Caesar's Fall

by Dorien Grey

  Elliott let Rudy’s having assured him his investment would be “twenty-five, thirty thousand, tops” ride, and noticed Bruno’s eyebrows rise when he realized Rudy meant one and three-quarter million dollars. “I…I don’t know,” Bruno said. “That’s an awful lot of money.” Rudy laughed and slapped him on the arm.

  “For you? Come on, you’ve got that much behind the cushions in your couch.”

  Elliott didn’t laugh.

  Back-stepping with what Elliott was sure was practiced ease, Rudy said, “But we can just go with the business first, and talk about the building later.”

  When Elliott asked for a copy of the spreadsheets for closer study, Rudy said the one of current sales and expenses had to be returned to the owners, but that he could make a copy of his estimates for the projections and get one to both Elliott and Bruno. Elliott knew the projections without the current balance sheet were pointless, but he said nothing.

  Rudy left at eight fifteen, and he’d barely walked out the door before Bruno was asking Elliott what he thought.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Bruno, I’m more than a little skeptical. I personally can’t see putting that much money into a business I’m not familiar with or interested in. And as far as the spreadsheets are concerned, they look great, but looking and being are two different things. I’d need to see some tax records before I could make any kind of final decision. And I strongly recommend you talk with your financial adviser.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Bruno said, although Elliott could tell from his expression the idea of owning a popular gay bar could easily outweigh logic.

  Deciding a change of subject was in order, Elliott said, “So, what time are you meeting Ricky?”

  Glancing at his watch, Bruno said, “I told him to meet us here at eight. He should be here at any minute.” He’d no sooner said it than he looked toward the door and added, “And here he is!”

  Elliott turned slightly to see a nice-looking Hispanic with black hair, dark eyes, and skin the color of mocha enter the bar and look around. Spotting Bruno, he hurried over.

  “I hope I’m not late,” he said, addressing Bruno, but giving Elliott a nice smile.

  Bruno made the introductions, and Elliott was impressed by the strength of the younger man’s handshake.

  “Bruno’s told me about you,” Ricky said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Ricky.” He noted that while Ricky was very attractive, he wasn’t the pretty-boy type Elliott usually saw with Bruno. He was nicely and neatly dressed, although the clothes were more off-the-rack than designer, which Elliott took as a good sign.

  “So,” Bruno asked, “shall we have another drink here, or go on to dinner? It’s getting a bit late.”

  “Dinner’s fine with me,” Elliott said, and Ricky nodded.

  “I figured we could go to the Chicago Diner, if you don’t mind vegetarian. The food’s great, and it’s right across the street.”

  Though he was a confirmed carnivore, Elliott always enjoyed the place and had long been enamored of one of the waiters who’d worked there for years. Then he learned, after making a discrete pass a couple months before meeting Steve, the man was in a long-term monogamous relationship.

  During dinner, Elliott paid close attention to the dynamics between Ricky and Bruno. He hated to be suspicious of Ricky’s motives—or of anyone’s, for that matter—but he realized he had set himself up as something of a protector of Bruno’s interests, and was concerned lest anyone try to take advantage of him. With fifty-nine million dollars at stake, there were plenty of people out to do just that.

  He was curious, but of course hesitated to ask, whether Ricky and Bruno had gotten together on a hustler/john level, or if Ricky, nearly twenty years Bruno’s junior, just liked older men. He tried not to ask too many personal questions, but was able to piece together bits of information indicating Ricky had recently lost his job at a Chrysler dealership when the company went belly-up, that he was the eldest of five brothers—the youngest of whom was only six—and that both his parents were in poor health. Elliott’s cynical side wondered how much of it was true, or whether Ricky might be laying the foundation for a scam.

  He was no stranger to scam artists himself, which was one reason he never mentioned his wealth to anyone who wasn’t already aware of it. But he’d dealt with it all his life; Bruno hadn’t.

  Still, Ricky did seem to be a nice kid, and deserved the benefit of the doubt—a decision subtly reinforced when, at dinner, he didn’t order the most expensive thing on the menu, despite Bruno’s insistence he get anything he wanted.

  *

  The rest of the week passed quickly and uneventfully, with phone calls to and from Steve, Cessy, various friends, and Jesse and Adam, who were getting anxious for the completion of the renovation on their house. There was no word from either Bruno or John.

  After a Friday evening of pizza and movies, Elliott was getting ready to leave Saturday morning to meet Sam Brite, his plumber; Ted Swanson, his carpenter; and Arnie Echter, his electrician, for the Armitage place inspection when Steve said, “I’ve got something for you,” and excused himself to go into his studio.

  He came back a moment later with a large sketch pad, which he flipped through until he found what he was looking for. He then handed it to Elliott.

  It was a pastel of the Armitage building as it might look after Elliott had finished it. Elliott was delighted to see the ground floor as it must have been when the building was new. The turret was burgundy, the garlands beneath the windows white, with shades of peach and light rose highlighting the cornice, base, and other decorative elements. The color scheme was repeated on the side bay windows.

  “This is fantastic!” he said. “When did you have the time to do it?”

  “I’ve been playing with it several nights. I was looking at the photos I took when we went over to see the place, and I had a few ideas. I just thought you might like to see it.”

  “It’s great! And if I do decide to take the place, this is how we’ll do the outside, for sure. Keep it somewhere safe.”

  Clearly pleased, Steve took the pad, and closed it. “Will do.”

  “I’ll be back by one. Maybe we can go grab lunch, if you can wait that long.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  *

  Sam and Arnie were already standing on the sidewalk across the alley from the building when Elliott arrived. He’d just exchanged greetings with them when Ted drove by looking for a parking space.

  “We were gonna do a walk-around,” Sam said, “but figured we’d wait until we could all do it together. At a quick first look, it seems to be in pretty good shape, but, jeezus—purple?”

  Elliott laughed. “Hey, a paint sale’s a paint sale. Maybe the guy who bought it was color-blind.”

  “Then I can imagine what the inside must be like,” Arnie said.

  Ted joined them, and they crossed the alley to the door to Lamb’s ground-floor flat, where Elliott knocked. Ted was admiring the cast-iron Corinthian column directly under the turret when the door opened.

  “Come on in,” Lamb said, and the four men entered. Elliott quickly introduced his team, and Lamb began the tour.

  Elliott and his crew had gone through the top-to-bottom inspection process so often they had it down pat. Sam pointed out minor water damage to the floor and baseboard near the toilet in the third-floor bathroom, but since there was no evidence of damage to the ceiling, walls or floor of the bathroom directly beneath it, he merely made a note of it. There was a small trapdoor to the roof located in the closet of the third-floor back bedroom, and Elliott and Ted climbed up to take a look. They found a couple areas that could use re-tarring, but otherwise no significant problems.

  Elliott found the fire escape, accessed by windows in the kitchen of both upper apartments, to be in better shape than he’d anticipated. They needed wire-brushing to remove areas of rust and a good painting, but were otherwise fine.

 
; While in the basement, Arnie subtly signaled to draw Elliott’s attention to a stack of what proved to be ornate pressed-tin crown molding probably taken from the original store when it was converted to an apartment, and another stack of pressed-tin panels, probably from the covered-over walls. There were also a few original bathroom fixtures and several other items that hinted of being possible treasures for the renovation.

  After the inspection was completed, Elliott thanked Lamb and told him he’d give Freiburg a call on Monday. He’d already pretty well decided to make an offer but knew any show of enthusiasm in front of Lamb would be counterproductive when it came time for price negotiations.

  As they left the building, he suggested they go up the street to a coffee shop for a quick discussion of their impressions and any potential problems they could foresee. Over coffee and pie, Sam and Arnie expressed minor concern about the age of the plumbing and electrical systems, but noted there were no immediately apparent problems. They felt the water damage in the top flat was minimal, and if necessary, the flooring and baseboards immediately around the affected area could be removed and replaced with relative ease.

  “It’s a crapshoot,” Sam said. “But it always is in buildings this old. But overall, I think it’s pretty solid.”

  “And whoever built it knew what they were doing,” Ted added. “Even with all that paint, the detail work on the turret and around the bays is exceptional. And birds-eye maple floors—they really don’t build ’em like that anymore. Sure wish we had the original blueprints.”

  Elliott looked at him, brows furrowed. “Unlikely on a building this old, but I can ask.”

  He had complete faith in his team and valued their opinions, and their confirmation of his own thoughts and impressions convinced him he was right in deciding to make an offer.

  He made a call Sunday night to verify that Larry Fingerhood had returned from vacation.

  “Sorry to bother you at home, Larry,” he said, “but I want to act on this as soon as possible.”

  He explained what was going on—his contacts with Freiburg and Lamb, Lamb’s asking price, the amount Elliott wanted to offer, and how much he was willing to go over the offer if he had to. He then gave Freiburg’s number to Larry and turned the matter over to him.

  Normally, Larry would have been in on everything from the first contact, but they had worked together for so long, each trusted the other to know what he was doing. Having Larry handle the detail work was expensive, but Elliott felt it was well worth the time and hassles it saved him.

  As usual, he was right. Larry earned every penny he charged, and Elliott came close to backing out of the deal more than once in the course of the week-long negotiations. But finally, Lamb accepted Elliott’s last offer, which included doubling the normal down payment, and the property went into escrow.

  *

  Between the negotiations for the property, which involved far more of his time than he’d planned, and putting the finishing touches on Jesse and Adam’s renovation, Elliott had little time for anything else. He did talk to Steve nearly every night, who was delighted when the deal finally went through, and to Cessy twice, and fielded a call from Rudy about his bar proposal, explaining he was just too busy to give thought to anything else at the moment.

  Bruno called Wednesday just to chat, but Elliott was too distracted to give the conversation his full attention. Ricky, Bruno said, had not yet found a new job and was in danger of losing his apartment. Cage was so busy, both with his new job and his social life, that he was seldom home, and Bruno hoped he’d be getting his own place shortly.

  So, it wasn’t until the weekend that Elliott felt he could really relax, by which time he was more than ready to do so.

  Chapter 4

  The thirty days of escrow flew by. Work on Jesse and Adam’s house was completed to their satisfaction—and great relief—so Elliott and his team had a few weeks of welcome downtime. Arnie, Sam, and Ted took short-term jobs and did maintenance work on Elliott’s other properties in the meantime.

  He hadn’t yet discussed his plans for the ground floor with either his crew or Steve. He wanted to wait until he was absolutely sure the escrow wouldn’t fall through, which, though rare, was not totally unheard of in his experience.

  The problem—or a potential problem—was that for him to offer Steve the ground-floor space was far more than a casual business proposal. It was a de facto acknowledgment their personal relationship had crossed the line into commitment.

  It seemed to be Steve’s nature to defer to him, which made it likely Steve was just waiting for Elliott to broach the subject. Yet for all of his confidence their feelings were mutual, he didn’t like to consider the remotest possibility of Steve’s not feeling the same way he did.

  Of course, the rest of the world didn’t stand still while Elliott’s personal life evolved. He’d talked regularly with Cessy, as always, and had frequent—mostly phone—contacts with Bruno. Steve had talked several times to Ralph, the aspiring artist who’d invited him over to see his work, with which Steve was impressed. Though it didn’t bother Elliott, he was pleased Steve went out of his way to assure him Ralph’s interest wasn’t personal, and that Ralph was aware Steve and Elliott were seeing each other.

  Ricky had lost his apartment, and Bruno invited him to stay with him until he found a job and could get another place. Cage was still there, too, though Elliott could sense Bruno was beginning to feel more than a bit used where his nephew was concerned. Although Cage was apparently making good money, he had never offered to pay rent, or buy groceries, or pay any of the expenses of an evening out. He frequently borrowed money for new clothes or to take Chaz out for the evening.

  “I feel kind of guilty about resenting it,” Bruno said. “I mean, it’s not that I need the money, but…well, it would be kind of nice if he’d at least offer.”

  Elliott understood completely and agreed.

  Probably as a result of his new relationship with Ricky, the frequency of Bruno’s Saturday night parties tapered off. He also was growing increasingly unhappy about his “friends,” directly or indirectly, requesting money for one thing or another.

  At one point, Elliott said, “Why don’t you just refer all requests to Walter Means? He is your financial manager, after all.”

  “He doesn’t want to be bothered. He says it’s up to me to say no.” That struck Elliott as a pretty cavalier attitude for someone to whom Bruno was paying a lot of money to do just that.

  “What about Rudy’s proposal? That involves quite a chunk of change.”

  “I told Walter I’d already given Rudy ten thousand from my discretionary fund just to keep the door open, as it were, but that we hadn’t done any formal paperwork yet. He all but called me an idiot.”

  Elliott gave a small mental sigh but said nothing.

  “He says for me to make up my mind whether I want to do it or not, and if I do, to give him all the details and he’ll look into it. His dismissive attitude really bothers me sometimes. I’m neither a kid nor an idiot, yet he treats me as though I were both.”

  “You can always find another financial manager.”

  “I know, and I’ve given it some thought, but there’s just too much else going on right now.”

  Rudy had also called Elliott several times about the bar deal, until Elliott simply said he was too busy with current projects to have the time to worry about new ones. While he’d been a little disturbed to hear Bruno had given Rudy $10,000, he was relieved to know nothing had been formalized, and he was willing to bet Means wouldn’t go along with it. Bruno had also mentioned Rudy disapproved of Ricky and had implied he was only out for Bruno’s money, which struck Elliott as ironic.

  “I don’t think it’s fair of him,” Bruno said. “Frankly, I’m more than a little hesitant to go into business with someone who thinks he has the right to run my private life.”

  Elliott again said nothing but agreed wholeheartedly.

  *

  As the close
of escrow approached, Elliott felt he couldn’t put off having a talk with Steve about the potential gallery—and, by implication, the future of their relationship—any longer. His decision was prompted, in part, by one of John’s infrequent-of-late visits.

  How long are you going to keep him hanging?

  Hanging?

  You don’t do naive innocence very well, you know.

  You mean talking with Steve.

  I mean talking with Steve. You know he really wants that space, but he won’t take it any further until you do.

  But he said he’s not ready to open his own gallery just yet.

  Said, yes. But you’re planning to keep the building. You don’t have to rent out the ground floor immediately. And there are alternatives.

  Such as?

  A gallery always has more than one artist. Steve could take on new artists like Ralph, or talk with Devereux and maybe a couple of other downtown galleries and offer to display some of their work on commission—sort of a satellite gallery for them.

  Hmmm, I’d never thought of that. I suppose it’s a possibility.

  And he wouldn’t have to ask for much of a commission on anything he sold for them—the main idea is to display and sell his own work.

  Are these your ideas, or Steve’s?

  I’m not saying a word. So, you will talk to him? Soon?

  I will talk to him. Soon.

  *

  Elliott invited Steve to dinner the Friday before the closing. Even before his conversation with John, he was aware Steve had been very discreet in not asking too many questions on the progress of the escrow, or on Elliott’s plans for the renovation. By way of laying the groundwork for broaching the subject, Elliott asked him to bring the pastel he had made of the building.

  As soon as he got home Friday night, he put a pork loin and baking potatoes in the oven. He’d decided to go all-out in the gourmet chef department and made a tray of one of their favorite hors d’oeuvres—bacon-wrapped pitted dates.