Retirement Can Be Murder

CHAPTER 10

“Are you sure I can have this?” Mel asked.

“Go for it.” Jake pushed the rest of his strawberry cheesecake toward her.

After the bearded man was escorted out, the night had gone more smoothly. They’d eaten and talked as a table, then the conversation split into couples again. He’d learned more about her. The college she’d gone to. The one she’d wanted to go to instead. She didn’t like filling in Sudoku puzzles-she liked writing her own on Saturday mornings, while she drank orange juice and listened to the radio. He learned that when she said “cabinet,” for some reason she drew out the “i” long enough that you could hear it. When her ice cream melted, she caught the liquid in her spoon and raised it to her lips.

Rothschild approached the podium while the waiters and waitresses served coffee. A man from Rothschild’s table tapped a glass with his spoon. Sound pinged against the walls and Rothschild took the mic from the podium.

“Just for the record, I didn’t want to come up here.”

A few people laughed too loudly. Mel set her spoon against her dish. Then the man from Rothschild’s table stood up. He teetered a bit. Mel whispered to Jake.

“Eliot Walters. He’s a development VP.” He was a short bald man whose face had blushed red.

“He likes a drink or two?”

“More than two.”

“Before you speak,” the man said and pointed at Rothschild, “I want everybody to stand up.”

Chairs squeaked against the floor.

“We have got to give a toast to our hero!”

Rothschild brought the mic to his lips.

“Just don’t hit the glasses as hard as our environmentalist friend did earlier this evening.”

When the laughter died down, the VP continued.

“He’s too modest to say it, but what Simeon does, the amount of money he gives…it’s a beautiful thing. If that doesn’t deserve a toast, well, I don’t know what does. So, a toast to generosity in all its forms. That’s why we’re here.”

They raised their glasses and hit them together. Gently. They drank.

“That’s very kind of you, Eliot,” Rothschild said into the mic. “It’s true that I’m modest. I’m one of the most modest people in the state.”

The crowd laughed and he waited it out. He held the mic with one hand and let the other hand settle in his jacket pocket. From far away he looked different-the veins were smoothed by distance, and the dark eyes were just spots to center the audience’s focus. Jake wished he had his notebook. He listened instead.

“It’s great to have so many old and new friends here today. All of you are important to this company and what we are trying to do for Florida. We are trying to build high quality spaces for a range of residents with a range of needs.”

He switched mic hands and walked to another part of the room. He was a politician, hitting every corner.

“Just the other day, I met someone who told me that our work helped them to afford their first home. And the next day, I met someone who said that our work helped them finally reach the luxury they deserved. They didn’t put it quite like that, of course. But it was gratifying to hear people embrace Rothschild.”

He crossed the room again and picked up a glass. Not water. Champagne bubbles rose to the top.

“As you know, we have our fair share of opponents. Tonight we saw that. The environmentalists are a violent and extreme group. Many of them have great principles, but far too many don’t. If Conrad hadn’t tackled that man, who knows what he would have done? Who knows what might have happened? Sadly, a lot of the environmentalists are like our bearded friend tonight. They are violent. Concerned only with personal gain. They aren’t the people we listen to though, are they? We listen to the people who want to live in Rothschild units, whomever they may be.”

People began applauding. He put down the champagne and waved them off.

“Those whackos aren’t what we’re here for tonight. We’re here to talk about charity. We have been building the Rothschild foundation for years, and we aren’t going to stop growing.”

Jake touched Mel’s arm.

“This is why we’re here?”

“It’s the tenth anniversary.”

“Seeing how our efforts have grown,” Rothschild said, “has been an amazing process. Still, I know we can do better. That’s why I’m announcing that I’ll be increasing my personal donation this year. We can do more for the great communities around us. That’s what this foundation has always been about.

“Part of the reason we’re doing it is to expand our mission. As you know, we’ve always dealt with a wide range of issues and concerns in this area. We won’t stop. We support a wide range of causes. With my donations, and your help, we can add depth to our breadth.”

Everyone clapped again. Rothschild didn’t bow or acknowledge it. He just stood waiting. He’d heard all the applause before.

He circulated the tables again, never sitting down. The band played a slow song and people began to file out of the room. The waiters and waitresses circulated, asking the guests if they needed anything else. No one did. Jake was talking to Mel when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and black eyes stared back.

“Quite a night, wasn’t it, Mr. Russo?”

“It was, Mr…Simeon. Quite a night.”

“Did you see that madman? He must have a personal vendetta against glassware.”

“He must.”

“Mel,” Rothschild said, “I’m going to make you tackle him next time.”

“He teases me,” she told Jake.

“I’d ask the same of you, Mr. Russo. Hopefully we didn’t make a poor impression.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Good.” He raised his chin and looked across the room. He placed his fingertips at the top of his cummerbund. “I’d hate to make a poor impression. It was a good thing we had Conrad, wasn’t it?”

“Was he the gentleman who tackled the man?”

“That’s correct. He’s a very genial man. But when he needs to act otherwise…”

He laughed and Jake and Mel laughed with him. He stopped suddenly.

“But enough of madmen. When will we be speaking?”

“Sir?”

“An interview. I want to tell you about our plans. Your readers would love to know more about me.”

“Well, if you’d like to schedule a time, I’d be happy.”

“Here.” He handed Jake another business card, made of thick stock. “This has my information.”

“I’ll give you a call.”

“No. It’s to write down the time. I’m free the fourteenth. Lunch. We’ll have it.”

“I’m not sure-”

But he was already walking away. Mel pulled at Jake’s sleeve as they got up to leave.

“That’s the thing about Simeon Rothschild. He not only starts conversations when he wants to.” She shrugged. “He also ends them when he wants to.”