by Dave Barry
“. . . a pizza with pepperoni, Stan, then you would find that the upside, financially, would be extremely rewarding. Extremely, Stan. Are you familiar with the Transglobal Financial Capital Funding Group?”
Mike listened to this with his mouth open. Wendell Corliss was a man who could alter the financial stability of entire nations, a man who could, and routinely did, leave heads of state waiting on hold. And here he was cajoling the owner of a pizza joint. Mike tapped Corliss on the arm and said, “Listen, why don’t you let me just send one of my guys over there to get the pizza, OK?”
Corliss shook his head firmly. “I can’t do that.”
“But why not?”
Corliss pointed to Marty and said, “Explain it to him.” He went back to talking to Stan.
“He’s inside the hole now,” Marty explained to Mike.
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Mike.
“He’s committed,” said Marty. “He’s all the way in.”
“He’s after the wax,” said Big Steve. “And the wax, for him, is getting this guy to deliver a pizza.”
“With pepperoni,” said Greta.
“With pepperoni,” said Big Steve. “That’s his earwax.”
Mike shook his head, wondering why suddenly everybody in the room seemed to be insane. He rose and went over to Marcia, who was still staring at a picture on the wall.
“Marcia,” he said. “There’s something—”
“Look at this,” she said, pointing at the picture.
Mike looked. It was a reproduction of a painting of a cocker spaniel.
“That’s nice,” he said. “Listen, there’s—”
“No, Mike, really look.” Marcia was pointing at the cocker spaniel. “Look at his eyes.”
Mike looked at the cocker spaniel’s eyes. “What?” he said.
“Don’t you see?”
Mike looked again. “See what?” he said. “It’s a dog.”
“Yes!” said Marcia. “Exactly.” She resumed staring at the picture.
“Mike!” shouted Corliss from the end of the table.
“What?” said Mike.
Corliss pointed at the phone. “I’m buying it. You want in?”
“You’re buying a pizza?”
“No. I’m buying Stan’s.”
“You’re buying the restaurant?”
“I am. Cash deal. Stan’s coming over here right now so we can iron out the details. But we’re good on the price.” Corliss looked at Marty and said, “What’s your name again?”
“Marty.”
“Right. Marty here is going to handle the paperwork. Stan’s going to bring a pizza with him.”
“With pepperoni,” said Greta.
“Correct. With pepperoni, right, Stan?” Corliss listened to the phone. “Stan wants to know if we want garlic rolls.” Corliss looked around, saw lots of nods, including from the chanters. “Definitely, Stan, garlic rolls. Mike, you in?”
“I don’t eat garlic.”
“No, are you in on the purchase deal? I can let you have twenty-five percent. Marty’s taking ten percent in lieu of a fee.”
“I . . . I’ll be right back,” said Mike, suddenly feeling desperate for fresh air. He walked quickly from the dining room, then paused outside and looked back. Marcia was still staring at the cocker spaniel. The chanting of Banzan Dazu, Kevin and the others was getting louder. At the end of the table, Wendell Corliss—the man who never smiled—was engaged in an animated conversation with Marty and Big Steve, the three of them erupting in hysterical laughter.
What the hell was happening?
Back in the dining room, Seth knew what was happening but he still hadn’t told Tina, who believed that rehearsal dinner guests had simply consumed a lot of wine.
“I think it’s going really well, don’t you?” she asked Seth. “Look at Marty and Big Steve hitting it off there with Wendell. What on earth are they talking about?”
“I have no idea,” said Seth. “I heard Marty saying something about earwax.”
“What?”
“I swear that’s what they were talking about.”
“Well, whatever, they’re definitely enjoying themselves.”
“Yeah,” agreed Seth. “Nobody seems to want to leave.”
This was true. Sid and Rose, having reluctantly accepted that the brownies had disappeared, had toddled off to bed. But the rest of the group appeared to be just getting started. This presented a problem for Seth: He needed to get out of there so he could go retrieve his suitcase and the wedding ring.
“So listen,” he said to Tina. “Would it be incredibly impolite if I snuck out? I’ve got something I need to take care of.”
Tina’s face got serious and she nodded. “I know you do.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and I know it’s hard, because you promised them. But I’m sure they’ll be OK. This really is for the best.”
“Right,” said Seth, realizing that Tina was talking about the Haitians and remembering his promise to evict them tonight.
“So you go ahead, do what you have to do,” said Tina. “I’m not planning to stay here too much longer myself. Baby, we’re getting married tomorrow! Do you believe it?”
“I know!” said Seth, trying to look more excited than he felt at the moment, wondering how he was going to tell Laurette she had to leave.
Seth and Tina kissed and Seth left, waving good-bye to the rest of the group, none of whom noticed his departure. On his way out of the restaurant, he passed a middle-aged man in jeans and a T-shirt talking to the maître d’. The man was holding a pizza delivery box; it looked as though he was delivering a pizza to the Italian restaurant. Seth found that odd.
20
When he reached the elevators, Seth heard a voice call his name. He turned and saw Carl Juste poking his head through the doorway to the hotel’s back patio.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” said Juste. He was not wearing his groundskeeper uniform. He looked nervous. “I am not supposed to be in the hotel now.”
“What’s going on?” said Seth.
“I spoke again with Laurette’s sister.”
“What’d she say?”
“She can’t be released tomorrow because it’s a Sunday.”
Seth started shaking his head.
“But she has a hearing Monday,” Juste continued quickly. “Her lawyer hopes she can be released then.”
“Hopes? He doesn’t know?”
“No. It’s complicated. But if you can just wait one more day, maybe the sister will be released, and maybe she can . . .”
“No,” said Seth. “I’m sorry. No more maybes. They have to leave tonight. Right now.”
“Now? But you said—”
“I know and I’m really sorry. But it has to be now. I’m glad you’re here because I need you to come talk to her. It’ll be better if she understands the situation.”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
“It’ll just be a minute. It’s right up these elevators. I’ll give her what money I have. But you have to talk to her, explain what’s going on, OK?”
Juste looked around nervously, then came inside and followed Seth into an elevator. The doors closed.
“I’m really sorry about this,” said Seth. “But this whole thing has gotten way out of hand.”
Juste said nothing.
They reached the room. LaDawne greeted them at the door, finger to lips, Shhh. She pointed toward the living room, where Wesley was asleep sitting up, snoring in front of the TV, which was showing Dancing with the Stars with the volume muted. Stephane was next to Wesley, leaning up against his massive form, also asleep. Cyndi sat on the other sofa, holding the baby. Next to her was Laurette, still in a Ritz bathrobe, smiling shyly at Seth.
Seth, whispering, introduced Juste to LaDawne and Cyndi. They nodded at each other.
Seth took a deep breath.
“They have to leave now,” he said.
“Who does?” sa
id LaDawne.
“Everybody,” said Seth, gesturing at the group. “You too. I’m sorry. But you all have to go.”
“You gonna throw her out?” said LaDawne, pointing at Laurette. “With these two babies?”
“I’m sorry, I really am. But I think I’ve been incredibly patient.”
“Where they gonna go? Where is this woman supposed to go with two babies, she doesn’t speak English, she’s not legal, she doesn’t have a penny in her pocket? She doesn’t even have a pocket.”
Laurette’s smile was gone. Her worried eyes were darting back and forth between Seth and LaDawne.
Seth said, “Why don’t you take her home, if you’re so concerned?”
“Because she’s still sick from being half drowned and I live in West Palm, which is two hours away, and she doesn’t need to get dragged all the way up there in her condition when she’s trying to find her sister, who’s down here. Otherwise, hell yes, I’d take her. She just needs a little more time. Why can’t you give her that?”
“Because according to Carl, her sister’s in jail right now, and we don’t really know when she’s going to get out.” Seth’s voice was rising. “And I’m getting married. Doesn’t anybody get that?” The outburst awakened Wesley, who stirred and half opened his eyes.
“Yeah, we get that,” said LaDawne. “You’re getting married. So go ahead, get married. But let this poor woman stay here one more night. Tell you what: You let her stay tonight, you don’t owe me and Wesley anything. Ain’t that right, Wesley.”
From somewhere deep in his massive body, Wesley made a rumbling noise that could have indicated agreement or indigestion.
Seth shook his head. “No,” he said. He turned to Carl. “Please tell her. Tell her I’m really sorry but I’m getting married tomorrow and I need everybody to clear out of here. Tell her I’ll give her some money.”
Carl nodded and spoke to Laurette for about a minute. She listened, motionless, expressionless. When Carl was done, she spoke, her voice soft and wavering, her eyes now on Seth. She spoke for several minutes, at one point almost losing control, then fighting back sobs and continuing.
“She says of course she will leave,” Carl said. “She says she is sorry to be so much trouble for you before your wedding, and she thanks you for everything you have done. She says she cannot take money from you. She wishes she could give you money, to thank you, because you saved her life, saved her two babies, and carried her to the land, to America. Her situation was very bad in Haiti. She lost her husband and her oldest child, a daughter, in the earthquake. She had no house and had to live in a dangerous place. Her babies were always hungry and there were bad men around. That is why she came here. No matter what happens, it will be better here. So she says please do not feel bad for her. She says you helped her more than anyone, pulling her from the water. Without you, she would not be here.”
When Carl finished, Laurette rose from the couch, walked over to Seth and gave him a shy, tentative hug.
“Mêci,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he said, patting her back awkwardly.
Laurette let him go and went into the bedroom. She walked slowly, uncertainly, each step a chore. The living room was silent for a few seconds, then LaDawne said, “Well, I guess we’re going, then.”
“You’re going to take them?” said Seth.
“Who else is gonna take them?” said LaDawne.
“Where?” said Seth. “To West Palm?”
“I don’t know yet,” said LaDawne. “But it’s not your problem, right? Wesley. Wake up that boy.”
LaDawne bustled about, gathering stuff. Seth stood absolutely still, staring at the floor. Cyndi set the sleeping baby down gently on the sofa and came over to Seth. She put her hand on his arm.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said.
“How can I not feel bad?”
“You did what you could.”
“It’s not like her staying here one more night will solve anything.”
“No.”
“It’s just that Tina has spent so much time planning this wedding and she really wants for it to be about us. And if I’m caught up in all this”—he gestured toward the sleeping baby—“I can’t be focusing on what should be the most important thing in my life right now. You know?”
“Of course.”
Seth stared at the floor again, then turned to Carl. “Is there some way I can find out what happens to them?”
“You can ask me,” Carl said. “And if I know, I will tell you.”
“Do you think she’ll be OK?”
Carl shrugged. “I don’t know. If her sister is released, maybe she can find a place for her to stay that will be safe.”
“But the sister might not be released.”
“No,” said Carl. “But maybe I can find somebody else to help her.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe.”
“What if she gets picked up?”
Carl shrugged again. “Nobody knows. It keeps changing, the law, the politics. Maybe she gets lucky and she can stay.”
“But maybe not?”
“Maybe not.”
“And if she’s not lucky?”
“She have to go back to Haiti.”
“Where she has nothing.”
“Many people in Haiti have nothing. It’s why they come here.”
Laurette emerged from the bedroom wearing the clothes—rags, really—she’d had on when Seth had pulled her from the sea. She picked up her baby. Wesley guided the sleepy Stephane over to her. Carl, LaDawne and Wesley stood behind them. They were ready to go.
Seth could see the bones in her arms and legs. He remembered carrying her out of the ocean, the way she’d felt like a bag of sticks. He remembered when he thought she’d died, and when, with his breath in her lungs, she came to life.
Without you, she would not be here.
Laurette turned to Seth and spoke.
Carl said, “She hopes you have a beautiful wedding and a happy life.”
“Thank you,” said Seth.
She touched his arm. “Mêci.”
She turned and started toward the door.
“Wait,” said Seth.
She stopped.
“Shit,” said Seth.
“That’s it?” said LaDawne. “That’s what you wanted to say?”
“Tell her she can stay tonight,” said Seth.
“You serious?” said LaDawne.
“Are you sure?” said Carl.
“Yes,” said Seth. “Tomorrow morning, maybe I can call somebody. A lawyer or somebody. I don’t know. But I can try. I haven’t really tried.”
“You’re getting married tomorrow,” said LaDawne.
“In the afternoon. I can try in the morning.”
Carl was explaining the new plan to Laurette, who was weeping and saying, “Mêci, mêci.” Wesley, with Stephane in tow, was already lumbering back to the sofa.
“What about Tina?” Cyndi said.
“You know what?” said Seth. “I really think she’ll understand. The thing is, she cares more about stuff like this, about issues and helping people, than I do. Way more. I just haven’t explained this situation to her clearly enough, is the problem. Plus she’s been under a lot of stress. I’m going to explain this whole thing to her better. I’m going to bring her here and have her actually meet Laurette and then I know she’ll understand why I can’t just kick her out tonight, in her condition. Once Tina sees that, she’ll probably even want to help, you know?”
“Mm-mm,” said LaDawne.
“I’m sure she will,” said Cyndi. “Listen, I’ve been here forever and I need to get home. Do you still want me to help you get your suitcase from Primate Encounter?”
“Oh Jesus, that’s right,” said Seth. “Are you still up for doing that?”
“Sure.”
“I really appreciate it. Wesley, I hate to do this, but do you think I could borrow your car again?”
Wesley made a noise that e
ither meant yes or no, or something else.
“You can take the car,” said LaDawne, “seeing as you decided to do the right thing.” She walked Seth and Cyndi to the door of the suite. “I’ll tell you the truth, when I met you I thought you was just another one of these rich white boys that hire me for their parties, watch me dance while they get drunk and act stupid, say things about me with me right in front of them like I was deaf.” She paused. “And, don’t get me wrong, I still think you probably are one of those white boys. But you got some heart in you. You could turn out to be a good man when you grow up.”
“Thank you,” said Seth, “I think.”
“Go get your wedding ring,” said LaDawne.
21
The final negotiations for the purchase of Stan’s Pizza of Key Biscayne, represented by owner Stanley Karpimsky, and Transglobal Financial Capital Funding Group, represented by CEO Wendell Corliss, with Marty acting as legal counsel, took place on the beach behind the Ritz-Carlton.
The negotiations had begun in the restaurant, but the manager had finally asked the wedding party to leave, both because he needed the private dining room and also because the chanting was bothering the other diners. And so the group had flowed out of the restaurant, a giddy, giggling amoeba of mellowness. The lone points of normalcy were Tina and her father, neither of whom had partaken of Aunt Sarah’s special California medication, and both of whom were baffled by the wildly euphoric mood of the rest of the group.
Stanley Karpimsky was also brownie-free, but he was ecstatic because he was in the process of selling his pizza joint to the famous Wendell Corliss. Stanley had Googled Corliss on his phone and learned that he was fully qualified to purchase Stan’s Pizza, and, if he felt like it, the rest of Key Biscayne. Stanley didn’t know why a world-famous financial genius wanted to buy Stan’s Pizza; apparently it had something to do with earwax. All Stan knew for certain was that Corliss was willing to pay him a ridiculously good price, a price that would enable Stan to retire in comfort and—more important—tell his father-in-law, who owned twenty-five percent of Stan’s Pizza and therefore felt entitled to walk into the kitchen whenever he felt like it and tell Stan there was too much oregano in the tomato sauce, that he could go fuck himself.