Once Upon a Rooftop
Part 3
I lead the way up wide yellow pine stairs to the southern-most room, this is what I like to call my guest room. I am being optimistic because, so far, I have no guests and the room is unfurnished but in the early morning and throughout the day, it has a sunny, open look. I raise a window and a mockingbird flies off the branch of a maple, so close I could reach out and touch it.
Sam sighs. “What a room. What peace and quiet there is in your house, Sally. What on earth could you do to improve it?”
“Just look around,” I say. “The ceiling can’t decide if it’s gray or white and the wallpaper seems to have lost its will to live.”
“The wallpaper was meant for this very room,” Sam declares, grabbing a sagging strip of faded yellow roses. “See? All it needs is a little glue and it’ll last another hundred years.”
I laugh. “Brad never liked this house at all. He couldn’t see past the expense and hard work of keeping it up.”
Sam leans against the wall on one elbow and glares at me. “I wonder, Sally Grant, if we may reach an understanding. Could we possibly in all future conversations omit the mention of your lost love?”
Sam smells of soap and after shave, a disquieting aroma. I move quickly away and examine the peeling paint on a windowsill.
“I wish I had a room like this to work in,” Sam says softly, gazing at the stained woodwork and scarred floor like a mother gazes at her newborn.
An idea creeps into my head and jolts my tongue into action. “No, it wouldn’t work.”
“Sure it would,” says Sam. “Wallpaper paste has been known to work wonders.”
“I’m not talking about the wallpaper,” I say. Here I go again, my tongue running without benefit of my mind. “What I was thinking is I have this extra room, in fact several extra rooms and you need a quiet place to write while my income could use a boost.”
I stop talking. What will my neighbors say? What will my mother say? And, for goodness sake, what will Brad say? With a certainty that feels like I may have reached a milestone, I realize that I no longer care what Brad will say.
Sam’s eyes narrow. “Yes?”
I take a deep breath and blurt out my idea in a run-on sentence, not stopping until I’ve voiced the thought that winged into my head like a sunbeam through the window.
“What would you think about renting this room for your office space and you would have a quiet place to work and I would charge you a reasonable rent which would help my pitiful income?”
Sam gazes at me for a moment then slowly a wide grin spreads across his face. “Why didn’t I think of that?’
“Really?”
“Really, Sally. I’ll move in tomorrow.”
“So soon? Shouldn’t we discuss a contract? You don’t know how much I’m going to charge you. Don’t you have any questions?”
“This quiet house would be such a boon to my writing that I’m afraid I won’t quibble over figures and facts.” He spins around on his heel. “Wow! What a wonderful place.”
OK, the deed is done. I only hope I will not live to regret this day. Sam’s enthusiasm is contagious. Maybe my luck has changed. Maybe the life of a sweep will actually be the life for me!
Sam does move in the next day, even though the sky threatens rain. I stand in what is to be his office and put stacks of papers against the wall as he lugs desk, chair, and typewriter up the stairs. As he leaves for another load, I pick up a large manila envelope. The flap is open and before I notice I am holding it upside down, a mountain of typewritten pages slide to the floor.
Scrambling to retrieve them and put them in order, I realize this must be Sam’s book manuscript. My eyes drop onto words that stop me in my tracks. “Chimney sweep”, in bold black print stares up at me from the page I hold in my hand. Sinking cross-legged onto the hardwood floor, I read further. As I read, I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sam is including a chapter about me in his book. He related what I’ve told him about disliking to work in my mother’s dress shop and that I may be forced to return there due to financial difficulties. He doesn’t mention my name, but he doesn’t have to. By the time I finish, my hands are shaking and blood pounds in my ears.
How can he do this and not tell me? I am so gullible! No wonder Sam is such a good listener. I am to be part of his book on the effects of a changing society on the working person! I feel a sympathy for the laboratory specimens pinned under a scientist’s microscope.
Sam appears in the doorway with an armload of reference books. “Whew! Finished,” he says, dropping the books onto the desk.
“You bet you’re finished!” I yell, scrambling to my feet.
His eyes widen and he backs up a step. “What?”
“Finished. You. I rescind my kind offer. No wonder you wanted to work here. It would be a lot easier to have the subject you are writing about close at hand!”
“So you read my manuscript. I could be upset about that, you know. That’s snooping. Are you going to be a nosy landlady?” His smile makes me even more furious.
“I’m not going to be your landlady at all. Aren’t you supposed to get permission first before including someone in your book? Aren’t you invading my privacy or something?”
“If you’ll calm down so we can discuss this, I’m sure you’ll understand. I planned to ask your permission. I think you are a great example of people who have successfully changed careers. Of course, if you don’t approve, I won’t put you in my book.”
“Ha!” I snort and brush past him to stomp down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Sam calls.
“To clean my chimney.”
“Now? It’s going to rain.”
I ignore him and hurry to my back porch. I need to get out of the house. I need to do something. I need to have my head examined for being attracted to someone who looks at me as a convenience.
(To Be Concluded Tomorrow)
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