[K][T] and Family Ch. 01

Wednesday, 8:22 PM—costellof.centraljerseybeacon@clearwire.net

I have been doing more digging on the Francine Martel angle. She owns a fair amount of property locally. She stays in a 4-plex when she's in town, which has been a lot lately. This morning she booked a cab to the airport. I put in a request for an interview with her publicist. She did not come out and say it, but the publicist thinks it will be a quick turnaround. I have a spotter on the 4-plex.

The word on Sheila Schwartz is that she is not just a personal trainer, but the personal trainer. Her client list would do a Who's Who proud. Harlan Lipton freely admits that she used to "wring him out." Lipton is a member of the property group making waves down by the old rail yard. Schwartz and Richards formed an LLC to join, which is a big deal. True to form, Richards made the ante $50K. Here is where it gets juicy. Schwartz not only works at the gym, she owns the building. Reading between the lines, Richards is fronting cash and Schwartz holds the key real estate title.

The Mistress Cynthia angle is like smoke. Lipton's comment was a wink and a smile. I get some vague references which make me think that Cynthia works in another part of the same building, but nothing solid. Cynthia is rumored to use streetwalker-red lipstick to kiss places that do not usually show—generally after warming the skin well. The phrases "lipstick shots" and "lipstick pics" will get interesting reactions.

Going out on a limb here. I think Schwartz rented to Cynthia under the table. More than that, she was the camera expert. Schwartz was getting money from somewhere. She would not make enough from her fitness clients and the rent from the gym. If Cynthia paid rent and let Schwartz sell pics, like the one on the catalog, it would make a nice little side income.

Storywise, I am saying that Sheila Schwartz is smart and capable. Sean Richards is known, famous even, for pulling gifted people out of obscurity. He has claimed that he and Schwartz met only a couple weeks ago. In that time, he put her in charge of a project facing ruin—which she salvaged—proposed marriage, co-started a new company and invented a whole division to give her a place to work. Given that no one in this town gets away with calling Richards crazy, I am betting he knows something.

How Jones has a lot of rope. My guess is that he is tying a noose.

Wednesday, 8:23 PM ET—aldermanna@columbiapictures.net

Ivan,

I met with Francine Martel. I'll tell you about it over coffee. Martel and Schwartz go back fifteen years. Dance trained together as teenagers, but Schwartz was much better. Martel went onto a big career and Schwartz became a fitness trainer. There must have been an injury.

Whatever made Schwartz a brilliant dancer must translate to images. Martel says that both of the catalog shots are from fixed camera video. Put the cover shot over the credits page. It looks like the same viewpoint to me.

As to time, there is another twist. Schwartz is getting married on Saturday. Try googling Sheila Schwartz and wedding. We will likely have to wait til after the honeymoon. As long as we get her committed beforehand, I can sell that to the investment group—solid reason and definite time frame.

You have authorization to go balls to the wall. Just get a contract.

Wednesday, 10:32 PM ET—wilsonrandall@uniquebride.com

We hit the jackpot on this one. I have been hitting the bars, trying to find people that have been on site at the Richards Estate. The picture is chaotic, because so much is going on.

First, the big news. The wedding will be by the lake, with the vows done on a covered flat boat. That alone was worth our trip. They are setting the photographer, Justin Immons, in the lakeside gazebo. Three guesses whose idea that was.

Odds and ends:

There is a raft of Amish, with their horses and buggies. They will be driving people from a reserved parking area to the estate.

The manor house is getting a major face lift, but mostly it's just clean and polish.

The grounds will be like a circus midway. A merry-go-round is involved, also a New York production company—JB Productions, owned by Francine Martel.

Francine Martel is a bridesmaid, but no one at the house has seen her. If she shows up, an interview is a given.

Richards Enterprises runs an events and catering division. Their head man, Goeffry Winston, VP and Board member, is doing the morning shows tomorrow. Attached is an interview with Rick Williams, Manager of Special Events.

The Maid of Honor is 19 years old and had been working as a greasy spoon hostess before Sean Richards offered her a job. We've heard this story from Richards before.

The person doing the hands on preparations is Richards' sister, Siobhan (Jo) Richards, PhD (Yale).

Richards has a brother George Richards, PhD (Cal Tech). His attendance is up in the air. Jo, who is almost 6' tall, will wear a tux and stand with the groom.

Parents Emilia Richards and Gregory Sparks are not expected to attend. I know the names seem backwards. I have it right.

Schwartz has no family attending. Father deceased. Mother's whereabouts not known. No siblings.

Richards bought a wedding band that is quite old and too small to wear. Rumor has it that the original owner was nobility. A properly sized replica will be used during the ceremony.

There are rumors of corsets.

I have a formal request pending to be shown the grounds. Richards takes his security seriously. I pity the fool that tries climbing the fence. Also attached is a newspaper clipping of Schwartz dancing at Carnegie Hall. It was big local news at the time. Call the Times. The guy that wrote the review is still on staff. They may also want coverage of this for the magazine.

Thursday, 8:12 AM ET—Smithwin@Bloomberg.net

Mike, Henry,

I am looking into a new division of a central Jersey family company, Richards Enterprises. It may not be Cargill or Koch, but this is a serious firm. Out of the blue they announced a new division—Digital Arts. The VP in charge is one Sheila Schwartz, high school education, recent fitness trainer and engaged to Sean Richards, CEO, Chairman of the Board. If you think you've heard this before, trust me, not.

Schwartz was a serious dancer as a teen. For unknown reasons, that cratered. She had no money and no family of substance. She started work as a fitness trainer, soon gathering an elite client book of local business people. One of them bequeathed her a shuttered warehouse. Schwartz borrowed every dime she could for renovations, then landed XTreme Fitness as a tenant. Apparently she had to continue working as a trainer to service the debt.

Fast forward about eight years. The gym is thriving, to the point of wanting the rest of the building. Schwartz meets Richards. She evidently has some photography chops, because he hires her to rescue a project that Cox & Hart baled on. Stunning success—hence the new job in Digital Arts.

Here is where you guys come in. In addition to the marriage and the new position, Schwartz and Richards formed an LLC to develop her property. Richards pulled together some serious investors—buy in was $50K—to develop the surrounding neighborhood, with Schwartz' building as the centerpiece.

My piece is one and done. The Post and the Journal have a longer interest in urban reclamation. Have at it guys.

Thursday, 8:51 AM ET—paparotzi@gmail.com

I have the scoop. The Richards/Schwartz wedding is tighter than a bug's ass. The workers all go home and keep quiet, but one group has been going to a motel. It turns out they are grad students that were brought by Sean Richards' sister Jo. I have 20 minutes of recorded conversation at the Waffle House. Pics are attached. Am I good or what?

BTW, the tall one is DOCTOR Jo Richards, now working on her second PhD.

Thursday, 12:03 PM ET—Michael.Gordon@wsj.com

Winifred you bad girl. You might have mentioned this was the Amish wedding. It's all the clerical staff is talking about today. Hang in town and I will be your escort, assuming you can get credentials. ;-) Fred is springing for the whole package. I get to do stories on both the Digital Arts division and the real estate group—with lots of human interest background on the Horatio Alger story.

As you suspected, Mike is salivating. Last I heard he was going over to HUD to see if he can be the one that breaks them the news. We are going to share a byline and do a one year follow up.

I hope you still drink brandy. I have a 20 year old bottle I want to try.

MG

Chapter 5—Music and Dancing

Interlude: 25^thAnniversary

Cindy:

The preparations peaked on Wednesday. By Thursday the major projects were done and the detail work started. It was also the day the press started to break through. Aunt Francine was back. She never met an interview she didn't like. There were Jeff Winston's appearances on Today and Good Morning America. A select handful were allowed inside the gate. Dad said he thought they had a handle on the amount of interest. Wrong.

But that was later. Wednesday night Dad took Mom out to eat. When they came home, Mom showed Aunt Jo how to dance. Dad still has the picture on his desk.

Siobhan:

To some degree, the highlight of the whole week was when I showed the Amish woodworkers Grandfather's yacht. There was a man named CR who was taking measurements. Sean had hired him to oversee the refit. At first the Amish were stiff and formal, but soon their hands were caressing the wood, while CR explained what needed to be done. As usual, Sean had a good man on the job.

Elsewhere things were beginning to assume their final positions. All the carts, stalls, stands and tents were in place, though not all finished. Ropes and fences were up. The dozen benches I had requested had swelled to three times that number, set in any shred of shade. A great deal of work still remained in the yard, but it was finishing work. Other than the seating, the heavy work was done.

It was past nine o'clock when I called it a day. As I had expected, my grad students had thrown themselves into the preparations. In later years they would all be able to point with pride to their corner of the project. Justin's pictures assured it. Everyone had a folder of pictures of themselves in front of their work. Often, I was asked to be there as well.

Justin Immons was exactly what I expected from Sheila's description. He was everywhere, into everything, always with the Nikon clicking. Sheila had given him one of the guest rooms for his stay. It was a measure of her place in the house that no one had checked with Sean or me. We were informed, not consulted.

As I have been unabashedly lesbian, so Justin was openly gay. He was like some of the straight girls I knew—very comfortable for chatting. We were chatting outside the Ballroom when Sean and Sheila returned, rather earlier than expected. I waved, then told Justin where the liquor was kept and asked him to pour a set.

It is odd how very familiar things can suddenly become like new, when you pay them attention. Sean has been my big brother all my life. He protected me from the bullies in school, til he bowed to my request to back off. Sean took over the company when his diploma was still damp. In the decade since, Richards and Sons had become Richards Enterprises. The size had tripled and profits had gone up even more. Whatever George and I needed, Sean provided. He was not to blame for my unhappy childhood.

Seeing him walk up the steps from the garage, I was struck by the man he had become. God knew Sheila had impressed me. She treated Sean as her Lord and Master. That was only half the equation. With Sheila, Sean became complete. He needed to protect and care; it was his nature. Sheila gave him someone who needed that, but could also challenge him, talk to him—and talk for him.

As soon as I thought it was a match made in heaven, my thoughts turned to things with religious connotations. The traditional vow of love, honor and serve would be no joke to Sheila. The man's vow was, "as Christ loved the Church." Christ went willingly to death for the Church. No joke there either. It went without saying, "til death us do part." Of such examples, traditions are made.

Marriage is found in every culture. Every religion prizes it. Human nature being what it is, most people cannot do marriage well. Sean and Sheila were not most people. Even excepting her chosen profession, Sheila was exceptional on many levels. Francine's word was bandwidth. Bill Gates would love Sheila. Just yesterday, I had seen a great man refer to her as a goddess. At the time, I had been awed by Angela Molinari. Increasingly my thoughts turned to her clear deference to her husband—who called himself a poor worker from the sugar cane fields.

Pedro de la Garza turned my thoughts to my brother. The parallels were there to see. Sean had taken a staid, hidebound, antiquated old family company and turned it into a multinational group of businesses that no one took lightly. It was already clear that Sheila would be famous, but no fame she attained would faze Sean. Like Pedro de la Garza, Sean had an uncanny eye for talent.

Which brought me back to me. Pedro de la Garza considered me to have potential. Since he clearly did not mean my academic accomplishments, that left the physical. Just thinking about it made me stand straighter. A pop between my shoulder blades told me I had gotten lazy. Frau Doktor Richards would not do such a thing. Which led me to Lars Gunter. My phone was in my hand before I thought about it.

I punched in Lars Gunters' number.

Phone: Hallo.

"Lars Gunter?"

Phone: Ja.

"Hier ist Doktor Richards. Hold for Mein Bruder."

I handed the phone to Sean, who had just reached me. "Lars Gunter. Invite him to the wedding." Sean's German is much better than mine. Sean took the phone. There was a bit of twinkle in his eye.

"Herr Gunter. Ich bin Sean Richards. Wir haben beide zwei Vornamen." That was something about two names.

It seemed to be a joke, because Sean laughed. After a moment, he spoke again and the tone had relaxed quite a bit. The conversation soon lost me, but eventually Sean agreed to a couple of things, said thank you, good night and ended the call. The glint was still in his eye, but Sean played it straight. "He's coming. He thinks you are very German in your attitudes. He also loves Wagner." Out with it. There is another shoe coming. "You get to tell Gerald." Blast you Sean. Even Sheila laughed.

Playing chicken with Sean is an old tradition. The practice has stood me well in academic politics. I have security on my phone as 511. Gerald is 666. I let Sheila see that as I made the call. He would not be in the office and I wanted him to get this unfiltered. "Gerald, look up a Lars Gunter, Siemens Financial. I invited him to dance with me at the wedding. I hope I did not ruin your evening."

Sheila looked amused. Sean looked at her and said, "You've been giving her pointers." Sheila was even more amused. "She's a quick study. It only took her two days to learn to stand upright." Damn Sheila was good at banter. The logic on that gibe went around the tree four or five times. I doubt I had ever received a nicer compliment. Unfortunately, it did not end there. Sheila looked at me and her eyes narrowed.

Rather than speak to me, she looked at Sean. He said, "Music." Sheila cocked her head. Sean knew better than to claim he was not a lackey. "I'll be right back." Love, honor and serve cut both ways. Then Sheila addressed me. "We will keep this simple. You had several months of Oskar Gruber's instruction. He may have been a cold hearted bastard, but he could teach ballroom dance. You already know the basics. We are just going to walk through them again. Rather than recall the steps, pay attention to your balance." She looked down at my walking shoes. "Tomorrow night in heels. For you, it will be easier that way." Huh?

Not waiting for Sean, Sheila positioned me in a vaguely familiar stance, then pulled me with one hand while pushing me with the other. This slid me to another familiar position. Again she adjusted, then a third time. This brought me back to the starting position. The second time through was much quicker. Then Sheila positioned herself as my partner. Twice more through the sequence made it seem almost ordinary. I was beginning to feel some accomplishment when Sheila released my hand. Before I could fall, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. Almost chin to chin, she said "Balance, Siobhan. Slower this time."

I knew that Francine was a good teacher. Sheila was no slouch herself. Sean soon returned with a boom box, but it turned out it was not for me. Sheila moved me through the three box steps several times, then had me turning both directions. Sean began to clap the the meter. 1 2 3, 1 2 3. This went on for many minutes. When she stopped, Sheila waved Sean forward.

I felt acutely embarrassed, but Sheila gave me no time. She called the time, then started clapping as Sean had. It was immediately apparent that Sean was not the dancer Sheila was. Very few would be. However, Sean was competent at this level. He also had a much firmer lead. Perhaps that was Sheila's point. Remembering to focus on my balance, I tried to respond to Sean's lead, rather than fight it. Unpleasant memories rose, of Herr Gruber forcing me through these same forms. I fought them for a moment—which was too long.

Sheila stopped clapping and Sean dropped his hands. We stood a moment, looking at each other, then Sean stepped back. Sheila said, "That is enough for the first night. I suspect you will dream of it. Tomorrow night, meet me in the Ballroom wearing skirts and heels." Sheila paused, then continued. "Bring your grad students if they wish to come."

Sean swept Sheila into an embrace, then the two said good night and went into the house. I was at a loss. Frau Doktor Richards came to my aid. She imagined Lars Gunter walking me through the steps. From him, the corrections were acceptable. I ghost danced through a few measures, then turned to go. As I did, my eyes fell on the boom box. Damn she was good.

Laughing, I picked up the CD player and headed for my car. Thursday would be interesting.

Sean:

The evening with Sheila had not been the success of our first date, but it had not been a major disaster. If nothing else, Sheila was out of her funk. She slept with her head in my lap til we pulled into the drive. I would have woken her soon, but it was unnecessary. Sheila woke, looked around and glared at me, as if I had let her miss something important.

As we drove to our stall, I spotted Jo standing on the porch near the Ballroom. Rather than go through the back of the garage, into the new wing, I led Sheila out the front and up the staircase. From this side it is very clear that the garage is a converted stable. It had been years since I noticed. It occurred to me to wonder exactly where the lower entrance led. For a moment I was a child again, wanting to go exploring.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Jo was talking on her cell phone—in bad German. She thrust the phone at me and told me to invite the man to the wedding. The ID said Lars Gunter, which gave us something we had in common—two first names—so I brought it up. It broke the ice nicely. Herr Gunter quickly gave me his CV (resume to Americans).