Friendswood by Rene Steinke Page A

As Hal sat now in the wood-paneled office, Avery’s millions seemed to sing through the oaky, shellacked walls.
    The assistant brought them two bottles of water and two glasses, and quietly left.
    â€œSo, how are you, old friend?”
    â€œDoing great,” said Hal, thinking
gifts of the spirit, gifts of the spirit
.
    â€œHow many catches does your boy have this season? Ten? Fifteen? Couple hundred yards maybe?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    Hal didn’t want to have to ask Avery directly—it didn’t seem right. Avery would surely offer him something, on the basis of his record, on the grounds of their old friendship, and then maybe Hal would get him around to the idea of Avery using only him to sell the new homes.
    â€œHal, the reason I asked you over here, is you know that old house I own out on Route 2351?”
    â€œSure.” Hal’s stomach buckled. That house was a ranch with ugly green shutters and the Texas Tea and Pawn on one side of it, the Jugglers’ Saloon on the other. Was it possible to be destructively hopeful? He’d seen a For Sale sign there for months but hadn’t known it still belonged to Avery—it had once been Avery’s parents’ house. “I’ve had that O’Bresley working on it, and he’s gone nowhere with it. I thought you could give it a try. I’m pulling the listing from them. I’m sentimental about the place, but I don’t have any illusions. Someone should tear it down and build another commercial property there.”
    Avery must have known how difficult the sale would be, but Hal wasn’t going to put it in that light. He was trying to get back on his game now, get a chance to prove himself.
    â€œI’ll take it on, sure.”
    â€œI sure would appreciate you. I’ve been thinking for a while that we ought to work together.”
    Now the light seemed to shine brighter in the room, and Hal was thinking of how he might turn this opportunity to just the right angle—it was a thing he used to be able to do in football—take a broken play and turn it into a big gain.
    â€œHow’s all that business with Banes Field going? You going to start building out there soon?”
    â€œWell, I gotta tell you, we’ve got the financing all lined up. We’ve gotthe architectural plans. We’ve even got the contractors. And honestly, I’d projected that we’d start sales at the end of next summer. But this thing with the Rosemont–Banes Field site is holding us up. It’s a real pain in my ass.” Despite all his success, there was a laziness in Avery that Hal couldn’t quite put his finger on, a reliance on others’ goodwill.
    â€œDidn’t I hear something about the EPA clearing it again—for what, five years? Ten?”
    â€œThey did clear it. But believe it or not, there’s still a tree hugger after some glory where that’s concerned.” Avery cleared his throat, sat back with his hands clasped behind his head. “Well, glory’s one word for it, I guess. Don’t get me started. Let the government take over what you eat and what you drive, where you live, where you shit. It’s a mess. Do you know what I heard direct from my buddy at NASA? Why the
Columbia
shuttle exploded? They used a new green fixant for the tiles instead of the old one (which worked perfectly fine) because it contained asbestos. Now, I’m asking you, who cares about asbestos in outer space? Who’s going to breathe it? E.T.? And, bam, the tiles fall off because of some shitty eco-friendly subpar glue.”
    â€œYou know,” said Hal, grasping the rope of this chance, “I believe we’re meant to prosper. If the land’s there, we ought to use it.” He had a strong feeling Avery had not been saved. On the wall, there was a display of old Texas license plates, dented and rusted, the lost codes of numbers making some kind of art, and