A Room With A View

Chapter Eleven - Phineas

September 7th, Thursday

Phineas cradled the book in his hands. It was still warm. He wanted to smell it, but Simon was working the front desk and Phineas didn't want him to see. Simon had recently switched from night duty to day duty. That hadn't had any effect on Phineas's ability to muster up a hello.

Alice had handed him back The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire just as she had been leaving. There was clearly a dog-eared page, which had irked Phineas greatly, but he hadn't wanted to say anything untoward to her as she left. He didn't know when he would see her again.

It had been a shock when Alice had asked Phineas to join them for dinner Monday night. He and Alice had practically grown up together at the Watley. He remembered watching the excitement in Alice's eyes when he had first brought her to his family's penthouse suite. She had gawked over the view of Central Park, and they had sat together for hours on the couch, playing make believe and building worlds out of Lego's. Phineas had always followed the blue booklet directions to the letter, but Alice had placed a blue block and a yellow one in his hand and said, "just make something new." He had been enamored with her ever since. She had a free spirit that Phineas never could grasp. For years they had been at each other's sides, but then when Phineas grew tall and Alice grew up, she had found other friends. Other people to play make believe with. And Phineas had been the one left behind.

Phineas took the book back to the library. Alice had claimed to have read it, but Phineas was suspicious. The cornered edge fell only fifteen pages into the book. Phineas tucked it away onto its proper shelf and signed it out on the laminated register next to the entryway. He checked the names. Brian Cooper had borrowed a new novel. It was a commercial spy story, which surprised Phineas because it was completely unlike Brian to do so. He tended to keep to classic, high brow literature, the kind of taste Phineas himself had. He would have to ask Brian if this was going to be a new trend. If so, then Phineas would certainly share his presumably welcome opinion.

Phineas flicked off the library lights--he would have to remind the staff to do so, again--and strode out into the foyer. His emerald sweater vest was tight, but at dinner Alice had said that green went well with his hair. Phineas had always tended to stick with blues and whites, but perhaps a change in attire wasn't such a terrible idea.

The building board had voted yes on Phineas's garden idea, and the gardener had made an appointment to visit that afternoon. Phineas checked his watch. He had about fifteen minutes until he needed to meet the gardener outside. It was someone new, but he came highly recommended from Phineas's contact at the Central Park Conservancy. Purportedly this gardener could charm a rose from a rock.

As Phineas stepped into the entryway, Simon stood and hustled over to open the door.

"Mr. Watley. Sir," Simon said in his deep voice. He stared impertinently at Phineas.

Phineas felt ruffled. He was torn between mumbling a thank you or reprimanding Simon for not opening the door quickly enough. Phineas's hand had almost reached the handle. What if it had been elderly Mrs. Agatha Newman trying to exit the building? Would she have had to open the door all by herself with her feeble arms?

Phineas pulled his woolen vest down to his belt. Simon was still staring at him. Phineas cleared his throat. "Ah," he began. His mind blanked. They are not your friends, he heard his father say sternly. "More quickly, please, next time," Phineas said. He instantly felt deplorable.

Simon bowed his head. "Of course, Mr. Watley." Simon let the glass door close on its own behind Phineas as Simob made his way back to his desk.

Phineas squinted his eyes against the afternoon sun. One of these days he would learn how to manage his employees without remorse. Real estate was a cutthroat industry. Yes, Phineas had risen to his position through nepotism, but it was still a ruthless, dog-eat-dog world.

The new garden plot was just to the left of the building's entrance. Phineas had helped to dig up the dirt just yesterday evening in preparation. He walked the short distance to the garden, thinking about his father.

The Watley seniors had always been larger than life in Phineas's mind. His parents had been gods, sent from the heavens to serve and provide for the building's residents. His great-great grandfather had purchased the small property that had once been the Watley building, and had shaped it into the structure it was today. Since that time, a Watley had always been at the helm. They had adopted a board of directors, but it functioned similarly to Parliament and the Prime Minister, or perhaps the Queen. Although, Phineas wasn't entirely sure how much say Queen Elizabeth had over government proceedings.

As Phineas had grown older, his father had groomed him to become the eventual head of the Watley. But his father had died from a sudden heart attack, and so the management of the Watley had been dumped into Phineas's lap when he was just 31. His mother had helped some, but she had recently moved down to Florida to be with her sister in the warmer climate. Since he was an only child, he was left completely and utterly alone.

But that had changed when Alice had asked him to dinner. He had started to wonder if maybe he didn't have to steer this great monument to hospitality all by himself.

Phineas walked the perimeter of the garden plot. He had just caught sight of Agatha Newman walking toward the building. Phineas dug a toe of his loafers into the soil. He didn't entirely know what he was looking for, but he wanted to look in control before Mrs. Newman's beady eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Newman!" he called out with a small wave.

She stared down her nose at him, the wrinkled skin of her jowels wobbling. "You checking to see if anything's buried out there?"

Phineas stilled. He rubbed a nervous hand along the back of his neck. "Mrs. Newman, did you, uh, did you bury something out here?"

"Just your dignity," she said, and cackled. With a spring in her step, Agatha Newman made her way inside the building.

Phineas frowned after her. He didn't understand why she was so bitter. It was unbecoming of a Watley resident. Phineas would have to have a talk with--

"Mr. Watley?"

Phineas whirled. Simon was standing directly behind him. He must have used the service entrance, which was...odd.

"Y-yes? Simon?"

Simon's lips quirked into a smile, twitching the manicured goatee. "The gardener's just called. He'll be here in five minutes."

Phineas smoothed his vest. "Oh thank you kindly. You may go," he said curtly, careful not to use Simon's name.

Simon turned and swept up the garden path toward the service entrance without another word. Phineas watched him go, wondering for the thousandth time if he was being too harsh. But the Watley stood for decorum and professionalism, and these aspects started at the top, so if Phineas wanted his residents to follow a certain mode, then he would need to set the example.

He turned back to contemplate the dark soil at his feet. He had asked Alice and the Finlay's at dinner what kinds of flowers they might like to see. Both Alice and Mrs. Finlay had suggested hydrangeas, whereas Mr. Finlay had gruffly said he preferred geraniums. Phineas had hurriedly agreed with Mr. Finlay. He had wanted the man to approve of his decision-making. He would have to ask the gardener if they could plant geraniums on this side of the building. Phineas was considering carving out a secondary plot of land on the far side of the Watley, perhaps they could use that space for hydrangeas. Of course, there were four hundred fifty-three and a half residents in the building (considering Natasha Bedingfield's yet unborn child), and Phineas would have to take their opinions into account.

Phineas could see the gardener crossing the street. He had on a baseball cap and matching polo that represented his company. What an upstanding business choice, Phineas thought, taking in the man's smartly pleated khakis and brown leather belt. He looked like a true professional.

Phineas stepped away from the garden plot, preparing to warmly shake the man's hand. He would prove to this outsider that his dignity, and the dignity of the Watley building, were both most certainly still intact.