Zookeeper

Zookeeper

By Dawn McIntyre

Copyright 2013 Dawn McIntyre

Smashwords Edition

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Zookeeper

Chapter 1

Michael’s been invited to speak at his alma mater, Elyse said from the couch.

Sarah was impressed. Really? What about?

It’s an address to a group of black students. They’ve invited a number of successful black graduates to speak. He’s not going, she added, dryly.

No? Why not?

Ask your brother.

Michael looked annoyed.

Mike, that’s an honor, Sarah said. A whole room full of people who want to hear you talk about yourself. I should think you’d pay to do that.

Very funny.

So, how come you’re not going to do it?

I did not say that I wouldn’t do it. He looked sternly at his wife and then at Sarah. I just happened to mention that in this day and age, I don’t believe we need black professionals speaking to black students, Asian graduates talking to Asian students, women addressing female students, and so on. I think it divides us unnecessarily. How awkward would you have felt if Montclair State had said to you, ‘Hey, you’re white; want to make a speech to some white kids?’

God forbid anyone should see Michael at a black gathering of any kind, Elyse said mischievously. Someone might think he’s black.

Evidently I am not black enough for my wife. Michael straightened his back and swirled his Chivas and ice. I guess it’s time to buy some two hundred dollar sneakers and a pair of those enormous jeans. Maybe a doo-rag or some dreadlocks would be a nice touch. I could rap about assaulting female police officers and smoking crack. Your mother’s neighbors on the Upper East Side will really look forward to our visits then. Jay can do our portrait and your father can hang it in his office and show it off to the other partners at his law firm. I might as well get started with the transformation right away. Because, God knows, there can’t be more than one way to be an African American.

Elyse stood abruptly. Michael, I won’t sit here and listen to you being disrespectful. Her pretty chin was tilted up at an indignant angle. I’ll go help Jay in the kitchen. She turned and left them. Michael and Sarah grinned, but did not spoil her exit.

No kidding, though, Michael, you ought to do the thing. You speak so well and you give a great impression, all dressed up. No one would know that it’s only you.

"Sarah, I am going to do it. I’ve even started making some notes. The group is open to everyone, of course, but it’s mainly poor black kids that the school wants to encourage to finish college. I realize they were looking for role models. It’s just that I would have been more flattered, more comfortable if they had just asked me, not asked me because I’m black. The fight for equality has been won. You know I feel that we should just enjoy the victory and show people by our accomplishments that we were right all along. I mean, the message they want to me deliver is the same, isn’t it? No matter who is talking and who’s listening. It’s ‘I made something of myself and so can you.’"

I know, Sarah teased, but you’re such a bigot.

Michael was exasperated, which was just what his adoptive sister had intended. She pretended to have been speared through the heart by the index finger he thrust at her as he began his tirade. Sarah, every time I’ve had trouble with an employer or a client it’s been because of that kid on the corner with the huge pants and ugly sneakers. And you, of all people, should know what I mean. How many times during your career have you run into a man who thinks that all women should be home having babies because that’s what his mother did, and that’s what his wife does? I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that another woman’s lack of education or accomplishment has never made things difficult for you.

Sarah stood and held up her hands. You win. Let’s eat.

The four friends gathered around Jay and Sarah’s table at about the same moment. The dining room was the most Victorian room in the house, looking like it belonged in their late nineteenth century row house, with its reproduction wallpaper, antique dining set, and a restored brass and frosted glass gasolier. The Greenes’ home had been built in the 1880’s out of burgundy red brick with limestone steps and terracotta accents in a Jersey City neighborhood that had once been lovely, had turned seedy, and had come back in recent years, to rest comfortably between the two.

Michael stood behind a chair at the head of the table, gripping its back with his strong, manicured hands. He would have been tall even if his bearing had not been as regal, but his posture was ramrod straight, making him appear to tower over everyone else. His hair was short and his handsome face was clean shaven. Something about his attitude made him look like he was wearing a suit, no matter how he was dressed. Ah, there’s my lovely wife. Just a girl from the block; don’t let the designer outfit and Coach satchel mislead you.

Elyse was amused, but didn’t want to show it. Tall and slim, she had delicate, aristocratic features and a rich, cultured voice. Enough, Michael. Sit down. Let’s talk about the house.

You’ve had the closing?

Sarah sat and unfolded her napkin. Yes, on Wednesday. She had a pleasant face with dark eyes and an easy smile. For years, her plain brown hair hung in a ponytail down her back. At the time of her engagement, Elyse had talked her into a style just below her shoulders, which showed her natural waves to good advantage and she had stuck with the new look. Michael had said that Sarah would wear her hair the same way until she died, or until somebody else made a convincing argument for a change.

Wait until you see the house. It’s untouched, almost like a time capsule.

Mmm-hmm. Michael served himself pasta from a dish that was passed to him. "I imagine that no one else would touch it."

Sarah reached out to smack his arm. It’s not as bad as that first place I fixed up. Just shut up until you see it.

Jay passed a platter of chicken cutlets to his wife. He was a youthful looking man, not quite tall, with warm brown eyes and dark curls that normally looked as though they could use a trim. She’s right, Mike, you feel like you’re stepping back in time. Like somebody closed the door one day in the 1920’s and just never came back. Didn’t the Realtor tell you that’s how she felt when she saw it fully furnished?

Sarah dressed her salad. "She did. It belonged to an elderly woman who died recently. She had kept everything the way her mother had it when she was growing up and the mother had kept everything from her mother’s time. The children sold all the furniture and decorative things after her death but they didn’t want to put any money into updating the building. Pat said they let the neighbor’s cows graze right up to the front porch."

Michael rolled his eyes at the thought of cows grazing next to someone’s front porch. Sarah knew that he would, and she ignored him.

None of her kids wanted the house? Elyse asked.

No, they had all moved away and have places of their own. They sold almost sixty acres to the developers, but I guess they wanted to keep the house and a couple of acres of land intact for sentimental reasons, or something. The developers were fine with that, since it’s off in an odd corner, not really on the new lake.

So, basically, you bought a house that no one else wanted. Michael raised his glass. Jay, my man, I respect you for having nothing to do with this awful business.

Oh, now, it’s not like I’m having nothing to do with it. You know we invest some of our money separately. I like mutual funds; Sarah has always had good luck with real estate.

Michael’s expression told them that he would take Jay’s mutual funds over Sarah’s real estate ventures on any day. This doesn’t seem to be the best time for that particular market.

This is absolutely the best time, Sarah said. Prices are low, now. Homes can always be a good investment, despite the stories you hear about people who’ve made mistakes. I did a lot of research. This place is going to take off, it’s going to completely reinvent itself. I picked right the last three times, didn’t I?

Yes, Sarah, Michael said, you are, without question, the most knowledgeable follower of real estate trends in this room. Perhaps even in this town. You are without equal. In fact, you’re a genius.

You are a rotten bastard, she said, refusing to look at him. Jay and Elyse laughed.

A lot of land has been bought up by that Clearfield Development Group in the last two years, Jay said. Somebody else has faith in this adventure, someone with big money. Somebody who will pour millions into rebuilding the dam and putting up the spec homes.

Those old earthen dams, Michael shook his head. They may be pouring all their money right over the spillway.

People who invest that much money naturally make sure they know what they are doing, first, Sarah said. If they replace the dam, there will suddenly be a lot of lakefront building lots where there are only woods and fields now. And a lot of new blood in the area will mean the little town gets fixed up as well. New restaurants, better stores, antiques shops, better roads and facilities. That area is going to prosper, big time, and Clearfield owns about a quarter of it already, not to mention all the acreage up on the hill by the mud puddle that used to be Lake Crawford.

According to the newspaper article that had inspired Sarah, a group of businessmen from New York City had created a small lake and built a fishing camp near Twin Forks in the late 1890’s.

When are they supposed to start construction? Or destruction, I should say. Elyse buttered a roll.

Sarah shrugged. I saw some activity going on already. I guess they feel they’re holding all the land they want to have. No sense sitting on their hands and paying property taxes. It’ll take me the winter to get the house fixed up inside, then I’ll have it painted in the spring. We could rent it, or use it on the weekends, and when the boom comes, I’ll sell.

Maybe you’ll get to like it in the country. Michael winked at the others. Maybe you’ll start raising goats and chickens and not bathing very often.

Sarah smiled. Hey, if we like it, we can keep it for a while. It might be a nice place for Alex.

Alex would cry if he saw a goat, Jay assured them. I know my son.

* * * *

After dinner, Sarah sent the guys off to watch their game. Since Jay had cooked, she offered to clean up and Elyse helped her. You guys are going to make me fat, she complained, patting her slender mid-section. My mother tried for years, but you two are finally going to do it.

It’s not us, Sarah said, it’s the aging process.

Well, that’s comforting. At thirty-two, Elyse was four years younger than her companions. The other three were virtually the same age, all born within months of each other.

When the dishes were done, Sarah said, We can watch the game with them or I can show you some of Jay’s new photographs.

Photographs, Elyse decided quickly, and they climbed the stairs to his studio.

Here are the new ones.

Looks like he’s been busy. Elyse surveyed the clutter in Jay’s normally neat studio.

He has been. Rick is trying to get him a show at one of the galleries where his work has been shown, but of course, Jay needs to have a lot of material ready. So he’s been shooting and re-shooting and matting. Plus they’re busy at work, with cereal and snack ads for that new account, and he’s been busy with the wedding work and the portraits he does on the side. You know, it’s either feast or famine.

I know the feeling. Elyse admired a framed photograph of the Hudson River waterfront at Liberty State Park. He’s got something, you know? He just knows what to take a picture of and how to make it grab your imagination.

I think so, too, but he’s nervous.

That’s because he’s modest; he doesn’t think he’s better than everyone else like my husband does.

Sarah grinned. She fingered a print of the Morris clan taken at Christmas time last year: a candid shot of her black second family’s smiling faces clustered around hers and Jay’s white ones. It was destined to become a present for Natalie, the woman who had informally adopted her, and all the siblings this year, so she slipped it into a folder before it attracted Elyse’s attention. Then she shuffled a few things around on the table top, and continued shyly, "I hope you two don’t think I’m crazy for investing my entire severance package in the country house. I was shocked that it was so generous. A year’s salary, last year’s salary, even with all the overtime I put in. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I really believe it’s going to make us a nice profit. It will make Jay more comfortable to go for this, and it will help with Alex’s college expenses. I feel like it’s turning the lay off into a good thing after all."

Sarah began her job at New Jersey Steel Specialties when she was twenty-four. She worked in inside sales for twelve years, until a group of investment bankers wooed and won the brothers who had founded the architectural welding business, bought it, then promptly closed up the New Jersey shop and relocated to the hills of Alabama, where the pay scale was much lower and property taxes were non-existent by comparison.

I know you know what you’re doing, Elyse said. I just wish the economy was better and there were more job openings for you.

I do too. I’ll split my time between here and Twin Forks, so I can arrange interviews. If I’m offered anything decent, I’ll take it. That way I’ll be able to afford to have the work done instead of doing it myself.

Elyse nodded. Of course I can’t wait to see the house.

We can take a ride out next weekend, and take some ‘before’ pictures. That way everyone will be suitably impressed when they see how it turns out.

Except for Michael.

Of course. Everyone but Michael.

Chapter 2

Saturday was sunny and cool; a beautiful late September day. The florist’s shop window displayed autumn colored mums and the greengrocer’s bins were filled with pumpkins and gourds and Indian corn. The hot summer was over at last. Sarah had even spotted some colored leaves in the country last week when she attended the closing on the yellow house.

Jay drove his wife’s small blue SUV past the shops and bars and brick and stone row houses, through the light commercial district, then turned onto the highway. After about an hour, an exit led them to a two lane state road. In another hour and a half they were nearly there. Jay’s ten year old son Alex was not with them, as he normally was on weekends. A rich cousin was having a birthday party in the Hamptons. He’d have to see the house another time.

The further they ventured into the mountains, the more they noticed Mother Nature’s handiwork. There were spots of color everywhere; trees were slipping on their fall outfits already, weeks before the trees on New Jersey’s Hudson shore would be dressed the same way.

As soon as they left the state route for the back roads, Elyse started snapping pictures out of the car window. They crossed a stream that was brown and swollen from drought breaking rains and made a right, up a hill, past a field of goldenrod marked off by a fence of weathered wood posts and rusty barbed wire. At the top of the hill, where the road curved left, a tall narrow tree was already tipped with amber and gold. Cows lunched in meadows on either side of the road.

As they rounded another bend, they spotted a huge, spreading maple crowned with a sprinkling of vermillion leaves. A little clapboard house was nestled into a grove of hemlocks behind it. Pink and purple flowers tumbled out of boxes at the many-paned windows. Half a mile later, they noticed a blue cape on their right. A generous garden in the side yard was dotted with orange pumpkins on withering vines guarded by weary sunflowers with drooping heads. The house next door was Sarah’s, now. Jay pulled into the gravel driveway and the two couples tumbled out onto the front lawn to admire it.

The clapboards were mustard yellow and the trim and shutters were brown. Elyse said it looked as if the house was turning colors just like the trees. The main, two story section on their left had a wide front porch with some gingerbread trim in place, but much more of it missing. They climbed the stoop that led to the story and a half wing on the right. Sarah fit a brass skeleton key into the old mortise lock and jiggled and tugged until the hinges squealed and the weather-beaten door swung aside. With Sarah leading, they stepped into the kitchen. The fragrance of the candle meant to remind homebuyers of cookies baking had faded; the closed windows shut out the fresh air, and there were no people smells like dinner on the stove or laundry drying. They were greeted by the slightly musty scent of old wood and ancient dust behind the plaster walls; of a hundred cheerful fires burned and many more conversations whispered.

It was built in 1894 by the last owner’s grandparents, Sarah said. Michael surveyed the cracked plaster on the ceiling and Elyse peeked behind the calico skirt that concealed the shapely legs of the monstrous cast iron sink. A quaint little bathroom with a mosaic tile floor and claw foot tub was tucked behind the kitchen. Michael glanced inside.

My God, Sarah, this needs a lot of work.

All it needs is a good scrubbing and one of those pole showers with the curtain ring. Everything works, and I kind of like it the way it is.

Michael cannot bring himself to use a bathroom without at least 50 square feet of marble tile, Elyse said.

Well, there’s woods out back, Jay gestured through the hall window at the tangle of growth behind the house, if you really can’t bring yourself to pee in there.

Sarah showed off the front parlor and the dining room, then led the way to the bedchambers upstairs. The narrow hallway had cupboards and drawers built right into the wall of the kitchen ell’s attic. That attic, she told them, had enough headroom to become a second bathroom in the future.

Michael tripped on a loose floorboard. Elyse peeked into a shallow closet so small it would not hold her wardrobe for a weekend. I think it’s charming, she said. So original.

"That’s really the best part. It needs a lot of spackling and fresh paint. The electric service and wiring is recent, but it needs all new plumbing. I’ll have the floors refinished if I can ever get someone to give me a quote.