Just Demo
WHEN I START A PROJECT I try to visualize what it will look like at the end. With Betsy’s house it’s a challenge. We will strip the entire place down to the studs and start from scratch. It’s not the first time we’ve done it but it’s rare. My architect, Colleen, has done a few drawings but Betsy hasn’t chosen one yet. I ring her bell, excited to see her again. We’ve exchanged a few emails, including her returning the contract, signed and sealed. I’ve kept it professional over email, but all bets for Betsy are off when I see her in person.
When I hear her nearing the door, I lift my sledgehammer over my shoulder, trying to look tough and ready to destroy. The door opens and I’m struck speechless again. She is wearing tights again with a slouchy off the shoulder shirt. She’s also out of breath and has a sheen of sweat on her brow. This job might be harder than I thought.
“Hey, Joe, you look ready to knock shit down,” she says with a smile.
“My favorite part of my job. Destroying shit before I build it all back up.”
“Don’t fucking touch that bathroom, it’s all mine,” Don says from behind me and he’s carrying a similar sledgehammer.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Donovan, say hello to the lady at least.”
“Hello, lady,” he grunts out and walks into the house.
I follow and Betsy closes the door. We walk to the kitchen where Don has helped himself to coffee and a danish.
“Don’t mind him. He thinks since he’s over 70 he doesn’t need to have manners anymore,” I say taking the coffee she offers me and pluck a blueberry danish from the plate on the counter.
“It’s fine, one of my best friends is 72 and she doesn’t give a fuck either. It’s refreshing and brings things into perspective.”
“See, Bestie, we have so much in common. Spending time with our elderly friends, a love of quality danish, are these Black Jet?” I ask knowing these are from one of my favorite bakeries.
“Are you purposefully trying to annoy me or does it just come naturally?” she asks. “Of course, they are from Black Jet, I wouldn’t be able to make something this good. Also, don’t expect this every morning. I’ll probably be gone before you get here most days. Always help yourself to coffee though. I insist.”
“We will take advantage of your coffee offering,” I say with a wink. “It’s definitely on purpose, by the way. Now, let’s knock shit down!”
* * *
Betsy helps us enthusiastically tear down some walls and even Don lets her get a chance at the pink bathroom from hell. We get a huge chunk of the demo done on the second floor and some on the first. We help her move the coffee pot, fridge, and microwave to her room in the back and I finally get a shot at the disgusting salmonella coated butcher block.
“Wait, you’re going to demo the counter? I was kind of hoping it could be saved,” Betsy says and I pretend to throw up in my mouth. “What? It’s not that gross, just needs to be sanded and then treated with oil.”
“Unless you are hyper diligent with cleaning it a butcher block counter is the most bacteria-ridden surface on the planet.” I speak from experience. My parents loved theirs and when Jack and I started renovating the house it was the first thing we got rid of. We kept it clean but it still had a weird smell and it was just a pain in the ass. “It’s your digestive system, but this could be a big setback in our best friendship. I’d never be able to share a meal with you here if you prepared it on the block.”
“Hm, so there are extra incentives to keeping it,” she says tapping her finger on her lips.
“Bestie, you wound me,” I say teasing. “I can work around it, you’ll have to eat with me and my brother or we’ll just go out.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, man, are we going to get this kitchen done today or are you and Bessie here going to bone first?”
“Don, dude we talked about this. You have to tone it down in front of the clients. Now Bets here is cool so she’s laughing it off, but can you take it down a notch?”
“Why should I? You’re not getting anywhere with her, so I thought I’d be the bad cop. I’ll play ornery old man and you’ll look like less of a douchebag.”
“You guys know I’m right here?” Betsy asks, waving her hand.
“Listen,” I say turning to her. “How about we save a small section of the block and we can incorporate it into the new concrete counter as a cutting board? I’m just worried about your health,” I say placing my hand on her shoulder and it’s so soft and now I’ve made it awkward.
“Okay, that sounds like a good compromise,” she says and if I’m not mistaken, she shivers slightly. I’m going to take that as she likes me touching her.
I drop my hand and turn to Don. “Go get the chainsaw.”
He raises his hands in victory. “This day is the bomb.”
* * *
We finish well past five which means Don left about an hour ago. He tells Betsy that he is under strict orders from his doctor to not work past five o’clock. It’s a load of shit that I let him get away with because when he’s here he is productive.
Betsy hands me a bottle of water and gets one for herself and we drink them in silence. The house is bare, down to its bones and we didn’t find anything too bad. Don found a petrified rat and a little bit of termite damage in a corner in the hall next to Betsy’s room but the rat had been dead for years and the damage looks old but not anything too alarming.
When a house is like this, down to the studs, it’s a little heartbreaking in its beauty. This is what a sturdy, well-built home looks like and few get to see it.
Betsy nudges my shoulder. “Thinking about all the possibilities?” she asks.
“Yep, I see me and Jack hanging on the couch right here watching The Bachelor with you. Over there I see you cooking me dinner and not using the barf-tastic cutting board. Up there I see—“
“That’s enough out of you,” she says pushing my arm down that’s pointing up to where the master bedroom will be.
“What?” I ask innocently. “I was going to say I saw you sleeping like the angel you are and doing whatever acrobatics you do.”
She shakes her head and her blue ponytail swishes over her shoulder. I can’t stop looking at her, which means I should leave.
“I’ll get all these tools into the truck and then get out of your blue hair,” I say, placing the water on the counter.
“Hey, can I get your cell number, in case I have a question or need to let you know when I’ll be home?” she asks.
“Bestie, if you want my number, you don’t have to make up reasons. Just ask,” I say and take her phone from the counter and put my contact info in and then call myself.
“Bet-see, say it,” she glares.
“Bet-see, I’ll Bet-see you later,” I say, picking up my tools and leaving to the sound of her laughing.
* * *
Later at home, Jack and I have spaghetti and meatballs and then sit out on the back deck drinking beer. I tell him about the new project and about Betsy.
“She has blue hair and the most beautiful tattoos. Her sass is off the charts too and she is pretending to hate me,” I say.
“Are you sure she’s pretending? Make sure you read the social cues, bro.” Sometimes I hate that he’s a more evolved human than me.
“She and I have a rapport. I’m reading it correctly. She’s trying to resist me but I’m not being inappropriate, I swear.” He shakes his head at me and I throw my bottle cap at him. “You know that Don would shut me down if I was misreading her participation in our fun banter.”
“You’re using Don as your voice of reason? Shit, Joe, do I need to come with you to this job and save you from a sexual harassment charge?”
I hold my hands up. “I swear I’m not that bad. She is a casual person and we are friendly, I promise. She asked me for my number today.”
“Really? She asked the person in charge of working on her reno for his number? You guys are total BFFs.” He rolls his eyes.
“Yep, we are, watch me text her right now.” I take my phone and type out a quick message to her.
Me: Will you be home in the morning or are we starting without your lovely presence?
Bestie: Did you seriously put your contact name as ‘Number One Stud’?
Me: You knew who it was right away, didn’t you?
Bestie: Sigh, you are literally the worst person I know.
Me: All my friends say that. Are you firing me?
Bestie: God no. You’re the worst person, but also the best at renovating homes. Trust me, I’m having a hard time with it.
Me: I get better with time, I promise.
Bestie: Somehow I believe you. I changed your contact name and no I won’t be home tomorrow. I’ll see you on Thursday.
Me: Oooh, what is my new contact? BFF? Hotconstructionguy? Guns-a-plenty?
Bestie: Ha! I’ll never tell, somehow, I think that will drive you nuts.
Me: You want to drive me nuts? Wear that half shirt again.
Bestie: You are so inappropriate.
Me: So my brother told me.
Bestie: Listen to him, he sounds like the wise one in the family.
Me: Most definitely. Good night Bestie.
Bestie: Good night ding dong and it’s BETSY.
Me: See you Thursday, Bestie.
Bestie: Do you have to have the last word?
Me: Perhaps.
Bestie: Sigh
Me: Sleep well, Bestie.
Bestie: Grr.
Me: I love a woman who can growl.
Bestie: FYI I changed your contact name to insufferable ass from what it was before. You do know I can fire you?
Me: Yes, but you won’t because we are the best.
Bestie: Betsy has gone to bed. Do not disturb.
I want to let it go but I can’t, I’m me.
Me: Sweet dreams, Bestie.