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16
We only wentand found our dream house in Venice which served as an incredible distraction for two days. Then again, if we hadn’t found something special with a budget of three million, I would have questioned whether I was living in some lucid dream. In fact, it had all felt like a lucid dream anyway. Never in my wildest imagination as a poor kid of a single mom would I have thought I’d be looking around houses with that price tag.
Nor did I think they’d be anything less than mansions. The house we finally set our sights only had three bedrooms and was basically a gutted-out bungalow refitted with high-spec kit.
The realtor, named Dominique, Dom for short she’d said, and judging by her personality she may have winked along with the friendly invitation to call her by her nickname if we’d been two straight, single men. I hoped like hell that Tae hadn’t just recommended her because he was looking to bone her. Then again, almost everyone was attractive in this town, and maybe I was the only one who thought about BDSM and role playing when she introduced herself.
Maeve and I had been together less than a year at this point. Though we always seemed to work in complete tandem, I’d brought myself around to the accepting conclusion that we might not be on the same page with a home. Maeve grew up with a lot of space, extra bedrooms, a pool house, and high-tech appliances that practically cooked or wiped your ass for you.
But me? I remember the gas being turned off once (likely due to unpaid bills), and my mom got me excited to find wood and try to make a fire for our hot dogs. In other words, she was used to the fineries, and I was made to think life was fun without them.
As we parked in front of a house on Palms Boulevard, Dom brought up this very juxtaposition that I’d tried to politely position when I’d called her from Seattle.
“So,” she gestured with feminine, delicate shoulders toward the house, “this is without a shadow of the doubt the house I think marries your tastes. Drake described the combination of your preferences as something along the lines of natural luxury.”
Maeve tossed me a crooked smile. “That’s actually pretty good. Better than what I was going to say which was boho chic.”
“Which one of us is boho?”
“You!”
“Oh my God.” I turned to Dom. “I burned incense one time, and she has me down as boho. Do I look boho to you?”
Dom laughed. “That wouldn’t have been my first guess. Too much black.”
“See?” I turned to Maeve. “That makes you boho then. And me chic.” I took her hand as we rounded the corner of a private property we couldn’t really see from the road as a high hedge and wall had been built around the exterior.
Dom punched a code into a gate security panel. “The one thing that people don’t like as much about Venice sometimes is that it can feel a little less private than some other parts of LA. The plots can be smaller here, but this place,” she pushed open the gate, “is a total sanctuary. It’s an architectural compound, so to speak, and isn’t overlooked by anyone.”
The mid-century house took me by surprise. There were meadows all around, not at all manicured the way the properties were near Maeve or even at my apartment complex.
Dom swept an arm in the air, as if to reveal the home. “This place was designed by the artist, Mungo Ward. His purpose was to foster creativity and create a feeling of total escape. Personally, already in the meadow-like landscaping I feel a million miles away from LA and its perfect topiary, artificial lawns. Artificial everything.” she laughed. “Whenever I enter these gates, I feel like I can just breathe again. But maybe it’s just that the air is fresher here than in Silverlake.”
Dom was good. She explained this house as if reciting a Shakespearean play.
“It is different.” Maeve’s gaze wandered the meadow plants. A blackbird landed nearby, and she smiled. The bird was a good omen. Maeve loved birds.
Dom continued as we walked up a gorgeous pathway wandering through a small meadow-like nature reserve.
“As you can imagine, having been designed by an artist, it will have his unique stamp on it.”
She opened the door and let us through first. Our jaws dropped as the cavernous open space was full of light, but our eyes were immediately drawn to an exposed cathedral ceiling of natural wood. It was a beautiful contrast to the concrete and glass around. Warm neutral tones breathed around us, a sigh of relief. It was like being in a Zen spa.
“Wow,” Maeve whispered.
Dom led us through the unique space, and around every corner was a new place to love life. Nooks for meditating, walk-in closets that were sleek and clean rather than displaying clothing like a shop (something I dreaded Maeve would want). We were speechless wandering through the property when Dom took us out the back.
“I thought you two might like this place as well because there’s what Ward called an ‘ADU.’ A one-bed, one-bath, completely separate area. Obviously, it could be nice for visitors, but also I thought maybe, Drake, you might use it to create music or have jam sessions? It’s nice to have a dedicated space for your art. No?”
We walked through bamboo gardens, around trickling ponds and dancing butterflies. How could we possibly be in Venice Beach?
The ADU was just as perfect as the house. I could instantly see myself creating here. Just like the old days when I’d do my walkabouts in Snoqualmie, this place somehow erased the world outside its walls.
“Babe,” Maeve took my hand, “this would be perfect for writing music.”
I nodded.
Dom took us around, pointing out nearly every faucet and window feature, and when we finally exited the building, she asked, “What do you think? Maeve, Drake told me you live in Malibu, and this is definitely different. True, you have the beach nearby, but the streets are, well, streets. Not avenues. If you catch my drift.”
