“My father, who was not handy with tools, was replacing a rung on the ladder that led up to my tree fort. A nail had worked its way out and the step had broken free when I was coming back down one day. It was the second step from the top, so it was pretty high off the ground. The thing went right out from under me and I sort of glanced off the other steps on my way down. My chin was split open and my left leg was broken in two places, which is why I was in a cast to my hip the day of the accident.
“Anyway, I was lying on the living room floor one Sunday afternoon, reading the funny pages to my cat, and my mom was in the kitchen baking a cake—a German chocolate cake. I can remember licking the beaters.
“My dad, who was a famous procrastinator, had finally decided to fix the step, after six weeks of my mother pestering him to take care of it. My cast was coming off the next day, and she didn’t want me going up and down with the step missing, which I would have been inclined to do.
“I was reading Pogo out loud when my mother started to scream. She flew out the kitchen door faster than I’d ever seen her move. I pulled myself up on the sofa so I could see what was going on through the window.
“I saw my dad a split second before my mom reached him. He was sprawled out on the ground, twitching violently. I knew instantly what had happened. I saw the puddle of water, the chainsaw, with my father’s hand still gripping it. I also knew at that same second my mother would not know what to do. I knew what to do because we had seen a safety film in school.
‘“Don’t touch him, Mom!’ I yelled at the top of my lungs. ‘Unplug it!’”
“But it was too late. She grabbed hold of the chainsaw, instinctively wanting to take it out of my father’s hands. Immediately she began to jerk violently, as if under the control of some demented puppeteer. Then she fell down on top of him, quivering until she too was dead.” Priscilla stopped and took a long sip of her vodka tonic, lost in thoughts of that seemingly benign day when her world hit a brick wall.
“I’ll never forget that smell,” she said, her voice so low, it seemed to come from a great distance. “Even over the chocolate cake, I could smell it.” She glanced over at Philip, whose mouth was hanging open in horror and disbelief.
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.” She cast her gaze away from Philip. She wasn’t sure what had prompted such open disclosure. Though it was not her custom to reveal that part of her past, either to astound or shock, she couldn’t help feeling a perverse pleasure in his discomfort. She took another sip of her drink as he grappled with her frightful revelation.
“That’s one of the most horrifying stories I’ve ever heard,” he said at length. Priscilla smiled blithely for his benefit. “How incredibly horrible to witness something like that so young. And to have to watch your own parents…”
He chased away the unwanted image of Caitlin discovering him and Marianne in the throes of death, the last traces of life being rattled out of them as she watched on. He covered his mouth with his hand, as if to hold back the unspeakable.
“Are you all right?” Priscilla asked. Perhaps it was callous and a touch cruel of her to subject a sensitive guy like Philip to such a grisly story.
“I feel so awful for you, what you had to endure…” Philip appeared on the verge of tears.
“Phil, it’s okay. That’s all in the past now. It doesn’t have the power to devastate me any longer.”
Philip did not seem convinced. “But…what did you do? A little girl…with a broken leg…?”
“I hobbled out and unplugged the saw.” Philip wore a fresh look of astonishment. Priscilla shrugged. “Then I called 911. Then I cried a lot. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all this.”
“No, no—I’m glad you did,” he said, taking her hand in his, a gesture that startled her. “It just makes me admire you all the more.”
Priscilla gently retrieved her hand. “There’s nothing to admire about being orphaned,” she said coolly.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I admire your ability to cope, to go on with life.”
“I was ten. Ten-year-olds don’t know they have any choice.”
“Maybe, but you grew up to be a kind, wonderful person. I would’ve never known you had such a traumatic childhood. You seem so happy and normal and well-balanced.”
Priscilla laughed. Normal? Well-balanced? He obviously didn’t know the first thing about her. “Yeah, well…”
“So, your parents…died… and your uncle got custody of you?”
“Not officially. He came as soon as my aunt notified him. He was in Chicago at the time, which was only a couple hours away. My aunt asked him to stay with me until she could make arrangements to come up from Wichita. My uncle had different ideas. He came, all right. He took me to the doctor to get my cast off, brought me back to pack my things and grab my cat, and off we went.
“We didn’t even stay for the funeral. My aunt was furious, I’m sure, but Uncle Bob managed to elude her for years. That could have been one reason he wasn’t too keen about me attending school.
“After the first week, I came home and told him I hated my new school, none of the kids liked me and the teachers were mean. He told me I wouldn’t have to go anymore. That’s when he initiated the mandatory reading regimen. Every day, no matter how late he’d gone to bed, or what kind of condition he was in when he woke up, he’d go out and buy as many papers as the local newsstand had to offer.” Priscilla smiled.
“See, my life wasn’t so bad. I had stability, of a sort, and plenty of love. I was the only kid in a household full of adults. I was spoiled rotten.”
“But you missed your parents,” Philip surmised.
“Of course. I suppose for a long time I couldn’t really assimilate what had happened. But the sudden change of scenery and lifestyle forced me to deal with what was in front of me, not behind me.
“Uncle Bob didn’t give me enough time or space to have an emotional breakdown. I’m sure he wouldn’t have known what to do if I’d gone all to pieces. He didn’t really know how to cope with unhappy situations. He loved his brother, but I don’t think he had the stomach for the grieving process, and I suspect he hauled me out of there so fast to spare me any further tears. It worked.” She paused to sip her drink.
“There were times when it hit me I was an orphan and I’d never have anyone to replace my folks, and I really was all alone in the world. Sometimes I’d get this sharp pang of melancholy when I’d see other kids with their parents, or even grown women with their mothers.
“I began to realize I wouldn’t be able to look into my mother’s face and see my future self, or have the road map of her life to guide me as I grew up. She wouldn’t be around to help me pick out a wedding dress or help me with my first-born. Nor would I have the benefit of her wisdom, or her unconditional love. All those little things,” she said with a dismissive shrug.
What she couldn’t bring herself to reveal to Philip was how hollow she still felt whenever she saw women her age shopping or having lunch with their mothers, talking and laughing and planning, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Priscilla looked away sharply, vexed by the sudden lump in her throat. All this wallowing in the past had brought out emotions she’d long since exorcized, or so she thought. It took her a moment to pull herself together.
“So…you did a lot of traveling with your uncle’s band?” Philip asked aware that she was struggling to maintain her composure.
“Yeah,” Priscilla nodded as she swallowed hard, grateful for the diversion. “Yeah, we set up house in fifteen different cities, not counting the ones we just passed through when they were on tour. Altogether, I’ve been to twenty-four states, thanks mostly to my uncle.
“That’s a lot of traveling for a kid.”
“It was, but it was fun. I felt very free in those years. I had a lot of unusual experiences living with Uncle Bob. I think he did a decent job raising me during my tenure with him, and I’ll always be grateful that he too
k me under his wing,” she said, trying to give her childhood an upbeat spin.
“Well, I think you’re a wonderful person, Priscilla, and I think your mother would be very proud of you. Not everyone could go through what you have and turn out so well,” Philip said. Though it was meant as a compliment, she could feel every fiber in her body bristle. She would have given anything to blink her eyes and transport herself far away from Philip and his sterling ideals and sensibilities.
“You give me too much credit, Phil. You make it sound like I’ve fought adversity and made a shining success of my life, but you seem to be forgetting that all I’ve amounted to at the ripe old age of thirty-two is an unemployed waitress. My life is hardly anything to brag about. I know there are a lot of people who have gone through worse and have managed to make something of themselves,” she said, then drained the last of her cocktail.
“But you’re young—you still have plenty of time to pursue your goals,” Philip said earnestly.
“I’d believe that if I had any goals to pursue.” The acidity of her remark stung Philip. He was trying to find the right rebuttal when the waitress picked up Priscilla’s empty glass and asked if they wanted another round. Priscilla nodded. “Make it a double this time,” she said. Philip shook his head.
“You know Phil, I’m tired of talking about myself. My past is quite boring to me now. Let’s hear about your life and the bugaboos you’ve had to contend with,” she said, leaning into the table in a way that seemed mildly threatening. “Something tells me your life isn’t as picture-perfect as you expected it to be.”
Philip flinched involuntarily, recognizing the glint of retaliation in her eyes. Before he could defend himself, the waitress reappeared with Priscilla’s double vodka tonic.
“Eleven-fifty,” she said matter-of-factly as she set the drink on a fresh napkin. He extracted a fifty and handed it to her. She made the change and set it in front of him. Priscilla was sucking up her drink zealously through a straw, her eyes fixed on Philip in a challenging way. He took a sip of his watered down scotch and cleared his throat, but still couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
“So, am I to take this prolonged silence to mean all’s just peachy-keen in your world?” she said between sips.
Philip grunted weakly. “Not exactly. It used to be, but it’s not anymore,” he said more to the table than to her.
“So, what changed it?” She knew she was making Philip uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. She continued to stare at him inquiringly until he sighed and took another, longer sip of his drink.
“Just a bit of bad luck,” he said with a shrug.
“I’ve told you things about myself I’ve only told to a handful of people, and I hardly know you,” she prompted him. He squirmed in his seat, but finally faced her.
“I assume you know about the scandal surrounding the Phoenix Tower.” Priscilla thought about it for a moment and shook her head. It sounded vaguely familiar, but no bells went off. Philip sighed. It was nice to think his identity had been anonymous with at least one person in Manhattan. But so much for that.
“Well, The Phoenix Tower was, at the time of its construction, an innovative idea. It promised to bring life back to one of the more defunct areas of the city, right on the edge of the financial and meat packing districts, in that eerie dead zone where nothing seemed to be alive. Old abandoned warehouses and such. You probably know the area.” Priscilla nodded slightly; there was a stirring deep in her memory, but nothing was coming to the surface.
“Anyhow, this proposed project seemed like such a gamble at the time. Most people scoffed at the notion of building an upscale housing development in an area that decent folks wouldn’t dare go to at night, or even in broad daylight, for that matter. In fact, I had so much trouble finding investors for the project, I ended up financing it alone.
“It was a huge risk, but I felt so strongly about it and I was determined to make a go of it. To me it was much more than a single forty-unit building—it was the seed that could eventually revitalize that whole part of town. I had no problems with the city planning commission—they were behind it completely. And the land was cheap, as you can imagine.” Philip stopped while he appeared to consider something.
“You know, the saddest part of what I’m about to tell you is that my vision came to fruition. Because the land cost was so low, and because I didn’t need to share the profits with other investors, I was able to offer the units for sale at prices not seen in Manhattan in a decade or more. Even so, they were slow to move at first.
“But once a few canny buyers signed up, the project was completely sold out in less than six months. And what’s more, as soon as other developers witnessed my success, they were eager to take a chance on that depressed neighborhood. Now when you walk from Lafayette and Broadway, what you mostly see are new or refurbished buildings, trendy shops and cafes, and people…people happy to live in a neighborhood with so much to offer.”
Philip looked over at Priscilla, whose formerly hostile expression had now been replaced with a look of startled recognition.
“The building they had to evacuate,” she said slowly, as the memory came back to her. “It collapsed, or something…but it didn’t really fall down…but there was something wrong…”
“Visible signs that the building was sinking appeared over night. Fortunately, the deterioration was slow enough and spotted so quickly, no one was injured, or worse.”
“I do remember it now,” Priscilla said somberly. It had been a very big deal in the paper for weeks. As she recalled, Philip barely escaped being tarred and feathered. It surprised her she hadn’t recognized him from the photos in the paper. Poor guy. You would have thought he was public enemy number one the way city officials pounced on him.
“What exactly was the reason?”
“I scaled back the diameter of the caissons used, in order to save money. I felt the engineers’ recommendation was overkill,” Philip said.
Every time he said this he was filled with shame. He knocked back the last of his drink and raised his glass to get the waitress’ attention. Now it was Priscilla’s turn to be impressed with the enormity of his burden. To feel the brunt of all those outraged buyers and all the negative press he had received since then. She regretted never having seen the building in person.
“So, they evacuated all the people living there and then what…tore it down?” she asked.
“No, it’s been sitting vacant all these months while city officials and engineers argue about the best way to handle the demolition. It’s finally been slated to come down week after next.” The waitress set his drink down and Philip took a twenty from the pile of change.
“What will happen once it’s torn down? Will you rebuild?” Priscilla asked, all her former maliciousness now gone. Philip shook his head.
“No,” he replied, as though the possibility was completely out of the question. “The land will be sold by the insurance company to help offset its losses. I’d be extremely lucky if I ever have my name associated with another project in this city.
“After what it’s going to cost the insurer, I seriously doubt I’d find a company to underwrite the expenses, provided there was someone foolish enough to put their trust in me again. My firm has disbanded and everyone in the building industry regards me as pure poison.” Philip scoffed and took a swig of his drink. For a while, neither of them said a word. It was Priscilla who finally broke the silence.
“What will you do now, Phil?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a question I ask myself everyday as I sit behind my desk in my empty office. You remember when you asked me earlier if I’d ever contemplated becoming anything other than an architect? Well, there’s the crux of my problem—I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. It would be like asking Pavarotti to come up with a backup career. I’m not saying my talent is on par with his—I’m only stressing how ingrained design is in my system. It’s all I know. It’s all I
want to know.”
Priscilla nodded at his predicament. “That’s rough, Phil,” she said. “And to think how discombobulated I feel not working at Frank’s dump anymore.” She laughed. “At least I can find another dump to work in.” She imagined herself job hunting in some sun-filled beach town in the Florida Keys. It would have to feel less demoralizing than pounding the pavement in New York City.
“Have you ever considered relocating to another area?”
“Oh, sure, but I’ve got Caitlin to consider. Her mother’s trying to put the squeeze on my dual custody as it is. If I leave town, who knows how limited my time with her will be.”
“So, there’s a divorce, too,” she said.
“Oh yes. I had two collapses in one week—my most well-known building and my marriage.”
Priscilla groaned sympathetically. “You really are in the shits, aren’t you, Phil?”
Philip laughed more loudly than either of them expected. “Yes, I am definitely in the shits,” he confirmed. He was staring down at his drink, his elbows on the table, his arms making a protective fort over what was left of his second scotch.
“Phil, I’ve got to ask you something.”
“Fire away.”
“Do you think you’ve developed some sort of attachment to me simply as a mindless escape from your troubles?” Philip reared back slowly as her words took effect. “I don’t mind—we all need to be carried through the rough spots from time to time. But I think this might be a good time for us to put the right label on our friendship.” Philip stared blankly at her.
“Can you honestly define your feelings for me? I bet if you take a hard look at them you’ll see you’ve turned me into a paragon of wonderful qualities that I can hardly take credit for.” Philip continued to stare soundlessly. “Am I right or am I wrong?”
Alligators in the Trees Page 17