Alligators in the Trees (32 page)

Philip was still on the phone when she reentered his office. He seemed a bit frazzled but his tone was steady. Priscilla idly gazed at his incredible views while she waited for him to finish up.

“Yes, I realize that. Like I said, my problem is not with Atillian Ready Mix. Sure, I totally understand. All right, then…we’ll talk tomorrow. Thanks for your help.” Philip hung up the phone and stretched mightily in his chair.

“Good news?” Priscilla asked cautiously, as she came away from the window. The smile on Philip’s face confirmed her guess.

“He’s going to have to do some research to confirm it, but he says they were using admixtures in all their projects during that time frame. Coincidentally, it was the same admixture that was used on Jack Cafferty’s project.” He sat stock-still for a moment before jumping out of his chair.

“I can’t believe this!” he exclaimed, his elation too great to suppress. “Do you know what this means? This means I have a fighting chance now. Cafferty’s going to save his building, and by God, so am I!” He threw his arms around Priscilla so fast, she didn’t see it coming. She stood there, crushed to his chest, reluctantly allowing herself to be infected by his jubilation.

“This is amazing!” he said, as he released her. Priscilla couldn’t help but laugh along with him as he marveled over his good fortune.

“I don’t have any doubt that an admixture is at fault for what happened to the caissons. And because this is a freak problem completely out of the realm of my control, I won’t have to hang my head and take the blame for what happened. I will be vindicated and I will get my career back on track,” he vowed once more, with greater conviction.

“But…it’s going to require a lot of work,” he amended, becoming suddenly serious. “There are so many bases to cover. I better make a list.” As Priscilla was closer to his desk than he was, she reached over and grabbed a pen and a pad of paper.

“Shoot,” she said, poised for dictation. The sight of Priscilla in her customary pose caused Philip a momentary pause. “Hey, this is one thing I know how to do, remember?” she said with a playful smile, as she perched herself on the corner of his desk.

“Okay…well, this won’t be in any particular order, but here goes: contact City Hall and get the demolition stopped. That is definitely priority number one. Contact the insurance company and advise them of this development. There’s no reason to be in settlement mode if this problem can be corrected. Get the word out through the papers. They were always eager to hear what I had to say in the good old days. Even though bad news sells better, no one can resist a resurrection story. ‘Will The Phoenix Rise Again?’ They ought to love that. Stay on the people at Boyce—make sure we get those test results ASAP. And find out exactly what help they are offering to avoid a protracted lawsuit. Am I going too fast for you?” he asked Priscilla, who was mouthing the words as she raced to catch up.

“Got it,” she said, looking up for further instructions.

“Call Jack Cafferty—I want to watch his progress closely. Contract that Norwegian outfit and get that deal lined up. I still can’t believe they can actually hoist up a building and retrofit the caissons. Amazing.” Philip’s stream of consciousness halted abruptly as he stood transfixed.

“Whew! My mind’s just swimming,” he said, coming out of his reverie. “What else is there?” he said, thinking out loud.

“You’ve got your own attorneys working on this, don’t you? You probably should let them know what’s going on,” Priscilla said.

“Right. Got to put a stop to that clock until we see how all this is going to play out. It’ll be interesting to see how far Boyce Industries is willing to go to make things right. I’ve incurred legal fees up the wazoo over this problem—their problem. I need to start thinking of it as their problem, not mine.

“I’m going to have to put a lot of time and effort into reestablishing my former contacts and repairing my reputation. That’s why it’s so important to get the press involved immediately. I’m going to play that card for all it’s worth. In fact, I’m going to call my old contacts at the
Times
and
Post
right now.”

“Are you sure you’re not jumping the gun here?” Priscilla asked. “I know it’s hard to hold back, but maybe it’s better to wait until you get concrete proof—excuse the pun—before you get the media involved,” she reasoned. Philip thought about this and replaced the receiver.

“You’re right. I’ve got enough to sort out prior to that, anyway. I guess maybe I should call the staffing agency and get a permanent staff together. I’m going to have to rebuild this firm from the ground up.”

Priscilla could tell by the expression on Philip’s face his thoughts were coming faster than he could get a net over them. His eyes were wandering and his jaw twitched as he tried to come to grips with all the ramifications of what he had learned that day.

“Congratulations, Phil,” she said, bringing him back to reality. “Looks like you’re going to make good on your promise.” Philip gazed at her solemnly, overwhelmed by her words.

“It’s all because of you,” he said at length.

“No, it isn’t, Phil. Whatever small part I played by bringing the article to your attention is only incidental. You would’ve discovered all this on your own eventually.”

“Eventually would’ve been way too late to save The Phoenix. Sure, I might’ve been able to salvage my reputation to some degree if I’d discovered this admixture problem after The Phoenix came down. But to be honest with you, I don’t know if I would’ve still had the stomach for my profession. You not only spared me that horror, you’ve given me heart. I know I’ve been given the rare opportunity to right a wrong and vindicate myself. I can’t tell you how important this is to me.”

Priscilla felt a lump building in her throat. She wanted to say something glib, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“In any event, we need to celebrate,” Philip said, changing the subject for Priscilla’s sake. “You name it, we’ll do it,” he said. “What will it be? I’ve got Caitlin tonight, so it should probably be something kid friendly, but—”

“How ’bout putting me on a train?” Priscilla suggested. There was no hint of jest in her tone.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Philip gasped, stunned.

“Serious as a heart attack, Phil.”

“But…but…”

“The other night at dinner, you convinced me to postpone my departure because you couldn’t make good on your pledge to get your career back on track if you were worrying about me—”

“That’s exactly right—”

“Well, you’ve found the cause of The Phoenix’s collapse and you’re on your way to reclaiming your career. You don’t need me anymore,” Priscilla concluded, easing off the desk. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now I want to go.”

Philip’s face looked as though it were going to crumble and dissolve right before her eyes. “Phil, cheer up! You’ve got your life back,” she said, walking over to the table where she had laid her bag.

“Yes,
maybe
…that still remains to be seen,” he hedged. “But you’re wrong in saying I don’t need you any longer. I need you even more now.”

Priscilla threw him a skeptical glance. “No you don’t, Phil. You’ve got a perfect roadmap right here to guide you through the process of saving your building and getting back on your feet,” she maintained, waving his list of tasks as proof. “If I’m lucky, maybe some of your good fortune will rub off on me when I’m down in Florida, starting a new life,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Philip couldn’t believe she was ready to walk out on him and leave forever, just like that—no preamble, no warning. “Priscilla, wait—don’t do anything rash here,” he pleaded urgently. “A lot has happened today, and I think we both need to sit down and reevaluate the situation.”

“You mean a lot has happened to
you
. My situation is exactly the same as when I got up this morning. I’m two days behind schedule on my move south,” she said, crossing her arms in an unyielding manner.

“Ah, but see, this could be a sign,” Philip said eagerly. “Your plan didn’t come off the way you thought it would, and why? Because the real course you’re meant to take is an altogether different one,” he concluded excitedly. Priscilla sighed, annoyed by Philip’s endless, self-serving optimism.

“Oh really? And what, pray tell, is this alternate course I’m suppose to take? Could it possibly involve staying here and making encouraging noises while you reclaim your former glory?” she asked, her tone callous with sarcasm.

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of you remaining in the greatest city in the world and starting a fulfilling and exciting new life for yourself by becoming my assistant. I can offer a handsome salary and great benefits,” he said, laying on the hard sell.

“Phil…I’ll give you an A for tenacity,” she said, sinking down onto the arm of a chair and shaking her head wearily. “But in this case, it’s not going to do you any good.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice rising in his distress. “Tell me one thing wrong with that idea.”

“It’s your idea, not mine—that’s what’s wrong with it. I have an idea of my own, one I happen to like a lot, one I’m very much looking forward to putting into action,” Priscilla said, standing up to underscore her intent.

“But what does Florida have to offer that you can’t find right here?”

“Don’t even start, Phil,” she warned, turning to leave.

“All right, all right. I’m sorry,” Philip said, scrambling to head her off before she reached the door. “Okay, no more Florida bashing. And you’re right. You’ve got your own plans and I have no business trying to talk you out of them,” he said, bringing her march to a halt.

“Good,” Priscilla said tentatively, still not convinced Philip was willing to concede so easily. “Then we can say goodbye and remain friends,” she said, testing his sincerity.

“Absolutely. In fact, I’ll do better than that. I’ll go online right this minute and purchase you the airplane ticket I promised you,” he said, making for his desk.

“No, Phil—I don’t want to fly. Thanks for the offer, but I’m actually looking forward to the train ride. I know it’ll be a lot longer, but it will give me a chance to prepare for everything that lies in front of me.”

“Okay, I’ll buy you a train ticket. Penn Station, right?”

“That’s right. The train I bought a ticket for left at 5:35,” she said, looking over Philip’s shoulder as he brought up the website.

“Destination?”

“Miami.”

“Okay. There it is. Now, I’d like to do two things…”

“What?” Priscilla asked suspiciously.

“I’d like to buy you a roundtrip ticket—just hear me out—open ended, which you can use if you find all that sunshine gives you a headache, or turn in for a refund, whichever. But in either case, you win. Okay?”

“What’s the second thing?”

“That we book it for tomorrow.” Priscilla, who had been leaning against Philip’s desk, sprang to attention as he said this.

“No way.”

“Look, you’re acting impulsively. That tells me you want to take the plunge before you lose your nerve.” Priscilla backed away from him, eyes narrowed in distrust.

“All I’m saying is if you are really dead-set on leaving, you’re going to feel the same way tomorrow. Stay one more night so I can take you out for a final goodbye dinner. I don’t mean to split hairs, but if I remember correctly, you initially agreed to stay three days and it’s only been two. Besides, Caitlin would be crushed if you left town without saying goodbye to her.

“Oh my gosh! I totally forgot the time. Caitlin’s school let out ten minutes ago! There’ll be hell to pay if Marianne hears about this. Come with me—we can continue this debate in the car,” he said, shepherding Priscilla out of his office. “I swear I’ll drop you at the station if you insist. Scout’s honor.”

Grudgingly, Priscilla fell in step, her teeth gnashing as she berated herself for being so easily manipulated. She wouldn’t be getting on any train tonight; she knew that as sure as she knew alligators inhabited the Sunshine State.

“Moo Goo Gai Pan, Moo Goo Gai Pan,” Caitlin repeated over and over, fascinated by the sound of it.
“Moo Goo Gai Pan,”
she tried again, loudly, affecting a Chinese accent this time.

“Shhh,”
Philip cautioned her, glancing about nervously to see if her imitation had earned them any nasty looks. “Here, drink your Shirley Temple,” he said, pushing the garishly garnished drink in front of her.

“Look, Daddy—I’ve got an umbrella. Now I can stay dry in case it starts raining inside the restaurant,” she said, holding the tiny paper parasol above her head.

“What’s making you so silly tonight?” Philip asked, slightly peeved by his daughter’s animated behavior. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have bothered him, but so far he’d had little time to persuade Priscilla to change her plans—permanently, if he had his way. Far from having a sobering effect on her, Caitlin roared with laughter at her father’s admonishment.

Priscilla, enjoying Caitlin’s antics, especially for the fact they were getting on Philip’s nerves, giggled softly as she sucked on her diet coke. Philip shot her a look—at once stern and perplexed—but Priscilla merely smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “she’s your kid, not mine.”

“Anyway, as I started to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Philip began, turning his attention back to Priscilla, “I just want you to remember that if at any time you feel like you’ve made a mistake, you’ve always got a job here waiting for you.”

It was a heartfelt appeal, meant to soften Priscilla to the point that she gave up her stupid idea of moving to Florida once and for all. It did not gratify him in the least to find her on the brink of hysterical laughter. He looked over at his daughter, discovering the reason why. Caitlin had unwrapped her chopsticks and had them protruding from her mouth like giant tusks.

“Caitlin! Get those things out of your mouth!” he hissed, making an unsuccessful attempt to extract the chopsticks from their moorings. Caitlin sat far back in her chair, chopsticks snug and secure in her mischievous grin.

While Philip’s attention was diverted from her, Priscilla took the opportunity to fit herself with a pair of exaggerated canines, causing Caitlin to convulse with laughter. She fought to keep her sticks in place while Priscilla smiled serenely.

Philip, slow to follow what his dinner companions were up to, belatedly realized he had been outnumbered. Giving up his role as parent and adult, he hid his face behind a napkin, only to pull it away with a dramatic flourish once he had his chopsticks in place.

Priscilla held her dignity, hard as it was, and Caitlin, being a quick study, finally managed to stifle her mirth. Philip, acting once again the sober patriarch, sat proudly erect with his wooden incisors dangling from his prim smile.

Without warning, a flurry of waiters appeared with overloaded plates of foods, causing Philip to freeze with mortification. He sat, stoic and unflinching, as the waiter announced the various dishes. The girls, delighting in his discomfort, barely controlled themselves, fighting back their laughter until the waiters left them.

Though the staff had been aloof enough to not stare at their odd patrons, the trio’s antics had not gone unnoticed. But instead of plucking his chopsticks from his mouth in embarrassment, Philip gamely wriggled his mouth from side to side, making them dance wildly about until one shook loose and fell to his plate.

The hilarity of such a sight was too much for Caitlin to bear; she laughed so hard, she quickly lost both her chopsticks. Priscilla, the only one with her fangs securely in place, grinned broadly, making her sticks jut out the sides of her mouth like comic whiskers.

By this time, Philip and Caitlin had abandoned all pretense of self-control. Caitlin was barely visible over the table top, having slid halfway down in her chair, nearly strangling on her convulsive laughter. Even Philip’s normally unshakeable composure had surrendered to a barrage of frenzied gasps and wheezes.

Priscilla casually removed her chopsticks when she became conscious of the attention their behavior was attracting. She calmly dished Kung Pao Shrimp, Lemon Chicken and Moo Goo Gai Pan all around, allowing time for Philip and his daughter to pull themselves together.

Though they managed to get through their meal without further embarrassing displays, the evening had irrevocably shaken its serious tone. Even if Philip wanted to broach the subject of Priscilla’s imminent departure, he would’ve had an uphill battle.

The talk at their table had deteriorated to pure nonsense, from entire conversations carried on in faux Chinese, to in-depth examinations and multiple interpretations of all six fortune cookies.

It became apparent to Philip that throwing herself in collusion with Caitlin was Priscilla’s way of coping with what lay ahead of her, while effectively sidestepping the pressure he had been putting on her. He forced himself to act more aloof and carefree, though inside he was verging on a state of mourning.

“You’re so
lucky!
” Caitlin said when her father announced Priscilla’s plans. “You could go to Disneyworld every single day, if you wanted to,” she said, hanging over the side of Priscilla’s seat. “I wish
I
could move to Florida,” she said, shooting her father a look of longing.

“Sit back and put your seatbelt on,” he ordered, not at all happy with her hearty endorsement. She was just a kid; how could she know that Florida was the graveyard for adult minds?

In her childish fantasies, theme parks and aquatic diversions abounded. Little did she know the banal pleasure-seeking activities had to satisfy a person from youth to old age. There was no culture there, for crying out loud. How could an ex-New Yorker ever be content with an endless cycle of sun and sand and nightclubs for the rest of her existence?

“Can we?” Caitlin pestered, perturbed by her father’s lack of response.

“Can we what?”

“Can we go visit Priscilla in Florida? She’ll go to Disneyworld with us. She said so, didn’t you Priscilla?”

“Sure. If you and your dad come down to Florida sometime, we can meet up there.”

“Priscilla’s not going to be living near Disneyworld,” Philip said, bursting Caitlin idyllic vision.

“You’re not?” she asked incredulously.

“No, I’m moving further south, to the Florida Keys.”

“Oh,” Caitlin said, before falling silent as she grappled with the idea of moving to Florida and not being close to the Magic Kingdom.

Philip had the good fortune of finding a parking spot a few spaces down from The Essex. He maneuvered his vehicle with exaggerated care, drawing out his final moments with Priscilla. When he could stall no longer, he instructed his daughter to say goodbye.

“’Bye,” she said a little sadly, as she leaned forward and put her small hand in Priscilla’s. “If I give you my address, will you write to me?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll give it to her, Pumpkin,” Philip said, getting out of the car. He opened the door for Priscilla, who emerged rather sheepishly. She had been dreading this moment all evening. As soon as she was on both feet, Philip took her hand, depositing a wad of bills in it.

“What is this?” Priscilla asked, confused and a bit irritated by the sight of so much cash.

“For your train fare.”

“But…this is too much.”

“Take it.”

“No, Phil—I don’t like the idea of taking your money,” she said, shoving it back at him.

“Look, I promised if you changed your plans and stayed to give me moral support, I’d buy you a first class airplane ticket. This is less than what that would’ve cost.”

“But—”

“You held up your end of the bargain. You should let me do the same,” he argued. Priscilla demurred.

“Yeah, but this feels weird to me.”

“Don’t be silly. Take it. You certainly don’t need to be out-of-pocket any more on my account.” Priscilla hung her head, uncomfortable with this accounting process. “You’re going to need all you can get if you’re going to make a go of it down there. Sure, rents are probably a lot cheaper, but think of all the money you’ll be spending on sunscreen.”

Priscilla had to laugh. She had never known anyone who could take his dislike of a particular state to such a comic level. Her laughter made Philip smile, despite his misgivings.

“You know you can call me if there’s anything you need,” he said. He restrained himself from making any more pledges. He had said them all before. Priscilla nodded, head down, confused by the feeling of regret that had suddenly come over her. Saying goodbye had never been difficult for her before. She was startled out of her conflicting emotions by a rapping on the glass.

“Don’t forget to give her my address,”
Caitlin shouted through the closed window.

“Oh, right,” Philip said, patting his pockets. “Do you have anything to write on?” Priscilla reached into her bag and brought out her ever-present notebook. He wrote down his current and former addresses, as well as his cell phone and office numbers, just in case she lost his cards.

“Well, you have a safe journey,” he said, handing the notebook back to her with all the dignity he could muster.

“Thanks, I will.”

“Okay, then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Phil,” Priscilla said, executing a quick but cordial embrace. “Thank you for everything.” Philip nodded, tightlipped, turning to go. “Phil, I just want to say that knowing you was the nicest thing that happened to me in this town.”

The words sounded less sincere than they were meant to. Philip acknowledged them with a wistful smile before disappearing behind his Range Rover. Caitlin waved enthusiastically from the front seat.

Priscilla waved back, a jolly smile covering the rush of foreboding that had besieged her like a conquering army. Why did it feel wrong to want what she wanted? She turned her back on Philip and his daughter, walking through the entrance of her hotel to put finality to this severed relationship.

Once inside, Priscilla ducked out of view and waited until she was certain Philip had gone. She pushed back through the revolving door and turned to the left, walking briskly. She was amply glad her evening with Philip and his daughter had come to an end, but there was no way she could possibly sit in her hotel room, staring at the four walls all night, waiting for the sleep that would surely elude her.

She slowed her pace as she came upon a place named The Curtain Call, a neighborhood bar with grandiose airs. She felt a magnetic pull as she drew near the door, propped open to take advantage of the mild spring evening.

In the amber glow, she glimpsed further association to the Theater District in the framed eight-by-ten glossy photographs of famous actors that covered virtually every inch of wall space. The crowd, life-long patrons by the looks of them, glanced her way with tepid curiosity as she entered and walked the length of the bar, taking a stool that afforded a comfortable two-stool buffer between her and the others.

Though she was not really one to hang out in bars with sad, lonely drunks, she had chosen this place as being perfectly agreeable to the task she had in mind. Once and for all, she would capture on paper the blissful sensation that takes hold after the first few sips of a cocktail.

For years, she had struggled to dissect the elusive state that convinces brain and body the apex of cleverness and attractiveness had been reached, and the wittiness and clarity which one possesses in that particular moment is always accessible, if one could firmly grasp the essence of such an epiphany and hang on tightly. Priscilla was determined tonight would be the night she cracked the code; wasn’t she on the brink of a watershed event?

Surely, with nothing to distract her, and with the emptiness of liberty to aid her, she would seize that fleeting frame of mind—somewhere between stone sober and wholly inebriated—and wrest it to the page, exposing the mystery of it forever. But first she had to make her mind a complete blank so no thoughts would interfere and cause her to stray from her course, as had always been the case in the past.

“What can I get you?” asked the aging bartender, as he laid a napkin down in front of her.

“A Manhattan,” she said without a moment’s hesitation, though she had never in her life had one. It was appropriate, if nothing else, to order the famous cocktail on her last night in the drink’s namesake. Besides, it was sophisticated, old fashioned and definitely potent enough to see her straight to her goal.

“How do you want it?” the bartender asked as he reached for a bottle of bourbon, a low-end brand that almost guaranteed a headache.

“Up, and make it Jack Daniels,” Priscilla said as she set her bag on the bar and rifled through it for her pen and notebook. She was not going to let the magic moment slip by unrecorded this time.

She watched as the bartender shook her drink vigorously and poured the contents into a Martini glass. She slung the strap of her bag over one knee, making room for the lovely, dark honey-colored cocktail with the appealing red cherry at the bottom. Anything this pretty had to be good. With one glance, she was convinced it had the right chemical make up to induce crystalline revelations.

Priscilla took the glass by its dainty stem and lifted it slowly to her lips to prevent the contents from sloshing over. The first sip of the deceptively inviting substance shocked her tongue with its potency.

The whiskey, with its garnish of sweet vermouth, ravaged tongue and throat before landing with a burning thud in her stomach. She set the glass back down on the bar top while she catalogued the after-effects of her first Manhattan.

The burning sensation wore off quickly, replaced by a curious urge to sample the formidable cocktail again. She brought the glass to her lips, more steadily this time, and took an even braver sip. This time the effects registered in her legs, making them decidedly more relaxed, though in a rather alarming way.

She placed the glass back on the napkin, carefully setting it dead center. She ran her finger down the cool glass and stem. It was remarkable; one more sip would possibly do the trick. She opened the notebook to an unused page, took the cap off her ballpoint pen, and set it on top. She was ready. She lifted the glass to her lips a third time and took a long, languid sip, like a goodbye kiss to a lover she was leaving behind.