A Cup of Tea Bk. 01

"Fuck off Mel," said Dax dismissively, unable to come up with a snappy rejoinder. "Let's talk about that apartment building deal. How did it go with Alan yesterday?"

Mel shifted to business mode. "Quite well. Three of the tenants took the $25,000 offer. The fourth didn't, but Alan thinks you can close the deal. That tenant was late twice in paying the rent and the lessee, a Mr. Muramoto, passed away a few months ago. No one has stepped forward to assume the lease."

"So who do I have to meet with?" Dax was now chomping at the bit to get out of the office and away from Mel.

"Keiko Muramoto. She's the daughter."

"Fine. Just give me the address and I'll go there this afternoon and button this up. You make sure the lawyers are drafting the papers."

"Already on it. You should see a first draft tomorrow."

Dax was already halfway out of the door. He didn't hear Mel's answer, but knew she was on it. He only reminded her as his way of pissing her off. It didn't work.

* * *

He was familiar with that part of Queens, a mixture of Japanese and Irish families. The wide boulevard boasted Irish pubs and Japanese grocery stores, dotted with the usual dry cleaners and shoe repair businesses. Mason searched for a parking place, parallel parking about a half block from the apartment building. Dax got out of the back seat, carrying a small stack of papers he was expecting to get signed that day. He got out his phone and was checking messages as he striding confidently down the sidewalk, knowing that he had an extra $25,000, or even more, to close this deal. Sun glinted in his eyes as he was walking and caught the edge of an upraised part of the sidewalk with the tip of his shoe. He tripped, throwing the papers he was carrying high into the air as his right knee scraped against the pock marked concrete.

"Fuck!" he roared as the unexpected impact ripped open his Italian trousers at the knee, scraping his skin as he stopped his fall with his hand, skinning it as well. His papers fluttered to the ground all around him.

Dax's fall and cry startled a woman who was walking towards him. She extended her arms to help him up. Stunned, he saw a diminutive Asian woman looking at him, studying him as if he was a laboratory specimen. Her face crinkled as he took her hand to help him get upright.

"Thanks ... thanks a lot," Dax said to the woman as he was brushing the dust off his torn pants. The woman stood back, watching him but offering no further assistance.

Dax steadied himself, taking a tentative step to test the scraped knee. The wound was starting to tighten, and Dax limped noticeably. He had pebbles sticking to his right hand until he flicked them off. A breeze started to blow the papers, and Dax realized he'd have to move quickly to grab them before they blew into heavy traffic. By now, another Asian couple walked by, both of them looking at a white man with torn pants scurrying to retrieve papers swirling in the breeze. The papers finally retrieved, but definitely worse for wear, he took no more than ten steps before arriving at his building. Dax had never visited this property before, even though his ownership was now going on two years.

"That's why I have property managers," he thought, somehow excusing his ignorance of his own real estate portfolio. "I just give the building to Alan to manage and he takes care of all of the details. My time is better spent chasing the next deal."

"I never thought I'd ever have to see this fucking building in the middle of fucking Queens," Dax said to himself as he opened the worn aluminum door guarding the building's entrance, his ego and his knee both smarting from his embarrassing fall. "I just have to get this done. I've got thirty minutes to talk to this ... what the fuck is her name? ... yeah ... Keiko ... that she just won the lottery because I'm going to give her a check for $25,000. One and done, baby ... then the Knicks game ... yeah the Knicks suck but Dana got great seats, right next to fucking Spike Lee ... so I'm gonna get this done quick and then be onto the game!"

Dana was his first ex-wife. He had married her right out of the college where they met, a well-known Ivy. His father was a prominent New York City attorney and Dana's was a well-respected cardiologist. Their wedding announcement was published in the Sunday New York Times. Dana was a man's woman. She could cuss with the best of them and was the most rabid Knicks fan that he knew. The only make-up she used was black eyeliner to highlight her dark blue eyes. Short, bleach blonde hair, and full of sass. Truth be told, she was the one that taught Dax how to fuck, and taught him well.

Her father had given her two courtside tickets to the game, and Dax was the first person she thought of to take. She knew he was a huge basketball fan, as they had attended many Knicks games together when they were married. Their divorce had been over fifteen years ago, so the passage of time had partially healed the wound between them, a wound opened when Dax had an affair with his first administrative assistant, who turned into his second wife.

Dax fumbled through his pants, looking for the slip of paper on which Mel jotted down the apartment number he was looking for. The entranceway was dated but still kept in perfect shape and the elevator lobby was immaculate. Dax made a mental note to thank his maintenance manager. He finally found the small piece of paper stuck in a seam in his pocket, but in the process of turning his pocket inside out he dropped his expensive fountain pen. The casing of the Mont Blanc broke open on impact with the unyielding surface, splattering black ink on three of the white tiles. The tiles were so old some of the glazing had worn completely off, leaving the ink to bond with the tile's surface. Dax started swearing as he used the cuffs of his light-colored Saville Row suit coat and dress shirt in a vain attempt the mop up the mess.

Dax didn't think quickly enough to realize that Italian wool and Egyptian cotton didn't take kindly to ink. The black stain became permanent the moment it touched the fine materials, so in the two seconds that Dax used his coat and shirt as cleaning rags, the value of his $5,000 custom tailored suit and shirt went to zero. Now Dax was on his knees, cursing again, expletives reverberating off the walls. In the span of a few short minutes he had ruined his pants, shirt and jacket.

The same woman who had helped Dax up on the sidewalk was hovering over one very pissed off person.

"Not your day is it ... Mr. Hanlon?" came a disembodied voice from above Dax's head.

Dax, still on his hands and knees, looking at his ruined cuffs, and then up in the direction of the voice. A stern looking Asian woman, the same one that he saw just minutes before, was looking down with a disapproving stare. His first instinct would have been to say something smart. It was his natural defense mechanism against people he didn't like. But this woman was different. Her air of authority didn't leave room for a rude comment.

"So you know who I am?"

"Of course," the woman snapped. "How would I not know?"

"Excuse me?" Dax asked, confused by her question as an answer to his question.

"You're a tall, white male in an expensive, but now worthless custom-tailored suit. You didn't know about the lifted concrete in front of the building so you're not from around here. You started swearing in my building. You must be Dax Hanlon, my landlord."

Dax looked at the woman more carefully. She must be the person he was to meet with.

"Keiko?" His voice still wavered with uncertainty.

"Of course I'm Keiko. Who else would know who you are?" She had no compunction about overtly questioning his intelligence.

The woman had a point, but was already starting to annoy him. Dax restrained himself from speaking his true mind and reminded himself that the Knicks and Spike Lee were waiting for him. He had to sweet talk this woman into selling back her apartment lease to him. He told himself he could do it, even though he already had two strikes against him.

"Shall we go to my place?" Keiko asked, her impatience clear.

Taken aback, Dax was used to hearing that phrase in a completely different context. He started to mumble his answer.

"To talk," the short Japanese woman added, insulted that Dax would take her statement as an invitation for something else.

"Uhhh ... sure ..." stammered a suddenly flummoxed Dax, his guard devastated by a woman he had just met.

She turned around and started walking towards the elevator. Dax followed. She pushed the button and moments later the doors opened to a clean but dated elevator cab.

As the doors shut, Dax, pants ripped and suit coat permanently stained, felt uncomfortable during the silence on the short ride to the second floor. Even though the woman standing next to him was a head shorter, she felt like the taller of the two in the elevator.

"Nice building," he said, trying to make conversation, as the cab lurched to a stop and the doors opened to the second floor.

Keiko turned around, causing Dax to stop in his tracks, his chest even with her head.

"You've never been here before, have you Mr. Hanlon?" She sounded like a lawyer taking his deposition.

"Uhh ... no," Dax mumbled, his embarrassment evident as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"I figured," said Keiko under her breath, in a low enough voice that Dax didn't hear it.

They went to the end of the hallway and stopped in front of the apartment on the right. Keiko reached into the small clutch purse she was carrying and fished out a key. She opened the door and invited Dax in. Dax was oblivious to the fact that there were shoes lined up neatly outside the apartment door and that Keiko had already effortlessly traded her street shoes for comfortable slippers.

Dax lumbered into the living room, rice paper screens dividing the dining room from the living area. He decided to wait to be invited to sit.

Keiko looked down at his shiny black tasseled loafers, thinking Italian, of course, and then looked at him.

"Hrrrrmp," she uttered with her lips pursed tightly together.

Dax was slow on the uptake, but he got it. He took off his shoes and put them by the front door.

"Thank you, Mr. Hanlon," her gratitude not genuine. She had already drawn the conclusion that Dax was just another rich real estate asshole who wanted something from her. She decided to disarm him with kindness.

"Please sit Mr. Hanlon," pointing to a small armchair in the living area. "May I make you a cup of tea?"

In Keiko's world, it was considered to be impolite to refuse a cup of tea when offered by the host. Keiko was already moving towards the kitchen to boil the water.

Dax was on a timetable he didn't want to miss. "No ... no ... I don't have time for that," he almost shouted to Keiko's back.

Keiko stopped in her tracks.

"You don't have time for a cup of tea?" Keiko asked, incredulous at his response. He was shaping up to be an asshole ... supreme.

"I don't," said Dax, in that smooth voice he used when he was going to ask for something. Keiko's guard went up. She sat back in her chair and neatly folded her hands in her lap.

"Then Mr. Hanlon, who doesn't have the time to have a cup of tea with me, what can I do for you?" Dax had heard that tone of voice before. It was the same tone of voice a loan officer would use when she was going to tell him no. Now he knew he was on very thin ice.

"I'm sorry Keiko. Ordinarily I'd be happy to sit and have tea with you but I have an important business appointment I have to attend to back in the City." He gave her his pat feeble excuse when he was really saying no. Keiko wasn't buying it.

"So then, what we have today is not an important business appointment." She dug the barb in deep.

Dax immediately realized his gaffe. A small white lie like this would normally roll off his lips like the morning dew off a leaf. But this was different. This woman could SEE him, really see him. And that made him uncomfortable. Dax had to remind himself why he was there. He was about to reap a $500,000 bonus if he could just sweet talk this dragon lady into selling her lease to him in the next ten minutes. "Cool" he said to himself. "Stay cool." Dax has been in tighter situations than this, but somehow the answer didn't magically appear on his lips.

"No ... no ... this is an important business meeting." Dax felt he sounded lame, and he was right.

"So then ... you have time to have a cup of tea with me," Keiko said the moment the last word was uttered by Dax. She started to get up again to start the water. Dax reached out and grabbed her arm, not tightly, but Keiko was a small woman and Dax was a large man.

"Excuse me ... Mr. Hanlon!" Keiko barked, the unwanted touch surprising her.

Dax pulled his hand back as if he had just touched a hot stove. "Excuse me ... please excuse me."

As Keiko glared at him, Dax tried to calm the situation.

"Keiko, please sit." He motioned to her chair.

"I'd prefer to be called Ms. Muramoto if that's acceptable to you," she said as she sat. It wasn't really a request, it was a command. Dax got it.

"Ms. Muramoto. I'm here to present you with a once in a lifetime opportunity," Dax began, sounding every bit the real estate hustler instead of the real estate tycoon.

"Really, Mr. Hanlon. Is that the best you can do?" she said sarcastically. Her eyes narrowed. "Do you have a business proposition or are you trying to sell me a set of steak knives?"

Dax was completely off balance. He couldn't remember the last time he had fucked everything up this badly. He was wearing a suit coat and shirt with a large ink stain and ripped pants. He just had a verbal sparring match with a woman who was half his size, and she had successfully tied him into a pretzel.

"Really, Ms. Muramoto," Dax started, trying to buy time to gain his footing. He decided to just say it. He was in a hurry and things couldn't get worse, or so he thought. He would just give her his top number. It wasn't his modus operendi, but he wasn't thinking as clearly as he usually did. "I'm prepared to pay you $50,000 for your lease."

"$50,000? For our lease? That's the subject of our 'important business meeting'?" her saying the last three words while making quotation marks with her fingers as a mocking gesture.

Dax continued to be in the twilight zone. He gave her a blank stare, something he had never done in any business meeting. He always had something to say, and usually he was right.

"I can tell you the answer now so you can get to your next important business meeting. The answer, Mr. Hanlon, is no." Her arms were folded. There was no room for negotiation.

"You won't consider it?" Dax asked, his turn to be incredulous. His accountant had run the numbers.

The present value of their lease is only $20,000. I'm offering $30,000 over that and this foolish woman who clearly needs the money is turning me down. I'm offering her more than double what the lease is actually worth. She doesn't get it. But maybe she's smarter than I give her credit for. She's already cornered me once.

"Why should I reconsider?" countered the defiant woman. "It's not as if you're going to give up your fancy penthouse apartment in New York City for a second floor apartment in Queens to live with a bunch of Japanese people, are you?" Keiko knew the answer but wanted this arrogant asshole to tell her the truth.

"No," he said in a voice devoid of emotion. Dax had decided to surrender and tell her the truth. "I've got an offer for the building and the three other tenants have decided to sell. I just need your apartment. I'm offering you double what I bought the three others for."

Keiko was glad that the pretense of doing her a favor was over. "I guess I should be flattered, but I'll be sure to tell my neighbors that they can get $50,000 out of you if they haven't yet signed the papers.

Dax had to contain his rage. He couldn't believe that this woman had elevated his anger level to a point he hadn't felt since he was on the varsity wrestling team in high school and the best wrestler on their cross-town rival was able to knee him in the balls without being seen by the referee. Needless to say he was pinned in the next five seconds, and after he recovered he got into the only fist fight of his life after those matches were completed, out in a playground of a high school he'd never visit again.

"So what is it, Mr. Hanlon, what are they going to build here?"

"A shopping center," Dax admitted. His shoulders were slumped. He wasn't paying attention to his body language. He had never met a woman able to control a situation this way. His guard wasn't just down, it was out.

"No, Mr. Hanlon, we won't take your $50,000 so you can build a shopping center. My parents have lived here for thirty-two years and my mother wants to spend the rest of her days here. You know that my father passed away here after a long illness."

"I'm sorry," Dax said, reflexively.

Keiko suppressed the urge to say something she would regret, even though it was to someone she despised and wouldn't ever see again. "Thank you," she said automatically, her ingrained Japanese manners overruling her baser instincts.

Dax perked up when he realized he only had five more minutes. He decided to play the last card he had. If he finished in the next five minutes, then the traffic back to the City would make him miss only the first few minutes of the game. "Ms. Muramoto. You didn't sign the lease. Your father did. Since he passed away then the lease rights pass to your mother. Can we ask her?"

Keiko was infuriated by his request. Her mother spoke very little English, and left all matters relating to business to her only child, who worked as a CPA for a local accounting firm with an almost exclusively Japanese clientele.

"No," she said, thinking that was the end of the discussion.

Dax fumbled through the papers he was carrying. He had thrown them up in the air when he fell so they were now out of the meticulous order that Melanie had put them in, color coding each page and highlighting each place that required a signature.

"Ms. Muramoto, I must insist. Since Mr. Muramoto passed away you will need to have your mother sign this document acknowledging she promises to be responsible for the obligations under the lease." He waved the crumpled paper in front of her. She laughed to herself when she saw grass stains on the page.

"Our lease agreement provides that if we don't receive this signed acknowledgement within 30 days of death then you're in default under the lease. When did Mr. Muramoto pass away?"

"Almost three months ago."

"We could start eviction proceedings."

"You're threatening me?"

"No ma'am. I'm just pointing out that you are technically in default on your lease right now. Could you please ask your mother to join us? I'm already late."

Dax looked at his phone. Now he should have left five minutes ago. He started to shift in his seat as Keiko went to get her mother. She was fuming inside, feeling that she was being blackmailed by this arrogant outsider. How would disturbing her mother change her decision?

She knocked softly on her mother's bedroom door. Her mother was napping. Keiko could hear her shuffle out of bed. The door opened a crack. Mariko asked why she was being disturbed and Keiko, in an uncharacteristically animated fashion, described their situation. Her mother retrieved her housecoat and then opened the door, following Keiko into the living room.

Dax had the good sense to stand up when the elderly Japanese woman came into the room, her presence felt as someone not to be trifled with. She had greying hair, long and twisted into a braid, and was wearing a white terrycloth housecoat and slippers. As they sat down, the two women exchanged comments in Japanese, which for Dax were incomprehensible, while acting as if Dax wasn't there.