Alligators in the Trees (23 page)

“Okay, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life. Satisfied?”

“You’re just saying that,” she pouted. Tobias swore under his breath.

“Look at me. You are the most fucking beautiful female on the planet, bar none,” Tobias said. He was about five seconds away from losing his desire for her permanently.

“More beautiful than Mikeala Douglas?” she asked sweetly, kissing him lightly around his mouth.

“Yeah, ten times more beautiful than Mikeala Douglas. Okay? All right? Are you all over your fit?” he asked as Simone redoubled her efforts to soothe him. Tobias pulled her away mid-smooch. “Want to get ready now, before I completely lose interest in going anywhere?”

Simone snuck one final kiss in before sashaying off. “I’ll be just a minute,” she assured him. Tobias rolled his eyes and headed out the door. “Tobias!” Simone called out. He stuck his head back around the door. “I love you,” she said. Tobias nodded solemnly.

“I’ll be waiting in the living room,” he replied, leaving Simone to pick through her fashion landslide. But with every step he took he felt an overwhelming impulse to flee. He glided past the living room, regarding a headphone clad Winston out the corner of his eye, and kept on moving, out the door and to his livery car.

Priscilla was torn from her writing by a sharp, precise knocking at her door. She quickly stashed her notebook and pen in the bedside table and hastily pulled the bedspread over the twisted bed sheets. She had tossed and turned relentlessly all night, haunted by her incessant doubts.

She got up around 3 a.m. and scribbled till daybreak in the notebook she picked up before retiring for the night. With all the changes that had taken place in the last seventy-two hours, her penchant for writing was the one of the few things remaining of her former life.

“Just a minute,” she called out, as she struggled out of her ratty T-shirt and wriggled into her jeans. She pulled a better looking light blue T-shirt over her head and smoothed her hair down.

“Good morning,” Philip said brightly, his face positively radiant with the pleasure of seeing her. “How was your night?”

“It was all right,” Priscilla fibbed, extending her arm in a welcoming gesture. Philip stepped cautiously into the small room, unsure of what to do with himself.

“This is a nice room,” he said pleasantly, though he wished she would allow him to put her up somewhere nicer.

“Yeah, it’ll do,” she said, giving her hair a few quick strokes with her brush. Philip averted his attention to her view of the street while Priscilla applied some mascara and a light coat of lipstick, smacking her lips as she assessed the results. Good enough.

“I guess I’m ready when you are,” she said, grabbing a sweater out of her duffel bag.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Philip asked. “I have to admit, I started feeling kind of guilty last night when I got home. I feel very selfish commandeering you this way. Like you said, you’ve got troubles of your own.”

“Don’t worry about it. I chose to do this of my own free will. Whatever help I can be to you in the next three days, you’re welcome to it.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Philip said.

“Don’t mention it. Shall we go?”

“I thought I’d take you to see my office—what remains of it, anyway, and then just play it by ear.”

“Sounds fine,” Priscilla said, as they entered the elevator and gave their undivided attention to watching the numbers light up in descending order as the car lowered them to the lobby floor.

“My office is only a few blocks from here, but we can catch a cab if you’d rather not walk.”

“Walking is fine with me.”

Philip made a few brief attempts at conversation as they walked along, but eventually gave it up. The ensuing silence had a surprisingly comforting effect on him, as though he were walking down the street with someone he had known for years. By the time they had walked five blocks, his nervousness had completely abated.

“Have you had any brainstorms on how to rebuild your career?” Priscilla asked as they neared his building. Philip grimaced self-consciously.

“I’m afraid not. It seems a lot less plausible in the cold light of day than it did last night. I don’t know if I’m really worthy of the confidence you have in me,” Philip confessed as he pulled the heavy glass door open.

“Oh, don’t be so modest. You experienced two decades of success relying solely on your own talents. You don’t need to look to anyone else for confidence.”

Though Priscilla spoke these words matter-of-factly, their impact on Philip was far from casual. His heart swelled as he signed in with security. He couldn’t remember receiving that level of support from his own wife in all the years they had been together. But then again, he hadn’t needed it when everything was going his way.

They rode the elevator at the far end of the lobby, the one exclusively serving the top floor. Instead of sneaking in through his private entrance, Philip took Priscilla through the main reception area. Even though it wasn’t much more than a hollowed-out shell, his once grand offices were still impressive at first glance.

“Good morning. And how is everyone today?” Philip called out to his slightly startled temporary staffers, who’d been caught chatting up a storm. For months they’d only had brief glances at this once distinguished man.

“Fine, thank you, Mr. Glessner,” one of the young women finally managed to say.

“No one’s come to repossess the furniture, I see,” he said with a demented cackle. “Just joking. I trust there’s a nice, fresh pot of coffee brewing somewhere in this vast tomb of an office?”

“Yes, sir. In the kitchen area,” the same young woman replied.

“Excellent. Shall we go get some?” he asked Priscilla, who was eyeing him curiously.

“You’re really enjoying yourself today, aren’t you?” she asked him when they were out of hearing range.

“Yes, I am,” he said smugly. “I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to get to this stage, but now I realize I’ve been to the bottom and so what? Am I dead? Is anyone l love dead? Did anyone die as a result of what happened to The Phoenix? No. I’ve been creeping around my own office like a wanted criminal for the last nine months and I’m tired of it. I’m fully insured—everyone negatively affected by the collapse will be made whole, except me, of course.

“By the time my soon-to-be-ex inflicts her final blow, it’ll be old clothes and porridge for me. But I think the first step toward reclaiming my career is to start acting like I’ve done nothing wrong. Hell, it worked for the Teflon Don, and he was a homicidal maniac. There’s really no reason I should fall on my sword to prove my integrity. The best thing I can do for all involved is to try to facilitate a solution to this difficult situation.”

“So, you do have a plan,” Priscilla surmised as she took the proffered mug of coffee.

“No, that’s just my version of the pep talk you gave me last night. I figure if I keep repeating it to myself I might start believing it. Sugar? Cream?” Priscilla shook her head. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Philip led her down a corridor lined on both sides by individual offices, private glassed-in ten-by-ten foot squares. Abandoned picture hooks were the only signs the rooms had ever been occupied.

At the end of the hallway was a huge conference room with floor to ceiling windows that seemed to take in the entire city. The room was virtually empty aside from a sleek table that could seat twenty. There was an unnatural stillness to the setting that made Priscilla feel as though she was looking at a modern day relic, perfectly preserved as future testimony to a bygone era.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” Philip asked lightly. “My office is back this way.”

“Why do you keep all the lights on if no one is working over here?” Priscilla asked as they made their way back toward the reception area.

“It feels dead over there without them. It’s hard enough to ramble around this place with maximum wattage. There’s no way I could face it dark,” Philip replied as they passed the bevy of temps, all of whom had affected a more business-like demeanor.

“Terrific cup of coffee,” he sang out merrily as he held his mug up in a one-sided toast, causing the women to eye him warily. “They’re probably afraid I’m going to come in here one day with a foot long beard and five inch nails,” he whispered to Priscilla, who nearly choked on her coffee.

“I never suspected you had such a devious side, Phil,” she commented, impressed by the change that had come over him.

“Me neither,” he said with a wily grin.

On the other wing of the office there was a series of large glass-walled spaces used for erecting and displaying scale models, many of which lined the perimeter of the rooms like miniature villages. It fascinated Priscilla to see the vast body of Philip’s accomplishments, toy-sized monuments to the man’s seemingly limitless visions.

“Here we are—the mastermind’s habitat,” Philip said with a self-deprecating snort. While the view from the conference room was stunning, what Philip’s windows had to offer nearly knocked her off her feet.

“Whoa! I think I’m getting vertigo,” Priscilla said, bracing herself against a chair as her equilibrium adjusted. “I can’t get over this. It’s like hovering just above everything. Wow, it’s like super-real,” she said, inching her way toward the window for a closer look. “This must be incredibly inspiring for you.”

“I suppose it used to be, in the beginning. But frankly, I’ve become so accustomed to it, I’m hardly even conscious of it anymore. It’s become part of the background, like wallpaper.” Priscilla found it impossible to imagine becoming jaded to such a sight. She regarded him askance.

“Really?”

“Truly. To be honest, I’ve spent more time looking out these windows in the last nine months than I had in the last ten years. But now when I look out I feel more melancholy than inspired. All those grand edifices are simply reminders that I’m out of the game. Temporarily, at any rate.” Philip pursed his lips and turned away from the view.

“So, this is where all your brilliant ideas happen,” Priscilla said, taking in the office itself.

“Yep…well, this is where most of them were committed to paper. Most of my concepts come together in my mind during non-working hours, like when I’m driving, sitting at the Opera or helping Caitlin with her homework. Or playing golf, which is the only reason I put up with the sport. But, yes… this is where most of my projects came to fruition.”

Priscilla caught sight of the collection of photographs, which, along with awards and commendations, covered nearly all the available wall space. She glanced back at the kind, self-effacing man behind her and found it difficult to reconcile the two personas. The Philip in these pictures seemed so different than the one she knew—more confident of his place in the world, more in command, more empowered by his station in life.

“Looks like you were a walking photo-op,” she said, as she followed the private exhibition around the room.

“Oh, yes—always a darling of the press. You know, I think that kind of thing went to my head. I think I started believing I would always have the most prestigious projects and carte blanche to let my ideas run wild.

It was a rarified experience—I see that now. I enjoyed an unimaginable run of good luck in my career. It had to crap out eventually. There was no way it could go on forever. I just never conceived I would be brought down by poor judgment on my part.” Philip sighed and perched himself on the edge of his massive desk.

“I take it this is your wife,” Priscilla said, pointing to an earlier photo of Marianne. Philip nodded. “She’s quite stunning.”

“Yes, she is. It’s funny, I think I was gratified by Marianne’s beauty the same way I was gratified by my architecture.” Philip came over and stood next to Priscilla.

“I’m finding it remarkable the way I’m beginning to see everything around me so clearly. It’s as if I’ve stepped out of time and now I’m allowed to really examine details I waived away as insignificant in the past. It’s an extraordinarily enlightening perspective, I can tell you that.”

“In what way?” Priscilla asked.

“Well, for instance, I understand now what I passed off as love for Marianne was pride. I was as proud of her looks and deportment as I was of my work. It wouldn’t surprise me if underneath it all I once considered her one of my most flattering creations.” Priscilla looked up at him quizzically. “Awful, isn’t it? But that’s the kind of man I was, I guess.”

“I don’t know… you don’t strike me as being self-centered or egotistical,” she said. “You’ve certainly never acted like that all the times I’ve seen you. Just the opposite. In fact, you seem almost selfless when you’re with Caitlin, like your only mission in life is to care for her.”

“Well, she’s different. She’s my little girl and it’s my job to look after her and help her grow into a responsible, happy adult.” Priscilla turned back to the wall of photos, her eyes flitting over the various images of Marianne.

“So you think of Marianne as your creation, but your daughter—your own flesh and blood—isn’t? Is that what you’re telling me?” Philip reared back slightly.

“Well… figuratively speaking—”

“Then at some point you decided to give your creation a mind and attitudes of her own. The woman in this photograph, while obviously the same person, gives off an entirely different impression than in earlier photos. This one, here, where you both look like you’re in your late twenties, compared to this one, shows two people matured by years of living.

“The change in you is quite marked—the bright-eyed dreamer became the elder statesman, edified by his successes. And your wife went from being the shy, awestruck bride to the full embodiment of a woman who trades on her husband’s accomplishments. What’s wrong? Does that assessment shock you?” Priscilla asked.

“You can get all that from a few photographs?” Philip asked skeptically.

“I’ve had the benefit of getting to know you,” she replied.

“But you’ve never met Marianne,” he countered.

“No, and I don’t think I need to,” she said, smiling at Phil’s resistance. “I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp of the type woman she is.”

Philip had to digest this assertion for a moment. “So, you don’t agree with what I said about me subconsciously treating her like a possession rather than a wife?”

Priscilla laughed. “I think it’s more likely the other way around,” she said.

Philip gave her a stern look, then scrutinized several pictures of himself and Marianne.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, though it was clear he couldn’t entirely dismiss what she had said.

Priscilla shrugged and wandered off to an alcove that held more three-dimensional models. In the center, situated like a crown jewel, stood the replica of Philip’s most notorious structure. One glance and she remembered seeing shots of it in the paper.

The photographs she’d seen could not capture the entire building in one angle. She had seen a photo taken from one of the upper stories looking out toward the center of the edifice, which graduated outwardly from the sides, allowing the windows set at angles a view of the building’s central design without compromising the privacy of others, giving each occupant a feeling of seclusion while gazing out.

“There lays the Great White Hope,” Philip said, as he came around the other side.

“This is quite an interesting design, really a departure from most of what you see being built these days,” Priscilla commented.

“Yes. I’m not sure why, but when I first began toying with the idea of revitalizing that part of town, I kept coming back to the image of a Phoenix. And I always saw it white. The Art Deco styling seemed to suit those elements the best, allowing us to use the image in a subtle way without being too obvious or gaudy,” Philip said, tracing his finger along the bas-relief at the top of the building.

“We tilted the image ever so slightly so that it can be viewed in its entirety from the street. And, if you happen to be one of the residents on the top two floors, the Phoenix looks like it’s about to take flight. It’s pretty extraordinary, really.”

“That’s very impressive,” Priscilla agreed.

“Yes, I liked the idea so much, I gave the building two facades,” he said, swiveling the model around to reveal an identical treatment on the backside.