Year in Palm Beach by Pamela Acheson, Richard B. Myers Read Free Book Online

the attic, and as he’s coming down the attic stairs, he says, “You need a new ultraviolet light in the filtering system. Can’t get you one till next week.”
    He folds up the attic stairs. “Also,” he says, walking into the living room, “you gotta get someone to seal off these vents. And the vent in the attic doesn’t have any screens. This place’ll be filled with birds and squirrels and mice pretty soon.”
    â€œBirds and squirrels and mice?” Pam says.
    â€œMaybe a snake or two,” the guy says. “But you just have to put some screening there. That’ll solve that problem. I’ll have the office call you when the UV light comes in.”
    I walk the AC guy to the door and come back into the living room. Pam says, “Birds, squirrels, mice, and snakes? Next week?”
    Saturday, September 19
    This morning Benjamin, once again, is not here as he promised. Strike three. “I’m going to call Bob our crack real estate agent,” I say. “Maybe he can help somehow.”
    â€œIt’s Saturday,” Pam says.
    â€œI don’t care. I’ll call his cell. I’ll call his office. I’ll find him.” I do. “Bob, this kid Benjamin is a disaster. He’s a nice kid, but he’s a disaster.” I explain what still hasn’t been fixed in the cottage.
    â€œJesus,” Bob says. “Stay where you are. I’ll call you right back.”
    In about ten minutes, Bob calls back. “Dick, I talked to Ben. He says he had some problems this week, but everything is now scheduled to be finished this coming Thursday or Friday. Everything.”
    â€œBob, I had the same promise from Benjamin a week ago. The kid doesn’t know what he is doing. He’s screwing up Pam’s and my work schedules big time. He’s screwing up our daily lives,” I say.
    â€œGive him one more chance,” Bob says. “Everything done by next Friday, maybe Thursday.”
    â€œBob, I doubt it, but okay, Friday, that’s it.” I hang up, feeling really beaten up. I know Benjamin is not going to have everything done. More likely he’ll have nothing done.
    Tonight, to escape, Pam and I walk over to the lake to watch the lights of West Palm Beach come on as day becomes night. Our plan is dinner and a Yankee game at Bice Ristorante. We haven’t bothered to hook up cable yet.
    I love Bice, but in recent years it sometimes makes me feel like a fossil. Pam and I first came here for a business lunch about fifteen years ago. I remember when Ronnie was a kid behind the bar, and now he’s a real estate tycoon, married, and with two little kids of his own.
    I remember when Jose was a waiter with no gray hair, and now he is a distinguished looking member of the management team. I remember when Jose’s brother, Javier, was a busser who spoke almost no English. He is now the manager at Pizza al Fresco and speaks better English than I do. I’m so old I remember when Phillipe, who’s behind the bar, was sane.
    Jose welcomes us. We grab an empty bar table, have a cocktail, and share a chopped salad and a pizza. Pam and I love sharing meals. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures. The baseball game is not exciting, but the Yanks win it, and the evening is a welcome diversion from the chaos at the cottage.
    Tuesday, September 22
    This morning the electrician we waited for all day yesterday finally arrives. He can’t fix the disposal, and he explains the three non-working plugs in the yellow room have no wiring going to them, but he says he can put switches on the outdoor lights by tomorrow or maybe Thursday. And with that, he is gone.
    â€œThis really sucks,” Pam says.
    â€œWhat are you talking,” I say. “At this rate this place should be all fixed up by Christmas, New Year’s Eve at the latest.”
    â€œNot funny, Dick. Let’s take a walk.”
    After a few blocks of