Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Lived High

Qwilleran found it difficult to settle down. He tried reading aloud to the Siamese to calm his excitement, but his mind was not on the printed page. He was impatient to learn more about the Casablanca. Unable to wait until morning, he phoned Down Below.

"I hope I'm not calling too late, Amberina," he said. "I need more information before I can broach the subject to the board of directors." "Sure," she said distractedly, as if watching something attention-riveting on television.

"First, do you know anything about the history of the building? When was it built?" "In 1901. The first high-rise apartment building in the city. The first to have an elevator." "How many stories?" "Thirteen." "Who lived there originally? What kind people?" "Well, Mary says there were financiers, government officials, railroad tycoons, judges, heiresses - that kind. Also, they had suites for visiting royalty, opera stars, and so forth. After the stock market crash in 1929, more millionaires jumped off the roof of the Casablanca than any other building in the county." "An impressive distinction," Qwilleran said wryly. "When did the place start to go downhill?

"In the Depression. They couldn't rent the expensive apartments, so they cut them up, lowered ceilings - anything to cut costs and bring in some rent money." "What can you tell me about the structure itself?" "Let's see... SOCK put out a brochure that's around here somewhere. If you don't mind waiting, I'll try to find it.

I'm not a very well-organized person." "Take your time," he said. He had been making notes, and while she searched for the brochure, he sketched out his approach to the board of directors, scheduled his departure, and made a list of people to notify.

"Okay, here I am. I found it. Sorry to keep you waiting," Amberina said. "It was with my Christmas cards." "Aren't you early with Christmas cards?" "I haven't sent out last year's cards yet!... Are you ready? It says the exterior is faced with white glazed brick.

The design is modified Moorish... Marble lobby with Persian rugs... Elevators paneled in rosewood... Mosaic tile floors in hallways. Apartments soundproof and fireproof, with twelve-foot ceilings and black walnut woodwork. Restaurant with terrace on the top floor. Also a swimming pool up there... this is the way it was in 1901, you understand. How does it sound, Mr. Qwilleran?" "Not bad! You'd better reserve that penthouse for me." "Mary told me to say that you'll be the guest of SOCK." "I can afford to pay my own rent, but I appreciate the offer. How's the parking?" "There's a paved lot with reserved spaces for tenants." "And what's the crime situation in Junktown?" "Well, we finally got the floozies and winos and pushers off the street." "How did you do that?" "The city cooperated because the Pennimans were behind it - " " - and the city realized a broader tax base," Qwilleran guessed.

"Something like that. We have a citizens' patrol at night, and, of course, we don't take any chances after dark." "How about security in the building itself?" "Pretty good. The front door is locked, and there's a buzzer system. We had a doorman until a year ago. The side door is locked except for emergencies." "Apparently the elderly woman who owns the building feels safe enough." "I guess so. She has sort of a live-in bodyguard." "Then it's a deal. Count on me to arrive next weekend." "Mary will be tickled. We'll make all the arrangements for you." "One question, Amberina. How many persons know that SOCK is inviting me to go down there?" "Well, it was Mary's idea, and she probably discussed it with Robert Maus, but she wouldn't gab it around. She's not that type." "All right. Let's keep it that way. Don't broadcast it. The story is that I want to get away from the abominable snow and ice up north, and the Casablanca is the only place that allows cats." "Okay, I'll tell Mary." "Any instructions for me when I arrive?" "Just buzz the manager from the vestibule. We don't have a doorman anymore, but the custodian will help with your luggage. It will be nice to see you again, Mr. Qwilleran." "What happened to the doorman?" he asked.

"Well," she said apologetically, "he was shot."

2

THE SENIOR PARTNER of the Pickax firm of Hasselrich Bennett & Barter, legal counsel for the Klingenschoen Memorial Fund, was an elderly man with stooped shoulders and quivering jowls, but he had the buoyant optimism and indomitability of a young man. It was Hasselrich whom Qwilleran chose to approach regarding the Casablanca proposal.

Before discussing business, the attorney insisted on serving coffee, pouring it proudly from his paternal grandmother's silver teapot into his maternal grandmother's Wedgwood cups, which rattled in the saucers as his shaking hands did the honors.

"It appears," Qwilleran began after a respectable interval for pleasantries, "that all of the Fund's ventures are on the East Coast, and it might be advisable to make ourselves known in another part of the country. What I have to suggest is both an investment and a public beneficence." Hasselrich listened attentively as Qwilleran described the gentrification of Junktown, the unique architecture of the Casablanca, and the opportunity for the K Fund to preserve a fragment of the region's heritage. At the mention of the marble lobby and rosewood-paneled elevators, the attorney's jowls quivered with approval. "Many a time I have heard my grandfather extolling that magnificent building. He knew the man who built it," said Hasselrich. "As a young boy I was once treated to lunch in the rooftop restaurant. Unfortunately, I remember nothing but the spinach timbales. I had a juvenile aversion to spinach." Qwilleran said, "The rooftop restaurant is now a penthouse apartment, and I plan to spend some time there, investigating the possibilities and persuading the owner to sell, if it seems wise. You know what will happen if developers are allowed to acquire the property; the building will be razed." "Deplorable!" said Hasselrich. "We must not let that happen. This must be added to the agenda for the directors' meeting next week." "I plan to drive down there in a few days-to beat the snow," said Qwilleran. "If you will be good enough to make the presentation in my absence, I'll supply a fact sheet." He welcomed any excuse to avoid meetings with the board of directors.

"Do you find it quite necessary to attend to this research yourself?" asked the attorney. "There are agencies we might retain to make a feasibility study." "I consider it highly advisable. The owner is being pressured by the developers, and it will require some personal strategy to persuade the lady to sell to us." The elderly attorney's lowered eyes and twitching eyelids were making broad inferences.

"She's seventy-five," Qwilleran added hastily, "and if she dies before deciding in our favor, we're out of luck and the Casablanca is doomed." Hasselrich cleared his throat. "There is one consideration that gives me pause. You have indicated a profound interest in the welfare of Moose County, and that entails a responsibility to remain in good health, so to speak. You under- stand my meaning, do you not?" "Moose County's interest in keeping me alive is no greater than my own desire to live, and I might point out another fact," Qwilleran said firmly. "When I go Down Below I am not a naive tourist from the outback; I've been city-smart since childhood." Hasselrich studied his desktop and shook his jowls. "You seem to have made your decision. We can only hope for your safe return." That same afternoon, the Moose County Something, as.the local newspaper was waggishly named, carried the regular Tuesday column headed "Straight from the Qwill Pen," with an editor's note stating that Jim Qwilleran would be on a leave of absence for an indefinite period, pursuing business Down Below, but he would file an occasional column on city living, to appear in his usual space.