Bernie answered in a tone that was similar to his answer about Al: “I don’t want to talk about old.” So they were looking.
After turning into the driveway of Antares, the Buick moved along a dirt road edged with palm trees that were still unplanted. They noted that the roots were wrapped in burlap balls and the trees were dying.
Bernie puffed on his cigar and tapped his diamond pinky ring on the red steering wheel and pointed to the trees. “Well, so far, at least here only trees are dying....”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
He grunted and swerved to hit a pothole. “Got it.” He grinned.
But Rose was not responsive this morning. Looking for a new place meant leaving her bridge ladies. That was unthinkable, but deep down she knew it was going to happen. Kismet, she thought, and she began to hum “Stranger in Paradise” as the car pulled up to the unfinished entrance of Antares Building A.
Tony Stranger sat behind his desk and stared in disbelief at the couple seated across from him. They were on the verge of killing each other. He had learned a half hour ago that to interfere with these people was to risk his life. At the moment they were discussing the wedding of a niece—his brother’s daughter who had been married six years ago. She was reminding him that they served chicken and no hors d’oeuvres and that they were “cheap, no good, I-don’t-know-what”, and that she would never have them as house guests after the way they treated their son Harold with such a cheap “I-don’t-know-what” gift for his wedding five years ago after they had given such a generous gift to that cheap “I-don’t-know-what” daughter and the bum she married, so they didn’t need a larger apartment because they didn’t need an extra guest room. And that was the final word.
“So, Arthur, what will it be?” she asked, pointing to the floor plan laid out on the desk. “This apartment, with one guest room for fifty thousand? Or the one with two guest rooms for fifty-seven that I won’t live in?”
Arthur Perlman blew his nose and studied the plans. He smiled at Tony and then leaned closer to the floor plans. He then turned his face toward his wife so that Tony could not see him mouth the words, Bess, I’m going to kill you. He sat up and said to Tony, “Does the condo with one guest room have a patio on the corner?”
Tony checked his available list and found a corner apartment on the fifth floor of Building A. “Yes, Mr. Perlman, we have one left.”
“They always have just one left,” Bess grunted. He looked at wife. “Okay, love of my life, you have it. You’ll be able to pay it off with the life insurance, because in this place I’ll be dead in two months.”
Arthur Perlman was saying those words as Bernie and Rose walked into the salesroom. Bernie stopped dead in his tracks. Rose smiled and said, “See, people are dying all over Miami. You can’t get away from it by moving, unless you want to move to Alaska, and even in Alaska people die. But from the cold.”
Bernie walked over to the wall and studied a floor plan. “I’ll be a few minutes, folks,” Tony said smiling. “There are brochures and more floor plans on that table and some coffee, if you’d like.”
Tony turned back to the Perlman’s and handed them an application form, credit form, and insurance form. “You folks can fill these out and bring them back, or mail them in. It takes about two weeks to process them. We’ll need a deposit with the forms. It’s all spelled out there in plain English.” He chuckled a little and added, “That’s the law these days. It has to be in plain English so you can understand. I’m sure you’ll be very happy here. There’s still a little construction going on, but Building A is ready for occupancy immediately, and as I told you, it’s almost full. You were fortunate to come in when you did.” His voice, louder than it had been, was not lost on Bernie, who was pouring coffee into a plastic cup. He didn’t notice that the coffee machine had not yet filled the glass coffeepot he now held in his hand, and that hot coffee was spilling down onto the hot plate and the brochures.
Rose shouted, “Bernie! Put back the coffee! You’re making a mess.” He muttered something about stupid machines and placed the carafe back on the hot plate with such force that the puddle of coffee that had collected there splashed onto his oyster-colored slacks and white cane shoes.
Amused by the scene, Tony made no move to help. He had his orders - discourage everyone he could from buying an apartment. He was one of the worst salesmen in Miami, so he was perfect for the job. But in spite of his efforts, he had accepted twenty-seven couples who wouldn’t be dissuaded; people would live in the middle of a battlefield if they thought that they were getting something exclusive, or a bargain. He had made the mistake of trying to discourage them up front. They took that to mean they weren’t wanted, or that the builder had made a mistake and underpriced the apartments, or something was going to raise the value of the apartments soon and the owner wanted to hold on to them.
CHAPTER FIVE - DOCKING
Terra Time was already at the dock as Jack eased Manta III toward the Antares complex. He could make out three people on the deck in the late-afternoon light. The sun was setting behind the two buildings that made up the complex. The dock was in shadow.
Harry had had come up to the flying bridge as they entered the channel, but had not spoken a word. Jack sensed he was there to keep an eye on him. Harry motioned for Jack to dock the boat in the right hand slip. Jack eased back on the throttle and then shifted into neutral. The boat edged toward the slip and just before entering he reversed the engines and came to a stop.
Hal and Mr. Bright jumped onto the dock and secured the bow and stern lines. Jack noted that they had remembered to put the bumpers over the side. It appeared that this slip was perfect for his boat. They must have scouted him for some time, and ere sure he would agree to take on the job they had offered.
The commanders were directing the two other men, whom he had not met yet, to begin unloading the cocoons onto the dock. Two more men from the Terra Time had come over to help. Hal and Harry were heading up the path from the docks that led to Building B. Hal stopped within sight of the dock and Harry continued on ahead to the door of the building. Jack was able to see the activity from his vantage point on the flying bridge. The men continued to load the cocoons onto a flatbed that was pulled by a small tractor. Jack counted ten cocoons. He did not hear Mr. Bright call him at first because he was distracted by the activity. The second time he not only heard his name, but he felt it, as though someone had poked him in the ribs.
These guys can play rough, Jack thought. He waved okay, took the ignition key, and put it in his pocket. He quickly checked around as he descended to the main deck. Things were reasonably shipshape and buttoned down. There was no food to clean up because these people had not eaten, and there was no mess because they had not been fishing.
Mr. Bright was waiting for him on the dock and extended a hand. “Welcome to Antares, our home away from home. It will be your home for the next few months, too, I trust?”
Jack just smiled, shook Mr. Bright’s hand. “If you say so, boss.”
“Good,” said Mr. Bright. “Now, let me show you our lab and equipment and what is actually inside these cocoons.” They headed toward Building B. Behind them the tractor started up, on its way to deliver the cocoons to Building B.
CHAPTER SIX – BEN AND THE POOL
It took two weeks to get the swimming pool filled. Ben Green had taken it upon himself to accomplish the feat. He met daily with the manager and the maintenance chief. With this morning meeting’s done, Ben made his way toward the pool. It was time for the daily gin game to begin, and his three cronies were waiting as usual. Bernie Lewis and Art Perlman were setting up the chairs. Joe Finley was shuffling the two decks. The score pads were neatly placed on the table next to Ben’s chair.
A meeting of the totally bored, Ben thought as he approached his buddies. Retired life was aimless and boring. Without each other’s friendship they would have been committed to the funny farm long ago. Four healthy, educated and b
right men with almost two hundred years of combined business experience, put out to pasture.
Ben mused back on this morning’s meeting with the manager and maintenance chief. He had handled them well, just like the old days at the ad agency when he was account supervisor in charge of their biggest account. He could really throw the bullshit at a meeting and terrorize those creepy creative people. Just do your homework, cover all the bases, and then sit back and wait for them to put their foot in their mouth. Then attack ... attack ... attack until they were so confused that they would agree with anything just to get back to the safety of their cubicles. Ben was physically a big man. He was gaining too much weight in this sedentary life, felt it in the hot Florida sun. He stood over six feet, three inches and weighed two hundred thirty pounds. His height had been helpful in business, especially when he would storm into the art department and throw layouts onto the art V.P.’s desk. The head art director was a diminutive man, just five-foot-five, and even when he stood up to argue with Ben he had to look up. It was a child-parent scene, carefully orchestrated by Ben with a devastating effect on the little man. Those days were gone now and there had been little fun of that sort until Ben met the manager and maintenance chief. It was like the old days again. Ben planned each step of his campaign against them.
The first time he had tried to speak to the manager, the condo office secretary had been curt. She told him he would have to make an appointment because Mr. Shields was a very busy man. Ben had then asked for an appointment, but the girl told him that Mr. Shields’ appointment book was in his office and that was locked. Ben would have to call or come by later. She suggested he call first. Ben did that, but of course Mr. Shields was out. The game went on for over a week. At first Ben was annoyed. Then he realized that this conformation gave him the same rush that he used to have at the agency before a contentious meeting. With that realization joy filled his life. He was reborn - fulfilled with a sense of worth that he had not felt for years.
The next day he stopped into Mr. Shields’ office and, of course, the manager was out. The secretary’s dismissive manner had not changed. Ben approached her desk slowly. He added a slight shuffle to his walk and forced his hands to shake a little. He tried to look as old as he could. It worked, because the snotty secretary began to speak slowly to him and explain things as though he were a child. He listened as she told him that the pool was not quite finished yet. They were waiting for delivery of a special paint to seal the lining. The paint had been ordered from the manufacturer, in Ohio, but it would be several weeks until the order could be filled. Her final words were, “Do you understand that, Mr. Green?”
Ben had tried to look as confused and beaten as possible. He smiled and started to turn away from her desk. Then he stopped and turned back to his original position. The girl had gone back to her typing, but stopped typing when Ban came back to her desk. She was about to speak when Ben, in a clear deep voice, spoke to her. (It was the same voice he had used once to tell the executive vice president of the agency that he was about to take the three biggest clients to another agency if the stupid son-of-a-bitch creative director was not fired.) “There is just one other thing, young lady. You tell Mr. Shields for me that if his ass is not in this office at two-thirty this afternoon to discuss the swimming pool, I will personally find him and kick the living shit out of him. Good morning, dear.” He turned and left.
Mr. Shields had greeted Ben at the door at precisely two-thirty. He was shorted than Ben by several inches. Although he had the title of manager, it was obvious to Ben that this man was not calling the shots. He was a front for someone else. Shields had given Ben the same story about the special paint, and Ben had answered, “Bullshit.” When Shields tried to explain, Ben asked if he had been out to the pool. Shields said yes. Ben asked him to try to remember what kind of lining the pool had. Shields couldn’t, so Ben reminded him that it was plastic and it was a stupid ploy to tell him they were going to paint a plastic pool.
“That’s what they tell me, Mr. Green,” the manager said.
“Who tells you?” asked Ben.
“Well, the maintenance chief. Perhaps you would like to hear it from his lips?”
Ben smiled and said politely, “Yes, by all means, let’s meet the expert.”
Shields buzzed the secretary and asked her to get Wally Parker on the two-way radio. Ben heard the girl calling, “Wally? Come in, Wally.” That went on for about a minute. She then came into Shields’ office and told her boss that Wally must be off the grounds because she couldn’t raise him.
Ben muttered “She couldn’t raise anything” to himself just loud enough for everyone to hear. Shields suggested that they would contact Ben and arrange a meeting with Wally Parker as soon as possible.
As he left the office, Ben told Mr. Shields that he expected to hear from him within twenty-four hours. He did not say good-bye this time.
It took three days before the meeting took place. Friday Ben had been told that Wally Parker had to go up to Fort Lauderdale because they thought that a wholesaler up there might have some of the special paint. Saturday Wally was in for only half a day and he had several emergency repairs to supervise as a result of the storm Friday night. Sunday was Wally’s day off.
Monday found Ben greeting the secretary as she opened the office at nine A.M. She was very polite to him now and told him that Mr. Shields would not be in until after lunch. Ben told her, “Fine. I’ll be back at two, and have Wally the Wonderful paint wizard here, too.”
He left, but instead of going to his apartment, he went over to Joe Finley’s condo. Joe’s second bedroom overlooked the entrance to the office. Finley made some coffee. His wife Alma was at the Greens’ condo for the “girls” morning coffee klatch with Mary Green, Rose Lewis, and Bess Perlman. Ben and Joe kept a vigil and they were rewarded by the appearance of Shields slinking along the edge of the building toward his office. He stopped at the door and waved toward the parking lot. A blue Chevy door opened and a very fat man in overalls slid out of the driver’s side and made a beeline toward the office. “Wally the Wonderful, we have you now,” Ben muttered, and he motioned for Joe to get to the phone.
Joe dialed the manager’s office and identified himself to the secretary as Mr. Bonser, of the Florida Attorney General’s office. He asked to speak to Mr. Shields on official business. The girl put him on hold and then Mr. Shields got on the line. Finley nodded to Ben, and Ben left the apartment on the run.
“Mr. Shields, this is Mr. Bonser, of the Attorney General’s office. I’m calling about a complaint we received from a Mr. Green, who says that services ... let me see, I’ll read the complaint to you ... that services herein described and duly paid for have been withheld without cause justified en corporatum per legalum.... What that means is that this Mr. Green is charging you with ... let’s see ... ah, yes ... not fulfilling a contract to provide a swimming pool according to contract. Now, Mr. Shields, I know what a pain some of these old people can be, but they are citizens of this state and they vote. We have to follow up on these things. What seems to be the problem?”
Just as Shields was about to answer, he heard a ruckus outside his office and then Ben burst through the door into the room. Shields asked Mr. Bonser if he could call him back, and Bonser agreed. The manager hung up just as Ben reached across the gray metal desk and grabbed him by the lapels of his blue blazer with the Antares logo on it.
Wally Parker started to get up, but Ben glanced over at him and suggested that Wally remain in his chair. He turned back to Shields and let him down into his chair. “Good Morning, Mr. Shields. Good morning, Mr. Parker. I’m really glad you could both make our meeting this morning. Tell me, Mr. Parker, were you able to locate that paint in Fort Lauderdale on Friday?”
Parker looked at Shields with an expression that told Ben he knew nothing about the trip to Fort Lauderdale.
Ben pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was the score sheet from yesterday’s gin game. He studied it for a
moment, then put it away. “Now, Mr. Parker, I would appreciate it if you would explain this special paint to me. I had a pool in Connecticut, where I come from, and the lining was quite similar to the pool we, the condo owners, have here. I don’t recall ever having to paint it, because it was a special substance that sealed the pool. But I’m an old man and tend to forget things from time to time. Perhaps we did paint it.” Ben slid into his old-man act again, realizing that Wally had just met him and that Shields hadn’t told Wally too much about the situation.
Before Shields could say anything, Wally proceeded to patronize Ben, explaining slowly that this lining required painting. He said, “You know, Mr. Green, here at Antares we pride ourselves on having a facility that is not just beautiful, but durable, too. We expect our tenants to be with us a long time and we want things to be right for them. We want things to last. This special paint will add years to the life of the pool, and that means years of enjoyment for you and Mrs. Green. I’m sure you understand.” He smiled at Ben, secure in the feeling that he had set this old buzzard straight.
Ben smiled back and put up his hand just as Shields began to speak. “No, Mr. Shields, allow me to speak first.” His voice was still that of an old man.
“Wally, may I call you Wally?” Wally nodded and smiled again. “Wally, you are a fat, stupid asshole.” Ben’s voice was that of Ben the adman again. “I will tell you three things. One, I am not a tenant here; I own the goddamned place. Two, that is a freaking plastic pool liner out there, and any kind of paint would peel in one day. Three, we will meet here at ten tomorrow morning and you will have a schedule for me of when the pool will be filled. This meeting is over.”
The Cocoon Trilogy Page 3