Something So Perfect(9)

By: Natasha Madison

“Whatever,” she says, getting out of the elevator. “Ten minutes.” Then she slams the door, making me growl.

An hour later, we’re sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic while we weave our way from mid-town to Brooklyn. We finally make it to the front of the brownstone. All the houses are lined up on the street, all attached. All literally brown. Big bay windows on each side of the door. The only thing telling them apart is the different cast iron railings up to the front doors. Those also are original because no two doors are alike. I follow Karrie up the ten stairs that lead to the big brown doors. Both doors have windows on them so you can see inside. You don’t see much because there’s a white rounded door on the inside with stained windows, not allowing you to see inside the house.

She unlocks the two deadbolts and walks in, throwing her keys on a mirrored table with fresh white roses in the middle. She steps in, turning the brass rounded handles, making us come face to face with a white staircase. The railing is a dark chestnut brown. The flooring is a glossy green almost black marble flooring. All I can see is Zoe and Zara trying to run and then slide with their socks.

“I’ll give you the tour,” Karrie says to me, turning left and entering what she calls the living room.

It looks like it’s been in a magazine ad. I walk into the room, taking in the bay windows. A hidden bench makes it so you can curl up with a book. All white, the room has one color, but the couch is a huge U-shaped deep brown. There are a million throw pillows placed all over, but what gets me is the fireplace right in front of the couch. It’s old school, hand-carved in white marble, the old details from the past all engraved. A huge screen television sits on top of the fireplace. The table in the middle is black with nothing on it but the different remotes.

“All these remotes are for the television as well as the music system that plays throughout the house. The small gray one is for the curtains.”

“I’ve never had a remote for curtains before. If my sisters ever visit, we must hide that.” I laugh at her while she smiles and walks back out, turning left and heading down a narrow hallway. Different types of frames line the wall from top to bottom. All personal. I try to stop and take it in, but she’s already at the end of the hallway that opens up to a huge kitchen.

The middle counter is all white and gray marble. A white vase with red flowers brings out the light in the house. Skylights from the ceiling let in more light. The range against the wall is black. White cabinets line up the two walls while her huge ass fridge is against the wall on the other side. One door is see-through and you can see that there isn’t much inside. We are going to have to make sure it’s stocked at all times. While I’m training, I hate eating unhealthy. She walks to the other side of the room into what she calls the dining room. There’s a white square marble table in the center with eight brown chairs around it. A vase of green flowers sits in the middle with a couple of candles. Her mail is on the table, so she picks it up.

“Everything is so white,” I tell her while she ignores me. “Can you show me where my room is?”

She puts the mail down on the table, taking off her jacket and throwing it over one of the chairs while she takes off the heels she’s been wearing. “Follow me.” She leads me back to the hallway where we take the stairs up to the second level. Once we get there, I see there are two doors. She points to the right. “That’s my room.” She ignores me, opening the door, and then walks a couple of feet into the hallway to the door on the left. “And this,” she says, opening the door, “is my off—” But she stops talking. “What in the hell is going on?” she says, walking into the huge room that doesn’t look like an office at all.

The big king-sized bed in the middle of the room against the wall lets me know this isn’t an office. The walls are painted a nice soft gray, making the red and navy blue cover pop even more. The furniture is all dark and very masculine.

“No, no, no, no.” She keeps chanting, walking to the door in the corner. She opens it and I see it’s an empty walk-in closet. “I’m going to fucking kill Jose,” she says while she pulls out her cell phone to call someone. “Jose, it’s Karrie. What happened to my office?” she asks, one second away from snapping and throwing something across the room. I don’t know what Jose tells her, but she replies, “No, the bedroom upstairs is the gray room, not my office.” She nods her head and then all she says is goodbye.

“So good news,” she tells me. “This is your room. Bad news, your bathroom is upstairs. But you’re fit. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs her shoulders while I take off my jacket, tossing it on the bed. I unsnap the buttons on my wrists.

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