Jackie

I was lying down on the coach’s new bed staring at the blank wall. To me, it was vital to look at something positive first thing in the morning because that would set the tone for the whole day. I could see the narrow teak dresser I’d placed against the wall. It was an amazing find from a second-hand store on Main Street—all I had to do was clean and oil the exterior, then line the drawers with striped paper, and now it looked fabulous. And cost a quarter of the price of a new dresser.

When I woke up at home, I looked at one of my own paintings. It was a still life with flowers and fruit, and the energetic colours made me feel happy. Brent had taken the oil painting that used to hang in our bedroom. It was a hyper-realistic landscape of British Columbia mountains and sea that he had bought at some charity auction. I never liked it, so hanging my own painting was a both a decorating move and a declaration of independence.

So far this job had been a dream come true. At the beginning, I met with the divinely organized and slightly scary Fiona Houston. Wayne said she was the top designer at his company, but she was quick to correct that title.

“What I am is a budgetary genius. I have a degree in interior design, but in reality, all I do is manage the budget. Our specialty is getting people settled into their new homes as quickly as possible. Usually, it’s a matter of moving and logistics, but in a case like this.…” She peered at the papers in front of her. “Leo Gauthier. He needs a completely furnished apartment, and he needs it right away. Must be a short-term assignment. Most people have their own stuff.”

“Ummm,” I didn’t know if I should be the one to point out my inexperience, but Fiona’s confident manner was making me more nervous. I could imagine her chewing me out when I screwed up. “You know I haven’t done this before, right?”

She lowered her green-rimmed designer glasses and stared at me. “Oh, I am well aware of that. But Wayne vouched for you and apparently you are willing to work for far less than a real designer should be paid.”

I swallowed. “So I have to arrange everything?” My voice squeaked on the word everything.

Fiona smiled. “Don’t worry, Jackie. We won’t throw you into the Pacific Ocean without a life jacket. Ian, our leasing agent, has already found a place that’s suitable. A nice two-bedroom. I have a list here of all the necessities that we supply. Your challenge will be getting in under the budget.” She squinted at the paper. “Darn, I was hoping I had missed a zero somewhere. The real miracle will be if you come in anywhere close.”

Did I look as scared as I felt? Fiona smiled at me, or rather bared her teeth. She wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type. She made a circle with her hands. “Think of your budget as a big circle. If you spend too much on furniture, there won’t be enough for kitchen supplies. But there’s no leeway. If you go over, it comes out of your pay.”

Was that even legal? But I got her point.

“What I do is to make up a rough estimate of what I can spend on all the major items and a more general one for the smaller stuff. Don’t go over the budget on any item and you should be fine. Here’s a list of suppliers where we have discounts. You can call me if you’ve got a big problem, but I don’t want to hear from you more than once a day. Questions?”

“What about the design aspects? Like colours and style?”

She snorted. “Well, given that you only have a week and no money, I would be amazed if you can add much. Our clients expect a nice, neutral space. No weirdness.”

“Should I ask Leo Gauthier what he wants?”

“No. What if he asks for something you can’t afford? He’s a businessperson. He wants a functional place to live.”

I must have looked shocked, because she added. “I ask clients about colour preferences, but only on bigger projects. He didn’t fill out his questionnaire, so I wouldn’t say he cares much about where he lives. All we know is that the extra bedroom is for his young daughter and he needs a place to work. Is there anything else?”

I swallowed and shook my head. But since that first day, I hadn’t needed to call Fiona at all. First, I went to the apartment and took all the measurements. I’d followed her advice and made a detailed budget for everything I wanted to put in the place. The first draft was horrendously over budget, so I went back and pared down. The style was going to be cozy minimalism, if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms. My biggest budget breakthrough came when I realized I didn’t have to buy new furniture. I was already good at painting and refinishing, so I snagged some second-hand furniture on Craigslist. Couches and beds had to be new, but nobody could tell if your wood table was slightly distressed on purpose or not.

Again I looked at the bare wall. What if I put one of my own paintings up? Then I would actually be “selling” a painting, although I wouldn’t charge much. I’d never sold a painting. Sometimes friends made noises about buying something they saw on my walls, but I was too shy to follow up. Selling a painting would be the ultimate thrill. Besides, an original painting would have more personality than an Ikea poster or those bargain monstrosities at Winners. The only thing that made me hesitate was that I didn’t know a thing about the tastes of the mysterious Leo Gauthier. I’d defied Fiona by calling him, but I had yet to hear back.

So, I’d developed my own idea of the coach and done the apartment for this mythical person. He would be a high-powered version of Larry, my son’s favourite hockey coach. Larry had been patient, fair, and quiet. Tristan didn’t do well with shouters. This year’s coach, Don, was a shouter. Poor Tristan was having a terrible season. Brent had always been an assistant coach for his son’s hockey teams, and Tristan was used to going to practices and games with his dad. Now I drove him and watched his games too. He was struggling on the ice, but the season was almost over. Maybe during the summer, he’d do a good hockey camp and—

My cellphone buzzed and startled me.

Leo Gauthier. Finally.

“Hello.”

“Hey, is this Jacqueline Wagner?” His voice was hoarse and had the tiniest of accents. He made “this” into “dis,” which made him sound like a tough, street-wise person. As usual, my imagination ran with the slightest clue. I sat up because I felt guilty lying on his brand new bed.

“Yes, this is Leo, right?”

“Yeah, you called me a few times. Sorry, I’ve been busy. What’s up?”

“I’m the person furnishing your apartment. I was hoping you could tell me what colours you like and if you have any special needs for the place.”

His exhale was more than a snort. “What I need most is to get in there, and get my home office set up. When will you be done?”

“Well, it’s about sixty percent done now....” I hesitated. Today was Wednesday and Fiona had given me one complete week, so I’d counted on all that time.

“So, tomorrow?” His voice was assertive and demanding. Now I had a better vision of what kind of coach he was. He’d be a shouter.

“Make it Friday. The couches aren’t arriving until then.” Fiona had arranged for the more expensive pieces from her wholesaler.

“I can live without couches. Is there a bed and a desk?”

“There’s a bed. The desk is here, but it’s not set up yet.”

“Look, uh, madam, I like to spread my work out and watch a lot of game video, and a hotel room isn’t real good for that. I need to get my own place and set it up the way I want. I don’t need a lot of fancy designer stuff.”

And at your budget, you’re not getting any. And madam? Did he forget my name in the two minutes we were talking? Eff right off. Out loud, all I said was, “Sorry, but I’m not done yet.”

“You can work around me. I’ll give you my schedule, and you can come when I’m not there and do whatever it is you do.”

My opinion of this guy was falling rapidly. “Okay, give me until the end of day tomorrow. Anything else I’ll do when you’re not here.” I wanted to photograph the place once it was all done, but now that wasn’t going to be possible. “But I do need some direction about your daughter’s room. She’s seven, right? What kinds of things does she like?”

“She likes cats and the colour purple. But she’s not arriving until the summer. That’s where you can save time. Okay, I’ll move in tomorrow after six.”

“I’ll arrange for you to get keys,” I said, but he’d already disconnected.

What an enormous jerk.

The next day, I went straight to the apartment after I dropped the kids at school. Sharon met me shortly after.

“I’m busy as fuck. Can’t believe you roped me into this.”

“You’re a dream to help me,” I said. “I want to convert this closet into an office, so I need you to remove the hardware and add a desk and shelves.”

Sharon laughed. “I’m not doing all the work. I’m going to show you how.”

“Sharon Zennaro: empowering women one by one.” I passed her the large thermos of coffee she had requested.

“Ahhh. Just what I need.” She took a big sip, closed her eyes, and smiled. “Mmmm. Did you make this?”

I nodded happily. “Of course. Fresh ground Guatemalan is the only thing good enough for my bestie.”

“You’ve got a lot of work to do today,” Sharon noted. The place was still filled with boxes and misplaced furniture.

“I know. The timeline was tight enough before I talked to that coach.” I shouldn’t have let him walk all over me. If the place wasn’t finished right, it would jeopardize my getting more work with Wayne’s company. Fiona had already told me off when I told her the news. She was right, I should never have called him. “I haven’t touched the little girl’s room yet, other than get the bed. I hardly know anything about her. What am I supposed to do, fill her room with purple cats?”

“So this guy made a great impression on you?” Sharon laughed as she strapped her tool belt on.

“He’s seventeen kinds of a jerk-head.”

“Oh, go crazy with the bad language.” Sharon might pretend she learned her swearing on job sites, but she dropped the f-word more than anyone I knew even before she went into construction. What was crazy was that her daughter never swore. Maybe it was Kayla’s way of rebelling.

I sipped from my travel mug and then continued my complaints. “He was so arrogant. Like everything I’m doing—just for him—is not important enough for him to give me any time or information. He’ll probably be like Brent, ‘Oh, you decide on the new sofa, honey, the house is your domain.’ But then he’s the first one to complain if he doesn’t like what I’ve chosen.”

“Sometimes I wonder why you stayed married to that fucker for so long,” Sharon commented as she measured the wall inside the closet. For the desk, there was a piece of white laminate and trestles, but Sharon would cut it to fit exactly.

“Really? I can’t count the number of people who told me how lucky I was to be married to a great guy like Brent. Even after he left, someone said I’d never find a catch like that again.”

“Brent seemed like a great guy on the surface, but once you got to really know him, he was never really happy. And that was wearing you down—trying to make things perfect all the time.”

I dropped the linens on the bed. “What? I can’t believe you’re telling me this now.”

Sharon bit her lower lip. “I didn’t think you were ready to hear it before. You were too busy beating yourself up over the marriage breaking down. People split up. It’s not anyone’s fault that things change.”

“Can I blame Brent instead?”

Sharon laughed. “Sure. He’s arrogant as fuck. But take it from me, the real breakthrough comes when you don’t need to assign any blame. Okay, so you want to hang these floating shelves?” Sharon asked.

“Yes, the only thing that Coach Jerk-head wanted was a place to work. And since the extra bedroom is for his daughter, this closet is the only place to put an office.”

After the phone call, I recalibrated my idea of what kind of man he was. A divorced workaholic with crappy people skills who had a big belly and a receding hairline. The visual image came from Don, Tristan’s current screamer coach. Still, even a loser like Leo might have a lady friend over, so closing the door on his work would be a good thing.

“He’s probably going to put heavy books or binders on the shelf.” Sharon pulled out a yellow plastic tool. “To make sure that we fix the shelf to something strong, we’re going to use this.”

“What’s that?”

“A stud finder.”

I giggled. “We could use that when we go out to bars.”

“Oh ho. Are we going to start going clubbing?” Sharon ran the stud finder slowly across the wall until it began to beep. She made a pencil mark, then continued and made another. “Remember, the stud finder only finds the edges of the 2x4 underneath the drywall.”

“I only understood half of what you just said. But how else do you find guys? Bars were how we found guys in the eighties.” I met Brent at a pub.

“Now apps can find men for you. Or websites.” She handed the stud finder to me. I copied her slow motion until it beeped.

“Have you had any success finding dates that way?” I wondered.

“Define success.”

“A guy to go out with—like on nice dates. To dinner or movies, stuff like that.”

“No.”

“Sharon! Are you hooking up with random men?”

She only laughed in reply. Did I really want to know the answer to that question? It felt weird to think about having sex with someone who wasn’t Brent. “I wonder if I’ll even find anyone attractive again.”

“Of course you will. Now, where do you want the shelves?” We decided on the best placement, and Sharon made a few marks. “I’m going to do the first shelf, and you’re going to do the second one.”

“Can’t I just watch you admiringly? I’m worried that my shelf is going to fall down and knock the coach out.”

“From the sounds of things, that’s exactly what you want to happen. Don’t worry; I’m here to supervise you. Anyway, don’t you find it liberating to live on your own?”

I watched as Sharon drilled holes, inserted plugs, levelled the bracket, and then hung the perfect shelf. “Liberating? Yeah, kind of. I don’t have to remind anyone to take the garbage out. No more nagging or argument—I just do everything myself.”

“You know, it’s only a thought, but maybe you should do some fun things too. Especially on the weekends you don’t have the kids.”

“I do. I paint.” Painting was the perfect mental escape.

“Fun things that involve leaving the house,” Sharon eyed the shelf and then handed the drill off.

I panicked. The drill felt heavy, and my hand shook. “I can’t use power tools. What if I mess up?”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “It’s been two years since you had real sex, right?”

“What? Well, uh, yes.”

“Well, if you can handle a vibrator, you can handle a power tool. You’re going to need to learn if you keep doing this. Don’t hold it like a grenade. You’re the boss—you show that drill you’re in charge.”

I grinned and gripped the handle firmly. Sharon had already marked the wall, so all I had to do was drill those spots. It did feel surprisingly good to use a power drill. I felt even better once the shelf was mounted.

“Ta da. I did that.”

“Yup. Keep it up and I’ll hire you on my crew.” Sharon’s philosophy was to hire as many women as possible. She had trouble getting her first break, so she wanted to help other people. “Okay, I’m off to the site now. Good luck.”

After Sharon left, I worked steadily. It was satisfying work, seeing a place come together. I attacked the bedroom first. The little office looked bare without papers, so I added a few accessories I’d bought at a garage sale and then spray-painted white. Now the wire pencil holder and in-baskets could pass for brand new. I rolled the blue office chair into place, and then shut the closet doors. Now it was a bedroom again. I dressed the bed, adding two shams and throw pillows. Brent used to complain about all the extra pillows, but they made the bed look so inviting. I laid a throw on the bottom corner of the bed and stood back. The bed was smartly made up with burlap-textured shams, white cotton sheets, and a knitted throw. I hung my lovely new painting of white peonies. With the teak dresser, the whole room looked neutral and classy. I had even added a few potted plants. I choose cacti because they matched the coach’s personality and didn’t need much work. They also looked stylish with white pea gravel. The whole room was masculine yet cozy.

The place was shaping up. The kitchen was almost fully equipped, but I realized I had forgotten a box of new utensils at home. That would have to wait until I got into the apartment again. I had managed to fit in a small table and two chairs. That would be enough for the coach and his daughter, and he didn’t strike me as the entertaining type.

There was a rap on the door, and I ran to answer it. A burly man in a navy coverall was standing there.

“I’m from MacDermitt’s. We’ve got the couches downstairs.”

“Great, they’re for the living room.” Fiona had magically moved the couch delivery earlier after I messed up. Wayne wanted the place to be as finished as possible when Coach Jerk-Head arrived. The deliveryman eyed the living room, nodded and disappeared. A few minutes later, he returned with a younger man, both of them bearing a beige couch.

I motioned for them. “Right here. I’ve marked the floor with tape where the couches go.”

The bigger man grunted an acknowledgment and they placed the couch perfectly. I had removed the plastic by the time the loveseat appeared. He pulled out a tablet and got me to confirm that everything had been delivered in good condition.

“Thanks for being organized,” he told me. “You wouldn’t believe the people that want us to move things from place to place to see where they like it best.”

I beamed. It wasn’t much, but it was the first positive comment I’d heard since I took on this job. Of course, it wasn’t like anyone had seen it yet. I checked my watch. Only ninety minutes left. I hurriedly hung the large striped abstraction I’d painted for this room. For the whole place, I was using a colour scheme of a neutral beige colour with blue accents. The stripes were in blues ranging from navy to turquoise, as well as a few lines of yellow, white, and taupe. I was very happy with the final effect. I added the other accessories: a beige patterned area rug, a distressed coffee table, a refurbished lamp, cushions, and another cactus in a striped pot I’d also painted. I twirled around and admired the room.

There was a knock on the door and then it opened.

“Hey, Jackie.” Wayne was dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase. Since I was used to seeing him in jeans or track pants, this was a little odd.

“You look very professional.”

“Thanks. I’m meeting Leo Gauthier here in twenty minutes.” When Fiona filled him in on the situation, he had arranged to meet the coach and show him the place. He wanted to manage any concerns about how things weren’t finished yet. “Can you show me what still needs to be done?”

“Sure. It’s really only his daughter’s room.”

Wayne cast an expert eye around the living room. I held my breath as he eyed my painting, but he didn’t say a word so it looked professional enough to pass muster. He stuck his head in the kitchen and bathroom, but I hadn’t had to do much in either except add all the necessities.

Next we went into the little girl’s room, which was pretty bare. The naked bed and dresser were in one corner.

“I left this to the end because the coach mentioned that she wasn’t coming right away. It’s going to need a coat of paint. I found out her favourite colour is purple, so I’ll do an accent wall in lavender. And maybe get a pouf and some accessories.” I was intending to do a cute cat painting this weekend. Minx had all the qualities of a good painter’s model: attractive and able to stay motionless for long periods of time.

“Okay. Have you arranged for a time to come in and do all this?”

“Not yet. He mentioned a road trip, so I thought I’d do it then. I’ll use a low fume paint, but I’d still prefer to paint while nobody’s home.”

Wayne closely examined the master bedroom. He poked into the closet office, opened drawers, and even ran his hands over the old blue hardcover books I bought as accessories—for only five dollars! However he never said one word about how the place looked. I felt so disappointed after all my hard work. “You still have a few things to clean up here,” he pointed out.

“I was just going to do that. I’ve been here since first thing this morning.”

“When you’ve got the whole thing done, Fiona wants to have a look and you can settle everything with her. I assume you’re keeping to your budget.”

“Yes, I have everything right—” I motioned towards my plastic file folder, but he waved me away.

“I leave all that to Fiona. It’s a shame we couldn’t have finished everything before the client moved in, but I’ll try to smooth things over.”

I felt strangely deflated. I’d worked so hard for the past week, and apparently I had still screwed up.

Wayne finally smiled at me. “Thanks a lot for doing this, Jackie. I hate to give you the bum’s rush, but it’ll probably go better if I’m alone with this Gauthier fellow and can explain why we’re not done. I’ll get the details on his road trip and let you know when you can come back in.”

I nodded and gathered everything up. Disappointment clung to me like the misty rain that was falling outside. As usual, I had been stupidly optimistic. I fantasized that Wayne would be so impressed by the work I’d done that he would offer me a permanent job on the spot. Instead I was back to the art store and haunting the online job postings. I sighed and started up the van.

But as I headed home I remember that I’d “sold” a couple of paintings, and nobody could take that accomplishment away.