Hans knocked on Earnest Arbuthnot’s door but there was no reply. He scribbled a note, ‘Please call me. Urgent. Hans’, on the back of his business card and tucked it under the door. Hans was amused that his message read like a telegram; does anyone remember those, he pondered, or had that brevity merely been usurped by the Twitter. He tried next at Mrs. James’ unit.
“Oh, good afternoon Hans, do come in.” she greeted him. “I’ve just been typing up minutes from the last meeting. I was going to call and ask you to clarify a number. Can’t read my own writing.” Gesturing him to sit down at her perennially cluttered kitchen table, she drew out a paper from the pile and pointed to a line. He took out his pen and made a quick correction to the notes.
“That should work a little better for you.” he smiled.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Hans? I just put the kettle on.”
“Sure, that’s fine. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” She bustled about briefly in the kitchen while Mullins came over to investigate, rubbing up against his leg.
“What’s your cats name again?”
“Mullins, Mull for short. You should be honored. He’s abandoned his sunshine to look you over.” she laughed, returning to the table and examining his corrections. “Milk, sugar, honey, lemon?”
“Just tea, please.”
“By the way, I have been busy recommending you and your accounting services to interested parties.” She poured out and handed him a cup. “I hope something comes of it for you.”
“I appreciate that, thanks very much. Yes, there have been a few new inquiries.”
“Now what is it you wanted, Hans?”
“I’ve just come from Earnest’s unit but he wasn’t home. I wanted to give you both a heads up about something I’ve heard. I’ve left him a note to call me but you could tell him too if you happen to see him first.”
She nodded, and he went on. “You know that my full-time work is writing. I try and keep up with financial and development news, especially here in town. I’ve just been reading a report of a planned development next door to us—right next door.”
“What kind of development and where could it possibly be squeezed in?” she asked. “There is building all around us as it is.”
“It’s another condo development, proposed by a local developer who’s done other condo projects in town. It’s a tower, but bigger and taller than ours is. It seems very likely to be set on the space very close to our building and certain to affect views.” He went on to describe what he did know and also what he didn’t as yet, as well as describing to her the course that such proposals took from early stage to actually getting in the ground.
“I confess that I really don’t understand too much about how this process works. You’re saying that, depending on the proposal, plans have to go through several steps, or before several committees of city government before they are approved?”
“Yes, typically the Zoning Committee, the Plan Commission, the Common Council, and if there is any historic preservation issue involved, that adds even more layers to the cake.”
“So imagining this condo proposal as a giant wedding cake isn’t so far off the mark, then?” They agreed that they should consult with Earnest as soon as possible and continue to monitor the news.
As Hans walked towards the elevator, he heard it stop and out stepped Guy Karon, a towel slung round his neck. Exchanging hellos, Guy said, “You know, it always seems silly to take the elevator home from a workout downstairs.” lifting his gym bag and grinning.
“If I did work out, it would be even sillier for me, I suppose, with only one floor to go. At least you have five floors to go up.”
“A much better excuse, I agree, Hans.” he joked.
Guy Karon was a widower and owner of a Lake Michigan ferry service running between the Wisconsin and Michigan sides. Coming up with a name for the service had proved tricky, requiring that both states retain equal billing. He had begun with ‘Shore to Shore’ but that was too much like real estate, he decided. Then, to take advantage of rising gas prices and highway construction at the time, he considered ‘The Shorter Way’. He abandoned that idea as too much like a self-improvement method; twelve, decidedly watery steps across the lake, and not a name to enhance the experience of his rider clientele. He finally opted for ‘The Shorter Way Home’.
Buying during the POP’s construction phase, he had combined two units into a large, three bedroom plus den. He lived there with his younger sister Carrie Karon, his teenage daughter Leith, and two cats, Sticks and Oblio. Carrie was the sole owner of Pluto’s, a downtown salon and spa, and was rarely at home. Leith, nicknamed Lee, attended a parochial high school downtown. Her aunt, whom Lee liked to refer to as ‘my ferry godmother’, drove her to school most mornings on her way to work. On other days she was content to walk back and forth, negotiating the sidewalks between there and home, refreshed by the twenty minutes outdoors. She was a latch-key kid, but at least she had Sticks and Oblio to supervise her homecoming, which they were punctual and attentive in doing. They never forgot.
Mrs. James lived on her floor and sometimes, if she got really lonesome, Lee went over to visit late in the afternoon. Mrs. James was looking after Poppy and Pansy most weekends now. Lee occasionally sat for them too. There weren’t very many kids at the POP’s and as far as she knew she pretty much had the corner on any babysitting jobs.
“Did you know that we’re rivals now,” she joked to Mrs. James one afternoon, “the only babysitters here?”
“Oh, that reminds me, I was wondering if you could watch the girls for me for a few hours this weekend? I have a chance to visit with an old friend on Sunday afternoon.” she made the request. “Maybe we should start a sitting service together and share the hours.”
“Well, as my Dad says, ‘Honey, you’ll never get rich that way!’”
“I daresay your Dad is correct, but it’s a place to start. Shall I take that as a yes, or a no?”
“Sure, I’ll be happy to. I suppose you know that they like games. Last time I was at their place, I took along my pick-up-sticks and showed them how to play. For some reason, I don’t know why, I’ve always liked playing with sticks.”
“Isn’t that your cat’s name too?”
“Uh-huh. Plus before we lived here I was a baton twirler. Loved it.”
“Maybe it’s in your bones dear. Would you like to try some knitting—more sticks, or crochet—with only one hook, or would just one stick be too constraining for you?” she teased.
“I’ve always wanted to learn. Nobody to teach me.”
“Til now.” chuckled Mrs. James. “Poppy and Pansy have mentioned it to me as well. I draw the line at including any more cats in our knitting circle though. Sticks and Oblio will have to stay home. Mull will go mad chasing yarn from four knitters at once.”