“That’s what I said!” he replied.
I looked back down at the paper. The Associated Press had picked up the piece from the Nassau Guardian and run it on the national wires. The Sun had, of course, picked up the piece. It was a no-brainer for them; local boy makes good and all. I ran through it quickly, and it was just a basic rehash of the original Monday morning piece.
I looked back up and just shook my head. “It really wasn’t like that.” I folded the paper up and passed it back.
John refused it. “No, you keep that one for your scrapbook. I have one all for my own.”
“You have a scrapbook?”
“Sure, I put in it all the news pieces about my clients who’ve been in bar fights and gone to jail.”
“Maybe you need to start one about lawyers who do stand-up comedy,” I replied.
John snorted at that. “Do you have life insurance? Should I be finding you a broker?”
I laughed. “Wow! Your wife feeding you Wheaties these days? You’re sure full of piss and vinegar for an old fart!”
“I just don’t want my billable hours being cut when you end up in the morgue!” We both laughed at that, then he asked, “So, tell me the truth, what really happened.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t all that heroic. Marilyn and I were out barhopping on Saturday night — I mean, we were on vacation, right? — and we were in this one place, late. Nice joint, a little crazy, but not in a bad way. When I got up to go to the bathroom, there was this chick laying on the bar, with her boyfriend doing body shots out of her belly button.”
John rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if I should be jealous or disgusted. Please, please, don’t tell me you had Marilyn do that.”
I laughed. “No, but I think I’ll mention it the next time. Anyway, I head off to the can, and when I come out, now there’s two broads on the bar getting body shots…”
“Naked?”
“No, it wasn’t that crazy. So I’m actually kind of watching them, when I hear Marilyn scream. I turn around and see this black guy running my way carrying a bunch of purses, including hers, so I stopped him…”
“By putting him in the hospital.”
I ignored this. “… and then his two buddies, who were also thieves, came after me, so I stopped them, too. I wasn’t trying to stop a crime wave. I just heard Marilyn scream. You’d have done the same thing.”
“Right, just as soon as I can get Helen into a bar to do body shots.”
I had to grin at that. I had met Helen Steiner a number of times, going back to when I was in Explorers with John and Alan, and while Helen was a lovely lady, she wasn’t exactly shaped for body shots. “I want photos when you do that!”
That got me a smile. “I’ll be needing a lawyer for that, a divorce lawyer!” He reached over and tapped the paper. “Your father called me.”
I sighed. That was an easy one to predict. As long as I had known my family, we had always gotten the Sun, and my father would have certainly read the local news. Hamilton, too, now that I thought about it. Mom and Suzie, not so much. I nodded but didn’t say anything.
“He asked about you, if I had talked to you lately.”
“And you said?”
He just shook his head. “He knows you’re one of my clients. Leaving aside any ethical issues about talking about my clients, I do not want to get into this with you two. You need to work it out on your own. I told him to call you, and gave him your phone number.”
I just nodded sadly. “I know. Suzie has told us the same thing. She told me that Dad asks every once in a while, but is afraid to say anything in front of Mom or Hamilton. She gave him the number also. What the hell am I supposed to do, John? He won’t even call me from his office. I think he’s afraid of what Mom will do if she finds out he still thinks he has two sons.”
“I don’t have any answers for you either, Carl.”
We let it go at that, and over lunch I told him about the trip down and where we stayed. He was very impressed with our dinner with the Who’s Who of Eleuthera, although I had to remind him it’s a very small place. Then we talked about the property and what we were going to build.
I asked him, “So, know any good home builders?”
“Like contractors?” I nodded as I chewed. He shook his head. “I think you need more than just a contractor. I think you need a professional outfit, one of the big builders. You’re going to need an architect, blueprints, permits, all that stuff. Your average contractor isn’t going to do that.”
I thought about that a second. Back when I was with Lefleur, we often had customers who wanted a package deal, a turnkey project. I had occasionally been forced to be the general contractor myself, and I’m just not cut out for it. I can do it, but I don’t enjoy it. “Okay. I’ll buy that. Know any good professional builders?”
He shrugged. “Nothing rings a bell, but I can’t say as I’ve ever looked. You can call that real estate agent and ask her if she knows any. Heck, on your drive home, just pull into one of the new developments along the way and find the sales office. Those are mostly run by a big outfit. Ask them. For what you want, you’ll want a big outfit.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll do both. If you think of anything, let me know.”
It was a long lunch, a working lunch in a lot of ways, and it was close to two when we left. On the way home, I thought about what John had said, and as I passed a development, saw a sign stating that it was part of Pulte Homes. That was a name that rang a bell. They were a big national outfit of home builders. They would certainly be capable of the job, but would they want to? I was a single house, and these guys thought in terms of hundreds and thousands of houses. Only one way to find out.
There was a young fellow in the sales office, a demo model of a split level. He seemed young, anyway, at least to me, although we were probably the same age. He simply seemed green, like he had just been hired the week before and didn’t know his product or his system or his company. Well, we all have to start somewhere. “Hello! Welcome to Maplewood Manor! How can I help you?” came rushing out, almost before the door was shut behind me.
“I’d like to talk to somebody about building a house,” I replied.
“Well, I’d be happy to help you! Please have a seat.” He waved me to a chair in front of him, and picked up a clipboard with a questionnaire. “First things first. Can I have your name, please?”
“Carl Buckman.” I was really starting to figure that this kid wasn’t the fellow I wanted to speak with. For one thing, he hadn’t even introduced himself. Maybe I was supposed to simply read his name tag and leave it at that.
He asked me a few more standard questions, address, phone number, and such, and then asked, “And when would you like to move in?”
I held my hands up in a ‘time-out’ manner. “Hold up a moment… Scott,” I said, reading his name tag. “I have a few questions first.” He looked at me blankly. “Do you build in other locations than this?”
“Well, Maplewood Manor is owned by the Pulte Group, which has developments all across America…” He started a spiel on the wonders of Pulte.
I stopped him again. “No, I mean, I own my own property already. Do you build on private property or only in a development?”
This really confused him. “You mean you don’t want to live in Maplewood Manor?”
“I am buying property already. Now I need to build a house on it.”
We were now off the charts completely for this poor guy. “I don’t know.”
“Is there somebody who would know?” No way was this kid going to last as a professional salesman. I should know, I had sold homes for over thirty years.