by Ann B. Ross
Mr. Kessler had perched himself stiffly on the edge of a straight chair, and he sat there looking like he’d rather be anyplace than where he was. But, thinking Thurlow had influence, he leaned forward to state his case. “As soon as I get the county’s approval of the sale, I’ll put up an eight-story building that’ll be the crown jewel of my company and this town. I’ll call it the Crowne—spelled with an e—Plaza, and it’ll outshine anything in this part of the state. You’ll be proud to have had a part in it, Mr. Jones. But to be specific, the one-bedroom units will start around half a million. The others go up from there. Then there’ll be the penthouses for a couple of select buyers.”
I enjoyed watching Mr. Kessler walk a fine line between trying to impress this influential quaint character and trying to hide his own feelings of superiority. Mr. Kessler’s throwaway tone implied that, even though he might need a little local help to get them built, his condos would be beyond Thurlow Jones’s capacity to purchase. But if he meant to intimidate, it didn’t work.
Thurlow nodded as if it were exactly what he’d expected. “You get ’em built and I’ll think about it. I got a cousin needs looking after. He’s in a home now, but they about to kick him out. I could put him in one of your condos and hire a man to watch him. Just tell the neighbors to lock up. He does like to drop in at odd hours.” Thurlow slapped his knee and cackled gleefully. “Come to think of it, Kessler, you might be an answer to prayer for that boy. Well, he’s not much of a boy anymore. Pushing sixty or so by now. He’s my burden, but I sure don’t want him around here, messing things up. You just put me down for one of them two-bedroomers, and I’ll think about a bigger one for me. But not on the same floor, oh, hell, no, don’t do that.”
Mr. Kessler looked as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him. “Well, I don’t think…”
“You don’t want to think, you want to sell. And I’ll tell you this, you’re some salesman. You just walked in here, and you got at least one and maybe two sold. And you did it…” Thurlow leaned over and snapped his fingers in Mr. Kessler’s face, “just like that.”
Chapter 31
I gathered my pocketbook and began to rise, ready to bring the visit to an end. Mr. Kessler was immediately on his feet and Etta Mae began to edge toward the door. Thurlow had given his usual outrageous performance, as I had counted on, so there was no reason to linger. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Brother Vern preaching in the new lobby and Thurlow and his cousin wandering the halls of Mr. Kessler’s building. So far everything was working as I’d hoped.
Thurlow hopped up from his chair, telling us not to hurry, he didn’t have anything else to do and we could stay as long as we wanted. He scurried around me and walked up behind Etta Mae. I saw him put one hand on the small of her back as if he were guiding her across the hall. He gestured toward the door with his other hand, perhaps to distract her. Then before I could get to him, the hand on Etta Mae’s back began to slip downward.
She jumped to the side. “Touch it, and I’ll slap you cross-eyed.”
“Ooh,” Thurlow said, laughing and holding his hands up to prove his innocence. “Ain’t she feisty!”
I hurried Etta Mae out before she made good on her threat, thanking Thurlow as I went and then having to wait in the car as Mr. Kessler seemed unable to get away from Thurlow who was wagging a finger in his face. Etta Mae continued to fume for a few minutes, but began to calm down when I told her of my own run-ins with Thurlow.
We were still smiling when Mr. Kessler finally got into the car and closed the door. “Well,” he said, “he’s certainly one of a kind. I expect you don’t have many like him.”
“Oh,” I said airily, “he’s pretty typical of your average businessman in these parts. Sharp and independent-minded under all that foolishness he carries on with.” I sat back, feeling fairly pleased with the way the visit had gone. Then, as a thought struck, I leaned forward. “Why, Mr. Kessler, I just thought of something. Thurlow’s the very reason you can even think of putting up a skyscraper on Main Street.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said, with just a tinge of sarcasm.
“Well, some of us, I mean, a group of so-called liberal do-gooders wanted the county to pass some zoning restrictions. Thurlow rose up in protest, threatening to sue the town and the county and everybody involved. Said if a man couldn’t do what he wanted with his own property, we might as well be living in Russia.”
There was a stretch of silence until Mr. Kessler asked, “What happened to the zoning?”
“Oh, it didn’t pass. Obviously, since you’re right before replacing that wreck of a courthouse with a new and modern edifice. And just think,” I said, reaching up to pat his shoulder, “you have Thurlow to thank for it, and you’ve as good as sold two units to him. Who knows, you might end up doing a lot of business together, especially since you won’t have any zoning restrictions to worry about. The county’s wide open, Mr. Kessler, thanks to Thurlow and a few more like him.”
As Etta Mae drove us back toward town, there was another stretch of silence as my words hung in the air.
Then Mr. Kessler, in that authoritative manner of his, said, “As a developer, I’m a strong supporter of open-use zoning. A man ought to be able to do what he wants with what he owns. That’s the American way. But it cuts both ways. Once a man owns something, he can put in his own restrictions, and I see that the Crowne Plaza will have to institute a few, specifically concerning who can buy in and who can’t.”
I sat back and let that bit of hypocrisy hang in the air. It was a settled fact that Mr. Kessler’s attitude toward property rights depended on whose ox was being gored.
That evening as I joined Lloyd and Sam in the dining room, I started right in telling them how well I thought things were going. “Mr. Kessler was really put off after we went to see Thurlow Jones,” I said, walking to my place. “And when Granny Wiggins got through with him, well, I think he’s seeing a different side of this town.”
Sam pulled out my chair, then rested a hand on my shoulder. “I hate to tell you this, Julia, but the word is out. It looks like the commissioners have pulled a fast one.”
I shook out my napkin, as he took his place at the head of the table. “What’ve they done now?”
“They’ve voted to sell the courthouse.”
“Oh, no,” I cried, nearly springing off the chair. “They can’t do that! Sam, when did this happen?”
“Last night, apparently,” he told me. “They held a called meeting with no public notice, which may’ve been illegal. A few of us are getting together tonight to see what we can do about it. I’m afraid we’re too late though.”
“Can the commissioners do that?” My hands were shaking, I was so angry and upset. “And not even wait till Tuesday at their regular meeting? Do they have the authority to just sell it out from under us? It belongs to the taxpayers. Don’t we have a voice in this?”
“Well, we can protest, which we’ll do. And try to get a ruling from the state to slow it down or have a bill introduced to stop it. But it’ll take time, and from the looks of it, Kessler is ready to move.”
Lloyd spoke up then. “Somebody said at school today that they’re already bringing in bulldozers.”
“You mean today?” I demanded. “Sam, do you know about that?”
Sam nodded. “Afraid so, Julia. I drove by this afternoon and they’re unloading heavy equipment at the back of the courthouse in the parking lot. They’ll probably start with the annex.”
“Oh, Lord,” I said, leaning my head against my hand, “they were doing it at the exact same time that Etta Mae and I thought we were making progress.” I glared at Sam. “Arthur Kessler knew about this all along, didn’t he? Oh, Sam, the courthouse could be a pile of bricks by tomorrow. And we haven’t even had the soiree yet, which was going to change his mind about developing anything in this town. What are we going to do, Sam? What can we do?”
“I’m sorry, Julia.” Sam gave me a tender look down the length of the
table. “I hate to see it go, too. But once they start, there’s no going back. I heard that they’re bringing in a crane with a wrecking ball sometime this week. One swing of that thing, and it’s over.”
I didn’t know whether to put my head down and cry or just scream it off in frustration. “I will get back at every one of those commissioners if it’s the last thing I ever do.” I adjusted my salad plate and tried to reconcentrate my mind, aware now of the child sitting across from me, taking it all in. “Lloyd, I don’t mean to be vowing revenge exactly. It’s just that there are consequences to every action, sometimes good consequences and sometimes bad. I intend to see that this action has bad consequences for all concerned. Although,” I said, wiping my eyes with my napkin, “it’ll be too late for that beautiful, historic courthouse.”
“Here, Julia,” Sam said, passing the bread basket, “you need to eat something. Have a roll.”
“I don’t think I can. I’m just devastated about this.”
He patted my hand again and looked sympathetically at me. But I didn’t need sympathy; I needed help. But, as usual, it would be left to me to come up with something. The rest of the meal proceeded quietly enough, although interrupted by my having to sniff now and then. My mind was working, though, considering, then discarding one idea after another, until gradually a few ideas stuck.
As Sam moved his chair back before standing, I reached out to detain him. “Sam, since the weather’s so nice, why don’t you take a day or two and go on a motorcycle ride? You’ve let that machine sit in the garage too long, and it’d do you good to get out a little. Go up on the parkway or somewhere and take in the sights.”
Lloyd’s eyes popped wide. “Can I go?”
Sam laughed and patted the boy’s shoulder. “I’m trying to organize a protest. I can’t take off now. But it’s a good idea. Maybe when Pickens gets back, we’ll go.”
I didn’t want him to wait for Mr. Pickens. I wanted him out of the house today and for a few more to come.
He leaned over and kissed me. “Don’t let it get you down, sweetheart. I’ll let you know what we come up with tonight.”
I had little confidence that anything could be done, so when he left, I propped my elbows on either side of my plate and buried my face in my hands. “I can’t think what to do, Lloyd,” I said. “It is all such a shame. Worse than that, it’s an outrage. And I’ve been working so hard to show Mr. Kessler that we aren’t the kind of people he’d want to live next to.”
Lloyd said, “Maybe he doesn’t believe you.”
I raised my head to look at him. “You think?”
“Yessum, I bet he’s figured out what you’re doing. He may even like the town better because of all the interesting characters you’ve been showing him.”
“Oh, my.” I sat up straight, wondering if I’d done myself in while thinking I was doing Mr. Kessler in.
“What I mean is,” Lloyd went on, “he probably figures that you and Etta Mae kinda stand for what’s normal in the town. You, ’specially. He knows you’re not the type of person to run around with Brother Vern or Mr. Jones, and he’s met some of your friends at the dinner party. That’s who he’ll figure are the regular people in town.”
“Lloyd,” I said, wonder filling my words, “you are the smartest boy alive. You’re absolutely right. You have given me a whole lot to think about.”
“I have?” He grinned, delighted that he’d helped. “When you decide what to do, let me help.”
“Well, I’ll tell you about it.”
“Etta Mae?” I said as soon as she answered her phone. I’d run to the bedroom and closed the door as soon as Lloyd went to his room. “Have you heard? Well, get over here as early as you can in the morning. We have things to do.”
Hanging up and dialing again, I could hardly wait for LuAnne to answer. “LuAnne, has Leonard come home yet?”
“No, and he better not. I’ve had it with him.”
“Good,” I said, cringing a little as Pastor Ledbetter’s cautionary counsel resounded in my mind. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m pretty sure Arthur Kessler is interested in you.”
“He is? What did he say?”
“Oh, just that you’re an attractive woman. And he asked if you were seeing anybody.” Lord, forgive me for lying, but remember it’s for a good cause.
“He did? What did you tell him?”
“I don’t have time to talk right now, LuAnne. I just wanted to let you know, so you can let him know you’re interested the next time you see him. And to warn you. I think he’s a little shy. You might need to make it kind of obvious, if you know what I mean. I’ve got to go now.”
“Wait, Julia…”
But I hung up, unable to get myself in any deeper. I’d have to be on my knees for a good, long session by the time this week was over.
Chapter 32
“Can you believe this!” Etta Mae waved the newspaper at me as soon as I opened the door the next morning. I couldn’t miss the bold headlines. “That low-down sneaking Arthur Kessler! All this time that we’ve been driving him around, he knew he was starting demolition today!”
“That’s exactly what I told Sam,” I said, leading the way to the kitchen. “Now, Etta Mae, I have something in mind that’ll buy us a little time. But I need your help. I’m about to call Mildred and give her a list, and here’s yours. You can use Hazel Marie’s phone. It’s on a separate line.”
“I better fix y’all something to eat,” Lillian said. “You not gonna get much when you in jail.”
“For goodness’ sakes, Lillian, we’re not going to jail.” I said, paying no attention to her head shaking and eye rolling.
“What is it?” Etta Mae asked, studying the list I’d handed her.
“It’s every service station and convenience store in the county and several outside. I mean, that’s your list. I’m giving Mildred one, and I’ll have one. We’re going to call them all and tell them not to sell any gasoline for that bulldozer.”
Etta Mae frowned and screwed up her mouth. “Track hoe,” she said, still studying the list, “and it uses diesel. Sorry, Miss Julia, but this won’t work. They’ll buy from a distributor, not from one of these places.”
“Well, my word, I spent half the morning going through the Yellow Pages for nothing.”
“No problem. There’s only one oil distributor in Abbot County and maybe three in Buncombe. I’ll call them. What’ll I tell them?”
“Tell them that we’re in the process of getting an injunction against Arthur Kessler and they’re not to deliver any diesel fuel to the Abbot County courthouse anytime soon. Tell them if they’re called to the site, they’re to be too busy and I’ll make up whatever they lose in the process.”
“Are we?”
“Are we what?”
“Getting an injunction?”
“What’s that?” Lillian asked.
“Oh,” I said, too busy thinking to give either one an answer, “I’m not sure, but Sam’s working on it. But what we have to do is stop that machine before it does any damage.”
“I hate to tell you this,” Etta Mae said, “but I drove by the courthouse on my way here, and it’s already running. And a front-end loader, too. They’re uprooting the trees in the back and breaking up the pavement in the parking lot. Big chunks of it, too. They’ve got dump trucks and flatbeds and I don’t know what all. They mean business, Miss Julia, and they’re going all out to get it done.”
“Oh, my Lord,” I said, getting more agitated by the minute. “Those things’re running amuck. Etta Mae, let’s take some lawn chairs down there and sit in the parking lot. They’ll have to stop then.”
“My Jesus, Miss Julia!” Lillian cried. “You can’t do that. That ’quipment run all over you.”
“No, it won’t. We’ll call the newspaper and the Asheville television station and create a stir. I’ll tell you this, Etta Mae, and you, too, Lillian, I’ve never had much use for protesters who throw themselves in front of progress, but I a
m ready to strap some chains on. One way or another, we’ve got to stop those machines.”
“They’d just pick us up and move us out,” Etta Mae said, “but I know something that could slow them down.”
“What? I’m ready for anything.”
“Sand. Or dirt. A coupla handsful of dirt in the fuel tanks. That’d put them out of commission for a few days until they could clean them out or bring in more.” She paused and thought for a minute. “And every time they brought in a new piece, we’d have to sneak down there and gum up the works again. Pretty soon they’d have night guards, so I don’t know how long we could go without getting caught.”
“Y’all goin’ to jail,” Lillian said, wringing a dishcloth in her hands. “I know you, Miss Julia. You jus’ bound to do something you ought not do, an’ you gonna get caught and end up in the jailhouse.”
“It’s a worthy cause, Lillian. Besides, I don’t aim to get caught. All right, Etta Mae, we’ll let them have their fun today, but tonight, well, we shall see, won’t we?”
When Etta Mae left, with instructions to take a nap in preparation for our foray that night, Lillian continued with her dire warnings of arrest and incarceration.
“What you gonna tell Mr. Sam?” she demanded. “What he gonna say when you go outta here in the dead of night and sneak around th’owin’ dirt in people’s gas tanks?”
Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? I was certainly facing a moral dilemma since I had somewhat promised Sam never to get into a dangerous situation again. After he’d pieced together some of the riskier aspects of my expedition with Etta Mae in Florida, he’d said, “Julia, please promise you won’t endanger yourself that way again. My poor heart couldn’t stand it.” And I’d promised. So, as I now saw it, I had to leave those machines alone and think of something else. Sam’s peace of mind meant the world to me.
“He’s not going to know,” I told Lillian, “because I’ve changed my mind. I’ll just go with Etta Mae and be back in less than an hour. He won’t know a thing about it. He’s a sound sleeper.”
