Chapter 47
The future, Daphne’s well-being,
And plots and plotting.
Potts opens a beer and smiles; aware it is his main chance. He has been on the phone with Cortland, who has told him… “Not to worry, the job will continue” … “For now, things shall remain as they have been… but not for long.” He takes a long swig of beer, inverting the can until it is almost vertical as his smile stretches wide and climbs his face. His initiative has paid off. Soon it will be Chateau Cortland, with Potts in charge. Cortland, recognizing they’re a team … “The crash has just done you and me a favor.”
“It's your lucky day. Potts!” … “Remember our conversation?” … “Are you still onboard, committed? Still certain you can run the job as well as Wilson? Assure me once again, please. Can you finish the project from here on out?” And Bob Potts has shouted “Absolutely!” As Cortland rolled through a list of needs and wants and admonitions. With Potts repeating, again and again, “No problem. I told you so… No problem!”
“It’s time to get your ducks in a row… Potts.” … “Time to check options, get organized… Potts… Then we will wait. Not yet, not yet, but soon. Perhaps next week, or the one after.” … “Don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t hire anyone new… No hints… Act natural… Act as if nothing’s changed… Got that Potts. That’s very important!” … “I want Wilson to spend the money from her last check…Completely … On my new house, before we sack him.”
So, for Potts, bad times are good. As he sips his beer, as his smile reaches his eyes, as his eyes begin to gleam. He is certain he can do it. Should he have qualms, moral qualms? Well… Wilson has bailed him out before, loaned him money, helped on occasion, and interest-free, at that. But it’s a dog eat dog, ain’t it, and Wilson has loaned them all money when they’d needed it… Nothing special there… His nature… He'd done the same for all of them who required a helping hand… Guilt? Did Cortland feel guilt, had dead Stevens, any of them rich guys? … Never! The one-sided conversation continues in his head… You must get ahead to get ahead… its America. Yep, he’s move-in on up… There was that large bonus a few years ago. Everyone got one. What a fool Wilson had been, to let them know he’d made so much. 6,000 bucks a piece, and all the same for everyone. Wilson had given away almost 50,000 dollars. But that’s the past. Nice guys finish last! Look what that Cortland is do-in to Daphne, and they’d been lovers… tight.
Potts’s mind roams free.
Wilson has had it easy, not like Potts! That house. That boat. That uppity girlfriend. A rich fellow really… and pretending… just playing. Wilson…his carpentry an act, and bossy too, thinks too much of himself, working on those special projects, like he is some artist… act-in special… He’ll show him. He’ll show them! He’s the reason the houses work. And… He’s just as good, he knows it. Sure… give him that… Early on he’d learned a lot from Wilson, but not for years now…He, himself… Bob Potts has been the reason for a while now… He’d made that point when he told Cortland of his ability and hopes. How Wilson had taught him a lot but that now he ran the show… He now taught Wilson! He - Bob Potts… younger, cheaper, faster… and just as smart! And that bonus? He’d deserved more than the rest of them. And more than that Indian… Dammit! He was white…
It was fate that he and Cortland had both been at the house that Saturday, six weeks previous, when Potts had launched his proposition… The same day the Indian… Indian Dick… had rescued that little girl, Honey Darling… and become a hero. The Indian, now hanging with that rich white gal, for weeks now…after, in front of all of them… flauntin… flauntin… in front of the entire crew! Well, he’d see about that. He’d get Dick, He’d get Wilson. He’d get them all!
In for a penny… in for a… Hell, he’d read that Cortland right! Knowed it! And this might free him from those child support payments, get that damn Edwina off his back. Why not? Maybe he can lump-sum her. Before he’s really on a money-roll… If he plays his cards right… He will be playing that Cortland like a fiddle too. Before it’s over. Take-in advantage of all of them, and…. Potts is humming now.
He’s “Moving on up” Riches beckon as he hums the song.
His mind drifts back to Sunday… Watchin mom swayin away to that TV preacher… Swoonin with joy… Jesus and hard work, mom said… Give your soul to God... Fuck That! What’s Jesus got to do with it? He will be givin whatever he can grab to Bob Potts. Just like them afflu-ints.
And for Bob Potts it’s Alert-Alert, main chance time, and he knows it.
He has noticed that those with money are forgiven. And he is heading to a new religion. If he knew the distinction, he might soon become a Calvinist. Like those folks from Scamway…Entitled. Rewarded by God. Or possibly, if he knew of catholic church history and indulgences? Possibly, Potts would be checking to see if he could buy something for his mother’s church. He has never spent a moment on the Reformation. But he understands the idea of bribing God…
This same Saturday as Wilson sails, Potts is prepare-in, move-in, count-in. planning his improving future as he wanders Chateau Daphne, upstairs and down while making notes… Lower level, mechanical room, great room, bar, kitchen, master bath, the entire 2nd floor. Saturday, he spends all day. Walking back and forth and then again, searching for whatever he can think of… lists of unknowns, questions that he will ask Wilson the following Monday. Everything that Cortland requested, and everything he hadn’t. Finishes, details, ceilings, stairs, trim, coves and crowns, and what about the laundry?
Monday he will be acting, playing the role, and hopefully for the last time, of responsible, respectful, on top of it all efficient foreman concerned for the team. He plans to emphasize, “I need some details to study, some drawings.” Cortland has advised him to get as many and as much as he can. Potts, the concerned, prepared and careful employee. Wilson will never imagine. Potts is certain… Never imagine that it is not efficiency, but theft occupying his mind.
Daphne rests beneath the light, stretched upon a settee beach lounger, beside the Sunny Times center pool. Blue water, red tile, gold wood, high beams and skylights, some hanging ferns and scattered potted Philodendrons in faux modern pots, cones ¾ sliced above the point then stacked inverted, narrow in the center like a woman with a slim, slim waist, large round base and somewhat top heavy in appearance despite the equal size, made of material that should have been stoneware or concrete if anyone cared about the plants… these instead, were cheap plastic copies of the original Italian.
‘A pleasant prison of recovery’ should have been the Sunny Times Center’s slogan. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was ‘We make stormy waters calm.’ ‘We make the troubled see the light.’ Beneath this, followed by a centered smaller halo, the words continued… ‘Of hope.’
It has been two weeks and she no longer suffers from withdrawal. This time, it has taken a bit longer for the misery to depart. She remembers Tim and the last time she quit. Then the sweats and shakes had lasted four days. This time her withdrawal had lasted six. Tim, she thinks… What would he have made of all this? She pauses, waiting for an answer from the ether. When none arrives in the form of a booming voice or righteous admonition, she sighs… Tim, Cortland, Men. She is finished with them, and ready to move on. But Margie has said. “Not yet.” And there are rules and nurses, handlers. She must eat this, drink that. Even her media intake is controlled.
She is not allowed to watch CNBC. The last thing they say she needs is worry. “Worry,” the attendants repeat and prattle and shake their heads. “Worry is your enemy.” So, the central activity of her recent past is prohibited. She is allowed no exposure to the markets and CNBC, or the likes of David Fobar, who is “not good at all” and completely banned.
The bankers have written, then called. They are coming by tomorrow for signatures. She imagines they will be pressuring her with calm and quiet language. They have already cautioned and requested over the phone that she should “Let them sell the place. They have a buyer. Enough to make you whole…to get her money out. Everything but what she spent above their loan, all but what she spent and made and lost.” For the bankers, it is only money. This way “the trust will be returned-whole,” and the Mighties, they recommend strongly that she keep those remaining. “She must keep these for cash flow.”
All lost. All gone. She does not like the idea. But Margie has cautioned her. “There will be more houses, Daphne. Perhaps nicer, better… somewhere else. Maybe they are right?” So Daphne is prepared for the conversation and likely she will agree. But not with joy. Her loss will be much more than money.
The house and Beauville. There is the wrinkle. She had begun to know the place and people. She had been forming friends, or at least acquaintances who might become friends. Janet Wainright and the other ladies from her pageants. Even some of those old beatniks Janet hangs out with. She had seen the people, enjoyed some of their company, forgiven them their goofy politics. They seemed to like her. It was looking like new friends and a new life, post Tim. A life that would belong to her, with her own and owned identity. The house, the lake, the village, all had become part of the project, its idea, and part of her transformation. Her arriving imagined memories, the views and water, its space and style. She and the house have become entwined. So, she remains reluctant to let it go.
Cortland has been calling, all loving and obsequious, and commanding at the same time. She is sick of men. Cortland, “her savior?” She both laughs and cries inside. He has talked to the bankers… “the house was going to be a problem, trouble.” He did not think they would finance more, and unless… unless. But Daphne is not so sure. If the markets come back? She had invested enough. Even halved? Or if she gave up all the stocks, the balance left from the sale of the remaining Mighty Burgers. It would still be enough to finish, to own the house. She could live there, and in the Islands comfortably, get rid of the Master Mind as she had planned to do, anyway… fly coach, first class, not travel so much. Behind it all, she questions… What was it all about, anyway? Selling the house will not be fulfilling. And the trust would always be there. She needs to access her portfolio, she needs Fobar.
Her head begins to hurt again, and the nurse, really an attendant… but attendant, nurse, whatever… comes in with another pill, she nods off to sleep and dreams of sails and water… An imagined picture seen outside her Beauville kitchen window… sunshine.
Two days later… The vice president, another vice president, a kid named Harry Sneadly, who she does not recognize, sits at her bedside. “I came to discuss the house. We think we have a buyer for it. As is.” “Who,” she says. “How, so soon?” “It does not matter you would not know him, someone who inquired once before when it was just sitting there, remember… A year ago. Before your renewed enthusiasm. I contacted him.”
This is, of course, not exactly true. The buyer will be Cortland, who has negotiated a deal with the bank. Trustworthy has agreed to loan him the money and he will finish it. Cortland will get rid of the builder, save his percentage, renege on the Steven’s contract. It could be messy if the builder chose to sue. The bank and Cortland have discussed this. Cortland seems to be the convenient answer, and it keeps the bank away from legal pitfalls. The board has discussed it, with Daphne’s interest at heart… Of course. But Cortland knows. He understands the business, he knows the house, and who to hire, he is familiar with the area.
It is settled. Cortland will profit, and he will take the heat should any arise. The asset will be secured not only by its current value but also by Cortland’s Grand Rapids home, a good deal for all. One less headache for the bank and one less headache for those who feel the need to look out for Daphne. Meanwhile Daphne will not need to worry, and her former house will become just one more well secured asset. And when Cortland peddles it, the bank will get that finance package too, unless it goes for cash.
This is why the banker Sneadly visits Daphne. There has been another meeting, and the board has decided. It is in her best interest and some of the old men… The relics, as Sneadly thinks of them… They knew her father. And by the looks of this woman before him… Sneadly sighs. He knows what happened to this soft faced woman with the sleepy vacant smile. The bank is doing her a favor. He takes a seat and waits. Sneadly likes good deed doing… the miracle of transforming vinegar back to wine.
An arbiter, or perhaps an attorney new to the scene and representing Daphne, unaware of the past, outside that loop, might see things differently, a rapacious land grab instead of good deed doing. A man invading an unstable woman’s privacy. But life is.… Sneadly smiles and worries the tassel of his shoe. Life is. Well, it is all business, all perspective.
The board has instructed Sneadly not to mention Cortland’s deal. He will say. They have asked Cortland to help them out. Cortland, who is, and will be doing both her and the bank, the trust, a favor. And if she questions. He pauses to listen to her snore, feeling odd. A spy of finance visiting this recovery place. Should he shake her? He is aware that she had exiled Cortland before the incident, and then thrown the glasses after. But, the bank manages her trust, the deal is done. Things do become entwined. He looks at Daphne sleeping. The poor woman needs men to watch over her. He pokes her with his finger. Then he opens his briefcase and places the documents and his cross pen on the bedside table.
Margie would have portrayed it differently if asked. It was an accident. She would swear to it. But rumors are more fun than facts, and the bank had not bothered to inquire because they had Cortland for veracity and information. Cortland, playing Daphne’s good friend, in every sense of the word, had reported to the bankers, the flying glass, the despair, the scene, his fleeing to protect her, and him, from herself. Daphne… out of touch, blinded by events. Her attempt at suicide. It did not look good for any of them. And as Cortland represents... It might have been his fault. His responsibility. He should not have departed. “She was a very troubled woman…”
“We all spoke of GG world.” And this is true, the bankers know this. They all are culpable, in fact if not legality. And Cortland’s story fits. They all feel good with it, including Cortland. Driven by guilt, and never greed, he will sacrifice time and money, take over the house and, in the process, by taking over the house, aid Daphne and redeem himself too. Yep, thinks Sneadly, the poor woman needed men to watch over her… like her father had done… like Tim had done… like the trustees had done until she got the idea from blind luck and chance, and CNN, that she was some sort of nascent market genius. And now look what had happened, a fool and his, in this case her, her money… thinks Sneadly. Yes, he was a savior, an altruist, her banker. It was time to clean this up.
And with this thought, Daphne snorts and stirs. Her face has been peaceful, puffy from sleep, but younger from a lack of worry, softened slack with drugs. But as she wakes and moves and tugs against the bed and covers and the encumbering small cluster of plastic tubes, she realizes where and what. Then, Sneadly watches the folds appear, as wrinkles and sad dimples emerge and reassert their place in her face, as her eyes open to the light.
Onward, onward…
And as Daphne cures and Potts plots… Wilson, returned from his sail, transfers thought to paper and orders more materials. He has selected the moldings for the great room ceiling, and sent a check for their custom manufacture. The show will go on, Cortland has assured him of this, two days before, even as he has asked for copies of past plans and prints. ‘As-builts’ that show the changes to the structure as it has progressed, where Wilson has altered a beam or hip or valley, changed an interior dimension slightly to accommodate a special future cabinet, or in the Great room where early on, Wilson stretched the fireplace wall, something never shown on any new drawings. Cortland wants copies for his records, for the bank. Why, Wilson wonders, his senses alerted, distrusting? But still, in for a penny, in for a pound. He has the same choice he had almost a year ago. Either he can choose to take the money and run, or select to persevere as he did last winter, his last go round with Cortland. He had hoped Cortland was history, but with the crash and Daphne’s cure, it is Cortland who has called him once again proclaiming to represent the bank.
Wilson is not a quitter, and he anticipates that rough waters will once again adjust, becoming smooth. So, it will be work, work, work, to save the house and summer, and the seasons following, to keep his employees from suffering when the winter winds begin to howl. Duty, pride, his new fondness and attachment for what has now become an 'old saddle' estate, exclusively Wilson’s and almost exclusively his design, as Philippe has moved on to other projects. Duty, pride, his design and effort, and his desire to see the building finished, with his employees well-being insured. Yep, in for a penny, in for a pound. Either he quits, or he doesn’t. He reminds himself he’s not a quitter. There are things he needs to check on at the job site.
So, just missing Potts in departing transit, late the same Saturday afternoon, Wilson arrives at the job. His sail has left him thinking. And it will be pleasant to watch the sunset from Chateau Daphne’s unfinished porches. To imagine their long length someday full of partiers. He comes to sit and watch, to think and ponder, and also to make notes and lists… Details he plans to alter or finish planning, details of tile and cabinets and planters, details of stereo cabinets and home theaters, details of the lower wine rooms, details of mechanicals, checking underneath the house for plumber's cuts that need shoring up, for electric wires poorly placed, for spots of damp where the drainage system, still uncovered, is not working properly. He needs to detail the lower concrete stairway so Potts can form and pour it. Wilson works on all these, making notes of what he must attend to once he returns to his house and office, his Cadd programs and computer. All will move forward. What will be, will be?
And this same Saturday afternoon, Indian Dick sits home thinking, worried with his sixth or seventh sense alerted. He too, has seen Potts shiny black truck oddly at the job, observed it from a distance, then turned around at the edge of Camp Hope and retreated, gone home. Why Potts, not like Potts to be there on a Saturday..?
A meeting… A meeting… Another fucking meeting.
It has taken until the middle of the week for Cortland to arrive. And, as he turns from Boyd City RD west onto Longbottom Lane towards the project, his project, he regards its perfect location on the point, while pondering his and its once again entwined financial future. Funny how life stutters and stops and starts again. This was to have been his future once before. Thanks to fate, and Tim Stevens's death… his plan to cozy up to Daphne so it might be his. And then it was and then it wasn’t. But now, thanks to his initiative, it was his once more. And this time it will be his completely.
The papers were signed and with a little-bit of luck… This time nothing will interfere… dollars in his pocket. And that is what he now observes, rising on the hill, not beauty, not a home to finish, but giant dollar signs.
Funny how things work out. One moment his prospects are fading, with Daphne grown tired of him, asserting herself. And then, magic… fate… now with Daphne trapped at Sunny Side… Well, that last flying glass of gin had been a message from the gods or God. Courtland now sensed he was anointed.
Entering the structure, then wandering the project, he plans and ponders. He knows the road ahead, but there are traps that require careful setting. A bit of misplaced timing on his part might result in hassles and financial loss. There were yet a couple of curves before he reached the straight road, stretching out perfect before him… The future.
The issue was how to play and manage Wilson. Fire him today or let him unknowing-dangle. He has decided that he will play along. Take the advice of the bankers. They will like him better for it. “It’s up to you… But whatever he spends is yours. You have bought the house.” He had listened to Sneadly, as he signed.
Yes, his. But it was a balance of just how greedy… “Whatever he can get out of Wilson before he sacks him.” will line Cortland’s pockets when he peddles the place. “But, it’s your decision,” Sneadly had said. “However, Trustworthy recommends you get as much as you can before you get rid of him...” Smooth waters, easier money… The more Cortland can make it appear that Wilson has not been wronged but only let go… the better. “This would be the sensible financial decision.”
Tactics… Cortland makes his lists. Tactics… If it were not for the possible additional dollars, and the bank not wishing to appear to be bastards, Cortland would start clean this very moment. Drive over to Wilson’s house right now. This second! Bang on that silly entry of his, and announce. “You are history, fired, bye- bye.”
A clean slate would feel good and better. You make your own luck. Life was tough. Without a doubt, he would have said to Wilson before tomorrow was out. You are no longer necessary. And then… achieve a new beginning. But no, cautioned by the bank. Obsequious, he has decided against this. If he can get Wilson to work and spend and then let him dangle with empty pockets a month from now? Wait until he puts in his draw for September to inform him that the contract had been void for months… Invalid since Stephen’s death. It will be unpleasant to wait, like that, less satisfaction at the end, but worth it… At least an extra hundred thousand… Plus Wilson’s month of work, for free.
So, he has decided to string Wilson along. He will purposely request no more forms and set his sworn statement demands aside… Calm fulfilling waters for everyone until he is ready to spring the trap. And that can wait until the end of summer, early fall. They are… They will be… a team together. He will make it certain that Wilson understands that it is all for one, and one for all, and all for Daphne, too. Tell him she deserves it. That her mental health must be their goal. A rising finished happy project will only do her good. He and Wilson and the crew together… Teamwork now for Daphne!... “For Daphne” will be the slogan. After all, he will remind Wilson, they owe her. It was Wilson’s foreman Potts who killed her husband. Two birds in one, and a planted thought that shows that Cortland does not trust Potts, while also suggesting Wilson's guilt over Daphne’s predicament.
And so it is and will be… Cortland standing on the Bridge above the Great room floor where Wilson and the crew have gathered. Cortland standing alone above them, praise to one and all. Praise and reason. “We are going to make this the best house in Beauville! The best possible, the best, for Daphne… And we have you!..” he spreads his arms wide towards the workers… “And we have the man, the design, the quality,” He points to Wilson, and then back, “And all of you!” emphasizing the “you,” again. “When she returns, I want this place shining.” Below there are rumbles. All the men have grown used to Daphne walking about. Her chatter had become a part of the job, an owner almost pleasant. “When, where is she?” “There are rumors,” growls Dean. “Rumors,” repeats Waltner. The others look left and right and up towards Cortland. “Where is she?” repeats Dean… “We heard. Is she Ok? Alive?”… “We heard,” says Randy… The workmen care.
“Everything is fine. She's fine!” Cortland responds as Wilson looks to silence the men. “Fine,” as Cortland continues… observing the flat faces frowning. “OK.. here it is. She has needed some time to travel. She and her friend Margie, some rest and recuperation. But…” Courtland lets the “But,” hang for a moment. “She has left me in charge and this means,” he pauses. “You keep working!” he pauses again to let this sink in. “You keep working!”… “I’m taking up residence on the boat. Any questions, ask me… Gangway’s always open.”
Again, his hands sweep the men below him.
“And, Wilson,” he gestures. “And Potts,” he points. “All of you working to finish… You will all… Every one of you… All have work now. No worries until Christmas… And beyond, if we do not make that deadline.” And… “He hopes we will.” … “Bonus’s for everyone if we can make Christmas! … Team.”
There is a rush of silent air, a pent-up release of worry. “And. Even…even though it’s August. Fall will soon be here, winter will soon be upon you. Work, hard work… Better now than when it’s cold. We will work to finish this beauty. That is what’s required.”
Courtland beams, smiling down. And the men beam up. “Let me assure you that while many of you may have had concerns…Yes, some lives in Beauville will be disrupted. Have been, and will be affected by this stock slide… Yours will not be! You have jobs!”
He again looks left and down and right, then gazes towards the ceiling. “Until we finish!” he pauses to let this sink in. “Nothing has changed, nothing altered but the permanence of tomorrow, and you may count on that... So, onward as we finish summer, and meet the fall, then onward towards Christmas.” And with this, he motions to Wilson. “I need to send someone to my vehicle.” Then before Wilson can say anything, or suggest, Cortland turns. “Dick, Indian Dick.” Dick scowls. Only his friends call him Indian Dick. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Keep track of the job site? There are two coolers in my vehicle. Can you fetch them?”
“Today we are quitting early…Team. I know it’s three, but today, three is beer thirty...”
Relief fills the air, relief that the job will continue and relief that the blowhard has finished… Rising from the bare subfloor up to the beamed bridge, it carries up to Cortland and then higher still, filling the room until it meets a ceiling that will soon be busy with workers installing coves and crowns and moldings.
But not from Dick, who continues to frown. Officer Dick, reduced, going out to fetch this white prick’s beer.
The men had not known how concerned they were. Cortland is now their jovial pal, and considerate leader. And everyone seems to believe him. Everyone but Indian Dick, who returned with the beer, watches from the corner, his momentary anger turned by habit into a thoughtful frown, beer in hand, pensive lines of worry emerging on his forehead. Dick does not buy it. He has spoken to Liz, and Dick knows there is no traveling. Daphne remains at Sunnyside, and she remains a mess. And the rumors, Liz reports, tell of visits from the bankers.
Later, outside, distant, at the edge of the porch, he observes Potts and Cortland at the edge of shadow. Cortland pointing his finger as if instructing and Potts stretching his gestures wide, expansive, apparent promises on his face.
Later still, as everyone departs, Dick corners Wilson. “Did you buy that? Are we safe?” “I think so,” says Wilson. “They’ve paid me, and if they want the house finished no one else can do it.” Dick frowns, looks down, then up. His hand curls at the edge of his jaw, squeezing his chin as his eyes penetrate Wilson’s. “Don't you remember what I told you months ago, about Potts.” “Yes,” says Wilson. “That was only Potts dreaming. Pretending. He knows he cannot do it without me. It’s only Potts bragging. That, and wishful thinking.” “I would not be so sure,” says Dick.
Wilson says nothing. He does not need to. How could Potts possibly finish the house? He and Dick stand parallel, gazing toward the water. Then. “Some of the plans are still in my head. Potts cannot do it. There are all sorts of details he is unaware of.”
“He thinks he's special. Watch out, I saw him here on Saturday.”
“Me too,” says Wilson. “I asked him. He said he needed to borrow a couple of nail guns.”
“Funny,” says Dick. “I didn’t see anything missing.”
“You might not have noticed.” Dick looks at Wilson, askance. “I notice.”
“Come-on. You don’t like him. He’s in charge because he’s good at running the project, and he bugs you.” Dick nods and goes silent, then turns. Looking skyward, he watches sea gulls soar as he walks away. Wilson raising his voice enough for Dick to hear. “He makes my life easier, Dick.” and then Wilson almost adds, but doesn’t. ‘And you cannot run the job like Potts or I would let you’ Dick knows this, and that is the conundrum. Dick turns. “I don’t trust him!”
“I know… but these houses, Dick. They require compromise. I … Potts makes my life easier.”
Dick has reached the cruiser, where he turns on the siren for a moment and then he drives away. Wilson sighs and mutters… “Message received.”
Article voiceover
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