Belle of the Boulevard

Elle’s grandma was freaking loaded.
If pulling up to her massive three story manor after three and a half days of travel, wasn’t the first clue, then stumbling awestruck into the gleaming, state-of-the art kitchen to find an envelope stuffed with hundreds with my name on it is one hell of a second clue.
“Elle” I croaked, holding onto the envelope for dear life. “Wh-wh-what is this?”
She glanced over her shoulder with one, tired bloodshot eye warily. It had been a long drive. “Aimsley, what does it look like? A dog? A ticket to the opera? It’s money for you” she snapped. She threw the onslaught of duffel bags whose numerous straps criss-crossed her body, the sheer bulk of them threatening to dominate her tiny frame, on the couch and sank down beside them.
“See, look. There’s one for me too” she said. Sure enough there on the coffee table was an envelope identical to mine. She ripped it open. Along with what looked like three dozen hundred dollar bills, there was also a card.
“Estella,” she read out loud. I snorted at the use of her full name. She ignored me and continued.
“I thought you gals could use a little bit of spending money. I’ve also left my card, in case this isn’t enough. Have a great time, and remember our deal!
Love, Grandma Mae.”
“In case this isn’t eno- Elle, what does your grandma do for a living? What ever it is, I might need to consider it as a career path!” I joked, trying to lighten her up.
“Oh, you know” she muttered vaguely, picking herself off the couch and walking across the massive marble floored foyer. “I’m headed to bed. My rooms in the East Wing, right across from the sunroom. Pick yourself out a room and I’ll see you tomorrow.” she said, calling that last bit out as she disappeared up the stairs.
East Wing. This house was so big, it had wings.
I walked slowly up the spiral staircase Elle had gone up and started the quest for my new room.
Each bedroom had a different “theme”. Most of the rooms had a two or three color theme where the colors were coordinated into the décor. I poked my head into the first four different rooms, shaking my head at the yellow-gray, mango-peacock blue-and coral, a delicate pink and white, and a gorgeously decorated black and white rooms.
Finally, reaching the end of what appeared to be the East Wing, and crossed over to the West Wing.
The Wet Wing wasn’t nearly as flashy or pristine as the East Wing. The walls were covered with far less large, intimidating works of art and the floors didn’t shine so brightly that they hurt your eyes. Dust peeked ever so slightly from the nooks and moldings of the baseboards. I kept walking down the hall, flicking light switches lazily, flooding the dark hallways with a soft-dimmed glow. At the end of the hallway was a big wooden double door. It seemed weirdly out of place against the too white walls. I stopped in front of it, debating on entering. Maybe it was Elle’s grandma’s room. What if it was some creepy, off-bounds storage room? My imagination got away from me as I imagined murderers lurking in the darkness behind ghastly white clothed, outdated furniture, just waiting for their next foolish victim to wander in.
Stop it. I instructed myself firmly. You’re just being silly.
But still I made no move to open the door. Finally, I decided that growing up watching horror movies from age six justified my somewhat unreasonable fear of dark, dusty, unknown rooms, I half-ran back to the kitchen to retrieve a flashlight from what I assumed to the junk drawer, and a large chopping knife. I returned to the wooden door feeling considerably more confident. Pushing open the door with my toe, I quickly snapped the flashlight on, and stepped into the room.
It was not in fact a storage room. It was probably the most gorgeous, largest, home library I had ever seen. This home library was larger than most public libraries I’d been to. The walls were circular, so the bookshelves were curved to fit them, giving the appearance of being trapped in a large cup. Aisles of shelves stretched on as far as I could see. I walked toward them, lowering my flashlight and knife, feeling foolish as I flicked on a small lamp. My fascination with books almost completely overshadowed my need for sleep while I roamed the aisles aimlessly, scanning the book titles.
At the end of the last aisle was a small wooden door, barely taller than I was. I opened the door without hesitation, forgetting completely about my murderer theory. Inside was a single winding staircase, leading to above. The staircase wound in tight, dizzying circles as I climbed higher and higher. Finally, just as I thought I would topple over, the stairs stopped in front of another tiny door. I threw my body against it, and fell to the floor on the other side.
I layed there for a few moments until the world stopped spinning and my breathing was normal. Looking at the floor, it was immediately apparent that this room had not been inhabited in a while. The hard-wood floors, and now my T-shirt and jeans were coated in a thick layer of dust. I ignored the dust, rising up carefully, leaving a flawless comical replica of myself, stretched across the floor.
I was standing in another perfectly circular room, much like the library, but much much smaller. It was the perfect bedroom size. Not too big, and not too small. The room was empty except for an old-fashioned typewriter that sat on the windowsill, and a old antique dresser. It was the perfect tower room that I had always wanted as a kid. The type of room that had a tree-house feel to it. Far enough for everything to not be bothered, but still close enough to feel included.
I stayed in that room for a while, fantasizing about what kind of furniture to put up there and where it would go.
***
“So, you know that room above the library” I asked leaning across the long oak table, pushing it’s humongous flowery centerpiece aside so I could see Elle.
She sat slumped in her chair, her hair pulled into a rat’s nest bun on the top of her head, slowly spooning Fruit Loops into her mouth. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and I had been up since ten, waiting for Elle to get up so I could ask her about the attic room. I knew it was no use, getting up at ten, since Elle had never been known to get up before twelve, but my excitement would not let me sleep.
Elle glanced up from her bowl of soggy cereal blankly. “What?”
“You know, the one above the library?”
She was silent for a minute, her spoon clicking repeatedly against the bowl.
“Nope.”
“With the super long winding staircase?” I pressed, tapping my fingers on the table.
“Aimsley, I obviously don’t know what you’re talking about” she snapped growing irritated. She stood up, leaving her bowl on the table and shuffled in the living room, plopping on the couch. “What about it?”
I took a deep breath “Well, I wanted to turn it into my bedroom. All I have to do is buy furniture! Is that ok?”
Elle looked at me with sleep still lingering in her eyes. “Aimsley, honestly I don’t give a fuck. Do whatever.”
I’d forgotten how grouchy Elle gets in the morning.
“Ok, well I’m headed to Wal-Mart I guess. I’ll see you later.” I grabbed my envelope of money from the kitchen counter, and Elle’s car keys.

Three hours and five hundred dollars later, I was swinging in my double-wide hammock/bed in my new room. White Christmas lights hung from the ceiling, and new rugs were spread out across the freshly swept floors. Soft music played softly from the brand new speakers hooked up to my iPod. I lulled myself to sleep, swinging slightly and feeling completely at ease.