Chapter 3

When we got to my apartment building I pressed a remote control to open the gate to the underground parking and started going down the ramp. She was craning her neck to take in the building itself. Little 'oohs' and 'wows' were escaping her mouth. In the clean and well-lit basement, I started unloading the car. "It will be easier if we put most of your new stuff in the suitcase," I said and opened it.

"Oh look! It comes with matching toilet bag and beauty box," she exclaimed in delight, reverting to attention to details much closer to what was natural to her age and gender. Her joy thrilled me. It was not too late to make her happy.

We quickly had everything organized and went over to the elevator, managing - just - the suitcase, the backpack and the many additional shopping bags between us. "Which floor?" she asked, her finger hovering near the panel.

"Take the ground floor," I replied. "There is someone you need to meet."

Puzzled she complied and we went up just one floor and got out in the lobby.

"Wow," she said under her breath, studying the 1920s decor of shiny marble and highly polished brass. "This is fancy."

"It is a very nice place," I agreed. "And I want you to meet the doorman if he is still on duty."

"Ramone!" I called. "Are you still there or has Debbie dragged you out for a night on the town?"

A large African American appeared. "Good evening Mr. George," he said in that funny anachronistic way of his. He is anything but servile, but he greets the tenants like it was still the 1920s. "How nice of you to ask," he continued. "No Debbie has deserted me - she is visiting her folks upstate this weekend, so I'm still here." He looked inquiringly at Laura.

"Ramone, this is Laura Jones. She doesn't exactly see eye to eye with her parents just now, so she will be staying with me for a while. I would lend her my spare keys except Joyce has them. So I would like you to have a set made for Laura."

"Why certainly. Welcome Miss Laura. I will get your keys first thing Monday morning - the lock people don't work Saturdays and Sundays except in emergencies. Will that be OK?"

"Yes, that is fine," I replied. "We won't be going our separate ways until Monday."

I didn't mean any innuendo with that statement, and Ramone certainly didn't bat an eyelid over it. "That's fine. If Miss Laura goes out Monday morning then she can simply get the keys from me when she returns - I'll have them ready by 10 AM." He turned to me. "Will you want Miss Laura's name on the board?" he asked, indicating the stylish silk-printed directory of tenants.

"Yes," I replied. "I will. It is 'Laura Elizabeth Jones' - got that?"

"Sure thing" said Ramone and noted it down on a pad. "Those signs are also done by the lock people. With luck I can have that done Monday morning too."

"We would appreciate that," I said warmly. "Laura is in need of a sense of home."

Ramone's eyes discreetly scanned her abdomen. His already mild countenance softened even further. "Sure thing," he said again. "Let me help you get your stuff up to the apartment," and he grabbed the suitcase, Laura's pack and half our shopping bags like they were weightless and got them in the elevator. "If you could press the number six button, Miss Laura. Thank you." We went up in silence.

"Here we are!" said Ramone. "Good night Miss Laura, good night Mr. George." He left us outside my apartment and went down with the elevator again.

"Is yours the only apartment?" Laura asked looking around and seeing only one labeled door. I nodded. "You mean, like, you have the entire floor?" she continued - incredulity clear in her voice.

"I told you I had a large apartment," I replied almost defensively, "with plenty of room for you too."

"I know you did," she said. "But I only thought you said that to be friendly."

"Sometimes people can be friendly while being completely truthful," I said airily and opened the door.

Reporting all Laura's 'oohs' and 'wows' while I showed her the apartment would be repetitive. But if you have seen the film 'Pink Floyd: The Wall' and remember the scene where 'Pink' has taken the groupie home to his hotel suite, you get the idea. And let's face it: I do have a very nice place. The apartment, as Laura had discovered, occupies the entire sixth floor of the building and is U-shaped, surrounding a court yard with a garden and a few very old and very tall trees that almost reach my floor. The front has the entrance door which opens into a narrow corridor leading to a sort of hall to one side and past a decent sized room to the other which I use as my office. In that way 'commercial visitors' will not enter my private space.

Facing the street are three huge connected rooms. Two of these are living rooms and the third a dining room. The corridor runs along the two living rooms, then turns and runs along the outside of the eastern wing past a very large room I use as - and call - my Library, then past a spare room, my bathroom and dressing room leading to the master bedroom at the end. The dressing room is accessible directly from the bedroom and further on to the bathroom. I obviously didn't take her up that wing, but simply said, "This is where I live," after having shown her the Library.

On the other side of the apartment, the dining room is semi-open to a large kitchen occupying the entire width of that wing. Thus the 'hall' has doors leading to the kitchen, the dining room and the middle living room in addition to a guest toilet. A corridor on the outside of the west wing starts at the kitchen and runs past a room I use as a pantry, a laundry, a bathroom, two small bedrooms and ending up in a large bedroom with an adjacent room probably intended to be a dressing room or wardrobe, but quite large - so large it has a window.

It was to the large bedroom I took Laura after having deposited our food in the kitchen and put the cold stuff away. "Do you think you could live here?" I asked. "It is not really furnished with anything but a bed and small table and chair just now," I added, "but we can do something about that over the weekend if you like."

She was speechless and could just nod, her eyes brimming with tears for the umpteenth time tonight. "Actually, I was thinking," I continued, "that we might put the bed in the 'wardrobe' - it is plenty big for a single bed and a dressing table - and there are cupboards along the entire corridor, so we don't need to put any in that room. Then we could furnish this as proper sitting, 'eh living room for you with a desk and a couple of bookshelves and a sofa and a coffee table." She could only nod, but smiled happily through the tears.

"Now, I don't know how long you will want to stay," I continued, "but if you are still here when the baby comes then we could convert one of the small bedrooms next door into a perfectly nice nursery."

At that suggestion she broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably. We sat down on the bed; I put my arm around her and stroked her hair gently until she had calmed down. "I, I," she started, but the tears defeated her again and she was almost stamping her foot in frustration and annoyance. "I feel so stupid" she burst out.

"Laura, sweetheart," I said gently. "You are not stupid. What you have been through, no one should ever have to go through, particularly not a perfectly sweet and innocent sixteen year old girl, and particularly not alone."

"I would be lying to you," I continued, "if I told you all your troubles were over. But at least for now you can stop worrying about a lot of practical things and let an adult take care of those. That is how it should be."

"But why you?" she said. "Why would you be doing all this for me? What's in it for you?"

"I honestly don't really know," I replied. "I am still working on that one. Perhaps it is just that I have come to realize I've been alone too long."

"When did you work that out?" she asked.

"Oh, about three hours ago," I said and went to get her stuff.

"What you need now is a long warm bath, a really good soak," I lectured when I got back. "Here are a couple of towels. Your new clothes ought to be washed before you wear them, or they may irritate your skin, so the flannels and the bath robe will have to wait, but I dug out an oversized tee-shirt of mine that you can sleep in and you can borrow my dressing gown just for now." She nodded. "But don't get ideas - it's mine!" I added sternly.

"Sounds like bitter experience?" she queried.

"And how! - wait 'till you meet my daughters" I laughed.

That thought seemed to disconcert her. "What will they make of me?" she asked.

"Didn't I tell you you were not allowed to worry about anything more tonight?" I chided, but I actually did worry what they - and everyone else - would think of this arrangement. Pleading simple Christian Charity was unlikely to cut much ice with anyone, and I wasn't totally sure of my motives. Even Ramone might have one or two things to say once things had settled - that was the kind of friendship we had. And Joyce, my indispensable secretary, whom I would happily have married had she been so inclined, would also put me through the wringer. Between those two and my daughters I was in for a hard time - and that was even before we had to face the real enemies in the form of Laura's parents and an endless row of officials.

"I can't help you with underwear," I went on relentlessly. "It will be months and months before you will be anywhere near my size, so you will just have to wear one of the new pairs unwashed, but the rest should be washed and dry and ready tomorrow. Now off you go," and I shooed her to the bathroom.

"And you said this was my bathroom?" she asked in disbelief.

"Sure," I said. "I never come here, so you can take up all the space on all the shelves if you like. And do take your time. I defy you to use all the hot water - it simply can't be done!"