Bootstraps I
In Search of an Island
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~ Paul
Part I of a III Part Story
“I need an island,” Lawrence Edward Betterman the Fifth said to Matrona, his personal assistant.
“Of course you do. You’ve gone far too long without one,” replied Matrona.
“Besides if I can ever expect a government contract for space launches, I’ll need a suitable location.”
“But sir, you don’t have a rocket,” Matrona pointed out.
“That’s just a technicality,” murmured Lawrence as he looked down from his top floor office window to the streets of New York City below. From this high up he could barely make out individual people on the sidewalks. Some were bustling to coffee shops, restaurants, and offices. Others were just trying to hustle some change to get them through the day. The thought of being down there on those sidewalks, having to interact with those people, sent a shiver up his spine. Lawrence Edward Betterman V gained his fortune through inheritance. Although now, at 48 years-old, he liked to portray himself as self-made. He turned toward Matrona and admired her slender figure bending over his desk as she collected the documents he just signed. It reminded him that he had yet to find a suitable partner with whom to sire an heir. His tastes were very particular, but recently he began to wonder if he should relax them for breeding purposes.
“Make a short-list of suitable islands and have it for me tomorrow. And ready my helicopter. I’m done here for the day.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Matrona. Then, she turned to exit the office.
Exactly five days later Lawrence Betterman and Matrona were flying on his chartered helicopter to an island that held potential for his vision.
“I think this one will fit your needs quite well,” said Matrona as she spread out a map of the Venezuelan coastline. Pointing to a small dot on the map, she said, “It’s 1.3 square miles with almost 5 miles of ocean-frontage. The highest point is 107 feet. It’s 32 miles from the mainland which is a quick 18-minute helicopter flight. Easy.”
“I like it so far,” said Lawrence.
The helicopter circled the island giving Lawrence and Matrona an overview of the terrain. He noticed most of the island was encircled by white sandy beaches, but one short stretch of coastline featured a steep cliff which rose from the rocky surf. A thick forest of various trees covered the island in the higher terrain which blended into palm trees closer to the beaches.
“The island has been held as part of a nature preserve for the past sixty years,” said Matrona
“It’s uninhabited, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been told,” said Matrona
“Well, I’m not worried about a few squatters,” said Lawrence.
“Through our friends in the Venezuelan Government, I’ve arranged a purchase price of $52 million.”
“That’s chump change. I’m liking this island even more!” exclaimed Lawrence.
The helicopter landed on a wide stretch of beach. Before the rotors could stop, Lawrence Edward Betterman V jumped out onto the firm sand. His deep brown exotic alligator loafers stood out in sharp contrast against the white sand. Sunlight reflected off the polished horse bit buckles adorning the tops of the shoes. Lawrence didn’t notice, or even care. He strode forward with seeming ease until he reached the shade of the palm trees where Matrona joined him.
“Hello there!” came a voice from the forest behind him.
Lawrence whirled around to see a man approach him from the forest. He was a tall, slender man in his early 40’s wearing a tailored linen suit and sporting a white Panama hat. The man was walking along a narrow path through the undergrowth which seemed to part as he walked forward.
“Hello there!” the man said once again. “How are you, today?”
“I am well,” replied Lawrence with a hint of a question.
“Very well! Very well!” the man in the Panama hat said with excitement. He thrusted out his hand in welcome. Lawrence was slowly overcoming his startle at finding a man in a suit and hat on his supposedly uninhabited island, and he shook the man’s hand.
“Come!” exclaimed the man. “You must join us in the village!”
“What? A village?” asked Lawrence with confusion.
“Yes! We all saw your arrival and are eager to meet you!” the man said.
The man saw the annoyance on Lawrence’s face and realized his error. He smiled apologetically.
“Forgive me. I have gotten ahead of myself. My name is Paulo.”
“Paulo?” asked Lawrence.
“Yes.”
“I am…”
“Yes. You’ve come to buy the island. Yes?”
“How do you know that?” asked Lawrence, glancing at Matrona.
“Word travels fast around here,” Paulo said with a smile. “Come. You’ll see. You are welcome here.”
Lawrence Betterman turned his back toward Paulo and spoke into Matrona’s ear. “Take the helicopter back to the mainland and renegotiate the price. This place was supposed to be uninhabited. Removing a village of people is worth at least a $10 million discount.”
“And what will you do?” Matrona asked.
“I’ll start working on the villagers. Evicting tenants is in my blood. It’s the art of the deal, baby,” Lawrence said with a sly smile.
Lawrence Betterman turned back to Paulo.
“Lead the way, my friend,” he said charmingly.
Paulo turned and began to walk back into the forest along the path. It was only then that Lawrence noticed that Paulo, for being dressed in a man’s suit, was wearing a pair of smart, lavender colored, women’s pumps.
The village was teeming with activity; a hustle and bustle that felt like a large city on a tiny scale. There were streets, sidewalks, and buildings some of which rose to a sky-scraping height of five or six stories. People were actively engaged in different forms of transaction and interaction at newsstands, sidewalk cafés, and offices. Some were watering sidewalk planters or sweeping gutters happily going about their day.
“What is this place?” asked Lawrence with burgeoning concern.
“This is where we live,” replied Paulo. “Come, let’s get you settled.”
They walked farther along the sidewalk into the mini-city until they came across a man wearing a beige bucket hat who was crouching on the curb, alone. His head rested on his forearms which were folded across his knees. This man wore no shoes. Paulo stopped to speak with him.
“How are you?” Paulo asked quietly. “Have you eaten any lunch yet today?”
The man shook his head sadly, “No.”
“Here you go,” Paulo responded as he produced a ripe red apple from his pocket.
“Thank you,” the man responded with a smile. He gratefully took the fruit and gently bit into it.
Paulo walked on. Lawrence Betterman followed but looked back at the shoeless man several times before speaking.
“What did you do that for?”
“What?” replied Paulo with surprise.
“Why did you give him a handout?”
“Because he was hungry.”
“He’s hungry because he’s not working hard enough. That’s his own fault. Giving him a handout encourages more laziness. After a while, the whole town will be looking to get something for nothing.”
“That would never happen,” Paulo dismissed. “We’ve all been there and one day might find ourselves there again. We’re counting on each other to help.”
“No one ever gave me a helping hand. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps. I succeeded by my own talent and effort,” Lawrence Edward Betterman V scolded.
“I’m sure you have.”
They arrived at the tallest building of the village when Paulo declared, “Ah, here we are!” The building was a modern design of steel and glass with six floors.
“Let’s go inside,” added Paulo.
They walked into the building’s lobby which was spacious and bright with a full view of the outside. At the center of the lobby was a security guard station. Paulo guided them to the security station where the guard acknowledged Paulo with a nod and turned to Lawrence with a smile.
“Welcome, Mr. Betterman,” said the guard.
“Thank you,” replied Lawrence with growing perplexity.
They walked on to a bank of three elevators spanning the back wall. The one farthest to the right opened immediately upon their arrival. This elevator had only one floor button, and Paulo pressed it. The doors closed, and the elevator whisked them up to the top of the building in a rush. As the doors opened Paulo declared, “This is your office space.”
The room, which spanned the entire width of the building, looked out over the island and above the treetops. From here Lawrence could see the highest point on the island. Beyond that, the blue water of the Caribbean shimmered. The office was grand and luxuriously furnished. Immediately before them was a modern, glass topped desk with only a telephone, a lamp, and a laptop computer. To the right of the desk sat two modern sofas framing a coffee table between them. At one end of the coffee table was a single matching armchair. It reminded Lawrence of the furniture arrangement he frequently saw in the Oval Office of the White House. At the opposite end of the office was a conference room containing a large oblong table with twelve moveable chairs. The room was separated from the main office by a continuous wall of glass.
“Here you’ll be able to conduct all your business. We have high-speed internet service and secure telephone lines to the mainland. I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction,” said Paulo.
“So far. Yes,” replied Lawrence.
“Good,” said Paulo who then motioned to a door on the side of the office with the elevator door. “Come this way.”
Paulo opened the door and walked into the other half of the building’s floor.
“Here are your living quarters,” revealed Paulo with a grand gesture.
The door opened to the other side of the building with a view of the island equally as stunning. The main room consisted of a tastefully styled living room and elegant dining area which was divided from the gourmet kitchen by an island counter. Opposite that, a door led to a spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed and walk-in closet. The marbled bathroom contained a walk-in shower for two, a free-standing tub, and a partitioned section with a toilet and bidet.
“Well, this is unexpected!” said Lawrence after inspecting the space.
“That’s understandable” replied Paulo. “As the day is already drawing to a close, I have taken the liberty of arranging the delivery of your supper. It will arrive in about an hour via the dumb waiter in the kitchen. We wish to ensure your complete privacy.”
“I appreciate that.”
“You are welcome to wander the island at your leisure, but rest assured there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow,” said Paulo.
“I am looking forward to some sleep.”
“If there is anything you might need overnight, the telephone by your bedside will summon assistance,” Paulo said as they both walked out of the living quarters and back into the office. Paulo stopped and turned to Lawrence as if he had almost forgotten something.
“Oh. I must inform you of a strict custom we have here on the island, Mr. Betterman.”
“What is it?”
“Everyone on the island, guest or resident, is required to leave their shoes outside of their living quarters each night. No exceptions,” said Paulo sternly.
Lawrence Betterman looked down at Paulo’s lavender pumps, then at his own alligator skin loafers. He looked up and into Paulo’s eyes.
“These shoes are a family heirloom. My great-great grandfather, Lawrence Edward Betterman I, hunted and killed the greatest alligator that roamed the swamps of the family plantation. He had a pair of shoes made for himself from the skin of that alligator. Since then, the eldest male heir to the Betterman lineage has received a pair of tailored shoes made from this same alligator signifying their responsibility of ensuring and extending the Betterman bloodline. I could not part with them.”
“I assure you, Mr. Betterman, your shoes and your possessions will be well protected here,” said Paulo confidently. “To not abide by our custom would be the gravest dishonor to everyone in the village. I’m sure you understand.” With that, Paulo turned away in his lavender pumps. He exited the office by descending a spiral staircase located at the far-right corner.
Lawrence Betterman was so hungry, he nearly finished the entire crown rack of lamb perfectly prepared with pistachio mint sauce on a bed of couscous. In fact, he thought, he may have actually eaten too much. He was feeling stuffed. The misery of excess. He sat back on the living room sofa and tried to look out through the windows now black in the darkness of the evening. The windows only reflected Lawrence Edward Betterman V sitting shamelessly in opulence and alone. He pondered the quality of the infrastructure of this village that wasn’t supposed to be here. But because it was here, he thought, it might prove useful to him.
He rose from the couch intent on retiring to the bedroom but not before remembering the admonishment from Paulo about his shoes. “No exceptions,” he had said. Lawrence figured that he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with the villagers in the morning, so he went to the door of the office and placed his deep brown exotic alligator skin loafers with horse-bit buckles, his family birthright, outside on the floor. Lawrence closed the door behind him and walked to the bedroom in his bare feet.
That night, Lawrence slept deeply with no dreams that he could remember. When he woke, the thin cotton duvet and silk sheet seemed to have barely been perturbed by his use. What woke him was the ringing of the telephone by his bedside.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Betterman, your carriage is waiting for you downstairs,” said an unfamiliar voice in the handset.
“My carriage?”
“Yes, sir. I suggest you come down immediately,” said the voice before the receiver went silent.
Lawrence shrugged, climbed out of bed, and found the walk-in closet stocked with the finest clothing tailored to exactly his size. He helped himself to a fresh set of underwear, socks, a cream-colored cotton dress shirt, and a pale blue pair of linen pants. He dressed quickly and walked to the exit door. He opened the door to discover that his precious alligator loafers were gone! In their place stood a pair of plain brown, ankle high jodhpur boots. Lawrence looked around the office with frustration and disbelief. His alligator shoes were nowhere to be found. The only shoes in the apartment were these tasteless, heavily used riding boots. With no other alternative, Lawrence picked up the boots by their straps and boarded the elevator in only his sock covered feet.
At the ground floor Lawrence Betterman stormed off the elevator, boots in hand, toward the security guard.
“Where are my shoes?” he demanded.
“What?” asked the security guard who was a different person than the man who met Lawrence and Paulo yesterday evening.
“Where are my shoes? I was promised that my shoes would remain safe overnight!”
“I don’t understand. You’re holding your shoes in your hand,” replied the guard.
Lawrence Betterman looked at the brown ankle boots in his hand and shouted, “These are not my shoes! My shoes are family heirlooms that were hand crafted out of the finest alligator skin which has been in my family for generations!”
“Yes, I’m sure they were,” soothed the guard. “Yesterday. Today, these are your shoes,” the guard added.
“This is preposterous!” exclaimed Lawrence.
“This is our custom, Lawrence. We’ve always done it this way. Today, these will be your shoes. And as you’ve often said, The shoes make the man. Your role in our village today will be defined by the shoes you wear - the shoes that you are holding in your hand. I advise you to put them on quickly, because I’d hate for you to be shoeless on your first day here.”
Stunned and in shock, Lawrence Edward Betterman V bent over and put on the brown boots which surprisingly fit his feet perfectly.
“I don’t understand this,” murmured Lawrence.
The guard took his arm and led him to the front door of the building and out onto the sidewalk where many villagers were already busy starting their day. A horse drawn carriage sat at the curbside.
“Here is your carriage,” declared the guard.
“Where is it taking me?” asked Lawrence.
The guard let out a laugh. “You’re the driver,” he said.
“What?!”
“You are the carriage driver today. Your horse and your shoes will know what to do,” the guard explained. “The villagers are waiting for their transportation. Can’t be late for them now, can we?”
Nonplussed, Lawrence turned and made a move for the front door of the building. He rushed into the lobby on his way toward the elevators, but his shoes seemed to slow him down and the guard easily caught up with him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked the guard.
“I’m going back up to my office,” declared Lawrence.
The guard looked down at the boots on Lawrence’s feet.
“Not with those shoes you aren’t! Out with you now!” The guard’s demeanor noticeably changed and became aggressive toward Lawrence. The guard grabbed Lawrence by the back of his collar and pant waist and threw him out of the building door onto the sidewalk. Lawrence looked up at the horse which gave him a short whinny and seemed to be smiling at him.
…continued in Part II below
