NANCYLAND
Novel (Excerpt) by Wendy Rainey
When I called Nancy’s phone number from the ad she had placed in the Pasadena Star News, I was relieved by what I thought I heard in her voice; intelligence, competence, and stability. Dizziness overtook me as I entered my room and sat down on the queen-sized bed. It must have been close to a hundred degrees inside my room, even with all the windows open and the ceiling fan on. Falling backwards onto the bed, I started to remember arriving for the initial interview with Nancy and being impressed by her elegant and immaculately kept two-story Victorian home. Nancy invited me outside to look at her vegetable and herb garden. Lemon and orange trees lined the path down to a huge patch of land covered with an abundance of delectables. Twenty foot sunflowers rose amid watermelon, zucchini, tomato, and strawberry plants. Endive, rosemary, tarragon, thyme, mint, parsley, chives, catnip, lavender, sage, basil, marjoram, garlic, and onions were thriving. Three avocado trees stood by an old well encircled by stones and mortar. The rusted pump looked ancient.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, “I feel like Dorothy landing in Oz. Everything’s in Technicolor. You must love it here, Nancy!”
“This house was built in 1874,” she said, her long, grey hair blowing in the wind. “The property used to stretch all the way down to the end of the block.” Nancy pointed to a line of charming bungalows built in the twenties. “This is where the horseman would have lived.” She pointed to a well preserved structure, “It was converted into a toolshed in the thirties. The servant’s quarters and stables are long gone, of course. Cows, chickens, and horses were kept somewhere down there.” I looked in the direction she was pointing. A kid with a baseball cap turned backwards was balancing a ghetto blaster on his shoulder with one hand, and giving a passing car the finger with the other. She turned around and examined the leaves of a Cecil Bruner. The miniature rose was climbing up a white trellis. “Yes, it was an era when people grew their own food and lived off the land and their wits. She pinched off a brown bud from the rose bush and threw it over her shoulder.
I remembered the first time I sat in Nancy’s living room. It was filled with heirlooms. The windows were framed with delicate white lace curtains. A large antique vase contained an assortment of flowers and herbs from her garden. From where I sat I could see two Shaker chairs in the sunlight. “Hands to work, heart to God,” I said. Nancy looked at me inquisitively. “The Shaker Creed,” I said, pointing to the two chairs. “Oh, yes” she said smiling. She was wearing Bermuda shorts and a white t-shirt. I noticed her white gym socks and athletic shoes. Her bifocals hung from a decorative chain around her neck. “It’s wonderful the way you’ve managed to retain the old fashioned charm. It’s like being transported back in time,” I said.
“Well, I’ve made certain adjustments here and there, but the integrity of the original structure has never been compromised. The antiques,” she motioned with her hand, “are a passion of mine. I pick them up at estate sales all over Pasadena.”
“Nancy, I’m very interested in renting from you,” I said. “You have a beautiful house and a lovely garden. The rent is affordable for me and it’s also close to my workplace.” I looked at her, smiling.
“Now, I want to be absolutely frank wit you, Catherine,” Nancy said, “I have AIDS. I also had a bout with cancer two years ago, which I survived and recovered from. I have health issues but I am functional, although I do get tired easily. I’m attending Pasadena City College in the hopes of reentering the workforce in the future. If you would like to take a day to think about what I have said, by all means do. Also, the two rooms you will be renting can get awfully hot as you may have noticed. I don’t believe in air-conditioning. I’ve managed to survive here twenty-five years without it. “Putting my ice water glass back on its coaster, I considered what she said,
“I would like to put down a hundred dollars now as part of my deposit,” I said, reaching into my bag for my wallet. “I can come back tomorrow and give you the rest of the deposit. I don’t have a problem with you having AIDS. And I’m used to the heat. I lived in the desert for three years and I never had air-conditioning.” She smiled and looked at me,
“Well, it’s settled then. I hope you’ll be happy here. I’ll get you a receipt for that deposit. You’re still welcome to think it over a day if you like.”
“OK, I appreciate that. I suppose you might want some time to check the references I gave you.” Nancy came back into the living room and handed me a receipt for the hundred dollars I had given her.
“Our meeting here, today, is reference enough for me. The rooms are yours if you so desire.”
“Thank you, Nancy,” I got up off the divan, “it was nice meeting you.” I reached out, shook her hand, and smiled. “I will see you tomorrow after work at around 5:00.”
As I walked down the front steps of the stately old house, I detected the intermingling of jasmine and magnolia. Rose bushes lined the long pathway that led out onto the sidewalk. Two squirrels were chasing each other in the grass. I turned around and looked at the sprawling house. An oasis from the madness of life, I thought. Off to the side something glimmering caught my eye, a fountain with a statue in the middle: a cherub spewing water from his little rose bud mouth. He looked as if he was ready to ascend to the heavens.
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Find more of Wendy Rainey‘s novel-in-progress, Nancyland, at Cultural Weekly here.
Silver Birch Press 