Bitsy and I are meeting with the first contractor, Steve Burton, before opening today. I’m struck at the sight of his hands. These are the hands of a contractor – large, well-worn, and rugged.
“Coffee?” I ask as he takes a seat at the empty bar. Cecil, now hustling about back in the kitchen, always has fresh pot on this time of the morning.
He nods.
Bitsy arrives as I fetch the mug and pot.
“Mr. Burton?” she says, extending her hand.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Bitsy McMurtry,” she says, removing her coat. She motions toward the coffee pot wordlessly, and I know she’d like a cup.
He nods. “Yes, I know. My wife loves the Golden Pillar. Best fingerling potatoes, she says.”
She smiles. “How nice, thank you. Cassie, there’s a small piece of business I’d like to tend to before we engage Mr. Burton in the details of the Riverside.” She turns to Steve. “You understand, yes? We’ll just be a second.”
He nods, and she motions for me to follow her to the far side of the bar, toward the kitchen.
“What’s our game plan?” she asks. “I’m sorry I’m so late arriving. I’d hoped to have some time to chat before showing anyone anything.”
“Well, I spoke to Albert yesterday. We went down to the basement and found some … well … interesting artifacts.”
Bitsy’s eyes widened. “Okay, then, we don’t take him down to the basement until we know what that’s about. No need to let anything out that we don’t need to let out.”
“Probably a good idea,” I agree.
“Okay, let’s not keep him waiting,” Bitsy says. “I have a splitting headache. Miller took me for $80 last night.”
I laugh. “You can handle it.”
“Of course,” she says, shrugging.
We step back over and rejoin Steve and give him a tour of the building, detailing the potential renovations we have in mind.
He isn’t in favor of installing an elevator, he tells us, given the age of the building. The fact that the second floor will probably not be heavily used, or at least not at first, should be another consideration, he says. A dumbwaiter of some sort, from the kitchen to the second floor, would suffice for both food and drinks and be far less costly.
His primary thinking, though, is simply adding a second bar upstairs, smaller than the main bar, but depending upon the number of tables upstairs, both indoor and outdoor, that would provide spill-over room. He’s also suggesting we consider several outdoor tables on the first floor, under the deck, and connected to the main dining room by several large sliding doors. First-floor diners will get a breeze from the river and may be able to see the river as well.
We return to the bar for further discussion, and another cup. His notebook, I can see, is full of scribbles, every detail we’ve shared.
We discuss with him the upstairs space – plenty of room, he suggests, for a business office for managing the Riverside operation, perhaps even a private meeting room that could be used by groups such as the book club and by city officials for lunch and dinner meetings separate from the main dining room.
“This can be a true palace,” he says. “Lots of work, too, so whoever you choose … well, I assume you are talking to others?”
Bitsy nods.
“Well, whoever you choose will have a lot of work on their hands. You might even consider having two of us come in and partner to get everything done.”
“Interesting thought,” I say.
Bitsy, of course, says everything by simply saying absolutely nothing.
“So you’ll get back to us with an estimate?” I ask. “I know it’s a lot.”
“It is, and yes, I will,” Steve says.
As he walks out the door, I turn to Bitsy. “Your thoughts?” I ask her.
She shrugs, coyly looking toward the liquor sitting behind me. “We’ll see.”
A Second Opinion
The next morning, Bitsy returns, blowing in as she does.
“Oh that wind this morning. I think Fall is finally upon us here!” she exclaims, motioning toward the coffee pot again. “Late night with Miller. Your sister was fast asleep by the time I got home.”
“How’s that going?” I ask as I pour. “I hope she’s no trouble.”
“No, of course not,” Bitsy says. “Let’s not forget that we need to bring her in on the book club. That’s going to be her baby soon.”
As she sips, Joe Grossman arrives, the owner of F. J. Winters Construction, and you’d think he was Bitsy’s long-lost brother. The two greet each other with emphatic warm hugs.
“How’s that flooring holding up at the GP?” he asks, taking his coat off and claiming a chair.
“Well, I haven’t heard any complaints,” Bitsy says. “You look fantastic, Joe! Have you been on vacation?”
“Just back from the Bahamas. Sally and I took a second honeymoon, now that we’re empty-nesters for real. Jim, our youngest, went off to Syracuse last week to start his freshman year. We drove him there, and went straight to the airport.”
“Lovely! Lovely! Cassie, the man needs some coffee, so let’s hook him up.”
Ever the hostess, if there’s one thing I have learned about Ms. McMurtry in recent months, certainly since going into business with her, it’s that she gets very bossy when she gets on her high horse like this. I know now not to be offended or feel put-down. She’s simply excited and absorbed in the vibes that surround her.
The discussions with Joe were very much a repeat of the previous day and included suggestions made by Steve Burton on the previous day. Grossman was very interested in the project but didn’t have many unique or original ideas to add to those we already had in mind and presented. He agreed to provide estimates, as well, in a week’s time.
We retreat to the upstairs room that will, at some point, be a business office to compare thoughts on how to move forward. For now, the accommodations are upside-down milk crates and a creepy pole lamp that looks like one in an interrogation room.
“I like most of what the contractors proposed but I am very concerned about what we will see when we get the costs,” I tell her. I think we need to be careful.”
“I’m not”, Bitsy says. “I’d like to do everything at once and get it all done before we are overrun with tourists.”
Must be the wonder of having money in this world, because I’m not exactly on that page.
“I’m not comfortable with taking out a loan from MVBank, nor do I want you to put in a lot more money than I can afford.” I tell her. “Maybe we are jumping the gun at this point, since we don’t have their costs yet, but I have a feeling it’s going to be massive. Should we seek another investor?”
Bitsy shakes her head. “No,” she says, standing up. “Patience is a virtue. Now don’t you have a restaurant to run downstairs?”
“OK,” I say, climbing to my feet from the crate. “So we wait for the contractors to provide their cost estimates and then look at pruning back our ambitions somewhat, even if it costs more later on.”
“We’ll talk,” Bitsy says, not agreeing with me but postponing further arguing for another time. “Now, I’d like a nice mimosa before I leave. Can we get downstairs and take care of it?”