Magic Kingdom for Sale—Sold! (6 page)

Meeks nodded. “I have. I think you are eminently qualified. What do you say to that, Mr. Holiday?”

Ben looked down at the contract. “I’d like to think about it a bit.”

Meeks chuckled dryly. “The caution of a lawyer—well and good. I can give you twenty-four hours before the item becomes available to the open market once more, Mr. Holiday. My next appointment is scheduled at one o’clock tomorrow. Take longer if you wish, but I can promise nothing after one day’s time.”

Ben nodded. “Twenty-four hours should be enough.”

He reached for the contract, but Meeks slipped it quickly back. “My policy—and the store’s—is not to allow copies of our contracts out of the office prior to signing. You may, of course, examine it again tomorrow at your convenience if you decide to buy.”

Ben climbed to his feet and Meeks rose with him, tall and stooped. “You should make the purchase, Mr. Holiday,” the old man’s whispered voice encouraged. “You are the man for the job, I think.”

Ben pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

“If you decide to make the purchase, the contract will be waiting for you at the receptionist’s desk. Thirty days will be allowed to complete arrangements for payment of the list price. Upon receiving payment in full, I will make available to you instructions for undertaking the journey to Landover and assuming the throne.”

He walked Ben to the office door and opened it. “Do yourself a favor. Make the purchase, Mr. Holiday.”

The door swung closed again, and Ben stood alone.

He walked back to the Waldorf through the noonday rush, had a leisurely lunch and retired to the lounge just off the
lobby. With a yellow pad and pen in hand, he began to make notes about his interview with Meeks.

A number of things still troubled him. One of them was Meeks himself. There was something odd about that old man—something that went beyond his rough appearance. He had the instincts of a seasoned trial lawyer—hard-nosed and predatory. He was pleasant enough, but beneath the surface was a shell of armor two inches thick. The bits and pieces of conversation Ben had overheard in the reception areas and the looks he had seen in the receptionists’ faces suggested that Meeks was not the easiest man to work with.

Yet it was more than that. Ben just couldn’t seem to put his finger on what it was.

There was the problem, too, of still not having learned much of anything about Landover. No pictures, no flyers, no brochures—nothing. Too difficult to describe, Meeks had hedged. You have to see it. You have to accept the sale on faith. Ben grimaced. If their roles were switched and Meeks were the purchaser, he didn’t think for one minute that that old man would settle for what he had been told!

He hadn’t really learned anything about Landover in the interview that he hadn’t known going into it. He didn’t know where it was or what it looked like. He didn’t know anything other than what had been described in the brochure.

Escape into your dreams …

Maybe.

And maybe he would be escaping into his nightmares.

All he had to fall back on was the clause in the contract that let him out of the purchase if he chose to rescind within ten days. That was fair enough. More than fair, really. He would lose only the fifty-thousand-dollar handling fee—an expensive, but not unbearable loss. He could journey to this magical kingdom with its fairy folk, with its dragons and damsel and all, and if he found it to be any sort of ripoff, he could journey back again and reclaim his money.

Guaranteed.

He scribbled notes hastily on the pad for a moment, and
then looked up suddenly and stared out across the empty lounge.

The truth was that none of that mattered a whit. The truth was that he was prepared to make the purchase just as things stood.

And that was the real problem. That was the thing that bothered him the most. He was prepared to spend a million dollars on a dream because his life had reached a point where nothing that he was or had mattered to him anymore. Anything was preferable to that—even something as wild as what he was considering, a fantasy like Landover with iguanas and Hollywood make-believe. Miles would say he needed help if he were even considering this ridiculous purchase— serious, professional help. Miles would be right, too.

So why was it that none of that made any difference to him? Why was it that he was probably going to make the purchase nevertheless?

His lean frame stretched in the cushioned easy chair. Because, he answered himself. Because I want to try something that other men just dream about. Because I don’t know if I can do it, and I want to find out. Because this is the first real challenge that I have come across since losing Annie, and without that challenge, without something to pull me from the mire of my present existence …

He took a deep breath, the sentence left unfinished in his mind. Because life is a series of chances, he thought instead, and the bigger the chance, the greater the satisfaction if he were to succeed.

And he would succeed. He knew he would.

He tore the notes from his yellow pad and shredded them.

He slept on the matter as he had promised himself that he would, but his mind was already made up. At ten o’clock the next morning he was back at Rosen’s, back in the penthouse at the receptionist’s desk fronting the corridor that led to Meeks’ secluded office. The receptionist did not seem at all surprised to see him. She handed him the contract with
its triplicate carbons together with a statement of Rosen’s payment policy allowing thirty days same as cash on all specialty items purchased. He read the contract once again, saw that it was the same, and signed it. With a carbon copy tucked into his suit pocket, he departed the building and caught a cab to LaGuardia.

By noon, he was on his way back to Chicago. He felt better than he had felt in a very long time.

The good feeling lasted until the next morning when he began to discover that no one else was quite as keen as he was on this proposed change in his life.

He called his accountant first. He had known Ed Samuelson for better than ten years; while they were not close friends, they were nevertheless close business associates who respected each other’s advice. Ben had served as attorney for the accountancy firm of Haines, Samuelson and Roper, Inc. for almost the whole of that time. Ed Samuelson had been his accountant from the beginning. Ed was probably the only man alive who knew the full extent of his holdings. Ed had worked with him when his parents had passed away. He had suggested most of the investments that Ben had bought into. He knew Ben to be a shrewd and astute businessman.

But when Ben called him that morning and told him—
told
him, not asked him—to sell bonds and securities valued at almost one million dollars and to do so within the next ten days, it was clear to him that Ben had lost his mind. He exploded through the phone receiver. A sale such as that was unadulterated madness! Bonds and CDs could be liquidated only at a loss, because the penalty for early withdrawal
was severe. Stocks would have to be sold at market value and in many cases the market was down. Ben would lose money all the way around. Even the tax deductions available from such a rash act couldn’t begin to compensate him for the losses he would suffer! Why, in God’s name, was it necessary to do this? Why did he suddenly need a million dollars in cash?

Patiently, if somewhat evasively, Ben explained that he had decided to complete purchase of an item that required cash up front and no delay. The tone of his voice made it clear that he was not prepared to reveal the nature of the item. Ed hesitated. Was Ben in some kind of trouble? Ben assured him that he was not. This was simply a decision that he had come to after some extended thought and he would appreciate Ed’s help in securing the capital needed.

There wasn’t much more to discuss. Reluctantly, Ed Samuelson agreed to do as he was asked. Ben hung up.

Things were even worse at the law office. He called Miles in first; when his friend had seated himself, coffee in hand, Ben told him that he had decided to take a leave of absence from the firm. Miles almost dropped the coffee.

“A leave of absence? What in the hell are you talking about, Doc? This law firm’s your whole life! Practicing law is your whole life—has been since Annie died!”

“Maybe that’s some of the problem, Miles. Maybe I need to get away from everything for a time—get a fresh perspective on things.” Ben shrugged. “You’re the one who’s been telling me how I need to get out more, see something of the world besides this office and my apartment.”

“Yeah, sure, but I don’t see … Wait a minute, what kind of a leave of absence are you talking about? How long are you planning to be gone? A couple of weeks? A month?”

“A year.”

Miles stared at him.

“At least,” Ben added. “Maybe more.”

“A year? A whole goddamn year? At least?” Miles was flushed with anger. “That’s not a leave of absence, Doc—
that’s retirement! What are we supposed to do with the practice while you’re gone? What about your clients? They’re not going to sit around a whole year waiting for you to come back! They’ll pack it in and find another firm! And what about the trials you’ve scheduled? What about the cases you’ve got pending? For Christ’s sake, you can’t just…”

“Calm down a minute, will you?” Ben interrupted quickly. “I’m not bailing out and leaving the ship to sink. I’ve thought it all through. I’ll notify all of my clients personally. Cases pending will be disposed of or reassigned. If anyone’s unhappy, I’ll refer them to another firm. I think most will stay with you.”

Miles shifted his bulky frame forward against the desk. “Doc, let’s be honest here. Maybe what you say is true— for the most part, at least. Maybe you can satisfy most of your clients. Maybe they’ll accept your taking a leave of absence from the firm. But for a year? Or longer? They’ll drift, Doc. And what about the trial work you do? No one can just step in and handle that. We’ll lose those clients for sure.”

“We can stand to lose a few if that’s the way it has to be.”

“But that’s the point. That’s not the way it has to be.”

“What if I died, Miles? Tonight, just like that. Dead and buried. What would you do then? You’d have the same problem, basically. How would you solve it?”

“It’s not the same thing, damn it, and you know it! The analogy stinks!” Miles came to his feet and leaned forward abruptly, arms braced on the desk. “I don’t understand what in the hell has gotten into you, Doc. I don’t understand at all. You’ve always been so damn dependable! A bit unorthodox in the courtroom, sure—but always level-headed, always under control. And a really brilliant trial lawyer. Hell, if I had half of your talent…”

“Miles, will you give me a break …?”

The big man brushed the comment aside with a shake of his head. “A whole goddamn year you want to go trooping
about? Just like that? First you fly off to New York without a word of explanation, chasing after God knows what, leaving the same day you decide to go, not even talking with me about it, not a word since we sat here and talked about that crazy item in that catalogue, whatever the name of it was, Ross, or Rosenberg’s or whatever the hell, and now off again, just like …”

He stopped suddenly, the words dying away in his throat. His face froze in stunned recognition. “Oh, my God!” he whispered softly. His head shook slowly from side to side. “Oh, my God! It’s that damn catalogue fantasyland, isn’t it?”

Ben didn’t answer him for a moment, undecided as to whether he should. He had intended to keep Landover a secret. He had intended to say nothing of it to anyone.

“Miles, sit back down, will you?” he said finally.

“Sit down? How in God’s name do you expect me to sit down after …?

“Just sit the hell down, Miles!” Ben cut his friend short.

Miles went still, held his position a moment longer, then sank slowly back into his chair. The stunned look stayed on his florid face.

Now it was Ben who leaned forward. His face was hard. “We’ve been together a long time, Miles—as friends and partners both. We know a lot about each other. Most of it we’ve learned from experiences shared. But we don’t know everything about each other because that’s not possible. No two human beings can know everything about each other, even under the best of circumstances. That’s why certain things we do always remain a mystery to everyone else.”

He cocked his head. “Remember the times you’ve warned me about backing away from a case because there was something not quite right about it? Remember, Miles? Drop that case, you’d tell me. It’s bad news. It’s a loser. Drop it. Sometimes I’d do it. I’d agree with you and I’d drop it. But sometimes I wouldn’t. Sometimes I’d take the case anyway, and I’d tell you I was taking it because it felt right to me. You’d
go along with that decision—even though you didn’t agree with it and you really didn’t understand it. But you trusted me to take the chance, didn’t you?”

He paused. “Well, that’s what I’m asking you to do now. You can’t understand and you won’t agree. So just put all that aside and trust me.”

Miles’ eyes shifted to the desk top and up again. “Doc, you’re talking a million dollars here!”