In the dimly lit room, Adam’s voice came to Allie softly, backed up by some quiet jazz music from the piano. It seemed to her, as she drank her vodka, that his suggestion was a good one. What better place to observe the people of the community than when they were engaged in that time-honored New England tradition, the town meeting.
“Good idea, Adam,” she said. “Next Tuesday?”
Adam nodded, satisfied that he had planted the notion in Allie’s head, and that she wouldn’t feel that she was spying for him. Afterward, he’d be able to chat with her about the meeting and get the information he wanted, without needing to be there himself.
“They hold the town meetings in the auditorium of the local school. Starts at seven-thirty in the evening. I’ll have my secretary send an email to remind you.”
“Okay, Adam.” She was beginning to feel she’d had enough of this busy day.
But Adam had one more thing on his mind.
“There something else I wanted to talk to you about.” he said. “It’s about Zach Eliot.” At the mention of Zach’s name, Allie felt her attention stir back into life, the grating memory of the afternoon’s encounter rearing its angry head. “As I told you, Zach and I have conflicting interests in this Mayflower project. And he’s been jumping to some pretty wild conclusions about you spying for me and all that foolishness.”
You don’t know the half of it.
“Now, as I told you,” Adam was saying, “it is not in my interest to have Zach Eliot for an enemy. I’m much more interested in dealing with him than in fighting with him.” Adam leaned across the table. His voice was rich with sincerity. “I’ve known that man since he was a kid and just because we haven’t been able to come together on this project, well, that’s no reason to ruin an old friendship,. And frankly, I don’t understand his resistance. I think Zach Eliot stands to gain a lot if this project goes forward, and that makes me wonder if maybe his opposition is perhaps not entirely genuine. He may have some private plan of his own.”
“I don’t understand,” Allie said tentatively. She was beginning to feel impatient with everyone’s conflicting interests and too much half-disclosed information. “What sort of ‘private plan’ could he have?”
“Well, Allie, I don’t know how much you know about Zach Eliot’s background—”
“Practically nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.” He paused, probably for effect. “Well, I’ll have to fill you in. I have no doubt that what I’m going to tell you will surprise you.” He sat way back in the booth and rested one arm along the back, getting comfortable as he settled down to tell Allie about Zach Eliot.
“Until a few years ago,” he began, “Zach was a completely different man from the one you first met at the airport. You may find it hard to realize, but before he retired to that reclusive life he lives up there on Cape Cod, running his little boat rental business and helping the harbormaster with chores around the marina, Zach Eliot was one of Boston’s most successful private investment bankers. The family owned a major office building there in Boston and they had additional offices in New York and London. As you can imagine, your mistaken notion that he was the caretaker of some seaside property was most amusing.”
He smiled benignly at Allie’s obviously incredulous expression.
“In addition to his great wealth, there’s probably no one on the East Coast with his skill and experience in handling complex financial transactions. He has—or had—an almost legendary reputation as one of the toughest negotiators in the business. You were too young to have noticed but it was Zach who put together that big NCG merger, about nine or ten years ago. It was all over the papers at the time, and Zach was being hailed as the most exciting young genius on the financial scene. He wasn’t even thirty years old at the time.”
Adam paused to sip at his Glenlivet. Allie’s tired head was swimming with questions, but before she could decide which one to ask, Adam went on.
“So, if Zach wants to be a player in this deal, he’s in a perfect position to get in on it. I just think that if he and I could get together, it would all go more smoothly. If it’s handled right, if he could be softened up just a bit, I’m sure Zach would be much more agreeable about the whole thing.”
“Well, Adam, I don’t understand all this high finance and complicated maneuvering. Maybe you could explain to a simple artist girl—who just happens to be very sleepy and a little muddled—what it is that you and Zach are fighting about. Just what is it that you want from him?”
Adam waited a long time, giving careful thought to what he would say, how much he was at liberty to disclose. At last, regarding her cautiously, he explained.
“As you know, the project is still in a very early phase of its development. There are many steps to be completed before we even have a firm deal. First of all, the financing for the project hasn’t been completed yet. Naturally, the Matsuhara people want to retain maximum control of the development while putting up a minimum amount of their own money. They’d like to see a substantial portion of the financing come from local sources. For a fee—a very substantial fee, I might add—I am participating on Matsuhara’s behalf in locating suitable backers. I don’t have to tell you that whoever gets in on this project stands to make a bundle of money. I would think that Zach would find that aspect of it most interesting. So far, however, he hasn’t shown any interest. He hasn’t even been willing to talk to me about it. Indeed,” Adam’s expression was decidedly rueful, “he’s been quite rude to me on that subject.”
Adam finished his drink and motioned to the waitress to bring him another. Then he went on.
“But there’s something else that’s more important. Zach has been letting everyone think he’s opposed to this project. He’s been going around talking to local people, getting them to side with him. Now, I’ll tell you what’s interesting about that. Zach Eliot just happens to be the owner of a key piece of property, a parcel of land that is located in a crucial position. Without that single piece, the whole project can’t go forward. Many of the land owners in that area have already indicated they’d be interested in selling to Matsuhara. They’d each make a substantial profit on the sale. So it makes sense to me that, by opposing the project, Zach is putting himself in the best possible bargaining position to sell that piece of land.”
“But I don’t get it,” Allie said. “If he’s successful in getting the town to vote against the project, then how does that benefit him if what he really wants is to get a good price for the property?”
“That’s the beauty—and the trickiness—of the plan, if that, indeed, is his plan. Zach has been through plenty of these deals. He knows that even if the opposition wins at the local level, the developers have the money to make a successful legal fight. They’ll bring in some hotshot Boston law firm, and these little towns usually can’t afford to match the developers’ resources. Most of the local politicians can be counted on to side with the developers, and in the long run, even when the people vote against it, the project will eventually be completed. So Zach comes out smelling like a rose, and he gets the best possible price for his property.” His second drink had arrived, and he was sipping at it thoughtfully, savoring both the drink and a possible alternative outcome of Zach’s plan. “Unless, of course, the court orders the property taken in eminent domain proceedings. In which case, he’d likely lose money on the deal. But if he’d already quietly put in some of his own money to back the project, say through a dummy corporation, he’d have a hedge against any loss on the property.”
“It seems risky to me. Why would he be willing to get into such an uncertain and complicated position?”
“Because he has plenty of experience with risk and it doesn’t scare him at all. Hell, Allie, for all I know, he’s doing it just for the exercise.”
“Well, it all sounds too Byzantine for me.” She was too tired to follow the details of Adam’s analysis, and in any case, she didn’t see any place for her in his scheme. “Just don’t c
ount on me to help you get to Zach. I don’t think I’m the right person to soften him up for you. Zach may like my work, but that doesn’t mean he likes me.” She was unwilling to confide her confused and angry thoughts about Zach to Adam. She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, thinking only, as she did, that Zach Eliot was such an infuriating man.
“Anyway,” she added, “this is too complicated for me. All this high finance and devious manipulation have left me completely exhausted. I am really tired and I want to go home. I need to retire in a land of simple dreams and straightforward motives. And so,” she said, as she stood up, “I am leaving you, Adam, to all your complicated shenanigans.”
“Of course, my dear. I understand how tired you are. It has been a busy day. I’ll have Marcus drive you home.” He paid the check and walked Allie out to where Marcus was waiting at the town car. As he held the door for her, Adam said, “I never did get a chance to enjoy today’s beautiful weather. I think I’ll just stroll on home and breathe the sweet night air.” He leaned forward, inside the car, and told Marcus to take Allie home. Then he closed the heavy door and stepped back onto the sidewalk, waving after her as they pulled out into 73rd Street, heading west.
The car turned south on Fifth Avenue, going downtown, and as Allie reviewed her conversation with Adam, she realized she’d never asked him the most interesting question of all. Why was it, she wondered, that Zach had retired to that reclusive life he lived up there on Cape Cod? One of these days, she’d have to find out about that.
The day had been too full for Allie to understand all that had happened, and she was too tired to stay awake any longer. Marcus had some soft music going and she dozed comfortably as they rode along Fifth Avenue, past Central Park and all the way downtown, where Marcus turned west through the Village, maneuvering the big car gently through the narrow streets, so as not to disturb her. When they arrived at the walk-up apartment building on Perry Street where Allie had lived since her days at art school, she said a sleepy good night to Marcus, waved to Village neighbors who were strolling leisurely along the quiet, tree-lined street, eating ice cream cones and enjoying this lovely summer night, and she climbed the four flights to her cozy apartment, eager for a good night’s rest.
Chapter Ten
Tuesday arrived with gray skies and the air heavy with the threat of rain. By 7:15 when Allie arrived for the town meeting at the local high school, a light drizzle had been falling intermittently, and as she walked through the parking lot to the school building, she could smell the earthy scent of the rain-damp trees. Ominous clouds were gathering rapidly, and just as she reached the entrance to the school, the heavens opened up, and she barely escaped getting drenched.
She had arrived early, planning to select a good seat in the auditorium, off to one side, where she’d be able to pay attention to everything that was going on and choose good subjects for her sketches without being too noticeable. Most of the seats had been roped off, forming three sections, and Allie was immediately approached by a uniformed man who, having quickly determined that she was neither a voting resident nor a non-voting taxpayer, directed her to the visitors’ seats, behind the roped-off sections. She went directly into the almost empty auditorium and laid her tote bag with its sketchpads and charcoals and pastels on a folding wooden chair at the end of one of the rows in the visitors’ section.
She surveyed the room briefly to get a quick feel for the setting. The auditorium apparently served a double purpose, functioning as a gymnasium when it wasn’t an assembly hall. At the front, on a raised stage, three narrow folding tables had been set up, with five chairs behind them, facing the audience, and an elderly man was putting pitchers of water and glasses at each of five places. At one side of the stage, there was a podium, and a young boy, apparently of high school age, was fiddling with a microphone, trying to get it to stop whining. Across the auditorium floor, rows of attached wooden seats had been arranged—Allie estimated for about three hundred people—with an aisle down the center.
An older couple, already seated near the front, inside one of the separated sections, greeted a third man as he sat down just behind them, slapping his wet cap against the seat beside him to get the water off it.
“How’s the weather doing out there, Marv?” The first man turned around in his seat. “Wind seemed to be picking up as we came into the parking lot.”
Marv perched forward in his seat.
“Yeah. Looks like we might be getting a good nor’easter. Heard a couple of fishermen out in the hall, just come in from offshore. They said it was beginning to get rough out there.”
Allie didn’t wait to hear the rest of the weather report. She wanted to get back to the entry area and watch the townspeople as they arrived.
She was surprised to see that the bad weather hadn’t kept them away. As she slipped out of the thin yellow rain poncho she had tossed on over her white denims, and hung it up on the coat rack, Allie observed the men and women as they came through the school’s front door, stamping the water off their shoes and boots, hanging up their wet jackets and slickers, the women shaking out plastic rain bonnets, and folding them up into their pockets.
Old friends and neighbors greeted each other, forming small groups in the hallway outside the auditorium, stopping to chat briefly. They filled paper cups with coffee from an electric urn that stood on a folding table near the door to the auditorium and took doughnuts and cookies from plates on the table.
For Allie, who had never known anything but the impersonal, big-city style of New York, the small-town neighborliness of this gathering was delightful. However, her sensitive ear was picking up an undertone of tension and pressure in the apparently friendly atmosphere, fragments of irritability and resentment, a building anger in the midst of the pleasant chatter.
“Joe Bannerman, down to the Mobil station, says he heard they’re going to put in a new road’ll go right through his property—”
“—can’t stand in the way of progress. That’s what it is, progress, only a fool tries to stand in the way of progress—”
“—yeah, well listen, Ed, you’re the fool, that’s who’s a fool, if you don’t see what’s happening here—”
“Oh, yeah—”
“Yeah. Listen, Ed, how much they offering you for that piece of your land fronting Cobble Beach? You damn fool, after you’ve gone and sold it, where are your grandkids going to come and play when Mary brings them down from Akron to visit? Where are you going to keep your dinghy you always use to take those kids fishing out in the harbor? And are you just going to buy them a bunch of tickets and send them off to the Hunt for Pirate Treasure rides? Such foolishness!”
“Oh, yeah—”
“Yeah—”
“Who do they think they are, coming in here like that, pushing us around—”
“—waving around a lot of dollars—”
“—undermining a way of life goes back hundreds of years—”
Allie realized this was going to be a lively meeting, and she returned eagerly to the auditorium. The room was filling up quickly and she got herself settled into her seat, getting a small sketchpad and a soft pencil out of her bag.
At exactly seven-thirty, the moderator stepped to the podium and began the proceedings, explaining that this special town meeting had been called to present specific articles on a warrant of the Board of Selectmen.
Among the five selectmen who were sitting at the tables on the stage, Allie recognized only one face, that of Mort Emerson from the hardware store where she bought her turpentine. She began work on a drawing, quickly capturing Mort’s canny, cautious expression and the weathered texture of his skin. Then, quietly, she went to the next page, turning her pad sideways, and worked on a group sketch, showing the whole stage scene, moderator at the podium, selectmen at the tables, the bleachers folded back against the wall behind them.
As she worked, she listened only casually to the proceedings, letting the mood and the tone of the meeting reach her rathe
r than the content. She didn’t notice, especially, the demands that were being made for an environmental impact study. She paid little attention to the details of the report that was being presented concerning the need for a Proposition Two and a Half Override. Allie didn’t know what a “Proposition Two and a Half Override” was, and she didn’t care. She was concentrating on locating good subjects for her sketches, and as the tone of the meeting became increasingly confrontational, she was having more difficulty finding faces that were animated and interesting without being angry. She certainly didn’t want angry faces for these pictures, which she intended to offer for promotional purposes.
Allie also hadn’t noticed that some folks sitting near her had been watching what she was doing, that fingers were surreptitiously pointing at her and that a small buzz had moved down the row. In a few moments, people sitting at the back of the roped-off section had become aware of her. Heads bent close to each other, faces turned, whispered questions passed through a small knot of people. Finally, a hand went up.
“Point of order! Mr. Moderator, point of order!”
A balding man with pointy features, his folded-up raincoat clutched tightly in his lap, was calling to be recognized. Next to him his wife, a woman with a face as sharp as her husband’s, a chin pulled in tight, and her lips thin and suspicious, kept glancing over her shoulder at Allie, her eyes narrow and wary behind her glasses.
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