I get inside Town and Country’s house and he says, “So the next thing you will need to research is washer and dryers,” he says. I nod my head; this seems like a very normal people request. Except I don’t think Town and Country is normal, I do really think he is part vampire. He does not seem to rest, or sleep, or exercise or engage in fun. Maybe he’s a robot and not a vampire.
And I envision no scenario where this man washes his own Calvin Kleins.
Yes, yes, perhaps he will have his cleaning lady to this. But still, while I do not think Town and Country is as inept as Charlie Sheen’s character on Two and a Half Men, I don’t see him separating the whites from the darks.
We head for the stairs and I pause. “What is it?” he says. “The stairs are done,” I say. They are no longer slats of criss-crossing wood that I fear falling through. He nods. “Yes that was one of the last things the Contractor completed,” he says. “What does that mean?” I ask as we begin climbing the four flights of steps. “I don’t know if he will work out,” Town and Country replies. You know, sometimes, in life you get signs; well this is one of them. I choose to ignore it. This man cannot keep an architect or a contractor. Not good signs about Town and Country.
Once at the top of the stairs, Town and Country opens a closet in the hallway between two bedrooms. “So what do you think?” he says. “About what?” I ask. “The closet,” he says. “It’s nice,” I reply. He shakes his head. “For the washer and dryer,” he mutters. Oh really? I’m a mind reader now? I mean why would I think THIS is where he wants the washer and dryer? First of all it is on the FOURTH floor, most people put this in the basement or near the kitchen these days. Next, where is he going to hook up water for the washer and then venting for the dryer? “You may have to go ventless,” I say and pull a tape measure out of my purse.
“Okay,” he replies. I want to ask him if he understands what I am suggesting, but a part of me is like, it is not my job to teach him, my job is to get him appliances. I measure the space, and while I don’t know for fact, I think he will have to go stacked. “Okay – so I need to take these dimensions home and call a supplier or two to see will work in here, sound okay?” I ask. Several seconds elapse. I turn around to look at him and he stands there very still, very unsettling. Like he either wants to kiss me over throw me over the railing – neither options are appealing to me.
“What?” I demand. “Nothing…nothing,” he says. “Fine, then,” I reply. “Let me email you later with options.” “Okay,” he says and we walk down the stairs. It strikes me that my entire new apartment building is probably only a teeny bit bigger than his brownstone. We get to the front door and as I leave I turn and say, “So do you ever get sick of all these stairs?” “Only when I leave my wallet in the bedroom and am ready to go out the door.”