If You Were Here by Jen Lancaster Page A

then she points to the oversize cement urns flanking either side of the door. “Also, the owners need to get Sabrina Soto on the phone stat to talk about staging. Because nothing says ‘million-dollar home’ more than four dollars’ worth of plastic plants spray-painted green.”
    We knock and then let ourselves in, where Liz awaits.
    Last time we were here it was overcast and gray and we didn’t get a great look at some of the rooms because it was so dark. We struggled unsuccessfully with the lights in the foyer, so we didn’t experience the fully lit impact of it until now.
    “Hey, you figured out the switches,” Mac comments.
    “Okay, Tracey, here’s where I need your expertise. All of this crown molding—is it rich and expensive or is it too much?” The painted woodwork crisscrosses all over the foyer, running up and down the walls and across the ceilings, following the flow of a staircase that first curves in one direction and then the other. The banister’s wound with an ivy swag that trails up the stairs and across the Juliet balcony. An ornate chandelier hangs low over the entryway, draped in string after string of beads and crystals, branching off into hundreds of little light-topped arms, which make the foyer as bright as an operating room.
    Sure, my eyes are distracted by all that’s going on in the vicinity of the walls, but then again, I can’t help but notice how open and airy everything is. Plus the scope of the staircase is nothing short of grand. That’s worth noting, right?
    Tracey takes in the whole room before answering, “It depends.”
    “On?” Mac prompts.
    “On whether or not you’re a Real Housewife of New Jersey.”
    Ouch.
    We pass from the flamboyant hallway into an equally ornate and scrolly dining room. “I figured out the lights in here, too,” Liz informs us. “Look up.” The last time we were here in the relative darkness, we thought the tray ceiling had been painted with some light gray paint for a little architectural contrast. Yet when Liz hits the switch, the whole thing begins to glow from the silver-leaf treatment and tiny LED lights sprinkled randomly throughout twinkle like miniature stars.
    “Did not see that coming,” Mac notes.
    Tracey says nothing, instead simply choosing to nod. Yet I have to wonder how twinkly and festive the ceiling might feel around a properly set table full of family and friends. I bet it’s not awful.
    We circle around the foyer to the powder room. I actually thought this room was pretty cool the last time we were here, but in watching Tracey’s reaction to the enormous tufted button holding up swags and swags of alternating cranberry and forest layers of silk on the ceiling, I rethink my position. 46
    “It’s like being at the circus!”
    “But the ceiling’s made of silk,” I protest. “Silk is a nice fabric, right?”
    “Oh, honey, yes, but not on a bathroom ceiling. The material’s not the problem—it’s the context.” She continues to peer at the fixtures. “Wait. There’s a hookah in here—no, this isn’t a circus. Rather, it’s more like The Thousand and One Nights . I shall call this room ‘Scheherazade Takes a Shit,’ ” Tracey says, attempting—and failing—to not bray with laughter.
    We pass into an electric green reading room filled with fake potted palms. Dusty plastic leaves form an awning over our heads. Tracey strolls the perimeter of the room, first taking in the paint choices and then inspecting the zebra-skin couch topped with round fuchsia, yellow, and royal blue throw pillows. “This room looks like Tommy Bahama banged a bag of Skittles.”
    There’s an enormous lion-headed water feature in the corner, and the window looks out over the statue of a bear on the patio. “So, what do you think, kids,” Tracey asks, “Russian Mafia or Italian Mafia?”
    “But,” I protest,“paint can be changed. Candice Olson says so all the time. And check out the window treatments!” Last time we were