My Trophy Wife

“You guys are late!” Gavin howled from the bed of his pick-up. He was three feet taller than everyone else and thoroughly enjoyed it. “I thought you said if it’s less than 10 minutes, we’re good?” Fernando squinted into the sun directly behind Gavin. “I did, eh?” Moving his head to block the sun from Fern’s unprotected eyes, Gavin leaned over to execute a fist bump which Fernando happily obliged. Tossing a coil of extension cords over his shoulder, Gavin grabbed the nail gun and a pair of sawhorses and leapt from the bed of his contractor- white Chevy, nearly dropping everything in the process. “Follow me!” he barked. Walking briskly towards the Victorian two-story house, he piled his equipment next to the front door and pulled the keys from the lockbox. Twin brass hinges held the solid mahogany door to the jamb. The massive slab of wood looked as if it might have been torn from the gates of a medieval castle. Its rosewood inlays were heavily scarred from years of encounters with people and pets and an oversized iron knocker hung in the center like a black stalactite. 4 The old brass deadbolt had resisted the force of the key, but eventually succumbed. Inside the crumbling walls, Gavin took his crew on a tour of the project, revealing his vision one room at a time. The rotted-out subfloor, knob and tube wiring, lead plumbing and mansard roof were going to be difficult to fix, but the reward could be huge. Crystal chandeliers hung in the living and dining rooms, giving the impression of a roaring twenties cigar parlor and just beyond the dining room, a mid- mod kitchen beckoned to him. “We can set-up in here.” Gavin ordered, surveying his new battlefield. “Let’s do it!” Fernando dropped his equipment bags in the center of the room. “You’ll have plenty of space to set up in here once we demo those cabs,” Gavin remarked, pointing to the steel cabinets along the back wall of the kitchen, “but save ‘em!” “Save the cabinets?” Fern asked incredulously; Gavin didn’t usually “save” anything. “Yeah, I can get at least fifteen hundred for those,” he cried. Gavin had a mandate to monetize every aspect of the house and those vintage Youngstown Steel cabinets were no exception. Fernando faithfully 5 translated the rest of Gavin’s instructions to the crew and went out to gather the rest of his gear. Originally from Mexico, Fernando was known as “Lecho” by his friends. Only Gavin called him Fern. An experienced tradesman, Fern knew how to do everything from framing and drywall, to HVAC and plumbing, to flatwork and tile setting. He spoke both Spanish and english fluently, so he had also become the default translator. Riding the momentum of the last 36 houses they had flipped together, it didn’t take long before the old Victorian resembled something in London after the Blitzkrieg. The installation of the new electrical circuits had resulted in piles of broken plaster throughout the house, mixed with chicken wire and splintered moldings. There was an unmistakably apocalyptic color to the scene because Gavin had learned not to waste time trying to save anything like 130-year-old trim. He wasn’t in the restoration business, he was in the flipping business. The house just had to look fresh and clean. To achieve this, everything found its way into the dumpster; it was faster and cheaper to replace it than to restore it. Two days and Seven 30-yard dumpsters later, he arrived at the job site to find an official notice stapled to the front door. This annoyed Gavin 6 because the holes left behind meant a special trip to the home improvement store to repair. BY ORDER OF THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT, YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO CEASE AND DESIST ALL DEMOLITION ACTIVITIES UNTIL AN ASBESTOS TEST HAS BEEN COMPLETED FOR THIS PROPERTY He took a deep breath as he tried to silence the negativity that was now unleashed in his brain. Good thing they only used 14 staples! The ominous bright red outline of the notice made it stand out against the dark mahogany door. Gavin ripped the notice off the door and left the staples. Lecho and the rest of the crew had arranged their coolers in a half circle in the middle of the gutted- out kitchen. “Bad news guys,” Gavin held up the notice. “I know, I read it,” Lecho sighed, “how long do we have?” “I’ll find out right now.” Gavin reached for his phone and walked back outside. A pre-recorded message played through his speakerphone. “Thank you for calling the Denver Health Department, press 1 for ...” Stupid phone maze! 7 Gavin recoiled in disgust. “Qdbestps Twsy Drnvr” His fat thumbs impatiently typed various search terms into the browser. “Asestos Twst Dnvr...” Close enough! Compelled to light up a cigarette, he was interrupted by someone shuffling towards him wearing a full-length robe and slippers, like he had just crawled out of bed. His technicolor dream coat was badly stained, and his white tank top was two sizes too big. Gavin surmised that he was either terribly insouciant or he lacked access to reliable laundry equipment, but it was clear he was not heading to work anytime soon. He introduced himself by complaining about Gavin’s project. “You make lot of dust. It blows in my house.” The man pointed to his house; an aluminum shed carefully crafted from the remnants of a chicken coop. Gavin felt obliged to muster up some Spanish. “Hola. Yo me llamo Gavin. Mucho gusto.” “Me llamo Jose.” “Cuanto tiempo aqui?” Gavin asked. “Mucho anos, mucho anos.” 8 Looking over, he nodded in its general direction. He repeated the phrase to reinforce the duration of his stay at the perfunctory structure. “What can I do for you?” Gavin had used up the extent of his espanol. Looks like the complaint department is now open... “You make a lot of dust,” he pleaded in broken english, stabbing his finger at the crooked shack. The structure of uncertain origin was at least 12-feet tall and held together by a generous amount of duct tape which had yellowed from years in the sun. Next to it, a stack of rusted auto parts were perched atop a handful of badly stained mattresses. It teetered in the back yard, buttressed by a haphazard latticework of broken bed frames. A little push and the whole thing could have easily become an insurance claim. A stack of used tires and a heap of cinder blocks rested nearby, punctuating the gloomy scene. Standing in the middle of the street, Gavin attempted to assuage the intransigent man. “It’s just plaster dust from the new electrical circuits we’re installing. We’ll have it cleaned up soon. Don’t worry, it’s not asbestos. Its not going to kill you!” 9 He took a deep, relaxing draw from his smoke and started to walk away. He thought to himself, This fucking guy wants to complain about my house? Suddenly, Jose’s pit bull exploded from behind a crooked gate across the street. Gavin created some distance between himself and the snarling beast and walked to a more secluded area of the yard. The dog lunged at the disintegrating white picket fence that separated Gavin’s property from the rest of the world and snarled relentlessly. Jose’s feeble restraint was barely sufficient to prevent the dog from toppling the old pickets.