Lessons In Being A Flapper Read Free

that I planned to spend some time reading over my “calming” herbal tea and a warm cranberry apple scone. They were definitely a sight to be seen (the homes not the scones) and to actually know someone in them was an exception. They were a tourist attraction but very rarely did anyone actually get to look inside and see the décor or the no doubt fabulous people living behind the ornate doors. I researched Marisol’s home (or what I presumed to be her home) at number 3 Summerhill Road. I found that it had sold in 1999 for nearly $4 million dollars ($4 million!!) to a person or persons who wished to remain anonymous. Was this Marisol? Was she married?  I couldn’t help but wonder.                                                                                                                         I knew the homes were worth money but yet I was still shocked by the sum of it. I was broke from still paying off Clara’s vet bills so being invited to a multi-million dollar home was way out of my league!      As I left the café, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was about to change and despite my fear of being hurt or let down, I felt that things were going to go well tonight if I went. So, on a whim, I decided to go and see Marisol. If I thought about it too long, I knew I’d change my mind, so I figured I’d better get this done and over with quickly.
    After a session of physical therapy with Clara in which I was nibbled on many times as I tried to move her good legs and get her to walk on a leash without dragging me down the street (being handicapped had not hampered her one bit!), I decided to take a bath and pick out what I should wear to a $4 million dollar house. I doubted that my $20 jeans and $10 t-shirt would cut it with a millionaire. I eventually decided on a black 1920’s style dress with fringe which I reserved for special occasions. What could be more special than getting an inside look at one of the extremely famous Painted Ladies? I was already in heaven at the thought of it. I was just about to leave Clara to her own devices for the next few hours (something I rarely did) but then thought better of it as she whimpered behind me.                             
       Ever since her “accident” as I like to call it, Clara has not wanted to be alone at night. The sun was just setting and I knew I wouldn’t be home before dark so I had to make an executive decision and take her with me. Hopefully this Marisol woman liked dogs, if not both Clara and I would be returning home with our tails between our legs.
    I arrived at 3 Summerhill Road at precisely 6:00 P.M. with only mild anxiety causing my hands to shake as I pulled the knocker on Marisol’s door. No electronic doorbell here. Just a gorgeous and very vintage brass knock er. I loved this place already.                                                                                                 
    “You’re on time, I see,” said a short, bent-over woman who couldn’t be a day under 90. No pleasantries, just an opinion on my clockwork. Interesting. She must have known I’d come all along.                         
    “Do come in, dear. And bring your dog too, animals are better friends t han humans, you know,” she said in an exasperated tone as if we’d known each other our whole lives. Walking into the foyer – if you could call it that – of one of The Painted Ladies was probably the most exciting moment of my life. It was even better than being told I was beautiful by my ex-boyfriend back in fifth grade (which up until now had been my highlight. As I said, I lead a very lackluster life). I couldn’t help but gawk as Marisol led me around her ground floor. I