I had pronounced “enthusiastic” as if it had fourteen syllables, and the air was thick with subtext. Jordon and Vander looked grave, nodding ever so slightly. Their calm was not reassuring; it was all too practiced to be genuine. Secunda had not moved since he sat down, and Molson took what seemed like important notes and shuffled his files. Susan Golden had gotten up and topped off her glass of bourbon while probably wondering what Davey looked like with his shirt off.
“Dr. Barrows, sir, your wife explained to me that she was the president of the foundation and had full authority to enter into agreements on its behalf. Our reading of your by-laws reinforces her claim. Additionally, when I met with her she gave me a check drawn on the foundation’s account, which I understand further enforces the commitment to my organization as the lessee.”
All the while, Lizzy Barrows kept her cool exterior as if my remarks had no affect on her. The room fell silent. Were we done?
“Young man, enthusiasm is not enough to lease you one of America’s most historic properties. You may think you have the ability and know-how to run a business of this size, but there are other groups vying for the use of the building. With all due respect, you are a callow youngster who can’t move ahead without my foundation’s financial support.”
Lizzy moved to the doors in front of the deck, positioning herself as a distant observer. Even in business attire, she had the uncanny ability to subtlety promise deviant sex as a reward for her bidding.
“Dr. Barrows, I’m afraid I don’t understand this sudden change of heart.” My words were measured and respectful, but it was clear the exchange was no longer friendly.
Miss Golden chimed in. “Yes, Andy, tell Mr. August about the board’s change of heart. I’m a trustee and my heart hasn’t changed a bit. It has, however, begun to beat a bit faster since these young men arrived.” She offered a small, almost imperceptible bow toward Davey and went to refill her tumbler yet again.
Molson looked up from his papers, caught my gaze and nodded as if to say, “Now, Sam, throw a punch.”
“Dr. Barrows, I am renting your building this summer.” I let the statement sink in so it was clear that I was prepared to fight this out until I was declared the winner. “I have researched the requirements necessary to do so under your by-laws and I have brought counsel here to reinforce my position. We are delighted that Miss Golden is here, as she is listed in your charter as both a trustee and of counsel.”
Susan Golden interjected. “I am counsel for the foundation. Until today, it was never interesting. I can’t wait till Mr. Molson puts his cards on table, or whatever else he chooses to do, or put, on the table.” Her voice was heavy with bourbon and it was clear she thought herself adorable.
Davey looked at her with decorum, although her body language lacked any, and conveyed simply, “Are we playing cards? I thought we were here to conclude a deal. Once that’s finished we can play whatever you’d like, Miss Golden.”
For the first time since I entered the house I heard the ocean below and the trees rustling in the evening breeze. I stepped back into the conversation. “Dr. Barrows, sir, Mrs. Barrows, ma’am, Mr. Vander, Mr. Jordon, counselor—Joshua and I are only interested in delivering a wonderful product to your community this summer. With our talent and connections, the theater will be lit with excitement, help tourism, and provide jobs and revenue for your city. We will refurbish the place and bring it back to its former glory.
“As to references, I have three letters of the highest recommendation: one each from two of my senior professors at Tufts and one from the dean himself. As to character, I have brought more than a dozen letters from universities across the country inviting me to attend their schools—not only for my athletic ability but also for my possessing the highest character. Their words, not mine. Lastly, I have a stack of notices saying that my work as a director is more than good and deserves and merits a venue for those talents to mature.”
Davey presented documentation of all of this. Barrows was more than annoyed. “That is all very fine young man, but you have no money and I have no intention of giving you any. Any tenant must show unencumbered funds in the amount of fifty thousand dollars, as well as sufficient security for any lease to be valid. Therefore, and with pleasure, I must vigorously rebuff your intent. You will have to find some other place to spend your summer vacation.”
I put up a hand. “Okay, Dr. Barrows. Indulge me for one last moment. Your foundation is reneging on your president’s commitment to me of fifty thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Other than my fiscal shortcomings, you and your trustees think I am a worthy tenant and would agree to me as the lessee if I could make rent and provide security by end of business tomorrow?”
He looked about the room. His cronies Vander and Jordon looked pleased, as if they were bank examiners in a Capra film. Lizzy stood unscathed, while Susan Golden acted as if the music had stopped in a game of musical chairs and she had no place left to sit. I said nothing and stared at my faded sneakers.
“I have money, sir,” Secunda said. “According to your by-laws, if someone provides ten percent of the needed cash obligations then they will have seventy-two hours in which to meet the final obligations. I am, as they say in the theater, Mr. August’s angel. Davey here has a copy of my bank statement showing a balance well in excess of twenty thousand dollars, as well as an affidavit prepared by Mr. Molson that I will hypothecate these monies to any business entity that executes a lease on the property. The balance will be provided as per the by-law demands. Additionally, I have a cashier’s check made out to the foundation for twenty-five thousand dollars, which will be held in my attorney’s escrow as security to cover initial working capital, any unpaid bills, or any damages that may occur. This amount exceeds those requested in your own by-laws.”
Barrows was stunned. I wondered if his next question might be, “Who stole the strawberries?”
I continued at breakneck speed. “I must remind you all that the president of your board solicited me, enthusiastically, and urged me to execute your lease. She then presented me with a check, which was stopped for no apparent reason, although I would be more than happy to sort out Mrs. Barrows’s intent.”
It didn’t appear that anyone wanted to engage in such a dialogue. Davey smiled behind his eyes and without actually saying it, conveyed “you are on a roll, boy.”
“It is not my intent to cause conflict or embarrassment to the Barrows Foundation. Rather it is to honor my purpose, the one that set all this in enthusiastic motion. I wish simply to make the theater soar and to recapture its past glory. In my opinion, you’ll be lucky to have me as a tenant and member of your community.”
I looked around the room. Mr. Vander and Mr. Jordon looked as if they were in the early stages of coma. Perhaps drooling was next. Miss Golden looked flushed and titillated. The good doctor was clearly upset, but restrainedly so.
Within moments his agitation increased. He spoke slowly and quietly, but then his words rushed out of control. “Yes, I understand. Everyone here has the best of intentions. But I am an older man. I have lived a life that you all should envy and I am not used to being challenged! Remember you are dealing with the Barrows Foundation! I am not to be played or pushed into a position that I don’t embrace. I will not tolerate being played. I run this town!
“You young people, including my wife, have a sense of entitlement that makes me wonder where our youth is headed. What have any of you done or accomplished? Who are you? The young! You all want to go to heaven, but none of you wants to die. No sacrifices. No getting down in the trenches and seeing something through. You have embarrassed me in my own home. You have suggested improprieties that are infused with disrespect and condescension. You . . .”
Then he stopped, breathed deeply, pulled the pocket square from his coat and slowly wiped his mouth. After this, he folded the square precisely and returned it to its place.
There was stun
ned silence. What the fuck? I thought. And they say that show business people are crazy?
Finally I spoke. “I mean you no disrespect, sir. Respect is earned. It is not showered upon you because of seniority. Trust me, I respect and admire what you have accomplished in your life. True respect begins with the strength of one’s character, not with the number of years one stays in the game. Age and experience do earn one certain privilege. Those privileges do not include judging me without merit.
“You don’t know me or where I came from or what makes me get up in the morning or what is in my heart or if I am a man of courage or substance. You can make those judgments after you have observed me and grown to know me. Then I will honor your opinion. Our respective ages have no relevance in this regard. You’ll have the balance of your funds within the given time frame.”
After a moment, Susan stood and walked slowly across the room and put her hand on Barrows’s shoulder. Whether it was to gain her balance or show compassion, I wasn’t sure. “Andy, stop this. Pull yourself together. They are not responsible for your situation nor for the world turning. Give these boys what they want and let it go. Don’t impose your issues where they don’t belong.” She refilled her glass yet again and took a seat next to Davey.
Secunda got out of his chair and walked to a large chess set that sat near the alcove window overlooking the sea. It was one of those sets with two different teams instead of lookalike black-and-white pieces. This one, painted in brilliant detail, was of sailors from different ships, truly a work of art. Secunda picked up one of the kings, the captain of the blue sailors. He eyed it for a moment and dropped it on its side, disturbing the placement of the other pieces. Then with more than a touch of irony he looked directly at Barrows. “Checkmate.”
Barrows sat motionless, as if he had to okay pulling life support from a family member. He raised his head slightly and said, “Okay, boys. You deliver in seventy-two hours and I will ‘welcome’ you to Plymouth.” Then in a childlike whisper he added, “But don’t look to me for help as I won’t answer such a call.”
There was little else to say.
Lizzy Barrows hugged herself and looked out the glass doors and away from the room. Davey packed up. We attempted respectful goodbyes to all and left. To my surprise, Barrows caught up with me just as I was getting in the red Alpha.
“Sam, what happened between you and my wife?” he demanded. His eyes were penetrating and full of rage. “You stay away from her. You stay away from my girls. No more, do you hear me?”
“If you want to know anything, doctor, I suggest you ask your wife or ‘your girls,’ whoever they may be,” I said as I pulled my arm away. Then I offered to shake his hand, which he declined.
I hopped into the waiting car. Davey pulled the GTO out of the driveway, heading south; Secunda followed. Seventy-two hours seemed like a short breath in a fast race. In less than a minute I realized the Mercedes sedan that had been in Barrows’s driveway was dogging us. Behind the wheel was Susan Golden, counselor at law.
21
I was surprised and vexed by what had just happened. Then I remembered something my father had always told me: “Once you have made a choice in life, that choice begins to make you.” Of course I was happy. My friends and I had gotten exactly what we wanted, at least for three days. Yet at what cost? I had been in Plymouth for a week and the body count of adversaries was already quite high. I had heeded Harold’s advice, focused on our objectives, and achieved them. But I wondered about personal responsibility. I had unexpectedly become aware of some strange doings in America’s hometown—a cognizance of an underbelly of corruption, perhaps intimidation—at the very least something “off.” To ignore it seemed a continuation of some deep-rooted narcissism, which was not the person I wanted to be.
My dad had assured me that “I would do the right thing” and perhaps I had, but perhaps not. He had also said I had to “play the whole game.” As of the moment I felt I was winning. I played football for many years and in turn I knew there were still many plays left in their playbook. So I suggested quietly that we head back to the motel and reconnoiter. We had no other choice but to win the game.
Secunda had just put up $45,000 on my behalf without even telling me that was his intention. I don’t think I’d ever had more than $1,000 to my name; I’d worked my ass off during the past four years to pay for my education—at $30,000 per year, a daunting task. Yet another of my father’s mottos was, “If you plan to play in a big casino, make sure you can cover your bet.” Was Josh’s $45,000 the ante? Were we all in for the next $30,000, which we didn’t have?
Secunda looked over at me. “Hey, smiley, who died? Someone crap in your hat?”
“Blow me,” I countered. Then I turned to him with a big fake ear-to-ear grin. “Man, you just put up K for me. Big-time risk. You know you didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s not about having to do anything. Sometimes the difference between having and needing is blurred. Not this time, Sammy. We all need purpose in our life. Hell, I’ve been in college for six fucking years. If I hadn’t jumped on your dream, the chances of me finding my own would be decreasing exponentially by the day.”
Secunda pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and turned off the engine. “Sammy, enjoy the moment, at least for a while. You’ll have plenty of time to worry and a fuckload of burdens to bear. If you want, we can stop and buy you a big globe, and you can carry it on your back all day every day. But for now, smile, you bastard, and grab the brass ring you’re always talking about. Otherwise, I’m taking you down.”
He started the car again and pulled back onto the highway. The sun was resplendent as ever. Man, God was consistent when it came to painting pictures. Josh turned on the tape player and pushed play; the cast of Annie Get Your Gun belted “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” I knew there were accidents in life, but this song at this moment was not one of them. Secunda knew how to play a scene.
No business like show business, huh? Well, I was about to find out. Then I remembered that Irving Berlin wrote that song in fifteen minutes. I had three whole days. Piece of cake, I thought. At that point I asked Secunda to pull over again. I opened the passenger door and threw up.
22
It was Monday, 6 p.m. You give someone seventy-two hours and they will use all of that time, to the very last minute, to get the job done. Not me.
Not with so much at stake.
I locked myself in the pay phone at the motel with enough change to anchor an ocean liner and pulled out a clean, yellow legal pad. I wrote down whatever names came to mind: family, friends, roommates’ parents, guys I played ball with, and guys whose names I didn’t even know how to spell. By the time I was finished there were 137 names on my list. There had to be $30,000 in gold there.
I leaned back and took a deep breath. It would take guts to call some of these people. In some cases it had been years since we spoke. Some carried broken hearts or animus. But it mattered not. I picked up the phone and dialed my first lead. Then my second, third, fourteenth, and more. Within four hours I had finished more than half the names on the yellow pad. I had raised some money; more than I might have imagined.
My first calls were fruitless. Old “friends” who thought my idea was folly but did offer to buy tickets if they were in the area. My first success was an associate of my father’s who had become a family friend, Marty Miller. He had been a ranger during the war, one of those insane soldiers who would scale mountains, kill the enemy, then grab a smoke before the next raid. He still spoke with a clipped cadence as if ready to begin his next suicide mission before finishing his cigarette.
“Marty, I believe in this. It’s what I am meant to do. Will you support me with an investment?”
“I’ll send you five hundred dollars,” he said without hesitation. “Now give me the address, send me some paperwork, and make me proud.” He hung up before I could say thank you.
I now tardily re
alized that taking in this money would require some documentation; $30,000 was a boatload of dough. I called Harold Feldman. As always, he was friendly and supportive. He explained that the funds would have to be in the form of a loan, as there would be securities violations otherwise. I was silent for a long time. “Does that mean I have to pay the money back?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“Do you believe in this venture?”
“Yes, Mr. Feldman, I do.”
“I’ll prepare a simple agreement and mail it tomorrow. It will also include a check for $1,500 dollars.”
“Thank you, sir.” I hung up feeling quite blessed.
I called Jack Kennedy whose sons both played football with me. Jack was connected to the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa, and the call and request made me nervous.
“You don’t want to borrow money from me,” he said. “Missed paybacks are tough in my world.”
“I know, sir. I thought about that before calling, but you have always been so kind to me.”
“You played ball with my boys, son. That’s different than borrowing money from the teamsters.”
“Nevertheless, sir, I need the help.”
“How much?”
“I need a total of about 25K.”
“You have guts, August. I’ll send off a check for 5K. No paperwork, just your word.” He hung up. My heart beat faster than a jack rabbit running from danger.
Little Did I Know Page 10
