Little Did I Know: A Novel (10 page)

JB wore a yellow hooded slicker. The rain popped against the plastic sounding like dozens of centipedes tap dancing. JB was short for Joan Bach. “Bach” was given to her father at Ellis Island because the officials considered his German name unpronounceable. Stanley Bach had survived Buchenwald and come to America to forget a horrid past and begin a new life. He had begun by earning chump change in a bakeshop and now owned a chain of bakeries in and around Manhattan. JB never spoke of her parents, and we never asked her why. She was a quintessential New York stereotype: fast talking, chain smoking, loud in her speech and shrieking laugh, boorish, pushy, and manic. JB slept little, pined over men who never gave her a passing thought, and dressed her rather frumpy, short frame with considerable charm. She had been by my side these past years whispering support on each show.

James, who was Secunda’s younger brother, had kept his birth name of Feldman. Unlike Secunda he was tall and soft, with skinny arms and a potbelly that hung over his belt. He had hair that could have doubled as a dark helmet. He wore nondescript jeans, Timberlands, and a different band T-shirt every day. He slouched, and his hands were always stuffed deep into his pants pockets.

James was a genius. He had graduated Tufts in just two years, and in the fall would be attending Harvard Medical School. His deliberate speech cadence complemented his subtle wit and reminded us all of Spock. He could fix anything, and approached every chore without emotion but rather with guile and logic. He always had incredible pot, which when smoked put you into a short-term coma and then had you racing to the nearest doughnut shop to inhale two or three dozen varieties of fried dough.

JB lit a cigarette, avoiding the raindrops to do so. James did an awkward soft shoe while staring down at his feet. Secunda stood tall and straight, arms folded against his barrel chest. My gaze moved from one face to another, looking for clues to their respective thoughts. My heart was pounding. Not a word was spoken but everyone’s eyes were sharp, alert, and smiling.

James spoke first. “If we’re going to do this, then let’s do this!” He grabbed his toolbox and a crowbar from the Land Rover. JB shrieked a laugh and followed with four huge flashlights while Secunda removed another two from the trunk of his Alpha.

“Let’s start in the barn,” James said, “and see what we have there.”

JB suggested we move the cars. We were about to break in, which was obviously a crime, and she thought it best not to attract attention. She even suggested we call Barrows and get actual permission.

“Not happening,” I said. “It will take too long and I want to do this before we’re all too old to care.”

“Fuck it,” Secunda said. “The only one out on a day like today is Noah, and he can’t get a warrant.”

The rain came down harder.

James approached the front door of the old barn and surveyed his options for entry with a quick sweep of one of the flashlights. The three of us watched intently while he took something small from his toolbox and poked around for a few moments. The door popped open. James gathered up the remaining three lights and entered the building.

“Wait there,” he barked. We huddled against the rain. Minutes passed.

“Okay, come on in,” James instructed at last.

The inside of the theater was lit up like a movie premiere. James had taken a small generator from his toolbox and somehow connected it to the house lights, which now lit the entire building with an amber wash.
Wow! Pow
and
boom!

We walked quietly through the building. I checked my emotions to try to keep things in perspective. JB shrieked a laugh and lit her next cigarette before the last went cold. Secunda climbed the steps to the stage and clapped his hands to check the acoustics. I thought that stupid but said nothing. He paced the stage, walked center and put his arms up with dual peace signs, hunched over like Nixon, and said, “I am not a crook.”

James had wandered backstage and reported with enthusiasm on the fly space and the specifics of the system, telling us that it was more than we would ever need. JB shrieked from behind the back wall that the dressing rooms were really nice and then shouted that the scene shop off left was “far out.”

I stayed near the back of the house and listened as my friends reported their discoveries. Secunda walked from the stage to an alcove house right and said with great conviction, “We can put the orchestra over here.” James had begun a quick inventory of equipment and read off a yellow pad. “We have at least two hundred fifty lights, and I see three spots up in the balcony.” JB reported with dismay that the restrooms were disgusting.

I sat in the third row center and motioned for my friends to join me. The seats were from an old movie palace, purple velour with ornate armrests and high wooden backs. There was no center aisle but rather one on each side of the house with plush purple runners that matched the seats. Everything was a bit worn, but nothing bordered on seedy. There was a “crystal” chandelier that hovered over the house; it was incongruous in an old barn, yet it added a certain elegance to the rustic room.

“Okay, what do you all think?” I asked.

“It’s a fucking disaster!” Secunda said.

“Yes, that’s true,” JB replied, “but it could be
our
disaster.”

“James, what about you?”

“It’s perfect. It has just enough charm and just enough decay to make it attractive. It’s a deluge out there and there is not a hint of water in here. The stage is solid. I also checked out the basement. There are enough props and furniture to do shows in an amphitheater. Big brother, you are an asshole.”

“Whoa and whoa. I said it was a disaster but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m in full bore. Sammy, what do we need? Where do we stand?”

The side door of the building suddenly burst open. At first I thought it was the wind. Unfortunately I was wrong. Two police officers entered. They wore long, black slickers, highway patrol hats, carried drawn nightsticks, and led with deep angry scowls.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked the short, stocky one.

“Back up against the wall and let me see some ID!” demanded the other. His hand was perched on his pistol.

We did as they said. James was mellow, although I couldn’t understand how. If they searched his car they’d find enough weed to send him up the river. Surely he’d miss medical school. Secunda was surly but obeyed. JB was insanely flirtatious, and to my surprise it was with the short, stocky cop rather than the taller one with blue eyes. I was polite and handed my driver’s license to JB’s newly intended. Eying his name tag I said, “Officer Donahue, sir, I have been working with Dr. Barrows this past week to reopen the theater this summer . . .”

“Barrows know you’re here?”

“Well, not exactly, but I had a meeting with Mrs. Barrows Sunday evening to discuss the transaction and met with her yesterday to sign a letter of intent. In fact, the Barrows foundation is funding the whole project.”

The tall, blue-eyed officer jumped in. “Listen, fella, the whole town knows about your meeting with Barrows’s wife, and from what I heard it didn’t seem like you was talking business. Now, you either have a right to access or you don’t.”

JB approached her beau, examining his name tag. “Officer Thomas Donahue, may I call you Tommy?” The cop nodded and slowly put away his nightstick. The blue-eyed cop had removed his hand from his gun. “You can call me JB if you like, or Joan if you’d prefer. Perhaps we should have gotten permission for access, but we haven’t done anything except inspect the premises, and if you would give us a moment I’m sure Sam could get Mrs. Barrows on the phone.” Her eyes batted at Tommy and he was now more than relaxed.

Blue-eyes remained a pit bull. “I’m certain Mrs. Barrows would be accommodating.” He used the word to suggest something more. “She always is. Always. But as of now I have you for breaking and entering and I’m bringing you down to the station.”

Even Tommy seemed taken aback by this news. Secunda jumped in. “Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice draped in sarcasm. “You have nothing better to do today than harass us because we’re checking out an opportunity here in this town. Why don’t you call Barrows before you book us? Better yet, drive over to his place and speak to him and his wife. You may find that you’re looking pretty stupid after a wee bit of investigation. Maybe on the way over you can cuff some old lady for walking too slowly across the street.”

“Shut up, Secunda!” I pleaded.

JB moseyed over to the man she was going to marry and said, “Officer Tommy, can’t we settle this down a bit? We’re not looking for any trouble. Just the opposite, we plan to be here all summer. You guys can come by anytime. Bring you wives and we’ll leave you free tickets.”

“I’m not married,” Donahue said. “Neither is Officer Cutler.”

“How terrific is that?” JB said, beaming. “Cute, single guys coming to the theater! What’s your favorite show?”

“Officers,” James said, “may I suggest something?” No one objected. “We are all staying at the Garden’s Beach View down the road. In fact, Mr. August has been there for several days. If you have the station call perhaps that would prove we’re well intentioned. We won’t run way while you check into our story.”

Cutler stared at me with surprise. “You know Veronica?” His question was imbued with distrust and a touch of “you lucky bastard.”

“Yes, sir, I do. I think if you speak to her, she might even have some good things to say about me.”

He shook his head as if to shake away any ill will. He was smiling now without reservation. “So you know Veronica Chapman and Lizzy Barrows. You poor, hopeless bastard. You’d be better off if I arrested you.”

He chuckled, rechecked my ID, and offered me a bemused release. “Okay, Sam, I’m letting you go. But if I find out you’re BS-ing me, I’ll be by the motel quick as day. Now get your friends out of here. Tom and I will close up.”

“Welcome to Plymouth,” Secunda muttered under his breath.

James packed up the lights and other equipment. Secunda helped with contempt creased across his face. They walked to the cars.

“Officer Donahue,” JB said, “my friend Josh is taking us all out to dinner tonight at eight o’clock at a place called Souza’s. Is it nice?”

“Yeah, Souza’s is great, ain’t it, Walter?”

JB flashed him a smile. “Wonderful. Perhaps you’ll join us tonight at eight. It would nice to see other friendly faces. Also, perhaps you could show me how to crack my lobster.” She said this last line with a wink.

Officer Donahue nodded, his tongue practically hanging out. JB sauntered out, and I marveled how someone lacking in the A-list physical tools of flirtation could be so expert at it. I lingered a moment. “Thank you, officers,” I said, and then with a slight bow I headed back out into the rain.

Cutler shouted after me, “Hey, August, Lizzy Barrows and Veronica Chapman—make sure you see them one at time and never in the same place. Safer yet, in different states! You poor, stupid son of a bitch.”

The rain came down harder.

S
ecunda and I occupied a table at the Full Sail. We sat next to a window overlooking the ocean, which was finally inching toward calm. The rain continued but it was more of a mist now, and the gray sky that had blanketed the day showed specks of blue. The bar was practically empty. Just after four in the afternoon was not peak time at the local watering hole.

Doobie was behind the bar readying his station for the onset of the happy-hour rush. At the moment he had but a single customer. He sliced oranges, lemons, and limes, filled the cooler with myriad bottled beers, and opened endless jug wines all with the practiced hand of a master.

JB and James had headed out for reconnaissance. We had agreed to meet at Souza’s in downtown Plymouth a few minutes before eight. In expectation of a luscious lobster dinner, we just drank beer. Secunda nursed his second brew while my first one was left untouched, both warm and flat.

After the officers Donahue and Cutler had freed us, Secunda suggested we do some research. We wanted to find out more about Barrows, see what all the tumult was about. What did Cutler mean when he said Lizzy and Veronica would be better off in different states? What did we need to know to make sure we got the building? We drove to the town hall and then to the local library.

As we drove to our respective destinations I brought Secunda up to date on the events of the past few days. I told him everything, including the tales of Lizzy Barrows’s naked and Veronica’s erratic behavior. He listened intently as we drove. “Women. You can’t live with them and you can’t shoot ’em,” he said, making it sound both wise and original.

We discovered a great deal that afternoon. Barrows seemed to be in the papers quite often, and most of the depictions were unflattering. His wedding to the fabulous Lizzy was a gossip writer’s dream. The stories about their May-December romance were plentiful and practically all unkind. The Barrows family had been an icon in Plymouth, credited with hundreds of good deeds over the years. But over the last few years the pendulum had begun to swing.

The trial of Eddie Chapman, Veronica’s brother, was covered, in all its gory details. Lizzy Barrows had been a hostile witness. Sidney Sutter was credited with championing the young Chapman and financing his legal defense. Chapman was given a reduced sentence and with some good fortune could see the light of day pretty soon.