MarySue Lamont wasn’t happy. Not at all. It had been a disappointing night. To put it mildly. And it was shaping up as an even worse morning.
After spending the previous day making a series of unproductive business calls she’d decided to recharge with an evening at a Delaware Avenue club. The club scene for Philadelphia’s young professionals is very active these days, especially if, like MarySue, you ingest the appropriate chemical enhancements before taking up station. She’d enhanced herself in the ladies room of her favorite club and sure enough, after a few minutes nursing an apple vodka martini at the bar, someone had joined her. The right things were said in the right order and she thought she’d maybe run into a guy with potential.
She had quickly and accurately figured the cost of his clothing and accessories and found the total acceptable. He had a Don Johnson Miami Vice stubble look that wasn’t au courant but which she kind of liked anyway. His rap hinted at ambition and precocious success without getting into the sort of excessive details that made you think it was all bullshit. Partial bullshit was expected and acceptable. Her career in executive placement attuned her to such distinctions.
They danced a bit. Had a few laughs. She finished her apple vodka martini and let him buy her another. What with one thing another they ended up in his place. Which was where things started to go south in a hurry.
His condo, if he really did own it rather than rent, something she now doubted, was too small and much too modestly furnished. It was also located near the now closed Eastern State Prison in the city’s Fairmont section. Anyone with the slightest sense of real estate values, and MarySue prided herself on having considerable knowledge in this realm, could see the place wasn’t even a decent starter. Its off-street parking lot was full of five-year-old Nissans. The carpeting in the common areas smelled of disinfectant, carelessly applied.
But OK. It was late. She was more than a little tight. The guy still looked pretty good. Her own birth control was taken care of and she would make sure this new guy used a condom. So why not?
The why not began to become apparent the minute he joined her in the sack. He’d gargled with Listerine, the stuff teenagers use on their first date for fear of offending. Even mixed with the gin and tonics that he’d been drinking at the club its scent put her off. He managed to do a little better with the preliminary kissing and touching that followed, and MarySue started thinking, hoping anyway, she’d enjoy herself after all. Then her new partner began muttering in a way that was both embarrassed and angry, finally coming out with the dreaded: “I don’t usually have this problem.”
This problem, from MarySue’s perspective, wasn’t necessarily a relationship killer because, hey, if a guy was really that nervous with her the first time it was almost like a compliment that he couldn’t perform. They had both had a fair amount to drink, so by itself doing a Bob Dole was no big deal. A good night’s sleep might even make the problem disappear. After assuring him that this happened all the time with other guys, she was mercifully allowed to drift off to sleep.
This should have eased the way to a civilized farewell, even without a wake up diddle. She’d been willing to put this experience down as just another off-peak night, patted the loser on the head one last time, given him a phony telephone number, grabbed a cab, and come home to spruce up for a noon appointment with someone she really, really, thought she could place with a major firm in the area, wrangling a sizable commish in the process. Then her sleep pal favored her with his sock trick.
When she opened her eyes at seven, the time she always got out of bed every day, no matter what she had imbibed, inhaled or ingested the night before, the first thing she saw was him washing his socks in the kitchen sink. The kitchen sink!
“Don’t have a washer-dryer yet,” he explained when he noticed she was awake. “Buying one this weekend at Wal-Mart. Want some orange juice?” He pointed to a glass sitting in the sink drainer next to where he was doing his laundry.
This grotesque misadventure proved to be merely the prelude to what awaited her when she got back to her place on Irving Street. The street’s blacktop, in front of her neighbor’s front door but only a few feet from her own, now sported a gaping hole that five workmen were covering with heavy canvas weighted down with barrels. The street itself was closed off to traffic by signs and tape, permitting access only via the sidewalk.
“What are you doing,” she screamed at the workmen.
They ignored her and continued putting the finishing touches on their handiwork. She screamed louder. “What are you doing? What are you doing? You can’t do this. Where’s your supervisor?”
After adjusting the last barrel, one of the men finally deigned to acknowledge
her presence. “Guess that’s me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Covering the hole.”
“I can see that. Why is there a hole so close to my house?”
“Leak in the pipe.”
“When....why...”
The supervisor, foreman, whatever he was, moved closer to MarySue and seemed to be checking her out. He was a strongly built guy with a cocky air and smelled of physical work in a way that was kind of appealing. Under certain circumstances, especially after the previous night’s frustrations, she might not have been averse to a bit of flirting. Maybe even more than flirting. She prided herself on not being a social snob. At least, not when it came to sex.
But today she had an appointment with a very good executive placement prospect. In her line of work it was acceptable to do business out of a home-office and have a client come by a place that was obviously a residence, provided it was an impressive residence in a good part of town. Put a barbecue pit out front, however...
“Do me a favor,” said this foreman person, who actually had the gall to came across like he thought she owed him a favor. “Tell the guy who lives next door we couldn’t finish this job today like I told him this morning we’d finish it. Got a call from the head shop ‘bout a higher priority. We’ll probably get back here tomorrow.” Then he remembered the next day was Saturday. “Monday for sure.”
The foreman person turned away. He and his buddies began piling their digging implements into the back of a pickup truck on the getaway side of their work site.
Damn, thought MarySue, watching helplessly as the crew packed its gear. Then
came the topper. Before the crew chief got into the cab of the pickup to drive off he blew her a kiss. Damn him! She would get him for that. She would find someone in the city administration. Report him. Oh yes, she would.
An envelope had been passed through her mail slot. She almost stepped on it as she entered the house. It was too early for a regular delivery. Besides, this envelope had no stamp or return address. Just the words “Important. Please Open Immediately.”
If that bastard of a hole digger... She was about to shred the envelope and its contents but stopped. Written evidence of harassment by a municipal employee was infinitely preferable to a she-said, he-said accusation dispute when this got to court. Got him, she thought, and tore open the envelope.
It took only seconds for MarySue to realize this letter wasn’t from the harasser or one of his pals. It was something quite different. Something that hinted at a more immediate and a far bigger payout than a harassment suit. The letter read:
Dear Ms. Lamont:
“In the very near future the nursing school of Jefferson University Hospital is planning a major expansion. The work being done in the street near your home is part of the preparations for this expansion. We much regret any inconvenience this infrastructure improvement may cause you and your neighbors.
“Because we understand the disruptions that Jefferson expansion programs often involve for people in our community, we plan in the near future to make very attractive acquisition offers to you and other property owners in the area. I must advise you, however, that a problem has arisen that may delay these offers.
“The problem involves your immediate neighbor, Mr. Bernard Kahn, who has shown a reluctance to take steps that make our project, and the attendant property acquisitions, possible. I would very much like to discuss this situation with you inasmuch as further delays caused by Mr. Kahn could prove very expensive for both Jefferson and yourself.”
The letter was signed J. R. Singletary, Vice-President of Development,
Jefferson University Hospital. Singleton’s card was also enclosed. Both card and letter bore a hand written scribble in red ink. “Please call me ASAP.”
MarySue’s body was aching for its morning run, already more than an hour overdue, and in light of the previous night’s activities and non-activities needed more than usual. But as both a businesswoman and property owner she knew the importance of moving quickly on opportunities. The ASAP in the note suggested immediate action might pay big dividends. She picked up her phone and dialed.
“Jefferson Development.”
“Mr. Singletary, please.”
“I’ll connect you.”
It was Makepeace Morris who put together the letter to MarySue Lamont, along with a phony Jefferson business card, and dropped them through her mail slot the night before while moving the canvas that covered the hole a few steps from her front door. Early this morning he had also contacted the answering service that handled his business communications with instructions to give a Jefferson Development greeting to anyone who called, and when someone asked for a Mr. Singletary, to forward the call to his cell phone.
The woman running the service did this kind of thing for Morris fairly often. She had him pegged for a pimp or drug dealer. She couldn’t care less. He always paid his bills on time.
“Singletary here.”
“Mr. Singletary, my name is Lamont and I live...”
“Oh yes, the Irving Street property. Thanks for getting back to me so promptly.”
“You’re planning to buy more property in this area? To expand?”
Morris smiled. Bet you’re drooling about that one, sweety, he thought. “That’s
Jefferson’s plan, Ms. Lamont. That is, after the city completes its infrastructure
improvements, and if we can get everyone in our projected expansion area to move within our very tight expansion schedule.”
The hook baited, Morris waited for the obvious questions. How much am I going to make off you rich institutional suckers? What can I do to speed things along?.
“One of the workman dissed me.”
“What?”
“One of the people digging up my street. He made comments. Gestures.”
Like I give a shit, thought Morris. “That’s terrible,” he said. “Did you happen to get his name.”
“No. But I can give you a description.”
Morris didn’t like this digression. The person at the city’s Water & Sewer Department who organized the dig in front of Kahn’s place, then ordered that the hole be covered with canvas instead of a metal plate at Morris’ request, had used a ruder than usual crew to do the job. Big deal. Setting up this operation had cost Morris a promise for two good seats to a Philadelphia Eagles playoff game. Any collateral offensiveness cropping up along the way wasn’t his lookout.
“Ms. Lamont,” said Morris, letting a touch of pompous annoyance creep into his voice. “I’ve been charged by a very large institution with trying to hasten a very large and important project. I was hoping we could discuss how you might help me—and yourself by the way—since we’re prepared to pay property owners in your area handsomely. If you wish me to concentrate on punishing this individual instead, this laborer person, who has offended you...”
The implied threat worked like magic. A hungover MarySue Lamont sobered and changed direction instantly. “How much were you planning to pay for my place,” she blurted out, before realizing a more subtle approach to the issue was probably in order. Her excessive enthusiasm, however, was expected and welcome.
“Three hundred and twenty-five thousand was the number I heard,” replied Morris. “In confidence, I can tell you that you might do a little better if you’re prepared to negotiate.”
Morris knew from checking public records that his fish had paid just $180,000 for her property three years earlier. He could almost see the dollar signs bouncing around in her head as she mentally flashed onto images of trips to Europe and buying a new beamer. He didn’t have to wait very long for the question he really wanted to hear.
“You said I might be able to help speed things up. Something to do with my
neighbor?”
Gotcha, thought Morris. “Yes. Mr. Bernard Kahn. You must know him quite well. Living next door to you.”
“I know him.” Flat voiced. Giving away nothing.
“Well, Ms. Lamont, and I tell you this again in the strictest confidence, Mr. Kahn is not actually the owner of the house where he now resides. He is just able to remain there because of a legal technicality.”
“I know.”
“Good. Than I don’t have to go into the details. It was my thinking that since you are such close neighbors, if there were something, anything, you could do to hasten Mr. Kahn’s leaving the house he is presently occupying, so that Jefferson could expand and we could proceed with the purchases of houses like yours in the area...”
The two conspirators shared confidences for a few more minutes. Their conversation ended with both feeling very pleased with themselves. Makepeace Morris had another ally he was certain would do everything in her power to make Bernie’s continued stay on Irving Street increasingly unpleasant. The ridiculous canvas topping on the hole in front of Bernie’s place that he had arranged to remain in place a few more days would further add to Bernie’s discomfort. Heavy rains were again predicted for this evening, and Morris planned another canvas rearrangement.
MarySue Lamont felt almost giddy after hanging up and began dressing for her run. The $325,000 figure Singletary mentioned was just a starting bid. She was sure she could jack that up several notches. Get at least $350,000. No more. Much more. Maybe clear $200,000, now that Singletary had inadvertently let her know how anxious Jefferson was to get this expansion project moving. Oh, yeah.
She even had a great idea about how to make the jerk next door want to move out. How to finally rid herself of someone who had been crapping up her neighborhood for years, and who was now the principal obstacle standing between her and a very large and well deserved capital gain.
How very odd. The idea for getting Bernie to move was actually inspired by her experience the previous night. That sexual downer could end up making her a small fortune.
Get ready for some serious aggravation, Bernie Kahn, she thought as she put on a new designer headband from the large and varied collection in her dresser drawer. Then off she went on her morning run.
