“I was thinking I could pick you up in half an hour, or you can meet me in the park, if you’d prefer.” Half an hour? Priscilla thought in a panic.
“Uh…I’m going to need a little more time than that.”
“Okay, why don’t you meet me at the bike rental at 10:30? That’ll give you an hour. I’ll go ahead and get the lunch together and rent the bikes, and the timing should work out perfectly.” He gave Priscilla directions to the rental shop. “Any special requests for lunch?” he asked before he hung up.
“Anything but tongue.” It took her a moment to figure out why Philip laughed when she said that. A crimson flush spread across her face.
“No problem. See you soon,” Philip replied good-naturedly.
Priscilla replaced the receiver and stared at herself in the mirror that hung above the desk. “Bicycle riding in the park?” she said out loud. She thought about it and had to laugh: an unemployed waitress and an unemployed architect goofing off in the park like a couple of kids all day, as if they had no cares in the world.
Oh, what the hell, she thought. It’s one of my last days in New York. Might as well enjoy the city.
After she had showered and washed her hair, she made herself a cup of coffee in the rinky-dink device the hotel supplied. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad. Better than Frank’s, but then again, so was dishwater. She spread yesterday’s New York Times across the bed and speed-read the entire thing in about ten minutes, as she sipped her coffee.
When finished with both, she towel-dried her hair before blasting it with the blow dryer. She performed this chore while she read over her most recent contribution to her notebook. She smiled as she read lyrics inspired by the absurdity of Phil’s crush on her, and the obvious reasons they were romantically ill-suited.
In the end, she had to admit it was a lot more pleasant having someone like Phil mooning over her than wrangling with the kind of man she usually attracted. At least with Phil she felt respected, treasured even—certainly a novelty in her life.
So he was being irrational, chasing some fantasy figment. There was really no harm in it, as long as she kept reminding him of the impermanence of their situation. Day after tomorrow she’d be southbound, no matter what, and he was just going to have to accept it.
It was while picking through her scant wardrobe that it hit her. There was an article she had skimmed through that she now recognized as being vitally important. She had been distracted by another article she’d read earlier, one about a woman who had brought suit against her elderly parents for depleting her future inheritance by living so long; she was looking for the court to give her control of their estate so she could benefit from their wealth “before they spent it all.”
In her preoccupation, Priscilla had momentarily overlooked the significance of the rather innocuous piece she had subsequently read. She dashed to the wastebasket, frantically flipping through the paper, looking for the article about the building on the Lower West Side.
“Here it is,” she said, folding the paper back and creasing a border around it, as she sat down to reread it:
BUILDING SHOWS SIGNS OF SINKING. Geologists and engineers are scheduled to inspect a building in the seven hundred block of Walker Street tomorrow, following disturbing reports by occupants and neighbors that the structure is apparently settling. “I was sweeping the sidewalk in front of my shop when I noticed that the threshold was lower than the concrete,” said Harvey Morris, co-owner of Serendipity Floral, a ground floor tenant. “We just moved in two months ago. When I realized what this meant, my heart sank. Our business was just taking off. Now I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Though the building is apparently sinking, the façade and interiors are not showing signs of deterioration at this point.
Priscilla’s pulse quickened as she absorbed the impact of this story. It seemed too coincidental that there was another building in the same general part of town as The Phoenix with the same perilous defect. It rapidly occurred to her there might be hope for Phil’s crippled building, or at least his reputation, if they found another cause of the structures’ instability besides negligence.
She found her purse under last night’s outfit and pawed through it furiously looking for Phil’s business card. Frustrated, she turned the contents out on the bed and sifted through them until she finally found it. Breathlessly, she dialed his cell phone number and waited impatiently as it rang and rang. When his voicemail answered, she hung up the phone and stared at it while she considered her options.
She could try his office, but she knew he had no plans of going there. Only one thing to do, and that was meet him as scheduled. She felt instinctively that Phil needed to be in on what was discovered at this other unstable building. Though she was anything but an optimist, she couldn’t help feeling hopeful something good was about to happen for him. She dressed in a hurry and took off for the park.
She found Philip astride a comically long bicycle built for two, beaming at her in a way that made her almost regret she would be spoiling his plans.
“Hi there!” he called out, as he maneuvered the gangly contraption in her direction. The sight of man and machine wobbling her way made her laugh, in spite of the sense of urgency that had motivated her to run several blocks.
“I hope you don’t mind a tandem bike. I thought it might be kind of fun.” He gave the horn a playful honk, grinning like little kid. “You look winded,” he surmised as he stopped the bike in front of her.
“I am,” she admitted, using his handlebars for support while she caught her breath. “I tried to call you on your cell phone,” she huffed, “but I got your voicemail.”
“Oh, sorry. I turned it off after I talked to you. I didn’t feel like any rude interruptions today.” He could tell by the look of concern on her face that something was amiss. “Is there something wrong?”
“Did you read the Times yesterday?”
“I scanned it. Why?”
“I take it you didn’t read this,” she said as she thrust the clipping at him. She watched his expression as he read and reread it. As he looked up at her, she saw a hundred thoughts run across his mind.
“I think you better get over there,” she said.
“Yes. Right away. And you’re coming with me.”
There were several clusters of men standing outside the building when Philip and Priscilla reached the site. All were wearing hardhats and grim expressions. Priscilla had learned from the barrage of questions she asked on the drive over that Philip knew the builder, but only by reputation. He had been in the business at least as long as Philip, and as far as he could remember, he had never been associated with scandal. His company was relatively small, run by he and two sons.
It didn’t take them long to determine which man was Jack Cafferty. The sleeves of his light pink shirt were rolled up against the heat of the day and the ordeal that had befallen him. His ruddy face bore the mark of years of trying to survive the aggravations of his trade. By stark contrast, the city engineers and inspectors were conspicuous in their bored looks of bureaucratic apathy.
Whatever had already transpired, that group seemed to have only a passing interest in what happened next. The clusters involved in earnest conversation were obviously on the builder’s team. Jack Cafferty was in the middle of one such group. Priscilla fell back and let Philip integrate into the crowd.
“Yes, but I feel certain, after what I’ve learned so far, that the admixture is responsible for what we saw down there. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts the lab reports will bear me out on that,” Jack Cafferty was saying as Philip approached their circle. Jack paused as he regarded the newcomer.
“Are you Mr. Cafferty?” Philip asked.
“I am. And you’re Philip Glessner,” he concluded. Philip shook his outstretched hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I was planning on contacting you after we did our preliminary investigations.”
“What have you found?” Philip asked, as the contractor pulled him aside for a more private interview.
“It’s the caissons, no doubt about it.” The muscles in Philip’s jaw contracted visibly as he received this news. He felt his revived hopes drain away. If it had been anything but the caissons…
“I see,” he said gravely.
“You know, I have to tell you,” Jack Cafferty said confidentially, “I learned one important lesson many years ago, when I was still wet behind the ears, and it’s one I’ve thanked my lucky stars for a hundred times over.”
Philip hung on Mr. Cafferty’s words, not out of intense interest, but because his mind had become a complete void. He was listening because he didn’t know what else to do.
“Work with the most conservative engineers,” Jack continued, “and go by their word without fail, regardless of the cost, no matter how much overkill it might seem.”
At first, this testament only made Philip feel worse. What a fool he had been to cut corners. He stared blankly at the man for several seconds before the implication hit home.
“Are you saying you didn’t back off the recommended circumference and depth?” Philip asked cautiously.
“Not an inch.”
“But…”
“Let me ask you something. Do you have fissures and cracks in your caissons?”
“No, not really” Philip replied. “They seem to be deteriorating from the crowns down—crumbling, actually.” Jack nodded knowingly.
“Do you happen to know if any admixtures were used in the concrete?”
“I have no idea,” Philip admitted.
“You might want to ask whoever did the work for you. Better yet, I would strongly recommend you get a sample of it and have it analyzed. I wouldn’t be surprised if your problem and mine aren’t one in the same.” Philip took a moment to digest this.
“What does this mean, exactly?” he asked.
“If an admixture was used, and I know on my project one was, then it is highly likely the deterioration is due to a defect caused by the breakdown of the chemical strengtheners used by three different manufacturers.”
“I’ve never heard anything about this,” Philip confessed.
“Well, the problem just recently came to light. The manufacturers pulled the products off the market six months ago, once this defect started surfacing. Since then, they’ve conclusively nailed the cause.”
“How did you find all this out?” Philip asked.
“The internet, God love it. As soon as I saw where the damage was, I went online and did some research. It was all there in black and white—the signs, the cause, what action the manufacturers were taking. It was extremely informative. I’ve already been in contact with the company that made the admixture used in our caissons. They’ve been very cooperative. They even sent out one of their chemists to assess the problem. He’s not saying anything until the results come back, but I think he believes the admixture’s at fault,” Jack said as he looked in the direction of two men with their heads together.
“So…if this admixture eventually causes the concrete to break down, then it’s inevitable that the caissons will completely crumble over time, right?”
“Yeah, I would imagine so,” Jack said sanguinely. Philip felt as though he would be sick.
“Oh, this is awful,” he sighed, pressing his pulsating brow with the heel of his hand. “So, your building will have to come down, too.”
“Like hell it will,” Jack said vehemently. Philip looked at him curiously.
“What choice do you have?”
“I’m going to fix the problem—it’s my only choice. I did this project on my own—everything I could beg and borrow is tied up in it. We just leased the commercial spaces and the residential units are nearly finished. We were this close to putting them on the market. If this building goes down, so do I. And so do my kids.
“We risked it all on this baby, but the payoff is going to be worth it, once we get past this debacle,” he said confidently. He regarded Philip thoughtfully for a moment.
“You know, it’s because of your courage and foresight in redeveloping this area that we got involved here. It was a really gutsy move, what you did. My hat’s off to you.” The contractor’s praise did little to improve Philip’s mood.
“I hear The Phoenix is slated for demolition next week. You’re not going to let them go through with it, are you?” Jack asked. Philip shrugged resignedly.
“I don’t know how to avoid it,” he said.
“Do what I’m going to do,” Jack said. Philip looked skeptical.
“As much as I would like to believe it, I don’t think this admixture is the problem.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, unlike you, I did cut back on the engineer’s recommended circumference.”
“So, what—you scaled it back from twenty-four inches to eighteen?”
“Twenty inches,” Philip said.
“How close together?”
“Every twelve feet. We’ve got twenty all together, at a depth of fourteen feet.”
“Seven story building—sounds like plenty of support to me,” Jack said. “You need to look into this admixture thing. But you’re going to have to act quick, if you’re going to save your building.”
“How exactly do you plan to solve this problem with the caissons?” Philip asked. He couldn’t for the life of himself imagine any viable or realistic solution.
“We’re going to jack up the building and install new supports. See that gentleman over there in the khaki blazer? He’s the head of a Norwegian outfit that specializes in shoring up structures from underneath. They’ve been doing it for years in Europe, places like Venice and Amsterdam, where they have real problems with settling soils. Anyway, they’re going to get in there with their special equipment, hoist it up, secure it and drill for new supports.” Philip’s head swam at the concept.
“How do they…whew! That must cost a fortune to do something like that,” Philip said, shaking his head at the mere thought of such a complicated scheme. “If you’ve got everything invested in your building, how can you afford to do this?”
“Well, for starters, Boyce Industries is going to have to pay. This problem is entirely due to their defective product. I feel certain of it,” Jack said.
“Be that as it may, have they actually agreed to foot the bill for this?”
“They will. Whatever it ends up costing will be minor to what I’d sue them for if I lose the building. From what I’ve heard so far, I think they are going to embrace the opportunity to rectify the problem. Like I said, they’ve been very eager to help. Why don’t I introduce you to Mr. Sanborn, Boyce’s head chemist, get your ball rolling.”
Priscilla watched as Philip spoke with one group or individual after another. Though she would have preferred not to be standing on the sidelines while all this was going on, she was encouraged by the amount of talking that was taking place. If there had been nothing to give Philip any sense of hope, he wouldn’t have kept her standing there all that time. She figured no news was probably good news. After about twenty minutes, he broke away from his powwow.
“Priscilla, I’m so sorry,” he said.
“What have you found out?” she asked.
“Well, a lot of things.”
“Yeah? Anything that could help you with The Phoenix?” Philip nodded his head slowly.
“Possibly. If you don’t mind waiting just a couple minutes longer, I’m going to give this man some information, and then we can leave. Okay?”
“No problem. Take your time.”
Priscilla watched Philip as he rejoined the other men. She had a feeling of wild excitement welling up inside her, threatening to burst free. She began ambling casually down the sidewalk, away from the crowd. Nonchalantly, she turned the corner and shook her fists in the air as she let loose a muffled yell.
She was so happy for Phil, she could hardly contain herself. She could tell from the expression on his face his hopes were high, regardless of how much he might play it down. He wouldn’t be feeling t
hat way if he hadn’t heard some heartening news. If anybody deserved a lucky break, it was Phil. She calmly walked back around corner just as he began looking for her.
“Oh, there you are. Listen…I need to meet these men over at The Phoenix. It shouldn’t take too long to get what we need, but if you’d rather I drop you off somewhere—”
“Not a chance. You’re stuck with me, Phil. No way you’re getting rid of me at this stage of the game. I’m dying to know what’s going on,” Priscilla admitted gleefully.
“All right. Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Philip shook hands with the Norwegian engineer and the chemist from Boyce Industries. They had been able to access the sub-basement, get what they needed and get out quickly. He had gotten the ball rolling, as Jack Cafferty had advised. Now he had to wait and see where it would go. He caught sight of Priscilla’s eager face through the windshield and smiled involuntarily.
“Tell me how it went,” she asked him impatiently, as he slipped into the driver’s seat and tossed Jack’s hardhat onto the backseat.
“Well, we got what we went down there for,” he said, enjoying the chance to string her along.
“Yeah? And?”
“And we’ll see what the lab says.”
Priscilla emitted an exasperated sigh. “But in the meantime, you can find out from your concrete company if they used an admixture, and which one,” she supplied.
“That’s right, Miss Efficient. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do, if you’re still interested.”
Priscilla snorted. “Here, eat your sandwich,” she said, handing him his turkey and Munster on whole wheat, as he started his Range Rover. He peeled back the paper and took a bite before shifting into drive and pulling away from the curb.
“So, let’s head over to my office. We can do some research, and see if we can find the paperwork on the caissons. Then we’ll make some calls and take it from there.” Priscilla nodded agreeably. She sat back in her seat, satisfied with the plan.
“Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?” Philip asked, through a mouthful of his own.
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