Michael Quinn

by Caleb Borne

  The next day after breakfast in our room, Michael told me he was going to begin looking for a place to live.

  “Are we buying or renting?”

  “I’m not sure yet. It depends on the market for real estate. Why? Do you have a preference?”

  I shook my head. “No, not really, but I will admit I sort of wanted to decorate it and I know you don’t do that if you’re only renting.”

  “Katie, darlin’, you decorate to your heart’s content. I’ll find you an interior designer. They’ll bring you things to pick from.”

  “I don’t mind going out to the stores myself.”

  “Remember what I told you about that. We’re going to keep you isolated. It’s the rare bird that brings the highest price.”

  “Okay, Michael.” Those were two words I would learn to say often. They were foreign to me; Mama and Daddy were used to my making the plans and it was up to them to comply. I knew what Michael was doing. I knew, deep inside me that he thought I was a spoiled rich kid. He walked around it several times in conversation. I knew he thought he was doing me a favor by toughening me up.

  Sometimes it bothered me to think that I wasn’t quite good enough for him. Then I told myself, I certainly was and it was only because I’d been so sheltered and hadn’t become experienced that made me feel that way. I came from one of the very best families and one of the very best places to grow up in the whole world. I went to the best schools, had friends, read everything I could ever want. I had a good life. I’d always been grateful. I’d always said my prayers of thanks. But I could no more help being born into the family I was, than the poor boy in Harlem who was born into his. It wasn’t what your parents had; it was what God gave you and what you did with it that made you who you really were. That was one of the reasons I admired Michael so much. I knew he came from a less privileged background than I. Every so often, I heard that accent creep in, especially when he was emotional. Although he was a few years older than me, we were almost the same age when it came to being vulnerable. He pretended to be tough and in control, but I knew differently. I knew he wanted to be loved. I knew he wanted acceptance and success, and those came with recognition.

  I wasn’t fooling myself. People thought just because I was blonde and pretty that I didn’t have a brain. They were wrong. Michael saw me something that he could never be himself, so he wanted to own me, like a pretty doll you set on the shelf and brought out when the company came over. I was that pretty doll for Michael. I didn’t need him, at least not yet. I just enjoyed being with him and if I had to be truthful, I have to say I think I was a little in love with him, or at least with his world. Time would tell.

  Michael

  I fought to keep my face passive in my enthusiasm to myself. It was easy to get caught up in things in a place like Los Angeles. Everywhere you looked, the people, cars, houses in the stores, all had a patina of desirability. You felt yourself become greedy and less satisfied with what you already had. Of course, for me money was not the issue. I wanted whatever would make Katie happy, but not too happy. I couldn’t live in Los Angeles and I couldn’t live without her.

  The first order of business was to get her the right wardrobe. Although we were staying at one of the best hotels, I knew most of the people there had spent their last coins to see, and be seen. Each day the same hopefuls showed up by the pool, praying someone else would treat them to lunch or at least a martini. They laughed overly loudly and wore too much makeup. They laid in their chairs, like roasting pigs, denying themselves the refreshing cool water from the pool because it would mess up their hair or fade their bathing suit. I wanted none of that for Katie. I wouldn’t allow her to become just another one beside the pool. Therefore, it was also key that we find our own place to live quickly. As long as we stayed at the Beverly Hills, she would be compared to all the others and that went against my plans.

  I decided the real estate came first. I’d asked around and was told that Thomas Holden, a cousin to the movie star William, was a prosperous agent with good taste and a keen eye for investments. I phoned him and asked him to meet us for lunch at the Brown Derby. I knew he didn’t know what to expect — after all I was new in town and he didn’t have the contacts to check me out. I lead my life that way, as well as my business. As far as I was concerned, it was all my business.

  I left Katie at the hotel, with her promise that she wouldn’t go out to the pool but just sit inside and watch through a six-inch slit in the drapes. I knew she found it hard to understand at the time, but she’d catch on. She was a smart girl.

  Thomas was tall and dapper, stopping to shake hands and exchange quips with famous faces as he made his way toward my table. I held out my hand and he took it, shaking it enthusiastically. “It’s good to meet you,” he said, his head revolving from left to right as he checked out who was there to see and be seen.

  “It’s good to meet you, as well, although I must say I’m not accustomed to being greeted last. This is business, not a social call.”

  His steel blue eyes locked mine and we understood one another. His pasted on smile vanished and he waved away the waitress from the bar, asking to see the menu. I’d already been seated for a while, getting a feel for the place. I had a glass of wine and was hungry as well. “What do you recommend?”

  “Oh, their signature sandwich, of course. They’re famous for them all over the country.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  His brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “Mr. Quinn, have I offended you somehow?”

  “I’ll let you know when you do. I will say, however, that I am a busy man with limited time and I need a place to live. I’ve asked around about you and have been told you know a good investment when you see one. I need a minimum of four bedrooms and three baths. I want off the street parking, complete privacy, a view of the ocean and naturally a separate pool. Price is not an issue, but it has to be immediately available. When, and if, I decide to move, I will expect you to handle the sale ,and that I will realize a sizable profit. Have I made myself clear?”

  I knew I had him at the “price is not an issue” statement. It wasn’t often they heard that, especially in an economy that may be headed to war. In war, real estate always suffered. There were fewer children born in fewer houses that could be afforded by single women. It was a simple law of economics. Unless, of course, you profited from selling to the government. It didn’t matter, however. I was well-diversified in my businesses and had made sure that I would profit, no matter the circumstances. Obviously, he was not to know that.

  “I see. Well, I must apologize for my entrance. As I’m sure you understand, a man in my line of work needs to stay friendly with as many people as possible.”

  “Not when he has a client waiting that will result in a commission that eclipses anything he’s earned to date.”

  “Message received.” He cleared his throat and I knew in that moment that he felt like a fool and I would keep him off guard throughout our relationship, if there was to be one.

  “Did you have any property in mind?”

  “Needless to say, I wasn’t sure what you were looking for in advance, but I can assure you if it’s out there, I can get it for you, occupied or not. How soon will you need to move in?”

  “Three days, four at the most. I don’t have any furniture — we’ll be hiring a designer and furnish as we go. In fact, I’d like to see some properties this afternoon. If you have anything worth a damn, I’ll have my bank wire you the money and tomorrow my wife and I will begin shopping for furnishings.”

  “Ah, I see, so you’re married.”

  “Does that make some difference?”

  “Only if schools are involved.”

  “Let me get down to brass tacks, Mr. Holden. My wife is unlike anyone you’ve probably ever met. She is, of course, beautiful, but even more rare than that, she’s pure and unaccustomed to the wildlife that may be found around here. I take it you get my drift?”

  “Of cours
e. Anything else?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to live within two miles of any so-called movie star. It’s not my intent to meet Humphrey Bogart while dragging garbage cans to the street. I want remote, exclusive and envied. Just like my wife.”

  “Say no more. Holden pulled a card from an inside pocket and slid it across the table. Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Quinn. It’s on me. If you’ll have your driver bring you and Mrs. Quinn to the address on that card at 2 o’clock, I will show you real estate you’ve never dreamed of.”

  I left his card lying on the table, not wanting to appear hasty. I simply nodded and said nothing more. As he left, the waiter passed him with my lunch. I asked for a phone to be brought to the table and I telephoned our room at the Beverly Hills. “Katie? It’s me. Put on something nice, darlin’. I’ll be there to pick you up in a half hour. We’re going house hunting.

  I chose to follow Holden in his car. I was never comfortable being reliant on someone else for transportation. I had hired the limo and driver for at least two weeks and would see where we were after that. The first house did, indeed, overlook the ocean and it did have a pool. It also had the requisite number of bathrooms, but it also had 22 bedrooms. It had belonged at one time to a silent film star who, in her peculiar state of mind, moved from bedroom to bedroom, on a rotating basis. It was that sort of sick Hollywood mentality I wanted distance from. I rolled down my window as Holden gave us the profile, shook my head briefly, and rolled the window back up. “Follow him,” I told the driver.

  The next property was almost on the water, in fact it lost any semblance of a beach once the tide came in. Holden looked hopeful, standing outside my car and pointing out the privacy factor with having no beach part of the day. “I’m not sure we are understanding one another,” I said brusquely. “This makes me look like an idiot from out of town who let a stupid real estate agent talked me into something no one else wanted. That wasn’t exactly the look I was after. I’m sure you understand.” Holden had the grace to flush any quickly folded the typewritten paper in his hand and motioned that he was getting in his car and taking us to the next property.

  “I’m going to give him two more chances and then we are finding someone else.”

  Katie spoke up. “But he’s related to William Holden, Michael. Don’t you think that would be good for my career?”

  “I’m good for your career. We’re only buying a house from this guy, and that’s a big maybe at this point.”

  One thing in particular I liked about Katie was that she never questioned my judgment. She might ask why I made a decision a certain way, but never second-guessed me. That sort of trust was invaluable and frankly, I don’t think I could be with anyone who didn’t trust me in that way. We followed Holden to the next property. He got out of his car and approached the limo, as I roll down the window. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to waste your time, but I didn’t want to insult you by bringing you here first.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with this place?”

  “Not a single thing.”

  “Then, why the hesitation?”

  “This, Mr. Quinn, isn’t just a home. I would refer to it as more of a compound. Inside the main home are eight bedrooms, each with a bath. There is an in home office, what we call a great room in that it’s an open concept floor plan with very high ceilings. The main great room functions for entertaining, relaxation, you name it. There are seating areas, dining areas including a separate one just for breakfast. The kitchen is massive with professional level appliances. Although you can’t tell from this angle, it sits on a promontory overlooking the Pacific. You have no neighbors except the sea. You approach the house through this gated drive and it’s the only way in or out. Complete security. As a matter of fact, the promontory also holds a lighthouse, which may or may not function as a warning for ships, depending on your preference. In the base of the lighthouse, is a one-room studio or guest quarters. The exterior is floor-to-ceiling windows and is only when you go up a circular staircase in the center that you reach the bathing and sleeping quarters, which are, of course, more private. It’s a self-contained house, in essence.”

  “Why would you rule this out?”

  “Sir, the price tag is $10 million.”

  “Is there an airstrip?”

  “No, sir, there isn’t, but there is a private airstrip about 5 miles from here down the coastal Highway.”

  “I want you to drive down there and hire a helicopter. We’ll follow shortly. I want to get a good look at the property from the air first before we go inside.”

  Holden swallowed hard, his mind in overtime as he first dealt with the probability of finding a helicopter with pilot and secondly, how he would spend that enormous commission. His feet grew wings and he was in his car and down the road in seconds.

  “Driver, can you find some little place down the road where we can have a cool drink?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  A few minutes later, Katie and I were sitting in a dark booth in the cool interior of the bar that smelled as though it had been around for 100 years. I’d always had a theory about bars. Few people were they are because they simply liked the taste of the alcohol. They came for fellowship, to forget about their troubles or to celebrate. These were all strong emotions and those energies embedded themselves in the upholstery and the carpet in the paneling of those dark rooms. There were never windows opened so nothing escaped; it all just hung there mixing and boiling and seeping into the pores of its customers. But, I had learned long before that the biggest deals were closed in bars and I wanted Katie to get the feel of a few before she was put in that position and asked to commit herself. We had one drink before asking the driver to take us to that airstrip. Sure enough, as usual money worked its wonders and Holden was waiting, a warmed up Sikorsky sitting on a nearby helipad watched for us. Katie’s hand was trembling and I wondered if she’d ever flown other than coming to California. Flying on a jet was very different from a helicopter. “You’ll be fine, I’ve got you,” I told her loudly over the thwap thwap of the blades. She nodded and squeezed my hand back.

  It was amazing how different the world looked when you were a few hundred feet above it. Holden had hopped into the front passenger seat and was pointing out landmarks as we slowly circled the area. The moment I saw the ultra-modern house, built almost exclusively of glass, I knew we’d found the right one. It was all about the location and always had been from the beginning. Anything inside could be fixed with the crew and a good contractor, but nothing could replace that promontory. It reminded me of Dover and the sentimental side of me always won out, although I never let anyone know that. I’d seen enough but didn’t want Holden to think he had a sure thing so I pointed outward away from the mainland and the pilot nodded, appreciating the opportunity to take us a little higher. From that viewpoint, we could see downtown Los Angeles and Katie squealed when she saw the famous Hollywood letters mounted on the hillside. I enjoyed being with her so much. She was so appreciative of everything we did — she made it extra special.

  Later that evening Holden brought the paperwork to the hotel. I made a lowball offer, naturally, and the owners accepted it. Potential buyers with my kind of cash were rare and they weren’t going to blow their chances. Papers were signed and the next day Katie and I began the process to move in. We had the driver take us downtown LA and I took her to some of the best shops on Rodeo Drive. One of the saleswomen was particularly well-dressed and chose outfits for Katie well. I engaged her services, outside that particular boutique, with the instruction of outfitting Katie for every imaginable occasion, in multiples. Shoes, bags, jewelry — everything. I ordered two fur coats and a shorter fur jacket. I wasn’t sure how much wear she’d get out of them in California, but Kentucky had enough cold and the winters to make them worthwhile.

  I had the driver take us to the most expensive interior design studio he could think of. While we sipped champagne and ate caviar on toast points, we looked through catalogs, chose fabrics, e
nvisioned and re-envisioned every room in the house. From the beginning, it was obvious Katie had traditional tastes; that’s all she’d been exposed to since childhood. I gave in to her in some of the more private areas, but encouraged her to be a little more bold and adventurous in the areas where she would be entertaining. In the end, I handed the designer a rough budget and a key to the empty house. She was expected to visit, take her measurements and fill the house as quickly as possible.

  The atmosphere at the Hollywood hotel was a little too raucous for my tastes. It would end up giving Katie a bad reputation, and that was to be avoided at all costs. So we kept to ourselves, had food delivered to the room, I worked on things from business and she read magazines and watched old movies, repeating the actors’ lines. I asked around and got her signed up for private lessons with the best acting coach in town. His name was Lyndon. He had worked with all the greats at one time or another, but not on a one-to-one basis. This time would be different. Katie would get all his attention, I would see to it. He suggested a vocal coach. As it turned out Katie had a good voice and he felt there would be more roles available for someone who could sing as well as act. I gave my permission and told him to hire a dance coach at the same time.

  Lyndon suggested a studio space closer to downtown where Katie might practice. I agreed and each day we left behind the swimming pool and impromptu booze parties as the driver drove us to the studio and Katie went to work. I took my briefcase and set in the background, watching and working. I owed it to Katie, as well as to my own conscience, to make sure she had the best shot possible. We would go home when Katie said it was time, or, more to the point, if she said it was time.

  Everyone I’d hired did the job well and the house was ready for occupation in about a month’s time. It turned out better than I expected and despite my obstinate intention to remain cool and collected, I confess that my mouth dropped open a few times. The way it was built on the end of the promontory, as you approached those 30 foot windows, you felt like you were on the bow of a ship and the waves were simply beneath you. It was an incredible feeling and by far my favorite room in the house. Downstairs there was no lack of entertainment. I’d had a screening room built in at night Katie and I watched movies, fed by a manned projector in a small room behind us. We ate popcorn and discussed what made the movie good or bad and Katie kept notes. I was pleased to see she was serious. There had been no pool when we bought the house. The hard rock of the promontory had prevented safe excavation. Therefore, I had one put into the lower level of the house itself, built on a raised platform which gave the impression that it was an inground pool and yet you had to walk up steps to reach it. It didn’t matter, it served its purpose. If anything it was more than impressive simply due to its architectural design.