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OUR SHORT
STORY
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EAST COAST
INTERIORS
A Short Story
by Charles Williams
Joan and Darlene pulled up to the twenty foot gate of the seashore villa and waited for security to wave them in. The pebbled marble driveway sparkled in the Connecticut morning sun as if beckoning the sisters to enter a world of privilege, to breathe rarified air. The gate opened and Joan, who was driving that day, shifted the van into first gear with a crunch and eased forward. “Grind me a pound or two,” murmured the gate guard, but of course they couldn’t hear him.
The van was a Ford, three years old, light blue. A rolling billboard, it said “East Shore Interiors” on the sides in Sans Serif letting. Alternating shadows and sunlight from the mature, overarching maples crossed the windshield. They stopped at the circle in front of the house. A white, cobblestone girdle surrounded the fountain, an eight foot bronze reproduction of the chained centaur. The sisters, both in their mid-twenties, looked at each other with raised eyebrows when they saw their vehicle was the only one with a price tag under a quarter million. A chauffeur casually polished an already gleaming, silver-blue Rolls Phantom, one of three in evidence. The other two were pink and green.
The house was Italianate, after the Palladian school, late 19th century. “How big do you think it is?” asked Joan.
“Oh, I’d say 40,000 square feet,” Darlene answered.
“At least,” Joan concurred. It was their first upscale contract since starting the interior design business just six months ago. A friend had referred them to Trixie Malone, heiress to the Starlight cosmetics fortune. One prestigious contract and they would be on their way.
“Well, let’s go,” said Darlene, sounding braver than she felt. Both women got out of the van and walked up the limestone steps. The house itself, constructed of ocher stone blocks, seemed strangely out of place for New England. Both women were dressed work-casual, with mid-calf length, aquamarine trousers and sleeveless, white blouses, appropriate for the heat. They both had gold lame sandals, the kind with a toe thong and half inch heals. Joan’s hair was shoulder length, naturally blond, while Darlene was brunette, with a somewhat shorter cut, just below the ears.
Joan lifted the leering, satyr-faced bronze knocker and let it fall three times. A 50ish male servant, possibly the butler, opened the door for them. “Come in please, Miss Malone is expecting you.” His nose wrinkled ever so slightly as he surveyed the van. He peripherally inspected the two women, his face impassive.
They found themselves in a foyer larger than their two bedroom apartment. A six foot diameter crystal chandelier with gold accents floated above them. The prisms reflected the green malachite floor and its 24’ by 40’ silk Persian rug. “How could someone walk on such a treasure day after day? Joan asked. Darlene just shrugged and shook her head.
As if by perfect timing, their client appeared at the top of the sweeping stairway. Behind her gleamed a Tiffany, stained glass window that both sisters recognized as an add-on, beautiful but architecturally out of place. Their client seemed outlined in a corona from the colored sunlight as she paused, looked down at the two designers, and airily began to descend. She had on several sheer, diaphanous layers, loose silk trousers, a blouse, and a wrap. She was barefoot and middle-aged, with bleached hair that swept halfway down her back, and one of those sun worshipper tans that inevitably age gracelessly to resemble burnt, cracked leather. Heiress in the seraglio, Darlene murmured.
“Welcome to my cottage, I’m Trixie.” She extended her hand as if it were a gift, and Joan and Darlene shook it. “It‘s a beautiful house,” complemented Darlene.
“It‘s a hand-me-down,” Trixie responded.
“Did you have trouble finding the place?” she asked. Darlene thought to herself, The house is a famous architectural landmark, how could anyone have trouble finding it? But she said “No, it was easy. The directions were perfect.”
“I’m so glad. Let me show you to the room I want redone.” Trixie led the way toward the west wing of the house, and both designers admired the wainscoting--19th century, hand made Italian ceramic tiles. After a few minutes, they followed Trixie through an arch into a ballroom. The same type of ceramic wall tiles ran all around it, portraying bucolic scenes, bordered on the top with a Lapis Lazuli marathon pattern. Their heals clicked loudly on the alternating white marble and malachite squares that made up the ballroom floor. The walked past floor to ceiling windows, twenty-five feet high, six feet wide, with five inch rectangular panes separated by verdigris bronze. They all had double doors that blended into the windows--ventilation before the days of air-conditioning. Several had been opened to catch the sea breezes from Long Island Sound. The salt water glittered invitingly from the other side of the back lawn. The drapes looked like something plundered from Versailles, thick white damask with gold fringe. Joan thought the walls might have been made of teak. The bowed ceiling was done in neo-classical scenes from one end to the other, lots of clouds and smiling cherubs. From one end of the room to the other ran the largest oriental rug the women had ever seen. It must have been custom made for the house.
“I want this whole ballroom redone. The rug goes: I want wall-to-wall. The window treatments go, the southern wall goes,” said Trixie.
“The southern wall?” asked Joan, not sure she had heard correctly.
“Yes, I want a stage put in, for musical theatre performances. And I’m sick of these old tiles on the walls. It needs something more modern, some kind of paneling.”
Joan and Darlene both had to restrain themselves from allowing their heartfelt revulsion to show through. The client’s aesthetics ruled--always.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone to get creative. Just show yourselves in and out, and make yourselves at home. There’s plenty to eat in the kitchen.” Without waiting for a response, Trixie swept out.
The two designers sat with their sketchbooks and notepads for the better part of a day, brainstorming, proposing and rejecting ideas.
* * *
Joan and Darlene returned three days later with material swatches for the drapes, wood tabs for paneling samples and squares of carpeting. A light rain was falling and the Sound was gray and choppy. Two dirty pickup trucks looked out of place in the driveway. They took Trixie at her word and showed themselves in.
“I’m so glad I was able to interest the museum in the antique tiles,” Joan said to Darlene.
“They’re really excited about the donation, aren’t they?”
“They sure are. An opportunity like that doesn’t come along every day. I wonder what all that racket is.”
TO BE CONTINUED.......
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