Alligators in the Trees

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “It was removed once the damage was discovered. It was the buckling of the railing that first caught someone’s attention. Fortunately, they knew enough to contact the city.”

  Priscilla’s eyes searched for further evidence of the damage. She couldn’t find any cracks or fissures on the building’s surface.

  “You know, I was really expecting much worse. To be perfectly honest, it doesn’t look there’s anything wrong with it, other than the sinking. Are you sure the whole building has to be demolished? Isn’t there some way to get under there and raise it back up? Or let it stand like the other sinking tower in Pisa?”

  Philip chuckled. “Our modern-day inspectors aren’t quite as forgiving as the Italians of old. And as for bracing it in some way, I can’t imagine how it could be done. Besides, it would be such a phenomenal undertaking at this stage, and I can’t see the insurance company getting behind any experimental fix.”

  “So, they’re just going to knock it to the ground and sell the lot to the highest bidder.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Philip said, regarding his pride and joy grimly. Priscilla shook her head, baffled.

  “But to look at the rest of it, you’d think it was in perfect condition,” she argued.

  “I know, I know. It’s been very hard for me to accept its fate. I invested a lot in this baby—time, inspiration, money—all of it my own.” Philip’s sigh sounded as though it came from an exhausted horse. “But what can I do? The city and the insurance company are calling the shots now.”

  Priscilla stepped backwards across the street until she was standing on the opposite sidewalk, looking up. Her eyes traced the façade for even the slightest evidence that the building was in imminent danger of collapsing.

  “It’s odd how in all the news coverage they always refer to the “collapse of The Phoenix”, when in reality, it only sank, and just a few inches at that,” she said as Philip joined her. “Why do they insist on making it sound like the building came crashing down into the street one day?”

  “Because that’s exactly what they think will happen, sooner or later.”

  “But what if it doesn’t ever collapse? What if this is the final extent of the damage? What if it wasn’t so much that the caissons weren’t big enough, but that the over-all weight of the building once finished and filled up with stuff was more than had been anticipated, and now that the…whatever you call the things that supports a building from the bottom—”

  “The underpinnings.”

  “Yeah, what if they’ve adjusted themselves in a way that allows them to support this unexpected extra weight?” Priscilla asked, becoming excited by this theory. She stared at Philip expectantly.

  A large grin began to spread across Philip’s face. He tried hard to prevent the laughter that eventually broke from his throat, which he tried to cover with a cough. Priscilla glared at him reproachfully.

  “You don’t have to remind me I’m not a civil engineer, Phil. Obviously, there’s a lot about building and design I couldn’t comprehend in a million years. All I’m really asking is if there isn’t some way of saving this building, your baby. Not that I care one way or the other.”

  “Hmpf…” Philip said, clearing his throat and wiping the offending smirk from his face. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t a commentary on your hypothesis. Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to find a way to save The Phoenix. It’s just that I’m stuck between the city and the insurance company. Neither wants anything to do with a structurally unsound building. And the insurance company is in no way obligated to spend money trying to find a cure.”

  “Yes, but they’re the ones that’ll have to cough up the money to settle all those claims. They couldn’t possibly hope to recoup those losses by selling a vacant lot,” Priscilla said. Philip shrugged.

  “I know. It’s a lose-lose situation,” he said, folding his arms across his chest resignedly. The two of them stared at the building for another couple minutes, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

  “I’ve got another dumb question for you,” Priscilla said at length.

  “You haven’t asked a dumb question yet. Go ahead.”

  “Is there a lot of damage inside the building?”

  “No, not as far as we were able to tell. Not that we were allowed a whole lot of time in there. But from what we saw, everything seemed to be in perfect shape—no damage to the plumbing, walls or central heating systems. We didn’t try every tap or look into every duct, but every floor appeared to be sound. It’s the damnedest thing, really. She feels as sturdy as she did when we opened her doors four years ago.”

  “So, they won’t let you go into your own building? Not even to assess the damage?” Philip shook his head.

  “No, we all met here shortly after the building had been completely vacated—a huge posse of inspectors and engineers and city officials. Attorneys, insurance company representatives, blah, blah, blah. We spent hours here, and most of us reconvened the next morning,” Philip said.

  As he thought back to that frustrating final morning, he recalled it was the very same day he had ducked into Frank’s Coffee Shop for the first of many visits. He smiled at the memory.

  “Anyway, the fate of The Phoenix is sealed. But because everything that passes through bureaucratic channels takes a dog’s age, they’ve just now put it on the slate to bring it down.”

  “Because the caissons are underground, does that mean you can’t see them?” Priscilla asked, her thoughts stuck on something she couldn’t let go of.

  “They’re mostly underground, but there is an area—a sub-basement—where they are visible.”

  “Oh, so that’s how they could tell they had collapsed,” Priscilla concluded.

  “Yes. There was notable deterioration,” Philip said.

  ‘And there’s no way to…never mind. Like I said, I don’t know the first thing about construction,” Priscilla said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What a waste,” she lamented. “How about moving the whole building, taking it to another site after putting the right size caissons in? I’ve seen some pretty big buildings moved… oh, forget it. I’ll shut up,” she said, laughing at herself before Philip could.

  “You’ve had more useful ideas in a few minutes than a whole roomful of professionals could come up with in several hours. Your practical way of looking at this situation is the only positive input I’ve received so far. A fresh, unhindered perspective can provide surprising insights sometimes.

  “If I could find just one other construction expert who had the imagination required to solve this problem creatively, we might have a chance,” Philip said, searching Priscilla’s eyes as though the identity of such a person might be found in them.

  “Well…I wish I had a degree in engineering,” she said, shifting away from Philip’s penetrating gaze.

  “You’ve helped me more than you can imagine. Just being here with me has given me a sense of peace around this mess. C’mon, let’s go do something fun till it’s time to pick up my rug rat,” he said jokingly.

  “Caitlin’s no rug rat. She’s a good kid, as far as kids go,” Priscilla said with a sly grin.

  “She’ll be gratified to hear that,” Philip said, looking back at The Phoenix as he escorted her down the street.

  Nineteen

  You look at me with eyes sincere

  A villain those eyes make of me

  You know better than to show me tears

  ‘Cause I’m still obliged to set you free

  Drink up, you gorgeous heathens

  Leeches to the last

  Young barbarians need no reason

  So have yourselves a blast

  How was it you never saw the best part of the deal was mine?

  Did you really think I was worthy of a person so divine?

  What made you think that what you gave would someday be returned

  When every bridge I’ve ever crossed I’ve never failed to burn

  Fear aging, truth, each other
>
  Don’t think you play for free

  Ask your precious little flower

  If she risked too much on me

  If you could do it over

  You’d play it just the same

  Your mistake was in trusting

  Not knowing how to play the game

  How was it you never saw the best part of the deal was mine?

  Did you really think me worthy of a person so divine?

  What made you think that what you gave would someday be returned

  When every bridge I’ve ever crossed I’ve never failed to burn

  Tobias read through the song he named Pay to Play one more time before crushing it into a ball and flicking it off the end of the piano. He pounded out a few discordant cords, then swiveled off the bench. He stood, hands deep in the pockets of his pants, eyes staring blankly into space.

  “Shit. I must be losing my mind,” he said to the empty room.

  He walked to the end of the piano, and using it as support, he leaned down and picked up the paper ball. He smoothed it out on top of the aging Steinway, took a deep breath, and tried again to add a melody to the words. He sang the first verse, changing the rhythm as he went, but he just couldn’t match the words to music. Everything he tried sounded like a rehashing of earlier songs.

  “You’d think that after ten years you could come up with better than that,” he admonished himself. He left the paper where it lay and walked over to the window, idly taking in the sights and sounds of the evening below him.

  He was in a foul mood, the worst he had been in for some time. But it wasn’t just frustration at not being able to provide a melody for a song that had been languishing for years. He had written it during his brief attempt at a solo career, but he’d never managed to put music to these lyrics.

  Adding to his sense of ineptitude was discovering his life was in exactly the same place it had been a decade ago. His hair had thinned, his posture had lost its confident straightness, his eyes had acquired annoying grooves at the corners, yet his modus operendi hadn’t evolved in the least. He was still cheating on his wife with beautiful babies, empty-headed spoiled brats who thought they had invented the word cool.

  What did he get out of these dalliances? Sex, sure—but how much fun was that, when all the baggage that came with it had become deadly boring? It was like numbing his gums on pure cacao leaves. What the hell did he need numb gums for? Why did he subject himself to Simone’s mind-numbing company when he could get reasonably good sex from his own wife? There was a song here, all right, but it should go something more like…

  Watch out for the man with too much money

  And time

  He hates himself for the things he can’t

  Surrender

  To give up the farce of playing with

  Children

  Would leave him without a single

  Thing to buy

  Tobias laughed joylessly after singing this impromptu parody of himself. Oh, there were millions upon millions of belittling phrases he could use to mock his world. Miss Priscilla Van-der-pool had nothin’ on him! Tobias barked out another harsh laugh before admitting to himself the one aspect missing from the talented waitress’s repertoire was self-loathing.

  She had a knack for stringing some of the most deceptively powerful words and feelings together, and even though she knew quite intimately the darker side of human behavior, she managed to always keep malice and hatred out of her lyrics.

  Slowly, as if answering a call he would’ve rather ignored, Tobias plodded his way to the closet where he had stashed Priscilla’s writings. Carting a large chunk of the collection to one of the sofas, he cursed himself again for not having used the chance to pick Priscilla’s brain when he had her in his car.

  He had been carrying on silent dialogs with her for two days now, yet not one of them was based on anything they had actually talked about. All he had was a shallow, one-sided relationship with someone he barely knew, which left him feeling wholly unsatisfied.

  He lifted the lid off the first shoebox and stared at the contents. He couldn’t bring himself to pick up a notebook, but he couldn’t turn away from it, either. He had entered some sort of limbo phase where he had become paralyzed by his conflicting emotions. He felt an enormous pull toward Priscilla because of her writings, yet he was immensely threatened by her boundless abilities.

  Hell, there were more pieces of pure poetry in one notebook than most so-called poets could wring out of their souls in a lifetime. Who was he to gorge himself on her private musings? True, he had paid her a ridiculously high price for the privilege of poring through pages that had barely escaped the incinerator, but did he really have any right to assume ownership?

  I should have brought her back here, made her decipher some of this stuff for me, Tobias told himself. If I’m very sweet and don’t act like a horse’s ass, maybe I can convince her I need her help. She seems like the kind of girl who secretly enjoys being useful. Tomorrow—I’ll get her over here tomorrow.

  With this oath, Tobias felt he had earned permission to take another peek at the notebooks. He fished down toward the bottom of the box and brought out one with a red cover. He flipped it open to a page in the middle and read the title out loud.

  “A Model Life,” he said, chuckling at the absurd appropriateness of his selection. “A Model Life.”

  She walks into the gallery

  Unnoticed by the rest

  And stands before her likeness

  She was considered the best

  She beckons frank appraisal

  Just put her to the test

  Have you ever seen such beauty

  Such legs, such arms, such breasts?

  Lights flash

  Who’s the girl?

  Lots of cash

  Cruel, cruel world

  How could a creature so fine and rare

  Be captured in a flash

  So exquisitely preserved for eternity

  Behind a cage of glass

  Lights flash

  Legends made

  Lots of cash

  It’s a trade

  That was her finest moment

  You wouldn’t even know her now

  That beauty was so fleeting

  But you must give a humble bow

  Lights fade

  Crowds stray

  Money’s gone

  So is fame

  Tobias laid the notebook down and tried to imagine what had inspired Priscilla to write these words. Unlike his own situation, he doubted she had ever had first-hand experience with anyone in that particular profession. By all rights, he should be able to write volumes about the superficial world of the high-profile model. It was a subject he knew inside out, literally.

  Yet, in a few well-chosen words, Priscilla had summed up the bitter downside of trading on one’s looks. Sooner or later, models reach their peak. And with all but a few notable exceptions, the ride up is a lot shorter than the ride down.

  He was beginning to understand that Priscilla had a knack for zeroing in on basic human truths without the benefit of having lived it personally. She was a keen observer, though she never let on that she even cared.

  He wouldn’t have guessed that the person who had so dispassionately served him hash browns and eggs had any scope outside of her immediate world, let alone was capable of creating verse equal to his own. But then again, the best observers were adept at hiding their own thoughts. Brody didn’t refer to him as the Sphinx for nothing.

  Okay, that was a cute little parlor trick, nailing his current frame of mind with his random selection. But reading Priscilla’s canny observations would not be enough to entertain him for the whole evening. Even though he had worked out a living situation designed to maximize his freedom and minimize his aggravations, his current setup was distinctly too solitary at times.

  He realized now being alone wasn’t as fulfilling as he first thought. He was a social creature, in his own weird way—social lik
e a fly on the wall. He needed the buzz of human companionship, even if he didn’t fancy the ties of human involvement. Hell, he didn’t need to participate in a conversation in order to gain something from it.

  He could be plopped down in the middle of a bar in Helsinki, for all he cared. He’d still be able to divine the dynamics of the relationships of his fellow patrons, make up scenarios about their lives, without the benefit of knowing a word of Finnish. Where he happened to be was not important, as long as there were people around. He picked up the phone and called for a car.

  Tobias stripped out of his clothes, leaving a trail behind him as he headed for the shower. Yes, a good, sexy dose of nightlife would be the cure for what ailed him. Pick up a fragrance on the wind, Check your caution at the door, Follow the blend of talk and laughter, We know what you’ve come here for. Intoxicated by night.

  Tobias reached into the shower and turned the faucet on. Well, if that wasn’t annoying. If he was going to have a song stuck in his head, why couldn’t it be one of his own, or at least some other legitimate piece of music? How ironic was that: he spent an inordinate amount of time trying to link a melody to some of his most promising lyrics with no success, yet he had no trouble finding a tune for one of Priscilla’s songs.

  He reached back into the shower and turned the water off. Damn. He heard Priscilla’s song set to music. It was as clear as the hundreds of other songs he had cataloged in his brain.

  He wrapped a towel around his mid-section as he retraced his steps back to the main room. He dug frantically through the shoeboxes, tossing notebooks in every direction as he searched for the one containing the lyrics he had just heard in his head. Finally finding it, he lurched to the piano were he tapped out the first stanza.

  “Just when you think you’re immune

  You catch a whiff on the air

  You can’t stop your heart as it races

  As you follow the scent up the stairs.”

  The words fell into place like magic, as if he had just held two shells together and found them to be a perfect match.

  “It’s the subtle things that snare you