Alligators in the Trees (30 page)

“I’m going to fix the problem—it’s my only choice. I did this project on my own—everything I could beg and borrow is tied up in it. We just leased the commercial spaces and the residential units are nearly finished. We were this close to putting them on the market. If this building goes down, so do I. And so do my kids.

“We risked it all on this baby, but the payoff is going to be worth it, once we get past this debacle,” he said confidently. He regarded Philip thoughtfully for a moment.

“You know, it’s because of your courage and foresight in redeveloping this area that we got involved here. It was a really gutsy move, what you did. My hat’s off to you.” The contractor’s praise did little to improve Philip’s mood.

“I hear The Phoenix is slated for demolition next week. You’re not going to let them go through with it, are you?” Jack asked. Philip shrugged resignedly.

“I don’t know how to avoid it,” he said.

“Do what I’m going to do,” Jack said. Philip looked skeptical.

“As much as I would like to believe it, I don’t think this admixture is the problem.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, unlike you, I did cut back on the engineer’s recommended circumference.”

“So, what—you scaled it back from twenty-four inches to eighteen?”

“Twenty inches,” Philip said.

“How close together?”

“Every twelve feet. We’ve got twenty all together, at a depth of fourteen feet.”

“Seven story building—sounds like plenty of support to me,” Jack said. “You need to look into this admixture thing. But you’re going to have to act quick, if you’re going to save your building.”

“How exactly do you plan to solve this problem with the caissons?” Philip asked. He couldn’t for the life of himself imagine any viable or realistic solution.

“We’re going to jack up the building and install new supports. See that gentleman over there in the khaki blazer? He’s the head of a Norwegian outfit that specializes in shoring up structures from underneath. They’ve been doing it for years in Europe, places like Venice and Amsterdam, where they have real problems with settling soils. Anyway, they’re going to get in there with their special equipment, hoist it up, secure it and drill for new supports.” Philip’s head swam at the concept.

“How do they…whew! That must cost a fortune to do something like that,” Philip said, shaking his head at the mere thought of such a complicated scheme. “If you’ve got everything invested in your building, how can you afford to do this?”

“Well, for starters, Boyce Industries is going to have to pay. This problem is entirely due to their defective product. I feel certain of it,” Jack said.

“Be that as it may, have they actually agreed to foot the bill for this?”

“They will. Whatever it ends up costing will be minor to what I’d sue them for if I lose the building. From what I’ve heard so far, I think they are going to embrace the opportunity to rectify the problem. Like I said, they’ve been very eager to help. Why don’t I introduce you to Mr. Sanborn, Boyce’s head chemist, get your ball rolling.”

Priscilla watched as Philip spoke with one group or individual after another. Though she would have preferred not to be standing on the sidelines while all this was going on, she was encouraged by the amount of talking that was taking place. If there had been nothing to give Philip any sense of hope, he wouldn’t have kept her standing there all that time. She figured no news was probably good news. After about twenty minutes, he broke away from his powwow.

“Priscilla, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“What have you found out?” she asked.

“Well, a lot of things.”

“Yeah? Anything that could help you with The Phoenix?” Philip nodded his head slowly.

“Possibly. If you don’t mind waiting just a couple minutes longer, I’m going to give this man some information, and then we can leave. Okay?”

“No problem. Take your time.”

Priscilla watched Philip as he rejoined the other men. She had a feeling of wild excitement welling up inside her, threatening to burst free. She began ambling casually down the sidewalk, away from the crowd. Nonchalantly, she turned the corner and shook her fists in the air as she let loose a muffled yell.

She was so happy for Phil, she could hardly contain herself. She could tell from the expression on his face his hopes were high, regardless of how much he might play it down. He wouldn’t be feeling that way if he hadn’t heard some heartening news. If anybody deserved a lucky break, it was Phil. She calmly walked back around corner just as he began looking for her.

“Oh, there you are. Listen…I need to meet these men over at The Phoenix. It shouldn’t take too long to get what we need, but if you’d rather I drop you off somewhere—”

“Not a chance. You’re stuck with me, Phil. No way you’re getting rid of me at this stage of the game. I’m dying to know what’s going on,” Priscilla admitted gleefully.

“All right. Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Philip shook hands with the Norwegian engineer and the chemist from Boyce Industries. They had been able to access the sub-basement, get what they needed and get out quickly. He had gotten the ball rolling, as Jack Cafferty had advised. Now he had to wait and see where it would go. He caught sight of Priscilla’s eager face through the windshield and smiled involuntarily.

“Tell me how it went,” she asked him impatiently, as he slipped into the driver’s seat and tossed Jack’s hardhat onto the backseat.

“Well, we got what we went down there for,” he said, enjoying the chance to string her along.

“Yeah?
And?
”

“And we’ll see what the lab says.”

Priscilla emitted an exasperated sigh. “But in the meantime, you can find out from your concrete company if they used an admixture, and which one,” she supplied.

“That’s right, Miss Efficient. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do, if you’re still interested.”

Priscilla snorted. “Here, eat your sandwich,” she said, handing him his turkey and Munster on whole wheat, as he started his Range Rover. He peeled back the paper and took a bite before shifting into drive and pulling away from the curb.

“So, let’s head over to my office. We can do some research, and see if we can find the paperwork on the caissons. Then we’ll make some calls and take it from there.” Priscilla nodded agreeably. She sat back in her seat, satisfied with the plan.

“Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?” Philip asked, through a mouthful of his own.

“I ate it while I was waiting for you,” she replied, smiling at Philip’s relaxed demeanor. She doubted he had ever spoken with food in his mouth prior to that day. She took this as a good sign.

“I drank the coke, too, so you can have the designer water.” She twisted the cap off and handed it to him, forcing him to lay his sandwich on his lap.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a swig and handing it back to her. “You know what? I think we make a pretty good team,” he said.

Priscilla was reluctant to accept the compliment. “Yeah, right. What have I done?”

“What have you done? You have quite possibly saved The Phoenix from being demolished. If you hadn’t spotted that article in the
Times
, it would have come down before I ever learned of this admixture problem. It’s only because of you that I’ve got half a chance to do something. You’re amazing,” he added, his eyes filled with admiration.

Priscilla scoffed, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but be affected by his praise. It was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

Tobias pushed Priscilla’s buzzer for the third time. Still no response. Having waited all day for this opportunity, he was unwilling to accept the fact she wasn’t in. For all he knew, her buzzer could have been on the fritz. After what he seen of the building, it was entirely possible.

Or maybe she was in, but not in the mood to see anyone. Tobias could relate to that. But somehow he imagined that desire would not apply to him. So he hadn’t been very convivial the last time he’d seen her; he’d make it up to her. There was so much ground to cover, and they were only wasting time.

Frustrated, he used the same trick he used before, pounding all the buttons until someone buzzed him in. This time, however, he was greeted by the suspicious manager as he headed toward the stairs.

“And just where are you headed?” she inquired crossly.

“I’m here to see Priscilla,” he said, as he halted mid-step.

“Well, you’re two days too late,” she replied flatly, crossing her arms under her ample bosom.

Tobias stiffened at this news. “What do you mean?” A wave of hot fear washed over him, as her words from the other day came back to haunt him.
“I don’t need them anymore,”
she said of her life’s work as she was about to toss it all into the incinerator.
Jesus.
Why hadn’t it occurred to him then what a high risk she was for suicide? No job, crummy apartment, no prospects. Because he had his head up his ass, like he always did…

“She doesn’t live here anymore, that’s what I mean. She moved out two days ago. Didn’t give any notice, but she did pay me an extra month’s rent, which was awful decent of her, I’ll hand her that.”

Tobias went limp with relief. Hearing that she had not croaked herself had temporarily distracted him from the fact that she was gone. His mood plummeted as this discovery slowly sank in.

He gravitated back down the stairs, mouth slack with disbelief. Well, aside from being extremely inconvenient for him, he had to admit Priscilla’s move was a healthy and logical response to coming into a nice chunk of change.

The more he thought about it, the more he was encouraged by this turn of events. How weird it would’ve been to find her still inhabiting this dump after the generous sum he had given her. And the fact that she had paid a month’s rent instead of just walking away led him to believe she needed the old woman to give her a good reference. Another reassuring sign. Tobias donned his most charming smile as he turned back to the skeptical manager.

“Uh…Miss? Missus?”

“Mrs. Kay,” the manager informed him coldly, reluctant to be swayed by his sudden onset of good manners.

“Mrs. Kay…did Priscilla give you a forwarding address?” he asked sweetly.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I see. How about anyone calling for references?” Mrs. Kay shook her head solemnly.

Tobias regarded the manager silently for a moment while he gauged what her reaction would be to a little palm greasing. He reached into his pocket, watching her eyes as they followed his hand. By the expression on her face, he surmised she would not be offended by such inducements. He unfolded his wallet and pulled a twenty into view. Mrs. Kay’s posture straightened slightly, so Tobias tugged another twenty-dollar bill out into the open. This made Mrs. Kay smile.

“I sure would like to find Priscilla, Mrs. Kay,” he said, as he slipped the notes into the compact woman’s waiting hand. “I have something of hers that she’s going to miss terribly.” Mrs. Kay accepted Tobias’s donation with a satisfied smile, tucking it securely into her brassiere before enlightening him.

“Well then, you might want to take a trip down to Florida,” she said, causing Tobias’s hopeful face to fall flat.

“Florida?” he asked incredulously.

“Yessir. Miss Vanderpool has taken a Southern migration.”

Florida?
Tobias still couldn’t believe his ears. Moving out of this hole, yes—but leaving the state just like that? He couldn’t fathom it. He had seen her only forty-eight hours ago, and she hadn’t even hinted at going to Florida. But why would she tell him anything? He barely knew her.

Besides, he had been a first-class jerk last time he saw her. He certainly hadn’t offered a sympathetic ear. She must have hopped out of his car and taken a cab straight to the airport. Who could blame her from wanting a clean break? It didn’t make him feel any better to realize his money had made her escape possible.

“Do you happen to know
where
in Florida?” he asked the manager, his polite manners seeping out of him as the reality of the situation became clearer.

“Nope, I sure don’t. But I know it’s not Daytona. My sister owns an apartment building down there, and I offered to call her. But Miss Vanderpool said she was headed further south than that. So that kind of narrows it down for you,” Mrs. Kay said, confident that she had earned her forty bucks.

Tobias snorted roughly as it became apparent no more useful information would be forthcoming. “Thanks,” he said sourly, turning toward the door. He hesitated, searching his pockets for something to write with. “Here, if you do happen to hear from her, could you please pass my number on to her. It’s a new one—she won’t be able to reach me at the old one,” he lied for the old lady’s benefit.

He scribbled the number of the direct line to his suite on a scrap of paper and fished out another twenty before he handed it to Mrs. Kay. He gave the manageress a meaningful look, then wished her a good evening, taking his leave of the depressing apartment house for the last time.

As soon as he was back in the hired car, Tobias started to panic in earnest. So much of his recent progress had been due to Priscilla. Hell, all of it, really. It wasn’t until that day in the coffee shop he finally broke through his decade-long dry spell. If he had first thought it was merely a coincidence, he had later come to believe otherwise.

It was his unspoken conviction that she had become his muse, his inspiration, the conduit running between him and his creativity. He couldn’t bring himself to think what her leaving town meant to his comeback. He was on shaky ground as it was already, passing off her lyrics as his own. His hands began to tremble as he imagined staring at the piano keys with his mind a complete blank…

“Where to, Mr. Jordan?” the driver asked, apparently not for the first time.

“Back to my hotel,” Tobias said, agitated, wishing he had requested a stretch limousine. He suddenly found the car claustrophobically small. It was like the whole world was closing in on him. His wife obviously had some plan to drive him crazy, slowly and painfully; his girlfriend was stalking him like a deranged fan; his partner was showing mutinous signs; and now the woman who had given him back the gift of music had disappeared in a puff of smoke. Where would it end?

“Pull over at that bar,” Tobias commanded the driver.

“Here?” the driver asked dubiously. They were on one of the worst streets in Alphabet City. He had taken it only as a means of turning around and heading back to the right part of town.

“Yeah,” Tobias said, opening the door before the car came to a full stop. “Wait here,” he said, before getting out.

The driver watched with apprehension as his client pushed through the red door, giving him a temporary view of the dim interior before it swung shut. After a fleeting concern for his patron’s wellbeing, he began to worry about his own. He clicked the door lock and hunkered down as far as he could while still keeping his eye on the door, hoping it was only a call of nature that had caused such an impulsive stop.

Tobias pulled out the nearest barstool, assessing his fellow drinkers as they assessed him. This was no happy neighborhood watering hole. This was a serious “you ain’t got no business on my turf” bar, one where even the bartender looked as though he resented the intrusion of an uptown slummer. Far from intimidated, Tobias held his gaze until the bartender was forced to come and take his order.

“Chivas on the rocks,” Tobias said. The bartender obliged and set his drink down without a word. Tobias laid a twenty on the bar, and left the change in plain sight while he drank. Once it was clear the stranger was there to drink and mind his own business, the rest of the customers got back to their own, carrying on as if he weren’t there.

Now that the scotch was starting to have the desired effect, he was able to look at recent developments more calmly. Okay, Priscilla had left town, but she hadn’t left the planet. And if she was on the planet, she could be found. Anybody could be found, given enough time and money. Money he could get; time was a different story.

He had as much as promised Brody he’d be at his place first thing in the morning, but there was no way he could face that whole scene in this condition. He had to first find out how bad his situation really was. He’d have to plant himself at his keyboards and see what happened. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. Maybe now, since he’d pierced the barrier that had separated him from his talent, he didn’t need Priscilla’s mysterious influence anymore. Somehow he doubted it. He drained his glass and motioned for another.

Damn,
he thought. Just as he was starting to feel like his old self again. There was nothing in this world as rewarding as the appreciation of one’s own talents. There may be certain individuals who could convince themselves they are gifted when they are not, but most people are capable of rightly judging their own abilities. And when the talent was of sublime proportions, it could give the guardian of such talent the greatest high in life. Creating anything that gives pleasure to others is the ultimate gift to the giver.

As self-involved and egocentric as Tobias Jordan could sometimes seem, he knew his contentment lay in the hands of those who were affected by his work. It was a symbiotic relationship, and he accepted his role dutifully, no matter how much it cost him on a personal level. And because of his sense of duty to his craft, Tobias realized he had to find Priscilla. He couldn’t stand the thought of facing another drought.

The bartender set the fresh drink in front of Tobias and extracted a five from his change. The bar had filled up considerably since he had gotten there. He had been too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the skeptical looks from new arrivals who wondered what this quiet whitey was doing in their midst.

As far as bars went, this one wasn’t terrible. It had plenty of characters for watching, though discrete glances were a must. But there was an element missing that Tobias found himself suddenly craving. The bar was curiously devoid of music.

“Know where there’s a good blues club in this part of town?” he asked the bartender when he made it over to his side of the bar.

“Yeah,” the bartender said. His tone told Tobias he wasn’t sure a skinny, middle-aged white dude would feel very at home in the place he was going to suggest. But hey, he wasn’t the guy’s babysitter. “There’s a pretty happenin’ joint over on Avenue D, between Third and Fourth. Called the Blue Dragon. Don’t get going till nine or so. But that’s the place folks go when they want some serious blues.”

“Any good places to eat around here?’ Tobias asked.

The bartender regarded him suspiciously. What was the deal with this guy? Was he trying to be black for the night? Trying to soak up the local color? He had half a mind to tell him to get his anemic ass back across Broadway before he was sorry.

Instead, he gave Tobias the name of a place around the corner that served soul food around the clock. Tobias nodded his thanks and left the five and five singles as a tip. The bartender watched him leave, hoping he didn’t end up reading about his big tipper in tomorrow’s paper.

Tobias walked up Avenue C, looking for Lil’ Audrey’s Restaurant. He had never been especially fond of soul food, but what the hell? When in Rome… He had dismissed his driver, and though he was receiving some curious stares, he felt more comfortable being on foot than in the back of a chauffeur-driven Town Car.

He was not overly concerned for his safety; he was keeping his wits about him. Plus he was no stranger to the seamy side of life. In fact, the combination of liquid confidence and the energy on the street had him feeling seven feet tall. No one was going to mess with him, but so what if they did? He had reached the level of apathy where almost nothing could upset his equilibrium. Bring it on. He was a bad-ass tonight, a man with nothing left to lose.

Lil’ Audrey’s must have been
the
place to eat in Alphabet City, seeing as the line stretched out the door and down the sidewalk. Tobias didn’t even bother to investigate. It was one thing to hang out in strange bars and listen to music, but quite another to stick yourself so conspicuously in the middle of a crowd that wasn’t your own.

Had he not been sufficiently fortified with booze and remorse, he would have turned back after the first block. But he had some time to kill before the entertainment started at the Blue Dragon, and a little food in his stomach wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

He stumbled across a diner that looked halfway respectable, surely nicer looking than Frank’s Coffee Shop. He ordered the chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans fresh out of the can. He ate a few bites as he listened to the conversations around him, then paid his bill and went looking for the blues club.

The Blue Dragon was barely discernible from the street. A small sign bearing the club’s emblem hung at a right angle from the building, a sign not much bigger than an unfolded newspaper. It was still relatively early in the evening and they were just setting up the till when Tobias entered. There was a ten-dollar cover charge and a two-drink minimum, collected in advance. Tobias took his two drink chits and found a seat off to the side of the stage area.

As more patrons trickled in, Tobias found he was not the only white man in the place. A few other pale-skinned music aficionados were scattered about, and once they began to take their places, Tobias discovered the bass player was also white. Everything was cool. Everyone was only interested in taking in some hard-driving blues to help improve their outlook on life. Besides, music was the great equalizer; skin tones didn’t matter when music was the main attraction.

The band did not disappoint. Once they got going, they had attracted quite a decent-size crowd. They were all accomplished musicians, and the singer had a mesmerizing voice, though Tobias had never heard of them before. They were so attuned to one another, they had the joint jumping halfway through their first set.

Tobias was lost from the opening song. There was something so powerful about loud, pulsing music, plaintive lyrics and a sound that made a person want to get down on his knees and weep. He needed this kind of thing, more than he realized. He needed to surround himself with music and talented musicians on a regular basis.

Music was life to him; being insulated from that world in order to preserve his existence had in effect entombed him. He thought with disgust how Monique had masqueraded as his savior, rescuing him from the hard life on the road, only to enslave him with a careful existence. There was no life without music. There was no role for him other than musician.