FROM THE BLUE LINE!”), he started to feel guilty, as though it was his fault that there was such a gigantic, insurmountable gap between Donny’s apartment and the ones Sally was so deservedly proud to show him.
He felt like he was about to break bad news to a patient.
He set down the tablet, cleared his throat.
“The thing is,” he said, while she paged through a neon-pink three-ring binder she’d brought along, “the place I have . . . it’s not in as good of shape as what you’re showing me here. It needs a lot of work.”
Sally waved a hand, used the other to reach over the binder to take the tablet back. “That’s easy. I’ve got names of contractors out the wazoo, and they’re loyal to me. You could have it fixed up before I get back from sunning myself in paradise!”
He shifted in his chair, the bad-news-breaking feeling even heavier now.
“That’s probably not in the cards,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. He couldn’t blame her for thinking that hiring a bunch of contractors to do speedy work would be easy for him. A lot of people thought doctors wiped their asses with money, and Will guessed some of them probably did. But that was so far from his own experience it was almost comical. “I wouldn’t have a lot of start-up costs for something like this.”
Sally looked up at him, fixed him with a problem-solving stare. Will thought the contractors were probably a little afraid of her, in addition to being loyal. He almost wished Dr. Abraham had come down to this meeting, too. It might’ve been nice to see the guy get put in his place, for once.
“Do you have time? Because time is almost as good as money when it comes to something like this. My places”—she tapped at the tablet with her index finger—“they look sharp now, but they didn’t always.”
She turned the tablet, showing a picture from her personal photo gallery—the cluttered living room of what he thought was the North Elk Grove place. It looked dark and neglected, the furniture sagging and the walls stained. It looked . . . not all that different from Donny’s place.
Sally swiped once, revealed the same room, freshly painted, light-colored furniture in a different arrangement.
“Bright walls and sturdy slipcovers did a lot for this one. After a while I started to turn enough profit that I could do more, but at first it was only me and my elbow grease.”
“It’s impressive,” Will said, focusing on the photo, imagining the truly outrageous elbow grease this must’ve taken. He didn’t even know what a slipcover was. Well, he didn’t mind hard work. And not minding it meant he was basically a workaholic, so he had a lot of personal leave stacked up. He could probably swing two full weeks. Maybe not before Sally’s vacation was over, but still. He could get the job done.
He reached out a finger, swiped back, and then forward again. He liked it, seeing this transformation. He absolutely didn’t relish spending two weeks in Donny’s apartment, going through all his things, but something about this—the stripping of it, the sanitizing of it, the starting-over feel of it—appealed to him. Two weeks to everything in that apartment boxed up and out of sight, out of mind. Two weeks to money in his pocket and a countdown started to this ridiculous condition’s end date. Two weeks to Donny being nearly nothing to him.
Two weeks was so much more manageable than twelve months.
“What about the registration?” he asked, intent now. He’d done a little reading when he had lulls in the action today. The site Sally used was locally owned, Chicago-specific, and for that reason it had a better reputation around here than the huge, international short-term rental sites that had run afoul of pretty much every building code in this city. But Will had skimmed a few Trib articles that’d suggested there’d been no shortage of attempts to block their licensing process, too.
“I’ve got an in on that, too,” she said, shrugging. “And if the association hasn’t already put itself on the prohibited-buildings list, they can’t do it once you’ve put in for the registration.”
She tapped her chin, her brow furrowing. “You said your place needs a lot of work, but what about the rest of the building? Has it been fixed up?”
Will snorted, thinking of the wallpaper. “God, no.”
But as soon as he said it, he felt oddly guilty. Not unlike the feeling