Alligators in the Trees

by Cynthia Hamilton

“Yeah,” Priscilla said, a giddy squeak escaping her. This whole scene was beyond belief. Tobias Jordan wanting to discuss her lyrics. It was straight out of a fantasy. She laughed again, shaking her head.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, pursing her lips in a modest smile. As she began to relax, so did Tobias.

  “Why don’t we find a more conducive spot for conversation,” he suggested, as they both drew back against the pressing crowd. Priscilla looked at him askance, wondering what other weird moves he had up his sleeve. In the end, she figured as long as they stayed in a public place, she had nothing to fear from her unlikely, and obviously eccentric, benefactor.

  “You really thought I had tracked you down to get the money back?” Tobias asked as he poured cream into his coffee. They had been fortunate enough to run into each around the corner from one of the best delicatessens in the city. Priscilla answered his question with raised eyebrows as she blew on her coffee.

  Tobias laughed. “I got the best part of the bargain,” he said, stirring his coffee methodically.

  “I’m not sure about that,” Priscilla replied. She still had a hard time imagining him lugging all those bags and boxes into his home. “What did your wife think when she saw all that stuff?”

  “She hasn’t seen it. I’m not living at home right now.”

  “Oh,” Priscilla said, noting that he was still wearing his wedding ring. Their waitress appeared and set a strawberry-covered slice of cheesecake in front of her. She slid Tobias’s lox and bagels in front of him and disappeared before he could ask for a side of red onion.

  “The service here is nothing compared to Frank’s,” he said facetiously, temporarily giving up the quest. He spread the cream cheese on the bagel and arranged the salmon, but that was as far as he got. “Are you really going to eat that?” he asked, eyeballing Priscilla’s indulgent breakfast.

  “Sure, why not? This will be my last chance to have the famed New York cheesecake.”

  “You’re not really moving to Florida, are you?” Priscilla shot him a dubious glance. Not him, too.

  “What have you got against Florida?”

  “Nothing. It’s a great place to take kids for vacation, if you have kids. And it’s probably a real hoot for secretaries on parole—kind of a Club Med for poor folk.”

  Priscilla, who had been about to try her first bite of cheesecake, halted the fork midair “And in your case, there’s probably some pretty amusing material for you to ponder. I can see you writing some clever lyrics about the wide variety of weirdness that exists down there—man-eating alligators kept as pets, local officials with the sensibilities of third-world dictators, and every other form of deviant indulgence.” The forkful of cheesecake turned flavorless in her mouth. Why couldn’t people just keep their opinions to themselves?

  “It’s a rather interesting phenomenon, don’t you think, that some New Yorkers have such a bad opinion about Florida, yet the state has a surprisingly high percentage of former New York residents scrambling to infest it,” she countered. Tobias shrugged. Clearly, it was not a matter of much concern to him.

  “It’s mostly the elderly, and they go there just to warm their old hides,” he said with off-hand cynicism. “But why would you want to go there? What could you possibly get from living in a crackpot place like that? You’re too young and your mind’s too sharp to give up city living in favor of hanging out with a bunch of zoned-out numb nuts.”

  Priscilla was at a loss for words. With all the static she was receiving on her choice of future residence, you’d think she had announced she was moving to Calcutta or Baghdad. She laid her fork down, losing her appetite altogether.

  “I just need a change,” she said almost apologetically. There may be huge numbers of former New Yorkers living in the Sunshine State, but it seemed one could not make the switch without enduring a fair amount of harassment.

  Evidently, living in New York fostered a sense of conceit and superiority, something akin to school pride, Priscilla mused as she pushed the strawberry slices around on her plate. Funny, she couldn’t remember ever feeling boastful about being one in eight million residents on a tiny island.

  “Travel the world for a while,” Tobias suggested cavalierly. “It’s a great way to blow away the weariness of day-to-day tedium. Plus, after you’ve stuffed yourself full of culture, you come back realizing how wonderful our country really is, despite the fact that it’s culturally challenged. No matter how enchanted I become when I’m traveling, I’m always surprised to find what a latent patriot I am once I hit American soil again.

  “But seriously, if you need a break, Thailand, Morocco, the Netherlands—those are the places to go to.” As Tobias sipped his coffee, it occurred to him Priscilla probably had never been out of the country.

  “Ever been abroad?” Priscilla shook her head. “You should take a world tour. It’d be a great adventure for you.”

  Priscilla looked unconvinced. “No, I don’t think so. Even though I spent most of my childhood traipsing from state to state, I’m really not the traveling type. I don’t mind a change of pace every now and then, but when I get to a new place, I like to put down roots for a while.”

  “And so you’re set on Florida, huh?” Priscilla nodded. “When are you planning on going?”

  “The train leaves at 5:35.”

  “Tonight?” Tobias croaked.

  “Yeah.” It was highly amusing and perplexing to watch Tobias Jordan react to her imminent departure with the same alarm and trepidation that Philip had displayed. Why was it now, after deciding to leave town, that she was attracting all this male attention?

  And what had suddenly come over her to make her attractive to such illustrious men? Were they both coincidentally having mid-life crises, the byproduct being a weakness for unemployed waitresses? It was simply too strange to comprehend.

  Tobias had taken this latest discovery rather hard. He was practically twitching with nervousness as he sat slouched sideways against the booth, gnawing a fingernail to the quick. He had been so delighted in finding her, he had not thought any further ahead than savoring his good fortune. He was surprised to find how comfortable and relaxed he felt in her presence. He didn’t once feel like he was hunter or prey, which was a refreshing change for him.

  Occasionally, he’d remember this was the same person who had penned those inspired lyrics, and he’d feel a chill of pleasure run down his spine. He found he admired her, strictly for her intelligence, which was a wholly novel experience for him. But now, without any consideration of him, she was about to vanish from his life for good. This couldn’t really be how it was meant to end.

  “Do you already have your ticket?” Tobias asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Good. So that means that you’re not committed to anything yet.”

  Priscilla cocked her head suspiciously. “I am leaving tonight on the 5:35 to Miami,” she said unequivocally.

  “No you’re not,” Tobias said, a sly, defiant smile spreading across his face as he leaned across the table.

  Priscilla, dumbfounded, merely blinked at his audacity. “You mind telling me why you think I’m not leaving this over-priced, insane rat race tonight?”

  “Because I have a secret. And once I let you in on my secret, you’re not going to want to leave.”

  Priscilla barked out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, I’m game. Tell me your little secret and we’ll see what kind of effect it has on me,” she said, arms akimbo, eyes registering her skepticism.

  “I can’t tell you yet,” Tobias said, leaning back in the booth.

  “You can’t tell me yet. I see. Am I supposed to guess?” Priscilla asked sarcastically. Without realizing it, she had picked and poked at her cheesecake until it looked like a mashed up glob. She pushed the unappetizing mess out of her sight.

  “No. You’ll never guess.” Priscilla sighed deeply and sank back against the bright blue booth. Her gaze wa
ndered for a moment before returning sharply to meet Tobias’s merry eyes.

  “It’s been…interesting running into you,” she said, as she reached for the check and began digging in her purse for some cash, “but I have a few things I need to take care of before I—” Tobias’s hand on her arm stopped her mid-sentence.

  “You’re not leaving tonight, I can guarantee you that,” he said. His cocky attitude made Priscilla flinch.

  “Either let go of my arm and tell me what you’re playing at, or I’m going to put on a rather embarrassing show,” she threatened quietly.

  “It’s not something I can tell you. It’s something you have to witness for yourself. I’m not putting you on here, swear to God. Come back to my hotel with me and I’ll share my secret with you.”

  Priscilla hissed like a punctured balloon. “Surely you can do better than that.”

  “It’s not a pickup line,” he said indignantly, releasing her arm with disgust. “Believe me, I do not have to go to these lengths to pick up women. For the record, you are not my type.”

  “For the record, neither are you.”

  “Fine. So when you to come back to my hotel, the last thing on my mind will be getting you into the sack. Okay? Comprende?”

  Priscilla threw exasperated looks in every direction but his. She didn’t know much about the man, except a few basic facts she’d read over the years, such as having a wife and being the driving force behind his band. But she was starting to get the impression he was a major control freak accustomed to getting his way. For that reason alone, she was reluctant to give in to his persistent demand.

  “How long will it take?” she asked, looking at her watch for emphasis. Tobias shrugged. He decided not to remind her she was about to have a life-altering experience and time was of no consequence.

  “My hotel’s only a few blocks from here,” he said by way of an answer, as he reached over and snatched the check out of her hand. He slipped a few bills out of his wallet and casually tossed them on the check. “C’mon, let’s blow this joint.”

  Twenty-Nine

  “I’d appreciate that. Call me as soon as you have the information.” Philip hung up the phone and exhaled deeply. He looked at his watch: already quarter to eleven. Where had the morning gone? He looked over his notes and called to his assistant.

  “Leslie, come here when you get a chance,” he said over the intercom. Within seconds she appeared, notepad in one hand, a fresh pot of coffee in the other.

  “No, thanks,” Philip said, covering his cup with his hand. “If I have any more of that stuff, you’ll have to scrape me off the ceiling.” Leslie laughed, set the pot down on the warmer and took a seat across from her boss.

  Philip had called her late last night, after tucking Caitlin into bed. He had the supreme good fortune of not only finding her at home, but of learning she was unhappy where she’d been working since he let her go. She offered her services as soon as Philip told her the good news about The Phoenix.

  “Well, nothing’s for sure yet,” he had warned her.

  “You called because you need someone to organize your office for you, right? Until you know for sure one way or the other, you’re still going to need someone like me.”

  “That’s true, but I’d hate for you to quit your job and come back to work for me, only to find out the whole thing’s a bust.”

  “Don’t give it another thought,” Leslie had assured him. “I hate working for these pretentious Harvard upstarts. You’d think they invented the concept of architecture. Besides, you’re going to prevail, I can feel it.”

  True to her word, she had been at the office when he got there, her well-detailed game plan all laid out for Philip to see. As soon as the staffing agencies opened, she was on the horn, putting in her demands for the personnel they’d need to get Glessner & Associates up and running again. She had the temps scurrying around the office, making and answering calls like their jobs were on the line, which they were. Only the ones with real promise would be invited back at the end of the day. Already the long-dormant offices were starting to feel like a bona fide place of business again.

  “Did you get any sleep last night?” she asked, studying Philip over her spectacles.

  “About an hour, I think.”

  “You’re going to sleep better tonight,” she promised him. “Any news yet?”

  “No, everyone’s still working on it. I’m going to meet, uh, let me see…Joe Poncelli from City Hall, at the site at two-thirty. He’s the one who ordered the demolition. He’ll bring his engineers and I imagine they’ll crawl all over the place for a couple of hours trying to prove me wrong. But Jack Cafferty is going to be there, along with Olaf Hilmer, his contact from that Norwegian firm. I’ll have plenty of backup. So, how are things going on your side of the office?” Philip asked as he stretched his arms toward the ceiling.

  “Pretty good. I spoke to Nate Rodriguez just a few minutes ago. He’d love to come back to work for you, but he wants to give his current employer a month’s notice.”

  “Tell him that’s fine,” Philip said, excited that his best draftsman would be on board. All he needed was a few more dedicated employees like Leslie and Nate, and he’d be all set. There was no reason for his firm to be as large as it had been; all those extra egos hadn’t given him anything except extra headaches. He’d given most of them their starts, but that certainly hadn’t earned him any loyalty when he needed a unified front.

  “Great. I’ll let him know. Other than Nate, no one else seemed interested in coming back,” Leslie said, taking a sip of her coffee as she watched her boss’s reaction.

  “I’m not surprised,” Philip replied, imagining the skepticism out there. And who knew, they might be right. Perhaps all of this was premature. The problem was he had to act fast in order to save The Phoenix. Whether it panned out or not, his only course of action at this point was to proceed full speed ahead.

  “Well, it’s probably for the best. I like the idea of being a smaller firm. If I’m going to be the only architect at Glessner & Associates, there’s no reason to have a huge staff. We’ll need a full-time bookkeeper and one competent PR person, but other than that, you can decide how many assistants you’re going to need to run the office. Even though you’ve always been my personal assistant, I’d feel more comfortable having you as office manager,” he said, curious how Leslie would react. He could tell by her expression she wasn’t thrilled by the prospect.

  “Oh, wow, Philip…I don’t know. I don’t know that I’m the managerial type…”

  “You’re selling yourself short, Les. You’re a natural-born manager.” Leslie still looked skeptical. “I’ll pay you twice what you were making as my assistant,” Philip said, adding sugar to the pot.

  “You’re kidding me,” she replied slowly.

  “Nope. More responsibility means more money.” A smile started to spread across Leslie’s face as she calculated how that kind of pay increase would affect her life. She might even make the move from renter to owner.

  “You’ll be the big cheese around here. Everyone will answer to you.”

  Leslie bit her lip to keep her enthusiasm under control. “I liked being your personal assistant,” she said, “I’ll miss working closely with you.”

  “Believe me, you’ll see plenty of me. You’ll be my right hand,” he assured her. “But it’s important that I can do my work without worrying whether the office is running smoothly. With you at the helm, I know I won’t ever have to think about it.”

  Leslie smiled broadly. “You don’t have to worry. I’d love to be the office manager,” she said, accepting the position.

  “But I’ve got to warn you, it’s going to be a lot of hours, especially in the beginning.”

  “Not a problem, boss. I don’t have a life outside of work, anyway,” Leslie said with a self-deprecating laugh. Philip smiled. He knew a fellow workaholic when he saw one.

  “Mr. Glessner?” a voice on the intercom interrupted them.


  “Yes?”

  “I have Mrs. Glessner holding on line three.” Philip started at the announcement. Seeing the look of mild panic on Philip’s face, Leslie rose and excused herself.

  “Good luck at 2:30,” she whispered with her fingers crossed as she left his office and closed the door.

  “Marianne?” he asked tentatively. It could have been his mother, but she rarely called him at work.

  “Philip, I’ve been trying your cell phone for hours,” she said accusingly. Philip’s heart beat hard against his chest, then sank. “I certainly didn’t expect to find you at your office.”

  “What is it, Marianne?” he asked with strained caution, envisioning the worst. “Is Caitlin all right?”

  “She’s perfectly fine,” Marianne replied impatiently. “But she is the reason I’m calling. I’m afraid I must leave town this afternoon. Father’s health is failing and Mother is starting to crumble under the stress of all the appointments and tests and numerous physicians. I plan to be gone no more than three or four days, five at the most, but I don’t want Caitlin to miss any school. You’ll need to pick her up today—”

  “I had her yesterday,” Philip protested.

  “Are you saying you can’t be bothered to take care of your daughter two days in a row?” Marianne asked snidely.

  “No, of course not. It’s just bad timing for me today. If you could have told me about this last night, or even first thing this morning—”

  “Well, forgive me for having an ailing father,” she spat. Philip emitted an exasperated grunt and held the phone away from his ear, glaring at it while he imagined beating it to pieces on the edge of his desk.

  “I’m very sorry about your father, Marianne, truly I am. But I have a company to run. I would appreciate in the future if you wouldn’t spring these changes on me at the last minute.”

  “What company?” Marianne asked, contempt coating every syllable. “All I hear out of you and your attorney is that “your company” is all but defunct. You plead poor mouth every time we offer you a settlement proposal. It’s rather pathetic to now try to hide behind that slim excuse of a job, especially when it comes to performing your fatherly duties.”