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“Well, I’ve saved the best property for last,” Isla said. “It’s a bit of a stroll, but not bad.” She strode confidently ahead of Dave, backpack bouncing, glossy dark ponytail swishing.
So, it was happening. After an agonizing few days of deliberation, Dave had told Isla that he wanted to at least continue exploring his options for opening a studio. She quickly made arrangements to see several potential properties, which they visited on a long, hot summer day; it had been exhausting but exciting. Still, he was glad to hear that the tour was nearing its conclusion. If nothing else, he knew the ins and outs of the city in a way that could have taken him months on his own.
“And by best, you mean the place that you think I should go with.” He smiled at Isla, who looked back and grinned.
“Of course. It would just be silly if I didn’t think you should take the best place.”
“What makes it the best place?”
Isla slowed to walk beside him, but didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “Character. Plus,” she laughed, “it’s cheap. To be honest, City Hall really wants me to push that last property that we saw, and all the others on Main Street. A yoga studio would fit the image that they want this town to wear. But it’s too expensive—the great visibility isn’t enough to make it worth the cost. So, I think we’d better look off Main Street with your budget. You want to see a different part of town?”
“Sure.” Dave nodded.
Isla took off down a maze of small back streets. The ones immediately near the market were modest single-family homes with small, attractive yards. These houses got closer and closer together—not unlike Dad’s neighborhood, he thought—and finally gave way to sagging two- and three-story clapboarded apartment houses with big porches and black mailboxes by the door. The sky overhead was dominated by massive mill buildings. “You know, all my growing-up years, I thought these mills were empty,” Isla said, slightly out of breath. “But they weren’t, not entirely. They had businesses in them. When I was, like, 25, I drove by one at night and realized that it had lights on and a little machine shop in the basement. It’s amazing how you can live right in a town and still not know so many things. Of course, they’re not remotely at full occupancy, even if you count squatters and, well . . . illicit businesses. I hate to see them just going to pot, although honestly when I was a kid, I just hated to see them at all. It’s weird how perspectives change. Anywho . . . this is ours.” She stopped, then added, “I don’t know if you have your bearings, but we’re not far from your place. You could easily walk to work.”
“Yep, I know right where we are. I see this mill from my window!”
He followed her through a heavy steel door and entered a cacophonous hallway. Metal stairs ascended over his head and heavy double doors were to his right. A sign indicated that it was a carpet warehouse. The air tasted metallic and smelled a bit of motor grease. Dave saw a man in a tiny office to the left and Isla knocked on the door. The man nodded and Isla ushered them in.
“Perry, this is Dave,” said Isla. The man nodded again as Isla shut the door against the noise.
“I understand you want to open a . . . yoga studio . . .” Perry choked on the words and his face clearly showed his feelings on the subject. “I have to be honest. This is Isla’s idea. It’s true that I’m trying to rent my third floor, but you seem like a strange fit here.” Perry’s waist struggled against his short sleeve plaid shirt, his attempt at business attire. “Strange fit” seemed to describe everything he was wearing. He sighed, “But . . . if you want to go up . . .” Perry fingered the keys as if hoping Dave would stop him, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
Dave nodded, “Sure, I’ll take a look.” His smile was met with a heavy sigh from Perry, who heaved out of his seat.
Dave paused on the landing as they headed up. The staircase threatened to give way at every springy, squeaky step. It seemed not to be original; Dave guessed it was a mere 50 years old to the mill’s 100. The colorful graffiti and stench of urine suggested a fair amount of nocturnal activity.
“What kind of security do you have?”
Perry answered by dangling the key to the third floor in front of his own craggy, bearded face.
“But the front door?”
“There’s a third shift in here,” he said, inclining his head as they passed the second floor, home to a small manufacturer of specialized snowmobile parts. “Front door’s always open.”
“Ah.”
“Could Dave possibly include the stairwell in his lease? For an extra fee, of course,” Isla suggested.
“Stairwell belongs to all the renters,” Perry said tersely.
“I’d be happy to head up a maintenance team,” Dave offered. “No charge!”
Perry shook the railing that was held on by only half as many bolts as there were holes for and nodded in satisfaction at its performance. “Thanks,” he said, “but I couldn’t ask you to. I’ve got it.”
Dave thought about the clientele at the last place he had worked; clad in their designer workout clothes, they would expect to glide up a bright staircase on satin smooth hardwood treads. They would consider such niceties a minimum standard of living. Would his clients here accept something different? Or would he just not have any clients?
The third floor turned out to be surprisingly quiet except for a steady hum from the industries below. Huge windows let in the kind of natural light that was once needed to run the looms. The room was empty except for some litter in the far distant corners and a heavy layer of dust. The vast emptiness had a utilitarian grandeur; the floor’s patina was warm with the thousands of footsteps that had once hurried over it. It was, in its way, quite beautiful.
“Now, could I build some infrastructure into this room?” Dave asked. “Maybe an office and a changing room?”
“Sure; don’t alter the structure, of course. But you can do whatever you want otherwise. Just make sure it’s all gone if you let your lease run out.” Perry shot him a look that was meant to be vaguely menacing, but his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows absorbed a lot of the threat.
“Is there a bathroom?”
“In the stairwell; can’t run any plumbing in here. Won’t, anyway.” If you’d asked him before that moment, Dave would have said that was a deal killer, but suddenly, he wasn’t so sure. Perry stood with his hands on his hips looking at the floor.
Dave tried to wrap his mind around it. How could he make this space work? He imagined some moveable dividers to make the room feel less huge. He wasn’t sure he could afford all that would need to be done. He’d made good money at the old studio when he’d lived on the Cape and had been carefully doling out as little as he could from his savings. Still . . . but Isla was speaking.
“Can you get us a copy of the lease to look over?”
“In the office. You done up here?” Perry jangled the keys.
“Wait!” Dave said, “I just need to look around a bit more.” Perry opened a rickety folding chair that had been lying on the floor and dropped onto it with a sigh as Dave began walking away.
The pine floor, probably a cheap material at the time, was time worn into loveliness. Stout metal pillars buttressed the building at regular intervals. Maybe Perry swept it occasionally, but there were still bits of debris everywhere. Candy wrappers, pest traps, a shoelace, an empty SPAM® can, chip bags, a large square of carpet, a flip flop, a ragged stuffed rabbit, random nuts and bolts . . .
“How’s it coming?” Perry bellowed down the echoey room. “Are you about done in here?” He jangled the keys in his hand.
“Good,” Dave responded vaguely. Isla jogged up to him.
“Look, no pressure, no pressure. But Perry’s not a patient guy. Look, why don’t I go down with him and get the lease so you can take a look at it and you finish up here?”
“Yes, that sounds good.”
When Isla and Perry had left, Dave dialed his phone.
“Dad?”
“Oh, son! It’s good to hear you.”
Dave smiled and began pacing the room. “Hey, I might have found a place.”
“Great, great. What’s it like?”
“Well, I don’t know, Dad, it seems like a long shot. It’s the top floor of an old mill building. Kinda dank.”
“Potential, though?”
Dave looked at a patch of sunny blue sky through a big window. “Yeah, maybe.”
“You like it?”
“I do. I’m not sure I should. It’s so empty and old and lifeless . . .”
“Then you’re just the man to resurrect it!”
“It does kind of make you want to see it come alive, you know?” Dave was pleased that Dad was catching his vision.
“I think I do, son. How much is it?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll look into the details. What do you think?”
“I say there’s no harm in trying the door to see if it opens.”
It was what Dave needed to hear. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Great! I’ll talk to you soon then.”
“Bye. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Dave bounded down the noisy metal staircase that creaked and screeched underneath his slight frame. Isla was waiting for him at the bottom with a handful of paperwork.
“Well?”
“I’d like to find out more.”
“Great! Here’s more!” She thrust the papers at him.
“I’ll get back to you soon,” Dave assured Perry.
“I can’t hold it for you.” He leaned against the office doorway with his arms folded.
“I understand.”
Isla was still smirking as they went down the front steps. “Hold it for you? Ha, he’s been trying to rent that place for two years. Maybe three.”
“Really? It’s pretty nice.”
“It’s huge; more space than almost anyone needs and impossible to heat. It’s not particularly clean.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it?” Dave smiled.
“No, no! Not at all.” Isla shook her head emphatically.
“Can I take the lease home to think about it?”
“Of course!”
“I think I’ll walk.”
“Sounds good! Get in touch when you’ve made a decision. But if you’re leaning ‘yes,’ the sooner the better. Perry’s antsy to get someone up there.”
“Ok, I will let you know. See you soon.”
“See ya.” Isla shouldered her backpack and took off towards the car. Dave headed the other way, hot summer sun on his neck.
Dave grabbed a carrot from the fridge when he got home and started eating it, peel and all, on the futon as he opened his phone. He was trying to do some casual market research on the city Facebook pages to see if there was enough interest to open a yoga studio, but he had very few responses.
After polishing off the carrot, he had a slice of the vegan cheese he had splurged on. He changed into the comfy shorts that he slept in and laid down, dreaming uneasily of a bright, cozy yoga studio with a vast, dark empty space beyond it.
Next chapter: Except When Crisis Prevents
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