Little Did I Know: A Novel (3 page)

As I waited for Dr. Barrows to show, I glanced over the letters and photos adorning the walls of the lobby. It was more than a museum; it was a testament to courage and the indomitable human spirit. The history lessons here were in the faces of the early American people and the letters from home and back, telling an epic story made all the more compelling because it was tactile and personal. I felt humbled to see the hardships and triumphs of our country’s true beginnings. It was an inspiration.

Finally, at 4:30 p.m., a black limo pulled up to the front of the building. A formally clad, heavyset chauffeur assisted Barrows from the backseat of the car. I had seen dozens of pictures of him in the papers, but they were posed headshots and clearly taken years ago. Nevertheless, I recognized the smug expression that Barrows wore so well. He was followed by a pair of long, shapely, tanned legs that ended only because they touched the ground. As the unlikely duo climbed the steps, my heart beat faster. I knew this might be my best shot.

Barrows and the young woman strolled across the sky-lit lobby. The late May sun was casting multiple shadows from above, creating the aura of an old forties noir movie—those that often end in
bang bang bang
. Barrows was past eighty. I’d imagined he’d look like a retired gunfighter. Instead he was soft and pasty, his comb-over in disarray. Despite expensive Brooks Brothers garb, he sported a pooch that made him look off balance, or a bit like a distorted cola bottle.

The girl with him, however, was a knockout. She was dressed to the tits in expensive crimson cotton, cinched at the waist with a black patent-leather belt. The dress must have been sewn on her, it fit so perfectly. The supple fabric highlighted her natural gifts; not just her ample cleavage but her round rear end which, although small and tight, was sensual like a Botero or a Rubens. She sported perfect white teeth and long, luscious hair.

The whole package promised something carnal. Dangerous. She prowled rather than walked. Whoever this young vixen was, you’d rather have her as a concubine than a girlfriend. She appeared loose and easy, yet she also had a store-bought sophistication about her. She was intensely attractive yet accessible—every man’s dream—but she seemed quite capable of crushing you without hesitation, and with cold indifference.

As this milk-and-citrus couple strode across the lobby, I made my move. With somewhat false confidence, I raced across the marbled floor and intersected the two just a few feet from the elevator. I blocked Dr. Barrows’s approach while his companion lingered back a few feet to size up this surprise intrusion.

“Dr. Barrows, sir, it is so good to see you today.” He stared at me in silence, allowing me to either dig in or out of a grave. “I’m Sam August. I have been to see you three times, but your hectic schedule has prevented us from keeping our appointments. On another three occasions, our meetings were canceled at the penultimate moment.”

“You had occasions to see me?” He paused briefly. “Well, of course you weren’t given an appointment, for if you were, I would have honored it. I am not one to cancel or be rude.”

“No, sir, of course you’re not,” I stammered.

“Do I know you? What is it you need or want, young man?”

My earlier assessment of his being pasty and soft dissipated as his confidence and impatience with me weakened my resolve.

“Well, sir, it is about the Priscilla Beach Theatre, and with all respect, we did in fact have set appointments. I confirmed them with your office with a Mrs. Stafford.”

“Do you have an appointment for today?”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“Then why should I see you?”

“Because I’m here, I made the effort and, frankly, sir, I think it is in your best interests.”

“What do you know of my interests? You’re just a kid.”

I hesitated for a moment. “Are you a Red Sox fan, Dr. Barrows?”

“Of course I am. I have lived in New England my entire life. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, Fred Lynn is my age, sir, and as you know he led the Sox to the Series last year and won the MVP. He was a rookie. He had never done it before. He was a kid.”

Barrows smiled—or at least his lips curled upward.

“Okay, August I’ll give you an audience upstairs in my office. I need ten minutes to check in, and then we’ll hear what you have to say. Lizzy here will show you up.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

He got on the elevator, pressed a button that surely read “ascend” rather than “up,” and quickly disappeared into the ether of privilege. I stood across from the young woman. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air like molasses. “Have you worked for Dr. Barrows a long time?” I asked finally. “He seems a bit volatile for such a nice spring day.”

“He does go up and down, that’s for sure,” she replied. “Sure” sounded more like “shore,” as she had a hard New England accent. Her legs were great, but up close she had a certain coarseness that made her look tough and soft at the same time. All the money in the world couldn’t truly disguise where she came from, and it was certainly a different part of town.

“Good job though working for such a powerful man, I suppose.”

“I don’t work for Anderson.”

I blushed. Gratefully, I saw the elevator was on its way back down.

“Oh, are you the doctor’s daughter?” I asked, as I considered it a better option than ripping my tongue from my mouth.

“No, I’m his wife.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, Mrs. Barrows!” I blurted out. Certainly the tongue removal would have been a better choice.

“Why? I’m not. It has its rewards. We all play the hand we are dealt.” She was steely and her gaze never left my eyes. She seemed to feel a sort of twisted joy in making me appear the fool. Mercifully, the elevator arrived and we both got in. “I like you . . . August. Pay attention, I’ll teach you how to swim with the sharks.”

The doors closed, my stomach flipped, and we headed into the world of old elegance and freshly minted green. The elevator quickly filled with her expensive scent of lilac; it made her seem available. The doors opened into an anteroom where she told me to have a seat. Her exit seemed staged for me to get a terrific view of her ass as it left the room oh so slowly. Whatever she had paid for that dress, it was clearly a bargain.

After a wait of more than thirty minutes, Mrs. Barrows entered and surprisingly offered me a soft, pleasant smile. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“I want to rent the Priscilla Beach Theatre this summer.”

Her expression registered incredulity. “For what?”

“To put on shows, musicals. Make some people laugh, feel good. Start my life . . .”

“Putting on shows at that rundown place is the way to start a life? Andy said you went to college and I thought you were smart.”

“Going to college doesn’t make you smart, being smart makes you smart.”

She looked at me for a long time. “Are you flirting with me, Auggie?”

“Should I be, Mrs. Barrows?”

“Well, it don’t make you smart, but it sure does make you seem like a whole lot a fun. Come on, my husband is waiting.”

Barrows was seated behind a large, circular desk serving out orders to some unnamed party on the phone. Behind him were a dozen floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. All you could see was the wisp of whitecaps dancing atop the ice-blue sea. If it was meant to inspire awe, it did so quite nicely. I stood quietly, as if waiting to be sentenced. Lizzy Barrows kindly pulled a side chair toward me and gestured that I sit and relax. Sitting was the easy part. She then exited as if by silent command.

“Okay, August, I have a file on you. When you called previously, I had my office look up your credentials, which although admirable are scant, to put it nicely.”

“Remember Fred Lynn,” I said.

“Unless you hold a winning hand, it is foolish to press your bet,” he replied without mirth.

He picked up a yellow file folder and waved it in the air. “It says here you were an all-star athlete. What happened?”

“I got injured.”

“Tough luck. How badly?”

“Enough that I am sitting here reinventing me.”

“You’re too young to run that place. It needs money and knowledge. Experience. You’ll fall on your face before you open a show. I’d rather it stayed closed than embarrass me.”

“So you don’t care about my character or my plan, just my youth? What about Orson Welles, Peter the Great, Joan of Arc?”

“You sound like an idiot. Don’t be so precocious. I don’t like it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t like you.”

“That doesn’t really matter, Dr. Barrows. I came to see you because I thought we both wanted the same thing.”

“And what is that, kiddo?”

“To see your building recapture its former glory. It has quite a history, and it would be a shame for it all to fade away. I can make it sing again, do something for your hometown, for your constituents.”

“My constituents?” he asked in a huff. “So now you say you’re an altruist as well?”

“With all due respect, sir, do you have a bad toothache today?”

It was clear that any effort at levity was foreign to the doctor. He replied with a terse “No.”

“I came here to rent your theater. I read an advertisement that it was available and I have the resources and the desire to make it a success. Why must this be so difficult and you be so unpleasant?”

“Because I can, I have got nothing to lose and I don’t like you.”

“You don’t even know me,” I replied, thinking this was all a bit silly while realizing that money didn’t equate to manners.

“I know enough. You’re arrogant. You think you’re entitled to what you want simply because you want it. Good looks aren’t enough, son. They don’t trump money. Money always wins.”

“Character wins, Dr. Barrows. Character often comes up aces. It doesn’t matter whether you care for me or not. What’s of concern here is our mutual interest in the Priscilla Beach Theatre.”

“And the girls, right, August?”

“The girls, sir?”

“Don’t you meet a lot of young ladies working in the theater business?”

It was as though Barrows had thrown a big stink bomb in the middle of his office.

“Yes. I have met a lot of my good friends working on shows.”

“Yes, but the ladies, August, they are resplendent, true?”

I responded with a wary nod.

“My wife could be a chorus girl. She has the looks for it, don’t you think?”

I tried to avoid the land mines that littered the room. “Yes, sir, Mrs. Barrows is very attractive.”

“Attractive?” he said leaning across his desk. “She is more than attractive. My wife is a knockout. Who wouldn’t notice that?”

My task was to get a lease on his theater not a piece of his wife. “Dr. Barrows, I think your wife is very pretty. Trust me, sir, she could be Cleopatra and I wouldn’t notice. I came . . .”

“Nonsense! Everyone has an eye for my wife. It is part of who she is. It is fun and frivolous unless you act on it. And you’re her type: muscles up your ass, ambition and intellect. What you don’t have is money, which makes her tick, turns her on . . .”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, doctor,” I said. I waited for some more surly bullshit. None was offered, so I continued. “Can we talk about renting your building? You surely have more important things to do then fence with me, and I have work to do. Youth has its own set of impatience.”

He let out a long sigh, flipped my dossier in the air, and met my gaze. The sun was beginning its rest for the night. The sky outside his window was a Monet in primary colors. I waited.

“How many runs did Lynn drive in against the Tigers last year?” he asked slowly.

“For the entire season or a single game?”

“It’s all about the game.”

“Ten.”

“It’s Friday. I’ll have some paperwork to you by the end of the weekend. Let the office know where you are staying. We’ll have something to discuss Monday/Tuesday. Kid, don’t waste my time.”

“I’ll only ask the same of you, doctor.”

His face was filled with some deep-down sense of being wronged. I didn’t get it or care.

“You’re excused,” he said. “My wife will show you out. Keep your nose clean.”

He ignored me when I offered my hand. Lizzy Barrows was waiting by the elevator. “You’ll be hearing from me,” she said.

Maybe for a cocktail later that evening, I thought. The elevator door opened and I got in. It delivered me to the lobby where mere mortals roamed and the day was no longer ruled by insecurity, vanity, or an abundance of cash.

I
walked out of the Barrows Building into a soft evening breeze off the harbor below. I felt good about getting my foot in the door. I knew no one in town, yet the summer feel on this star-studded night tingled with promise. I got in my Mustang, started up the beast, folded down the top, and began a leisurely drive in and around my new hometown.

I needed to find an inexpensive place to stay for the next few days. Although I had a surplus of guts and a propensity for flying without a net, cash wasn’t one of my strong suits. The “season” had yet to begin, so Plymouth had dozens of motels with vacancy signs blinking in neon. It was just past six, and the sky was an abstract painting you might find at MoMA: all vibrant color that if stared at long enough looked like a path leading somewhere, yet was merely a kaleidoscope, an oasis in the desert. The air was warm and carried a sweet smell of the ocean with each easy breeze off the sea.