don't know who she thought would come to visit it. There aren't exactly a horde of tourists passing through here, and even if everyone in town came to see her collection--which not all of them did--it wouldn't take more than two days. But Old Man Pruitt built her a little building and set her up. It was hardly ever open, but she kept it until the day she died. That was back in the eighties. It's been empty ever since. Want to go over and take a look at it?"
"I'm not looking to buy anything," Barry told her. "I just want to rent."
"That's what I'm talkin ' about, sugar. Bert from the coffee shop bought that property off Old Man Pruitt in case he ever wanted to expand or build a bigger parking lot or something. That little building's just been sitting there empty ever since, and I bet if we made him an offer he'd take it. He probably hasn't thought about it for years, and if he found out he could make a little cash on that shack just by doing nothing, he'd jump at the chance." She smiled, picked up her keys off the desk. "Come on. Let's go talk to Bert."
The coffee shop was only a block away, but Doris still wanted to drive rather than walk, and Barry figured that for an old real estate trick, an effort to ensure the customer would remain in her clutches and at her mercy until she decided it was time to let him go. But he got into her Buick without complaint, and the two of them drove down a narrow dirt back road rather than the highway; a long cut it seemed to Barry, but one that allowed Doris the time to fill him in on Bert's eccentricities and convince him that it was smarter to stay silent and let her do all the talking.
It was midmorning, after breakfast but well before lunch, and the only customer in the coffee shop was a sour looking old man eating eggs and toast at the counter. Doris waved to the teenage waitress. "Lurlene!
Your daddy here?"
"Just a sec!" The girl disappeared into the kitchen and emerged a moment later with a short, skinny man sporting a crew cut and wiping his hands on a dishtowel.
"Bert!" Doris called out.
The man nodded, no discernible expression on his face. "Doris."
"I got a man here's interested in renting Pruitt's teapot museum from you."
"What?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
"I thought you were interested in making some extra money."
"Always."
"Well then. Mr. Welch here's a writer, lives up in Bonita Vista. The homeowners' association won't let him write at home, so he's looking for an office, someplace he can set up shop and work on his books. I
knew you had that old museum sitting empty, and I thought the two of you might come to some agreement." She touched Barry's arm again in a way that seemed overly familiar.
Barry looked at her, and she smiled at him. There was a flirtiness that had not been there in Maureen's presence and which made him slightly uncomfortable. He should have brought Mo with him, was not sure why he hadn't, and he glanced quickly away.
"What're you thinking?" Bert asked. "Moneywise?" The question was addressed to Doris.
They hadn't discussed amounts, hadn't even speculated on a range, and before Doris committed him to something he was not willing to pay, Barry spoke up. "Why don't we look at the place first?"
"That's a fine idea," Doris agreed brightly. She turned her smile on Bert. "Want to let Lurlene hold down the fort for a few minutes while we go on back and check it out?"
Bert grunted noncommittally but put down his dishtowel. "Don't worry, Daddy, "Lurlene said, smiling. She nodded toward the old man at the counter. "I can handle this crowd."
They walked through the kitchen and out a back door.
The building was indeed small, Barry saw. The size of their master bedroom. But it had windows, shelves, a built in counter and electrical outlets. Most importantly, there was an adjoining closet-sized bathroom. Neither the water nor the electricity were turned on, and Bert said that Barry would have to pay for both, but at least they were hooked up. A giant cottonwood tree provided ample shade, and on the side of the building opposite the coffee shop, a green grassy meadow stretched all the way to a hill and the tree line.
"So how much would you say it was worth?" Bert asked.
Barry was about to say he'd be willing to pay a hundred a month plus utilities when Doris quickly stated, "Fifty a month." It was an offer, not a beginning bargaining point, and the flatness of her voice made it sound as though this were a take-it-or-leave-it proposition. She walked slowly around the room. "Lot of work to be done here, and Mr. Welch'll only be using it to write in. It's not like he's a lawyer or doctor renting a first-class suite with all the fixings."
Bert nodded. "Fifty a month's reasonable." Doris held out her hand for Bert to shake. "Thanks, Bert. We'll go back to my office and discuss it, and I'll call you back. If everything's jake , I'll get some papers drawn up and we'll seal this agreement."
"I can kick you out anytime," Bert warned. "I bought that place because I want to expand, and if I need more parking lot or have to add on to the restaurant, I'll kick you out."
Barry nodded. "I understand."
"Okay then."
In the car on the way back to the real estate office, Doris laughed.
"Kick you out. That's a hoot. Old Bert probably forgot he even had that place until we showed up and mentioned it to him."
"Thanks for stepping in there," Barry said. "I was about to offer a hundred a month."
"I thought you might go high." She smiled. "Didn't want you to cheat yourself. Even if it would've upped my commission."
"I can't commit to anything yet," he told her. "I have to call my wife first."
"Call her? Bring her on down! Look at it, think about it, discuss it.
That shack ain't goin ' anyplace. And no matter what Bert says, he has no other plans for that place. You're a godsend to him. Take all the time you need."
"Thanks," Barry said.
Doris winked at him. "Just doin ' my job, sugar. Just doin ' my job."
In a way, the homeowners' association had done him a favor.
As much as Barry hated to admit it, working out of an office had opened up both his life and his work. He found that he liked spending his day in town, liked the contact with local characters and the sense that he was part of Corban’s day-to-day life. His new novel had undergone a shift since he'd gotten out of the house, acquired depth and texture and a real-world sensibility. It was more mainstream now, more accessible, less insular and self-referential, and in an indirect way the homeowners' association was responsible.
He smiled wryly. Maybe he should thank them on the acknowledgments page.
Outside the window, a redheaded woodpecker swooped out of the cottonwood tree and disappeared into what looked like a microscopic hole in the eave of the coffee shop. It was a hot day, and the cicadas were out in force, their chirruping overpowering the fan hum of his computer and fading all other noise into background static. Inside, shaded by the massive cottonwood's thick foliage and giant branches, the ah- remained pleasant and temperate, but he could see shimmering heat waves distorting the air above the dirt road and knew that out in the open the temperature was anything but pleasant.
Barry saved what he'd written, shut off his computer, leaned back in his chair, and swiveled around. It was pretty neat having an office.
He liked it. Ray Bradbury had an office. A lot of famous writers did.
And there was something official about it. He felt more professional, more successful, his writing suddenly seeming more like a vocation than an avocation.
Besides, he and Maureen were getting along better now that they were out of each others' hair.
And no longer had to share computers.
He checked his watch. Nearly noon--although his stomach could have told him that. Grabbing his wallet from the desktop, he locked up and walked across the field to the coffee shop.