Colin Harrison - The Havana Room

The door eased open and there was Allison.

"All set?" she asked brightly.

"I can't be party to this."

"Why?"

"It's a mess."

"Please, Bill."

"I'm trying to protect him, Allison."

"He knows the risks, I think."

"I doubt that."

"It means a lot to him, Bill."

"That's great, Allison. I just met the guy."

"It means a lot to me."

I flipped over the contract. "Someone's getting screwed here, and I'm going to tell him that, Allison."

Less than a minute later we had returned to the Havana Room.

Jay checked his watch. "It's tight."

An enormous steaming steak was waiting at my place, which I had not ordered, as well as the cake, which I had, and Barrett already had butter on his tie. Jay, I could see, had tossed back a drink or two while I'd been gone.

"Okay?" he asked. "Do we have liftoff?"

"I think we should talk a moment, Jay."

Gerzon pointed to his oversized watch. "Damn it, I've got eleven fifty-three. I'm not turning my watch back, either."

I leaned into Jay's ear. "I'm assuming that you'll sign this thing no matter how rotten it is, no matter my advice to the contrary."

His eyes met mine, and he nodded subtly.

"You're close to desperate."

Again a silent yes.

"You realize," I went on, "that Gerzon is bluffing, either on the deadline or the price, and probably has authority to negotiate one of them."

Jay shook his head no.

"I'm going to show you, okay?" I looked Gerzon in the eye and guessed price. "My client is not going to sign this document until you come up with another three hundred thousand dollars."

Gerzon's face creased backward, like he had suddenly stepped into a wind-tunnel. "What?"

"Yes, we'll scratch out the four hundred thousand dollars and write in seven hundred thousand dollars. Initial every figure. No big deal."

"You're fucking crazy!"

"It's done all the time. Just ask Donald Trump."

"You ask him."

"I don't need to, I've seen him do it."

"You're out of your-"

"Barrett, you ever see initialed sums?" I interrupted, feeling good now.

"Yeah, sure."

Jay turned to me. "Bill, the thing is-"

I put my hand on his arm. "Say nothing, pal. Let your lawyer handle it."

Allison watched this exchange, eyes large.

"What's it going to be, Gerzon?"

He already had his cell phone out. He stood up, his face a bitter knot, and stalked out of the room.

"I'm going to lose the deal!" Jay complained, furious now. "I can't believe it!"

"Well, maybe-" Allison began.

Jay confronted me in disbelief. "Bill, I'm going to fucking lose the deal!"

"I don't think so."

We sat a moment, the title man shoveling cake into his mouth.

"He's coming back!"

Gerzon returned, closing his cell phone. "One-fifty," he announced, sitting down again. "That's all I can do."

I'd guessed correctly. "Three hundred."

" Two."

"Two seventy-five," I said. "We won't require a bank check."

"Two twenty — five."

"Two-seventy."

"Come on!"

"Two-seventy," I repeated.

"Two-fucking- fifty."

I didn't answer.

"I said two-fifty."

I turned to Jay. "Did you know that in the second half of the twentieth century prime waterfront property on Long Island returned close to a six thousand percent profit?"

"No."

"You could sit on this property another five years and double your money easily."

"Well-"

"I said two-fifty!" screamed Gerzon.

I leaned toward him and spoke softly. "Two-seventy."

"Two fifty-five, final."

I watched the second hand on my watch tick away ten seconds. "Two-seventy."

"Two-sixty, final."

"Two sixty-five, final," I replied.

"Two sixty-five. Done."

"All right," I said. "Shake my hand."

"You fuck," said Gerzon.

"I know you hate me. Shake it anyway."

He did. I turned to Jay. "You're getting an additional two hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars cash for this property."

He nodded, stunned.

"Wow," breathed Allison. "That was kind of-" She just stared at me. Sexy, I think she might have said, but didn't.

"You'll take cash, I assume," said Gerzon, lifting his second briefcase to the table.

" Cash — cash? Bills?" asked Jay.

"Yes."

"I guess so. Why?"

"This was my instruction." Gerzon was keeping his briefcase open, hiding its total contents. I probably could have asked for more. He counted stacks of bank-banded bills. Ten thousand a stack. "You'll sign a receipt for it."

"Laundering anything, Gerzon?" I said.

"Screw you," he muttered, peeling off the last five thousand. "This is clean. It's real."

Jay turned to Allison. "Do you have a bag or something?"

"Sure. I guess." She retreated behind the bar.

"That's it," said Gerzon. "You can count it."

"I will," I said, and I did, stack by stack. It was correct. Allison returned with a cardboard box that originally held seltzer water. I stacked the cash in it.

"I can sign now?" asked Jay.

I amended the contracts. "Yes."

Then the paperwork began. We had four minutes. "I've got the bank check for the four hundred-" narrated Gerzon, moving the forms around quickly. "Mr. Barrett has his check, thank you… I can sign this… the title report, your copy… you sign here, the receipt for the blood your lawyer took out of my client's arm… And here's the deed, yes, the state transfer form…"

In a minute or so we had completed all the documents. Gerzon neatened his stack of papers, withdrew a date stamp from his briefcase, checked the day, adjusted the hour and minute, and stamped each sheet, bang, bang, bang. "And… that's it, done."

Jay coughed lightly, the box of cash by his side. "Eleven fifty-nine… and midnight, gentlemen."

"Bye guys." Barrett stood to leave. "The deed will be recorded tomorrow downtown."

Gerzon pulled a chain of keys from his pocket and dropped it on the table. "All yours," he said to Jay, not looking at me.

Jay picked up the keys with an odd caution. But then he pulled a single key from his own pocket and gave it to Gerzon. "This is for the lock on the chain at the end of the dirt road."

And that was it- the moment, the consummation. Did each man think he had swindled the other? Gerzon shook hands with Jay and, surprisingly, again with me as well, his grip a painful warning. And then his eyes slid away from each of us, and he left.

Allison made her way back over the tiled floor with a bottle and three glasses. She gave Jay a kiss and searched his eyes for gladness. "It's exciting!" she cried, and I understood that she was only passingly referring to the property deal and the miraculous appearance of a box of money. Jay smiled at her, but when they embraced, her head and breasts lost within his large chest and arms, his eyes looked away, as if through the very walls of the building, and with no discernible excitement or satisfaction, more like sadness, the resolution of someone burdened with a long and complicated journey toward a destination known only to him. I was not supposed to see this on Jay's face, but I did.

"Let's all go out and celebrate." Jay's mood seemed to lift. "I know a little place. I've got to find a way to thank you, Bill."

He was being kind and I waved them off.

"We'll work out some payment tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," I said. "You two go on. It's all terrific. I enjoyed myself a great deal. Hang on to that box. Congratulations, Jay. You and the rest of the crooks own a piece of the island of Manhattan."

"You want to see it?" he said, his voice energetic now. "I'll be down there tomorrow morning." Then he caught up his coat and nodded to the waiter with a flashing smile and looked down into Allison's face. Her head hung back, neck exposed, eyes dreaming. She was ready for him and didn't mind if anyone knew it. They were desperate, I would see, in their own ways, but desperate people have a way of matching frequencies and finding each other before the end comes. For now something magical had happened, and the Havana Room seemed to whirlpool in a density of money and smoke and lamplight. I watched them go, Allison leaning heavily against Jay, the box under his arm, cigar in his pocket. Despite myself, my affection for Allison, I liked him. Sometimes you just like people right away. This, on the face of it, was another reason that things went further. It was the explanation I'd have offered myself or anyone else. But the truth is more complicated; somehow I sensed a steep angle to Jay's trajectory, if not its direction up or down, then an absolute velocity toward an outcome I wanted to witness. This is the same loaded attraction that creates politicians and football coaches and movie directors. Their believers believe. You don't just like the person, you want to find out something about him, something terribly important and true- you want to see if he wins or loses, lives or dies.