Number Eight: The Taj Mahal
Mr. Blaine took full advantage of the
Taj’s generous four-square design. The well-stroked ball will proceed through
the front entrance, strike a triangular block inside the structure and exit to
the right. The finishing touches are the watchtowers, placed at all four
corners of the surrounding square.
Inevitably, the weather arrives,
putting a two-week stall on the project. It’s all Pablo can do to keep his
tents over the seven uncovered holes. A mid-November Wednesday comes up dry and
overcast, so David heads over after class to see what his junior archaeologist
hath wrought. He steps onto the lot to find what looks like a two-man senior
citizen work crew. One of them is Gerry Kolder; the other is a stranger, tall
and slender, overdressed in khakis and a camelhair jacket.
“Whatsa matter, Gerry? No fish at the
lake?”
“Actually, I’m here with a friend.
Mr. Thomas Blaine.”
The tall man smiles and shakes
David’s hand, displaying a set of patrician features he could have ordered from
a Boston attorney supply store.
“Hello, David.”
“Well what the hell!”
“Sorry for the lack of notice. My
schedule opened up, and I knew I had about a five-minute window to get out of
town. My poor wife thinks I’ve lost my mind. But how many men have the chance
to see their father’s rendition of the Taj Mahal?”
“Not many.”
“Of course, I’m having some
difficulty figuring out who my father is.
Certainly not the man who told Mr. Kolder two hundred and fifty-three dirty
jokes.”
The four of them manage to finish the
cleaning and pitch a tent over the Taj before the inevitable evening rain. Then
it’s off to Laney’s, where Thomas sits in judgement of a pepperoni and
mushroom.
“After genuflecting at the altar of
East Coast snobbery – ‘It ain’t no New
York pizza’ – I must admit, it is
good.”
“Fresh ingredients and lots of them,”
says Laney. “That’s what keeps us in
business.”
Gerry laughs. “What is this, a
commercial?”
Thomas takes another bite and washes
it down with beer.
“Well, gentleman. There are a few
things you should know. I have studied the various documents – the blueprints,
Dad’s note, deeds, auction receipts, et cetera. Speaking as your de facto
attorney, I have concluded that the Blaine family has no claim on your
treasure. Speaking as the eldest child, I doubt if I would pursue a claim even
if I had one. You folks took a lot of trouble tracking me down, and I would
like nothing more than to see your efforts rewarded.
“Now. Speaking as Thomas Blaine – and
yes, we lawyers are very fond of deploying mutliple personalities – I deduce
from these plans that you are looking at one hell of a lot of work. And cost.
I’ll work out a formal set of numbers later, but I suppose that what I’m saying
is, I would like to invest some capital in this venture, and to act as your
consultant.”
“Wow!” says Pablo. “That’s awesome!”
Thomas laughs. “That is quite awesome. And I’ll tell you another
conclusion I’ve come to. My father, typical of his generation, took great pains
to keep this project a secret. Went as far as to take it to his grave. As his son, I say…” Thomas gives
a conspiratorial look. “Screw the old buzzard! I am going to out him, and show the world what a
brilliant, whimsical man he was. If it’s all right with our executive board, as
it were, I would like to incorporate some historical element -–a plaque or
display – to tell the story of the course’s creation.”
David raises a hand. “The company
historian seconds.”
“Passed!” says Laney.
The party disintegrates one member at
a time: Gerry back to his lake, Laney home to sleep, Pablo to supervise his
closing. David and Thomas stay on to indulge in one last beer.
“So where are you staying?”
“The Shilo,” says Thomas. “I hear
they have an excellent jazz band.”
“Yes. The duo that should be a trio.”
“Ah. The Billy Saddle Affair. Ocean
Shores seems to have living legends and buried treasures on a weekly basis. Is
there something in the water?”
David laughs. “And yet, my students
profess to being bored out of their minds.”
“Say! Speaking of schoolkids, I saw
that story your son wrote. What an amazing sense for allegory. Do you think he
would let us use it in connection with the golf course?”
“I’m sure he’d be delighted. Wait a
minute. Where did you read it?”
“I was Googling ‘Falter, Ocean
Shores,’ and I got his blog: stories, poetry, some excellent football photos.”
“Well, good! Now I can stop
pretending I haven’t read it.”
“Ah. Tonight’s theme. Father-son
privacy issues.”
“Thomas, it is so good to have you here.”
Thomas gives a small, thoughtful
smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Photo by MJV
No comments:
Post a Comment