The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place (16 page)

Cah-
PEESH
-ee?
I guessed that Mrs. Bevilaqua was asking if I understood. I shook my head yes. Mrs. Bevilaqua asked again,
“Capisci?”

“Yes, yes, I understand. I understand completely.”

“What do you understand?”

“That I'm not to bother her unless it is important. Really important.”

“Yes.
Capisci.”
After giving me the two numbers, area code first, Mrs. Bevilaqua advised me to call Loretta at home in the evening, or “you won't get past
the administray assist.” I thanked her, and she said, “Loretta, she liked them towers, anyways. Me too. Especially at Christmas.”

I decided that since it was already evening, immediately would be the best time to call Loretta Bevilaqua.

Loretta herself answered after only three rings. I introduced myself the same way I had introduced myself to Peter Vanderwaal, mentioning my mother and my uncles.

Loretta asked, “How
are
they?”

I told her that my mother was in Peru and that my uncles were depressed. She asked me why, so I brought her up-to-date on the sad recent history of the towers. She listened all the way through without interrupting, and then she said, “Legality would be the first thing the lawyers would work on. By declaring the towers illegal, they get the law on their side; and by having the neighborhood declared a landmark, they can claim that they have improved the value of your uncles' property. What would make their property values go up even more would be to restore the neighborhood to what it was before the towers were built. The neighborhood is not as old as Williamsburg, but—”

“Uncle Morris spits on Williamsburg. He says that it may be accurate, but it is not true. He says it gives new meaning to the phrase
real phony.”

“But Old Town would be much more true. The buildings would not be reconstructed. They would be restored. Old Town would not be a walk-around museum like Williamsburg. It would be a living community like Rainbow Row in Charleston. By declaring the neighborhood a historical treasure, your uncles' property value goes up along with all the others.”

“Peter Vanderwaal says that the towers are an
artistic
treasure.”

“Peter Vanderwaal? You've talked to Peter?”

“I have.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“How is he?”

“He's fine. He says that the only values these lawyers and home owners know are property values.
Their
property values. They care about profit, not art, and Peter Vanderwaal says that the towers are art. Outsider art. They are my uncles' personal expression, and my uncles have the right to express themselves. Freedom of expression is part of the law.”

“And so is something called the ‘commonweal'—the welfare of the community. Some years ago, an artist by the name of Christo—a Bulgarian—put up something he called
Running Fence,
which was twenty-four and a half miles of a white curtain running up and down the
California hills north of San Francisco into the ocean. It took him forty-two months and eighteen public hearings—”

“My uncles never had hearings—”

“—and permission from fifty-nine ranchers—”

“My uncles didn't know they needed permission—”

“—to approve his plans—”

“My uncles never had plans—”

“—and a four-hundred-fifty-page environmental impact report—”

“My uncles never impacted the environment, just the neighborhood—”

“—and bore all the expense to put it up.”

“My uncles never asked anyone for a penny.”

“And two weeks after completing the fence, he took it down. Today, no sign of
Running Fence
remains on the face of the land.” I thought about that for a long time until Loretta asked, “Margaret? Are you still there?”

“I'm still here,” I answered. “And this is what I have to say about forty-two months. Forty-two months is a lot different from forty-five years. And here is what I have to say about taking down
Running Fence.
Taking it down was part of it. Taking it down was an important part of its history, but that's not so for the towers. My uncles never meant for the towers to come down.
They're not even all finished. My uncles were ready to start a fourth tower, but they never did.”

“Speaking of fences, will they let your uncles keep the fence?”

“Yes. None of the fence shows from the street. Which goes to show that they are not as interested in the commonweal as they are in appearances.”

“Would they let your uncles keep the towers if they removed the sections that peek over the top of the buildings?”

I was shocked. “I wouldn't even ask,” I said. “That would . . . that would destroy the whole . . . the whole . . .
majesty
of them.” I had never used the word
majesty
before. It came from some deep, knowing, inside part of me. Words can be part of your soul before they are part of your vocabulary. The thought that my mother's old friend was taking the other side was making me sick. She was making me sick. “Are you a lawyer?” I asked.

“Yes, I am. I started at Infinitel in the legal department.”

“Now I know why you're on their side.”

“Whose side are we talking about?”

“Theirs! The
lawyers and the home owners who live all around my uncles.”

“I'm sorry that's what you think.”

“Well, I do.”

“Your thinking is wrong. I do love the towers, and I am going to save them. Now tell me what Peter said.”

“He said he'll form a committee, the Cultural Preservation Committee. He's going to get signatures from important art authority rainmakers on a petition to have the towers declared a landmark. We're going to call it the CPC because acronyms are so over.”

Loretta laughed.

“He didn't laugh at me.”

“Neither am I. I am laughing at Peter. It's so like him to form a committee. Rainmaker art authorities! That's an oxymoron.” She laughed again. “And what are you going to do?”

“I'm to keep them from destroying the towers in the meantime.”

“Now, that,” Loretta said, “is sound advice. That's what I recommend, too. Stop them from destroying the towers until I can save them.”

“How are you going to save them?”

“I can't tell you yet. I have a lot of behind-the-scenes work to do first. We will have a three-phase plan.”

“We?” I asked suspiciously. Was this another royal
we?

“Yes. You, Peter, and me. Phase One: Stop. Phase Two: Stall. Phase Three: Save. You are the most important player in Phase One. You must stop the demolition.”

“How do I do that?”

“Listen, Margaret, I am willing to work on saving the towers, and I am willing to lay out a plan, but I do not micromanage.
Capisci?”

“Yes,
capisci
.”

“No.
Capisci
means
You understand.”

“I do.”

“Do what?”

“Understand.”

“If you understand, you must say
capisco.
Cah-
PISS-CO
. That means
I understand.”

“I already told you. I understand.”

Loretta Bevilaqua groaned audibly. “Then you understand that you must stop the demolition?”

“Yes.”

“After you've stopped them, Peter and his petition from the CPC will tie their hands for a while and slow up the legal work long enough for me to start Phase Three, saving the towers.” She paused only briefly before adding, “In order for me to complete my part—or even to begin it—you must buy the towers.”

“I can't afford that.”

“Yes, you can. Have your uncles sell them to you for a dollar.”

“A piece?”

“All right, a dollar a piece.”

“They are worth a lot more than that.”

“Of course they are. Actually, they are priceless. That is why I want to save them. Pay whatever you want to for them. The important thing is that you become the owner. The law understands ownership. Until someone from the government serves you with a court order that the towers are to come down, you own them. As long as you own the towers, anyone who tries to occupy them without your permission is a trespasser. Possession is nine points of the law.”

“Nine points out of how many?”

Quickly dismissing the question as unworthy of further thought, she said, “It doesn't matter. Get a bill of sale and have it notarized.”

“Where do I do that?”

“Wherever there is a notary public. I told you, I strategize, I plan, but I do not micromanage. I'll get started on my part the first thing in the morning. Remember, if you want to save the towers, you must buy them and stop the demolition.”

“I definitely want to save them.”

“So do I.”

Driving up the stakes, I added, “I
need
them.”

“So do I,” Loretta Bevilaqua replied, and quickly added, “So do we all.”

She hung up before I could even say good-bye. Loretta was used to getting in the last word.

—
Whenever them big shots at Infinitel hear
Bevilaqua,
they know it means something.

And so did I.

I
t was almost midnight when the phone rang. My uncles were still working on the scaffold. Uncle Morris picked up the upstairs phone before I picked up the downstairs one. It was Jacob Kaplan. Stagestruck, I did not even say hello.

Jake said, “I'm sorry to be calling so late, but when I tried to call earlier, the line was busy.”

“You must have had the wrong number,” Morris said. “Nobody here was on the phone. I don't use the phone.”

“You're using it now.”

“An accident of proximity.” In my mind I could see Uncle Alex trapped on top of the scaffold, forcing Uncle Morris to answer.

Jake was saying, “I called the operator and had her check the number. She confirmed that the line was busy.”

Morris said, “It was Tartufo.” Then, still holding the phone, he called to his brother, “That dog of yours knocked the phone off the receiver.”

I heard Uncle Alex reply, “Couldn't be the dog.”

Then Uncle Morris called downstairs, “Margaret, would you come up here a minute, please?”

I had not hung up, so I said into the phone, “What is it, Uncle?”

“Where are you?” Uncle Morris asked.

“Downstairs.”

“Why do you sound so close?”

“I'm on the phone.”

Morris said, “I thought this was Jake on the phone.”

Jake said, “It is.”

“It's both of us, Uncle. I'm on the extension.”

“Say hello to Jake, Margitkám,” Uncle Morris said.

“Hello, Jake,” I said, and my heart did a grand jeté.

“Tell me, Margitkám, did Tartufo take the phone off the stand?”

I hated telling a lie. I hated blaming Tartufo—especially to Uncle Morris—but I could not tell the truth. “He did. I didn't notice it until a minute ago.”

Morris turned away from the phone and said, “What did I tell you? It was your mongrel.”

“Tartufo is not a mongrel. He's registered.”

“He should never have been allowed into the country.”

“Morris!” Uncle Alex said. “Find out what the young man wants. He didn't call long distance to hear
you insult my animal. Do you think he's paying Ma Bell for you to argue with me?”

“I'm not on Ma Bell,” Jake said. “I use Infinitel for long distance.”

“And you're going to tell me that they don't charge?”

“They do.”

“So what is it that you want?”

“I want to tell you that I will be there about nine o'clock tomorrow morning and that I am six foot one inches tall, so please don't set the scaffold too high.”

“All right,” Morris said. “We'll be ready.”

“See you soon,” Jake said, and my heart, which had sped up even more from lying, slowed down enough for me to catch my breath and say:

“Good night, Jake.”

I went upstairs. Welcoming an opportunity—any opportunity—to say his name, I said, (as casually as I could), “I knew Jake was tall, but I didn't know he was over six feet.” To a family of modestly sized males, he was a giant.

Uncle Morris said, “What does he mean, not to set the scaffold too high? I thought he would be painting on his back. Like Michelangelo in that chapel.”

Uncle Alex said, “Maybe he doesn't want to have his elbows akimbo.”

“What means
akimbo?”

“It means bent.”

Uncle Morris persisted, “So how can you paint without bending an elbow? When we paint, our elbows bend.”

“Maybe he means to be sitting.”

“So listen. He's here early tomorrow. Before work we can adjust the scaffold to a quarter inch of how he wants it.”

Uncle Alex said, “It will be exactly how he wants it. Exactly.”

“That's what I said. Exactly.”

“To within a quarter inch,” Uncle Alex repeated.

“Did I say
a quarter inch?.”
Uncle Morris asked.

“You did. So did I.”

“I said it first.”

“A quarter inch it is,” Uncle Alex replied.

Uncle Morris turned his back to his brother and said, “I'm going to bed.”

I laughed to myself. There's more than one way to get in the last word.

I
had been up since seven, waiting since eight. At a quarter to nine, I brewed a fresh pot of the special blend of coffee that Uncle Alex ordered from the Dean & Deluca catalog, which was where he had learned the price of truffles. I set the table for four and had the cream in a Herend pitcher chilling in the refrigerator. Next to the place where Jacob was to sit, I put the library book, opened to the rose rose I had selected. I had visions of sitting across the table from him, asking,
Would you care for a little more coffee?
and then having an extremely knowledgeable conversation about outsider art.