Just Fix It
THE DOORBELL RINGS. “FINALLY,” SHE mumbles from her perch on the gross counter. Whoever decided that a wooden butcher block for a counter was a good idea must have had a strong bacterial immunity.
She jumps down and skips like an adorable gazelle to answer it and I can see from the kitchen that it’s Donovan. I asked him to meet me here. I try to have either him or Marisol join me in meetings, especially when the person lives alone. For their comfort. Marisol was busy, so we have Donovan, I can already tell this is going to be hilarious. She’s totally going to think he’s the boss since he’s an asshole who doesn’t give a fuck what he says. He’s 72 so he really doesn’t.
“‘Morning, ma’am,” Donavan mumbles and shakes her hand. He sees me and walks past her to the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, Jasmine got out again.” Donovan has a cat who likes to escape. Can’t imagine why, he’s such a treat. Don came with me from my parent’s company when I opened Good Bones. He said he wanted a change from working with assholes. He’s been working in construction for years and was my dad’s oldest employee, of course, I hired him. I’m too nice and respectful to let him know that it’s not the other people who are assholes.
“No problem, Donovan, maybe she wants to be an outside cat?” I ask, refraining from speaking my pussy joke out loud.
“Joe, I can see you keeping that pussy joke inside, and I’ll tell you, I’ve never been prouder,” he says and pats me on the back and turns to Betsy. “So, Miss Carter, tell us what you need.”
Betsy watches us skeptically. “I outlined everything I needed to Marisol, but basically I want a renovation that honors the bones of the building and adds modern amenities. I’d love it if you were able to keep as many as the original fixtures as possible. What are your thoughts on these floors? Do they have a chance?” She taps her Converse-clad foot on the floor.
“I have the notes from Marisol here, let’s sit and we can talk budget, style and your expectations,” I say and gesture to the bar, there are a few stools around the ugly Formica topped monstrosity.
She looks at me and takes a seat. “I think I’m confused.” She points to me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Joe Davis, the owner of the company,” I say. “I’m going to get rid of this ugly bar for you. Shall we get down to it?”
Her eyes narrow at me, then to Donovan who is now sitting as well, drinking my coffee. “You? You’re like 12 and you own the company?”
“I can verify I’m 33, definitely not 12, and yes, I’m the owner of the company. This is Donovan, my most trusted and loyal employee. He is very knowledgeable about San Francisco architecture since he’s old, and will be a good resource for honoring the bones, as you so nicely put it.” This happens to me all the time. I’m fortunate that I look like I’m about 25 instead of 33 and occasionally people have a hard time taking me seriously. “So, Bets, you look to be about 20, how did you go about owning your own home?”
She smirks at me and points. “Don’t call me ‘Bets,’ I’m sorry I misjudged you, I’m almost 30 and I can afford a place like this because I make a ton of money writing software for hospitals.”
“Are you two done making googly eyes at each other? I want to get started on my list of materials. This place has serious potential. I’ve been so fucking bored working on that basic mid-century place this summer. I need a challenge.” Donovan says this directly into the coffee cup he stole. He has an Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat account, and he loves to throw out new ‘lingo.’ It’s a tad unsettling while at the same time hilarious.
“Wait ’til you see the upstairs bathroom, Don,” I say and waggle my eyebrows. “As far as googly eyes go, I’ll stop if you will?” I tease Betsy, her face a bright red. “Donovan here takes his side job as a matchmaker pretty seriously, so you’ve been warned.”
“Oh, jeez, let’s get to it already,” Donovan complains. “This bathroom better be god awful.”
Betsy’s face lightens. “Okay. I promise to stop too,” she says with a wink. “So, Joe, what do you think? Are my floors salvageable?”
“We have to get under them first, to see if we can keep them.” I wink back at her.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Don mumbles.
* * *
This house is a disaster. Betsy explained she bought it from the original estate and then had someone come and clear out debris and make it temporarily livable. It’s barely that. It’s obviously clean but I can already see a lot of things that will make our job harder. It needs to be completely rewired and all of the plumbing will need to be replaced. As I sit here letting Betsy know her house is a shitty money pit, I see her sink physically into her chair. My dad always told me to tell the customer all the bad up front. That way when you perform miracles on their home, they think you are the second coming.
“It’s really that bad?” she asks, her eyes glassy with tears. “I knew I got a deal but I thought it would be salvageable.”
“It’s definitely salvageable,” I reassure her. “It’s a gut job, though, I’m not going to lie to you. We need to get into the walls and rewire and repipe all of it. You need to be prepared for what we find in the walls. It could get ugly.”
“Meaning more expensive,” she says and she’s right.
“I will give you an estimate with all possible scenarios. We will be able to salvage a lot of the original wood and the floors aren’t that bad, we will have to replace some planks but once we refinish you won’t be able to tell. The stairs need to be completely replaced, I’ll see what we can do with the banister, it’s pretty rad.”
“Okay, I’m trusting you, you redid a co-worker’s flat and she had nothing but great things to say. Said you were a miracle worker.” She takes a deep breath. I like her, she has a good attitude. Of course, it’s hard to hear your house you spent probably over a million on is a total piece of shit, but if you can’t see the potential then you should have bought a renovated craftsman and called it a day.
“Great things, eh? How could she fail to mention how handsome and charming I am? I must be losing my touch, am I losing my touch, Don?” I ask him and he flares his nostrils and shakes his head.
“I need to retire, I’m too old for your shit,” he says and I hug him. “Step off, you’re lucky there’s a god damned pink flamingo in the bathroom, I need to work out some aggression during demo.”
I release him laughing. “Oh, Donovan, you love my shit.”
“If you two are done doing whatever dysfunctional dance you’re doing, can you get to it?” Betsy asks tapping her foot.
“Sure thing Bestie. Don and I are going to finish up our measurements and check a few things. We will be out of here in about an hour.”
“It’s Betsy,” she corrects.
“That’s what I said,” I brush her off. She will now be known forever as Bestie, close enough. “We will check in with you before we leave.”
Don and I make quick work of measuring windows, the two fireplaces, doors, etc. We are done by noon and he tells me he’s done for the day and is going to bounce and get some pho, alone.
I stomp back to my new BFF’s room and knock loudly since I hear music playing.
“Come in!” she calls.
I open the door and am immediately struck speechless. Betsy is in the middle of the room in a full backbend with one leg raised in the air. She is wearing leggings or tights or something tight, my brain isn’t functioning at top levels. I am fully aware that she is not wearing a shirt. Or more to the point she’s wearing like, half a shirt? Her hair is still in a braid and her head is thrown back in what appears to be ecstasy. Mine would be in pain if I were in a similar position.
She kicks her leg over and the other follows and she lands perfectly. “You guys finish up?” she asks glowing from her exertions. I’m mesmerized by her. Her shirt reads “Have you seen the rest of my shirt?” and it makes me laugh.
“Yep, grumpy old hipster and I are all done,” I say and she laughs. I can tell I’m growing on her. “I’ll email you the schedule for the upcoming few days and then a larger ballpark of time. It will probably take a total of three months but not much more. I have an estimate for best, middle, and worst case scenarios. Which one do you want first?”
She walks to me and her scent wafts my way. Oranges and sweat, smells heavenly. It’s all I can do to help myself from licking her shoulder. “Worst case, lay it on me,” she says and holds her hand out.
I give her the slip of paper with the highest amount on it. “It shouldn’t be too much of a shock.”
Her eyes go wide and then she closes them. “Sure, not shocking at all,” she says sarcastically. “Now give me the best case.”
“Well, you and I continue to be best friends, you fall desperately in love with me, and we live happily ever after,” I say with my best smile.
“You are really too much, you know that?” she asks, hands on hips, with a hint of a smile.
“I do, and I’m getting the feeling you don’t mind.” I hand her the other two slips of paper and she sighs.
“I’ll mind less if you can get this job done closer to this price,” she says waving the best-case slip at me.
“Oh, I’ll get the job done.”
Her eyes roll so far back into her head I worry about her having permanent damage.