It was still too early for him to go back upstairs; perhaps a swim would kill some time. He always carried both towel and trunks in his gym bag. He could change into his swim gear in the Mens room connecting the lobby and the pool, then afterward rinse off and go on up. It then occurred to him that he might wheel the big portable TV set into the pool area. He thought it would just about reach. It was positioned in that central alcove in the corridor so it could be moved around as needed in the lobby or meeting room, or in this case, as he wanted. If it were only he that was around, he saw no reason not to try ; no little kids racing and tripping over the cord at this time of night. He could watch a show while taking an easy trawl through the pool. It might be quite relaxing. He preferred watching sports involving a goal at either end; he liked the back and forth action.

As he passed into the corridor, he was surprised to see an extension cord already trailing along the corridor and under the pool room door. He heard voices from inside. Perhaps somebody else had had the same idea. Curious, he pushed open the door. The TV was there alright, apparently tuned to a cooking demonstration. There was also a man floating face down near the center of the pool. Guy dropped his bag. It landed on his foot. Cursing, he hobbled over to the edge. He couldn’t see who it was, couldn’t see the face. Galvanized, he rushed over to the rescue equipment, yanking off his t-shirt as he went.

As Gertie was finally beginning to unwind in the whirlpool, Bert was getting angrier by the moment. He hadn’t spent all this money for a penthouse for his daughter to be attacked by a low-life. He wanted to find out who it was, get him thrown out of the association. They could drum somebody out for inappropriate behavior, he knew, and what could be worse than this sort.

“Gertie?” he said gently through the bathroom door, “you alright then?”

“Sure, I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Well then, I think I’ll just go down for my nightly stretch before I turn in. I won’t be long. I’m leaving Pocano here with you.”

“Alright, but lock the door!”

“Will do.” He even double checked it on the way out, muttering, ‘Poor kid’, and then ‘Bastard.’

Tonight he had no intention of going outside for that stroll. He went straight to the pool. Maybe the guy was still there and he could see who it was. As he approached the door, he heard the TV, just as Gertie had said; strange place for it to be. The first thing he saw was Guy Karon. No, it couldn’t be him!  Anyway, Gertie knew him.

As he began to take in the scene before him, he had the impression of a classical painting depicting an ancient mariner floundering above the depths. Karon, bare-chested, seemed alternately paddling and beating at a man who was face down in the water, steering him along by use of a long white pole that he gripped with a bunch of swaying gray cloth, his muscles bulging. Guy looked up, wild-eyed.

“Oh God, Steinhardt, help me.”

Bert was wary and stood his ground. “What are you doing?” he managed to ask above the racket of the TV playing an ad for beer.

“Found him like this…he didn’t even try to grab the ring…I’m trying to see who it is…help me get him over to the side…he might still be alive.”

It was becoming a little clearer to Bert that Guy was not murdering this man, that the man was apparently already a corpse or well on his way to being one. He certainly looked like every picture of a drowned person he’d ever seen. As Bert also wanted to know who was in the water, he went over, knelt down, and lowered his face as Guy maneuvered the body a little closer.

“Who is it…can you see?” panted Guy.

“Not one of ours, I’m pretty sure. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s someone else. You get down and look.”

Guy leaned over and watched as the body gently bobbed in the water. “What? It’s the Mangold kid, isn’t it?”

“That would be my guess.” agreed Bert. “Asshole…” He was about to mention that Gertie had been assaulted just a few minutes before, in all likelihood by this man—witness the beer cans in the water—but he stopped himself. I’ll keep Gertie out of this, he reasoned.

“What in the name of Hades was he doing here?” demanded Guy, as he disgustedly pitched the pole into the water. “This is the last thing we need. There will be all hell to pay over this.” Pulling the gray t-shirt back over his head, he suggested to Bert, “Fingerprints. Keep your hands in your pockets.”

All Bert could feel in his pockets was some loose change. “Mercenary jerk.” he pronounced over the dead man, and flipped a few coins into the water. “Not wanted on the voyage.”

“You paying his fare then Bert?”

“We have to keep quiet about this Guy. Does anyone know you’ve been in here?”

“No, I’ve been alone since I left the work-out room. Haven’t seen anyone. You?”

“No, I’m just down taking a breather before I turn in. The usual.”

“Then, I agree. Not a word to anyone. Let’s just go up.”

“What about the TV? Think I should put it back?”

“Definitely not. Too risky. Besides, it’ll give the kid something to do.” Bert scoffed, changing the TV to a travel channel. “Maybe he’ll get the idea and go away.”

Sensing some private joke, Guy didn’t inquire. “Let’s get out of here.”

Unit features include an in-unit laundry, balcony with river views, walk-ins, hardwood floors, breakfast bar plus dining area, granite and stainless kitchen, neutral decorating and window treatments.

Master bed/bath suite features ceramic, double vanities, and shower stall plus tub.

Substantial price reduction, due to a transfer,  makes this a great deal at $199,900.

Please call Paul for an appointment to view or to discuss details. 414 – 807 – 7599

All the convenience of a first floor unit plus the privacy of your own street level entrance into the unit. Rent includes a parking space, in a heated attached garage, right outside a second private door into the unit.

West facing, approx. 900 sq.ft. unit features an open-concept living space with 16′ ceilings, cream city brick, and hardwood floors. Recent upgrades also include neutral finishes and custom blinds for the wall of over-sized windows.

Updated, eat-in kitchen is open-concept for entertaining and features a breakfast bar, custom cabinets, granite counters, and stainless steel appliances. All appliances are included, including dishwasher and microwave, as well as a washer/dryer for the in-unit laundry.

The updated bathroom has double sinks, a tiled whirlpool bath, newer fixtures, plus a separate shower stall.

Pet -friendly building. Both a cat and a dog allowed with no extra fees. Building also has a large community room and extra storage spaces.

Located up on the bluff in the heart of the Brewers Hill neighborhood, so close to the river and the Riverwalk, to downtown, parks, and the lakefront.

For a private showing please call Paul Kurensky 414 – 807 – 7599
or visit
http://www.CondoMilwaukee.com

‘Rusty will never know – not in his condition.’ he thought. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to fluff them up a bit and deliver them toasty warm – he loved a cozy towel. He stuffed them into the dryer and turned the dial. Five minutes should do the trick.

Five delicious minutes to snoop around and find out where Hans had moved things, or if there was anything new. No signs of a new occupant anyway, that was something. Hans was beginning to look good to him again. Pleasantly engaged, he was startled by the dryer buzzer. The towels were hot and smelled of Hans. He lingered over them, then folded them into a large kitchen bag and headed once more for the stairs.

“Here we are Rusty, all lovely and warm.” he was trilling as he waltzed through the pool door. Peter shrieked. Rusty was floating face down in the pool, apparently drowned, now far past the help of any towel to warm him. Why on earth hadn’t Rusty waited for him to come back?  How stupid could he be to get in the water alone when he couldn’t swim? It was all Rusty’s  fault, nothing at all to do with him. He hadn’t even been there when it happened. This whole hopeless affair was now just that – beyond even hope. Vexed, Peter petulantly reached for the remote and switched to his favorite cooking channel. They were making soup. As an afterthought, he wiped the TV cart handles and the remote.

He knew he had to think now. It was going to be hard. He kicked the now empty beer cans into the pool, turned on his heels and bounded back upstairs. He ran into the bedroom, dumping out the towels. He tried to imagine what Rusty might have touched when he was in this room changing. He ran a towel over the dresser and the door knobs. The towel was still warm. He hung both towels back exactly as he’d found them. Whipping off his swim trunks, he folded those back into the drawer. Retrieving his clothes from the couch where he’d tossed them, he quickly got dressed, stuffed the empty plastic bag into his pocket and pulled out another bag from under the sink. Back in the bedroom, he picked up Rusty’s shoes and socks and dropped them into the new bag. He emptied the trouser pockets out onto the bed. Removing the stash of bills from the money clip he briefly considered, ‘He won’t be wanting it’ before slipping the sizable wad and the few coins into his own pocket. He threw in the rest of Rusty’s clothes, stooping to look under the bed,  just in case he’d missed anything.

Turning again to the living area, he plumped up the cushions where they had been sitting, and methodically, using the kitchen towel, picked up the empties and stuffed those into the bag with the clothing.  He washed and dried out his snifter and returned it to the cupboard. Sighing, he paused over the stemware. ‘Maybe not this time’ he reckoned. He figured that if his fingerprints were all over the place inside the unit or the building, that would be OK. He had lived here after all. No-one, especially Hans, would ever know that he had been in the unit tonight, much less have brought Rusty along as well. As he rarely ever drank it, Hans would likely never even notice the missing beer. Peter was pretty sure it really was still left over from their last party. He could take Hans up on his invitation to come over on Monday night and hear about his boring conference and, while he was visiting, be sure to touch as much as he could. Maybe even Hans. Reconciliation was good; sometimes it led to harder stuff.

Peter reasoned that he could still come back one more time before Hans returned, if he had to, if he remembered something else. But best not; he wasn’t even out of the building yet. Taking a last and thorough look around, he adroitly inserted his wrist under the plastic bag handles and pulled the unit door behind him. He tiptoed along the corridor with the empty bag still in his pocket to the garbage chute, tipped open the bin and let go the full bag. From there it was only a few steps along the hallway and back to the stairs and the garage. He thought he heard something, froze momentarily, then realized it was not somebody coming but just the bag going through the chute, probably the shoes clunking on their way down. Dead man’s shoes. ‘Who would gain by this death,’  Peter allowed himself to wonder, ‘other than me with his money in my pocket?’

Pulling himself to attention, and suddenly fearful that he would be blamed, stealthily, silently, he  reached his car and squeezed in, throwing the empty bag on the floor. The garage door opened and a sporty car drove in. It was that awful woman from their floor, the one who used to always stare at him. He wouldn’t have wanted to meet her again at the best of times. Slinking down in the seat and out of sight as far as he could, he waited as she parked. Her spot was only a few spaces away. In the rear view, he watched her get out and remove some luggage from the trunk then, mercifully, wheel it away towards the elevator. The elevator was agonizingly long in coming. She was pounding on the door with her fist and screaming obscenities but at least not looking back his way. His leg was in a painful cramp.

When she had finally gone, he stretched his leg out as best he could and started the engine. Slouching down, he slowly negotiated the ramp. Turning north and into the street, he began to crow “Olly-olly, in free”.

One bedroom, one bath, approx 730 sq. ft. with one underground parking space.

Includes central air, in-unit laundry, balcony, walk-in closet, and association exercise facility.

Please call Paul for an appointment to view or to discuss details. 414 – 807 – 7599

She often went down for a swim at night when she stayed at the penthouse. The pool was usually empty after suppertime, she’d discovered. To make the workout better, she took the stairs down, and after her swim, then up, as far and as fast as her legs could stand it, where she hopped the elevator the rest of the way. She was trying to add another floor of steps each time and doing fairly well with it, last time making it up to the 11th.

She had a routine of rinsing out her stuff when she got back and packing the swim bag up again the following morning. It would be there ready for her each night – so no excuses. She changed into her sweats and let herself quietly out of the unit, guessing he would still be in the recliner when she returned, though often he pretended he’d never been asleep. It was easy enough going down. She heard a bam, the sound of a closing door echoing through the stairwell, a bit disconcerting. Not at all like her dorm, with kids everywhere. Here she had never actually met anyone else on the stairs. There must be someone else using them besides me, she reasoned. This building was too new for ghosts.

As she drifted slowly down the stairs, she looked forward to the slow repetition of laps and gliding push-offs lulling her into her own quiet space. Time to think; not even think, really, just be. She wondered if this was what meditation was like. Her room-mate Jody meditated. They must compare notes sometimes: soon, before they graduated. One of the things she reflected on a lot these days was what she wanted to do next. So far, life had been pretty much laid out for her. Knowing that she didn’t have to plan a career, or even get a job for that matter, didn’t stop her from dwelling on it, likely because everyone around her at school was fixating on it right now. Perhaps she was just going along with the tide.

She had never experienced real ambition, not like some of her friends. Her family was pushing for her to join the family firm, take on a cause and run with it.  The family had recently been featured in one of the local glossy magazines. Easily the most photogenic member of her clan, she’d been pictured both looking out at the lake from the penthouse, as well as on horseback and walking her dogs at Asphodel Meadows. It made her feel like pictures she’d seen of the Queen of England, trailing corgis. She’d grown up around animals, dogs especially, but had only thought of animals as familiar pets, up til now. Lately she’d been reading quite a bit about breed groups, dog rescue organizations, and animal rights.

At last descending to the pool level floor, she pushed open the door to the pool and was on the deck before she stopped, startled by what she was seeing. Not only was there a TV on and blaring next to the pool but she was not alone this time. A man she had never seen before was standing on the edge of the deck, whizzing into the water. “Just warming up the water for you.” he slurred. She stood frozen to the spot, revulsion rising as she fought back fear, her swim bag dangling at her feet.

Then, as though he suddenly recognized her, he blurted, “You’re the rich bitch in the magazine.” Stumbling around to face her, he leered, pointing at the ceiling. “Let’s go up. I’ll show you something to do besides look out the windows.” He fumbled closer, advancing with his arm still pointing upward, now raised and reaching for her, and lost his balance. She threw her shoulder hard against his, and pushed as hard as she could in the direction he was tripping. Snatching up her bag, she fled out the stairwell door, unsure of her escape, not looking back, fearful that he could possibly catch up with her. He staggered back toward the edge of the pool, briefly regained his footing and stood up again, arms windmilling, then teetered and tipped backwards into the water.

The welling anger drowned Gertie’s tears and rose to fury. She took the steps as she had never done before, rage driving her, nearly breathless, all the way to the top. Only inside, panting against the inside of the door, did she pause. ‘Fight, or flights? crossed her mind.  She had just managed them both.

“Gertie…you back so soon?” her father called. “Everything alright?”

One look at her told him it was not alright. Wide awake now, he steered her into his quickly abandoned chair, and handed her a glass of water.  As she took a few sips, he smoothed her hair, waiting for her to speak. Pocano rested his head on her knee.

“Oh Daddy, it was disgusting. He was disgusting.” she began. “I am disgusted.” Fighting off tears, she began again. “There was a man, a stranger, standing and, and, well – having a pee into the pool, holding his “thing.” Then he started hitting on me. So I pushed him…and I ran out.” She gulped down more water. “That’s it, really.”

“What do you mean “hitting on me?”. Did he hurt you?”

“No, no – it means, like he approached me for sex. He tried to touch me but I stopped him.”

“Go back and tell me exactly what happened, while it’s fresh in your mind.” he asked, this time pouring her out a glass of brandy. “Try not to leave anything out, except I think I get the leaking part already.”

“OK, I’ll try and remember, though I don’t want to. He said he was warming up the pool for me. Yecchhh. Then, wasn’t I the rich bitch from the magazine article. Then he pointed up and said I should bring him upstairs so he could show me something better than looking out the windows. When he tried to grab me, he started to fall, so I shouldered him and pushed hard so he’d keep falling, away from me.  I left right away, in case he came after me again.”

“Thank goodness you got away safe. And to think I ever teased you about taking Judo.”

“His breath smelled awful.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Drunk or a cretin, or both, I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re safe now. How about a soak in the whirlpool? You look completely done in. And we have an early start in the morning, remember?”

“Oh, and one more thing Daddy. There was a TV on – next to the pool. Weird.”

“So, here we are.” Peter began, almost giggling with delight at the ease with which this was unfolding. “What do you think of it so far?”

Rusty was positively scowling now, and walked over to the windows. “Is this only as far up as you lived?” he said, a little derisively, Peter thought. He hoped Rusty wouldn’t turn out to be the sarcastic type. They were so hard to understand.

“Mmm, it is a small unit but it’s got a really nice place to work out.”

“I didn’t come here to work out, did I?” Rusty hissed at him. Peter was scrambling to fathom what Rusty was here for.

“How about drinks?” Peter offered, retreating into the kitchen, hoping to loosen up his guest a bit. “There’s usually wine, brandy, or beer around. Let me check.” Rusty followed him, and as Peter swung open the  refrigerator door, Rusty grabbed a couple of cans of beer from the shelf.

“This’ll do.” he muttered. Peter was pretty sure it was still left over from their last party. As he rarely ever drank it, Hans would probably never even notice the missing beer.

“I’ll have some brandy. There are some gorgeous snifters around here someplace. Please, go put your feet up. Relax.” The snifters were there and right beside them, the empty space where the flutes used to be. It was just too tempting Peter thought, wondering if he could get away with more light-fingered fun this trip. ‘First things first.’ he recalled. ‘Rusty is first, this trip.’

“So, tell me Rusty, what do you want to do here…first?” Peter said suggestively, as he sank into the couch opposite Rusty.

“How far can you get upstairs and see out over the lake?” ‘Oooh, how romantic!’ Peter thought.

“Well, there’s the terrace out back overlooking the lake. There’s a lovely view from there.”

“Nah, I mean way upstairs.”

“Well, there are penthouses, but that’s all private,” he began, “so we can’t go up there. But there is a solarium room with super big windows – it’s just one floor down from that.”

“No rooftop?” pursued Rusty, peevishly adding, “How about more beer then?”  Peter was still puzzled about all this interest in the roof but decided to play along as he fetched more beer from the kitchen. Maybe Rusty had a thing about a roof and Peter was willing to learn.

“Why are you handing me beer cans in a towel?” demanded Rusty. “Something wrong with them?”

“Oh, I always do that – they are sooo cold straight from the frig.” Peter gave a little mock shudder, flinging the towel over his shoulder. “You must be really thirsty.”

“OK, so let’s go up there now. I want to look.” Rusty stood up, beer cans firmly in his hands. “Or will it be too cold up there for you?” he sneered.

“Oh, silly, not too cold, but it will be too dark, and foggy now, see? Look outside. It’s always darker on the lake side at night anyway. Good for stargazing on a clear night. You won’t see anything much now.” Rapidly warming to his theme, Peter ran on. “I have an idea. There’s lots of beer left. Let’s stay overnight. Then you could go upstairs early in the morning and see whatever you want.”

Rusty was staring at him as he gushed on. “We could go for a lovely swim. Come back here, have a cozy supper – omelets. I’m good at those”. He had already checked the egg supply when fetching out the beer. Good old Hans.

“Can’t swim” burped Rusty.

“Oh, that’s nothing – I’ll show you how.” bubbled Peter, making pawing motions in the air and pretending to swim into the bedroom. “Doggy paddle.”

I’m sure I can find the swim trunks, Peter thought, going to the drawer where they used to be. Sure enough, there were the two pair from the Caribbean trip. Dear old Hans, he’s sooo much nicer than Rusty is so far. He fondled them gently before lifting them out. Maybe they would be good luck charms. Recalling his own charms, he tugged off his shirt and returned bare-chested to the living room where Rusty was cracking open another can.

“Let’s get changed right now.” Peter was in high gear. “Which ones, Rusty? These would suit you…” he giggled, holding up each pair in turn.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” leered Rusty, as Peter slipped off his belt, shoes and socks.

Rusty had eventually gotten into the trunks. In the bedroom. By himself. Peter guided Rusty, clutching a unopened can in each hand, once again by stair down to the pool level door. He propelled Rusty into the pool room, where he stood, or swayed a bit, Peter observed. If Rusty had hollow legs, maybe that would help him to float.

“Can’t swim.” repeated Rusty.

“Tell you what. Let’s watch TV while we’re in the water.”  Peter knew there was a TV with a long extension cord just outside, across from the meeting room. “Wait just a sec while I fetch it.” he said, whisking out the hallway door.  A minute later he returned, TV cart wheels rumbling, and pulled the cart up to the edge of the pool.

Fussing with the remote he turned to Rusty, cocked his head to one side, asking “What’s your fancy?  Music, a little bromance, perhaps?” He was hoping for something nice to set the mood.

“Business news.” burped Rusty, dropping an empty by the cart.

“Right.” clenched Peter. “Right. Well, let’s get in. Best thing to do is take the plunge. It’s easier than going in inch by inch. That just gives you goosebumps.” instructed Peter. “Just like getting out fast is so nice, wrapping up in a big towel.”

“What towel?” Rusty burped again. “Don’t see no towel.” Peter looked around, suddenly remembering. At work, towels were supplied to members. A perk. He’d completely forgotten that you had to bring your own here. Things were not going as planned. Fantasy was dying by the minute.

“Tell you what,” he urged, “just sit down in the deck chair, watch your show, and finish your beer, OK? I’ll be back in a jiff with some nice warm towels for you.” And he hurried out the pool stairs door.

Rusty sank into a deck chair and guzzled down the remainder. Bored by the show, his eyes fell on the untroubled water before him. ‘Always wanted to do that. Like in the bathtub, only better.’ He tossed down the last empty and watched it roll to the edge of the pool. Then grunting with the effort, he lurched up and out from the chair toward the water, where, fully exposed, he relieved himself, grinning at the glimmering arc he was proudly producing.

The radio jingle was sung to the unlikely tune of  “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” Perhaps, thought Guy, the sponsor was attempting to add some gravitas to the firm’s image. If so, the words of the jingle belied that hope.

“We’re Horton, Hearst & Hough
Here to take care of you
Whenever you sue.
We’re big guys in gray suits
Who’ll take on your lawsuits
We’re Horton Hearst and Hough
Horton Hearst and Hough.”

As the ad patter continued, the show host Aimee Elise switched off her mike and said to Guy, “OK, in this next segment I’m going to ask some tougher questions. Without asking you to risk saying too much for your own good, I expect some serious answers – provocative answers. That’s why I asked you on. On this show we want to stimulate our listeners, not put them to sleep. Right?”

Privately hoping that the upcoming segment would not thereby lead directly into the offices of Horton Hearst and Hough to seek the refuge of their expertise, Guy nodded. He sat waiting and wondering how many guests of the program had gone down that slippery slope already.

“And in keeping with the apparent theme of the day – lots and lots of water, rain or otherwise – we’re back with our guest Guy Karon, ferryman extraordinaire, and owner of The Shorter Way Home, Lake Michigan’s premiere back and forth Wisconsin to Michigan service. Tell us Guy, what took you into the business?”

“Our family has always been in the ferrying business. Back in Greece where I was born, there are plenty of islands to go back and forth between, though not so many lakes and rivers with ferries, as there are on the Wisconsin mainland. It seemed natural to stick to it when our family immigrated to the States. Sounds from the weather today as though some of your listeners will be needing a ferry, or at least a raft.”

“The flooding is quite serious in some areas. Once again listeners, stay tuned for updates.  And so Guy, the big lake was no challenge for your family?”

“Great Big Sea to Great Big Lake?” he laughed, “Of course the challenges are different. Let me put it this way, our navigation system is a lot different than a rowboat type you might use to cross a stream. We handle a lot of passengers, their vehicles and cargo on each trip.”

“And will there be enough density in a city of our size to support your business:  dare I say it – over the long haul?”

“We draw from a larger area than just the city, of course, but yes, it takes a large population and one that’s willing to travel to support it in the long run.”

“I understand that you are not in favor of new development that will bring an influx of people to live downtown. Isn’t that counter-productive from a business point of view?”

“It might be, but there are other considerations too.” Aimee was making circular gestures in front of her face, demanding that Guy say more. “Not all development is appropriate, even if it adds a customer base.”

“And how’s that? This is a lighthouse, isn’t it? I’d have thought you’d be the first to applaud a nautical theme – maybe even work out a partnership of some kind? Free passes to new owners, that kind of promotion. Isn’t this in the city’s best interests?”

“This particular proposal may mimic a lighthouse but of course wouldn’t perform the function of one, so I’ve never taken that into account in my objections. I disagree strongly that this proposal is in the best interests of the city.” Aimee finally smiled in approval.

“Let’s talk about this some more. Especially in the current economy, why isn’t all development positive?”

“I believe that this proposed building is inauthentic, and I’m very familiar with authentic lighthouses, as you can well imagine. It pretends to be a blueprint into the past but that’s just a cover for an omnivorous, self-justifying monstrosity. We… that’s why I call it “The Parody on Prospect.”

“So who are the other objectors, Guy?”

“More and more people, I believe, as details emerge. For instance, the developer wants to install a time-capsule with memorabilia from the original lighthouse and to envelop the old one in the new, effectively sealing its structure away forever. That’s not what I would term historic preservation. More like destruction of history to me. It’s certainly not the way the majority of lighthouses are restored around the country. What next? Actors on the tiny planned public plaza portraying the lighthouse family, buckets of whitewash and brushes in hand?”

Aimee, positively beaming, continued. “And is it just this particular proposal that you detest? What if a more conventional development were proposed for that site? I mean you live next door, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right. So you might expect I especially want something wonderful next door, wouldn’t you? A restored lighthouse would be an interesting choice, don’t you think? Perhaps we could engage the preservationist community in that project.”

“Well, is that realistic? It’s zoned residential, isn’t it? And I don’t suppose that means your lighthouse keeper’s family, does it?”

“Every proposal should be evaluated on its merits, surely? As should the credentials of any developer.”

“Are you suggesting then that there are no merits to this proposal? Or of this developer?”

Guy paused, and grateful that this was a radio interview, not a taped or TV one, drew his hand across his throat, indicating to Aimee his wish for a break. Surprisingly, she responded. “And Guy will be back with answers to my questions right after this important commercial break.”

With their mikes dead, she said, “That was good, good. Liked the Parody bit.”

Guy said, “I’m going to waffle on those last questions. Don’t want to end up with your lawyer sponsors, no matter how much I like your show. You can’t expect me to put myself in jeopardy.”

“Oh, but I can hope, can’t I?” she smiled and straightened back to her mike. “And we’re back. I was just asking Guy what he thought of the merits of this proposal and its developer.”

“This developer has been recognized by many in the city for his leadership in downtown development. Equally, he has experienced some setbacks and lawsuits, resolved and unresolved, as have other developers. My point is that each proposal should be evaluated, not taken carte blanche based on earlier success or failure by a developer. At the same time, if residents of developments previously constructed  by a developer have run into difficulties with any aspect of it, that must also be taken into account and be subject to public scrutiny.”

“Thank you Guy Karon, for your candid and thought provoking remarks. We’re going to take a brief intermission before we meet our next guest, here to talk about the deep tunnel improvements.”

I’d never get over this feeling, thought Sebastian. He decided to talk to Matthew about it again, first chance he had.  Maybe Matthew would feel the same way too when he got here. They were in daily contact since the plane crash that had wiped out their parents lives, their family life. Now they had to decide so many personal and business matters.

What was that old quote? He searched his memory and came up with part of it. It went something like, ‘All happy families are the same but unhappy ones are different.’ That wasn’t quite right; he would have to look it up. In the meantime, he would just grit his teeth and hope for no ghosts while he was staying here. He believed in ghosts even though he had never seen one.

The next day, as he passed through the lobby on his way to Cathay Imports, a woman rose from her chair, extending her hand, and spoke to him, “Hello, you must be one of the Cabot boys. My name is Ivy James. I knew your parents—my unit is on the same floor and we often visited back and forth—and I want to extend my sincerest condolences. Such a terrible thing to have happened.”

“Thank you, Mrs. James. I’m Sebastian. I’m here to settle up some of their affairs, staying in their unit. My brother Matthew is still in the Orient.”

“Perhaps then, if it’s convenient for you, you could come over to supper with me one evening and we could talk.”

“That’s very kind of you. It might be some comfort to talk with someone here who knew them well. They said they had made some friends here but the names didn’t really register, as I’d never met any of them myself. My brother and I are great travelers, you see.”

“A family trait?”

“Too true.”

And a few nights later, Sebastian came for supper, bearing a set of four wine glasses and a bottle of Merlot. “Please accept the glasses as a memento of my folks,” he offered.

“Many thanks, Sebastian. These are lovely.” she smiled appreciatively. “We’ll use two of them with supper, shall we? And if you would open the wine?”

“And now, how are you and your brother doing?” she asked as they sat down over salad. “When my husband died, at first it was all so… well, busy, and then, it was so empty. When you are accustomed to a routine with someone, all these extremes are very wearing.”

“Well I can tell you that I’m not really enjoying staying in the place, in the empty, alone sort of way you mean. And I’m used to living alone.  And even though it’s very nice, it can certainly not in any way be described as empty. They were collectors, an occupational hazard for sure. There are all those personal effects that will have to be gone through and sorted out. I’m waiting for Matthew before starting on that.” he told her.

“I do remember some of their things from my visits there, old maps on the walls and several globes. I used to tell them that my place was decorated only with my yarn stash, a collection of hooks and needles, and a cat.” and she waved a hand around her, indicating their surroundings. “To each his own, I guess.”

As she brought a steaming dish of lasagna to the table, Sebastian said, “I see that you also have a lot of books. Maybe you can help me to remember a quote that’s slipped my mind. Something about happy and unhappy families?”

“Let’s look it up, though funny you should mention happy families. It’s the name of a card game we’re currently learning to play.” She thumbed through the pages of her book of quotations. “Here we are,” she read aloud,” ‘All happy families resemble one another, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way’. It’s from Tolstoy.” she concluded.

“Ours seems to have gone from one to the other.” Sebastian sighed.

“So you think that you will sell the unit?” she gently asked.

“That’s certainly my preference at this point. I may have to talk Matthew into it. Don’t suppose you could recommend anybody to help us get it ready for sale?”

“Gervase would certainly be able to suggest several people. He’s always willing to help. I think I remember your mother saying that you were working somewhere close by? Would you be the one most likely to be involved in the sale?”

“It would probably be me, yes. Matthew worked directly with my parents. I did for some time but decided it wasn’t for me, not full-time anyway. I was more interested in the traveling than in the business end of it. Right now I have a position at a nearby college, teaching cartography. I’m trying it to find out if I can settle down” he said, “or if I am destined to be a wanderer.”

“Is there such a thing as a freelance cartographer?” she wondered. “Don’t you have to be in a lab with all kinds of special equipment these days?”

“Mapping software, information systems…certainly for teaching tools, yes. Of course, the day of the hardy explorer singlehandedly charting coastlines is long gone but there are other paths to entrepreneurship. I may be on one of those.”

“And in very good company. This runs in my family too, in my sons. One of our residents is a freelance journalist, and accountant on the side, who made the jump to self-employment recently. He’s our association treasurer also. He and I are good chums. I’ll introduce you; I would guess he is about your age, might be some company for you while you’re here. ”

“Well, thanks for your company and the home cooking too,  Mrs. James. And I will ask Gervase for his advice. Who knows? I may end up back at the store in spite of myself.”

“Remember if you need another sorter when that time comes that I’m right down the hall and happy to help.”

That time did come. Once Matthew and Sebastian had decided what to do with things, there remained the work of packing it all up. Mrs. James started to give them a hand with some of the more personal items while a service, touted by Gervase as very competent, was scheduled to come in to handle the rest of the removal. Gervase also suggested that they set up appointments to interview several realtors to determine what kind of listing services they wanted. Mrs. James told them that she had worked with one when she bought her unit and recommended that they be sure to speak with him, as he knew the building very well.

The brothers decided to get started on these interviews while Matthew was still in town. They scheduled back-to back appointments with three realtors to meet in the unit the following Monday morning.

“Very nice, thank you, Ivy.” he declared. “It seems so quiet here without the girls.”

“Yes, that’s certainly true.” she agreed. “But all the same, it’s good to be able to converse quietly too. Not always possible these days.”

“I keep many social engagements, as you know, but this is one at which I can completely relax.” She beamed her pleasure at this remark. “In fact, some of them are damnably awkward. Yesterday, the developer of the project next door was at the same luncheon table as I was. And instead of doing the graceful thing, he went on and on about the project to our table mates. And in a grandiose manner as well; he was positively speechifying.”

“Morris Mangold?” she inquired. “Perhaps that was a blessing, Earnest, and you emerged more poised than he. He appeared ill-mannered and you were not required to reply.”

“You’re quite right. I refrained from any remarks. It was clearly embarrassing to some others at the table. Thank goodness he didn’t address me directly about it.”

“You would have done splendidly had he done so, I’m sure.”

“It does make me treasure less my social rise here, I may say, when I observe the behavior of others who share in my ascent.”

“Oh, Earnest” she chided, “I hope you’d never admit that to any but your closest friends!” He had the decency to look abashed. She continued, “It does remind me that I was going to share a snatch of verse with you. It’s from “Mending Wall’, a poem by Robert Frost. May I?”

At his nod, she opened a book and read out the same lines she had shared earlier with Hans.

“Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out
And to whom I was like to give offense.”

Earnest said, “You’ll be pleased to know that Hans did share that with the committee. It seems that for all his public pronouncements, Mr. Mangold has very little interest in either asking or in not offending.”

“I’ve been thinking about this lighthouse, the old one, that is. I have a theory about this “preservation” proposal. It’s this, that in incorporating it into the new design, the old structure, and all the history it retains, is in effect destroyed.”

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“The only way it can actually be of the past is as it is now. We all thought, I suppose, that it would always be there, a crumbling relic it’s true, but there, going on being what it was. To move it, or restore it, or to build around it and replicate it – all of those options remove it from the past and place it in the future. That may be all well and good, but I don’t see how it really addresses the concerns of the preservationists. Not strictly.”

“There are similar cases in the English countryside, Ivy. I don’t mean the incursions of say a theme park in a rural area. When the old village tea shop becomes Ye Olde Tea Shoppe, it ceases to exist in the way it was. It’s been tricked out to serve a new interest. Is that what you mean?”

“I think so. It’s not just a case of the old lighthouse being swallowed up by a larger version like Jonah inside a whale. The old lighthouse simply ceases to exist. Whereas if it was still standing on the same spot in whatever condition, it would still mean the same thing. It will never be spit out intact again, as was Jonah.”

“Forgive me, but I’m suddenly seeing a series of lighthouse type shapes, all fitting inside one another, like Russian dolls. First a cute little tabletop glass pepper pot that gets inside a Dalek. A Dalek is an alien species, an enemy of planet Earth in the long-running sci-fi series ‘Dr. Who’. A remorseless, tone-deaf, six foot pepper pot bent on universal conquest and domination. Does this sound like our developer, I ask myself? And the cruel Dalek fits inside our old, normal size historic lighthouse. And this is absorbed, devoured, by the gargantuan lighthouse-like edifice called progress, or in our own case, by The Alchemy.”

“Bravo, Earnest!  she clapped, applauding his fanciful rendition. “Though if the Dalek were to have too much pepper, would he huff and puff and sneeze down the lighthouses? Death by pepper?”

“Very good question. All I know on the sci-fi front is that the aliens often land on the tallest structure. Better on an Alchemy than on a POP’s, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Wherever do you suppose they got that name, anyway?”

“Speculation abounds. You know of course that it derives from Greek words meaning to separate and to join together. Rather apt, wouldn’t you agree?  It refers to the ancient attempt to transform base materials into gold. Or into the elixir of life, hence immortality.”

“So, the name is referring to the developer’s wish to transform something into money, or perhaps fame?”

“Possibly. Though I can’t quite credit him with that degree of accuracy.”

“How is the committee getting on? Any developments?” she inquired.

“Since the fiasco at the opening night you mean? You heard about that I’m sure. Guy Karon found a reporter willing to listen to our issues that evening. That’s why we are starting to get some local coverage. Privately, Hans has been very good about supplying us with some recent city history, filling us in on what has happened in other similar situations. So we are taking some other steps now too.”

“Such as?”

“Well, instead of challenging  the proposal per se, we’re beginning  to investigate past performance on other developments. Will the work be up to snuff, in other words? Have there been any legitimate grumbles about other buildings where his firm has been involved? Are there any lawsuits?  Anything that would suggest that the construction itself might be questioned? Anything to suggest an inability to handle a project of this size?” he summed up.

“You mean, if there are problems occurring in other developments Mangold has done or been a party to, that might suggest that any new building might have similar flaws?

“Or at least might be subject to more scrutiny, certainly. Of course, it may turn out that he is completely in the clear in that regard. It’s a risk you take when you undertake to discover the truth. As I say, it’s just another avenue of approach at this point. And it could turn into an expensive one if attorneys get involved.”

“Imagine that…if that proves true, the newer lighthouse might fall down faster than the older one.” she mused.