‘Being There’ Decorates, Furnishes by Male Order

Somewhere deep in the moldy arcana of television is an early ‘60s sitcom called “Valentine’s Day.” It was the continuing story of a suave, handsome bachelor of means, Valentine Farrow, played by Tony Franciosa. Valentine Farrow had loads of dates with gorgeous women, lived in a beautifully appointed penthouse apartment complete with wisecracking valet, and almost never showed up at an office. Valentine Farrow became my hero.

Never mind that I was 12. I knew it was only a matter of time before I entered the magic world of single adult malehood, where I too could become a debonair playboy with a penthouse that would furnish itself, a valet who would manage the place impeccably without pay and a landlord who would waive my rent in exchange for the privilege of having such a cool guy living in the most expensive corner of his building.

Life would fall into place effortlessly. Precisely starched shirts and folded cashmere sweaters would magically appear in my closet. Fresh flowers would materialize in the living room each morning.

The larder would always be stocked with Dom Perignon, the windows would always be crystalline, and dust would never, ever settle on any piece of furniture. It would be single-guy nirvana and it would all just . . . happen.

Remember, I was 12.

I am now 38, and the closest I have come to a valet is a rerun of “Upstairs, Downstairs.” My mortgage lender is unsympathetic, my laundry has just increased its rates and continues to lose my buttons, I have run out of cheap Chianti, and my talents at interior decoration parallel my skills as a circus acrobat.

Life, in today’s male adult world, doesn’t fall into place. It crashes randomly down around you.

Unless you are one of Caroline Kreiss’ clients. Kreiss specializes in creating order out of chaos, at least as far as life on the masculine home front is concerned. She’s a Newport Beach-based interior designer who has developed a part of her business into a service called Being There.

Intended specifically for the single or recently divorced man, Being There begins with a certain assumption: that the life of the client is a kind of tabula rasa upon which can be imprinted everything from houseplants to wallpaper to sheets to maid service to extra razor blades. The client is too busy being Bond . . . James Bond to worry about things like sofa placement and whether the toothpaste is regular or tartar control.

One of Kreiss’ first two Being There clients may be the prototype: he emerged from a recent divorce with a house, a bed, a desk and enough income to give Kreiss a free hand. Within two weeks, she said, she had fully decorated the house with furniture and plants, filled the linen closet with bedding and the kitchen cabinets with dishware, installed a library with more than 700 books, stocked the refrigerator, equipped the bathroom with everything down to a toothbrush and signed the client up with a personal trainer.

Another client, a single man living in a 1,000-square-foot apartment in Newport Beach, hired Kreiss to fill the place with furniture of her own choosing, plus plants, bedding, china and one piece of artwork. The price tag: $20,000, which Kreiss said is her bottom limit.

Kreiss, herself divorced, says she knows what it’s like to be suddenly single, or at least single and burdened with other things to do besides study wallpaper swatches.

“I know how hard it is when you’re going through all those emotions,” she said. “You can’t even think about getting a cup of coffee in the morning.”

Actually, Kreiss can even arrange for that. On her list of professionals who specialize in being there for the bemused or confused single man are domestic services, cleaners, laundries and caterers. And if you get the boot a la Felix Unger--get thee out and take this stupid frying pan with you but the house is still mine-- Kreiss can even set you up with a realtor who will provide you with Item No. 1.

Kreiss has faith, apparently, that California’s 50% divorce rate will hold. A veteran of 13 years in the interior design trade, she says that she hopes half her business will eventually be made up of Being There clients.

And she may well do it, though I have a feeling much of her client base may not be shattered divorced guys with money. More likely, I think, she’ll be occupied with smoothing out life’s inconvenient bumps for a bunch of formerly dormant Valentine Farrows who suddenly may have a chunk of disposable income and a screaming passion for the ultimate no-brainer bachelor pad.

These are the guys who read Ian Fleming under the covers when they still had a paper route and dreamed of wearing tuxedos and dodging bullets in Tangier with Ursula Andress while maintaining a home so exotic that Warren Beatty would beg to rent it while they were away.

Yep, there’s a sitcom in there somewhere.