“What kind of a house, and why didn’t you tell me?” They had always operated as an equal partnership, which was one of the things she loved about their marriage. Now he was going off half-cocked in all directions, without consulting her.
“I didn’t think they’d accept my offer. I just did it as kind of a wild gamble, and it was hard to explain it to you over the phone. I made a ridiculously low bid on it, and they took it, which I never expected. I paid so little for it, and if we spruce it up a bit and throw a coat of paint on it, we could make a hell of a lot of money on it when we leave.” Sybil was frowning. This did not sound like good news to her, particularly if it needed “sprucing up” and a “coat of paint,” and he was trying to convince her it was a great investment. It sounded like a hard sell to her.
“What’s wrong with it? Why is it so cheap, and how much was it, anyway?” She wondered if he had lost all perspective about money, working with two young billionaires, but when he told her what he had offered for the house, even she was amazed that he could buy anything for so little, and knew it had to be in terrible shape. And the last thing she needed in San Francisco was a major decorating project. She wanted their two years there to be carefree and easy. As far as she was concerned, they weren’t going to stay longer, the apartment in Tribeca was still their home, and their apartment in San Francisco would be only temporary, which was why she wanted to rent there and not buy, and even rent furniture, or fill in the gaps at IKEA. She was not setting up a permanent home in San Francisco, and now he had bought a house there.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he insisted. “It’s just unusual, and it’s a piece of San Francisco history,” he told her gently, with explanations that sounded weak, even to him. He was hoping he could sell her on it and convince her it was a good idea. “It looks like the Frick,” he added, as he reached for his cellphone and pulled up the pictures to show her as she stared at him.
“The Frick? You mean that size or that style?” She was horrified at the mention of it, even if it was one of her favorite museums.
“Both,” he said honestly, as he held up one of the best photographs he’d taken of the exterior. It seemed very grand in the photo and Sybil stared at it with her mouth open.
“Are you crazy? It looks like the public library. How big is it?” She got right to the point and he flinched as he answered.
“Twenty thousand square feet, on an acre of land in Pacific Heights, the best residential neighborhood in the city. There’s a park across the street, with a playground for Charlie. Sybil, the place is gorgeous. Trust me, it’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”
“Since when do you fall in love with houses? You didn’t even want to see this apartment when I found it. And you practically slipped into a coma every time I told you what I wanted to do to it, after we bought it. How old is this house? Does it just look old or is it really?” But she had already guessed the answer from the picture he had shown her, and knew more about historical architecture than he did.
“It was built in 1902,” he said humbly, “but look at it this way, it survived the 1906 earthquake without damage, so you don’t need to worry about earthquakes.” He tried to think of every selling point he could to win her over. And so far, it wasn’t working.
“You won’t need an earthquake with a house that old. The place is probably ready to fall down around our ears without one.”
“It’s beautifully built, and exquisite inside, with lovely old moldings, marble fireplaces, high ceilings, a wood-paneled library, a ballroom, and spectacular views.” He showed her the rest of the pictures then, and she looked grim as she flipped through them.
“Blake, have you lost your mind? Are you having some kind of crisis, or psychotic break? First the job in San Francisco and moving us all out there, and now this. What are we going to do, living in a twenty-thousand-square-foot hundred-and-fifteen-year-old mansion? How are we even going to clean it? Or live there? It’s a crazy idea.”
“Some crazy ideas are good ones,” he said with a boyishly guilty look, and she understood now why he hadn’t told her before he bought it. She would never have let him bid on it, and he knew it. “Sometimes you just have to throw all your preconceived notions out the window and go for it,” he said fervently, wanting to sweep her along on the wave that had carried him since he’d taken the job in San Francisco.
“Maybe, but not with a wife and three kids, a life in New York, an apartment we love here, and my work. Blake, we’re not kids.”
“Don’t you want to do something different and exciting?” he asked her, and she thought about it. The honest answer was that she didn’t. He seemed to have lost his mind. She hadn’t.
“Moving to San Francisco is already different enough for me.” Too different, but she had gone along with it anyway. And asking her to live in a mansion, take care of it, and “throw a coat of paint on it” was asking a lot of her. “Did you get inspections on it?”
“Of course. They’ve all checked out so far, and they’ll be finished next week. The plumbing and electricity aren’t new, but they’re in decent shape, and the structure is sound, I promise you. It’s a magnificent home, Sybil.”
“Yes, for the sultan of Brunei maybe. What do we need with twenty thousand square feet?”
“We can keep the maids’ rooms closed or use them for storage, and even the guest floor if you want to. We can just use the reception rooms on the main floor, and the one with the family bedrooms, and the kitchen.” He had figured it all out, and in spite of herself, Sybil smiled and shook her head.
“I’m not sure I can trust you alone in San Francisco. God knows what you’re going to do next, without telling me first.” It upset her that he seemed to be making all the decisions on his own these days, knowing that they were not choices she wanted or would approve of, and he did it anyway.
“I couldn’t help myself. I knew the minute I saw the house that it was special, and we should buy it. I know it’s not what we wanted, but I think you’ll fall in love with it too when you see it.” And if she didn’t? she wanted to ask him. What choice did she have now? She could make a huge stink and insist he renege on the purchase, or she could go along with it. Her role now seemed to be supporting him in dubious decisions that ran counter to reason, her desires, and their plans. And just how far was he going to push her, if she continued to give in to him? That worried her too.
“I want you to promise me, Blake Gregory, that you are not going to make one more single important move or decision without consulting me. You can’t just buy a house without talking to me about it first. I don’t care how cheap it is. Is that a deal?” He nodded in full agreement with her.