Alligators in the Trees

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Now that her first minor hurtle of the day was behind her, she finally rewarded herself with a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee at the closest bakery. While consuming her paltry breakfast, she mapped out the rest of her day. There really wasn’t much she could do before Tobias came, but she had to find some way to occupy herself until then.

  Just the thought of actually getting on the train—make that bus, now that she was set on rejecting Tobias Jordan’s ludicrously large offer—made her go all fluttery inside. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt such anxiety. But she had to go to Florida to start a new life; nothing else held any promise for her. She couldn’t stay in her rundown, depressing apartment any longer, living off her savings while she searched for another unfulfilling job.

  No, she was long overdue for a change. She had entertained leaving several times over the years, but then she’d end up meeting some down-and-out underachiever like Brawny or Ryan or Nick—colossal wastes of time, all of them. It irked her to think of the years spent in stupid, nowhere relationships with stupid, nowhere men.

  Priscilla shook her head in disgust. She would be more selective in Florida, she promised herself. In fact, she might even give herself a fictitious husband to keep would-be romancers at bay. She congratulated herself on her very sound idea and turned back to her more immediate needs: how to fill the four and a half hours until she was to meet Tobias Jordan.

  It occurred to her that checking out departures and perhaps purchasing her ticket in advance would be a wise move, that way she could get out of town by nightfall, before her nerve faltered and she again found herself trapped in a whirlpool of indecision.

  “Excellent thinking,” she said out loud without realizing it. This talking to herself thing was getting out of control. She scarcely glanced at the curious faces around her as she grabbed her bag and headed out the door. She ducked into the nearest subway station, where she studied the train routes before purchasing her token.

  After two transfers and twenty minutes, she reached the Port Authority Bus Terminal. She questioned her choice of transportation while she stood in line with less than savory characters—some offering her lascivious smiles, some eyeing her with maladjusted contempt—as they waited an inordinate length of time to buy their tickets to various obscure destinations. She felt almost affluent and glamorous by comparison as she stepped up to the window and asked when the next bus left for Key West.

  “We’ve got one leaving at 1:42, arriving at 11: 32 pm on the 20th. The next one departs at 9:00 this evening, arriving at 11:30 am, May 21st. The fare’s $159, one way.”

  Just as Priscilla was about to purchase a ticket on the evening bus, she thought of one conflicting detail she had managed to overlook. She had been thinking she could return Tobias’s deposit and get her lyrics back, but it wouldn’t be as simple as that, would it?

  If he were coming to pay her the balance of what he had offered her, he certainly wouldn’t be lugging around that ragtag collection of boxes and bags. She would have to go to wherever he had them stashed to collect them… and then what? Was she really going to lug them down here? Wasn’t that the reason she had decided to burn them all in the first place?

  “Did you want to purchase a ticket for either of those departures?” the clerk asked, breaking into her internal conflict.

  “Uh…” she stalled, as she tried to weigh the facts. If he hadn’t appeared when he did, all that crap would have gone into the incinerator. Either way, I’m free of it. The only difference with selling it to Tobias Jordan is I’ll have a hell of a lot more funds to start a new life. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about dragging all that shit across the country.

  “Yes or no?” the clerk asked, growing more bored and impatient, if that were possible.

  “Hang on a sec,” Priscilla said, while she dug through her bag in another effort to stall her decision. So, if I have fifteen thousand in addition to Phil’s three-something, then I don’t have to ride with a busload of miscreants for thirty-plus torturous hours.

  “Look, either you need to buy a ticket or you need to get out of line. I got customers here.” Priscilla slung her bag onto her shoulder, gave the clerk a nasty look and told him to forget it.

  “Why do I get all the loonies?” she heard him grumble as she wove her way past the impossibly long line.

  Once out in the fresh air, she was grateful she had come to her senses in time. At least that little exercise had convinced her to not renege on her deal. She had solved two critical problems and it was still early. Now she needed to decide which mode of transportation she would prefer to take to her new life: plane or train. The bus idea was definitely out.

  Her first inclination was to head to a travel agent and book a flight, but caution tempered her impulse. If she didn’t buy an advance purchase ticket, they’d charge her an arm and a leg. There was no way she could hang around the city another week just to get a decent fare.

  Besides, what if Tobias didn’t show up as promised—then what? She could not afford such extravagance on Phil’s money alone. Of course, she’d still have Tobias’s seven hundred, but that would go pretty quickly.

  The train was the obvious solution, and it thrilled her that she had overcome so many obstacles with such determination and reason. She was facing tough decisions like a pro. All of the sudden, she filled with the kind of optimism she’d only witnessed in others. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that everything was going to work out just fine.

  Since it had turned out to be a beautiful sunny day, Priscilla chose to skip the subway and walked the dozen blocks to Penn Station. Another wave of expectation swept over her as she descended into the station, the atmosphere frenetic with hundreds of people coming and going, all with an air of distracted purposefulness. Again a long wait.

  There was a train departing at 5:35, an express to Miami, sleeper compartments—what the agent referred to as “roomettes”—still available.

  “How much?”

  “Roomette, Penn Station to Miami—$732,” the agent said, without batting an eye.

  “What? That’s outrageous! I could fly for less than that. I thought taking the train was meant to be economical,” she argued.

  The agent remained unmoved. “That includes meals and bottled water, newspapers and turn-down service.” Pricilla was not impressed. “A view seat is only $217,” he said.

  Priscilla thought of sitting in a worn seat for over a day. It would save her over four hundred bucks, but her body would be ruined.

  She was tempted to walk away and check airfare prices, but she really wasn’t keen on the idea of flying to Florida. Three hours in the air, then she’d be wandering the airport without a clue of what to do next. At least if she took the train, she’d have ample time to plan her next move. Plus, if she chickened out, she could always bail somewhere along the way.

  Grudgingly, she paid the roomette price—all the money Tobias had given her so far, and then some—non-refundable. This was it. No turning back now.

  When she emerged from the bustling train station, it was almost noon—still too early to head back to Hester Street. She was feeling so fine at that moment, she dreaded returning to her neighborhood, so much so, she contemplated skipping her rendezvous with Tobias Jordan and hanging around Midtown until time to board her train. But she was counting on having the extra money now, and besides, there were a few odds and ends she wanted to take from the apartment, though certainly not much.

  It was lunchtime, and the muffin hadn’t gone very far, so Priscilla had a farewell hotdog with everything on it. She ate as she strolled aimlessly, content to be out in the day. She began to suspect she would miss life in the big city. Who could say? Three days of peace and quiet might send her scurrying for the next train back.

  But then again, this was springtime, and every place was in its glory. Come December, while her former fellow New Yorkers would be swathing themselves from head to frozen toes like live mummies, she would be l
ying on the beach eating fresh-picked oranges, not a care in the world.

  She smiled at her pleasant reverie, glancing absently up at the John Jacob Astor Branch of the New York Library as she walked by. It was then that she was struck by an intriguing prospect. Why not? she thought. This way she could kill time while satisfying her curiosity. She climbed the wide steps and went inside.

  She planted herself at the first available monitor, logged onto the library’s newspaper database, and spent the next hour and a half doing a little research on her most ardent admirer.

  What she gained as she scanned through one article after another was a wealth of information on Philip M. Glessner’s professional odyssey. She had located a blurb dating back to April of 1987—well before her move to New York—touting him as a young visionary, someone to watch in the future.

  That writer had been quite astute, for Philip’s name cropped up over a hundred times in the New York Times alone. One would think he’d been the only architect in the city the last two decades. She didn’t bother to read every piece his name appeared in; that would’ve taken all day. Instead, she looked for mention of The Phoenix Tower, a subject that had generated enormous press.

  It interested her to learn not all that had been written about the famed building prior to the collapse had been positive. Even though he had chosen one of the most dilapidated structures in one of the most derelict sections of Manhattan, there were those who had begrudged him for altering the so-called integrity of the area, objecting to the gentrification of the once seedy section.

  “With all due respect, the integrity of both the building and the neighborhood has been in decline for decades,” Philip told the reporter. “Integrity in this case lies in the soundness of the structures, without which they cannot endure the passing of time. Not only will The Phoenix Tower have structural integrity, its advent and design will spark hope and renewal for the whole section of town. You can mark my word on it.”

  Priscilla scrolled on and found the front-page account of The Phoenix Tower’s downfall. She was disappointed to discover there were no photos shown in these archived articles, only text. As she read on, she could only imagine how devastated Philip must have been. Though there wasn’t a single quote from him in which he denied his culpability, Priscilla got the distinct impression Philip had difficulty accepting the fact his building was fundamentally unsound.

  She skimmed through the subsequent articles, which became boring in their repetitively negative tone, although the last one she found had a rather chilling finality to it. “PHOENIX TOWER SLATED FOR THE WRECKING BALL, MAY 29TH,” which was only nine days away. Poor Phil, she thought.

  She checked the date the story appeared and reconstructed the timeline in her head. It had been the same day he had broached the subject of going out with him. She let out a soft grunt as she chewed her lower lip. He was a desperate man with nothing else to lose; his cartoon overture to her had been a last ditch effort to forge something good out of the mess his life had become. She was touched, despite herself.

  She scrolled back up to a small bit entitled, “ARCHITECT FACES TROUBLE ON HOME FRONT AS WELL,” which heralded a brief account of his wife suing for divorce just days after The Phoenix collapse made him notorious.

  “Boy, that’s rough,” Priscilla said, receiving looks of mild reproach from those seated close to her. She silently mouthed her apology, then scrolled upward to articles she had skipped. “PHOENIX TOWER COLLAPSE RAISES CONCERNS FOR OTHER GLESSNER PROJECTS,” “RESIDENTS SUE PHOENIX TOWER DEVELOPER,” “CITY INSPECTORS SAY THEY WERE DECEIVED BY GLESSNER & ASSOC.,” “CITY HALL POINTS FINGER AT ARCHITECT AS RESIDENTS THREATEN CLASS-ACTION SUIT,” etcetera, etcetera.

  There was even more coverage about Philip and his building after the damage was discovered than before, which was saying something. She searched through the pieces published prior to and during construction, the in-depth, multi-page article in the Lifestyles section released upon the building’s completion, and all the perky blurbs that appeared nearly weekly. It was evident Philip Glessner had been one of the city’s favorite sons before his luck had turned cold.

  Priscilla sat back and folded her arms across her chest while she digested all she had read. It was curious to her how quickly all of Philip’s champions had become his detractors once the story broke. She didn’t know the first thing about architecture or construction, but she figured building inspectors did something for their pay. If there had been a flaw in the caissons, wouldn’t it have been their job to discover it before the building went up?

  She scanned back through the more recent pieces trying to find an answer. It seemed to her the city officials had mounted an aggressive offensive right from the get-go. The day after the news broke, the mayor was calling for a thorough investigation, promising that the guilty party or parties would be made to pay. That was rather strong language so early in the game, especially since Philip had enjoyed a favorable relationship with the current mayor, as well as many of his predecessors.

  She began to search backwards, seeking out stories mentioning Marianne. Most of them pertained to society gatherings and charitable events. The text was generally limited, probably only the minimum needed to support the missing photos.

  Priscilla had had enough of the hard library chair and eyestrain for one day. She closed the research and headed back out into the glorious sunshine, a commodity she had better get used to if she were going to move to the Sunshine State.

  At 2:57, Priscilla turned the corner at Delancey and Church, limping along on over-taxed feet. She had let the beauty of the day seduce her into walking back to her assignation with the elusive rock star. She had convinced herself she could diminish some of the sordidness of her apartment if she could absorb enough pristine daylight.

  All she had really succeeded in doing was wearing blisters on her feet and making herself thoroughly exhausted. The only thing that spurred her on was the thought of climbing aboard the train and crashing in her expensive ‘roomette.’ Collecting the money wouldn’t be bad, either, if Tobias actually showed up.

  She was fumbling listlessly through her bag for her keys when she became aware of a vehicle creeping stealthily by her side. She glanced over, slowing to a halt as the limo glided to a stop beside her. The dark glass of the rear window slid down, revealing the now familiar baseball cap and sunglasses.

  “That’s what I call perfect timing,” Tobias said jauntily. Priscilla stood staring, unable to speak. It really was going to happen after all. For the first time since he appeared in her hallway, the reality of what had taken place finally hit her.

  “You all right?” Tobias asked, concerned by her peculiar expression. Priscilla nodded vaguely. “Why don’t you get in for a minute?” He signaled to the driver to cut the engine and opened the door to let her in, scooting over to make room for her. Hesitantly, as if too dazed to fully comprehend what was happening, Priscilla ducked into the back of the limousine.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Tobias asked again, alarmed by her heavy breathing.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just walked back from Penn Station. I’m a little winded, is all.”

  “That’s a long walk. Couldn’t you find a cab?”

  Priscilla took a deep breath to calm herself. The walk had been nothing compared to the shock of being in the back of a limousine, all alone with a man she had idolized for years, though she had never admitted it to herself in so many words.

  It had been one thing to serve him fried eggs and hash browns while on duty; it was quite another to be up close and personal with him in such an intimate setting. Forget the fact that he now had access to every word she had ever committed to paper. She felt her face grow hot as the thought of him riffling through her boxes and bags flashed across her mind’s eye. She squeezed her eyes shut to dispel the vision.

  “It felt nice to be out,” she answered belatedly.

  “Ah…” Tobias said, recognizing the mark of a fellow wanderer. “Well, here’s the ba
lance of what I owe you,” he said, removing a plain white envelope from his jacket pocket. “I just need you to sign this document, which states you’re selling me the rights to all the works now in my possession.”

  He handed the three-page agreement to her, folding it back to the space highlighted in yellow. He felt his pocket for something to write with, realizing he must left his Waterman behind.

  “Damn, forgot a pen. Do you have one on you?” Priscilla rummaged through her bag, grateful for the diversion.

  “Here’s one,” she said, holding it up for him to see.

  “Good. All right,” he said, prompting her to use it. Bewildered once again, Priscilla glanced down at the document, her eyes bouncing aimlessly across the legalese.

  “Don’t worry, there’s nothing sinister in it. It basically states that I’ve paid you a total of fifteen thousand dollars for the rights to the lyrics you’ve given me. It’s really only designed to protect me if later you decide to sue me for copyright infringement or something like that.” Priscilla looked blankly down at the signature line.

  “But you’ve only given me seven hundred dollars,” she pointed out, causing Tobias to laugh.

  “Here’s the check for fourteen thousand three hundred,” he said, handing it to her.

  “A check?” she said, her voice just barely audible.

  “Yeah, a check. Don’t worry, I’m good for it,” he said with a tang of sarcasm. “Did you expect me to show up with an attaché case full of money?” he asked with derisive cackle. Priscilla stared at him open-mouthed. How could she answer that when she had never really considered any of this would actually happen?

  “No,” she said, feeling humiliated.

  “Here—c’mon, take it. It yours,” Tobias said, still thrusting the check toward her. Priscilla took it, reading the amount with disbelief. She folded the check and held it tightly, closing her eyes. She had done it: she had sold her past and bought her future in one casual, unforeseen act.