“Not at all. The owner, Edward Clark, was enamored of the American West and hoped to name everything on the West Side, including the avenues, after territories and states. Luckily, he was overruled, so instead of the ghastly moniker Idaho Place, we have West End Avenue. The story you refer to was mentioned in passing during a press tour on the building’s fiftieth anniversary, as mere speculation, and took on a life of its own.”
His eloquence and knowledge delighted her. “I stand corrected. But I do know that Melinda’s great-grandfather helped design and build this place. I keep wondering what he’d think of her redecorating plans.” She took a sip of coffee—it was strong and delicious. “How long have you lived here?”
“I came to work here back in the late thirties.”
“You worked here?”
“As a butler. Right before the war. After that, they began letting in the artistic types. Lauren Bacall, Leonard Bernstein, Rosemary Clooney. It was a fun place to work, even if the snooty old guard were unhappy with all of us throwing parties, having a gay old time. Literally.”
“It must’ve been wonderful.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. I may own this apartment, but that doesn’t mean I belong. Oh, three or four of the old housekeepers and nannies were tucked away in studios on the ninth floor after their shelf lives expired. But I lucked out. My dear boss, Oscar—of course everyone knew we were shagging but no one spoke of it—left me this place in his will. All gloriously mine, so I could die in peace, other than Sophia Camden’s disdain whenever we passed in the courtyard. And the fact that my bathroom is now wrecked.”
Bailey could only imagine the outrage Melinda’s mother and some of the other longtime residents had directed Kenneth’s way at the very idea of a servant turning shareholder. Taking over an entire apartment, as if he were their equal.
“I promise you I’ll make it look as good as new. Or as old.” She got a smile out of him at that. The coffee was taking over her brain, making her feel a nice buzz. Honestly, waking up to a strong cup of coffee was a better drug than any of the others she’d dropped over the past decade. “You must have seen so many changes during your stay here.”
“More than you know. This place used to have a tenants’ dining room, down on the main floor, though the food got less interesting after the war, and they eventually closed it down. By then the tailor had moved out, as had the laundry and maid service. No one valued what a special place this was. In the sixties, I remember, before it became a co-op, you could rent a seventeen-room apartment with six bathrooms and eight working fireplaces for six hundred and fifty bucks a month.”
Bailey found her mouth watering at the idea.
A half hour later, the plumber—a stocky guy with a thick Polish accent—arrived. He prodded the ceiling and shook his head. “This’ll take a couple days.”
Kenneth sighed. “I shall wash up in the maid’s bathroom until then.”
Bailey put a hand on his arm. “Thank you for being so understanding. Once it’s fixed, I’ll have my contractor stop by and we’ll discuss the plaster and wallpaper.”
“I trust you to find a replacement wallpaper, if you like.”
“Would you? I’d be happy to do so.” Bailey knew exactly which vendor in the D&D Building, the wholesale resource for every designer in the city, would have a similar pattern.
“In the meantime, I want to see Melinda’s apartment, so I can get a sense of how much history you’re destroying.”
Upstairs, Kenneth ran his fingers over the woodwork like a lover as Bailey led him through each room. “The craftsmanship still blows my mind.”
“Melinda wants a clean look, which means tearing all this down. I have to admit, it kills me to have to do it.”
“You know you can save it.”
He had her full attention. “How?”
“You can put it in storage in the basement. They have the original elevators down there, lots of crown molding and fireplace mantels. You name it. Then, in thirty years when the pendulum swings back to appreciating a traditional look, the new owners will be able to replace what was lost.”
“I’m so happy to hear that. It makes me feel less like a tyrant with a wrecking ball. I’ll talk to the super and arrange that.”
“Yes, you’ll want to talk to Renzo. He’s part of the Dakota mafia as well. His father was super here for practically his entire life, until he passed away.”
“I haven’t met Renzo officially yet. Melinda seems to want to avoid him.”
“He can be a bit testy. You should make sure to bring your game face.”
“Why’s that?”
Kenneth shrugged. “We’ve had a spate of unfortunate, and by ‘unfortunate’ I mean hideous, renovations of late, and he’s wary of outsiders.”
She was doomed. “I’ll treat him with kid gloves.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
She recognized the super from the quick peek she got of him out in the courtyard with Melinda. Renzo had arrived.
He looked Bailey up and down, which was a thoroughly unpleasant experience. He wasn’t looking at her like a man checks out a woman but as if she were some alien from Pluto.
“I hear you’ve damaged the riser.” He looked to be in his late thirties. His strong Italian name didn’t match his gray eyes and fair hair, which hung just above his shoulders. The hippie look was long gone, but he seemed to have missed the news.
Bailey held out her hand. “Good morning, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Bailey Camden.”
He held up a dust-covered hand, palm out. She withdrew hers. “I was in Kenneth’s apartment ripping down the ceiling.”
“Aren’t you the sweetest.” Kenneth swooped behind Bailey. “Bailey and I were just discussing the fabulous wallpaper she’s going to put up to replace the damaged one.”
“The one in your apartment was from the 1920s. Not sure how you’re going to find an equivalent.”
What an ass. Here she’d solidified what she hoped was a little bit of goodwill from an unfortunate situation, and the super was stirring things up again.
“I’ll make sure Kenneth is taken care of, that the bathroom is fully restored. I’ve already assured him of that.” She couldn’t help herself. “You seem to be more upset than he is, at the moment.”
“I am, if this is the way your contractors plan on carrying out the renovation. The ‘cosmetic’ renovation.”
“Right. I’m new to this project, so bear with me as I play catch-up, but I believe they filed an amendment with the Department of Buildings last week. The leak might have happened whether or not there was construction going on. The building is over one hundred years old, after all.”
He cocked his head. “Where’s Wanda?”
“My firm has taken over. I’m the new owner’s rep.”
“Does the building management know?”
“Since I just took over yesterday, no. But I’ll phone them today and give them all my information.”
Kenneth touched Renzo lightly on the arm. “She’s a good egg, Renzo. Don’t be so hard on her. Look, show her the storage rooms so she can save some of the loot from the reno. She’s on our side, you’ll see.”
“Fine. I’ll be in my office in an hour.” Renzo studied Bailey again. “Tell your contractors to salvage anything they can.”
Bailey took the elevator down to the basement at the appointed time. The lowest level of the Dakota was bright, with well-lit hallways and a fresh coat of paint on the walls. The area directly under the courtyard was mostly open space, other than an office built off to one side that had a large glass window. She knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
The room overflowed with newspapers, green industrial filing cabinets, and cardboard boxes, but Renzo sat at a grand desk, an antique from the looks of it, made of ebony and elm. The harsh fluorescent lighting accentuated its incongruity, like a sapphire in a puka necklace. On the wall opposite was an oak cabinet, the doors wide open, displaying tools of every size and shape, small and large drawers, cubbyholes and shelves. A masterpiece of design and utility, everything in its place. This was a man who prized his wrenches.
She’d win him over with flattery. “That’s a beautiful desk.”
He shrugged. “A lucky hand-me-down from a former tenant.”
“And what a cabinet. Did you design it?”
“My father did.”
“Stunning. Do you do woodwork as well?”