Stars Fell on Alabama

by M. Alan Marr

  Despite the excitement of flying in a large private jet to Europe, the cocktails and the gluttony catch up with Dev and Chaz, and they decide to go to sleep. Upon entering the stateroom, they find bottles of water by their bedsides, low lights and gentle, spa-like music. Chaz retrieves two additional bottles of water from Franz before saying goodnight. Sleep comes quickly as well, and just as Franz said, they are awakened ninety minutes before landing. Chaz has never taken a shower while airborne before. What a luxury.

  Breakfast is served as a small buffet of scrambled eggs with sautéed mushrooms and Gruyère cheese, poached eggs in the shell, toasted bread, and a selection of fruits. So pleasant is the flight, they almost can’t wait to fly home. The BBJ makes standard first-class wither by comparison.

  Chapter 12

  Stelle Di Venezia

  Piazza San Marco, Venice

  0830 Hours Local Time

  Venice is, by almost any account, transcendent. The juxtaposition of new enshrouded by the old. The result: timelessness. Venice is also unique in that modern society has adapted to the specific needs of the Venetians, namely the canals and bridges. Many of the commercial services found in the US are seen here too, only in aquatic format. Commercial delivery boats, ambulance boats, police boats, public transportation boats. The fire department garage doors conceal the fireboats located inside. Even the UPS guy has a special cargo dolly capable of traversing the many stairs throughout Venice. Adaptation. Something Dev takes note of.

  Although arriving fully rested and in good spirits, both Chaz and Dev are still wearing the same clothes they had on since departing Atlanta. The stores aren’t open yet, so the boys take coffee in San Marco. They sit long enough to enjoy two cappuccinos and a bottle of aqua frizante, sparkling water.

  The morning tourists begin showing up in the square, rousting all the doves and pigeons. Chaz secreted his way to an ATM when he got up to use the facilities and withdraws plenty of euros for pocket money. He expertly grabs the check from the waiter before Dev has time to react. Per custom, Chaz leaves a couple of euros on the table when they leave.

  The stores are just opening up now, so the boys duck into an elegant haberdashery and emerge an hour later wearing fine Italian-made suits, tailored in house, while they waited. They look chic and stylish. Dev insists on paying, noting that Chaz paid for the coffee. Not quite quid pro quo, but it works.

  “You look amazing!” Chaz says.

  “You do.”

  They walk along the waterfront talking happily about Venice, and how great it is to be here.

  “This is just remarkable,” Dev says. “I read these buildings date back four hundred years, and look at them. Time and tide haven’t taken their toll.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” Chaz says, pointing to the doorways near the waterline. “Look at entries to these buildings, those metal guards are in place for when aqua de alta comes in—high water. The higher tides have necessitated the use of those barriers to keep the water out of the buildings and internal foundation. A lot of the buildings even have floats built into them to help keep them stable.”

  “They continue to adapt to their changing times.”

  Chaz scoffs. “At least they acknowledge the times are changing. Back home our politicians think that denying climate change will stop it from happening.”

  “I’ve noticed that.”

  “Either that or it’s God’s plan to flood the Earth again.”

  “Right. Wonder how that’s going to turn out.”

  “What do you think of our politicians?”

  “I think their decision-making is based on either their two-, four-, or six-year term, and they won’t risk losing that by favoring unpopular legislation, even if it is for the greater good of Humanity.”

  “That’s it, exactly.”

  Abandoning politics, Dev and Chaz walk along the waterfront and watch a smallish cruise ship passing.

  “There’s our quarry.” Dev points.

  “That’s the ship?”

  “That’s it. The owners of the property are aboard. If the lawyers did their job correctly, they should be expecting us.”

  It takes about thirty minutes for the ship to dock and be cleared by customs officials.

  Ship’s security verifies the identities of both Chaz and Dev before they are allowed to board. The fact they are even let on the ship means they are indeed expected. They leave their shopping bags with a crew member posted at the security checkpoint aboard the Seafare Legacy, a luxury liner built to pamper a mere two hundred discerning guests who prefer to travel in smaller numbers by sea. A ship’s officer escorts them to a comfortable lounge on the forward uppermost deck. A small Private Meeting sign is posted on the doors. Inside, the lounge has many small tables surrounded by leather chairs. There is a bar, but no bartender given the hour, and the sign on the doors keeps out any other passengers.

  “Gentlemen, may I offer you something?” the ship’s officer says.

  “We’re fine,” Chaz says. “But thank you.”

  An older man and woman enter the lounge. Both are in their mid- to late-seventies, dressed comfortably, but elegantly, and looking well-suited for shipboard life. They approach Dev and Chaz, the gentleman with his hand extended.

  “George Devereaux.”

  “Dev Caelestis.”

  “My wife, Gladys.”

  “Chaz Ronaldi.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Dev says. “Madame.”

  “Gladys, please,” she says warmly. “Why don’t we all sit down?” She looks at the ship’s officer and addresses him by name. “Alex, would you be a dear and have some coffee brought out?”

  “Right away, Mrs. Devereaux.”

  The foursome sit in large leather chairs situated around a coffee table. George is somewhat hard of hearing, and speaks loudly himself. He sounds like a typical older gentleman, but his mental acuity is beyond reproach. Gladys is sharp as a tack as well. They are two peas in a pod. She is yin to his yang; perfect foils for one another.

  “So,” George says, “you boys flew all the way here just to buy some acreage in Alabama?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quick as a whip, George says, “Private jet?”

  Chaz is taken aback. “How did you know that?”

  The elder man snorts. “We had a late dinner last night. Gladys always eats late. My entire marriage has never seen a dinner before nine.”

  “I was looking for the oven, dear.”

  “Around 11:00 pm, that same young officer who escorted you aboard brought a phone to me in the dining room. It was your lawyer. Once I agreed to sell, he said you would fly out at once to meet the ship. I’m no expert, but with the time change, and the flight time from Atlanta, I imagined all the commercial European flights would have been gone by then.”

  “They were indeed.”

  Gladys interjects. “Don’t believe him for a second. He is an expert.”

  George responds somewhat loudly. “I used to be an aeronautical engineer.”

  “George holds several patents,” Gladys says proudly.

  “Chaz is a pilot,” Dev says, equally proud.

  “Oh, how about that?” George beams. “What do you fly?”

  “I fly the 767 for Triad.”

  “They must be paying Triad pilots pretty well these days.”

  Chaz laughs. “Well, the private jet was all Dev’s doing.”

  “Oh, we just love Triad,” Gladys says. “We rarely fly on anyone else.”

  “Anyway,” George continues, “as I said, since all the commercial flights were gone by then, that left very few options.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did you take over here? A Gulfstream? A Falcon?”

  Chaz takes a deep breath and glances at Dev. “I’m six-foot-three and I have trouble standing up in most corporate aircraft.”

  George’s eyes light up. “You don’t mean you flew here in a Boeing Business Jet?”

  “We did.”

>   “Oh my—” George turns to Gladys. “We should have upped the price, Glad.”

  “What the hell for? We can’t take it with us.” She looks at Dev and Chaz. “We don’t even buy green bananas anymore. We travel by ship because we’re afraid to stop moving.”

  Chaz and Dev laugh at the quick wit and near vaudeville act of these two charming old people.

  “Well,” George says, “opportunity doesn’t like delay. We’re happy to sell. In fact, we were eventually going to put the property on the market. I told your attorney I’d be glad to close quickly, but I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d want to close this quickly.”

  “As you said, opportunity doesn’t like delay,” Dev quotes.

  “I only have sentimental attachment to this property. Our children have no interest in keeping it,” George says. “But why the urgency, if you don’t mind my prying?”

  Coffee for four is brought out by a ship’s steward. The conversation proceeds around the service.

  “I flew over your property before I arrived in Atlanta,” Dev says. “It’s just beautiful, as is the lake. And the location offers great privacy from the outside world.”

  “That lake has some big fish in it,” George says.

  “I’m certain it does,” Dev replies, in personal reference to his ship hidden there.

  George elaborates further. “My father bought that property in 1929. It was the Depression. He paid nothing for it. He used to take us kids up there to fish. Dad loved the place. Well, he died, and eventually all my brothers died off and it went to me. I was the baby, if you can imagine. I never developed the place. I hoped our children would want it, but they’re city dwellers busy with their own careers. They’d just sell it anyway after we’re gone. Then you came along and, quick as a shot, you fly to Venice.”

  “I’m a man of action,” Dev replies. “If the deal is to be done, then why wait?”

  “Plus,” Chaz interjects, “it’s a perfect excuse to fly to Italy.”

  “I grant you that, Chaz,” George says.

  “Have you been to Venice before?” Gladys asks.

  “I have,” Chaz replies. “But I believe this is Dev’s first time.”

  “What do you think of it?” George says to Dev.

  “It’s intriguing,” Dev replies. “I’m glad to see the historic architecture has been preserved.”

  George shakes his head. “I’ve just got to ask, what will you do with the property?”

  Dev looks at George sincerely. “I’ll keep it just as it is. Nature created her, and far be it for me to corrupt it.”

  “You mean that?”

  “I’m a man of my word, sir.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that,” George says with relief. “I just hated the idea of someone turning that place into just another commercial development. Corrupting it, as you said.”

  “Speaking of corruption,” Gladys says to her husband, “we are meeting Congressman Grayson and his twenty-six-year-old third wife in less than an hour.”

  “Gladys!” Mr. Devereaux says with a half-smile. Even the ship’s officer standing near the door has to mask a chuckle with a cough at that one.

  George looks at Dev. “Shipboard life is supposed to be relaxed, yet we always seem to be on a schedule . . .”

  “And I apologize for taking up your time, sir.”

  “Not at all,” George says, happy his land will be under good stewardship. “I take it you have the documents?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your lawyer faxed copies to the ship, which I reviewed earlier this morning. That’s what happens when you get old, you become early risers. Early everything. You rise early, you eat early, you sleep early. Eventually, they all merge together and you die.”

  “We rose today, George,” Gladys says. “And we ate late.”

  Dev and George move to a credenza, where the sale documents are spread out and scrutinized, along with a map of the lake and property lines. George is old, but very capable and not at all a stranger to business. George nods. “Everything looks to be in order. My own attorneys concurred as well.” He laughs somewhat sinisterly. “I love waking them up in the middle of the night.”

  “Mine seem to delegate that duty to the junior partner.”

  “It’s all about seniority,” George says and then looks over at Chaz. “Isn’t that right, Chaz? The airline business functions on seniority?”

  “Seniority is everything,” Chaz agrees.

  “Speaking of which, let me sign these papers before I drop dead.” George signs with a flourish in the areas denoted by stick-on arrows. “Paralegals love those little stickers,” George says. “I find them annoying.”

  “My apologies, sir.”

  “Not your fault. You didn’t prepare the documents.”

  Dev signs his name in the denoted spaces as well and then pulls out a final piece of paper. “This last document acknowledges the transfer of funds to the account your attorney specified.”

  George reviews this document carefully. The figure matches the sum George’s attorneys confirmed was transferred into escrow. He nods and then signs. Dev signs as well.

  “Congratulations, son. You now own a little piece of Alabama.” George shakes Dev’s hand.

  “Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “My pleasure. But no deal is properly done without sealing it with a toast.” George looks toward the door of the lounge, where Alex, the officer, stands ready to assist. “Mimosas, Alex.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s not too early, is it?” George says to the group.

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Gladys issues forth. “Besides, I need a drink if I’m going to listen to that bubble-headed booby doll of the congressman’s.”

  “Gladys! Be nice.”

  “You didn’t notice her boobs? They’re her best feature.” Gladys turns to Chaz. “They’re her only feature.”

  “Now, Gladys, she’s a very nice woman.”

  “Yes, George, of course she is, dear, and she’s terribly, terribly smart.” Gladys rolls her eyes and leans toward Chaz. “Her IQ is thirty-eight-D.”

  “Gladys!”

  The ship’s officer brings the tray of champagne mimosas. Gladys holds her glass up. “We wish you both success.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Dev says. “And, to new friends.”

  The toast between the four is made, and the deal, both legally and in tradition, is done. Dev now owns the land and lake that most definitely contains a big fish.

  “Well, Gentlemen,” George says, “now that the business is concluded, what are your plans? I hope you’re not flying back right away.”

  “Actually,” Chaz says, “I was half-thinking about a side trip to Paris.”

  “Oh,” Gladys coos, “I love Paris. Once, a long time ago, along the Champs Elyse, a young, brash man actually had the nerve to propose to me.”

  “Yes,” George says, “now look at me.”

  “You look fine, dear,” Gladys says. “When you get old your eyes go bad and your memory fades, but we still look good to each other.”

  Chaz smiles warmly. “You look incredible together.”

  “Charmer,” Gladys says, batting her eyes. “Now, my dear, let’s go meet the congressman and his breast implants.”

  “Gladys.”

  “I mean gold digger.”

  “Gladys!”

  “I mean booby doll.”

  “Yes, my dear,” George says finally in agreement. “Gentlemen, I enjoyed meeting you both.”

  “Likewise, sir,” Dev says.

  “A pleasure,” Chaz adds.

  George adds, “I’m sure Alex here won’t mind if you stayed for breakfast.”

  Pleasantries are once again extended, and despite the kind offer, Dev and Chaz decline breakfast and are taken to the purser’s office to collect their belongings and then shown off the ship, with the thanks of both Dev and Chaz.

  Once on dry land they
both begin laughing at the antics of the older couple.

  “The congressman and his booby doll!” Chaz laughs, almost doubling over.

  “They were hysterical!” Dev laughs.

  “Think we’ll be that way when we get old?”

  “That’s my plan,” Dev says. “Hey, what did Gladys mean by green bananas?”

  “She said they don’t even buy green bananas.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Chaz smiles and shakes his head at the things Dev doesn’t understand. “Green bananas take time to ripen. George and Gladys are afraid they might die before the bananas are ready.”

  “But . . .”

  “It’s just an expression, Dev. A sort of self-deprecation toward their age.”

  “Oh. I see.” He thinks a moment. “That is funny.”

  They walk to an address Dev’s attorney provided, for a Venetian law firm that will act as intermediary for the transaction. Chaz is amazed at just what money can buy—a lot of money that is. People and services abound when the sky is the limit.

  Dev and Chaz sit in a musty office in one of the very old buildings on the island. Dev leans toward Chaz and speaks softly. “It smells here.”

  “A lot of buildings in Venice smell like this. Kind of dank and damp.”

  “Buongiorno,” the Italian attorney greets Dev and Chaz, hurriedly arriving in the office. “I think you have a very tired consigliere in America. Is . . . very early there, no?”

  “Yes, it is,” Dev says. “And I think he was up very late.”

  “Si, si. You have the documentos, no?”

  “Right here,” Dev says, patting his messenger bag.

  “Ah, va bene,” the Italian says. “I make duplicati, transmit them electronically to America, and you take the originales with you, si?”

  “Si, signori.”

  A short time later, Dev and Chaz are back outside, walking around Venice. “So,” Dev says, “I heard you say you want to go to Paris.”

  “Ever been there?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, you have to see Paris. Do you speak French?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Chaz smiles. “Well, fortunately for you, I do. That is, if you want to go.”

  Dev dials the charter company on his iPhone. “This is Dev Caelestis . . . It was fine, thank you . . . We’d like to go to Paris.” The short phone call concludes as effortlessly as it began. “Let me call you back.” Dev ends the call and looks at Chaz. “Apparently, you pilots require sleep?”