Regina’s Song

I shrugged. “Probably not. I’m a fairly good knock-around carpenter. As long as we stay clear of the building code, I can probably handle things. I gather you want to avoid building permits and inspections, right?”

“Definitely. If we get into building permits, we come face-to-face with union-scale carpenters, and we don’t have that kind of money.”

“We could always take up begging, Trish,” the auburn-haired girl suggested. “Sell pencils on street corners with a little tin cup.”

“My sister Erika,” Trish said sourly. “She’s the smart-mouth in the family.”

“How can you say that, Trish?” Erika asked with wide-eyed innocence.

“As long as we’re introducing ourselves,” the small, cute brunette at the table said, “I’m Sylvia Cardinale.”

“We refer to her as the Godmother, Donna Sylvia,” James told me, grinning at her.

“Would you like to have me make you one of those offers which you can’t refuse, James?” she asked in an ominous tone.

“Oops,” he replied casually.

“We’re obviously clowning around, Mr. Austin,” Trish apologized. “We’ll get around to being serious after classes start—at least I hope so. Would you like to look at the vacant rooms?”

“James showed them to me yesterday,” I replied. “I’d like to have another look at the one on the right side of the stairs, though. I’ve got an idea that we might want to talk about.”

“Of course,” she said, and led us all upstairs. A battered bed stood against the wall I was interested in, so I pushed it out of the way and pulled out the tape measure I’d brought. “I think this might actually work,” I muttered, half to myself.

“What have you got in mind, Mr. Austin?” Trish asked.

“Permanent bookshelves,” I told her, thumping the heel of my hand against the wall in search of the studs. “Fourteen inches,” I mused. “This baby’s well built.” Then I turned. “Here’s the idea,” I told the group. “Most students use the standard brick-and-board arrangement for bookshelves, but that’s wobbly, and occasionally the whole makeshift thing collapses. It occurred to me that permanent bookshelves wouldn’t wobble, and they’d provide a lot more shelf space. I need lots of shelf space, because I’ve got books by the yard.”

“Won’t that be sort of expensive?” Trish asked me.

“Not really,” I told her. “Unless you start getting into exotic woods, lumber’s fairly cheap around here. Oh, one other thing. James tells me that there are some empty rooms in the basement. If it’s okay, I’d like to put this furniture downstairs and bring in my own.”

“You have your own furniture?” Erika asked. “That’s unusual. Most students travel light.”

“I’ve got a house up in Everett,” I told her briefly, not really wanting to go into too much detail. “I’ll be renting it out, I guess, so I’ll have to put most of the furniture in storage.”

Trish looked around at the room. “If we’re going to empty the room out anyway, we might as well paint it before you move in.”

“I gather that we’ve all sort of agreed that I’ll be living here?” I said, looking at the others.

“I think we’ll be able to get along with you, Mark,” Erika said, “and the house rules should protect you from any predatory instincts that crop up in the downstairs part of the house.”

“Erika!” Trish said in a shocked tone.

“Just kidding, Trish. Don’t get worked up.”

“There is something you might want to consider, Trish,” James said.

“This place will probably always be student housing, and permanent bookshelves in every room would definitely up the market value, don’t you think?”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” she agreed. “How long do you think it’ll take to build your bookshelves, Mark?”

I shrugged. “Two or three days is about all, and once I get the process down pat, the shelves in the other rooms won’t take nearly that long.”

“All that sawing and pounding is likely to disrupt things,” Sylvia protested.

“Not if I take good measurements,” I disagreed. “The guys at the lumberyard can cut the boards to my numbers, so there won’t be very much sawing, and I’m not going to use nails. Books are heavy, and nails tend to work loose. I’ll use wood screws instead. I want this puppy bolted to the wall.”

“You are going to paint it, aren’t you?” Trish asked me.

“No, a couple coats of dark stain would be cheaper, and stain dries faster.”

“We want you,” Erika said with ominous intensity.

“Steady, toots,” Sylvia told her.

“When would you like to move in, Mark?” Trish asked.

“Today’s what—the eighth?”

She nodded.

“Classes start on the twenty-ninth, but I’d like to get settled in a couple of weeks before that. Moving my furniture and building the bookshelves won’t take too long, so why don’t we zero in on the fourteenth for move-in day?”

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed.

I checked out of the motel and drove to Everett with my windshield wipers slapping back and forth in a sort of counterpoint to Ravel’s Bolero coming from the car’s cassette player.

When I got to my house in north Everett, I turned up the thermostat and started sorting through my stuff, moving nonessential items to another room. All I was going to need in the boardinghouse would be my bed, desk, dresser, and books.

I called Twink that evening. She seemed to be pretty much OK, so I kept it short. Then I went back to sorting and boxing.

By midafternoon on Tuesday, I had things fairly well organized, so I went by the office of the rental agency that was going to take care of the house for me and gave them a spare set of keys. “I’m a little pushed for time right now,” I told the agent. “Could you make arrangements with a moving and storage company for me and have them pick up the furniture?”

“We’ll take care of it for you, Mark,” the agent told me. “That’s one of the things you’re paying us for.”

“I guess,” I said. “Oh, another thing. The place needs a good cleaning. Could you get hold of some professional housecleaners to go in and make things presentable?”

“We’d do that anyway. We’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing.”

“Good. I’m a bit out of my depth. I’ve chalked a big red ‘X’ on the door of my room. My books, clothes, and the furniture I’ll be taking are in there. Tell the movers and cleaners to leave that room alone. I’ll pick that stuff up this coming weekend.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Don’t worry about a thing, Mark. We’ll take care of everything for you.”

Yeah, he would—for a hefty chunk of the monthly rent.

Then I went over to the door factory to check in with Les Greenleaf.

“How’s Renata doing, Mark?” he asked me with a worried look.