Vintage (6 page)

“What’s market rate? I mean, what are you listing it for?” Violet asked. “Because I
am
interested in buying it.”

“Just under a million.”

Violet blinked. “I had no idea it was worth that much.”

“The building is on the only double lot on the block, so it’s attractive to developers.”

“There’s no way I’ll be able to get a million-dollar mortgage.”

“Nine hundred and ninety thousand, actually,” Ted said.

“Oh. Well in
that
case . . .” Violet gave him a wry half smile, even though she wanted to scream. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were putting the building up for sale instead of sending a process server to my door with eviction papers?”

“It’s not technically an eviction yet,” Ted said. “It’s merely a notice to you that we’re exercising our right to sell the property under the lease. It will only become an eviction if you don’t move out by the end of August.”

“Or buy the property by then,” Violet said.

“Right.” Ted smirked, as if he knew just as well as Violet did that coming up with a down payment and close to a million-dollar mortgage was very, very far out of her reach.

“Can’t I just rent the property from the new owner?” Violet asked.

“I think that’s unlikely. It’s being advertised as redevelopment property,” Ted said. “Having a retail and a residential tenant in here really limits the way we can market the property, so we’ll need you out by the end of summer anyway. Unless, of course, you want to make a deal.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Violet said.

“We’re hoping you’ll be motivated to move out voluntarily before the end of the summer, and sign papers releasing your right of first refusal. If you do so, we can offer you a little incentive.”

His smirk made Violet uneasy. Nonetheless, she asked, “What sort of incentive?”

“A little start-up cash for your next location. We’d give you back your last two months of rent.”

Violet had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Two months’ rent wasn’t nothing, but it certainly wasn’t enough to make up for the higher rent rates she’d have to pay if she moved to another building.

“I don’t want my last two months of rent,” Violet replied. “What I want is to not have to move out of my shop
and
my apartment, with only a couple months’ notice. What I want is to buy the building. I thought I was on course for doing that, with the rent-to-own arrangement.”

“Think about the offer,” Ted said. “There’s no need to decide right now. You can always come back if you change your mind.”

“Well, in that case, I won’t be back,” Violet said.

She muttered good-bye and left Ted’s office, realizing that the black eighties power suit she’d worn for the occasion hadn’t given her much power after all. As she walked through the reception area, her spectator pumps clicked on the marble floor. She thought she caught the receptionist giving her a sympathetic nod.

When Violet returned to Hourglass Vintage, Betsy Barrett, her friend and longtime customer, stood waiting outside the locked shop.

“Betsy, good to see you.” Violet hugged her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting a long time. Come on in.” She put her key in the door.

Betsy followed Violet inside. “I’ve only been waiting a few minutes,” she said. “But what are you doing closing your shop in the middle of the day?”

Betsy never hesitated to say what was on her mind. It was one of the things Violet loved about her.

“I had a meeting,” Violet said. She saw no reason to mention what the meeting had been about. The fewer people who knew about the trouble she was having with her landlord, the better. Plus, Betsy would probably want to help, and Violet felt like she owed her too much already. When she’d first opened her shop, Betsy had sat on the board of a women’s business organization that gave Violet a start-up grant. If it weren’t for that grant, Violet would have had just enough money for rent and fixtures, and nothing left over to pay herself even the very small salary that she needed to survive in those first few months.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you got some help around here?” Betsy asked. She sat down in one of two orange Eames lounge chairs outside the dressing room—gems Violet had found at a yard sale and had gotten reupholstered.

“I’m doing okay,” Violet said.

“Well, in the five minutes I was waiting, three different customers came to the door and turned away when they saw you were closed,” Betsy said. “You can have all the lovely merchandise you want, but if you’re not open when people want to buy it, it’s not gonna do you much good.”

Violet sat down in the other chair. She slid off her shoes and buried her toes in the white shag rug. If only Betsy knew how much help she needed. She tried to change the subject. “I see you’ve brought out your silks, even though it’s been chilly lately.”

Betsy looked down at her cream shantung jacket and skirt. “I say screw it. At my age, I figure I’ve only got a few seasons left to wear my favorite warm-weather stuff.”

Violet didn’t like to think about it, but there was probably some truth to Betsy’s statement. Betsy never told anyone her exact age, saying instead that she was “somewhere on that highway north of seventy and south of eighty.” That didn’t stop her from aiding not only small businesses like Violet’s, but also a large chunk of the Madison creative community. From her hilltop mansion on Lake Mendota, Betsy steered and funded the ballet, the youth symphony, and countless other arts organizations. Her energy level rivaled that of someone decades younger. She reminded Betsy of her grandma Lou in that way—or at least the way she had been up until her stroke.

“Did you bring stuff to sell?” Violet asked. “You know I love it when you clean out one of your closets.”

“No,” Betsy said. “I need a favor.”

When Betsy asked for a favor, it usually meant donating an item from the store to a charity raffle or auction, and Violet was happy to do it. It was good publicity, and she felt like she owed Betsy a hell of lot more than a couple of retro dresses or poster prints. If it hadn’t been for Betsy, and Betsy’s wealthy friends who liked to buy rare antiques and vintage accessories, the shop might not have made it through its first couple of years.

“Anything,” Violet said. “What do you need?”

“I need you to consider hiring someone.”

Well, almost anything,
thought Violet. “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

Betsy continued. “Before you put me off, let me just tell you that it wouldn’t have to be for a whole lot of hours a week, and probably just for the summer. I’ve got a girl—she’s our scholarship recipient this year—and, well, she’s struggling. She has a lot going on, personally. She’s smart as can be, pretty much a savant in math, but I think she just needs a little structure. I thought of you because, well, I know you haven’t always had it easy, either.”

Violet doubted that a troubled eighteen-year-old would be of much help around the shop, math whiz or not. She had hired college students before but had stopped doing so because she couldn’t count on them to do things the way she wanted. Their attention spans ebbed and flowed with the academic calendar, and Violet found it nearly impossible to get anyone to staff the store on a football Saturday or during exam week. In the end, having employees always seemed to create
more
work, not less.

“Betsy, I’m flattered you thought of me,” she said. “But I don’t think I can afford to hire somebody right now. I’m saving every penny for a down payment on my building.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Betsy said. “You were the first person on my list, but I’ve got some others to ask. I’ll figure something out.” She got up from her chair with visible effort. “Oh, and I’ll come back soon with some things for the store. I’m trying to do some spring cleaning. You can’t imagine how much stuff I’ve got after living in the same house for forty years.”

After Betsy had left, Violet pulled the legal papers out of her purse. It had already been a week since she was served, and she’d been counting on her meeting with Ted to clear things up. Apparently it wasn’t going to be that simple. She needed a lawyer, but she couldn’t afford to pay what she imagined would be steep fees.

She picked up the receiver of her blue rotary phone and dialed the number of the only lawyer she knew who would work for clothes in lieu of legal fees—her friend Karen Young.

“Violet, hi,” Karen said when she picked up. “I’m so sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got a good reason. How
is
that sweet baby girl of yours?” Violet asked, trying to keep envy out of her voice.

“Edith is great,” Karen said. “I don’t want to talk about babies, though. I need some adult conversation. Maybe we can go out some night soon like we used to?”

“Sure,” Violet said, though she doubted either of them had the energy to run around to bars and burlesque shows like they did before Karen got married.

“Have you been on any dates lately?” Karen asked. “If you have, don’t leave any details out. I need to live vicariously.”

“I had coffee with an IT guy I met through a local online dating site,” Violet said.

“Wait, what’s his profile? I’ll look him up.”

“He doesn’t have a profile,” Violet said. “He’s one of the tech support guys for the site. I couldn’t figure out where to go to upload my picture, and there was this box that said ‘Click here for twenty-four-hour tech support.’ So I clicked on it. While he was helping me, we got to chatting about other stuff, and he asked me out for coffee. He was funny, so I said yes.”

“That is
so
you, Violet.” Karen laughed. “I’m pretty sure that breaks about a dozen of the site’s terms of use, though. Not to mention probably his employment contract.”

“Oh, why do you have to be so lawyerly about it? Anyway, he turned out to be a lot less conversational in person than he was online. He would barely make eye contact. Needless to say, we haven’t gone out again.”

“That’s it?” Karen asked. “You don’t have anything else for this poor, cooped-up mama?”

“Sadly, no,” Violet said.

The truth was that, although she’d been on the occasional date, Violet spent most of her nights lately either going over shop inventory and bills or snuggling with Miles on the couch, watching old Rodgers and Hammerstein films. She knew she’d never meet anyone that way, but she would also never get hurt, never again have to make the difficult decision to leave anyone or be left. Or to give up the independence to which she’d grown accustomed. Besides, Violet was pretty sure no straight man would tolerate watching
State Fair
and
Carousel
as frequently as she did. And God, did she ever love the tight-waisted dresses and Technicolor makeup all those musical starlets wore.

“Anyway,” Violet said, “I’ve been pretty distracted with some stuff that’s been going on with my store. That’s actually why I was calling. I wanted to see if I could come over to talk to you about some legal issues. I hate to bother you when you’re on maternity leave and everything, but I really need your advice. I can’t pay you, but you can do a raid on my inventory if you want.”

“Hell yes,” Karen said. “I am in desperate need of new clothes. None of my PE clothes fit me.”

“PE? You mean like gym?”

“Pre-Edith.”

Violet laughed. “Okay, so when can I come over?”

“Any time you want. I’m kind of a shut-in these days. How about Friday night? I’ll get us some wine.”

“Friday works. Once you see what I’m dealing with, though, you might want to make it whiskey.”

On Friday evening, Violet drove to Karen’s house under a still-bright sky, even though it was past eight o’clock. Soon it would be the summer solstice, marked in Madison every year by a bonfire celebration near Olbrich Botanical Gardens. Old hippies and families with cloth-diapered kids would gather, pounding drums and waving silk scarves to celebrate the longest day of the year.

The sun floated in a bath of pink above the sturdy rows of corn and soybeans bordering the two-lane highway outside the Madison city limits. Despite the apparent order of things, Violet thought, life was far from predictable. She had grown up in a small town, had married young and anticipated having a lot of babies. Now Violet lived alone on a busy downtown street, while Karen, who swore she’d never settle down, lived out in the suburbs.

When Violet rang the doorbell of Karen and Tom’s sprawling home, there was no dog’s bark or sound of pattering paws to greet her. If she ever lived in the country again, Violet thought, she would adopt another dog—a buddy for Miles to play with. He was getting old, and a younger dog might be good company for him.

Karen opened the door cradling a pink-cheeked baby. The child’s tiny fist clutched a handful of her mother’s red hair.

“Ow,” said Karen, freeing her curls from the baby’s hand. “Come on in.”

“Thank you so much for meeting with me. It’s good to see you.” Violet stepped inside the house and hugged her friend, being careful not to squish the baby. “Oh, my God, Edith has gotten so big.”

Karen’s face lit up with a proud smile. “Do you want to hold her? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know I used to get annoyed when people always assumed I wanted to hold babies, just because I was a woman of a certain age.”

Violet held out her arms. “I would love to hold her.” She took the warm bundle from Karen. Edith’s creased white arms and legs stuck to Violet’s own heat-damp skin in a way that should have been unpleasant but actually felt quite heavenly. She smelled the little girl’s fuzzy hair and kissed the top of her head. “Hi, little one,” she said with a spark of longing.

Though Violet knew that splitting up with Jed was an essential chapter in her story, the possibility of never having an Edith was the price she’d paid for her independence and new start. It sucked, really, the way that possibilities narrowed as she got older. Sure, Karen had had a baby at almost forty, but Karen had also already been married at that point, after two years of dating Tom. Barring a calculated one-night stand or a visit to a sperm bank, Violet figured she was a long way from ever being pregnant, even if she met the man of her dreams tomorrow.