She smelled like death, or way too much makeup. Up close, he could see the line on her face where the makeup ended and her skin began. She wore thick mascara, black and heavy eyeliner around light brown eyes, that would look good on an Egyptian, but not on her fake-tanned face.
“Are you Mr. King?”
“One of ’em,” said Knight, as he stood in the doorway, dressed only in his shorts. His paunch was noticeable but the woman didn’t say anything. “You lookin’ for Mal?”
She looked the type to be looking for him. She was well dressed in a dark purple suit and simple accessories: a few bangles of Alex & Ani, a Channel necklace, Prada pumps.
She smiled at him. “I am looking for whoever resides here. I understand you are to welcome a bundle of joy.”
“Three of ’em,” muttered Knight. “But who are you?”
“Mr. Angrier sent me. I am to help babyproof your home.”
“Oh, shit, well, c’mon in.” He stepped aside and let her in. “Lemme take your coat.”
She shrugged out of the jacket after taking off her large messenger bag with a pattern loud enough to make noise on its own. Knight brought the coat to the other side of the foyer to the closet there. “May I?” she asked, peeking around the corner.
He stepped aside again. She peered in the closet. “Good. No wire hangers, that’s good. I would still get a block of wood to stop the little ones from sliding the closet door open. And the plastic dry cleaning bags, you must throw them away immediately.”
Knight said, “Wan’ me to write this shit down?”
She took a tablet out of the messenger bag. “No need. If you have a wireless printer, I’ll give you a detailed report with photographs and shopping list before I leave.”
“Oh, cool,” he said, though her makeup smell was getting to his hypersensitive nose.
“Here is your living room, yes?” She raised the tablet and took a picture. “You will need plugs for the outlets. The wires over there will need to be gathered neatly – I suggest investing in some plastic tie-ons of different sizes. Make sure to cover the back of your computer. Little ones love to unplug things.”
She turned to the fire and waterfall and clucked. “No. Those will have to go.”
“C’mon, really?”
“Mr. King, babies are not born with fear. They are born with an insatiable curiosity.” Again, she smiled. Her teeth were way too white against her reddish-brown makeup. “With three, you will likely have your hands full.”
She walked around the sitting area, a hodgepodge of couches and chairs, none of which matched, all of which were comfortable and had been broken in by Mal and Knight and Scott. She shook her head. “Lower couches, so they won’t fall. No glass.” She took a picture.
Knight tried to think about how long he had until he needed to babyproof the apartment. If the children grew at the rate they were going, they would be crawling in three months, walking – if not running – at six. He swallowed panic.
She continued to the stairs. “You must block off these stairs with a gate, both at the bottom and the top. Is this plexiglass?” She walked around to under the stairs where they had some items behind glass.
“Uh, no.”
She tapped the glass. “Make sure this is plexiglass, or at least shatterproof glass. No plants at their level. You have to look at your apartment from the height of your knees.”
She glanced at the kitchen. “We’ll leave that for last.” She started up the stairs just as Mal came in. He smiled, looked up at the woman on the stairs. “Hello,” he said, and gave his husband a warm kiss. “Who’s this, love?”
The woman held out a hand, perfumed strongly, and floppy like a fish. “I am Gwendolyn Hightower. Mr. Angrier sent me to babyproof your apartment.”
“Oh?” Mal asked, slipping a hand around Knight’s waist. “And how bad is it?”
“We’re fucked,” said Knight. Gwendolyn laughed, her cheeks turning brown under the makeup. “We gotta get rid of the fire pit.”
“Not the fireplace,” said Mal.
Gwendolyn glanced at the fireplace. “Then you will have to secure it properly. Children are prone to wander and will get into the most unlikely places.” She started up the stairs. “It’s best if you carpet the stairs, in case they get past the gates…”
And so she continued, the two men following her. Mall nodded at some things, frowned when she tore apart the bathroom. The tub and sink were fine, but the toilet would be too low, the seat cover too hard, the water in the shower too scalding for a tender baby.
The nursery passed muster, three cribs arranged in a semi-circle, three cribs without bars, with a foam triangle in each one so that the baby could rest on its side in case it threw up and wouldn’t choke on its own vomit. A rocking chair was beside the window – locked and at the height of Knight’s waist. They hadn’t decorated or painted, because first of all, they didn’t know what sexes they were getting. One crib was draped in blue, the other two, bare mattresses.
Their bedroom was different story. Small items had to be packed away, statues, things that could be picked up and put into mouths, possibly chewed on and swallowed. Bureaus were locked. The door to the balcony would be locked. The balcony needed railings up to their waists. So did the loft.
Then the kitchen. Oh, the kitchen, Knight’s kingdom. He had never realized how many dangers were there, not to mention the gas stove, the possibility of the refrigerator door slamming shut on one of them – the freezer was, at least, at the top, and the microwave was far too high for them to get to. Things under the sink had to come out or get locked up.
She was there for three hours, taking pictures, explaining things from a waddling baby and toddler’s point of view, and terrifying Knight. Mal took it all with his usual grace, asking a few pointed questions here and there, while Knight stood in stony, frightened silence.
Gwendolyn then sent the report to the printer, and bid the two men goodbye, making an appointment to come back in three months to see how they made out. Knight looked around the apartment. “Shit,” he said. “We might as well live in fucking Fort Knox.”
“It’s not as bad as she says, love. We’ll have a good babuchka to keep an eye on them.” Mal eyed the fireplace. “That fireplace isn’t going anywhere.”