Read Online Thirteen Million Dollar Pop by David Levien - Free Book Online Page B

sat on a leather couch in a plush waiting area in Bernie Kolodnik’s office. There was an array of thick, glossy magazines on a well-waxed coffee table in front of him, but he was staring toward the opposite wall at a large photo of Kolodnik, dressed in golf togs, standing with Phil Mickelson in a tee box.
    Behr had found the business card Kolodnik had given him in his wallet as he walked back to his car. He hadn’t called that personal number, but it had inspired him to call Kolodnik’s company and ask for a brief appointment even though he was due back at the Caro office for a marketing and client service meeting. He wasn’t too busted up over missing it, though his bosses might be if word trickled back to them that he was absent. It turned out that Kolodnik wasn’t at his downtown location but was at the company’s satellite office in the tony suburbs, so he was headed in the right direction.
    Driving out, Behr had crossed a development of new town houses at 86th and North Meridian, which functioned as a border of sorts to a sleek, high-priced world of glassy business parks that seemed to house the medical practices of half the doctors in the state. Then he had passed under an arch announcing the Arts & Design District of Carmel, and he entered the picturesque town of low brick buildings, cobblestone crossings, and lifelike SewardJohnson–style statues of people on the sidewalks. On several corners were large churches that represented a range of Christian denominations. The surrounding thoroughfares of South Range Line and Carmel Drive were thick with chain restaurants—but the nice ones—and country clubs filled in the spaces between neighborhoods.
    The town represented the good life, and he had a momentary pang when he thought of Susan and pictured her and the coming baby eating at the restaurants, shopping at the many kids’ shoe stores, going to Nordstrom’s. The place was a little sterile. That’s what she would probably say. She didn’t care much about money or material things, but he knew the life they were leading wasn’t a result of choice but of limits. He wouldn’t mind giving her the alternative. He just didn’t see how that was going to happen. Maybe after five or ten years with Caro, after moving up into the supervisory ranks and partnership, there would be a possibility. He’d be in his fifties by then … but not now.
    There were plenty of big buildings going up around town, Behr noticed on his way to his destination: The Kolodnik Company, which was housed in yet another brand-new, sparkling limestone and glass pod. New developments. Ground broken. Foundations dug. Girder skeletons erected. Crane arms topping off roof pieces. The town must not have heard of the real estate crash or the wave of unemployment or the recession that had howled over the country like a tornado. Perhaps Kolodnik was responsible for all the work here. Maybe his company, with a fleet of bulldozers, was trying to turn the whole thing around single-handedly.
    The left-hander of a pair of mahogany double doors swung open, and there he was, Bernie Cool himself, in crisp white shirtsleeves and silk tie. His burnished custom-made shoes shone from what looked like three thousand coats of polish in an altogether different way than Behr’s Florsheims.
    “Frank, how the heck are you?” Kolodnik said, crossing to him.
    Behr jumped up, they shook hands, and he saw the energetic and intelligent gleam in the man’s eyes.
    “I’m under water today, but I’m really glad to have this chance to at least say hello,” Kolodnik went on.
    “I’m fine, Mr. Kolodnik,” Behr said. “How are you?”
    “Call me Bernie. Did you get that Harlan Estates?”
    “I did and I thank you. It was unnecessary.”
    “Did you try it? What did you think?”
    “Good stuff.”
    “They say you should lay up good wine for a while after it arrives. But I never do …” Kolodnik offered with a smile.
    “I didn’t happen to wait