“Well…it’s just a phase.”
Jake wanted to get out his notebook, but he hadn’t brought it. The entire night was supposed to be off the record. More importantly, the notebook didn’t fit in his new suit’s pocket. Especially with all the thick-stock business cards he’d gotten.
“What’s just a phase?” he asked. He’d have to use his memory-never optimal.
“Just the usual stuff.”
“What’s that?”
He could feel Mel looking at him. He didn’t look back.
“You know-just regulations.”
“Oh. Union stuff? About when you work?”
“No. You have to go through a lot with wetlands preservation. So we’re dealing with that. And you’ve got these environmentalist people. It’s the usual.”
“Do you have to deal with that though? Shouldn’t it all be taken care of by the time you’ve started building?”
“I wish,” he said and grunted. He took another roll. “They still protest, even after you’ve done all the legal work. It’s crazy, but they do it. That’s what happens when those people have all day free without real jobs.”
“I guess so.” Jake looked at the rolls but left them on the table. The man grunted again and started eating his in big bites. Eventually, a waitress collected the plates. Jake wiped the sweat off his forehead as the couples split up into conversations of their own.
“Why didn’t you have a roll?” Mel asked.
“I want to save my appetite.”
“For chicken?”
“There’s nothing like it.”
“Everything’s like it.”
“Did I get you in trouble before?” he asked under his breath. Change the subject. Even if the new subject was more dangerous.
“What do you mean?”
“With Mr. Rothschild. I had no idea that he was behind me when I said that about never catching up to Palmstead.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. He puts on a show, but he doesn’t mean it.”
“Did he…” Jake started. He touched the prongs on his salad fork and waited.
“Did he what?”
“Well, did he tell you anything? About me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to bring it up. But is this date just to, you know, try to get me to write something? Did he tell you to take me out tonight?”
She looked down at the white napkin on her lap.
“If you think that Jake, really…”
He frowned, but she smiled.
“Case closed,” she said and touched his arm with her hand. “Besides, Gary’s already sprained my ankle. Mr. Rothschild knows your paper won’t be easy on me, even if I do wine and dine you.”
He reached for her hand as they laughed. But then they heard the sound of shattered glass. Mel grabbed him, her nails scraping his skin.
“What’s happening?” More glass broke. It echoed across the room.
A man was standing on the table next to the band. He wore blue jeans and a white tank top. He had a long beard that went down to his chest. A message on the tank top read “Stop The Development.” It was written in dripping crimson paint.
“Everybody listen to me!” His words were slurred and it sounded like he was drunk. He picked up another glass and held it by its flute. He tossed it up, nearly hitting the wooden ceiling. Half the people stood up at their tables and the other half ducked under them. The glass crashed to the floor.
“I want to talk to you about what’s happening. You people are endangering the most precious resource we have.” His voice was hoarse. Jake held Mel close. “Why are people more important than animals? Why you are risking the wetlands for this? For people! For your company’s developments!”
He flailed his arms around. He didn’t hold a weapon. He continued to talk, though it quickly became impossible to tell what he was saying. Jake and Mel watched as a man crept up behind the table. Jake hadn’t noticed him before. He wore all black and had thick red hair running to his collarbone. He had long arms and wide shoulders. After touching an earpiece with his hand, he nodded and jumped on the table in a single leap.
Both men fell on the floor and more glass shattered.
Then it was quiet again. The red haired man got up and held the bearded man’s hands behind his back. He walked him to the back of the room and then out the door. People started clapping and everyone sat down again. Rothschild was sitting in front and he stood up and walked to the podium.
“Well,” he said and adjusted his tie. “That certainly seems like a cue for the next course.”
Everyone laughed. A moment later, waiters started circulating with the meal. They stepped around the busboys, who were busy cleaning up the broken glass.
CHAPTER 10
“Are you sure I can have this?” Mel asked.
“Go for it.” Jake pushed the rest of his strawberry cheesecake toward her.
After the bearded man was escorted out, the night had gone more smoothly. They’d eaten and talked as a table, then the conversation split into couples again. He’d learned more about her. The college she’d gone to. The one she’d wanted to go to instead. She didn’t like filling in Sudoku puzzles-she liked writing her own on Saturday mornings, while she drank orange juice and listened to the radio. He learned that when she said “cabinet,” for some reason she drew out the “i” long enough that you could hear it. When her ice cream melted, she caught the liquid in her spoon and raised it to her lips.
Rothschild approached the podium while the waiters and waitresses served coffee. A man from Rothschild’s table tapped a glass with his spoon. Sound pinged against the walls and Rothschild took the mic from the podium.
“Just for the record, I didn’t want to come up here.”
A few people laughed too loudly. Mel set her spoon against her dish. Then the man from Rothschild’s table stood up. He teetered a bit. Mel whispered to Jake.
“Eliot Walters. He’s a development VP.” He was a short bald man whose face had blushed red.
“He likes a drink or two?”
“More than two.”
“Before you speak,” the man said and pointed at Rothschild, “I want everybody to stand up.”
Chairs squeaked against the floor.
“We have got to give a toast to our hero!”
Rothschild brought the mic to his lips.
“Just don’t hit the glasses as hard as our environmentalist friend did earlier this evening.”
When the laughter died down, the VP continued.
“He’s too modest to say it, but what Simeon does, the amount of money he gives…it’s a beautiful thing. If that doesn’t deserve a toast, well, I don’t know what does. So, a toast to generosity in all its forms. That’s why we’re here.”
They raised their glasses and hit them together. Gently. They drank.
“That’s very kind of you, Eliot,” Rothschild said into the mic. “It’s true that I’m modest. I’m one of the most modest people in the state.”
The crowd laughed and he waited it out. He held the mic with one hand and let the other hand settle in his jacket pocket. From far away he looked different-the veins were smoothed by distance, and the dark eyes were just spots to center the audience’s focus. Jake wished he had his notebook. He listened instead.
“It’s great to have so many old and new friends here today. All of you are important to this company and what we are trying to do for Florida. We are trying to build high quality spaces for a range of residents with a range of needs.”
He switched mic hands and walked to another part of the room. He was a politician, hitting every corner.
“Just the other day, I met someone who told me that our work helped them to afford their first home. And the next day, I met someone who said that our work helped them finally reach the luxury they deserved. They didn’t put it quite like that, of course. But it was gratifying to hear people embrace Rothschild.”
He crossed the room again and picked up a glass. Not water. Champagne bubbles rose to the top.