Wonder of the Waves

by Jim Lombardo

  “Promise to stop singing and I’ll think about it,” Brian spoke over her with a wink.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Yellow Kittens

  It was an unseasonably warm January afternoon as Hannah walked between her parents, gripping each of their hands tightly.

  “Be careful, Daddy-o,” the child said, “this is New York City, and they jack up all the prices.”

  Hannah stopped with a jerk, bringing the group to a halt. She stood looking straight up in awe at the structure towering high above her.

  “Here we are! The Empire State building!” she cried.

  The Blakes had an appointment with Kip Becker, CEO of StarPros at one o’clock, and they were running right on time.

  “You made it happen, Hannah. Come on, let’s get in there,” urged Monica.

  Inside, the lobby of the skyscraper was magnificently adorned with a high gold ceiling and marble walls and floors. A swarm of people were dashing around, heading into and out of a bank of elevators.

  Mr. Becker had told the family that his son Ace, an executive with StarPros, would be greeting them in the lobby to escort them up to the company’s suite, but the Blakes didn’t see anyone looking for them. After five minutes of waiting, they decided to head up themselves.

  Hannah got onto the tips of her toes and reached up to press “51.” This was fitting as she had handled all of the family’s itinerary and arrangements for their entire trip. She had meticulously researched and planned everything to ensure it was as efficient and economical as possible. They had driven to New Haven, Connecticut, the night before, and stayed at a hotel that Hannah had booked through an online discount site. They had parked their car on the day of the meeting at the Metro-North Railroad garage, and had taken the train straight into Grand Central Station, thereby avoiding the commuter crush. Upon exiting the train station, Hannah had recited the walking route for her parents. “We head southwest on Vanderbilt Avenue toward East 42nd Street for 30 feet. Okay, we turn right here onto East 42nd Street and walk for .2 miles. Now, we just go left onto 5th Avenue and we’re there.”

  The elevator door opened at floor 51, and the Blakes exited into a hallway without any signs to guide them.

  “Quite the welcoming committee,” Brian said sarcastically.

  “It’s this way,” Hannah advised, having studied the floor plans of the Empire State Building carefully beforehand. She had also reviewed every single tidbit of public information she could find on StarPros, including a review of their history, financial situation, and their organizational structure, which currently consisted of a grand total of two employees. Brian and Monica were going to learn a lot more about the company during this meeting than their daughter. As the group approached the end of the hallway, they were met by two giant glass doors, each framed by flashing Broadway lights. One had “Star” written on it, and the other “Pros,” along with the company’s logo of singers and microphone. The doors swung open from the center automatically, and the Blakes proceeded into a beautiful and spacious reception room with luxurious furniture, large indoor plants, and fresh flowers everywhere. The only thing that seemed to be missing was people. The group stood around for a few moments, unsure of how to proceed.

  “Hello?” Monica called out meekly. Then louder, “Hello?”

  Half a minute later a door to the right of the receptionist desk burst open and a slightly built elderly gentleman with a wide grin came briskly hobbling into the room with his right hand outstretched.

  “Hello, hello! So sorry, I keep forgetting I don’t have a receptionist anymore. Thank you so much for coming. I’m Kip Becker.”

  The owner appeared to be in his seventies, with just a few wisps of white hair on either side of a bald head. He was dressed in a clean but worn gray suit, with a cream-colored shirt and yellow bowtie with black polka dots. His shoes seemed quite old, but were polished to a gleaming shine. Although six feet tall, he was hunched over due to a chronic back condition and so seemed shorter. His gleaming blue eyes and high cheekbones accentuated his perfectly white-toothed smile.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Blake,” he said shaking each of their hands vigorously with his right hand, while placing his left hand over theirs. “And Hannah, my dear,” he said, bending down and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It is both a pleasure and an honor.”

  “Hi, Kip,” said Hannah heartily.

  Seeming concerned, the man gingerly straightened himself up.

  “Where’s my son, Ace? He was supposed to greet and guide you here.”

  “Ahhh, not sure, Kip,” said Monica. “Maybe we missed him in the lobby. It was crazy-crowded.”

  “Humph.” Kip grimaced. “Well, let me take your coats, and I’ll see you into my office.”

  As Kip helped remove the child’s winter coat, he noticed her pink sweatshirt with “Carpe Diem” emblazoned in black letters across the front. Kip let out a hoot.

  “I love that saying, Hannah.”

  “Really? Did you know it’s short for carpe diem quam minimum credula postero, which means ‘seize the day, trusting as little as possible in tomorrow’? But you can also translate carpe diem into ‘enjoy the day,’ which I prefer. You don’t necessarily have to seize it, just enjoy it.”

  “Good, I’m too old to seize anything. Ha!” Kip joked.

  The glass doors swung open again and an overweight, unkempt man in his early forties shuffled in holding a bulging, greasy bag of takeout and an oversized soda cup with a straw protruding from the top of it.

  “Hey, Dad,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Ace. These are the Blakes,” Kip said, attempting to sound enthusiastic while at the same time restraining his displeasure. “You were going to meet them at one o’clock in the lobby and take them up here?”

  “Was that today? Oh, wow…it’s today?” Ace gazed at the floor in confusion, and his eyes became crossed as he slowly brought the soda straw to his lips and took a long sip. He then addressed the group with a vacuous stare. “What day is it today?”

  Kip winced and pursed his lips, then turned to the Blakes with a contrived smile. “Let me take your jackets, Monica and Brian, and let’s go to my office,” he said. “Ace, why don’t you sit out front here, where there’s a nice desk calendar for you to look at. I’ll call you when I need you.”

  Ace shrugged and began making his way to the reception desk to devour his meal.

  Kip led the family through a door leading out of the back of the reception area into a dimly lit hallway that was cluttered from front to back with waist-high trash receptacles, mops, brooms, and other cleaning supplies. They made their way through an extremely narrow path along one wall for about five feet before turning into a sizable office measuring about 15 x 20 feet.

  “Sorry about the appearance outside. We had to make some cutbacks and allow the facilities manager some storage space to get a reduction on the lease. Please sit my friends, and thank you again so much for coming.” Kip closed the office door.

  Brian snuck a glance at Monica and raised his eyebrows as they sat down on a comfortable but faded, old-fashioned couch, with Hannah between her parents. Kip eased himself down carefully into a sitting position on a love seat that was positioned directly across from them. A knee-high coffee table rested in-between. Centered on it was a plastic pitcher of ice water, surrounded by four crystal glass tumblers. There were also two china plates with chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies neatly arranged in overlapping circles.

  The room looked lived in. There was one majestic picture window at the far end, with burgundy drapes on either side. The view overlooked a western section of Manhattan with the Hudson River visible in the distance through a cluster of skyscrapers. To the left of the window, hanging on a wall, were three framed degree certificates, none of which were level. In front of the window sat a mammoth oak desk with stacks of papers about a foot high covering almos
t the entire surface. A landline phone, Rolodex, and large jam jar full of assorted pens, pencils, and paper clips were positioned on top of the piles. Behind the desk was a high-back, black leather chair, slightly off-kilter. Next to the large desk was a much smaller one with a computer on it that appeared brand-new. Sitting on either side of the desks were five-foot-high metal filing cabinets.

  Along the walls were a number of bookcases jammed with magazines and books. One seemed precariously close to toppling over from the excessive burden. Wall areas in between the bookcases showcased posters dating back through the years of Broadway musicals and stars, a few of which were signed. The room also housed a working longcase grandfather clock that stood seven feet tall. The clock face had Roman numerals to mark the hours, and underneath, behind a long and narrow glass door, a pendulum swung back and forth, ticking low and methodically. Despite the elaborately carved mahogany and ornate detail, the timepiece seemed haunting and imposing. Resting partially against the clock and the wall behind it was a saxophone mired in dust bunnies.

  “This is home for me,” Kip shared. “I’ve been here since ’69. My dear wife used to help me with the interior decorating, so as you can see, she’s been gone for quite a long time.” He chuckled, but then glanced down and swallowed hard. “Would you like some water?”

  The Blakes looked at each other.

  “I think we’re fine for now, Kip, but thank you,” said Hannah.

  After sharing some brief pleasantries and a discussion of their travel to the city, Kip discreetly glanced at his watch. “Well, here we are. I feel like I know so much about you already. Let me tell you something about myself. I grew up just outside of Providence, Rhode Island, only about one or two hundred skyscrapers north of here. Ha! I don’t know what your dreams are, Hannah, but when I was your age I was going to be a world-famous musician. Music was my true love. Someday I was going to head up a big band. When I was only nine years old, I played saxophone on a children’s radio variety show every Saturday that was broadcast all over New England. It was really popular. When I got older, I studied at Brown University, but still played every chance I got. In fact, two of my buddies and I used to spend our summer breaks on Block Island. We’d work all day as busboys at a tavern called The Yellow Kittens, and then play there together as a band all night. The place is still there actually. To this day, I can still see all those people smiling, dancing around the floor with each other, some just sitting down with their feet tapping while they drank and chatted the hours away. And there were only a few brawls a night. Ha! It was one of the best times of my life, and I made up my mind that music was going to be my life. But my mother insisted I go to law school like my father and grandfather had. She convinced me that music was worthwhile as a hobby, but I needed to support a family, and for that I needed to earn a lot of money. So I got my law degree and worked four years as a public defender in Providence. I was a real champ at winning people their get-out-of-jail-free card, but I got burned out. It all kind of left me feeling…empty.”

  Kip adjusted his position in the chair to try to make his back more comfortable. He winced once again and forced a smile.

  “I started spending more and more weekends driving down to the city here to see shows and take in the atmosphere. I was making so many dear friends, and next thing I knew, this is where my heart wanted to be all the time. Then I got this idea that maybe I could combine my love of entertainment with my law degree. I quit my job, moved here, and started to look for clients as an entertainment agent. My first client was this sweet lounge singer named Margaret Uglialaro. Yes, pronounced ‘ugly.’ So, I convinced her to change her last name to Ulbright. Then later I talked her into changing her last name to Becker...by marrying me. Ha!” Kip snickered at his ancient joke, then paused and seemed to go into a trance for a few moments.

  The grandfather clock rang out a chime sequence of four notes indicating it was a quarter past the hour. Jolted back to reality, and the fact that time was moving along, he talked more rapidly. “Oh, so where were we? I think we were somewhere between dreams and money…”

  Hannah suspected that Kip was overly concerned about the one hour, $5,000 deal and she interrupted him. “Excuse me, Kip. Just so you know...my parents and I have plenty of time. We aren’t going to leave until we’ve had a good, long, and productive meeting. So please, take your time, if you have the time available to you.”

  Kip paused, and his shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Hannah. I appreciate that very much….So yes, dreams and money. I believe that if you play your cards right, you can have both. Everyone can use money, and with your talent, you can realize a profit. But, I want to talk about more than just dough. If I am to work in partnership with you, then I would like to talk about your dreams, and how I can help you realize those too. What I personally can offer you is 45 years of experience working as a liaison between my clients, entertainment industry professionals, and the general public. Let me explain how it works.”

  Just then there was an unexpected knock on the door, and it opened a crack, revealing a single eye.

  “Hullo?”

  “Ace? Come on in,” Kip called out.

  Ace nudged the door open with his elbow and walked into the room carrying a cardboard box. He set it down on the coffee table with a resounding thud that rattled the china and glassware.

  Kip was puzzled. “What’s going on? I thought I told you to—”

  “Hey, people. I’ve been working on some marketing stuff for Hannah over the past week that I want you to check out.”

  “Ace, I didn’t ask you to—”

  Ace pulled out a red t-shirt with a picture of Hannah’s face on it, which he held up to his chest. Brian and Monica were startled at the sight of it.

  “These are the tees we can sell if we do live shows. Or we could just sell ’em on the streets. I’m tellin’ ya, they’re gonna go like hotcakes. I just need a quote from Hannah for ’em. We could do posters too, and charge extra if she signs ’em. What do you think?”

  Ace surveyed the speechless faces of the group, put the shirt down, and went rummaging back into the box. He pulled out a square couch pillow with the child’s face on it and then a mug with the same image.

  “There’s just no end to the product possibilities. Hannah hats, Hannah jewelry…it’ll be the rage.” He then became agitated with the lukewarm response and raised his voice as if trying to get through to his audience. “Think! I’m talkin’ merchandise here people. We could have a Hannah Chia Pet with—”

  Kip cut him off at the pass. “Okay, okay. Very good work, Ace. Thank you. I’m proud of you, son. Now if you’ll excuse us we’re discussing some critical details. Let’s go over your ideas later. You can leave those things here for us, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” Ace turned and left with a satisfied look on his face.

  When he was sure the door had fully closed, Kip spoke regretfully. “I have to apologize for my son’s behavior. My original plan was to groom him to take over the company, and then retire when he was ready. I turn 76 next month, so what does that tell you? My wife used to ask me, why’d we name him Ace when he’s a joker?” Kip savored the memory for a moment. “Ah, that was Maggie,” he said wistfully.

  The company’s founder then proceeded to launch into a thorough history of StarPros, Inc. He didn’t sugarcoat anything, but was honest, going into detail on both his successes and his failures. In hindsight, the female Houdini escape artist act had not been a good idea. He enlightened the group on the entertainment business, how it operated, and how it had evolved over the past four decades. The industry had tried to change him, he explained, but he had remained steadfast and true to his core values, even though it had punished him financially at times.

  He fielded every question that the Blakes had, though Hannah seemed interested in so much more than a possible contract. She followed his every word, but was mesmerized by the view out the window
, and intrigued by the action of the pendulum of the clock.

  “Where’d you get the grandfather clock, Kip?”

  Kip’s head spun around to look back at the device. “Oh, isn’t it something? That was here when I took over the space, and I asked about it too. It’s over a hundred years old, older than me, in fact, and not many things are. Ha! It’s all the way from Bornholm, a Danish island in the Baltic Sea. You have to pull on those chains in there at least once every eight days to keep the weights suspended, and then gravity does the rest. No electricity is used, and it’s amazingly accurate. You can turn the chimes off, but I like the reminder every 15 minutes that time is precious. I’ll let you pull the weights up before you go, Hannah, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, Kip. That’s cool how time, gravity, space, matter, and energy are all interrelated there. An hourglass is similar in that way, but this takes it up a notch. I think about these things a lot. That’s a nice computer you have over there. Have you tried it out yet?”

  “A bit. That was probably one of Ace’s better ideas. That we get up on the internet and all. I must say, I’ve never been much of a technology buff. Old habits are hard to break, I guess. This is a people-oriented business, and I’d still rather make a phone call than send an email, and I’d rather look at a person across a table than through that skippy thing Ace was telling me about.”

  Hannah giggled. “Skippy is peanut butter, Kip. You mean Skype. May I have a cookie?”

  “Of course you can, Hannah, they’re there for you. Just leave a couple for the mice. Ha!” Kip chuckled at his joke before her next question instantly silenced him.

  “Why haven’t you played your saxophone in such a long time?”

  Kip turned around again, to look at his time-worn instrument.

  “Oh, well…after my wife Maggie passed…I…well, I found it made me a tad sad, Hannah. You see, she and I used to.…I’ll get back into it someday I’m sure.”