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Cards in the Deck - Adam and Ben 25
The Last Brevard
The skype call was set up, meetings to occur on Tuesdays and Thursday at 6:30 pm. The attendance list included my parents, Phil and Margo, my Uncle James and his wife, Claire, their son Charles and his wife Rebecca, their daughter Annaleigh and her husband Jacob Sutton. The Brevard Foundation accountant was present as well Jane Blevins from Christie's. I, of course, was present and my partner Quinn Collins was presiding as the Project Manager.
One thing to note about the various personalities, is that while James was a strong, determined, careem man who took off to Northern Virginia to practice law amongst the big lawmakers, he married an unassuming lady who didn't work, was quite pure in her ways, and who loved her bling. She was one who had a difficult time when she lived here at Brevard House because she wanted to make it her own. Wanted to redecorate. Wanted to modernize. This would not be that kind of house. Living in someone else's house was hard for her. Phil, on the other hand, was a very unassuming man who married a strong career woman with her own headstrong ways. So to sum it up, he and James had done everything completely opposite to the other.
Once everyone was online, Quinn kicked it off with a welcome and an introduction of Jane Blevins. He then went over the estate rules, items promised were now part of the estate and everyone had a reserve account starting at $0. If an item was desired, the opportunity to purchase would be considered at two thirds the appraised value as determined by Christie's. Quinn's research indicated this was the most level method of allocating items as inheritance vs. items going up for auction. Basically, if you thought it was your's, you should have already taken it. Once the auctions were complete, the reserve accounts would be settled by the accountant.
Everyone nodded in agreement and there were no concerns.
Quinn launched in with the items to be discussed. First up was the Waterford Crystal Ball.
"Folks, there has been a lot of interest in this item as there were only a few made. With the Brevard's Crystal Ball legitimacy established, Christie's feels that bidding could start at $125,000 and could go as high as 175. That all depends on what the Waterford Company decides to do because they want it back. They would love to have it included in the Waterford Collection and Museum.
Annaleigh asked if she could see. I dashed over to the south parlor and pulled it down from the shelf and brought it into the dining room where we were holding the session. It was a brighter room than the study. I put it in front of Quinn and the light from the dining room poured through it with almost a glow.
"Gracious," she said. "I regret not visiting before. I'm sure there will be other things like this." Everyone smiled in agreement.
Quinn proceeded to review the principal art collection. While the paintings of Clinton Brevard and Nelson Brevard were oils and might be interesting to various art dealers, being unknown industry men would not help the value. Uncle James suggested that the paintings remain the property of the Brevard Foundation and be displayed in the old corporate offices in which the foundation conducted business. Phil agreed.
Other items in the art collection consisted of the four florals by the French painter Lainglais. These had been in the front parlor since the 1940's. Significant value. Because Evelyn, our Great Grandmother,and Annaleigh, our Grandmother, were not actually art enthusiasts, they had only acquired items for decor purposes but were willing to pay handsomely for works deemed fashionable for the day. There were other art items including the portrait of Annaleigh, our grandmother.
Quinn commented, not meaning to sound insensitive, "Annaleigh's portrait was done in pastel and has been considered to be inconsequential to the overall estate value In other words, pastels don't auction well unless there is something special about the painter or the subject."
Jane winked at Quinn, whom I know had helped in his scripts.
"Awe," said Claire. "She was a great lady."
"She certainly was," said Margo. "She welcomed me in and was good to me."
"She was good to me too," said Claire. "I want the portrait," she said.
"I think you should take it, Claire, rather than it ending up in a Salvation Army or something."
"Thank you Margo, I was afraid you would wrestle me over it."
Margo laughed.
Claire then asked, "What about the first Mrs. Brevard, Renee? Where is her portrait?"
Uncle James responded the her portrait had met with an unfortunate end when their aunt, the once removed Annamarie, who preferred to drink a lot, had picked a terrible fight with her mother and when Nelson came in and asked her to leave, she threw a glass of vodka at the portrait and the broken glass slashed the canvas. That was an unfortunate time in our history, he explained. Nelson Brevard, who was unsympathetic to his daughter's rebelliousness, rather threw her out. It was devastating to him because he had doted on her as a girl but as she got older, nothing was ever good enough and became the life of the party, so to speak. Annamarie had a distant daughter that we had reached out to several times in the past but she never responded to us. It was probably for the best. "It was said that her last words before she left was that she hit the wrong portrait. Being drunk, her aim was off.
Quinn had been warned by Jane that it was not unusual for family drama to come out in these types of meetings and to not get involved or attempt to opine. Only manage to the agenda if the discussions ran long.
In the Thursday session, the agenda would include lamps, rugs, brass, silver, and other miscellaneous decor.
As the session was launched we had newcomers to the meetings. Phil had requested his three teenage grandchildren be allowed to attend as they might benefit from learning more about the family and its heritage. Phil and Margo had agreed. Jane thought it was appropriate.
Quinn had the session on mute as people were entering. I was checking emails on my phone when Quinn said, "Ben, look." I didn't pay much attention. Then he snapped, "Ben!" I said, "What?" back. You snap at me you get snapped back. "Put down the damn phone and look at your screen!" I glanced up at the screen and a feeling of shock and dismay came over me. Not really dismay but a curious and confused feeling. I was looking at a kid that looked like me. No, I was looking at me, at least a younger version. The straight black hair, the eyes, the puffy lips. Quinn shook his head in disbelief. Then he got up and left the room and came back quickly with a picture frame from the family room. I knew which picture it was - it was me dressed for my 16 Cotillion. He showed it to me and I nodded in agreement. Could have been one and the same.
Once everyone was on, Quinn was tapping his foot so I knew he was excited.
"James, why don't you introduce me to your grandkids," Quinn said with excitement.
"With pleasure," he said. "First, we have the ever beautiful Karen, 17, who attends the Steward School. She waved. She was a pretty girl.. Phil had once said the goal here was to make sure she was prepared to drive a successful career and marry well. James did not want any unnecessary nonsense in her life. Then came her brother Brandon, 16. He was very clean cut with his short black hair, squared glasses, very Ralph Lauren all the way. He actually attended public school in Fairfax. Said he had no desire to go to private school. James agreed to support his parents on the basis his arguments were very strong. He intended to go to law school but would do it on a public school education. Then, there was Ryan, 15, the only child of Charles and Becky.
"Ryan," said Quinn, maybe the others are more aware but you remind me of someone."
"Who?" said Ryan. Apparently, he could not see in me what I could in him.
Quinn held up the picture of me to his camera. Everyone gasped. They had forgotten what I looked like as a youth. A little hurtful but it was a long time ago. Ryan looked at the picture intensely.
"I see what you mean," Ryan responded. "Who is that?" he asked.
Charles, his father, responded, "that is your cousin Ben, Ryan. We wondered if the resemblance was real and it certainly is. What do you think son?" he asked over the skype.
Ryan was at private school in Charlottesville.
"I can see the likeness," he said smiling, feeling a bit special I suspected.
I saw Karen roll her eyes. Probably just another thing Ryan would hold over their heads.
Ryan went on to say, "so if you looked like me when you were 15, then I should look like you when I'm 50," he said with some cleverness.
"Thats 42, sir," I said humorously. Ryan took a good look at me though and said, "I can live with it!" Everyone chuckled.
Quinn took control. "Now that we have decided that, let's move on to the agenda. First up is lamps." The fact that many of the lamps were vintage porcelain or brass put them in a highly collectible state. As porcelain lamps were carrying their weight in the market, the fact that many of these lamps had their original shades without stains and were clean and impeccable made them more valuable. Margo requested the brass lamp from the study and would take a hit to the reserve for $550 due to the fact it was Baldwin brass. Among the other items Quinn presented were the seven oriental and middle eastern rugs. The overall condition was going to make them highly collectible. No one showed any real interest but the value of the rugs was somewhat unbelievable. The collection could bring up to $185,000.
I was texting Becky asking her why I hadn't known of Ryan sooner. She said he was special in that he was not an average teenager and she had thought several times to call me but the time didn't seem right. He was an outstanding student, highly intelligent with enormous analysis skills. He was awkward with people in that he is more factual than intuitive and could be brutally honest. His overall presumption was that doing things his way would be sufficient and his friends, few as there were, had to put up with a lot. She also told me that since he had come out to them last year, his father, Charles had shown some difficulty in dealing with the issue. He apparently dropped it on them and didn't look back.
I chastised her again! I should have been her first call. She agreed. Quinn was finishing up the meeting and we agreed to talk over the phone later that evening. Overall, however, the family was really enjoying the presentations and Quinn was on a totally different level than anyone would have thought. He was clear, specific, humorous, but organized. Uncle James was the first to comment that if the rest of the meetings were going to go like this, he had absolutely no reservations that the project was in good hands. Phil chimed in with, "Agreed!"
Quinn thanked them for the encouragement then concluded with a big announcement he had been sitting on. "Folks, I am really excited to tell you that Alabama Public Television is doing an "Old Houses of the South" feature series next year and they want to include Brevard House. They have requested a walk thru! Apparently, Christies gave them some indicators at properties going through changes. The director of programming said he had his eye on this place for a long time. If there is no disagreement, I would like to give them the go ahead."
"That's wonderful," said Margo. Claire was nodding in agreement. James and Phil had few concerns. James asked if there security issues having valuable things presented on television. Quin confirmed that the walkthrough would focus on rooms, styles, and architectural features. They would not be showing particular items. This would not take place until the first week of January, just before the packing up of the house began. They said to proceed. It would be an honor to the house filmed.
When the skype ended, I told Quinn he needed to come with me. I knew there was a problem and he was not going to be happy. I led him to the third floor bedrooms and we entered one room where a lot of christmas decorations were stored. I opened a closet door and there, wrapped and rolled, were two carpets. There should have been nine, not seven.
He looked at the carpets and looked at me, "What are they doing in here?" he asked. I could tell he was tense.
"They are two carpets that were not accounted for with Jane and Brett," I advised.
"What the hell are they doing in here?"
"Well they have just been stored in here."
"I mean, why the fuck are there two carpets stuck in a closet!"
"Well, one was meant for the ballroom. The other..."
"What ballroom? Quinn snapped.
"The ballroom that was planned for the end of the east wing but it never developed."
"And the other?"
"Great grandmother had it in the foyer and Grandmother had it removed when Great Grandmother passed because she hated it. So it was rolled up and put up here."
"You bought a rug for a room you hadn't built yet?"
"Grandmother found it on a trip and had it sent home."
"Well there goes all muy fucking credibility. How am I going to explain the existence of two fucking rugs, Ben? It's not like they were just stuck in a drawer or something!"
"Well, didn't you all go through every closet?"
"I think by the time we got to the Christmas decorations, we thought there would only be more decorations in here. What a damn mess!"
"I think the best thing to do," I said trying to calm him, "is take them downstairs and unroll them and take pictures and send them to Jane. The carpets have not been published in the catalogues yet so we aren't out anything." I touched his shoulder to comfort him.
"I'm not dragging those heavy ass rugs down two flights of stairs. We can toss them out the window and unroll them on the ground!"
"I don't think that's going to work, Quinn," I said unsure if he was being facetious or serious.
"Aw fuck it!" he yelled and stormed out of the room and down the stairs. I heard our bedroom door slam. The thing about Quinn I was beginning to realize was that he was amazing at helping you deal with your stress but not so good at managing his. This would not be the end of the world.
I got Jane on the phone and told her what happened. She asked to speak to Quinn. She told him to perk up. They had missed cars in the garage so a couple of rolled up carpets was not a problem. She also told him that this was going to be a great find because, if one of those carpets dated back to the 60's and was still in its original wrapping, then it's value could double. She said she may have to send Brett back to look at the rug. He would have to only partially open the package and get a picture of the based colors from an edge. It had been done before.
He calmed down quite a bit. We talked about the fact that this was a process over perfection deal as we had discussed before and I asked him to please not panic, and certainly not let the family "see him sweat."
We also talked about Ryan. "I could not believe my eyes," he said. "It was like looking at a picture of you, Ben. The likeness was scary."
I told him about my conversation with his mother. "And he came out too?" asked Quinn. "Good God what are the odds?"
"I am finding, lover, in my life, `what are the odds' is a repeat question. But, I want him here. However it has to be managed, I wanted to meet him and I want him to witness his heritage first hand."
"What about the other two?" Quinn asked.
"They are welcome to come but I will bet you $100 they will not want to come. Too generic for all this legacy stuff."
"I'm not taking the bet. You're probably right," Quinn responded.
Note, talk to Becky about sending Ryan here.
"Hey," said Quinn, "that was funny what you said about the football game tomorrow night. Did you see Claire's face?"
"I did. A little shock effect is good for people like her," I laughed.
When asked what we were going to do for the weekend, I told the group that Quinn and I were going to the football game on Friday night. The Tigers were undefeated this year and they had a good chance at going to State. The momentum in the community was that everyone should come and support them. The stadium was filling up on Friday nights. When asked if I thought it was ok that Quinn should attend the game together, I responded with "absolutely. It's not like we are going to be bumping and grinding under the bleachers!" Claire put her hand over her mouth, shocked at the imagery. Margo screamed with laughter.
That evening, after further discussion with Becky, it was agreed that Ryan would come the first weekend of November for a long weekend. She said it was the first sign of excitement he had shown in a long time. She said he had sent her an email with about twelve questions about me, the house, Quinn, and Grandfather.
That question pointed me to thought. I told Quinn to help me go through the east wing rooms upstairs and down. I wanted pictures. Surely there were pictures of them when they were younger. The more I thought about Nelson Brevard, the fact that he was a visionary, not a captain of industry, the fact he wanted to share his knowledge with me, and obtain all the knowledge he could, that fact that we had a library because of him. That hard ass Clinton Brevard never cared about any books. I began to wonder if I was more my Grandfather's grandson than I was my mother's son. I was also wondering if Ryan got the same genes. How could he and I be so much alike with different parents?
My suspicions were correct by the time we found the old photo albums. I couldn't wait to show him. Just three weeks.
As Quinn and I laid in bed that night, having enjoyed one intense love-making session, Quin commented, "You're really hot after three days. I should put you on a three day schedule," he laughed. "That thing you did with your tongue and my eyes almost made my eyes water," he said.
"I'm sorry Quinn. So much is going on, I don't want you to feel I'm not being affectionate."
"Oh no, this is the right side of your brain in effect. Planning, plotting, scheming, analyzing. I know how you are. Sex slides to the side when you get like that. It's ok though, because you were on fire tonight!"
"I'm glad you think so," I said as he leaned over and gave me a sexy kiss and cuddled up under my arm.
"Ryan?" he asked.
"Leave that to me. You keep your head in the game."
"Ryan Brevard," I thought. "My own mini-me. I like it," I thought to myself before drifting to sleep.