Alligators in the Trees

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Philip inhaled sharply. He gathered by the redness of her eyes she had been crying. It touched him profoundly to imagine her standing in the bathroom of the Trattoria Mona Lisa sobbing her heart out because she found his life admirable and hers devoid of merit. He swallowed hard, and reaching across the table, he took her hand in his. He could feel her tense slightly but he didn’t let go.

  It had taken an act of bravery to say to Philip what she had never admitted to herself. She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest, and her breaths came in short, shallow bursts. She feared she was on the verge of tears again, and looking at Philip’s downcast eyes made it that much harder to hold them back.

  They sat in a tense but compelling silence for several minutes, oblivious to their surroundings. A large, boisterous party was seated at a table near them, breaking the spell. Philip signaled to the waiter to bring the check. He slipped some cash into the folder and stood up.

  “Would you like to see where I’m living?” he asked. Priscilla hesitated for only a couple of seconds while she conducted an internal debate over the question. As she couldn’t picture Philip turning into an unmanageable squid, under any circumstances, and since she was not anxious to return to the confines of her cramped hotel room, she nodded her consent and led the way out.

  Twenty-One

  “Wow,” Priscilla said, as she stepped out onto the balcony of Philip’s borrowed apartment. “So this is how the other half lives,” she commented dryly, as she gazed down Fifth Avenue in the direction of Central Park South.

  “I’d say it’s more like how one half of one percent live,” Philip amended as he joined her by the railing, handing her a vodka and tonic.

  “You have to be pretty lucky just to have friends with spare residences like this,” she countered, giving him one of those looks he couldn’t quite interpret.

  “Yes, I’m very fortunate in that respect,” he admitted. “Would you rather have a seat?” he asked, indicating a table and chairs under the overhang.

  “No, I like standing here, looking out over the world. You’ve probably gotten bored with this view, too” she said with a teasing smile.

  “Not yet. I’m trying to soak up as much of it as I can while I have the chance. I plan to start looking for my own place, once Marianne and I hash out the details of our divorce, though it certainly won’t be in a neighborhood like this. In fact, if I were smart, I’d see if your place is still available.”

  Priscilla barked out a throaty laugh. “I imagine it will be available for some time to come, though you wouldn’t let your cockroaches live there, if you had any.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Philip challenged.

  “Trust me, it was.” The conversation lapsed as they took in the sights.

  “How long did you live in that apartment?” Philip asked.

  “Three or four years.”

  “How could you stand it for so long if it was that terrible?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it sort of suited my mood,” Priscilla said.

  “Do you miss it?”

  Priscilla laughed again, a high, light, tinkling sound that made Philip’s heart flutter at the unexpected loveliness of it. “No,” Priscilla said, a smile lingering on her lips.

  “So, quitting your job had at least one positive benefit then,” Philip speculated.

  “Yes, definitely. Leaving that place was long overdue. Both places. But you have to keep in mind I only lived there out of financial necessity, not because I like dark, dank, dilapidated dumps.”

  “Well, it’s good you’re in a position financially to make a change,” Philip said. Priscilla eyed him enigmatically. He shifted his stance and wondered if he had said something wrong.

  “What part of town did you live in when you and your wife were still together?” she asked.

  “Not too far from here, actually. We have, or rather Marianne has a brownstone over on East Sixty-Ninth, between Park and Lexington.”

  Priscilla nodded politely, though she had only the foggiest notion of what the area was like. For someone who had spent the entire twelve years of her New York experience living in the nether regions of lower Manhattan, the Upper East Side was something that seemed more myth than reality.

  “That’s nice,” she said blandly.

  “Yeah, it is. I miss being over there, though it’s really only a few blocks away.” Philip snorted at how silly that sounded. “It’s funny how dramatically this city can change in a matter of blocks. Do you think you’d be moving to Florida if you’d had a better living arrangement here?”

  Priscilla considered this. “I don’t know…I guess if I had a nice, roomy apartment in a good part of town and a great job and a nice husband and a couple of kids and a cat and a dog…probably not,” she replied.

  “So, is that why you’re leaving? To find a husband and start a family?” Philip asked. Priscilla’s laughter rebuked him.

  “No. I just gave that as a hypothetical. You change any detail of our lives and it puts a whole new spin on everything. It’s like me asking you if you’d be here right now if The Phoenix hadn’t collapsed. Not likely. Chances are you and your wife would still be happily married and living comfortably in your lovely brownstone on the Upper Eastside. If Frank hadn’t freaked out on me one time too many, if, if, if…” Priscilla shrugged. “That game loses its charm after a while, don’t you think?”

  Philip smiled tightly. “If you don’t mind my asking, what do you hope to find in Florida?” Philip’s ceaseless curiosity about the subject was starting to put Priscilla off the whole idea of going there.

  “I don’t know, Phil. A fresh start, that’s all. When I picture life down there, I imagine it to be less stressful and less aggravating. I mean, Floridians seldom have to ride overfilled subway trains or worry about falling on their butts on icy sidewalks.

  “I know how you feel about Florida—you’ve made it abundantly clear. But it just seems to me it’s easier to get by down there. I might hate it, like you said. Who knows? I might be back here in a week with my tail between my legs, and no one here would notice or care.”

  “I would,” Philip assured her. “And for purely selfish reasons, I hope you are.”

  “Phil, that’s not very supportive. You’re supposed to say you hope I’ll find everything I’ve always wanted and that I’ll live happily ever after.”

  “I do hope you’ll find everything you’ve always wanted and that you do live happily ever after. I just don’t know why you can’t do it here,” Philip said.

  “I admire you’re single-mindedness, Phil—I really do,” Priscilla chuckled.

  She leaned against the railing and drew a deep breath of the cool springtime air, which had a much fresher quality than the air she was accustomed to breathing. The whole world was a different place for the very rich, she surmised, though she was forced to acknowledge that only applied superficially.

  Despite all Philip’s advantages, he was one of the most forlorn souls she had ever seen come through Frank’s door, and that was saying something. She looked over at him, aping her posture as he stood by her side. He surely did not appear forlorn now.

  “What about you, Phil? What are your plans for the foreseeable future?”

  “My foreseeable future…let’s see…well, I guess I’m going to be putting you on a plane in less than two days, and that’ll throw me back into a deep, dark funk…”

  “Seriously,” Priscilla prompted.

  “Seriously,” Philip insisted. Priscilla stared him down. “Well, there’s the demolition of The Phoenix next week—I’m looking forward to that, and then shortly thereafter, my soon-to-be-ex and her jackal of an attorney will have undoubtedly worked out a plan to wring every last cent out of me, so I’ll probably have to sign up for government aid,” he said facetiously.

  “Oh come, Phil—you’re not going to let a couple of little glitches like those get the best of you, are you? Why, just last night you vowed to put on a brave face and
reclaim your reputation,” Priscilla reminded him.

  “That lofty notion was fueled by the prospect of spending the next three days with you. The closer we get to your departure, the less confidence I have about the future.”

  Priscilla gave him a dubious look. “Sorry, emotional blackmail isn’t going to work on me. I’ve built up an immunity to it over the years,” she said. “Instead of convincing yourself I’m so all-fired important to your future, you should be formulating a way to get your career back on track.”

  “I have had an idea,” he offered.

  “Good, let’s hear it.”

  “I was thinking of relocating. It occurred to me you might have a point. Florida is constantly expanding, what with all the ex-New Yorkers fleeing to milder climes and ‘stress-free’ beaches. Plus, there are seldom weather-related delays, except when the hurricanes blow through.” Priscilla tried to not appear amused, but it was difficult. Philip’s talent for deadpan humor had a way of sneaking up on her.

  “You never stop, do you?”

  “What? I think it’s a really good idea,” he maintained with a straight face. “So what if I happen to run into you…daily? Would that be such a bad thing?”

  “You seem to be overlooking one important detail.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Caitlin.” She had him there. “From the sound of things, I doubt your ‘soon-to-be-ex’ is going to let her traipse off to Florida with you, and if I know anything at all about you, it’s the fact that you’d rather lose your right arm than custody of your daughter.”

  Philip was forced to concede her point. “You’re right. I had a moment of delirium and forgot all about Marianne. Darn, that was the best idea I’ve come up with so far.”

  “I think maybe it’s time I head back to the hotel, let you do some serious thinking,” she said.

  “Oh no, you don’t have to leave so soon. In fact, why go at all? I’ve got three bedrooms here. You could have your very own. Deluxe accommodations, I assure you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine at The Essex,” Priscilla said, as she moved toward the door.

  “No honestly, there’s no reason for you to be staying in some lonely hotel room when I have oodles of extra space for you here,” Philip argued. “Come on, it’ll be fun, like a sleep over, ha ha.” Priscilla regarded him sternly.

  “No, Phil—it wouldn’t be right. I know you have only the best intentions, but you’ve already got some unrealistic notions about me, and I don’t think I should foster any new ones by spending the night here,” she said, setting her drink down on an end table.

  “What do you mean I have unrealistic notions about you?” Philip asked, slightly incensed by her unflattering remark. Priscilla stopped and turned to face him.

  “I mean you’ve not only endowed me with the ability to inspire you out of your temporary rut, but you seem to laboring under the delusion that you fancy me, as if it isn’t weird enough for the two of us to share the same dinner table,” she said. By the look on Philip’s face, she knew she had struck a nerve this time.

  “I don’t have any problem with you making derogatory remarks about my state of mind, but I resent your implication that you and I are so hopelessly incompatible, we can’t enjoy each other’s company,” he said.

  Priscilla bit her lip, wishing she could learn to control her tongue a little better. She couldn’t deny she meant what she’d said, but there was no reason to be brutally frank with a man as sincere and guileless as Philip. She cleared her throat and tried again.

  “Phil, first of all, I didn’t intend for my remark to offend you. If anything, my comment was geared more to my shortcomings than to any deficiency on your part. I’m not cut from the same cloth as you. I’m low-class stuff. I don’t know about food or wines or architecture or the arts or any of the other fine, cultured things that make up your daily life.

  “Sure, you find comfort in me, and to be honest, you’ve been very kind and generous in return. But to think we could ever be anything more than that to each other is—”

  Priscilla never got the word ‘ridiculous’ out. In a move more befitting a matinee idol than a down-and-out architect, Philip seized the opportunity to prove her wrong. True, it was likely the boldest move he had ever made, aside from buying a derelict warehouse and turning it into luxury housing, and it was bound to illicit a strong response from the recipient.

  But his instinct had been sound, and once Priscilla recovered from the shock of the kiss, she had to admit it was no insipid gesture on Philip’s part. She couldn’t remember the last time she had received such a passionate, confident kiss. And if the act itself wasn’t enough to compel her to reevaluate the man, the expression on his face insured it.

  “Uh…I should go now,” she said, as she backed away unsteadily.

  “Stay,” Philip said, though he made no move to stop her.

  “No, I don’t think that would be such a great idea,” she said, her eyes searching the room for her purse.

  “I think you’re wrong,” Philip said calmly.

  “Yes, I see that,” she replied warily. “It’s been a long day…I better go.” She smiled awkwardly and turned toward the door.

  “Wait, let me call for a cab.” Before she could object, Philip had a dispatcher on the line. “One will be here in five minutes,” he reported. He picked up his blazer off the back of a chair and slipped it on.

  “You don’t have to walk me down,” she protested.

  “I’m going with you,” Philip said decisively. Priscilla balked, but his mind was made up.

  “You’re going to ride in the cab with me?” she asked, the pitch of her voice high with disbelief.

  “That’s right,” he said, as he held open the door for her.

  “That’s silly. I’m not Caitlin’s age. I don’t need an escort,” she said crossly.

  Philip remained undeterred. “You won’t stay here, you won’t let me pay for your hotel room, even though you postponed your trip on my account. The very least I can do is see that you get back to your hotel safely.” Priscilla started to say something, but Philip cut her off.

  “Sorry, it’s just the way I was raised,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. Priscilla emitted an exasperated sigh, but she walked into the awaiting elevator, where they rode to the lobby floor in charged silence.

  The short cab ride was a continuation of the same prickly silence, although Philip appeared irritatingly smug. And though Priscilla could think of a thousand biting retorts, she held her tongue and smoldered. She exited the cab as soon as it pulled up to the curb, turning to fix Philip with a stony glare.

  Whether it was to further vex her, or because he was honestly unmoved by her anger, Philip leaned toward the open window, an infuriating smile on his face. “Goodnight, my angel,” he said. “Sweet dreams.” And with that, the cab pulled away, leaving Priscilla to stare after the retreating vehicle in disbelief.

  Twenty-Two

  Tobias scribbled a few changes to his musical notations and looked at his watch. It was 1:30 in the morning. He had been slumped over the piano for the better part of five hours, breaking only long enough to order and consume a steak sandwich. His eyes stung and his back ached as he slid off the bench.

  He couldn’t remember feeling this way when he pulled all-nighters with Brody back in their glory days. It had been nothing to enter the studio at eight in the morning and not emerge again until late the following day. Of course, they were a lot younger then, and the thrill of taking the world by storm kept them firing on all cylinders.

  Plus, there had been an endless supply of hangers-on to see to their every need, which included artificial stimulants and plenty of beautiful young ladies. There was no aphrodisiac stronger than success, as he’d discovered early on.

  Back then, if you owned a guitar and had a recording contract, you were automatically a babe magnet. And if you were lucky enough to actually produce an album, you had to beat the women back with a stick.

  Bu
t that lifestyle required a lot of effort, despite the seeming casualness of it. If he were going to be honest, that kind of distraction would only hinder his efforts to get back into the game. I must be getting old, he thought, as he stumbled off to the kitchen for a bottle of water.

  Although exhausted, he felt too keyed up to sleep. He turned on the TV and flopped onto a sofa, staring at the screen without really seeing it as he flipped through the channels. After about fifteen minutes of this mindless pastime, he became restless.

  He hoisted himself up—stiffly, as though rigor mortis were setting in—and staggered toward the piano. He executed a few haphazard leg and back stretches before reseating himself. Blinking hard, he focused on the notes he had penned, the musical accompaniment to Priscilla’s words. He played a few bars before jumping in with the vocals:

  Just when you think you’re immune

  You catch a whiff on the air

  You can’t stop your heart as it races

  To follow the scent up the stairs

  It’s the subtle things that snare you

  Subliminal signs that catch your eye

  The crush of unknown bodies

  The perfume in large supply

  It’s the brush of silky fabrics

  And the hints of luscious skin

  Make eye contact with a stranger

  That’s the way the game begins

  Intoxicated by the night

  Whether it’s wrong, whether it’s right

  You just can’t fight the feeling

  Of being intoxicated by night

  Let’s face it, helpless lamb

  It’s as addicting as heroin

  What’s the point in trying to fight it

  When you know you’ll always give in

  Say you can quit it in a second

  Walk away without regret