Invasion of the Blatnicks

by Neil S. Plakcy

  “Dolores and I were going to go out.” Steve turned to her. “Do you mind?”

  “We’ll come,” Dolores said.

  They met Jerry and Mimi in the lobby, under one of the giant crystal chandeliers. “You two look happy,” Rita said, looking at her brother and former sister-in-law. They were holding hands and smiling like teenagers.

  “We were going to tell you at dinner,” Mimi said. “But I just can’t wait. We’re getting married again.”

  “I was a fool to let you go,” Jerry said, smiling at Mimi. They kissed on the lips. “I’m not going to let you go again.”

  Steve groaned and Dolores elbowed him. “Congratulations!” Rita said, beaming. “I always knew you’d get back together someday.”

  Everyone kissed and shook hands. “Sheryl and Richie must be so happy,” Dolores said.

  “We haven’t told Sheryl yet,” Mimi said as they walked to Harold’s car. “We didn’t decide until late this afternoon, after the trial was over.”

  “Richie’s happy,” Jerry said. “He figures if we’re together he’ll get better presents from us than if we were still divorced.” Everyone squeezed into the car, with Steve driving. “Mimi hasn’t told you all the news,” Jerry continued, as Steve pulled onto Collins Avenue. “I’m not going back to New York. We’re staying down here.”

  “Oh, Jerry,” Rita said. “What do you think you’ll do?”

  “You know Mimi’s pop was in the rag trade,” Jerry said. “Mimi knows all about lingerie, and I’m still a pretty fair salesman. We’re thinking about opening an underwear store, maybe bringing Richie and Sheryl into the business with us.”

  Rita clapped her hands together. “What a wonderful idea,” she said. “A real family business.”

  “Richie’s gung-ho on this shopping center of Steve’s,” Jerry said. “First thing tomorrow, we’re going out there to talk about leasing space.” He reached forward and clapped Steve on the back. “So it’ll be a real family operation, huh, Stevie?”

  Steve nearly choked, and barely avoided smashing into a car that was trying to merge into his lane.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going,” Harold said. “I don’t need my car looking like your apartment.”

  “Harold, don’t start,” Rita said from the back seat. “I think it’s lovely. And if you want me to draw up some designs for you, I think I could do that, now that everything is solved with the Florida Club.”

  “Oh, Rita,” Mimi said. “We’ll be sisters again.” She kissed Rita’s cheek.

  “Mimi. You know we’ve always been sisters.”

  The next day, Rita was up early, bustling around the suite packing for her return home. “Mom, it’s seven o’clock in the morning,” Steve said. “Can’t you wait?”

  “If we’re not out of here by eleven, they charge us for an extra day,” Rita said. “Don’t get up. I’ll just pile things on this edge of the bed you’re not using.”

  Steve groaned and retreated under the covers. At eight-thirty Uncle Max called. “I’ve been up for hours coming up with ideas,” he said. “You should see it. It’s like there’s a storm going on in my head. Beautiful, fabulous ideas. You and Junior should get out here ASAP to start things moving again.”

  “I’ll be out this afternoon.” Steve gave up on sleep and went into the shower. At ten forty-five, he was carrying luggage down to the cars and by eleven thirty, the Bermans were back at their condo, which shone with new paint, new carpeting, and several new pieces of furniture. Steve moved his few things into the den.

  He and Junior met that afternoon to start notifying contractors and tenants, and they went back on a full-time schedule the next day. For the rest of the week, the site was quiet, but the Welcome Center buzzed.

  On Saturday Steve moved into a new apartment at Mangrove Manor. The furniture store delivery arrived late in the morning, and by five o’clock he was organized. The apartment was barren and white, even with everything he owned in place. Dolores came over that night, and they christened his new bed.

  The next day Uncle Max sponsored a miniature golf outing for the team to celebrate the reopening of the site. They were encouraged to bring dates or their families, so Steve brought Dolores. Celeste brought her husband and her two small daughters, and Uncle Max flew in his wife, who insisted she should be called “Just plain Irene. I’m nobody’s aunt.”

  Steve was surprised to see Junior show up holding hands with a little girl and a little boy. “This is Freddy,” he said, introducing the boy to Steve. “And this little charmer is Tiffany.” Junior leaned down to talk to them. “You guys go get some clubs. I’ll be over in a minute.”

  “I think this is really great,” Steve said, as he and Junior watched the kids run over to the office, zigzagging around a giant windmill. “What made you bring them?”

  Junior shrugged. “I had all that free time,” he said. “One day I just got to thinking about them, and I called my ex, and she said to come over. We had a good time.” He looked around. “So, did you come by yourself?”

  “I brought my girlfriend,” Steve said. “The girl with the dark hair, over talking to Miranda.”

  “Very pretty,” Junior said. “Your taste is improving. I have to say I didn’t much care for that girl Cindy, the one from New York. Too prissy for me.”

  “Yeah, well, for me too, in the end,” Steve said.

  Steve and Dolores played against Miranda and Brad, and Junior stood on the sidelines drinking beer and cheering while his kids played with Celeste’s daughters. Uncle Max missed an easy putt and his ball ended up in the waterfall. They played until it got dark and the attendants came around to tell them it was closing time. “I had a good time,” Dolores said to Steve, as he drove her home.

  “What were you and Miranda talking about so much?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Dolores said. “You know how it is, you can talk for hours and never really say anything.”

  “Hmm,” Steve said.

  At the beginning of the week, Jerry and Mimi rented a house a few miles from the site and Richie moved there with them and quit his carpentry job to concentrate on setting up the new store, which they had decided to call Under the Covers. They were going to sell linens as well as lingerie. When Sheryl and Morty returned from their honeymoon, Sheryl began helping Mimi with purchasing, and Morty negotiated a terrific deal for the Fenstersheibs on a corner location near center court. Rita began preparing drawings.

  There was still time for new tenants to start construction, but just barely. Uncle Max wanted to go ahead with an April 15th opening date, even though they had lost nearly three weeks due to the Florida Club shutdown.

  Steve, Junior and Terry were swamped with drawings, meetings and construction problems. On Wednesday, Steve had a big fight with Junior about access to the building. Junior wanted to close all the entrances so the tile contractor could complete them all at once, and Steve started to yell. He almost kicked a hole in Junior’s wall, and Junior backed down.

  Friday morning, Miranda caught Steve on his way out to the site and said, “I’ve got a beauty parlor tenant interested in space G-114. We’re meeting with the tenant and her lawyer this afternoon at three. Can you come and bring the lease drawings?”

  “Radio me!” Steve called. He was already halfway down the escalator.

  By three o’clock he had forgotten about the meeting, but Miranda raised him on the radio and reminded him. He ran wildly down the dirt road to the Welcome Center, dodging a hotrodding Jeep Cherokee heading towards Building A. He galloped up the escalator, taking the steps two at a time, and burst into the office past Celeste. “Steve, slow down,” she called. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

  Beside her, Junior bellowed, “No, keep going, Steve! I like to see men run on the job!”

  Steve dodged Uncle Max in the hall and rounded the corner to the door of the conference room, where he stopped short, panting for breath, sweat dripping from his brow. “Dolores!” he said. “What are you doing here?�
�” She sat at the conference table, with Miranda on one side and Mrs. Blatnick on the other. Morty was across from them.

  “So you two know each other,” Miranda said coyly.

  “Of course we do, Miranda,” Steve said. “Could I speak to you out here for a moment?”

  Miranda stood and smiled. “Excuse me,” she said. She joined Steve in the hall, closing the door behind her. “What’s up?”

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Dolores is interested in leasing space for a beauty salon,” she said. “Mr. Fleischmann is her attorney and Mrs. Blatnick is her financial backer.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Believe,” Miranda said. “Now, if you can pull yourself together, we’ve got a meeting to run.”

  Actually Mrs. Blatnick ran the meeting. “It’s going to take Dolores a while to build up a clientele,” she said. “You don’t just walk into a mall, poof, and decide to get your hair done. We want her to pay a percentage of sales for the first year, no fixed rent.”

  “I’m not sure we can put you on percentage rent for a full year,” Miranda said. “Maybe six months.”

  “My accountant and I have prepared financial statements and revenue projections,” Dolores said. She opened up a suede briefcase and handed a thick folder to Miranda. “If you look at page four, you’ll see I’m hoping to show a profit by the third month of operation, but that’s contingent on the mall providing the traffic and the promotions.”

  “Miranda can read all the numbers after we’re gone,” Mrs. Blatnick said. “Let’s put all our cards on the table. Building this salon isn’t going to be cheap. How much are you willing to give us toward the construction costs?”

  Miranda shook her head. “We’re running out of money in our tenant allowance budget,” she said. “I think we might be able to squeeze a little out, just so that we get a salon that’s in keeping with the rest of the mall.”

  “Here’s a salon in Boca that was built last year,” Dolores said, pulling another folder out of her briefcase. She spread out the photographs. “And here’s what it cost.” She handed everyone at the table a cost breakdown. “I’ve got two other recent examples, too.”

  Steve was impressed. Who was this Dolores Birnbaum, anyway? She could be wild and sexy when she was alone with Steve, a nice Jewish girl to his parents, a savvy businesswoman to Miranda. He was a little suspicious of the professionalism involved in her presentation, and worried that she might be collaborating with Morty in some kind of scheme to milk the Blatnicks.

  But he said nothing. Mrs. Blatnick continued on a systematic analysis of the lease and its terms, and Steve started to realize she had probably been the brains behind her family fortune all along. Dolores continued to be impressive. Morty sat quietly listening and making occasional notes.

  They had to move quickly. Miranda hoped to get a lease together over the weekend and fax it to Morty on Monday. She took the financial projections and the salon photos to show to Uncle Max. Steve shook hands with everyone and promised his full support.

  Dolores pulled him off to the side. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t tell you I was thinking of this,” she said. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “It was.”

  “I wanted to do this on my own, not like I was relying on you. I did a good job, no?”

  “Very good. I look forward to working with you.”

  Dolores leaned over and kissed his cheek, next to his ear. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, cara mia.”

  Steve worked all day Saturday, barely managing to get away in time to pick up Dolores at eight and take her to a housewarming party for Morty and Sheryl at a big high-rise on Collins Avenue, just a few blocks from the Neuschwanstein. It was only a one-bedroom on a low floor, but it looked out on the ocean, and the view was dramatic, even at night. A vast blackness loomed beyond the balcony, broken only by the lights of a cruise ship far out on the water.

  Dolores took Steve out on the balcony. “I have something I want to talk to you about,” she said. They stood at the railing for a few minutes, breathing in the salt air and listening to the surf crashing below and the sound of a siren behind them on Collins Avenue. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  “It is,” Steve said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I’d like to move in with you,” she said. “We don’t have to say it’s forever, at least not now. But I want to give up my job and concentrate on getting the new salon open. Your place would be really convenient.”

  “Not exactly a romantic proposition,” Steve said.

  “Oh, cara mia, you know how I feel about you,” Dolores said, snuggling into Steve’s side. He put his arm around her shoulders. It felt so good to be out there in the rush of cool air, with her warm presence next to him.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I love you,” Dolores said. She looked up, and they kissed.

  “Come on, come on, no mushy stuff,” Richie said, coming out onto the balcony with them. “How come everybody gets paired up around here except me?”

  “Richie, go back inside,” Steve said. He gently pushed his cousin back into the apartment and closed the sliding glass door between them. “Now, where were we?” he asked.

  After they had kissed for a while, Dolores said, “So, what do you say? Can I move in, or not?”

  Steve wondered for a minute if this was part of Dolores’ scam on the Blatnicks. But if it was, he was falling for it all. He had to admit he was crazy about Dolores, that nothing would make his life better than seeing her face just before he fell asleep and then again when he awoke. She brought him the passion he had felt was missing in his life. “If you move in, I might never let you go.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  Steve worked again on Sunday morning, and spent the afternoon helping Dolores move her things from her apartment on South Beach out to Mangrove Manor. They made love twice that night, and Steve didn’t get to sleep until three a.m.

  On Monday afternoon he snuck out of the office for Sheldon’s sentencing at the courthouse. Harold was in such a good mood due to the Florida Club’s success at the Everglades Galleria that he had even agreed to speak as a character witness if necessary.

  “Isn’t this a lovely room,” Rita said to Steve while they waited for the hearing to start. “All this marble and mahogany. And the high ceilings! I’d love to do a store like this.”

  “And what exactly do you think would get sold in an atmosphere like this?” Steve asked. “Government pardons?”

  The court-appointed psychiatrist spoke briefly and agreed with the Blatnicks that Sheldon was more stupid than criminal. Even so, the judge sentenced him to a short jail term. After the sentencing, everyone clustered around the front of the courtroom to say goodbye before the bailiffs led Sheldon away.

  “Hey, Shelly, it’s only six months,” Dusty said. “Good behavior and gain time, you’ll be out before you can say ‘I’m a dumb fuck and my name is Sheldon Blatnick.’”

  Sheldon looked sad, and Dusty enveloped him in a bear hug. “You’ll do fine inside,” Dusty said, wiping a tear.

  “I’ll come visit you every week,” Wilma said, moving in to hug her brother too. Her eyes were damp and she wiped them with a flowing white sleeve.

  Behind her, Mimi and Mrs. Blatnick were holding onto each other and crying softly. Mrs. Blatnick waved her handkerchief at Sheldon and said, "You be good in there, Shelly. You make me proud of you."

  “I’m afraid the next case is beginning,” the bailiff said. He took Sheldon by the arm and walked him out the back door.

  Rita was sniffling as Steve led her to the rear of the courtroom. “You could sell men’s clothes,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” Steve said.

  “In a store that looked like a courtroom,” Rita said. ”It could be very lovely. You could use that place up there where the judge sits to display shirts and ties.”

  “It’s time for you to go home,” Steve said. “I think you need
a nice long rest.”

  “Your father has a meeting,” Rita said, waving her tissue at Harold. “He’ll drop me off at home on his way.”

  “Really?” Steve asked. “What kind of meeting?”

  “It’s a new project for the Florida Club,” Harold said. “We’re trying to stop a housing development in West Palm Beach. It’s going to be built on a farm that used to be wetlands. We want the owners to restore the land.”

  “We could make a great father-son team,” Steve said. “I build, you stop people from building.”

  “Is he your son, Rita?” Harold asked. ”He doesn’t look familiar to me at all.”

  35 – A World Turned Upside Down

  The first few days after Dolores moved in were tough for Steve. Her things were everywhere. Her clothes were piled on the sofa, her boxes blocked the door to the second bedroom, and her cosmetics were strewn around the bathroom. When Richie lived with him, they each had their own private place to retreat. With Dolores there, he didn’t feel that any part of the apartment was still his alone.

  It got easier. She cleaned up, and settled in, though he still felt a little discomfort and surprise when he came home from work and found her there. Wednesday night she was sitting at the dining room table, making sketches of the salon. “That’s really good,” he said, leaning over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you could draw like that.”

  “I always loved to draw,” she said. “Art was one of my favorite subjects in school. And cutting hair, that’s like an art form, too.”

  Steve picked up the drawings Dolores had finished. “You’ve got some good ideas here. They’re a little rough, but after all, you’re not an architect.”

  “What’s rough?”

  “Well, see here,” Steve said, pointing to one drawing. “I understand you want to create a grand entrance, but you can’t have a threshold this high. People will trip over it all the time.” He paused. “Why don’t you ask my mother to help? She could do the working drawings.”

  “That would be terrific! Do you think she would?”