Little Did I Know: A Novel (13 page)

Harold Feldman, Secunda’s father, was in his office every morning by 6 a.m. making gobs of money as one of New York’s most powerful litigators. His easy demeanor belied his reputation in court, where he was feared and respected; he seldom lost a case. He liked me and had given me an open invitation to free legal counsel.

Harold picked up his direct line almost before it rang and sounded genuinely pleased to hear from me. I immediately brought him up to speed, including the fight, the stopped $50,000 check, the charges against Eddie Chapman, and more. I mentioned Lizzy Barrows’s aborted naked seduction, but left it G-rated. In response he offered quiet, measured, quality advice. He pointed out that I should put aside anything that distracted me from my goals until I accomplished my agenda. He also told me that I should avoid getting involved with the underbelly of a small town. I was to spend the summer there, nothing more.

He outlined all possible scenarios for the 5 p.m. appointment Mrs. Barrows had suggested. He stressed that I needed to separate the leasing of the property from the foundation’s funding of the venture. Last, he offered to send an affiliate from his satellite office in Boston to attend the meeting. I took notes, thanked him, and hung up. I decided I’d let Secunda sleep in for as long as it took me to shower, at which point I was going to need him to join the fray.

Davey Molson was a third-year associate at Harold Feldman’s Boston firm but looked like a poster boy for the FBI: tall and lean, wearing a power suit with a crisp white shirt and red silk tie. Clear skin, bright hazel eyes, and a clipped, confident cadence to his speech. He had a Clark Kent chin and the posture of a marine at attention.

Davey had attended Amherst where he was small-college All-American tailback, then gone on to Harvard Law School. From his demeanor, I got the impression that he intended to become the governor of Massachusetts by the end of the month and president of the United States shortly thereafter. However, on this Wednesday afternoon in May he was sharing a pizza with Secunda and me at the Kingston Sub Pizzeria, eight miles north of Plymouth on the east side of Route 3A.

Harold had briefed Davey that morning on everything. His plan was both specific and precise. We rehearsed it as if it were a scene from a courtroom drama. We ran it several times with Molson coaching us on probable questions. He drilled us continuously about projecting the proper attitude and respect and assured us we had the necessary documentation and credentials to force an arrangement for leasing the theater from the foundation. All the drama and intrigue of the past few days was of no import to our needs.

“Leave it alone,” he urged. Then we ran it all again from the beginning.

T
he Barrows’s driveway was littered with a Cadillac, a Lincoln Continental, and a new Mercedes sedan that suggested the importance and affluence of the Barrows trustees who waited for us inside. We arrived in Molson’s red GTO convertible and Josh’s Alpha. The Barrows Foundation may have had age and money on its side, but we had a cool muscle car and an Italian babe-mobile. Secunda wore a jet-black poplin suit and contrasting midnight-blue linen shirt buttoned to the neck. Along with these he had on black lizard cowboy boots and a scowl. I had sprung for a new, white button-down, which I wore with my jeans and a navy Paul Stuart sport coat that my dad bought me the weekend I left for college. I felt we exuded confidence as we rang the bell on the large, ornate door.

Inside, Dr. Barrows was wearing what I came to learn was his signature outfit: blue blazer, crisp white shirt, red ascot, and Gucci loafers. He offered his hand and ushered us into the living room. Lizzy sat on the sofa wearing a pale-blue business suit and white starched blouse. She stood up and greeted us as if last night had never happened. Her hair was pulled back in a French ponytail, and even though she wore flats her legs still rocked. We were introduced to the trustees. Mr. Vander and Mr. Jordon were cut from the same cloth. One had a thin mustache and the other . . . well I don’t really remember. They were mid-to-late sixties and looked like their underwear was too tight. I felt the need to check my digits after we shook hands.

The third trustee was more interesting. Miss Susan Golden was a striking woman in her early forties. She wore black bolero pants and a gold linen blouse that screamed money. The outfit was designed to show her considerable assets without being overt, and it all worked beautifully. She wore her glossy auburn hair to her shoulders, her makeup was precise, and in her right hand she carried a tumbler of bourbon on ice. She was all attentive, alert, and flirtatious but somehow managed to come off as nonchalant at the same time. Her interest seemed to be in the sport of things and the presence of three handsome young men. Miss Golden would certainly vote for Mr. Molson when he ran for president.

We all stood in silence. The antique grandfather clock moved time forward slowly, each tick seemingly louder than the last. Lizzy was clearly practiced at the art of role-playing. Last night she was a drunken bar slut, this afternoon the elegant young bride of the town’s most important citizen.

The clocked ticked yet again. It was precisely 5 p.m. Barrows invited us all to sit. Then he began. “Mr. August, thank you for coming this evening, and thank you for bringing your associates to clear up the misunderstanding that seems to have developed.”

“What misunderstanding is that, doctor?” I asked.

He hesitated, then smiled at his wife. “It seems that although both Mrs. Barrows and I were most impressed with you when we met on Friday, it was quite clear that no formal arrangements were made and no term for the lease of the theater was consummated. Our enthusiasm for you and your budding organization remains high, but we do have certain responsibilities to appropriate due diligence.”

My gaze had moved from the doctor to his young wife, who licked her glossed lips slowly with the verve of a predator.

The doctor continued. “Even if we can come to an agreement this evening as to a lease arrangement, there are issues as to your ability to provide the necessary fiscal requirements in order conclude the transaction.”

“Dr. Barrows, sir, I meet all requirements to lease your building. You and Mrs. Barrows, the president of the foundation, encouraged me to believe the same—so much, in fact, that she signed the lease and issued me a check for fifty thousand dollars. She then stopped that check for no apparent reason, which is clearly a gesture of bad faith. As to my assuming the lease was acceptable, I took my lead from you and Mrs. Barrows. As you must know, I received a call from Mrs. Barrows following our initial meeting inviting me to join her that evening to discuss the theater. I paused for effect just like Davey and instructed. “Mrs. Barrows was extremely enthusiastic.” I let that hang in the air and then continued. “In fact, I think the word ‘enthusiastic’ could not be more appropriate.”

I had pronounced “enthusiastic” as if it had fourteen syllables, and the air was thick with subtext. Jordon and Vander looked grave, nodding ever so slightly. Their calm was not reassuring; it was all too practiced to be genuine. Secunda had not moved since he sat down, and Molson took what seemed like important notes and shuffled his files. Susan Golden had gotten up and topped off her glass of bourbon while probably wondering what Davey looked like with his shirt off.

“Dr. Barrows, sir, your wife explained to me that she was the president of the foundation and had full authority to enter into agreements on its behalf. Our reading of your by-laws reinforces her claim. Additionally, when I met with her she gave me a check drawn on the foundation’s account, which I understand further enforces the commitment to my organization as the lessee.”

All the while, Lizzy Barrows kept her cool exterior as if my remarks had no affect on her. The room fell silent. Were we done?

“Young man, enthusiasm is not enough to lease you one of America’s most historic properties. You may think you have the ability and know-how to run a business of this size, but there are other groups vying for the use of the building. With all due respect, you are a callow youngster who can’t move ahead without my foundation’s financial support.”

Lizzy moved to the doors in front of the deck, positioning herself as a distant observer. Even in business attire, she had the uncanny ability to subtlety promise deviant sex as a reward for her bidding.

“Dr. Barrows, I’m afraid I don’t understand this sudden change of heart.” My words were measured and respectful, but it was clear the exchange was no longer friendly.

Miss Golden chimed in. “Yes, Andy, tell Mr. August about the board’s change of heart. I’m a trustee, my heart hasn’t changed a bit. It has, however, began to beat a bit faster since these young men arrived.” She offered a small, almost imperceptible bow toward Davey and went to refill her tumbler yet again.

Molson looked up from his papers, caught my gaze and nodded as if to say, “Now, Sam, throw a punch.”

“Dr. Barrows, I am renting your building this summer.” I let the statement sink in so it was clear that I was prepared to fight this out until I was declared the winner. “I have researched the requirements necessary to do so under your by-laws and I have brought counsel here to reinforce my position. We are delighted that Miss Golden is here, as she is listed in your charter as both a trustee and of counsel.”

Susan Golden interjected. “I am counsel for the foundation. Until today, it was never interesting. I can’t wait till Mr. Molson puts his cards on table, or whatever else he chooses to do, or put, on the table.” Her voice was heavy with bourbon and it was clear she thought herself adorable.

Davey looked at her with decorum, although her body language lacked any, and conveyed simply, “Are we playing cards? I thought we were here to conclude a deal. Once that’s finished we can play whatever you’d like, Miss Golden.”

For the first time since I entered the house I heard the ocean below and the trees rustling in the evening breeze. I stepped back into the conversation.

“Dr. Barrows, sir, Mrs. Barrows, ma’am, Mr. Vander, Mr. Jordon, counselor—Joshua and I are only interested in delivering a wonderful product to your community this summer. With our talent and connections, the theater will be lit with excitement, help tourism, and provide jobs and revenue for your city. We will refurbish the place and bring it back to its former glory.

“As to references, I have three letters of the highest recommendation: one each from two of my senior professors at Tufts and one from the dean himself. As to character, I have brought more than a dozen letters from universities across the country inviting me to attend their schools—not only for my athletic ability but also for my possessing the highest character. Their words, not mine. Lastly, I have a stack of notices saying that my work as a director is more than good and deserves and merits a venue for those talents to mature.”

Davey presented documentation of all of this. Barrows was more than annoyed. “That is all very fine young man, but you have no money and I have no intention of giving you any. Any tenant must show unencumbered funds in the amount of fifty thousand dollars, as well as sufficient security for any lease to be valid. Therefore, and with pleasure, I must vigorously rebuff your intent. You will have to find some other place to spend your summer vacation.”

I put up a hand. “Okay, Dr. Barrows. Indulge me for one last moment. Your foundation is reneging on your president’s commitment to me of fifty thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Other than my fiscal shortcomings, you and your trustees think I am a worthy tenant and would agree to me as the lessee if I could make rent and provide security by end of business tomorrow?”

He looked about the room. His cronies Vander and Jordon looked pleased, as if they were bank examiners in a Capra film. Lizzy stood unscathed, while Susan Golden acted as if the music had stopped in a game of musical chairs and she had no place left to sit. I said nothing and stared at my faded sneakers.

“I have money, sir,” Secunda said. “According to your by-laws, if someone provides ten percent of the needed cash obligations then they will have seventy-two hours in which to meet the final obligations. I am, as they say in the theater Mr. August’s angel. Davey here has a copy of my bank statement showing a balance well in excess of twenty thousand dollars, as well as an affidavit prepared by Mr. Molson that I will hypothecate these monies to any business entity that executes a lease on the property. The balance will be provided as per the by-law demands. Additionally, I have a cashier’s check made out to the foundation for twenty-five thousand dollars, which will be held in my attorney’s escrow as security to cover initial working capital, any unpaid bills, or any damages that may occur. This amount exceeds those requested in your own by-laws.”

Barrows was stunned. I wondered if his next question might be, “Who stole the strawberries?”

I continued at breakneck speed. “I must remind you all that the president of your board solicited me, enthusiastically, and urged me to execute your lease. She then presented me with a check, which was stopped for no apparent reason, although I would be more than happy to sort out Mrs. Barrows’s intent.”

It didn’t appear that anyone wanted to engage in such a dialogue. Davey smiled behind his eyes and without actually saying it, conveyed “you are on a roll, boy.”

“It is not my intent to cause conflict or embarrassment to the Barrows Foundation. Rather it is to honor
my
purpose, the one that set all this in enthusiastic motion. I wish simply to make the theater soar and to recapture its past glory. In my opinion, you’ll be lucky to have me as a tenant and member of your community.”