Copyright © 1998, 2011 by Donald Everett Axinn
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
ISBN: 978-1-61145-632-5
BOOKS BY DONALD EVERETT AXINN
POETRY
Sliding down the Wind
The Hawk’s Dream and Other Poems
Against Gravity
The Colors of Infinity
Dawn Patrol
The Latest Illusion
FICTION
Spin
The Ego Makers
This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents, Ann and Mike, who introduced me to a world of awe and excitement, one filled with almost endless possibilities.
And to my best brother, Calvin, for encouraging me to create the relationship between Henry and Steven as I have, which is nothing like ours.
And to my wife, Joan: I’m grateful for her patience, criticism, support, love, and friendship.
Is not this great Babylon, that I have built?
DANIEL 4:30
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In creating this story I was helped with the legal aspects by several sharp attorneys: the real Steve Apthaker, Sam Yedid, and that student of human nature: Joan Axinn.
Technical information regarding real estate transactions for the period were critiqued by the real Frank Sullivan; Ken Katzman reviewed the tax aspects and implications. The flying actions and events were verified by three professional pilots: Craig Sampson, Greg Galuso, and Neal Almond. The Sicilian spoken in the 1940s was furnished by my Italian “teacher,” Jo Geluso. And, thanks again to Roger Straus III.
I am grateful to my assistants Tina Rogovin and Dianne Francis for their hard work, suggestions, and patience.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
During the 1980s, real estate developers in New York could do little wrong. Demand for space was strong, rents kept going up, and the banks battled with one another to provide the loans. Real estate resembled a runaway stock market. There was, however, one crucial difference: stocks and bonds can be bought and sold on the spot; new buildings take years to plan, finance, erect, and lease.
The real estate crisis and the savings and loan debacle almost brought the country to its knees. Many developers failed and are gone; some survived the collapse. The excesses that caused the crisis are still very much present, disguised perhaps, but there.
The characters in this novel are based upon actual people and events from those tumultous days. But I would remind readers that this is a work of fiction, and that any absolute identification between real people and events and those portrayed here could be a mistake.
Part 1
You are what your deep, driving desire is.
As your desire is, so is your will
As your will is, so is your deed.
As your deed is, so is your destiny.
Brihadaranyaka Upanishad
IV.4.5
1
THEY what” I shouted into the phone. “They won’t sign the lease? Damn it, Steve, we agreed to every one of their demands, including that additional two months’ rent concession! Sonofabitch! And that on top of a year’s free rent!” My fingers grabbed the top sheet of notes from the thick folder marked “Standard General Corporation” and crunched it into a ball. “What’s Hollick doing about it?”
“How should I know what our hotshot broker is doing?” I heard Steve sigh. “They said they were genuinely sorry, but they’re renewing with their present landlord. Gave me some lame-brained excuse about a board member’s golf chum bragging about a fantastic lease he had just signed. So this clown calls Jordan, and naturally Jordan starts checking around. No way he’s going to stand up to the board for our deal. Not with the lousy profits they’ve projected for next year.”
For a few seconds, silence stretched between us.
“These bastards assured us we were done negotiating. Didn’t you remind them of that?” I stood up, as if ready to spring, or start round ten.
“Another problem, little brother,” Steve said, ignoring my question. “Yedid, their current landlord, has matched our price. And he said he’d take over any existing leases they had with us or anyone else. Where the hell is he getting the dough? I told them not to fall for that bait-and-switch game. I said we couldn’t improve on our offer or give them a lower rent, but that we’d try to come up with a good answer. Henry,1 had to say something.” He sounded less than convincing.
I pounded the desk with my right hand. The phone, which I was balancing precariously between my shoulder and head, slipped loose. I caught it in midair. I should have gone in myself. Steve was too fucking passive. Panics in a crisis. And in 1989, developing commercial office buildings was no longer a slam-dunk.
Inwardly I was seething, but went on coolly, as if responding to bad weather information from an aviation weather briefer. “Can you get in to see Jordan? No, wait. What about Phelan? As chairman, he could order Jordan to close the deal with us, and also square it with the board.”
“Henry, be realistic. You know Phelan’s getting ready to retire. He won’t rock the boat. Besides, Jordan would really get pissed off if I went over his head.”
“Look, Steve, Phelan dislikes Jordan, right? Hates his guts, in fact. Wasn’t really his man for president. They pressured him into it. Phelan would like a way to get even.”
“You don’t know that. Suppose you’re wrong?” That sounded familiar, like the gotcha or catch-22 Steve used whenever he had the chance.
“What the hell do we have to lose? Turn lemons into lemonade. You know as well as I do, if we don’t close this deal, Federated Bank will pull the chain. We’re on the note personally.”
“I am certainly aware of that!” Steve said. “You didn’t have to add another project in Montvale! Or buy that land in Greenwich.” Another swipe. “You never goddamn listen to me, do you?”
“This isn’t the time, Steve, or the place. Let’s focus on trying to close the lease with Standard General. Unfortunately, I gave out some of the work, believing …” I didn’t finish; he wouldn’t be receptive to the details.
“Great! You’d better undo any commitments, because this deal doesn’t look like it’s going down,” he said tightly. “Ill talk to Jordan. Tell him he can’t make that other deal.”
“That’s not the way. Stay put, FH be there In less than an hour.”
“Traffic,’ Steve said. “You stay put. I can handle this.”
Maybe he could. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t have talent. He just didn’t have the drive to finish the job. No killer instinct.
“Look,” I said, “you know my relationship with Phelan. All those dinners and golf games. I’ll come in by air.”
“You’d better think about selling that helicopter, Henry,’ Steve said. “The
toys and goodies go first.”
“If I had listened to you, Steve baby, we’d still be piddling around doing shitty general contracting. Dad wanted us to make this company into one of the big players. Well, we have.” I glanced at my watch. ‘We’ve been through recessions before, and came out stronger. Remember ‘82? I was right about starting those buildings on spec.” I took a deep breath. “Look, Steve, let’s not fight, all right?”
Roslyn, Long Island, 1951
Roslyn Village’s park sloped down gradually between two hills, the terrain rolling gently like a great English lawn. A small stream, the remnant of an ancient river, terminated at Hempstead Harbor. In colonial days a gristmill harnessed the waterpower. A century or more later, that building had been restored on Northern Boulevard, Route 25A, the single east-west road through town. Above the lake several man-made ponds had been created, with benches around them. The park was filled with fine oaks and beech, willows and maples, pines and hawthorns. Footbridges spanned the stream that flowed into a small lake, at the end of which was the gristmill. Swans inhabited the lake, their nests carefully hidden in the cattails. Mallards, blacks, and a few Pekin ducks could be heard chattering away in the large pond that had a path surrounding it. The Canada geese thrived so well many gave up migrating.
Jake and Barbara Martin loaded Steven and Henry into their Olds station wagon for the day’s adventure. It was a crisp October day, the sky a sharp, lively blue. Barbara was in great spirits. “My three men, “ she trilled, humming, as they turned north down Roslyn Road from Horace Harding Boulevard.
The boys played contentedly in the backseat; Steve kneaded his Play-Doh and Henry divided his time between his drawing book, stroking the back of his father s head, and watching cars and buildings. “Beat that one, Daddy. “ It sounded more like a command than a request.
They arrived at the park, carrying or dragging — depending upon who had what — the ingredients for the picnic. Barbara placed various containers —plates, glasses, and napkins — on a picnic table and then spread a blanket on the ground. “Cold pasta, bologna and provolone sandwiches. But you have to eat your carrots and celery, or else no dessert. “ When she looked away, Henry shoved the carrots and celery into his pocket.
“Mommy,” Steven announced, “Fm not eating mine if he doesn’t eat his. “ Henry stared at Steven then hit him on the back and ran from the table, Steven in pursuit, his parents observing the scene.
A frustrated Steven returned shortly. “He stinks. He stinks! I hate him."
“Steven,” his father said, “Henry shouldn’t have hidden the carrots in his pocket. But he hit you because you tattled on him. Isn ‘t that right?” Jake rose and turned to look for Henry.
‘Yes, but it all started because Henry wasn ‘t doing what I told him to, “ said Barbara.
“Okay, you’re right. You find Henry. Steven and I will feed the ducks,” Jake said.
They walked down the slope, where they found Henry busily grandstanding for a little girl. “Look,” he announced, “Fm not afraid.” He leapt from one large rock to another, then to the ground, rolling over in a somersault.
“C’mon, showoff” his father yelled, “over to the pond. The ducks are waiting for us!” Henry bounced up, began to run, but turned and waved back at the little girl.
At the pond’s edge, they all held pieces of bread in their hands. Ducks swam toward them, assembling for the feast. The geese remained nearby, cautious but ready to pick up scraps. The boys laughed and shouted as they threw the bread, the scramble now including several obstreperous gulls.
Henry stood on one foot, balancing himself, and tossed pieces as if he were shooting basketballs. He was unaware of his gracefulness, but it did not escape his father s attention. Steven glanced up, saw his father s grin of approval, ran over to Henry, and shoved him. Henry landed in the pond, up to his hips. Swiftly, he grabbed for Stevens legs, caught one, and pulled him in.
“Stop that, Henry! his mother yelled. “Jake, pull them out!”
When they were lifted, dripping, onto the grass, Henry slugged his brother, who hit him back. Jake pulled them apart. “Enough of that! Don t make me have to take off my belt!”
Barbara ran down to the pond and cuddled Steven in her arms. “I think we should just go home, “ she said, on the verge of tears.
“What about me, Mommy?” Henry said, pouting. “Why do you always take care of him?” But his mother was still rocking Steven, who was whimpering. Henry compressed his lips, slapped his hand against his leg, turned, and ran toward the car.
Barbara stood up, leaving Steven wrapped in the picnic blanket. As she and Jake gathered up the half-eaten picnic, she turned to him and said quietly, “It’s only going to get worse. We have to do something. “
“All kids fight when they’re young. They’ll get closer later on, you'll see. “ Jake looked at Barbara, hoping to find if not agreement at least understanding. But he found neither.
“I hope so, “she said, shaking her head. “They are so different… so very different. “
I hung up, slipped on my jacket, which was tailor-made and fit perfectly. At six-one and 175 pounds, I worked hard to keep fit. I was forty-four and aware the lines In my boyish face had deepened, but I also knew It enhanced my appeal. My hair was still thick and soft. Hints of gray seemed washed in like the frost on the edges of leaves In late fall; It only enhanced the Image of a dashing young — well, not quite that young — tycoon.
I flipped on the intercom. “Dianne, ask Craig to get the bird ready for a hop into Manhattan. Ill be there in fifteen, no, ah, twelve minutes. Oh, and Dianne, call MacDougall at the bank. He’s in Melville today. Tell him I have to cancel. No, wait. Ask him If he can make It tomorrow or Thursday. And change anything else I have scheduled.”
“Fine, Mr. Martin,’ she said with a lilt In her voice. “I’ll make Mr. MacDougall feel it’ll be the best lunch hell ever have. Your tennis club?”
“No, Glen Pointe. The atmosphere at the golf club is more toney. Thanks, Dianne.”
Instead of waiting for the elevator, I raced down the five flights of stairs. The first call I would make from my car would be to John Phelan. I didn’t want Dianne to set up an appointment; Tina, Phelan’s assistant, would probably turn her down. But I knew I had charmed Tina Schräger often enough, and this was payoff time. As I unlocked my car I glanced up to check the weather.
Experienced pilots analyze the conditions they have to contend with, and years of practice make the habit instinctive. That morning, the sun was draped with thick gauze, following the forecast for heavy humidity and lousy visibility for this late-May day.
I quickly closed the car door. I decided the weather shouldn’t present any problems for my Jet Ranger. Glad it’s not the thirtieth, I thought, with a shiver. Never fly on the thirtieth. That was the day Clancy was killed.
I called Phelan on my cellular phone and told Tina it was critical that I see him. She said he was tied up, but she would tell him.
The second call was back to my brother. “Steve, I forgot one thing. Jerry Hollick has to get more involved. Johnson and Amoruso are among the biggest brokers in the business. And Hollick’s commission is damn near three million bucks. Tell him we’ll improve the payout, fifty percent on occupancy, the balance in twelve months.” That should get him to move his ass, I thought. Probably sharing some of it with Jordan. I could care less.
‘You’re forgetting something, kiddo,” Steve said. “Hollick’s also the broker for our competitors. Gets his commission either way. A lease extension with those guys is a helluva lot easier for him than making a new deal with us. Plus their attorneys were Yale classmates. ‘Nuffsaid.”
“C’mon, Steve, that’s ‘twosies.’ First we have to get them off that other deal. For Chrissake, don’t always be so damn negative. Besides, Hollick’s commission with us is larger. He knows that. Oh, never mind, I’ll call him myself from the chopper.” I waited for a response, which didn’t come. “I’m sorry about wha
t I just said. It’s just that well be in deep shit if we don’t get Three-Fifty-Five leased.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Steve replied coldly. “Ten thousand bucks a day. A huge drain on our cash flow. Ari collared me yesterday, by the way. With all our other vacancies plus the land we’re carrying, he doesn’t know where the hell to get the money to cover the deficit. Oh, I might as well mention, he added that you’re not keeping him informed.” Another jab in the ribs.
“Steve, you know I’m involved in a million things. Like settling refinancings. The Montvale III building. Hey, are you guys working with or against me?” I decided to stop beating the moribund horse. “Listen, I have to go. I’m pulling in to the heliport. Will you pick me up in the city?”
“Better get yourself a cab,” Steve said curtly. “I'll do what I can here.”
Let him win the small ones, I thought. I jumped out of the car at the heliport entrance, saw the blades of my helicopter rotating slowly, and waved to my pilot, Craig Sampson. I dashed into the waiting room and tossed my keys to the receptionist. “Sorry, I have an emergency. Would you ask one of the guys to park my car?”
“No problem, Mr. Martin.” Shirley Dennison’s red hair curved artfully around her face and shoulders, which showed through her sheer pink blouse. When she got up from behind the counter and walked across the lobby or down the hall, which she did fairly often, the eyes of every man in the area followed her. She had hinted to me more than once that she wouldn’t mind hitching a chopper ride with me. That would be very nice, was my first thought. But I suspected she was trouble. One of the pilots mentioned that she got a particular charge pursuing married men, then dropping them after they had left their wives.
A lineman held the door to the helicopter. Double white arrows ran the length of the fuselage, ending with attractive script letters forming “The Martin Companies.” The logo was displayed next to the name: double triangles with crossed arrows that formed an X. Beneath was, “Form Follows Function,” and “Founded 1946.”
The Ego Makers Page 1
