WHO would have thought that little Lauren Martin would one day be in a position to purchase anything for forty million dollars?
But here Lauren was, inspecting the five-story prewar building that she intended to buy for a museum that would carry the names of her and her husband. However, instead of feeling elated, she had a sense of dread and emptiness. Despite the fact that Lauren would do all of the work in purchasing the building, leasing or transferring it to the museum, and organizing the new children’s program, she still felt she wasn’t in charge of her own life. How had she ended up here? Notwithstanding her efforts to avoid spending time and energy on the causes of others, she had still been roped into working on the museum. Well, she’d try to look at the upside: She would be able to work with her idol, Tandy Brooks. And at least she could feel good about the cause: She would be helping the children of Harlem for generations to come.
“Lauren, this is the inspector, Charles Dugitt. I found him inside, already going through the property.” Manny was always so helpful. He was more than a broker; he was an escort, a decorator, an assistant, a buffer, whatever Lauren needed at the moment. With her dwindling list of friends, she appreciated Manny’s southern-gentlemanly companionship, as well as the part of him that was her hanging-out friend.
The inspector said, “Mrs. Thomas, the building is in pretty good condition. There are a few items I should mention to you. I’ll put everything in the report, but I should show you the basement. There has been some recent water leakage in there.”
“That’s not good. We need the basement for storage of art. If there’s a chance that the works could get damaged down there, then we will have to find something else.”
Manny spoke up quickly, in his role as Mr. Helpful. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Lauren. We can always have the walls sealed and protected.”
“Sure, the walls could be protected, but I’ll show you so you know what you’re up against,” the inspector insisted.
Manny handed Lauren a layout sheet of the building as they entered. The first floor had been a large retail space. Lauren began envisioning the museum in the vast open area, eighteen-foot ceilings with original dentil moldings and plaster relief work of flowers and cherubs. As they moved up the stairs, she saw room for art geared toward children, including interactive exhibits. On the floors above were residential tenants. Their presence would give the museum a more community-based feeling, at least initially. The rent would go to the museum. The space was perfect. But if the basement had water issues, there would indeed be a problem. As if reading her thoughts, the inspector suggested they head downstairs.
“You see this white mark. This is where the water reached sometime within the last six months.” He was pointing at a white line on the wall that was about waist-high.
“You’re saying the water came that high?” Lauren questioned.
“For sure,” came his reply.
“But to seal the walls and floor, they could use special sealant, or even go over the walls and floors with concrete, couldn’t they?” Manny asked.
“Fixing problems is not my specialty, but that sounds all right, depending on the underlying circumstances. If the unseen foundation erodes, then eventually, the water would break down the new concrete. You would have to watch the sealed area regularly and carefully.”
“But there is a solution to this issue,” Manny continued.
“Seems possible.” The inspector shrugged.
Once he was gone, Lauren and Manny lingered on the first floor, Lauren memorizing the interior’s details.
“I am so proud of you, Miss Lauren,” Manny offered. “I think this is the perfect platform for you.”
“Do you?” Lauren slyly responded. “And what’s your platform? What’s the perfect one for you?” She was getting sick and tired of everyone thinking she needed something to do, when in fact she had a plan for herself that was already in motion. She had not foreseen the huge net that her marriage would place over her.
“Oh, I’m just a lowly real estate broker, I don’t need a platform,” Manny joked in his usual self-deprecating fashion.
“Your false humility is not cute,” Lauren retorted as they exited and got into the chauffeured Suburban. Manny instructed the driver to head back toward Lauren’s neighborhood, to Sixty-third and Madison. “Let’s go to Bilboquet,” he suggested to Lauren. “I feel as though we should celebrate.”
“Celebrate? Celebrate what? How do we know she will even accept our offer?”
“I have a good feeling about this. You will buy that building. I know this deal is going through.”
“What makes you so sure?” Lauren asked as she watched Park Avenue change from empty trash-filled lots and boarded-up tenements to swanky, well-kept apartment buildings and manicured medians.
“I just am,” he said, smiling.