily alone in the hallway. She took a closer look at the picture that she noticed a few minutes before and then joined Mrs. Casey back in the kitchen.

“The deck is sensational. It must be wonderful in the summer,” she said, addressing Mr. Brown but pointedly looking at the cabinets. “Do the other building occupants spend a lot of time up there?”

He cleared his throat before answering. “Not really. Most are older and don’t like the ladder.”

“Oh,” She replied dejectedly. She had hoped that she had found a topic that would draw him into the conversation. There was a heavy silence and he decided to say something which surprised Mrs. Casey and caused her to momentarily turn towards him before she remembered to redirect her gaze.

“Mr. Karavetsos
, the previous tenant, left the furniture but if you need me to move it out, there is storage here in the attic space across the hall.”

“Um, thank you. Actually, it’s beautiful. Much better than what I have stored in
Connecticut at my parents' house. I would really like to rent this apartment and would be happy to use the furniture while I am here.”

“Wonderful, dear!” Mrs. Casey cut in. “I will get your application and we can check in with each other tomorrow after Mr. Brown and I have a chance to speak.”

“Okay, thank you.” Sarah felt Mrs. Casey gently take her arm to guide her towards the door, quietly announcing it was time to leave.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Brown. I will call you later from the office.” Mrs. Casey called back over her shoulder.

“Of course, Mrs. Casey. It was a pleasure.”

Mrs. Casey hurried out with Sarah and down to the lobby before she spoke. She seemed quite happy and as they made their way out to the street Sarah found out why.

“That was the first time he has ever spoken to a client! I’m sure he will take you.”

“Was there doubt?”

“Mr. Brown is what we call a ‘picky landlord’. We could bring in the most qualified tenant and sometimes he is a little irrational. He has a little more leeway since he lives in the building.”

“Oh?”

“He has already turned down many good prospective tenants since the art dealer moved out.” She saw the furrowed brow on the otherwise wrinkle free face. “Don’t worry dear . . . I have applications right here.” She dug into her bag again and smiled warmly. “Let’s see how your credit application comes back and I will call you.”