Scavanging in Louisburg Square

Soon after my short foray into drug dealing, the bathroom ceiling caved in on the Beacon Hill pad, sending Jane and I scratching like fiends down the Hill to Mass General, sure we had contracted crabs from the incident. Assured there were no cooties on us, we had to find a new place to live.  She moved into her own North Beach pad, and just moseyed across the street with a girl called Amy and her roommate Cheryl who needed a third to share a tiny two bedroom apartment.. The way this place worked was two girls shared one room; each getting one single bed. Amy had the former walk in closet in the room.  We all coveted that closet from the day we moved in. Amy signed the lease. It was her apartment and she got the coveted closet room.   

Cheryl soon left for greener pastures, and a lively blond named Rosalie moved in. Rosie and I hit off immediately.  We would get that closet one of these days, and when we did, we'd share it, that is, we knew without saying so, that the closet would become the boyfriend room.

For the time being Rosie slept over at her boyfriend Allen's house more than she did in our apartment.  Jane came over frequently. Amy did not approve, and when she didn't approve and she couldn't move things to her liking just by her mere royal presence (like the termite queen), and believe me, she was no match for the Contessa of Cool that Crazy Jane could be, Amy just went into ther closet and closed the door.  Betty was on the large size herself, and when she plopped in the very middle of the couch in her bright Merimekko print moo moo, Amy oozed away defeated, slamming the closet door behind her.  Betty would smile her sly Betty smile and  we'd plot the evenings activity.

If it was Wednesday, we'd be on the prowl for treasures. Wednesday was trash night, and the rich people on the other side of Beacon Hill, always had the best trash. Antique chairs, in need of upholstery; whole loveseats with a loose leg, dressers that only needed some WD-40.

It was on trash night in Louisburg Square that we met Gilly. Naturally, he and Betty bonded instantly over an armoire the size of a baby elephant.Well, there was going to be hauling that into either of our apartments, so we graciously accepted Gilly's offer of a glass of wine in exchange for helping him get it to his street level flat on the not quite upscale but definitely on the "right" side of Beacon Hill Pinckney Street.

This soon became a routine, until Gilly's apartment was fashionably furnished, Jane had a few lighter pieces in her pad, and various other scavengers we met along the route scored big.  I never mined missing out because I couldn't see dragging anything up the four flights of stairs and  could nver get Rosalie to join in, as she was planning to move out West sometime soon with her beau, and Amy, well, Amy had enough already, so she wasn't invited.

Besides, there was always Gilly's to drop in on. He was gracious to a fault, cut crystal and dim lighting.  Decent wine; anyway it wasn't Annie Green Springs or Boone Farm Apple Wine, which the rest of us drank on those rare occasions we were buying.  Naturally, as was my way in those days, I soon developed a crush on Gilly. It took me awhile to figure out that Gilly wasn't into girls.