A Builder’s Tale - Chapter Fifty-Two
She’s fun and attractive
And rich to boot.
Banker Feely’s in Love.
Ain’t that a hoot?
In early March Wilson sits in Feely’s office… touching base. To his surprise, he has just learned that Feely, confirmed old-bachelor Feely, has met a woman… Something no one had thought would ever happen again! But it had. And the lady is, according to Feely… “wealthy, attractive,” … “smart, and fun”… “and nice to boot.” He hears this from an altered transformed Feely, sitting at his desk, glowing with his face shining and somehow appearing, lines-lost, wrinkles-departing, younger. The reason? … Perhaps it is that Feely is head over heels with love… Or maybe the glow is simply Feely, insecure, vain, worried and out of practice, lathering on the skin cream… And on top of his head too, because if a bald man’s head can shine with pleasure… then the glow emerging from Feely’s pate is that of a middle-aged man who has become aware of a possibility he had thought impossible, and then become besotted with that possibility… An incandescent light bulb’s yellow glow shining in a small, dirty windowed, cobwebbed, cerebral attic space… Half lit… Then suddenly switched on to reveal paths and doors and passage ways requiring years of neglected maintenance. Because Feely’s energized brain has become bright with the impossible possibility of love.
“And… Perhaps, it is serendipitous,” says Feely.
“Nice word,” says Wilson… as Feely searches for syllables… then continues. “Serendipitously… For You…Too… I’m thinking. She just sold her share of their ‘cottage’, her and her sibling’s… In the club, sold out to a sister.” Feely then seriously smiles, as Wilson stares back flat-faced without expression. “Hey… You!...You!...” Feely waves his hand in front of Wilson, who is gazing out the window. “Listen and Alert-Alert… Kitty will need a new place, one that will be more comfortable and modern with heat for the cold winters…And, new digs for me… maybe? And you! Work buddy, another Abernathy for lake Arnaud. She may want to build a house….”
“Does she have property?”
“You can find her a lot, with a design in mind,” says Feely, repeating “Another Abernathy,” and adding … “Might be a great project.”
“Working for you?” says Wilson.
A banker in love, how impossible. A banker in love, how contrived or problematic, opportunistic… perhaps contrite? A banker in love. A man must have a mission…money, lust, love, security, praise, redemption? For Feely… The finished mission, who can say… Probably not even Feely? But without question, he is smitten… Head over heels, middle age in love… and maybe love had exposed itself both as mission, opportunity, and possibly all at once… all three in one brief co-joined lights are flashing brain-splat moment… the reason he is now both surprised and shocked.
Alert, Alert… What had Ebeneezer Scrooge / Charles Dickens said of love… Bah and Humbug, just as he had said it of Christmas!
A Banker in love… A Cold fish of finance, a romantic? Oh, come now! And yet, Feely might have been a schoolboy as he told Wilson of his trepidatious joy. Did Wilson have any advice? To which, Wilson replied, the same thing he had said to Indian Dick the previous year.
“My advice would be unreliable, Feely. Haven’t you observed, What I know about women you can put in a sock…” Then laughing… “I am assuming you still can.”
“Blue pills,” said Feely… “blue pills.”
“Who is it? Do I know the lady?” said Wilson.
“Kitty Rottendorf.”
“Silver Gray hair, thin, pretty… assertive, secure in herself… that one?” asks Wilson. “Rottendorfs, the merchants? Weren’t they gobbled up? I cannot remember the last time I saw a Rottendorf, Nickel and Dime, or a catalogue.”
“The socialization of old money,” says Feely… “And they were, as you say, gobbled up… Soon, their brands will all belong to Berkshire Hathaway… Soon… Their business and their name will be only a part of history. But not their money. It remains very real. The family or its CFO, maybe their Trust’s official’s saw the writing on the wall… That, or it was luck. Anyway… They got out well…The Rottendorfs… The game today is to purchase the aging retailer and break it up for real estate and brands. Kitty explained her deal, and how her brothers recognized this and planned for it, negotiating for a percentage of the break ups and self-offs as and when they occurred.”
“I bet, and probably prescient, except for neglecting to preserve the pension funds of their workers. I suspect those vanished… went bye-bye.”
“Oh, yes… Certainly… their plundering would have been planned. They teach it in the Business Schools these days.”
“You got that right. Today, they sue you for bad management if you don’t plunder… MBA malpractice…” Imagining a conversation with some imaginary executive. “You went to Michigan, an MBA isn’t it?” … “What were you thinking, a leverage buyout and you didn’t take … You didn’t squeeze! What’s wrong with you?”
Feely chuckles… “You think? Protection… Workers… you must be kidding!”
“Nope. We are talking Robber Baron ethics and I’m imagining more money for the Rottendorfs, even as Kitty’s brothers… I remember now. I saw one of them on the TV, balding, round?”
“That would have been Lost, most likely…
“Lost Rottendorf?
“It’s a nickname.”
Wilson says nothing, then adds “you lost me…” then returning to his thought… “Anyway, they made them appear to be the good guys, the providers, the job creators… clever… Charlatans, of course…
“Her brothers learned from dad and granddad. Do you want some coffee?” Feely’s question is rhetorical as he is pressing the phone’s button before Wilson replies.
Almost immediately, the door opens and a bright cheery, going gray, I’ve got you fellows figured, female face, enters with coffee, breakfast rolls and a smile. “Morning boy’s will these do?” As she serves and departs, Feely thanks his secretary, and Wilson continues his thought.
“I understand our system… Feely. The destruction of America by its new American heroes and heroines of war and services and finance… Clinton’s Rubin… Assholes from Citibank, Wells Fargo and Goldman Sachs, unite! Or… That Credit card senator, Joe Biden… Or… No health care for you, Joe Lieberman. The Democrats have turned against the workingman with this globalization, we will all rule the world together, tech jobs for all, everyone along for the ride aboard this low paid, oligarch rent seeking boat… where everyone is a contract worker mini-executive, slave enterprise of theirs. The smart ones, old ones, wise ones? Some of them most know they’ve been engaged in fraud for Fatcats, that there was a reason for the crash and the one before that… them! Anyway, the USA. I don’t know Feely… it will not go on forever.”
“On that I agree with you,” says Feely. “Nothing lasts. But it will not harm Kitty. I don’t know if she supported screwing the employees or not. I suspect she did not even notice. But if you told her she’d care, maybe… But! It’s past tense for her. The family is no longer one bit productive. They have nothing to worry about. They’ve been Buffeted by fate… been happily and willingly, Berkshire Hathaway’ed. And with the miracle of debt, compound interest… With the leverage buyouts increasing, and guys like Chainsaw Al busy plundering America… Conservatively invested… Every damn one of the Rottendorfs will remain rich… riding out crash after crash, just like their daddies did. It’s the American way.”
Wilson raises his eyebrows, adding “And has been since they wrote that merchant’s constitution.”
as Feely embellishes. “Compound interest repeating… growing and expanding… Their tentacles still stretch, and will stretch, unbiased by party, into every administration… You will like Kitty! She’s a hoot. And… She knows the president and whoever will be the next one… just like her great grandfather did. The houses in that Club? Hers,” he pauses, “Now her sister’s… That Rottendorf cottage was built in the 1890s.”
Wilson contemplates the ‘hoot,’ wondering if he could like a Rottendorf with her evermore old money. Then he shudders. “A new election. A new President. Gore or Bush?”, as his thoughts move on. “I am thinking of returning to the mountains, late summer, once Daphne’s job is finished… I am not sure… I do not think so on that new house for your new lady, unless she wants to buy mine?”
“Your house,” says Feely, appearing to ponder, gazing upward as if in communication with God or his office ceiling fixture. “Someone will buy it. Eventually… They have to. It is too unique for no one to appreciate, not to mention that you built a giant sound stage.” Feely stares at Wilson. Then he smiles and winks. You were not trying to expand the market, were you, assuming that if you built it, they would buy it… they would come?”
“Are you thinking Kevin Costner or reminding me it is no Potato Head? And you’re correct… You win the Obvious Incite Prize of the Moment… The sound, yeah, its fantastic but, except for the resonating floor system, that great sound was accidental. I did not realize the way it would bounce and dance in that angled space.”
“You built what you wanted, thinking your taste would be in demand. It’s not.”
“I just paid for a photo spread in Northern Layers. That may help. Anyway, it is time for me to do something else, instead of houses… I think.”
“Mid-life crisis? Really? You cannot be real about this… You’re too good at it. It’s taken you years to build that reputation, not to mention your subs and suppliers… locate the talent, establish a team. I’ve watched.”
“I’ll find something else to be able at… expand, develop, find new abilities where I will not require any team or clients either. And that may take years, too… Life. It is a onetime travel, and I want to create something different, switch buses. This Stevens project, never again, I think. Never… No more Mighty Burger clods or clowns, no more dead clients, no more drunks weeping, no more!” He mock sighs and sweeps his brow.
“OK, ok. I got it. Probably knew it, already… Thou protest too much. Most people would seek security after so many years and houses.” Feely coughs, then continues. “Homes of distinction … Not to mention, you have just been in a disaster of a project, and you managed to keep it afloat. I understand, never again. But… At least examine the possibilities, … You need to meet Kitty. She doesn’t know anyone like you. Have us over to dinner. Maybe she will like your house and buy it.”
“Anytime.”
“She mentioned minimalist. I said I know just the man, and just the place… It would be a big design change from the club to your home, and it is probably too small. But, house or not, I want you to meet her. She’s the one, Wilson… I should not say it… bad luck… but she’s the one!”
“So was the last one, as I remember. How long’s it been?”
“Ten, eleven years. You know… I gave up.”
“Yes, you did, and Beauville watched, and when the gossip mill gets hold of you again, it will watch once more.”
“Let me know,” says Wilson. “Whenever, she, you, are around… One days’ notice and you’re invited.”
“Remember, I already own that house.”
“Part of it.”
“More or less… Yes. And more for you, depending on what you can peddle it for… I’ve told you. You should have built old-cottage style, like the club.
“And then you would not covet it, would you…?”
“Got me there,” says Feely.
“There’s always Grace’s bond trader. She said he was interested. And would that be weird.”
Feely nods in thought. Then he imagines a bidding war. But realizing that his new interests may quarrel with spending his future wife’s money to benefit Wilson, he does not mention it.
Saint Patrick’s day, March 17th, 2000.
No celestial gong sounds for the sprites and spirits of the world, even as the knowledge of mankind’s history has expanded. A history, according to the latest bones and the most recent cave paintings, now stretching back in time over a million years.
Sprites and spirits… Nope… this year, in Beauville… You will not find them any more than usual, which means imagined and or not at all. No Catskill Gnomes are visiting by way of Rip Van Winkle. Washington Irving never dumped them in Michigan, and the gnomes have not gone traveling. It is definite, leprechauns have not multiplied and resurrected and joined with their Dutch cousins to assemble dancing in the streets in particular recognition of the new millennium and thousands of years of repeated spring times. Imagine an insect hatch with new creatures bursting forth everywhere – This is not happening. No green swarm approaches.
So What! In Beauville, the planned festivities will be less than some years, no one will be dyeing the channel green, or trying to.
Who could afford it? Not the Ford dealership, this year. And who on the town council would choose to spend on green dye during this spring of belt tightening uncertainty with a fall election coming, when no one can predict how much summer trade will be returning… When no one is certain how much trouble they may be in? The winter traffic and trade has been slow, less than previous winters… A trend that might continue across the summer? It’s a flip of a coin, and the uncertainty has spread caution on the day… like ‘butter on toast’, with limited exuberance and inebriation acceptable and appropriate, but getting completely hammered -blotto…Life is wonderful… Not!
A man’s economic worries are largely the result of the economic milieu, the time and place and economic strata he exists and lives in. The severity of individual concern depending on family history, job situation, position and affluence combined with race, education, favoritism, ability, talent, and most important of all… Luck!
On this new millennium Saint Patrick’s Day, the workers on Chateau Daphne are not troubled. They have work, and they assume this will continue with the next job… Hopefully, again working for Wilson. But if not for Wilson, then employed by someone else, working on another large home, after Daphne’s is completed. If a craftsman has worked for Abernathy, his abilities are advertised by that employment. If a house is being built, Wilson’s workers are in demand.
He has told none of his employees of his thoughts of moving. Indian Dick senses change, but Wilson has purposely not mentioned any details, knowing how Dick’s thoughts can meet his mouth and then Randy’s ears and then the job information highway merging with the Beauville gossip machine beyond. No one can imagine him leaving again, as long as he has his house for sale… As Feely has just said, “It would be foolish to speak of leaving before that house is done or yours is sold, don’t you think?”
And perhaps Wilson should be concerned: He has no grandfather’s trusts, no family wealth. All he possesses are his talents, his work ethic, his house, and at the moment Feely.
Concern and awareness depend on one’s economic strata. And those who have weathered the previous August economic storm and the following repercussions… those well off with trusts, real estate, and bonds and stock portfolios intact, know they will be fine. They are surviving. They always have, and as Janet Wainwright’s grandfather told her, the market always comes back…
With few festivities planned for late Friday and the weekend, Janet and Daphne, and friends, and a few carpenters and the plumber Ransom, remain listening at the end of the day, to Janet Wainright. In honor of the Leprechaun. An excuse to quit early… Unconcerned, drinking free beer courtesy of Wilson and wine courtesy of Daphne, and some old Scotch if you can corral Conrad who is now busy singing to his wife’s accompaniment.
With his large old head, boisterous, boozy, full and gray, his face shining, and with no Irish heritage known or remembered, Conrad still fits the part, booming out, with more noise than tonality, Danny Boy.
After a couple of claps for Conrad, Janet continues. She has searched for Irish/Broadway and today she is playing Finian’s Rainbow. ‘How are things in Glocca Morra’, and ‘Look to the Rainbow’, and ‘When The Idle Poor Become The Idle Rich’, all bang from the Bosendorfer.
A couple of Janet’s old beat pals have ‘gone in search of Janet’ and then, not finding her, wandered over from Deer Haven. Most of her oldest friends are retired or closing on it. Their families might say they have been retired, playing, their entire lives. In this group some travel more and survive better than others, but all have coupons to clip, and none have any difficulty with capitalism’s beneficence, even when diminished. Their leftist politics are real until its personal and financial. But when lifestyle meets money, they are happy to have it, and very reluctant to give it up. Tight is the word. When it comes to bonds and banks and bank officers… they might as well be Republicans, though they are silent about it. Yet, they do not sense hypocrisy when braying loudly at the evil’s of a Chain Saw Al, while examining the wonders and immensity of this new Chateau Daphne, spreading the word to others in their group, with ‘once upon a time’ old money envy… “You must see it….Just next door… New… next door to Wainright.”
Janet and her friends will all become friends and acquaintances of Daphne, welcoming her to Beauville, if they have not done so already. Though they have much less. No one needs to work. And… If you go back a bit, there great grand fathers are similar, Tough men of attitude, drive and attained wealth, but Janets and friends go back a generation more than Daphne’s, theirs from the 1870’s, and 80’s, 90’s, and Daphne’s a generation later.
Daphne is assured. She has recovered, she has survived, she is surviving. Within a few months, she will be living in her new house… These are her new friends. Becky and Jasmine, Noelle and Daisy, their husbands. She will be home here. She has lived ten years in the year since Tim died and soon with her house’s finish her story will be joined with Beauville’s.