Enfolded in his arms, she felt her husband near. After all, hadn’t Sam Dowling been the last to see him? Now, she came off the lake and was high up La Colonne, high in the boudoir of the tower before it officially sheared — holding court while their vows still held. At the El Royale, she smelled her obsession again … and later, at home at Saint-Cloud, as she fell asleep she too hovered over Twig House before settling into its game-stuffed den where her father kept his whimsical collection of fungi — everyone at the lake had their fungi. Mr. Trotter had commissioned a villager to inscribe one of the pieces in Latin:
Dive, be not fearful how dark the waves flow;
Sing through the surge, and bring pearls up to me;
Deeper, ay, deeper; the fairest lie low.
Dodd Trotter was excited, and slightly embarrassed. Marcie Millard — and this was something one of his own attorneys subsequently confirmed — Marcie Millard said the general feeling was that the Board was poised to react favorably to the proposal of naming a wholly revamped Beverly Vista School in the benefactor’s honor. There was some opposition, she said, but that was to be expected. Things were looking up, yet the question of how to live it down as far as his sister went (should the new name come to pass) whimsically asserted itself.
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?”