'Huge old house' didn't begin to do the structure both of us stood before justice; the place was unquestionably a mansion. We had intended to wait in the car while the realtor completed her tasks, but something about the place caught my wife's eye. She stepped out of the car to look closer, so I followed. The entrance was easily twice my height, and the doors on either side must have weighed a ton. It could have been taken from a palace or castle, although the frames of the narrow beveled glass windows surrounding them sadly needed painting. I recalled that the iron gate at the entrance and the fence surrounding the property also needed the rust sanded off and repainted. No one had mowed the broad front lawn we'd driven past for some time nor trimmed the hedges. And the driveway wasn't in the best shape. But the house was built of great blocks of stone and looked like a fortress from centuries before that would stand forever.
The realtor asked if we wanted to take a quick walk-through since we were already there. And, for some unknown reason, we agreed, even with certain activities we were anxious to enjoy once we returned to our hotel. My wife confessed, "I am somewhat intrigued. And, since we're here and I'm already out of the car, I guess we can spare a few minutes."
That imposing entrance opened to a space easily the size of the entire apartments we'd just viewed. The realtor told us we stood in the "Grand Foyer." Our eyes were immediately drawn upward to an enormous crystal chandelier that hung in the center from a medallion of beautifully crafted plasterwork in the ceiling forty feet above. An elegant, curved stairway rose from the far end of the vast marble floor, a landing splitting it midway toward either side of the balcony that ringed the entrance hall, the Grand Foyer. The ceilings in the rooms immediately to the left and right were at least sixteen feet high, with gilded crown moldings and beautiful chandeliers, although far less grand than that above us. Both were sitting areas, also behind a pair of massive ornate double doors that happened to be swung open at the moment. One was the parlor, while the other, the smaller, to the left of the foyer, was the waiting room, where guests were seated, awaiting the determination of whether they would be received or shown the door.
The realtor informed us that somewhere beyond the parlor was a dining room, a withdrawing room for the ladies, a billiards and smoking room for the men, and the library. And my notion that our walkthrough would be quick immediately vanished as we began following her through the house, room after room. Elegant, antique pieces of furniture filled the parlor as we passed through, along with a fireplace, its massive surround, mantle, and a mirror that extended nearly to the ceiling.
A table that would easily seat two dozen people dominated the center of the dining room we entered next. Firewood was stacked in the grate of another enormous fireplace, ready to light, with the brass tools polished to a sheen. A butler's pantry was adjacent to the dining room, toward the house's interior, with a large island in the center. There was a series of curiously thin, wide drawers down the side facing the dining room. We pulled several of these drawers open for a nosy peek and discovered complete cutlery sets. Each drawer contained enough pieces to set every seat at the dining room table. Glass fronted cabinets lined one side of the room, filled with crystal glassware and multiple china patterns. Large platters, soup tureens, and other serving pieces filled additional shelves. And what appeared at first to be a closet in the corner turned out to be a dumb waiter.
Next to the butler's pantry off the dining room was an entry to a hallway leading back toward the library, past the withdrawing room and the billiards and smoking room. Immediately beyond the dining room, to be easily accessible, the withdrawing room contained an arrangement of odd pieces of love-seat-like furniture that we learned were fainting couches and appeared ready to receive its next group of fainting lady guests. The balls were racked on the table in the billiards room, with cues lying alongside, prepared for the next game. The smell of cigars lingered, and decanters, partially filled with varied shades of brown liquid, sat atop the liqueur cabinet and an array of side tables around the room's perimeter.
YOU ARE READING
The Words - An Autobiography
Science Fiction"What if God was one of us?" Credit to Eric Bazzilion, and thanks to Joan Osborne for singing his brain-rattling words. Much earlier, my mother promised that if I applied myself, I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up. Then, from somewhere, I r...
