Chapter 8
The area south of Broad Street has an impeccable reputation for a reason: Walking through it is like walking along the uneven
sidewalks of heaven. Well, if heaven was built on centuries-old fortunes of questionable origin, that is. It’s the following
afternoon, and Maya and I are on our way to meet Magnolia to tour the Daniel House.
As we walk the quiet streets, our chatter is interrupted only by the bubbling of the occasional courtyard fountain or friendly
hello from a mail carrier.
“Oh, did you see those?” Maya asks, pointing to the stucco facade of a home we pass.
“The brass gas lanterns? You’d need to fire me if I missed something so gorgeous.” I wink at her from behind my large sunglasses.
“They’re perfection with that salmon stucco.”
We flip to walk single file by a towering palmetto tree and the lumpy sidewalk cracked by its growth. Tall stone walls flank
the other side, concealing whatever grand property lies beyond.
When we get to the next street corner, Maya stops and turns to me. “I was going to wait to tell you until after the Daniel
House, but I feel like I’m going to explode.”
I stop at her side. “The secret project ?” It was just yesterday morning that Maya and I first discussed Exquisite Interiors.
She nods quickly. “She got right back to me—Coco, the recruiter—and she said we were welcome to send a tape and portfolio!
She sounded interested.”
“ Really ?” I whisper.
“Really,” Maya says.
A thrill erupts through me and threatens to disrupt my best efforts at cementing realistic expectations for this endeavor.
It feels so Hollywood. I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Fitz.
“That’s so exciting,” I say. “I can’t wait to talk more. Obviously I’m looping in Fitz, but for now—and probably evermore—lips
zipped around the Dragon.” I nod in the direction of our destination.
“Secret’s safe with me.”
We check both ways and keep walking, past the odd drippy fountain, past a quaint deli with a steady stream of patrons. As
we round the corner, I catch a glimpse of Magnolia parked outside a tall iron gate looking like she’s steps from a Paris runway.
I can tell, even from a distance, that her white pantsuit is Chanel. It’s a vestige of my upbringing. I shudder in embarrassment
when I remember the designer clothing I first wore to worksites.
Now I know jeans and work boots are my best bet.
We take the last few steps up to our new jobsite, and I remove my sunglasses to get a better look at it. It’s a wide Georgian
mansion with a double porch and a slight lean. Like a once-magnificent specimen, shrunken slightly by the test of time. The
paint peels, and even from the street I can tell how much repair work the windows will require. It has shutters but mismatched
and only at some windows. I take in the scale of the place through the worn iron fencing along the front of the property.
It’s a big job.
“Well,” Magnolia says, whirling her gaze to me. “Don’t look down your nose at it. This is the Daniel House.”
I catch a glimpse of a shell-shocked Maya in my peripheral. “Mother, hello. Nice to see you as well. I’m sorry if you thought I was looking unfavorably at the house. I was just taking it in, wondering, really, how much square footage we’re looking at.”
Magnolia sniffs. “I’m glad you came prepared with questions. I’ve got the two local property representatives waiting inside,
and they’ve got all the specs. Though they’re just interns from the college, so who knows if there might be errors. Really,
I don’t know why we need them when I’m on board.”
She turns, passes through the open gate, and begins her climb up the steps and along the bumpy brick path to the wraparound
porch. I count my lucky stars that she’s wearing sensible shoes; the last thing I want is her falling on-site and injuring
herself. Even if her being bedridden might grant me some reprieve.
I follow behind her with Maya.
The grounds are a full gut. What was once grass is riddled with weeds, and the beds are overgrown and equally plagued by weeds.
My mind goes to Hartman Landscape, and I wonder if Theo might be up for another Charleston project.
“Look at the front door,” Maya says quietly beside me.
I look up. “Wow. That’s a keeper.” The wood is thick and solid, perfectly aged.
“Not sure about this door,” Magnolia calls over her shoulder. “A bit old and dingy, no? Might need something better.”
I pull in a deep breath and shoot Maya a look. “Nothing a good polish can’t fix,” I call up to Magnolia.
She mutters under her breath the rest of the way up. Before we can reach the door to knock, it springs open and we’re met
by two youthful faces. At once, their right hands are outstretched.
“Hi, I’m Jade.”
“Hi, folks, I’m Douglas.”
Maya and I lean in for handshakes and share our names. Magnolia hangs back, hands folded at her waist.
“Yes, we’ve already met,” she says to Jade and Douglas.
“Come on in,” Jade says. “We’ve prepared a quick tour of the property for you and then we have a full list worked up that
outlines each component of work line by line.”
“Jade and I are the property representatives, as you know. The Carolina Historic Society received the house from the estate
of a donor. We’re still forming the vision for how the house will be used, but with your design expertise, Ms. Bishop, some
of that may naturally work itself out. We do, however, have a budget,” Douglas says.
“She’s still a Suffolk for now,” Magnolia says. “And I’ll lead the vision for the property.”
“That sounds like a very reasonable setup,” I say to Jade and Douglas, ignoring my mother. “I guess you might host board meetings
or fundraisers. You could also rent it for bridal showers, engagement parties, small weddings even.”
“We’re dealing in preserving historic buildings here,” Magnolia says. “Not trying to make a buck letting the public spill
their boxed wine all over our hardwoods.”
Jade smiles tightly. “Well, I’ll let the two of you discuss that later. Should we start downstairs, Ms. Suffolk?”
She shows us through the formal sitting rooms at the front of the house and a gorgeous sunroom that, though aged, shines with
potential. All of the rooms are empty—no furniture, no art, no suggestion of an identity—and it’s just how I like it. I feel
a pinch of excitement. Sure, it needs a lot of work. The floors are original but heavily damaged; the walls are peeling in
places. Woodwork has been chipped and dinged over time.
“Magnolia,” my mother says. “Do you think we can save the floors? Or will we need to rip them out?”
Douglas looks startled. “We were hoping very much to keep anything original that we could, removal being a last resort.”
I nod at him. “I think we can manage that. Worst case, we’ll have to patch, but before we take anything original out, there
will be a discussion with the board.”
Jade takes us through to the kitchen, which is dingy and minimal. Kitchens in homes of this age weren’t the gathering places
that they’ve become in modern times. They were small, simple, and set out of sight. They were a place for the kitchen staff
to work, never a place for a guest to venture.
“Not so much to work off here, Boss,” Maya says to me. “Could be a positive?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “We can build something that will honor the history of the home while also allowing modern conveniences.”
I lower my voice. “ Events even.”
“I heard that,” Magnolia says. “Events are still a no.”
Douglas takes over for the upstairs tour. “Watch your step,” he says on the way up.
The staircase is grand and sweeps in a dramatic curve up a double-height foyer. It’s a showpiece for this house. But as I
near, I notice the stair treads are in awful shape and, much like Douglas suggested, one misstep away from a trip to the ER.
“This will need to be completely changed,” Magnolia says.
We all ignore her, and Douglas launches into a discussion of the bedrooms and how the layout looks.
“I’m getting all of this,” Maya says, jotting into her notebook.
The bedrooms are all similar, aside from slight variations in paint and window size. The claw-foot tub in the upstairs bathroom
is gorgeous, and I bend to examine it.
“I love this,” I say to Douglas.
He nods. “Same here. Definitely can’t buy that these days.”
“And just to think this porcelain coating would’ve been state-of-the-art at the time. We’ll have to get it resealed by a specialist.”
Magnolia’s face is pinched in a sour pout so everyone can be made aware of her opinion on the tub.
We make our way back to the front door.
“We’ll send over the specs, the timeline, and the budget,” Jade says. “And if you can agree to those terms, we’ll complete
the preliminary contract and you can start work.”
I smile wide. “This really is a stunning home. I know all it’ll take is a bit of love and care from our team, and she’ll be
like new again.”
“Let’s not promise she’ll be new,” Magnolia says. “It won’t be like new; it’ll be more like old.”
I turn back to Jade. “I think you know what I mean. The house will be refurbished nicely.”
“I understand.” Jade gives me an apologetic smile.
“I’ll send over the docs,” Douglas says.
We share our goodbyes and head back out to the street.
Magnolia brushes some dust from her white pantsuit. “What a filthy house.”
I have so many questions about why she’s even part of the Carolina Historic Society, considering her issues with anything
unclean, but I keep them to myself, pushing them back down and tempering my inner rage like all of us good girls do.
She’s the only mother I’ve got, after all. The only family beyond Hallie I’ll have at all once the divorce paperwork is signed.
“Mother, you didn’t seem to care much for the house.”
“They should’ve cleaned it before we arrived. A little Pine-Sol on the floors, some dusting, anything.” She points to the
bottom of her pant legs. “This is Chanel.”
I stop myself from asking why she, for even one moment, thought it was a good choice of outfit. But that wouldn’t be proper, according to the Gospel of Magnolia Bishop Senior.
“The team and I are happy to do the work on-site, if you prefer to oversee from afar.”
Maya smiles to herself.
She and I both would prefer that.
“Once your cleaners come in, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Magnolia says. “It’s not quite like I’m going to let you run wild with
this place. I’m responsible for it at the end of the day; it’s my name on the line.”
It sure is her name, even if she did try to give it to me. Just like this project that she’s supposedly giving to me. Yet
she won’t loosen even a single pinky finger from her grip on the place. It’s as it’s always been—me under her reign, no matter
how hard I work to escape it.
“The site will be dirty and dusty for most of the project, especially while there’s work going on.” I tuck my sunglasses back
into place. “There’s usually little point in cleaning before the construction is done—at least, not to the degree of making
it white-pantsuit proof. Maybe we just take it day by day.”
Magnolia checks her watch. “Fine. We’ll see. I have to be off if I’m going to make it to the club for tonight’s famine victims’
fundraiser.” She pulls her phone from her pocket, taps it a few times, and raises it to her ear. “Yes, Victor, I’m ready.”
The moment she hangs up, the black car creeps from around the corner.
Victor is an expert in lurking, it seems. Much like his employer is determined to do on this project.
“Ta-ta, ladies,” Magnolia says as she turns to the waiting car and pulls open the door.
I sigh as Maya and I turn to walk in the opposite direction.
“Famine victims?” Maya says.
“Don’t even ask,” I say. “She probably finds a way to make people impacted by famine feel guilty for accepting her donations. She’s got a knack for it.”
Maya sighs. “Was she like that growing up?”
I shake my head in exasperation. “Somehow worse.”
We soon say goodbye and Maya breaks off to head in the direction of her apartment. I make the rest of the walk back to the
studio alone. From there I’ll grab my car and drive home to the suburbs across the bridge. It’s not the glamour of the downtown
peninsula, nor the historic builds, but it’s home and serves Hallie and me well. She goes to a great school, and she can run
around freely in the yard.
It’s an easy place to raise kids.
Still, as I walk past the Charleston beauties, I can’t promise I would pass up an opportunity to live among them, if it fell
in my lap. They have that kind of draw on me.