The Apartment Store #13

Chapter 7, Part 1; in which Lydia goes to the Krampus department store

The Apartment Store is the story of Lydia, a little girl who lives in a ramshackle attic apartment, in a ramshackle apartment building, down the ramshackle end of town. All Lydia wants is a proper Christmas, but it doesn't seem likely until a new tenant arrives in their building and changes Christmas for everyone in it.

The Apartment Store is a book length Christmas story of twelve chapters, split into twenty four episodes for Advent.

A small girl with black bobbed hair, wearing a black a-line dress with a bright yellow collar under a black overcoat, sauntered through the crowds thronging the main street, happily swinging a bright yellow shopping bag as she went. On the bag were written the words: ‘The Lydian’ in black capital letters.

Beside the little girl trotted a small, immaculately dressed man with a neat little moustache and a neat little step that danced through the gaggles of shoppers. And wherever he went there were gaggles because someone would stop and grab passers-by and make them look at his neat little back and tell them: ‘You know who that is? That’s Otto Krampus, the founder of the department store. The former owner, Otto Krampus. The disgraced Otto Krampus, that’s who that is.’

“Everyone knows who you are,” said Lydia, who was growing to quite like her outfit as the Lydian Girl. She still wasn’t sure about the haircut, but she did like what Ivy had done with the dress.

“Some people recognise me from the newspapers,” said Artie, grinning, “I am notorious rather than famous, I think.”

“Everyone’s talking about you,” said Lydia, “That means you’re famous, doesn’t it?”

“True fame,” said Artie, “Is everyone knowing your name and no one knowing anything about you. Which is precisely where we’re going to take you, if we’re lucky. By way of here.”

'Here' was the main doors of the Krampus Department Store, which were swinging back and forth in a complicated rhythm, the reflected afternoon sun flashing out the numbers of shoppers as they came and went, came and went. Artie had stopped and was looking up at the clock above the door. Under it crouched that statue of the devil who was the sign of the store. He grinned out over their heads, gazing up at the Old Town behind them.

“Krampus, you old goat,” muttered Artie, “Meet the Lydian. Ready?” He looked down at Lydia.

“We’re going in the Krampus?” said Lydia who hadn’t been expecting this, “Are you allowed?”

“Of course, they might have fired me, but they can’t stop me dropping in,” Artie shook himself, “Come on.”

Lydia wasn’t the only person shocked to see Artie in the Krampus. Everywhere they went staff would catch sight of him and just freeze in astonishment. They’d be in the middle of wrapping a parcel, or tweaking a hemline or advising a customer and they’d just stop and stare. And their customer would start to complain and then see what they were looking at and stop and stare themselves.

Artie didn’t seem to notice, he guided Lydia briskly through the perfumes and jewellery to a bank of elevators. He managed to stop himself getting into the staff elevator and instead ushered them into one for customers.

“What floor, pl…” the attendant, in a smart red uniform and pill box hat turned and his mouth dropped open, “It’s you.”

“Is that how you speak to customers?” snapped Artie.

“No, sir,” stammered the boy, “I’d… I’d forgotten you were a customer.”

“So it’s how you’d talk to your boss?”

“No, sir, you’re not my boss anymore, so…” the attendant gave up the fight, “What floor, please?”

“Four,” said Artie, “And don’t worry about it, I’m pretty surprised to see myself here too.”

“Where are we going?” asked Lydia.

“The Salon de The,” said Artie.

“Good choice, sir,” said the attendant. Artie glared at him, and the boy looked away.

“The only place to be seen taking afternoon tea. Anyone who’s anyone goes there, which is why we’re going there too,” Artie rubbed his hands, “You ever been?”

“They would never let me in, not even to look,” said Lydia.

“Hm,” said Artie, “Someone should do something about that. You’d like it. Originally it was going to be like a tea room I saw once in a big house in the country, but then I found this old hospital, derelict place, and it has these amazing tiles, beautiful things, whole rooms of them. The builders had thought, you see, that having beautiful things about would help people feel better, which is very wise, and I thought the same thing would probably go for people having tea. Everyone said it would be too dark but fill it with lights, bring out those beautiful rich colours and it’s like having cake in a jewel box. Exquisite.”

“Fourth floor, sir,” said the attendant and the doors opened.

“Artie!” said a voice, “You don’t call, you don’t write. I’m joking, of course, how are you doing?”

There was a young man standing in the elevator foyer, a young man in a smart grey suit, with a smartly clipped moustache and smartly clipped manner, like he was at attention on a parade ground. He was tall and looked like an Artie who had been stretched out and smoothed down.

“Lesley,” said Artie, sticking out a hand, “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Seriously, though, Artie, how are you doing? It was dreadful what they did. It didn’t have to be so brutal.”

“I’m doing well. No, scratch that, I’m doing splendidly, splendidly,” Artie wouldn’t stop pumping the tall man’s hand up and down, “I could almost thank them, I really could, I feel set free.”

“Set free?” the tall man tried to take his hand away, but Artie wouldn’t let go, “From the Krampus, from your own store?”

“A place like this, this is history, this is the way it used to be done, places like the Krampus are the past now, Lesley,” Artie squeezed his hand, “If I’d stayed here I would have stayed stuck in the past but I escaped. I’ve seen the future, Lesley, and I’m excited.”

“Well,” said the tall man, finally extricating his hand from Artie’s grip, “I’m so glad to hear it, Artie, so glad.”

“Well,” said Artie, clapping the man on the arm, “I hope you’re enjoying my old job just as much, Lesley, and good luck to you. Come along, Lydia.”

And he swept Lydia along towards the tearoom, leaving the tall man behind in the foyer, nursing his hand.

“Lesley Wande,” hissed Artie to her, “He was my deputy, cunning devil, just the sort of person for a deputy but now they’ve given him my old position as managing director and they’re going to regret it. I don't like calling The Krampus 'old-fashioned', but did you see his face when I did. It gladdens the heart and puts a spring in one's step. I would almost spring for tea, if I hadn’t made it so expensive. But what would the Salon de The be without the expense?”

The maitre d’ at the door just goggled at Artie and they swept on past into the Salon de The. It was everything Artie had promised: a jewel box. It was a tall room, and the high walls were lined with dark green tiles, painted with red and yellow patterns. Moulded leaves and stalks wound across the walls with bright eyed birds and beetles peeking out at the corners and in close folds of foliage. Across the far wall the sun was setting behind stained glass windows and casting glowing spots of blue and scarlet across the floor.

Everywhere were chandeliers of every kind, so the room was full of dancing, shimmering light, and in the corner a woman was playing piano, accompanying a violin player who strolled between tables, serenading the guests. And there were plenty of guests, table after table of expensively dressed ladies, all wearing hats, some with feathers in, some with silk flowers, so that as they nodded and spoke across their tea it looked like a garden full of dancing birds. It was everything Lydia had hoped it would be on those days when she had been drifting through the store on the way home, trying to sneak a peek inside.

As they entered, all the birds and flowers turned to look at them, and a wave of silence rippled out across the room until the only sound was the violin. And then a voice just by them said:

“Otto, how delightful! Then the rumours aren’t true. I said they couldn’t be.”

“Mrs Mountjoy, enchanté,” said Artie, bending to kiss a hand, “But I’m afraid to say that the rumours are in fact the news. They are all too true. I have left the Krampus.”

“You have left?” Mrs Mountjoy sounded heartbroken, “But what will become of the Krampus without you?”

“The Krampus seems to be getting along without me perfectly well,” said Artie, “And indeed I would think myself a failure if it didn’t. The question is, surely, what will be become of me without the Krampus?”

“Oh you poor dear,” said another voice, “You must be quite heartbroken.”

“Only at not seeing you lovely ladies everyday, Mrs Browning,” said Artie with a smile and the table all giggled, “But seriously, you would think so wouldn’t you. But, to use a trite phrase, one door closes and another one opens. There I was, only days ago, alone on the street, quite alone, without a house, penny or friend…”

“You should have called,” said a voice.

“You should just come straight round,” said another.

“Well, I have a roof over my head now, and I’m not going hungry, but most importantly of all, I have friends. This is Lydia, say hallo, Lydia, this is Mrs Mountjoy, Mrs Browning and Mrs Alcock.”

“Good afternoon,” said Lydia, and made a little curtsey like Ivy had taught her.

“Good afternoon, Lydia,” said Mrs Mountjoy, “What a charming child.”

“Lydia and I have a new project we ‘re working on together,” said Artie, lowering his voice, “Sounds a little crazy, I know, but children see things in a way an adult never could. Only a child could have thought of it, it’s amazing, quite amazing. I shouldn’t tell you, we’re still testing out but…” he looked around theatrically, and then squatted down beside the table,

“We’re calling it an apartment store, a building full of the most talented, most skilled artisans, you visit them in their workshops, the places they live in, really get to know them and their work. I know, I know, sounds off the wall, but I tell you, this is going to be the only way to shop, for the cognoscenti, you understand.”

“How thrilling,” said Mrs Mountjoy, “And you thought of this, Lydia, dear?”

“With Art… with Mr Krampus’s help,” said Lydia, trying to look innocent.

“We’re naming it after her,” said Artie, “The Lydian, but keep it to yourself, just for the moment, ok? I know I can trust you.”

And he got up, steering Lydia away from the table.

“What are ‘cognoscenti’?” asked Lydia.

“They think they are, which is what we want them to think,” said Artie, “It means people in the know. In on the fashion. If they think they know something no one else does, they’re bound to want to show off that knowledge to everyone else as fast as they can. Mrs Pomfrey!”

He advanced on another table, hand outstretched.

“Otto Krampus, how marvellous! But I heard…”

And the whole performance began again.

They made a full tour of the Salon de The, stopping at tables here and there, telling the terribly secret story of the Lydian. As they were leaving, Lydia looked back to see the tall man, Lesley, standing by Mrs Mountjoy’s table.

“Two birds with one stone,” said Artie, grabbing a handful of tiny sandwiches from a passing trolley and handing them to Lydia, “She’ll tell him everything, and then he’ll tell the whole store, all the staff and all the customers of the Krampus will know by the end of the hour. I’ll have the fish paste ones if you don’t like them.”

Outside the winter afternoon was becoming cloudy and dim. Cars already had their headlamps on.

“There’s another place we should definitely go,” said Artie, looking at his watch, “You ever been to a bar, Lydia?”

“No,” said Lydia, slightly taken aback by the question, “Have you seen many little girls in there?”

“True enough,” laughed Artie, “A day of firsts for you then, from the Salon de The to Harry’s, from the sublime to the ri-drunk-ulous.”

They turned off the main street into a narrow mews leading down the side of the Krampus store. They were headed down the hill into the New Town.

“It’s also the first time I’ve ever dressed as a department store,” said Lydia.

“I rather thought the store was dressed as you,” said Artie, “Anyway, it’s apartment store, don’t forget. If we’re going to tell people it’s a whole revolution in shopping, it better sound like one.”

“You know,” said Lydia, “Even if this doesn’t work, even if no one comes, it is really exciting. Nothing like this has ever happened to me - doing all these things, going to all these places. Thank you for bringing me.”

“Hey, what makes you think this isn’t going to work?” said Artie, “This is a great idea, it’s going to work, trust me.”

“Nothing ever works,” said Lydia, “We never have any money, we never go anywhere, Dad works in that stupid job the whole time. I just wanted something to happen, that’s all, something exciting. An exciting Christmas, you know.”

“Well, you know, you ought to go easier on your father,” said Artie, “I’m sure he’s trying. And that's what counts, you know. Not everyone can win, but you don't stand a chance if you're not trying. I’ve got no family, I get to just do as I please. It can’t be easy bringing up a kid on your own. What happened to your mother?”

“She died,” said Lydia, “When I was small. I don’t really remember her. Not as a person, you know, just as someone who was there, like a presence. I’ve got pictures, of course.”

“It’s not the same, though, is it?” said Artie, “I have to say, whatever you might think of him, your father must have done something right: you’re a pretty bright kid. You say he never does anything, that he's stuck, but he's made you, a person of rare quality. A person who's going to breeze right past him, going to do extraordinary things. You already are. You say nothing ever happens: you’ve made this happen, Lydia, this wouldn’t have happened without you, you know.”

“Or you,” said Lydia, “I mean, finding Artie Krampus living in your building is pretty exciting to begin with, you know.”

“We’re a team,” said Artie, clapping her on the shoulder, “No, more important than that: we’re friends, right?”

“Right,” said Lydia.

“Otto!” said a voice and Artie stopped.

“Angus, how delightful,” Artie was shaking the hand of a man with a huge yellow scarf that billowed around his neck, making his head look like it was sitting in the middle of a sunflower.

“Otto, I heard what happened,” said the man, “Sad, but not surprised, you know, sad but not surprised.”

“Whereas I, Angus,” said Artie, “Am surprised but not at all sad.”

“Are you about to tell me that when one door closes another opens?” said the man, raising an eyebrow, “Because in my experience a door closes and you find yourself in a cold and unlit waiting room with no magazines. And uncomfortable chairs.”

“What you need, Angus, is people to open the doors for you,” said Artie, “People like Lydia here.”

“Hi,” said Lydia, “I’m Lydia.”

“And I’m Angus,” said the man, shaking her hand solemnly, “I run an art gallery, what do you do?”

“Well right now,” said Lydia, “I’m sort of an advertisement,” she lifted her shopping bag to show him, “It’s a whole new idea - we call it an apartment store.”

“It’s really something, Angus, you should see it,” Artie grabbed his friend by the arm, “I’d forgotten what it was like, that life. It’s a whole building up in the Old Town, cheap apartments, little corner store, but the people, all so busy and interesting and talented. And a little weird, some of them. But they’re the thing, they’re the idea, you know: you meet the people who make the things, a personal, individual experience, right in their own homes.”

“So you’re selling people now?” said Angus, his eyebrow shooting up again, “You realise slavery is banned, don’t you? And largely frowned upon in polite society.”

“It’s not like that,” said Lydia, “We’re all doing it together, as a team, as friends.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Angus, “But I am yet to be convinced there is an Otto in team. Although there is a ‘toot’ in Otto, you’ll notice. As in trumpet.”

“I’m serious, Angus,” said Artie, “You have to come to see it.”

“Oh, I shall,” said Angus, “But I can’t promise to do it seriously, I’m afraid. I try not to anything seriously, Lydia,” he added, “And I am seldom let down.”

“You won’t regret it, I swear” said Artie, shaking his hand again.

“No, but you might,” said Angus, waving to Lydia and walking away, “God speed, Otto, and good luck, Lydia. Good luck and godspeed to the Lydian.”

“The cleverest person I know,” said Artie, watching Angus walk away, “I always got the impression that he could see straight through me and liked me anyway. Which is quite a thing. Thank god he’s so determinedly frivolous about everything, the moment he starts taking the world seriously, we’re all in trouble. Right, here we are: Harry’s Bar.”