“Oh my God, this is fabulous!” the realtor said enthusiastically, as they walked past a rose garden that surrounded the house, and stepped inside. “It's like being in another world.”
In the gatehouse, the rooms were small and well proportioned with beam ceilings, and the furniture was heavier and English, with a long, handsome leather couch that Coop had bought from an English club. The house had a wonderful cozy feeling, and a huge fireplace in the living room. It had a decent-sized country kitchen, full of antique cooking implements on the walls, and there were two average-sized bedrooms upstairs, done in manly stripes, with George III furniture that Coop had collected for a while. There were beautiful needlepoint rugs in all the rooms, and a small elegant dining room with antique silver set out on the sideboard. The china in the cupboard was Spode. It was a perfect little English cottage, and you could have imagined yourself anywhere but Bel Air. It was closer to the tennis courts than the main house, but it was farther from the pool, which was almost directly outside the guest wing. So each place had its virtues and conveniences and own style.
“This is an absolutely perfect place for the right tenant,” the realtor said with unabashed glee. “I'd love to stay here myself.”
“I've always thought that too,” Liz smiled at her. She had once asked Coop if she could borrow it for a weekend, but in the end she never had. And like the guest wing, it was perfectly appointed with linens and drapes, china, and all the cooking utensils and flatware anyone could possibly need.
“I can get at least ten thousand a month for this one too,” the realtor said, looking pleased. “Maybe more. It's small, but it's absolutely beautiful, and has incredible charm.” It had an entirely different feeling from the guest wing, which seemed grander and more luxurious because of the scale, but was very homey too. There were just higher ceilings, and a lot more room, because the living room and the master bedroom and kitchen were all so large. But they were both beautiful properties, and the realtor felt certain she could have them rented in no time at all. “I'd like to come out and take some pictures of both places next week, I don't even want to show them to other brokers yet. I want to see who we have on our own books looking for furnished rentals. Properties like these don't come along every day, and I want to find the right tenants for Coop.”
“That would be very important for him,” Liz said solemnly.
“Are there any restrictions I should know about?” the realtor asked, making a few quick notes on a pad, about size, facilities, and number of rooms.
“To be honest, he's not crazy about kids, and he wouldn't want anything damaged. I don't know how he'd feel about a dog. But other than that, I think as long as someone is respectable and can pay the rent, there won't be any problem.” She didn't tell her that he only wanted female tenants.
“We have to be careful about the kid thing, we don't want to get reported to the rental board for discrimination,” the realtor warned her. “But I'll keep it in mind when I show it. These are both pretty sophisticated rentals, and the rent is a pretty big ticket. That will keep out the riffraff,” unless of course they rented it to rock stars. That was always a less predictable element, and the realtor had had some problems with them, as everyone else had.
The real estate agent left the property shortly after noon, and Liz drove back to her own apartment, after checking that everything was all right at the main house. All of the staff were still somewhat in shock after being given notice by Abe the previous afternoon, but given the irregularity of their paychecks, it wasn't totally unexpected. Livermore had already announced that he was going to Monte Carlo, to work for an Arab prince. He'd been hounded by him for months, and had called that morning to accept the job that had been a standing offer to him. He didn't seem particularly upset to be leaving Coop, and if he was, as usual, he showed no sign of it. He was flying to the South of France the following weekend, which was going to be a major blow to Coop.
Later that afternoon, Coop came back to the house with Pamela. They'd had a long lunch and sat at the Beverly Hills Hotel pool, chatting with some of Coop's friends, all of them major Hollywood figures. Pamela couldn't believe the crowd she was suddenly traveling in, and she was so impressed she could hardly speak when they left the hotel, and came back to The Cottage. They were in bed together half an hour later, with a bucket of Cristal chilling at his bedside. The cook served them dinner in bed on trays, and at Pamela's insistence, they watched videos of two of his old films. And he drove her home afterwards, because he had an appointment with his trainer and acupuncturist early the next morning. Besides which, he preferred to sleep alone. Even sleeping with a beautiful young woman in his bed sometimes disturbed his sleep.
By the next morning, the realtor had prepared two folders with all the details of both rentals. She got on the phone bright and early, and called several of her clients who were looking for unusual rentals. She set up three appointments to show the gatehouse to bachelors, and another to show the guest wing to a young couple who had just moved to LA and were remodeling a house that was going to take at least another year, if not two, to finish. And shortly after that, her phone rang. It was Jimmy.
He sounded serious and quiet on the phone, and explained that he was looking for a rental. He didn't care where, just something small and easy to manage, with a decent kitchen. He wasn't cooking these days, but he realized that at some point he might like to start again. Other than sports, it was one of the few things that relaxed him. He also didn't care whether or not the place was furnished. He and Maggie had the basics, in terms of furniture, but they hadn't loved any of it, and he wouldn't have minded leaving it all in storage. In some ways, he thought it might remind him less of her, and be less painful, if even the furniture was different. In fact, as he thought about it, he realized he preferred it. The only reminder of Maggie he was taking with him were their pictures. Everything else that had been hers he was boxing up and putting away, so he didn't have to look at it every day.
The realtor asked if he had a preference of location, but he didn't. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, LA, Malibu. He said he liked the ocean, but that would remind him of her too. Everything did. It would have been hard to find something that didn't.
And when he didn't make a point about price, the realtor decided to take a chance, and told him about the gatehouse. She didn't mention the price to him, but described it, and after a moment's hesitation, he said he'd like to see it. She made an appointment with him for five o'clock that afternoon, and then asked him what part of town he worked in.
“Watts,” he said, sounding distracted, and as though to him there was nothing unusual about it, but the realtor looked instantly startled at her end.
“Oh. I see.” She wondered if he was African American, but obviously couldn't ask him, and also wondered if he could afford the rent. “Do you have a budget, Mr. O'Connor?”
“Not really,” he said quietly and then glanced at his watch. He had to run to an appointment with a family about two of their foster children. “I'll see you at five then.” But she was no longer quite so certain that he'd be the right tenant. Someone who worked in Watts was not going to be able to afford Cooper Winslow's gatehouse. And when she saw him late that afternoon, she was certain of it.
Jimmy arrived driving the beat-up Honda Civic that Maggie had insisted they buy, although he had wanted to spring for something a lot more jazzy when they moved to California. He had tried to explain to her that living in California was all about having a great car, but in the end, as usual, she convinced him otherwise. There was no way they could do the kind of work they did, and drive an expensive car, no matter how easily he could afford it. The fact that he came from money, very old money, and quite a lot of it, had always remained a well-kept secret, even among their friends.