The late 1970s were years of growth and change and excitement. In 1976 there was a successful Israeli raid on Entebbe, and Mao Zedong died, and James Earl Carter, Jr., was elected President of the United States.
Lara erected another office building.
In 1977 Charlie Chaplin died, and Elvis Presley temporarily died.
Lara built the largest shopping mall in Chicago.
In 1978 Reverend Jim Jones and 911 followers committed mass suicide in Guyana. The United States recognized Communist China, and the Panama Canal treaties were ratified.
Lara built a series of high-rise condominiums in Rogers Park.
In 1979 Israel and Egypt signed a peace treaty at Camp David, there was a nuclear accident at Three-Mile Island, and Muslim fundamentalists seized the United States Embassy in Iran.
Lara built a skyscraper and a glamorous resort and country club in Deerfield, north of Chicago.
Lara seldom went out socially, and when she did, she usually went to a club where jazz was played. She liked Andy's, a club where the top jazz artists performed. She listened to Von Freeman, the great saxophonist, and Eric Schneider, and reed man Anthony Braxton, and Art Hodes at the piano.
Lara had no time to feel lonely. She spent every day with her family: the architects and the construction crew, the carpenters, the electricians and surveyors and plumbers. She was obsessed with the building she was putting up. Her stage was Chicago, and she was the star.
Her professional life was proceeding beyond her wildest dreams, but she had no personal life. Her experience with Sean MacAllister had soured her on sexual relationships, and she never met anyone she was interested in seeing for more than an evening or two. In the back of Lara's mind was an elusive image, someone she had once met and wanted to meet again. But she could never seem to capture it. For a fleeting moment she would recall it, and then it was gone.
There were plenty of suitors. They ranged from business executives to oilmen to poets, and even included some of her employees. Lara was pleasant to all of the men, but she never permitted any relationship to go further than a good-night handshake at the door.
But then Lara found herself attracted to Pete Ryan, the head foreman on one of Lara's building jobs, a handsome, strapping young man with an Irish brogue and a quick smile, and Lara started visiting the project Ryan was working on more and more often. They would talk about construction problems, but underneath they were both aware that they were speaking about other things.
"Are you going to have dinner with me?" Ryan asked. The word "dinner" was stretched out slowly.
Lara felt her heart give a little jump. "Yes."
Ryan picked Lara up at her apartment, but they never got to dinner. "My God, you're a lovely thing," he said. And his strong arms went around her.
She was ready for him. Their foreplay had been going on for months. Ryan picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. They undressed together, quickly, urgently. He had a lean, hard build, and Lara had a quick mental picture of Sean MacAllister's heavy, pudgy body. The next moment she was in bed and Ryan was on top of her, his hands and tongue all over her, and she cried aloud with the joy of what was happening to her.
When they were both spent, they lay in each other's arms. "My God," Ryan said softly, "you're a bloody miracle."
"So are you," Lara whispered.
She could not remember when she had been so happy. Ryan was everything she wanted. He was intelligent and warm, and they understood each other, they spoke the same language.
Ryan squeezed her hand. "I'm starved."
"So am I. I'll make us some sandwiches."
"Tomorrow night," Ryan promised, "I'll take you out for a proper dinner."
Lara held him close. "It's a date."
The following morning Lara went to visit Ryan at the building site. She could see him high up on one of the steel girders, giving orders to his men. As Lara walked toward the work elevator, one of the workmen grinned at her. "Mornin', Miss Cameron." There was an odd note in his voice.
Another workman passed her and grinned. "Mornin', Miss Cameron."
Two other workmen were leering at her. "Morning, boss."
Lara looked around. Other workmen were watching her, all smirking. Lara's face turned red. She stepped into the work elevator and rode up to the level where Ryan was. As she stepped out, Ryan saw her and smiled.
"Morning, sweetheart," Ryan said. "What time is dinner tonight?"
"You'll starve first," Lara said fiercely. "You're fired."
Every building Lara put up was a challenge. She erected small office buildings with floor spaces of five thousand square feet, and large office buildings and hotels. But no matter what type of building it was, the most important thing to her was the location.
Bill Rogers had been right. Location, location, location.
Lara's empire kept expanding. She was beginning to get recognition from the city fathers and from the press and the public. She was a glamorous figure, and when she went to charity events or to the opera or a museum, photographers were always eager to take her picture. She began to appear in the media more and more often. All her buildings were successes, and still she was not satisfied. It was as though she were waiting for something wonderful to happen to her, waiting for a door to open, waiting to be touched by some unknown magic.
Keller was puzzled. "What do you want, Lara?"
"More."
And it was all he could get out of her.
One day Lara said to Keller, "Howard, do you know how much we're paying every month for janitors and linen service and window washers?"
"It goes with the territory," Keller said.
"Then let's buy the territory."
"What are you talking about?"
"We're going to start a subsidiary. We'll supply those services to ourselves and to other builders."
The idea was a success from the beginning. The profits kept pouring in.
It seemed to Keller that Lara had built an emotional wall around herself. He was closer to her than anyone else, and yet Lara never spoke to him about her family or her background. It was as though she had emerged full blown out of the mists of nowhere. In the beginning Keller had been Lara's mentor, teaching her and guiding her, but now Lara made all the decisions alone. The pupil had outgrown the teacher.
Lara let nothing stand in her way. She was becoming an irresistible force, and there was no stopping her. She was a perfectionist. She knew what she wanted and insisted on getting it.
At first some of the workmen tried to take advantage of her. They had never worked for a woman before, and the idea amused them. They were in for a shock. When Lara caught one of the foremen pencil-whipping - signing off for work that had not been done - she called him in front of the crew and fired him. She was at the building site every morning. The crew would arrive at six o'clock and find Lara already there, waiting for them. There was rampant sexism. The men would wait until Lara was in earshot and exchange lewd jokes.
"Did you hear about the talking pussy at the farm? It fell in love with a cock and..."
"So the little girl said, 'Can you get pregnant swallowing a man's seed?' And her mama said, 'No. From that, darling, you get jewelry...' "
There were some overt gestures. Occasionally one of the workmen passing Lara would "accidentally" brush his arm across her breasts or press against her bottom.
"Oops, sorry."
"No problem," Lara said. "Pick up your check and get out of here."
Their amusement eventually began to change to respect.
One day, when Lara was driving along Kedzie Avenue with Howard Keller, she came to a block filled with small shops. She stopped the car.
"This block is being wasted," Lara said. "There should be a high rise here. These little shops can't bring much of an income."
"Yeah, but the problem is, you'd have to persuade every one of these tenants to sell out," Keller said. "Some of them may not want to."
"We can buy them out," Lara declared.
"Lara, if even one tenant refuses to sell, you could be stuck for a bundle. You'll have bought a lot of little shops you don't want and you won't be able to put up your building. And if the tenants get wind that a big high rise is going up here, they'll hold you up."
"We won't let them know what we're doing," Lara said. She was beginning to get excited. "We'll have different people approach the owners of the shops."
"I've been through this before," Keller warned. "If word leaks out, they're going to gouge you for every penny they can get."
"Then we'll have to be careful. Let's get an option on the property."
The block on Kedzie Avenue consisted of more than a dozen small stores and shops. There was a bakery, a hardware store, a barbershop, a clothing store, a butcher, a tailor, a drugstore, a stationery store, a coffee shop, and a variety of other businesses.
"Don't forget the risk," Keller warned Lara. "If there's one holdout, you've lost all the money you've put in to buy those businesses."
"Don't worry," Lara said. "I'll handle it."
A week later a stranger walked into the two-chair barbershop. The barber was reading a magazine. As the door opened, he looked up and nodded. "Can I help you, sir? Haircut?"
The stranger smiled. "No," he said. "I just arrived in town. I had a barbershop in New Jersey, but my wife wanted to move here to be near her mother. I'm looking for a shop I can buy."
"This is the only barbershop in the neighborhood," the barber said. "It's not for sale."
The stranger smiled. "When you come right down to it, everything's for sale, isn't it? At the right price, of course. What's this shop worth - about fifty, sixty thousand dollars?"
"Something like that," the barber admitted.
"I really am anxious to have my own shop again. I'll tell you what. I'll give you seventy-five thousand dollars for this place."
"No, I couldn't think of selling it."
"A hundred."
"Really, mister, I don't..."
"And you can take all the equipment with you."
The barber was staring at him. "You'll give me a hundred thousand and let me take the barber chairs and the rest of the equipment?"
"That's right. I have my own equipment."
"Can I think about it? I'll have to talk to my wife."
"Sure. I'll drop back tomorrow."
Two days later the barbershop was acquired.
"That's one down," Lara said.
The bakery was next. It was a small family bakery owned by a husband and wife. The ovens in the back room permeated the store with the smell of fresh bread. A woman was talking to one of the owners.
"My husband died and left me his insurance money. We had a bakery in Florida. I've been looking for a place just like this. I'd like to buy it."
"It's a comfortable living," the owner said. "My wife and I have never thought about selling."
"If you were interested in selling, how much would you want?"
The owner shrugged. "I don't know."
"Would you say the bakery's worth sixty thousand dollars?"
"Oh, at least seventy-five," the owner said.
"I'll tell you what," the woman said. "I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars for it."
The owner stared at her. "Are you serious?"
"I've never been more serious in my life."
The next morning Lara said, "That's two down."
The rest of the deals went just as smoothly. They had a dozen men and women going around impersonating tailors, bakers, pharmacists, and butchers. Over the period of the next six months Lara bought out the stores, then hired people to come in and run the different operations. The architects had already started to draw up plans for the high rise.
Lara was studying the latest reports. "It looks like we've done it," she told Keller.
"I'm afraid we have a problem."
"Why? The only one left is the coffee shop."
"That's our problem. He's there on a five-year lease, but he won't give up the lease."
"Offer him more money..."
"He says he won't give it up at any price." Lara was staring at him. "Does he know about the high rise going up?"
"No."
"All right. I'll go talk to him. Don't worry, he'll get out. Find out who owns the building he's in."
The following morning Lara paid a visit to the site. Haley's Coffee Shop was at the far end of the southwest corner of the block. The shop was small, with half a dozen stools along the counter and four booths. A man Lara presumed to be the proprietor was behind the counter. He appeared to be in his late sixties.
Lara sat down at a booth.
"Morning," the man said pleasantly. "What can I bring you?"
"Orange juice and coffee, please."
"Coming up."
She watched him squeeze some fresh orange juice.
"My waitress didn't show up today. Good help's hard to get these days." He poured the coffee and came from behind the counter. He was in a wheelchair. He had no legs. Lara watched silently as he brought the coffee and orange juice to the table.
"Thank you," Lara said. She looked around. "Nice place you have here."
"Yep. I like it."
"How long have you been here?"
"Ten years."
"Did you ever think of retiring?"
He shook his head. "You're the second person who asked me that this week. No, I'll never retire."
"Maybe they didn't offer you enough money," Lara suggested.
"It has nothing to do with money, miss. Before I came here, I spent two years in a veterans hospital. No friends. Not much point to life. And then someone talked me into leasing this place." He smiled. "It changed my whole life. All the people in the neighborhood drop in here. They've become my friends, almost like my family. It's given me a reason for living." He shook his head. "No. Money has nothing to do with it. Can I bring you more coffee?"
Lara was in a meeting with Howard Keller and the architect. "We don't even have to buy out his lease," Keller was saying. "I just talked to the landlord. There's a forfeiture clause if the coffee shop doesn't gross a certain amount each month. For the last few months he's been under that gross, so we can close him out."
Lara turned to the architect. "I have a question for you." She looked down at the plans spread out on the table and pointed to the southwest corner of the drawing. "What if we built a setback here, eliminated this little area and let the coffee shop stay? Could the building still be put up?"
The architect studied the plan. "I suppose so. I could slope that side of the building and counterbalance it on the other side. Of course, it would look better if we didn't have to do that..."
"But it could work," Lara pressed.
"Yes."
Keller said, "Lara, I told you we can force him out of there."
Lara shook her head. "We've bought up the rest of the block, haven't we?"
Keller nodded. "You bet. You're the proud owner of a clothing store, a tailor shop, a stationery store, a drugstore, a bakery, a..."
"All right," Lara said. "The tenants of the new high rise are going to have a coffee shop to drop in on. And so do we. Haley stays."
On her father's birthday Lara said to Keller, "Howard, I want you to do me a favor."
"Sure."
"I want you to go to Scotland for me."
"Are we going to build something in Scotland?"
"We're going to buy a castle."
He stood there, listening.
"There's a place in the Highlands called Loch Morlich. It's on the road to Glenmore near Aviemore. There are castles all around there. Buy one."
"Kind of a summer home?"
"I don't plan to live in it. I want to bury my father in the grounds."
Keller said, slowly, "You want me to buy a castle in Scotland to bury your father in?"
"That's right. I haven't time to go over myself. You're the only one I can trust to do it. My father is in the Greenwood Cemetery at Glace Bay."
It was the first real insight Keller ever had into Lara's feelings about her family.
"You must have loved your father very much."
"Will you do it for me?"
"Certainly."
"After he's buried, arrange for a caretaker to tend the grave."
Three weeks later Keller returned from Scotland and said, "It's all taken care of. You own a castle. Your father's resting in the grounds. It's a beautiful place near the hills and with a small lake close by. You'll love it. When are you going over?"
Lara looked up in surprise. "Me? I'm not," she said.