the Devil and the Apartment
She sees his apartment on the second date, and she says, "I'll take it." Mentally, she says this. Not out loud. The Apartment is unbelievable. It is not a luxury penthouse with costly black leather couches, like one she saw visiting a friend in Bangkok. It is simply furnished, in a homey fashion. The view. It looks down onto the gentle grassy slopes of Dolores Park, with all the palm trees, where mechanical voices of live ferile parakeets can be heard. There is an enormous magnolia tree directly across the street which blocks most of the actual view of the park, and wondrous city sky-line behind. The glossy dark leaves, the over-sized white magnolia flowers of this tree cover the night lights of the Bay Bridge. But, who can care about those missing parts? One just knows. In the Apartment, one can always see the view, in the mind.
The Apartment has stained-glass windows, with scenes of Golden Gate Park ponds with swans, even a scene of Yosemite Valley, all pieced together meticulously with different-colored pieces of glass. She doesn't know about crafted glass, but she finds the sweet old-fashioned charm to be hip. Even the pseudo art deco dining room cabinets have stained-glass martini glass images. Golden Gate Park and Yosemite Valley make up distinct portions of the over-sized bay windows which open up the Apartment onto The Park. These windows almost appear part of larger spaces than they actually address, two small but charming rooms, a salon and a dining room. It is all a bit idyllic, somewhat Edwardian. There is even a gold-painted historic fire hydrant on the corner. This fire hydrant is also responsible for the Cool.
This is the only functioning fire hydrant in the Mission during the 1906 Earthquake and Fire, which saved the buildings on this side of the street. Hence, the elegance and antiquity all rescued, everything still Cool; in this neighborhood and onwards, moving south through the Mission...
Just a few yards, a stroll across the street (to the side not saved during in the 1906 fire), to join the dog-walkers, or on many a summer weekend, a festival in progress, celebrating one thing or another. To the left, one can catch a vintage street car at the top southern corner of the park, one can see them climbing the slope on the edge of the grassy park; it's just a quick run. Dolores Park is the Mission. The Mission in its prime with all those restaurants, Latin food, clubs, funny boutiques.....
Dolores Park is San Francisco tradition, San Francisco hilly views, San Francisco Cool. I am told that cool is not a real word. Some intelligent people feel that they must say how they hate that word. Twenty years ago, the French were not using it. Now, they are. San Francisco indefinable allure which combines awareness of what is in mode and is elegant, combined with a certain intellectual awareness. If not the actual presence of intellect. Or, possibly just the ability to front those qualities, to appear to represent*.
Where else can one come home to see young hipsters dancing across from the house to important representatives of soul music such as Sly and the Family, on very large excellent sound-systems? This is the place of evening picnics after work, of unhidden open red wine bottles and delicious slices of goat cheese purchased at Bi-Rite grocery, the costly hipster market around the corner. "They will even open my wine bottles for me, so I don't have to mount the stairs back to my apartment, and can picnic directly," she thinks. She knows that they are most obliging with customers.
She says "Yes," to the third date. She is inexorably drawn to this spot. She used to have a cool place in this city, when she was twenty-three and already married.
Her husband's money. Duboce Park, a much more modest, dog-and-playground affair across the street. Duboce Park is named so in order to establish its stateliness and its separateness from the drugs and nearby projects of grungy Lower Haight. And it is a very civilized little corner, a bridge to the Castro area, lovely Victorians and Edwardians, designer-paint color coordinating facades, elaborate front gardens planted in wooden boxes due to the lack of space. And Lower Haight, just half a mile from Upper Haight, the location of her early dreams of opening a business. A cool apartment, a cool business. What any young woman with too many retro Forties and Fifties dresses in immaculate condition, dreams of having.
But she is thirty now, and feels so much older. She has been scrimping by for years now with the small business, opened after the divorce. She has a small dress shop which seems to be held together by rubber bands and paper clips. She has been broke for so long, living across the Bay, that even modest Duboce Park, with its children banging loudly on metal sound-enhancing slide sets, looks more wonderfully glamorous. She misses money, too. She loves his apartment.
He has a fun, humorous quality. Her friends urge her to go out with him. The most earnest proponent is Miranda, who wants to go out with him, too, but he isn't interested. So, someone she knows and likes should have him. Miranda is not wildy disappointed. He just seems so, eligible. Miranda and he both graduated from the Master's Public Policy program at Berkeley, which only admits the truly smartest people. One of their classmates is so intelligent, he will be hired by Enron to aid in the conception of a scheme that is brilliant, until it brings down Enron and his career.
Even her friend Agatha, dykey, tough and hard-to-please Agatha confesses to having a mild crush on him. In the end, that is probably what sells her on him. And the Apartment. Even then, she finds it hard to consent to actually having a relationship with him. One evening, he spends some amount of time convincing her to admit that she really likes him. She relents, but she doesn't really know what she is admitting to.
So she becomes his girlfriend. She spends no more than Two Nights per week at the apartment, no matter how often they see each other. Two Night maximum, is the Rule he has written and established with his roommate. So he must follow it also; mustn't set a bad example, let the roommate situation get out of hand. No telling how many girls the roomie might start bringing over. The Two Nights rule precludes and removes the necessity for the Toothbrush Rule, which states that, if a guest needs a permanent toothbrush on the premises, the guest is present too often....
One night, she is tired after work; she works in the city and doen't feel like commuting over the Bridge. It is the Third Night of the week. They have an argument when he refuses to let her stay the night. She becomes annoyed and says, "Forget it." They get into a fight, which seems a minor affair at first. However, at one point, he appears to lose control of his body. It seems to be having spasms. He may be uncomfortable at the possibility that he may seem ungenerous for refusing. He is thrashing around on the tiled entryway in front of the apartment lobby entrance. It is beyond the imagination. She wonders if he may need a hospital. However, it turns out to be a mere combination of self-detestation, and the continuation of a spoiled childhood, when slamming your fists on the ground while thrashing around is effective strategy.
She thinks about the Apartment, waiting serenely above. She cannot stop thinking about it.
represent* : extremely Nineties expression for presenting a forceful hip hop performance, with strong lyrics. Additional definition : putting forth the appropriate hip hop attitude, or at least, a whole lot of coolness. Verb presented effectively by groups such as A Tribe Called Quest. Rumor has it that this verb is still being used occasionally by music groups. However, please do not attempt this without the required training or the proper irony.