Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 05

Chapter 5

Spring, 2006

Ted poured himself a tall glass of soda with ice and drank it as he made notes in his reporter's notebook. He made two lists, one of people definitely, or at least probably, in the greater New York Area, and those most likely up at the lake and reachable through Ariadne.

First on the New York list was William. He realized he didn’t know him very well despite living with him for a summer. He knew he was a New Yorker, and that he had gotten the job through a family connection to Maxwell. That could easily mean construction.

Ted carried his soda to the computer desk. What was William’s last name again? Oh yes, Zelnick. He Googled "Zelnick Construction" and scrolled down the results—here was something likely: Zelnick Builders, Construction & Contracting, Consultants to the Hotel Industry. He clicked his way to their website. The home page pictured a man in his early thirties and another in his sixties. They wore shirts and ties, and hardhats labeled with the company logo. Ted couldn't tell if either of them looked like William. He scrolled down.

"Arthur and Henry Zelnick, leading the building of hotel properties in the northeast." There weren't many other links to the page—a list of satisfied clients, a contact form, and an address in a town in New Jersey he had never heard of.

He opened up another browser window and went to Factiva, an indexing service containing of thousands of articles. He did a global search for William Zelnick, going back 20 years.

Lots of listings for a William Zelnick who was some kind of local legislator in Montana. Another for a William Zelnick who coached a college football team in Georgia. Here was something, from a Jersey paper, seven years ago—"Street Named for Builder's Son." He opened it up.

"...the new Woodleigh Hotel required the creation of a short cul-de-sac off of Route 627. That street has be named William Street, by a unanimous vote of the town council. It is to honor the memory of William Zelnick, late brother of Henry Zelnick, president of Zelnick Builders. William died in a tragic accident 13 years ago. Although the Zelnicks reside in New York City, their firm has long been a fixture in Northern New Jersey. Zelnick is a subcontractor for the hotel..." So there was family to talk to.

Vic. He would be easy to track down; he was still working at the family firm. Despite both of them living and working Manhattan, they hadn't seen each other for years. When Ted was still doing daily news they'd run into each other at various financial conferences and had occasionally gone out for drinks, but he couldn't remember the last time.

The would-be girlfriend—the goth girl. She was very likely from New York and he could track down her parents' addresses from resort registration records. With luck, they hadn't moved.

If he did go to the lake, maybe the Sheriff's office would be flexible about sharing old records. And he'd rely on Ariadne to connect him to the locals. It would be nice to catch up with her.

Joan must be around 50 now. She had her boys young; they’d be out of the house now. Was Laurie still gorgeous? Did Mary-Lou become a nurse? He felt warm inside thinking of her, but a little nervous—he couldn’t be sure of the reception he’d get there. He remembered Matthew had said he wanted to study engineering in college, then save some money and then buy a marina on the Lake. Ted hoped he had.

Did Stanislaus still have that same truck? It would be eligible for historic plates now. He imagined seeing him with it on Antiques Roadshow, finding a 40-year-old pick-up was worth $100,000 and still refusing to sell it.

Ted pulled his cell phone from his belt holster. Morning was a good time to reach people in offices, before they got snowed under for the day. He opened his notebook to a fresh page and dialed the number on the web page in front of him.

“Zelnick Builders. How may I direct your call?”

“Henry Zelnick please.”

“And who may I say is calling?”

He knew this wasn't going to be easy. How to explain a condolence call after 20 years?

“Tell him an old friend of his brother William’s.”

“Oh. One moment, sir.” He was put on an easy-listening musical hold.

“Hello. Henry Zelnick here. You were a friend of William’s?” He barked out the sentences.

“My name is Ted Jellinek. William and I knew each other many years ago. We worked together at Twelve Pines Resort the summer he died.” He paused, waiting for an interruption that never came. “I always kept up with Maxwell Tolford, the resort’s owner, who you probably know died recently. I know this must be painful for you, but Mr. Tolford's daughter Penelope has engaged me to write an authorized biography of Maxwell Tolford, and I will be addressing the issues surrounding your brother's death at Mr. Tolford's resort."

"Jellinek? I read about you. You spoke at Tolford's funeral, didn't you?" Henry seemed to be a little more on the ball than his brother ever was. "I don't know what you want from me. My brother had an accident. We never blamed Maxwell Tolford or the resort. I don’t really know I can tell you anything more.”

“I appreciate that, sir. But I would like to know more about your brother anyway. I lived with him that summer, but that was just for a few weeks. I’d like to get a more rounded portrait of him.”

“Well, I don't know what exactly you want to put in the book, but I guess I can give you a few minutes. But part of the deal is that you don't bother my parents. This hit them hard. Especially Mom. They're retired in Arizona and don't need any more involvement with this. Understood?"

"I accept."

"Okay then. Can you get out here during the day? I’m in Northern New Jersey. What days in the next week are you free?”

They set up a time and day to meet, and Ted was about to ring off, when he asked a question casually. “Actually there’s one piece of biographical data you can give me right now. What high school did William graduate from?”

“We both went to the Mansard School,” he said, naming one of the better prep schools in the City. Ted knew it—his school played Mansard in track. “But actually,” he said, with some reluctance in his voice, “he finished at New Springdale.”

Now that was interesting, Ted thought as he hung up. It was a so-called alternative school for those who worked best in a "self-paced environment." But every prep school kid in Manhattan knew it as a holding pen for rich screw-ups. He thought of William, those long evenings where he’d do nothing but play guitar.

He called Vic Kaplan and got his voicemail. “You’ve reached Victor Kaplan, executive vice president of Kaplan Centrex Funds. Please leave a message. If this is urgent, dial star 0 to reach the operator and someone will help you.” He couldn’t believe Vic would leave such a serious message.

“Vic, a voice from the past—Ted Jellinek. I’m going up to the Lake and track down your old friend Laurie. Call me back for the details and to give me any message you want to deliver.” He left his number and hung up.

He thought he'd have to look up the Twelve Pines Resort phone number, but he closed his eyes and thought for a second—and remembered it. He probably always would.

“Twelve Pines Resort. How may I help you?” said a sing-song female voice.

“I’m calling at the suggestion of Penelope Tolford. My name is Ted Jellinek and she thought you might be able—"

“Oh yes, Mr. Jellinek. I already pulled the records from that summer, at Penelope's request. She said you were interested in tracing a family, so I separated out the two-bedroom rentals. Now this would have been late August. Would you like me to read the names off and see if any ring a bell?”

“Well, you’re certainly efficient, Ms.—"

“Sarah.”

“Well just call me Ted, Sarah. Okay, I have my pen at the ready.”

What surprised Ted is how virtually each name that Sarah read off called up a memory—of someone he helped get a canoe, or move into a cabin, or sold a soda to.

The Barnabas family had two little boys who spent 10 hours a day in the water. The Crispos had an older child who couldn’t swim very well and Mary-Lou had had to pull him out. Everson was a divorced woman with twin 12-year-old girls who dressed in identical suits. Gregory—their youngest threw up in the Hall. Ibanez had an adorable 6-year-old girl who was never without her bright yellow sun hat. The Kornfeld boys loved Ping-Pong. Mr. and Mrs. Needleman’s 15-year-old grandson showed up at the diner for breakfast one morning and kept staring at Laurie until she told him to “knock it off.”

“…and in cabin #15 was Reddy, Mr. and Mrs. Gary Reddy, Roslyn, New York. I’m not sure where that is—”

“Ah, that’s it!” said Ted. “It’s on Long Island.” The memories came flooding back. Vic said the daughter looked like the walking dead. He called her “Deady Reddy” behind her back. Now what was her real name? Yes, he had it—Denise.

Sarah read him the address and phone number in her record.

“Let me know if you need anything more,” she said. He was already typing the number into Google—it listed it still as Gary and Susan Reddy. They apparently hadn't moved.

“Will do, Sarah. Thanks again—much appreciated.” A minute later he was dialing the Reddys.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Reddy? My name is Ted Jellinek. I’m an old school friend of Denise’s, and I’m trying to get in touch with her. I lost track of her over the years.”

“Oh how nice,” she said. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Ted Jellinek.”

“I don’t think we ever met, Ted. Well, I have her number. You know she’s married. She’s Denise Reddy-Stein now, with a hyphen. We never did that hyphen thing when I got married, but times change. Anyway, she and her husband live in an apartment in Manhattan. She’s usually home during the day with her little girl. Here’s her number…”

Ted jotted it down and managed to hang up before Mrs. Reddy asked any questions about Denise’s school, which he expected he’d be unable to answer.

He called Denise's number, and got an answering machine, with a male voice. "You have reached the Stein residence. Please leave a message and we will return your call."

"My name is Ted Jellinek and this is a message for Denise Reddy-Stein. I'm calling on behalf of some mutual friends. I'd appreciate it if you could give me a call at your convenience." He hoped the message was intriguing enough to coax her to return the call, without being frightening.

He had barely clicked off when his cell phone rang again.

“You son-of-a-bitch. I’ve spent 20 years trying to get the hottest girl I ever met out of my mind and you have to remind me. If she’s old and fat I’ll kill myself.”

Ted laughed. “Good speaking to you too, Vic. I don’t know if Laurie kept her figure, but I can tell you for an absolute certainty she’s not 18 anymore.”

“God, that’s depressing. I can accept getting old, but Laurie getting old…I need a drink. Meet me after work today. Stop by my office and we’ll have some very good Scotch.”



Ted took the subway to Wall Street, where Kaplan-Centrex Funds had several floors in an old building a few blocks from the New York Stock Exchange. The receptionist was expecting him.

“Mr. Jellinek? Vic Kaplan said you should head straight into his office. He said he might be on the phone, but you should go in. Head down the hall—it’s the corner office on the right.”

Vic was on the phone. He was leaning back in the chair and swinging restlessly, while he said noises of agreement to whomever he was speaking with. He didn’t seem to really be paying attention. He saw Ted and pointed to a guest chair, while continuing to say “yes…of course…that’s natural.” He looked good, Ted thought. Filled out a bit, but not fat. The boyish face was a little lined, and his hair was shorter, but he didn’t look that different. He wore a white button-down shirt, and a striped tie that was loosened on the top.

“Listen, this sounds great. Just great. Summarize it and get it off to me…I’ll get back to you next week, I promise…gotta run, another meeting…” he winked at Ted. “…well when you run a company, you have to work all hours…take care.” He hung up. “What a moron.” Then he brightened, came around the desk, and grabbed Ted’s hand, then took another guest chair.

“It was so great getting your call—it's been too long. You look terrific. You know, I was so upset to hear about Maxwell’s death. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, but I thought of him often. You know, I was going to call you. I saw a brief note in the Wall Street Journal that you were at the funeral—that you spoke there.”

“They figured a writer would give a good eulogy.”

“Maybe it was Penelope who wanted to see you,” he teased.

“I somehow don’t think so,” said Ted, and Vic laughed.

“Let’s get out of here before that damn phone rings again. I know a bar that stocks some great Scotch.”

Vic grabbed his jacket from a hanger on the back of his door. and Ted stood up, and noticed an 8 x 10 photo on a bookshelf.

“Wife and children?” he asked, pointing.

“Oh yeah. You’ve never met them. She had that taken for my birthday last year. That’s my wife, Fredericka, Eleanor, who’s six, and Pauline, who’s eight.” Fredericka was a sleek brunette with a an expensive smile and great taste in jewelry. Their daughters took after their mother.

“You have a lovely wife and pretty daughters.”

“I supposed I’ve been lucky,” he said, slipping his arm into the jacket. “Freddy has the patience of a saint. Did you ever marry?”

"Still waiting for the right girl."

"Still waiting for Penelope?" Ted laughed. "Or what about that blond girl, the lifeguard you dated that summer—Mary-Lou, right? Ever see her again?" Ted shook his head. "Oh well, summer romances. Just as well they end by Labor Day."



Summer, 1986

“He's my rival? For what?”

“For Penelope, stupid! He asked her to the prom.”

“Did he? And did they have a good time?”

“Oh no. She said no.” Ariadne sounded disappointed. “He was on the football team and student council. He was very popular. But he was having trouble with history earlier in the year and he came over so Penelope could help him, and he fell in love with her.”

“So who did she go with?”

“No one. She didn’t want to go to the prom at all,” she said wistfully. “Matthew certainly had no trouble getting his second choice to go—Becky Krasny. She’s blond and beautiful and stupid beyond belief. Anyway, he isn't giving up on her and I think he may get her to come around. In fact, I think Matthew took this job to be near Penelope. Just like you.”

“Ariadne—why don’t you go for a swim with your sister?” She smirked at him, and flounced out, her braid swinging after her.

Nothing much had changed by 3:00, when Laurie entered the Hall. She had changed at the restaurant out of her uniform and into a bikini, which she filled out to an alarming point. Did she change in the bathroom and walk through the restaurant like that? It must’ve been some show for the diners, mused Ted.

“Hello folks—Vic, hand me a soda, I’m dying. The place was jammed, I’m exhausted. I think they came just for the air conditioning.” Vic ran to oblige her. “Soda coming up. And here’s a stool for you.”

“You’re sweet. I’m going to rest my feet and then go for a swim.” Leaning over the counter, Vic and Laurie talked quietly.

William had paused in his guitar playing to help two boys into a rowboat. Ted and Matthew were putting the newly repaired outboard back on a boat, and Ariadne had returned from the beach. She was playing Ping-Pong with a guest, a girl her own age.

They gingerly lowered the engine onto the back of the boat, and while Matthew held it steady, Ted screwed the clamps tight. Matthew then jumped into the boat, hooked up the gas line, and brought it to life with one hard pull on the cord. He raced it in neutral, throttled down and shifted forward, then reverse, before cutting the power. “Well, good for now.” He hopped out of the boat, and looked where Ted was gazing across the expanse of the beach. The water was full of swimmers, and Mary-Lou was watching over them.

“I heard you guys were making a fire on the beach tonight,” said Matthew. “I’ll help if you want.”

“Thanks. We just have to drag some logs from the shed.” Silence.

“Is Penelope coming?” asked Matthew with forced casualness. Ted wondered if Ariadne had told Matthew that he was his “rival.” It would only be fair, he thought. He shouldn’t have all the inside information.

“Sometimes she comes. But usually she doesn’t.” There was nothing left to say. Matthew looked at his dirty hands.

“I’m going to wash up.” They walked down the dock together. Ariadne and her friend watched the two young men; Ariadne tried to catch Ted’s eye but failed. Matthew disappeared into the machine shop, and William returned to his guitar. The two girls sat on the dock in a patch of shade to listen to him. Vic and Laurie continued to talk, her swim forgotten for now.

Gradually, the temperature fell and the shadows grew long on the lake. Laurie finally did take her swim, and said she’d be back for the fire. The beach emptied, and the mother of the friend came to get her daughter for dinner. Mary-Lou stopped by the Hall on the way to her car.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asked Ted.

“Of course. I’ll save you a chair.” She smiled, and headed to the parking lot.

“I’m heading up too,” said Ariadne, reluctantly. “Mrs. Bretton hates it when we’re late. I’ll see you guys at the beach after dinner.”

“Tell Penelope to come,” said Ted, and she rolled her eyes.

Vic looked at the clock.

“Matthew—finish up. Let’s close this place. William, it’s closing time. Save the playing for later.” William put the guitar back in his case. Matthew took a look around the shop, as if he had forgotten something, and Ted dragged the sliding door across the entryway. They exited through the back door, and locked it behind them.



Penelope did come down to the fire that night. It was already crowded when she arrived; Matthew had made a couple of younger kids move their chairs so he could shoe-in one for Penelope next to him in the semi-circle of chairs, where she’d have a good view of the fire and lake.

As the evening wore on, Ted saw that Vic and Laurie were holding hands, resting their interlaced fingers on the chairs’ broad arms. William had a seat of honor at the center of the half-circle, as he was providing the entertainment. He’s become quite a local celebrity, noted Ted.

Ariadne had come down earlier than her sister, and was sitting on the rocks, above the fire, whispering with a couple of others girls. They were giggling about something.

“Do you go see a lot of bands in New York?” asked Mary-Lou. “I mean, I know there are a lot of clubs there.”

“I went to CBGB’s once. Have you heard of it?”

“Oh yes, you were there? Really? Was it fun?”

“It was miserable. We went there during last Christmas break. There was a band playing called You Suck. That was its name. So everyone called out ‘You Suck.’ But it sounded like they were cheering the band. I don’t know—maybe they were.” She looked at him with astonishment. He saw the sun had raised some freckles on her nose.

“I was with some friends. Some wanted to stay, but some had had enough. We went uptown to Times Square, where there was an all-night science fiction film festival and some theater, and we got really loud, and the management asked us to leave. By that time it was nearly 2:00, so we found a cab to take us to our various homes. The driver kept telling us we were going to go to hell unless we accepted Jesus as our personal savior. I almost got out and walked home.”

“What an interesting life you lead,” she said.

How strange, he thought, that my wasted evenings were entertaining to someone.

Matthew had tried start a conversation with Penelope at one point, but she didn't seem inclined to talk. She seemed content to stare into the hearth, and the firelight lent some color to her serene face.

As the evening wore on, some of the younger boys and girls drifted back to their cabins before their parents embarrassed them by coming down to look for them. Laurie looked at the her watch. "I really have to go, we start serving breakfast at dawn," she said. She and Vic gave each other lingering glances, then kissed each other goodnight.

"I'll walk up to the lot with you," said Matthew, standing up. "I ought to be getting home too." He looked down at Penelope. "Goodnight," he said to her.

"Goodnight," she smiled up at him.

"Make that three," said Mary-Lou. "Goodnight, Ted. I liked talking to you and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Me too," he said. "Have a good night."

The three locals headed across the beach and up to the lot. Not long after that Penelope peered across the semicircle to find her sister, who had moved down to one of the chairs.

"Ariadne—we ought to be going up." Ariadne frowned. "I'm sure everyone else will be going up too," continued Penelope.

"We get the hint," said Vic. "Come on William, pack it in. Busy day tomorrow. " William's music had become softer. He finished a few more measures, then without saying anything, packed up his guitar. Everyone stood up and began walking, and Ariadne practically ran to keep up with William's and Vic's long strides. She walked between them, and Ted could see she was talking to them. He hung back to walk with Penelope.

"She's always had a crush on Vic, since she was a little kid," said Penelope.

"I'm afraid Laurie has edged her out," said Ted.

"Oh, I don't think she ever really expected anything to come of it. But nonetheless, it happened. And while we're on the subject of crushes, what about you and Mary-Lou?"

"What are you talking about?" He studied her by the dim light of the overhead lamp at the head of the trail—the bright black eyes and so-familiar superior smile.

"God, you're dense. She was hanging on your every word." Ted reflected on Mary-Lou's interested gaze and the tone of voice when she said goodnight.

"Perhaps," he said. Penelope sighed and shook her head.

At the point where the path to the staff house led from the driveway, Vic and William said goodnight to Ariadne. She waited for Penelope and Ted to catch up and then said goodnight to Ted, too. He watched them walk up the hill, wondering what they were talking about.

When Ted entered the cabin, he saw Vic was lying in his bed and leafing through a Playboy a guest had left behind. William was taking out his guitar, but then stopped, and put it back.

"I don't think I can sleep," he said. "I'm going back down to the beach." He picked up his guitar and left again. "That's so odd," said Ted, watching William walking along the path then down the road. "Don't you think that's strange?" he asked Vic.

"Hmm? What? Here, you want to wonder about something, wonder about how women can be built like this." He folded the magazine back and showed Ted a picture. Ted smiled.

After brushing his teeth Ted got undressed and went to bed. He thought about the evening, about Penelope—tall and sarcastic—and about Mary-Lou—sunny and amused. And he thought about William, playing for no audience but himself.

He suddenly realized he was more tired than he thought, and fell asleep with the lights on.