City Of Promise Part 31

"Two years. Three hundred thousand dollars plus whatever extortionate interest you a.s.signed. I don't believe that's possible, Mr. Ganz."

"Ah, but I do. And in this instance I am right and you are wrong. Fourth Avenue, Mr. Turner. Exactly what Lupo wanted. Though I don't believe he would have had any idea of how to best capitalize that a.s.set. Much less the means to do so. You, however, have both. Drink your tea, Mr. Turner. Then I will explain."

Josh hesitated a moment more. Finally, he lifted the gla.s.s and took a long swallow. The mixture of fiery alcohol and sweet, cherry-flavored tea went down easily, then hit his stomach with a powerful jolt. "Schnapps," he said. "I don't believe I've ever had it before."

"It is made with cherries. The French, I believe, make a similar drink they call eau-de-vie. But we are not considering the art of distilling, Mr. Turner. Rather the art of making large sums of money from land that is at present mostly a dumping ground for rubbish. Both material and human." Ganz leaned forward. "Develop each of the eight Fourth Avenue blocks you own, young man. Put up more of your tall buildings in which people are stacked one on top of the other. What are they calling them these days? Apartment houses?" And when Josh nodded, "But do not make the mistake of thinking you will lease these particular apartments to the same sort of men who rent units in the other of your buildings. Indeed, you finally have compet.i.tion for that segment of the market."

"The Manhattan," Josh said. "The Rhinelanders' new building on Eighty-Sixth Street and Third Avenue."

"Precisely. Six stories containing thirty-one small units meant for the common man. The Rhinelanders have a nose for making money," Ganz added. "When Mr. William Rhinelander died a few years back his estate was worth fifty million dollars." Then, seeing Josh's expression, the p.a.w.nbroker leaned forward. "It took them nearly two centuries to become so wealthy. You, Mr. Turner are fortunate to have been born into our golden age. You can do the same and much more quickly. I a.s.sure you, upper Fourth Avenue is going to become one of the most sought after areas in the city. And thanks to your dear mother's foresight, you own a good-sized piece of it."

"It will be Park Avenue," Josh said quietly. "As it's called down in Murray Hill."

Ganz nodded. "So you too have been listening to what the city tells us. Park Avenue. I agree. Just now, however, that avenue is poised to go in the same direction as Fifth and perhaps Madison, become a street where rich men build mansions and occupy them. Grander than your own house, perhaps, but essentially the same, a residence for a single family. If, however, you put up your apartment houses, only this time designed to appeal to a clientele who can afford a luxurious home if perhaps not a millionaire's mansion, I believe-no, I know-you will shape the character of the neighborhood. And become astonishingly rich by doing so. You will not sell eighty lots, Mr. Turner, as Lupo would have done, and walk away having pocketed an excellent onetime windfall. You will, in effect, lease eight hundred lots over that very same stretch of land, and continue to profit from them month after month, year after year. And you will, Mr. Turner, become as rich as Croesus as a result. May I offer you more schnapps?"

Joshua's heart was thudding. Ganz had described exactly the idea that had been percolating in the back of his own mind; set aside after Mollie's abduction, but not forgotten. He held out his gla.s.s and the p.a.w.nbroker dolloped in a splash of spirit, doctoring his own gla.s.s in the same fashion. "I have been thinking," Josh said, "of something of the sort. But it will take more than two years, I a.s.sure you. Each building will finance the next. The real profits won't come until after they are all completed."

"That is a sensible way to do business," Ganz said. "On this occasion it will not be necessary."

The schnapps was spreading warmth and a kind of calm. He had a glimmer of where the conversation was going, but his voice showed none of his excitement. "Why is that, Mr. Ganz?"

"Because," Ganz said softly, "I will finance the cost of initial construction with a loan of a million dollars." He waited for the s.p.a.ce of perhaps two heartbeats, just long enough for the incredible number to sink in. Then, "At nine percent interest, compounded quarterly. Plus a modest share in the ownership of these remarkable new apartment houses on Park Avenue. Say fifteen percent. In addition, of course, to my share of Mrs. Brannigan's profits. I intended to make this suggestion before Mrs. Mollie was taken away. When she was, I simply altered my plan in what I believed to be the best interest of all of us."

Josh sat quite still for a few moments. Nine percent. He might be able to get a better rate if he trolled among the moneymen. But as it stood he'd be dealing with the devil he knew, and that devil apparently shared his belief in the future of the upper East Side. "Interest-only payments," he said, "until construction is complete. And I can a.s.sure you that will take three years, not two."

Ganz nodded. "A fair proposal, Mr. Turner. I accept."

Josh raised his gla.s.s of tea with cherry jam and schnapps. "Your good health, Mr. Ganz."

"Thank you, Mr. Turner. And yours."

The men finished their drinks. Josh rose to go, then paused. "One thing more if I may." The old man waited. "That three hundred thousand in cash money you brought to Tony Lupo's lair, am I to believe he just let you walk out the door with it?"

"You are, Mr. Turner. Because that is what happened. Mr. Lupo, as you may have guessed, is not your ordinary criminal. He too listens. We have learned to respect each other's areas of expertise."

"You work with him, that's what you're telling me."

"Sometimes. Not on this occasion. I was very disturbed when I learned he was behind taking Mrs. Mollie. I told him so."

"And after that, and after he'd lost his captive, he still allowed you to leave with your satchel full of money?"

"He did," Ganz said. "There will be other occasions for mutual profit. Mr. Lupo knows that and so do I."

"Will you tell me where Lupo is now?"

"Of course not. You didn't really expect me to, did you?"

"No, I suppose not. What about Tess? Do you mean to go on paying her to spy on us?"

Ganz smiled.

They were in the second-floor living room. Mollie sat beside Josh, head bent over a pad on her lap, her pencil flying over the page. "Nine percent compounded quarterly on such an enormous debt is an astonishing amount of interest," she said.

"I know. And if I did not, the fact that you felt you had to check your calculations on paper would have convinced me. And remember, it's thanks to you and your bees I'm not in hock to Mr. Ganz for an additional three hundred thousand plus half my profits." He clapped a dramatic hand to his brow in imitation of a music-hall performer. "Ruined! And all for love!"

Mollie's head shot up. The last word hung in the air between them. He had gone to great lengths to rescue her, but she was his wife and he was a man with a keen sense of doing what was right. Might he still love her? She could not find the courage to probe the question. "Don't tease," she said gravely. "You are putting an enormous amount at risk if you agree to Mr. Ganz's plan."

"I know that as well. But the gains will be phenomenal."

"If you succeed."

"I intend to succeed. I'm not breaking new ground remember. There are already at least ten buildings offering luxury flats of twelve rooms or more." He began ticking them off on his fingers. "The Gramercy across from Gramercy Park, the Rembrandt on West Fifty-Seventh, the Central Park Apartments on Seventh Avenue."

"Yes. And I read there's to be something called the Chelsea on Twenty-Third Street. But they're all in the fashionable parts of the town," Mollie said. "Not up here in the wilderness." She got up and went to the window. There was no view of her garden from where she stood, only of the street. "Park Avenue in the Eighties and Nineties," she said. "A grand thoroughfare lined with elaborate buildings of flats meant for the upper, upper cla.s.ses. It's hard to imagine."

"Not the upper, upper. Not the Belmonts and Vanderbilts and Morgans. They will continue to build their Fifth Avenue mansions with solid gold banisters. Do you remember? We talked about them the day I took you coaching."

"I remember. Will you have Mr. McKim design these new buildings?"

"Perhaps. He's just taken a new partner. A Mr. Stanford White. Charles tells me they are occupied with country houses at present, but I think I might intrigue him."

Mollie didn't say anything more. Josh reached for her pad and pencil. "May I?" And when she nodded. "Here's what I have in mind. Say I begin with Eighty-Eighth Street and work north." He made a rough sketch showing eight and ten story buildings as far as Ninety-Fourth Street. "I'm thinking four buildings per block. Perhaps on average thirty apartments in each-they have to be much larger than what I've built before remember. Some might be two floors. Even three. Nonetheless, this scheme should yield some seven hundred units."

"Didn't Mr. Ganz say eight hundred?"

He'd repeated much of what the p.a.w.nbroker had said word for word, a way to convince himself the extraordinary conversation had actually taken place. Not everything certainly. No mention of Tess, or what she said when Joshua confronted her. I thought I was doing you good, Mr. Turner. Mr. Ganz said he was sort of watching over the pair of you. Doing good and getting paid for it. h.e.l.l, much of the world operated on worse delusions. Will you tell Mrs. Turner? I wouldn't want her to think what she went through was my fault. Accompanied by floods of tears. He'd promised to say nothing. And he had not dismissed her. Because in fact nothing Tess had done had brought any harm upon them, and Mollie had been through quite enough on his behalf. "Ganz," he said now, "is to be an investor. He shan't dictate what I build or how."

She was looking at his drawing. Josh was no artist, much less an architect, and the lines were crooked and the rows of different size squares that indicated doors and windows uneven. It was nonetheless quite clear what he intended. "You haven't shown anything on our block."

"I won't put up anything right next to your garden, Mollie. It would steal the sun and light. I'm thinking perhaps we could eventually put a small park between the garden and the corner."

"No," she said. "That's foolish and impractical."

"Mollie, I-"

"Let me finish. I had a good deal of time to think in that cage on the roof, Josh. I spent some of it considering what is important and what is not. I love my garden, but it is not the most important thing in my life. I was very foolish to allow it to become so. Since you will be a.s.suming such an enormous indebtedness, you must plan to incorporate our block into your new Park Avenue. It makes good economic sense. Now, if you will excuse me, I am suddenly very tired."

She was nonetheless awake when he tapped on the door.

"May I come in, Mollie?"

She understood the nature of the question. "I have," she said quietly, "been hoping you would wish to do so."

The bedside lamp was turned low and he could see her dark hair and her neck, and the slope of her pale, cream-colored shoulders above the coverlet. It was obvious she was not wearing a nightdress.

Josh had already taken off his clothes and unhitched his peg. He took off his dressing gown and slid in beside her. "Put out the lamp," Mollie whispered.

"Must I? I have always loved to look at you."

"I'm older now," she said. "Not the way I was."

He chuckled. "You don't seem old to me." Nonetheless, he did as she asked. The curtains, however, were not drawn and the room was flooded with the light of a full moon. That had been true that first night on Grand Street as well.

He touched her tentatively at first, exploring the angle of her hip and the sweep of her rib cage and the gentle roundness of her breast as if the shape of her were unfamiliar to him. She was thinner than he remembered. Harder somehow.

"I'm afraid the outdoor work has toughened me," Mollie whispered. "Are you disappointed?" She had lavished herself head to toe with unguents since the night Auntie Eileen told her about Francie Wildwood. At least with the lamp out he could not see how brown her hands and even her forearms had become during the spring planting season.

"Not a bit disappointed," he said. And he was not.

Her flesh was supple to his touch, and when he bent to kiss her she opened her lips and when he caressed her she sighed with pleasure. And when finally he took her she rose to meet him, and her shudders of delight were proof she had allowed him total possession of not just her body but her spirit. "We are new made," he whispered.

22.

JOSH WAS FINDING the stiff white bow tie particularly awkward. The light perhaps. It was dimmer than usual, and provided only by lamps. Even with their wicks turned up, large portions of the expansive master suite were dark. The wall sconces nonetheless remained unlit.

Mollie stepped up and tied the tie, patting it into place with satisfaction. "There, you look splendid, quite regal in your tailcoat. As well you should. It's your night of triumph."

He took her hands and spread them in that way he had when he wished to get a good look at what she was wearing. Her gown of what he'd been told to call magnolia-colored satin-ivory with a hint of rose-had a deep decolletage and a slim skirt embroidered with seed pearls. A long train descended from two bouffant puffs that were the latest iteration of the bustle. The oil lamps caused creamy pink shadows to play across her bare shoulders, and he loved the way she had drawn her hair back and allowed the curls to fall free behind. The diamond earrings she wore had been his gift the previous December, presented not at Christmas but on the eve of the new year. This is to be our year, my love. You shall wear these to a great celebration, I promise.

May of 1883 now, and the occasion he promised had arrived and she was wearing the diamond earrings for the first time.

"Exquisite," Josh said, completing his examination of her outfit and releasing her hands. "As for it being my night, no one will notice me. They shall all be looking at you."

Mollie drew on long white kid gloves that reached almost to the ruched cap sleeves of her gown, then added the final touch, a wide gold-and-diamond bracelet Josh had given her to mark the day they moved into the twelve-room apartment on the sixth and seventh floors of 1160 Park Avenue. There was a three-story twenty-four room flat above their heads, the "penthouse," as modern usage had it. Josh had intended it for them, but Mollie had been miserable at the thought, insisting they should rattle around with no purpose. Eventually he realized the amount of s.p.a.ce simply reminded her of the family she did not have and gave in. The penthouse, offered for three hundred and seventy-five dollars a month, remained empty. Perhaps after tonight that would no longer be the case.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."

"You go ahead then. I'll join you after I put out the lamps."

"Jane and Tess will see to the lamps, Josh."

"Not tonight," he said. "Tonight I shall do it myself. Besides, I've already sent them outside." Still she hesitated. "What?" he asked.

"I shall miss this gentle play of light and shadow," she admitted. Then, seeing his face, "But I know it will be wonderful to uniformly glow in the dark as we shall."

"And," he said, "gas lighting is impure, dirty, and unhygienic, and gas jets take all the oxygen from a room and give ladies headaches."

Mollie smiled. "How odd. I would have sworn I read that in The Times. I believe the reporter said he'd been given the information by a Mr. Joshua Turner of the St. Nicholas Corporation. Which gentleman was building a remarkable series of apartment buildings on the upper reach of Fourth . . . no, Park Avenue, all of which were to be electrified."

Josh's laugh trailed after her as she made her way downstairs to the front door, the apartment darkening behind her.

There had been electric light on a number of New York streets and avenues for a few years. Ornamental, twenty-foot-tall cast-iron posts topped with arc lights that lay down a broad carpet of brilliance were distributed one per block and fed current pa.s.sed along overhead wires. The lighting was a great success, credited with reducing crime and contributing to the population's general health and well-being, but such an arrangement could not be used inside a man's home. Josh hadn't considered electrifying his new buildings until in the autumn of 1880, soon after construction began, Thomas Edison gave a banquet, at which he demonstrated his latest invention, the incandescent bulb.

Josh was at the banquet-he and Mollie were seated across from Sarah Bernhardt-and certainly he was impressed. So were the politicians. The city gave Edison permission to install underground wires in the square mile from Wall Street to Ca.n.a.l. "He's bought two old ramshackle buildings on Pearl Street near the fish market," Josh told Hamish Fraser a few weeks later. "They're to house the steam generators that will produce his power."

"Och, I heard as much, Mr. Turner. I'm told the asking price for the pair was a hundred and fifty-five thousand. It's a fearful amount o' dollars to light the inside o' a man's wee house when gaslights do the job."

Josh thought the same. Until he saw Edison's own four-story brownstone illumined by a hundred of the small and softly glowing globes. Two nights later he brought Mollie to see it as well. They arrived on the corner of Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue in deep dusk and stood waiting with all the others who came every night to exclaim at the sight. When at last the dark descended and-as if a fairy had waved a wand-the house came instantly alight, there was a universal gasp of wonder. "Convinced?" Josh asked. "Despite the expense?"

"I didn't think it would be so different from gas lighting," she admitted. "But it's steadier and infinitely brighter. With a whiter light. Undoubtedly an amenity the rich will soon expect. You must do it, Josh. Regardless of the cost. If an ordinary brownstone can look like this, your stretch of buildings will be . . . magical. That's the correct word, I'm sure."

Magic came at a price.

Josh's crew dug the necessary trenches the length of his eight blocks. Edison's men came after them and laid ma.s.sive copper power mains and insulated them with a mix of asphalt, linseed oil, paraffin, and-Mollie shuddered when she heard-beeswax. Wires were fed from the mains to the buildings, buried in the walls, and connected to the lighting sconces originally intended for gas. Finally, a steam generator was installed in the bas.e.m.e.nt of one building on each block. It raised the rent on every apartment something close to fifteen percent. They were snapped up despite that. Wall Street bankers and doctors-not the ordinary sort but the specialists who these days earned fortunes-and lawyers with partnerships in the town's most prestigious firms, even a few foreign dignitaries all showed themselves willing to break new ground and live in this isolated stretch of glory. After all, whatever else they were New Yorkers, convinced that wherever they went, the rest of the world would soon follow. The first tenants took occupancy in early '81. Josh supplied an abundance of oil lamps at his expense and guaranteed electric light by Thanksgiving of '83.

He was six months ahead of schedule.

Something to celebrate indeed. And by G.o.d, the hordes come to marvel were themselves a sight.

Here as downtown in Murray Hill, the median that ran the length of the avenue had been planted with trees and greenery to mask the vents of the train-tunnel underground. Josh had arranged for a podium-potted greenery and flowers and velvet ropes-as well as chairs on the gra.s.s along his entire eight-block stretch, but the crowd had swelled so there was only standing room.

Mollie was waiting for him in the magnificent marble lobby. The liveried doorman as well. That rendition of the old-fashioned concierge-the nosy old biddy guarding the front door-had become one of the things that persuaded the elite to live in apartments rather than private homes. It was like having a butler without having to pay his wage.

"Go on," Josh told the doorman. "You'll have a better view of things outside. Mrs. Turner and I will be along straightaway." The man touched his peaked cap and left. Josh drew Mollie to the tall window beside the mahogany double doors. A sea of people waited. The men's ties and boiled shirtfronts gleamed white in the encroaching dark and the ladies' jewels sparkled. "Well," he murmured, "what do you think?"

"You know what I think. It's quite wonderful, and no more than you deserve, and-oh, Josh, look! The Tickles and the others. In the front row about half a block south. They look quite splendid."

Indeed they did. Maude Pattycake wore a blue gown and a tiara. Both Ebenezer and Israel McCoy were in evening dress, as were Obadiah and Henry and Washington and Sampson who stood just behind them. The finery had been made to measure and cost him a fair bit, but looking at them now Josh smiled. "Quite splendid," he echoed.

He felt suspended in time, as if he could stand where he was indefinitely, but after a few seconds Mollie nudged him forward. "Everyone's waiting, dearest."

He drew a deep breath, tucked his cane under one arm-he would cross the d.a.m.ned street under his own power, by G.o.d-and swung open the door. Mollie stepped outside. He took his place beside her and she linked her arm in his.

The dais had been erected directly in front of 1160 for the same reason Josh and Mollie lived there. The building was on the southwest corner of Ninety-Second Street, and as such pretty much in the middle of the St. Nicholas stretch. Josh and Mollie didn't have far to go, but they walked to the platform on a wave of thunderous applause, and thanks to having Mollie on his arm Josh didn't need his cane to climb the steps. Instead he could stretch out his right hand to greet the visiting dignitaries.

Mollie had questioned the wisdom of planning the occasion for the day after the formal opening of the Brooklyn Bridge. Josh thought they could profit from some of the grandeur of that occasion. "From what I hear," she'd said, still resisting, "most of the carry-on will be in Brooklyn. New Yorkers are predicted to be largely unfazed."

"Only according to the business community. They prefer not to acknowledge what they see as a great siphon that will suck their custom across the river. The press will nonetheless use barrels of ink to describe it. The president is coming after all, and Governor Cleveland of course. I'll invite both to our electrification ceremony. You never know, they might come."

Chester Arthur had sent congratulations and regrets-they arrived on very impressive Executive Mansion stationery-but Grover Cleveland had turned up. And Thomas Edison, of course. Josh suspected him to be the real reason for the crowd. Two-thirds of the units were sold; nonetheless the number of people was far too great to be only the owners and their guests and staffs. Such a turnout had to be down to Edison. In money-crazed, kick-up-your-heels New York an inventor and entrepreneur of his stature figured to be a much greater draw than any politician.

He delivered Mollie to her seat. The applause died away. Time for the speeches. Josh went first, offered his few words of welcome, and presented the mayor. He rambled on for a while, then introduced the governor. Cleveland's speech was bound to go on for a time; word was he had a run at the presidency in mind. That gave Josh an opportunity to examine that part of the a.s.sembly he could see. Eileen was seated to the left of the dais, with Zac and Simon and the rest of the family. She was nodding off. At sixty-one, that was to be expected. Solomon Ganz was also in that section of the audience. Josh had invited him to a place on the dais, but Ganz had refused. "Thank you, Mr. Turner, but I prefer a less obvious position." Josh had no idea how old the p.a.w.nbroker was, but he seemed wide awake and listening to every word. Everything I know, Mr. Turner, is usually because someone has told me. He wondered what the governor might be saying that he was missing, and how Sol Ganz might turn whatever it was to profit.

More applause. Cleveland was finished. It was time for Josh to introduce Edison. He started to get to his feet. A hand touched his arm from behind. "Gentleman gave me this," Ollie Crump said quietly. "Claims he lives in one of your other buildings."

Josh palmed the note and slipped it into his pocket. Ollie was a likely messenger. Josh had set him up as manager of a public stable on Third and Ninety-second. A lot of our residents will own carriages, Ollie. It's ready-made custom. Do a good job and I'll sell you the place in a few years.

"He said to tell you it was urgent, Mr. Turner."