The Painted Lady

I used to write, kinda, sorta. I wrote this one for Halloween 5 years ago. (No, my writing is never perfect) Older bloggers will find this familiar, but there are some newcomers now - for me to bore. Hang in there.

"I'll take it," Martina said, "the house is perfect."

The house she was referring to was a genuine Painted Lady. It was far from being perfect as far as the real estate agent, Glen, could see. The "Lady" would need a lot of paint and repairs, but did have the potential to be beautiful if she took the paint chips to the hardware store and had them match the colors. The broken window sashes might be a problem to replace or repair unless she found someone that was very good with woodworking. A few of the rosettes were missing from the door trims. A storm had removed some of the shingles from the roof making a horrible mess in the plastered ceilings on the second floor. The woman would need a lot of money and a lot of strength to make it habitable. After they did the paperwork, he gave her the address where she would have to go for her permits. He wished her good luck not telling her that she was going to need it. All he was concerned about was his commission.

Martina was a very resourceful woman and she had many special friends. She got her permits and obeyed the noise laws in the neighborhood of closely built historical homes. There could be no construction between the hours of seven at night and seven in the morning. A huge dumpster was delivered behind the house for the demolition of certain rooms.

The first day the roof was repaired. No one looking could see where an old shingle joined a new shingle. The neighbors watched in amazement as the house was changing almost before their eyes. The craftsmen working on the house were being swamped by the neighbors wanting them to work on their homes. They complained to Martina that it was hard to do the work when they were being bothered all the time. Scaffolds were set up surrounding the house with tarps covering the outsides of them to block most of the view from the neighbors.

The siding was repaired and painted. Windows were repaired and painted. The porches were completed. The outside was finished even the delicate gingerbread. Work began on the inside. The neighbors would take walks to see what they could see. Martina posted a guard to shag them off.

One of the neighbors knew Glen, the real estate agent. He told Glen about the amazing transformation that was taking place and talked him into going over there on some pretense of a problem with the sale. Glen could go inside and check it out for him. Glen was curious himself and despite the "no trespassing" sign posted on the front patch of lawn, went through the flapping tarps. He stopped at a painted line near the bottom of the steps. There was a string going across at the bottom step. A sign hung on the string said, "Enter at your own risk". He looked up at the door. There was another sign that read, "Instant Portraits Made Here". Glen was upset, this property was not supposed to be for businesses this was a residential area.

Totally incensed, he ripped the string and went pounding up the steps. He proceeded to cross the porch to bang on the doorknocker. The door swung open and there was a bright flash.

"Here's another one Ma'am, where do you want this one hung?" one of the workmen asked Martina.

"Well, he's our first here, I suppose we can hang him in the living room above the fireplace," she cackled, "We'll hang the children's portraits in the dining room when they come on Halloween, that should whet our appetites."