Page 242 - A Little Life: A Novel

fifth and sixth floors are full of them, too,” said Richard, “they’re in the
process of selling them to a wholesaler in Chicago, and then those floors’ll
be clear.” He smiled. “Now you see why I have such a good elevator in

here.”
They returned to Richard’s apartment, back through the hanging garden
of chandeliers, and Richard gave him another beer. “Listen,” he said, “I
need to talk to you about something important.”
“Anything,” he said, placing the bottle on the table and leaning forward.
“The tiles will probably be out of here by the end of the year,” said
Richard. “The fifth and sixth floors are set up exactly like this one—wet

walls in the same place, three bathrooms—and the question is whether
you’d want one of them.”
“Richard,” he said, “I’d love to. But how much are you charging?”
“I’m not talking about renting it, Jude,” said Richard. “I’m talking about
buying it.” Richard had already talked to his father, who was his
grandparents’ lawyer: they’d convert the building into a co-op, and he’d

buy a certain number of shares. The only thing Richard’s family requested
is that he or his heirs give them the right to buy the apartment back from
him first if he ever decided to sell it. They would offer him a fair price, and
he would pay Richard a monthly rent that would be applied toward his
purchase. The Goldfarbs had done this before—his grouchy cousin’s
girlfriend had bought a floor of the vinegar building a year ago—and it had
worked out fine. Apparently, they got some sort of tax break if they each

converted one of their buildings into at least a two-unit co-op, and so
Richard’s father was trying to get all of the grandchildren to do so.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked Richard, quietly, once he had
recovered. “Why me?”
Richard shrugged. “It gets lonely here,” he said. “Not that I’m going to
be stopping by all the time. But it’d be nice to know there’s another living

being in this building sometimes. And you’re the most responsible of my
friends, not that there’s a lot of competition for the title. And I like your
company. Also—” He stopped. “Promise you won’t get mad.”
“Oh god,” he said. “But I promise.”
“Willem told me about what happened, you know, when you were trying
to get upstairs last year and the elevator broke. It’s not anything to be
embarrassed about, Jude. He’s just worried about you. I told him I was

going to ask you about this anyway, and he thought—he thinks—it’s