Bruce Wagner - I'll Let You Go

It was easy to see why the Board might be seduced. The new facility would include underground parking, a world-class planetarium, a theater-in-the-round (like the high school’s, only larger), pool and gymnasium, a two-acre rooftop park and the kind of library where streaming-video conferencing, “smart” books, virtual homework networks and PowerPoint presentations were de rigueur. Wolfgang Puck came aboard with three menus for the cafeteria — organic, ethnic and traditional American. Yoga, fencing and Wu Shu would be offered, alongside more traditional sporting pursuits; a fund would be created to underwrite uniforms, playground equipment and musical instruments, in perpetuity. Even the backs of classroom chairs would be fitted with flat-panel screens.

The Quincunx offices weren’t far from the targeted campus, and he often took his “BV walks” after lunch. Dodd apprized the Spanish duplexes, stucco dingbats and occasional multi-units on the school’s periphery, then forged past the hideous dirty pink bungalows stuck on the glum, aging playground; strolled from Elm Street to Gregory Way, then to Rexford Drive — peering through the barred gate at the empty library along the way (what was sadder than an empty library?) — then on to Charleville, where sat the condemned, bell-towered auditorium. One of these early walkabouts had engendered a startling idea: what if he were to build a new P.S. template — the “Lilliputian university”? His friend the good Dr. Goodnight had shown the world it could be done with his Cary Academy in North Carolina, and Courtney Ross had made terrific inroads with her place in the Hamptons … though for a project of commensurate scale or even somewhat smaller “footprint” Dodd would need a tad more land. Just a scoche … still, he resolved to build the complex in such a way that wouldn’t scare off the Board, a design that so artfully concealed its grandness that it would scarcely be noticed. In weaker moments, he thought maybe he should just have his friend Mr. Gehry wrap the whole thing in titanium, bungalows included.

He wondered: what would it take to actually purchase Beverly Vista’s hundred or so surrounding residences? The duplexes couldn’t go for much more than $600,000 apiece, though it wouldn’t have mattered if they were $10 million. (He had the capital.) Dodd Trotter could buy up entire blocks: all the crappy five-story condos with fancy names — Rexford Plaza, Rexford House, Rexford Park — and outlying grids with private homes, too. It was a stroke of genius. He got that adrenalized, impervious feeling in blood and brain that usually presaged a buying jag, only this time it wasn’t from skipping meds. He would call his consultant and let the acquisitions begin. His companies had more than sixty thousand employees now — dingbats and multi’s would be purchased for secretaries to live in gratis for their first six months of employment; houses and duplexes tagged for newly relocated low-to-mid-level managers. Stealthily, he would mount his campaign — Marcie would be the only one to know. Hadn’t Marlborough School in Hancock Park done the same thing? Bought up the neighborhood for their expanding needs without anyone being the wiser? The trick was to pull it off without displacing schoolkids … disrupting the community was the last thing he wanted. Maybe he’d focus on buying out the childless , first — then snap up houses of parents with Vista students at the very end , just before construction commenced … or maybe buy the properties now but have everyone sign covert agreements allowing them squatters’ rights until given notice to vacate; that way no one would be inconvenienced. He’d offer three times the fair market value, and if they hit a snag — if someone got stubborn and wouldn’t sell — they’d sweeten the pot with Quincunx stock options. Everyone had his price.

“Frances-Leigh?”

“Yes, Mr. Trotter?”

“Were you able to locate him?”

“Yes sir, I was.”

“Where does he live?”

“In Simi Valley.”

“Isn’t that, like, Cop World? What’s he doing out there?”

“His son’s in law enforcement.”

“Son? I guess Trinnie was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“About him being a fag.”

“I wouldn’t know about that!”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Sure did.”

“Let’s call him up.”

Dodd sat there in his Aeron. When she had Dr. Janklow on the line, he rocked a full minute before picking up.

“Dr. Janklow! It’s Dodd Trotter.”

“Well, hello!” said the voice on the other end — gone reedily eager and tentative with age. “Gee, that was quick! The woman told me you were going to call.”

“How are you?”

“Miserable! Had cancer three times already. Cancer loves me.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“I just like to bitch and moan, that’s all. But I’m all right. Getting my fifth wind up here in beautiful Simi.”

“Well, it’s great to hear your voice.”

“ You did rather well for yourself.”

“Got lucky, that’s all.”

“Now, I don’t know if I believe that . Been reading about you on the Internet.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry!” he said with a laugh. “Nothing too terrible.”

“Dr. Janklow, I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought of you — what an important force you were in my life. You were always there for me.”

“That’s a wonderful thing. A wonderful thing to hear.”

“And I wanted to call to say hello and see how you are — and if there was anything you needed.”

“Well, no — unless you were thinking of dropping a few billion on me. You know, I’m set pretty well. My son’s here; he and his wife and the grandchildren live close by. I’m doing all right. But now … what is it that you need, Mr. Trotter?”

That was the Dr. Janklow he remembered; the sage who gently turned the tables. “Would you — I’d love to take you to dinner.”

“Well, I … yes , that would be nice! Certainly , yes. That’s one wish I can grant! But I don’t drive so well anymore … and I don’t like imposing—”

“I’ll send a car.”

“It’s quite a ways.”

“There’re a few things I’d like to talk with you about — about the school. Beverly Vista. Some thoughts and plans …”

“Marcie told me.”

“Marcie did?”

“Oh yes — you know Marcie still keeps me up on all the doings. She’s a little compulsive that way, but she means well. Does well by the kids, that’s for sure. Always has their interests at heart. Now, Marcie said you were cooking up some wonderful things and I don’t doubt it. But I had no idea you’d call.”

“She’s the one who brought me back to it.”

“She’ll do that if you’re not careful! I’ve been knowing the Millards forever. Do you know Peter? Peter Millard?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Helluva surgeon.”

“Well, we are ‘cooking up’ some wonderful things — and I’d like you to be a part of them.”

“I’m an old man, you know. And I’m disgusted with what’s going on in today’s schools — all of ’em.”

“We’re going to change that.”

“Disgusted! I don’t know how I can be of help.”

“Just sitting down and breaking bread with you would make a difference.”

“That sounds rather biblical! Guess my age elicits that. But, Jesus, the guns changed everything. Schools have become damn shooting galleries. I retired before all that, thank God. The minute kids started bringing guns to class — well, that was just the end of the world, far as I could see.”