“Why don’t I go to Las Vegas and then across to the islands?” suggested Franks. “I could get the feel of everything and we could have a complete discussion next time, when Nicky’s back.”
“It could be a lot of work for nothing,” said Flamini.
“Surely you wouldn’t consider going on without it!” said Franks, surprised at the apparent reversal of the man’s attitude.
“No,” said Flamini. “Maybe Nicky’s the one to do it, that’s all.”
“Nicky’s not here,” said Franks, reluctant to surrender personal supervision.
Franks met Dukes in Nevada at the end of the week. Harry Greenberg was a fleshy, eagerly smiling man who wore a lot of gold jewelry and smoked cigars through a stunted holder. The friendship between him and Dukes was very obvious from the time and trouble the casino director devoted to them. Both were given hospitality suites on the top floor of the hotel and a chauffeured limousine was made available to them throughout their stay. Greenberg personally escorted them through the security and monitoring rooms, producing the criminal files about which Dukes had spoken in New York. Greenberg explained the intricacies of the various games and their profit margins, and did not confine himself to his own hotel but took them on varying tours through the rest of the hotels on the strip. Everywhere they were personally greeted by other directors and shown the facilities.
Franks didn’t like Las Vegas in any way. The supposedly luxury hotels seemed to him plasticized and surface smart, the halter-topped and check-shirted clientele raucous and herdlike, and the casinos garishly offensive. Throughout, however, he remained utterly objective, refusing any judgment on initial impressions and letting everyone fully explain the benefits.
He refused, too, to commit any opinion to Dukes, although he did in Dukes’ suite go fully through the figures that Greenberg made available. From those figures, incomplete though they were, the profit of which Dukes was so enthusiastic was undeniable.
From Las Vegas Franks flew directly to Bermuda where in less than a week he encountered opposition from almost every government minister and official to whom he talked. Franks went to the Bahamas prepared for the same response, but found the attitude quite different.
He raised the question with William Snarsbrook, the tourist minister with whom Franks had first made contact when he arrived on the island to investigate the possibility of hotels and with whom he had remained in social and business contact ever since. Snarsbrook was a refined, educated Bahamian—with a degree in economics from the London School of Economics—and one of the few officials during those early negotiations who had not sought what was now disguised in the audited returns as “commission.” A tall, bespectacled, quiet man, Snarsbrook had only ever accepted the hospitality at the various hotel openings, and although it had been made clear he could dine and stay as a guest of the company at any of the hotels, Franks knew the man had never taken advantage of the offer.
They met on the second day of Franks’ visit, at the hotel across the round-backed bridge leading to Paradise Island. Of the three complexes on the island the one nearest the capital had unofficially become the leader of the chain, and in the early part of their discussion Franks let the other man infer his visit was like so many of the others before it, the sort of personal check they had come to recognize and expect from him. It was only when they were well into the discussion, agreeing how successful the investment had been, that Franks mentioned the possibility of installing a casino.
“You’d like me to test the water?”
Franks hesitated at the man’s expression. Surely at this late stage Snarsbrook wasn’t maneuvering for a bribe? Cautiously Franks said, “I’d welcome some indication of how an approach might be received.…” He paused further, and then to give the man the opportunity for a demand if he intended one, said, “Would it be difficult?”
“It shouldn’t be too much of a problem to gauge a reaction,” said the minister.
Snarsbrook wasn’t going to ask for any commission, Franks decided. He was relieved. He liked the man, and his opinion would have been diminished if there’d been any sort of approach. “How long?” he said.
“Soon,” promised Snarsbrook. It was a promise he kept, making contact within two days. Following the success and prestige of the existing hotels, the Bahamian government would favorably consider a casino providing it was an improvement over that which already existed.
“This is an official reaction?” pressed Franks, determined against any misunderstanding.
“Absolutely,” guaranteed Snarsbrook. “Your company—but more importantly you, personally—have got a very good name here on the island. An established reputation.”
“That’s very flattering,” said Franks.
“There’s no reason why it should be,” said Snarsbrook. “What’s been achieved here on the island is a personal thing … personal to you.”
Franks was warmed by the praise, happy that other people were aware of how things always were for him. “This is a preliminary discussion,” he said.
“I understand that,” reassured Snarsbrook. “If you decide to go ahead, the government will be receptive to any proposals you’d like to make.”
Franks returned to New York the following day. He summoned a meeting for the upcoming week, which meant Nicky would be back in time to attend, and managed a long weekend in Scarsdale with Tina and Gabriella. They played a lot of tennis, and on Sunday Franks took Gabriella riding, although he was uncomfortable on a horse.
The casino meeting was a long one. The suntanned Nicky, who briefly seemed vaguely distracted or disinterested, was brought up to date from their initial informal discussion, and then Dukes and Franks reported on the Las Vegas visit. Dukes gave the financial details, and when the Texan finished and invited questions it was Flamini who responded, putting them not to Dukes but to Franks.
“What did you think?” asked the Chicago developer.
“From the figures we have I don’t think there can be any doubt about the profitability,” said Franks. “It’s huge compared to any other hotel-related operation. But I thought the casinos were appalling. There’s no way what I saw in Las Vegas could merge successfully with what we’ve established; each would destroy the other.”
“That seems a pretty formidable condemnation,” said the son-escorted Pascara.
“I think before we start discussing the idea we should hear fully what happened in Bermuda and the Bahamas,” said Dukes.
Franks dismissed Bermuda because of the clear opposition, but concentrated upon the more responsive Bahamas, setting out everything of his discussions with Snarsbrook.
At the end of the account, Pascara said, “So they’re prepared to have us there?”
“No,” said Franks, regretting the sigh of condescension as it came. “What’s there now is a much diluted version of Las Vegas. They don’t want another. They’re prepared to consider a gambling situation on the same level as the existing hotels.”
“Is there sufficient profit in something on the same level to make the whole thing worthwhile?” asked Pascara.
“The concept has worked in the hotels,” reminded Franks.
“But will it work with casinos?” persisted Pascara.
Dukes intruded before Franks could reply. He said, “The Bahamas have worked brilliantly because of the efforts and the expertise of our chairman. But that success forecasts, in the next two years, a profitability upon the three complexes of only two million dollars each.” The Texan hesitated. “Consider the figures from Las Vegas. If we were able to establish some sort of gambling situation in the Bahamas and keep it properly exclusive we could jack up that profitability to eight million dollars, over the course of a year.…” Dukes waved his sheet of figures. “And that’s a minimal expectation.”
“Each would destroy the other,” echoed Flamini.
Everyone looked at him, and Nicky entered the discussion for the first time. “What does that mean?” he said.
“That wa
s Eddie’s remark,” reminded Flamini. “I know he was talking about trying to link the Las Vegas concept with what we’ve already established. And that we’re going beyond the Las Vegas concept. But I think there’s an underlying point that applies. I don’t think we should risk uniting the present corporation with any gambling enterprise, even if we decide to proceed. I think there should be a separate company. Same stockholders, if everyone here feels like coming in. But I think the hotel company should be in a position to shed the casinos if they don’t work. And, I suppose, the casino group ought to be able to distance itself from the hotels, if the need or wish arose.”
That was sensible company structuring, Franks recognized. If separate holdings were established it would mean the operations in both islands would remain safe.
“If one—or any of us—didn’t feel like continuing then I’m pretty sure Harry Greenberg would want in,” said Dukes.
“If he thinks it’s a good investment, he obviously thinks it would work,” said Pascara.
“On Las Vegas terms,” came in Franks at once, “which are cheap, nasty, and nothing whatsoever to do with the sort of hotels we’ve established …” He paused to emphasize the objection, which would nullify the sort of operation that Greenberg would install. “And which we already know the Bahamian government won’t allow.”
“What about a specialized, exclusive casino operation?” demanded Flamini.
Franks paused momentarily. Then he said, “I am in favor, on the condition the gambling operation is under a separate company. I’d like ease of severance, if it became necessary.”
“I’m prepared to proceed, on the same understanding,” said Pascara. “It’s a good proposal but I don’t think we should consider it if it risks putting in danger something that is already proving successful. I want separate companies; if that’s not the majority feeling, then I’m not interested in continuing any further.”
Franks was surprised at the forcefulness. Pleased, as well. He had control, so independent support was unnecessary, but he still welcomed the backing of the other man.
“If it’s a separate company it’s going to mean separate development costs,” pointed out Flamini, always concerned with finance. “Have we got any costing for a casino?”
“None,” said Franks. “It hasn’t got to that stage yet.”
Flamini nodded, a man in private agreement with himself. He said, “I’ll want figures, before a positive commitment. I’d expect all of us will. But in principle, I’m happy to proceed.”
“And everyone knows how I feel,” said Dukes. “What about Greenberg?”
“We’ve got a good working board,” said Pascara. “I don’t see the need for any outside involvement.”
“He’s got casino expertise,” persisted the Texan.
“Of the sort of casinos we’ve already decided we don’t want,” rejected Flamini. “I don’t think we should consider any change from what exists now.”
“I propose Eddie Franks remain as chairman of the new company,” said Pascara. “I don’t like switching bets from winning horses.”
“Would you be prepared to be chairman?” asked Nicky formally.
“Yes,” said Franks. “If, at the end of all the inquiries and negotiations, we decide to go on, then I’d be very pleased to act as chairman.”
The appointment formally occurred three months later, after the Bahamian goverment agreed and the first casino opened. This time Pascara and his son traveled to the island for the official opening, with all the other directors of the new company. The profit return began after six months, doubling the prediction from the earlier financial forecasts. There was an attempt to repay Harry Greenberg’s help and Las Vegas hospitality by inviting him to the Bahamian opening. His suggestion came shortly after the profits began, and was delivered through Dukes: why not set up lines of credit between the Golden Hat and the Bahamas, enabling gamblers at one location to gamble on money—or winnings—deposited at the other? With the standards established and strictly monitored on the islands, Franks did not see the linkup being detrimental to their casino, and accepted Dukes’ argument that the appeal at the Las Vegas end would be limited to the high rollers from the few large-stakes tables at the Golden Hat.
Franks personally involved himself in the early weeks as he always did, concentrating upon the security installation that had been copied from Las Vegas and using their financial linkup with the Golden Hat to obtain access to their criminal file. He explained the system to the Bahamian authorities and agreed with the island police to add to the list people they considered undesirable.
He and Tina were able to return to their neglected English home in time for David’s summer holiday. Franks did so with a feeling of relief, looking upon the homecoming as an opportunity to rest. This feeling surprised him, because rest had never been an object before. But it was now. Before, he had always known that there would be something else for him to do; another mountain to climb. But it wasn’t there anymore. He’d established himself internationally. Remembering his thoughts at Nicky’s wedding, Franks realized, further surprised, that for the first time in his life he was truly, properly satisfied.
At the end of the summer, Nicky and Maria came for an extended stay, using the Thameside estate as a base from which to tour England, and remaining there all the time for the last three weeks.
There were boat trips on the river and the inevitable tennis and a lot of swimming, and Franks oversaw it all with a feeling of continued contentment. There was a faint but perceptible deference toward him in Nicky’s demeanor and Franks decided, amused at the thought, that he was becoming patriarchal, like Enrico.
Maria came close to saying it openly. She and Franks were alone by the pool. Tina was in the house supervising an evening meal, and Nicky was there with her, waiting for a call from New York.
“Nicky admires you,” said Maria unexpectedly.
“I admire him,” said Franks. “He’s a good corporate lawyer.”
“I didn’t mean like that,” said the woman. “He looks up to you, like an elder brother. Respects you.”
They were side by side, on loungers. Franks swung off, sitting on one edge and looking directly at her. She smiled at him and momentarily he imagined the long-ago invitation. He couldn’t see her eyes, hidden behind dark glasses.
“I’m younger than him, by a year and a half,” Franks said lightly.
“Ouch!” said the woman archly. “Hurt pride!” She pouted at him coquettishly.
Franks laughed with her, knowing his own eyes would be hidden by the sunglasses. Not having had any children, she was tighter-bodied than Tina, smooth-stomached and heavy-busted, the nipples obvious through the brief bikini. She seemed aware of the examination, drawing herself in slightly, and Franks grew irritated at himself for comparing her against his wife and for responding to her mild flirtation. “Enrico certainly regards us as brothers,” he said, trying to reestablish the barrier.
“Don’t you?”
“I guess so,” said Franks easily. As close as he and Nicky had become—and since the business involvement their relationship had become far closer than it had been when he was just part of the family—he knew he’d never be able to regard Nicky as a brother. Why, he thought, was there always difficulty with relationships? Thank whatever God existed that he’d succeeded in establishing one with Tina. He was right to feel ashamed of himself, ogling Maria’s body.
“Want to know something?” she said.
Franks lay back upon the lounger, to avoid looking at her. “What?” he said.
“I thought you were very forbidding, at first.”
“Forbidding!”
“Nicky had given me the buildup about this big business tycoon from England with whom he had some kind of relationship, and when I saw you that first day in the office I thought you looked exactly like one. Why don’t you ever smile?”
“I do smile.”
“Maybe just now. But you don’t often. For a long time that was h
ow I thought of you, always stern-faced.”
Franks was uncomfortable with the conversation, embarrassed by it. “Now you know differently,” he said.
“Do I?” she said. “I still think you’re frightened of showing any emotion.”
He might have been mistaken about the invitations on other occasions but he couldn’t be now, Franks decided. He said, “I can show emotion, when there’s emotion to show.”
“Maybe I’ve just been unlucky, in not seeing it.”
Franks sat up again, wanting to stop the stupidity. “Something wrong between you and Nicky?” he asked directly, purposely wanting to off-balance her.
It didn’t succeed. “No,” she smiled up at him. “What makes you think that?”
“Just the impression you’re conveying.”
“Maybe you misunderstood.”
“You’re making some things pretty obvious.”
“So?”
“So stop it.”
She laughed at him again. “Stern Mr. Franks, always taking himself so seriously!”
“I take Tina and me very seriously.”
“Lucky Tina.”
“And it’s going to stay that way.”
“Sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Haven’t you ever been wrong, Eddie?”
“Not on anything important.” What about his reservations about forming a company with investment directors? Nobody knew that he had been wrong, which was the important consideration.
“It’s going to hurt when it happens,” she said.
“It isn’t going to,” he said.
11
Eddie Franks welcomed the return of the sort of patterned, settled life that he enjoyed before his entry into American business. He did not become complacent and neither did he truly relax; both would have been impossible for him. Rather, the inner need to strive and succeed lessened. He tried to revert, as much as possible, to the Friday-afternoon-to-Monday-afternoon weekends and to a large part succeeded, certainly as far as the European operations were concerned, because there was nowhere too distant for him not to visit and monitor in the intervening three full days. He maintained the same discipline with the islands and the ship, but he was able to plan well in advance, and for the longer visits he usually took Tina and Gabriella with him.
To Save a Son Page 6