Fiammetta's Dream: Villa Paradiso, #2

By Ted Atoka

Four recent college graduates take on their first job, helping two retired businesswomen turn their dream of an upscale life-care retirement facility into reality. As soon as they choose a location, their project moves ahead quickly. Construction begins in earnest, and the little group navigates through issues with subcontractors, personnel situations, and damaging legal issues. The little group survives the challenge of working closely with potential residents while developing and constructing a premier life-care retirement facility. Caveat: This book can lead to uncontrollable fits of laughter. Read it with caution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huntington House Press
• Release date: Sep 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386412847

Ted Atoka

Ted Atoka lived the first half of his life in Boston, MA. He made a Christmas visit to friends in Oklahoma in 1981, and fell in love with country life. Five weeks after returning home—to a raging snow storm, he packed up and moved to OK. He and his wife live on a piece of land on the side of a dirt road. They share the fresh air with a peacock named Penelope, two dogs, a small herd of deer, and a feral cat.

Book preview

An Adventure Beckons

If a tin can were sitting on the sidewalk, Fiammetta Shaidy would kick it. All she could do right now was watch the Oklahoma sun soften into a sheet of orange. It slipped slowly behind the cottonwoods on the roadside. Her maroon bus traveled along the country highway. The hum of the rubber on the road calmed her and drew her covertly into the arms of a daydream. She looked out the window but saw nothing of the scenery she passed.

A thought replayed in her mind, over and over: "Hell, call me Fi-Fi if you like, but I own this damn bus, and I’m in the process of building a multimillion-dollar life care retirement facility with an Alzheimer’s wing and a memory garden. I’m not going to allow my own damn personal problem to screw everything up. I have to get my job done, and by god, I am going to make it work. I can still remember the month and year of my birth. If I quit trying to think of it, the date will pop back into my mind."

She caressed her Desert Eagle handgun through the Italian leather of the enormous handbag on her lap. A little lapse of memory isn’t going to get me down.

James Bond, Fiammetta’s companion and the resident director of The Gables at 12 Oaks retirement facility, gestured toward the front of the bus. Fiammetta’s gaze followed to where he pointed. Won’t be long now, Fi-Fi. We’ll be home directly.

The bus, with its three-dimensional replica of a peanut in the shell mounted against the front grill, eased into the facility’s parking lot. Once a nursing home, the place had morphed into a vague semblance of a retirement facility. The location was quickly becoming a sprawled-out center of construction. Helmeted people, working around the clock, were well into the task of building Fiammetta’s state-of-the-art project. The new building, slowing rising out of the red clay, was called Villa Paradiso. Their present quarters, The Gables, would be razed, and the land on which it sat returned to Mother Nature.

Fiammetta was first off the bus as soon as the folding doors whooshed open. She stood by the open door and smiled at the passengers, carrying their own concealed weapons, as they stepped from the bus. She stifled a giggle when John Ziggy Ziggendorfer hopped down the short flight of bus stairs. Out at the shooting range, the old revolver he’d fired had kicked back and bruised his right eyebrow. The minor injury made his eyebrow swell up like a small wiener and wounded his pride as well. Betty Greenfield, Fiammetta’s best friend and cofounder of Villa Paradiso, had grabbed the gun away and told him to hold a wet handkerchief over his brow to keep it from swelling. Judging by the look of Ziggy’s face, the treatment had failed.

The small group gathered around Fiammetta, and she counted noses. Always acting like a mom, she made sure nobody had been left behind.

From the silly grins on your faces, it appears that we all had a good time at the shooting range today. Why don’t we plan on going back next month? Is anyone game?

Yes! was the combined response from the group. Even Ziggy nodded his agreement.

Betty smiled and announced, I’ll make a sign-up sheet for the next outing. Give me a little time, and I’ll post it somewhere near the reception area. But for right now, outta my way, I need to use the ladies’ room.

Everyone followed Betty into the building. She made it to the nearest bathroom while the rest of the group made their way to their rooms.

The Gables at 12 Oaks housed about 52 residents and five staff members. It began as a motel and then became a rest home. A new investor bought it and had advertised it as a nursing home. James Bond, the present owner, had modified the place once again, and now people called it a life care retirement facility. Whatever it was, it would disappear when Villa Paradiso opened for business.

Fiammetta Shaidy’s dream would become real when the construction finished. Betty Greenfield, her partner in the endeavor and her closest friend in the world, would share Fiammetta’s satisfaction of having achieved what many said could never be done.

Ted Bliss, Grazia Ricci, Joe Ricci (Grazia’s cousin), and Yvette Sutton, all part of the Gables’ management staff, stood behind the reception desk in the front entry. The small group had recently earned degrees in their respective fields and had accepted job offers from Fiammetta and Betty to help the ladies’ vision become a reality.

Ted held a large framed architectural rendering in both hands. He tried to snag the hanger on the back of the frame on a small hook attached to the wall. Up a little, Joe said, and Ted obliged. Once hung, the picture looked impressive. The rendering of Villa Paradiso’s buildings looked great. The main building, directly in the middle of a figure eight, contained the primary living quarters and was the hub of the entire facility. Smaller buildings with shops and other services sat to the left and right.

That’s my dream coming true, Fiammetta said. Betty remarked, You know, it looks even better than we imagined.

Ted straightened his shirtsleeves and looked at the two silver-haired ladies. We have some time before our meeting starts. I’m going to wash my hands, and then I’ll join you all at the conference table in a few minutes.

Fiammetta nodded, and she and Betty started toward their makeshift boardroom. Fiammetta’s crisp western shirt, jeans, and boots with roper heels made her look 20 years younger. Betty, on the other hand, lived by her own rules of fashion. She sported dark pink jeans and a fine hand-tooled leather belt with a chased silver buckle the size of a small plate. The toes of her green cowboy boots were capped in sterling silver.

Fiammetta and Betty had met at Bob’s Steak and Chop House, many years before, in the heart of downtown Austin, when they were out to dinner with their husbands. The place was jammed, and the two couples had to share a four-top. From that evening on, the four of them became dear friends. Fiammetta and her husband parlayed a small peanut farm into an operation that controlled many thousands of acres. Fiammetta and her husband produced only one child, a boy, and they gave him the best education possible. Even after she lost her husband, Fiammetta led her business to unimaginable profits. She was as comfortable planting peanuts as she was sitting at the head of a boardroom table.

Soon after they married, Betty Greenfield and her husband bought a small chicken farm that slowly grew into what they called a chicken ranch. One day, they met up with a young man who had an idea and needed some financial help. They had legal documents drawn up, and everyone joined forces in a chicken manure marketing venture. They developed a method of pasteurizing the manure and packaged it in 30-pound sacks. Once the public saw firsthand how beneficial the fertilizer was to their flowers and vegetable crops, the little chicken manure operation grew from a two-county business to a multinational corporation within three years.

The silver-haired ladies had amassed sizable fortunes and began to notice the life changes of their advancing years. Betty also harbored a concern that she may have been developing Alzheimer’s disease, and the two friends pledged to make Villa Paradiso the crowning achievement of their lives.

****

James Bond, whom everyone called Jim, arrived at the meeting room first. Born with only one arm, he’d been classified as a Thalidomide baby. He was the same age as Fiammetta and had led a full life.

Tom Smithers, a retired bull rider, was the next person to show up for the meeting. He had spent his lifetime winning huge purses in bull riding contests and had invested his winnings wisely. He and Betty were what some considered an item. They were close companions and relished the time they spent together.

The two men exchanged glances upon hearing murmurs from the hallway. The louder voice belonged to Betty: ...and I really don’t know how many steps are in the stairway that goes up to the front entry of our State Capitol. I’m just saying that it’d be fun someday to take a tour of the place. I’ve been in and around the center of Oklahoma many times, but I just haven’t made the time to visit the Capitol.

Well, why don’t we take some folks and make a day of it, Bett? It might not involve shooting guns, racing ATVs, or chasing crooks, but it’d sure be a learning experience for us all. Add it to our list of things to do, okay?

Fiammetta appeared in the doorway, with Betty one step behind.

Ten minutes later, the two ladies, Jim and Tom, and the four college grads were seated at their conference table. Fiammetta waved a lilac-colored folder in her right hand.

I receive a construction report every week from the job foreman, and this is yesterday’s. I’m absolutely tickled to tell y’all that the Villa Paradiso building project is ahead of schedule. At least five weeks ahead. If we stay on this course, we can move up the date for our Grand Opening.

And I have news about that too, Fi-Fi, Jim said, rising from his chair. I talked with Ronnie Platt this morning, and we now have 11 bona fide residents who are just waiting for the green light to make Villa Paradiso their permanent home. Aldron C. Platt, a longtime friend of Fiammetta’s known to his friends as Ronnie, was a director and the legal counsel for Villa Paradiso.

Wow, Ronnie is certainly becoming a veritable marketing guru for Villa Paradiso. If he keeps on bringing new residents in, I may have to insist that he take a commission for all of his hard work. Goodness, I’ve seen him touring our facility with prospective residents two or three times a day.

Fiammetta smiled her usual radiant smile. However, I’m not going to change the grand opening date just yet because there’s still so much work to do. The tedious part of the process will be installing the finishing touches, like the window treatments, lighting, furniture, and accessories. No, we’ll just plan on having a shindig around the first of October.

Betty shook her head. Hell, Fi-Fi, what’ll we do for excitement between now and then? That’s six months away!

Betty, we haven’t had a dull month in our lives yet. But right now, we need to get some short-range plans in place; our residents need to have something to look forward to, an outside activity or something.

Ted chuckled and looked around the table. Heck, Betty, you’ve been keeping our residents so busy doing stuff, they might actually welcome a break. I think they’re still worn out from last Saturday’s dance and listening to the Over 60 Stompers play. The party didn’t end until after 2 a.m.!

I know, Ted. And the gossip is that some of them didn’t call it a night until much later than that. Nearly all of the same folks have signed up for our shopping mall trip tomorrow, the rodeo in Bowlegs on Friday, and dinner and a movie in Ada on Sunday!

Grazia shook her head and laughed. You sure know how to keep everybody busy, Betty.

Yvette chuckled and added, Yes, and some of them have even been able to cut back on their medications. With their doctors’ approval, of course.

Wow, said Joe, what a team. We have Ted, our facility man-in-charge, Grazia, the go-to person for nursing care, Yvette, pharmacist extraordinaire and supporter of residential needs, and me, manager of food services. And I certainly cannot neglect to mention our founding mothers, Fiammetta Shaidy and Betty Greenfield. I say bravissima to the founders of Villa Paradiso.

Fiammetta shot Joe a look and said, Blow it out your ear, sonny. We can’t stand around here resting on our laurels! We have work to do. Lemme go visit the ladies’, and when I get back we’ll attend to important matters.

Chapter 2

A Capitol Idea

Betty led the Gables (soon to be Villa Paradiso) entourage toward the steps of the Capitol building. Okay, y’all. Listen up. I’ve read about this place, and I’m going to share what I’ve learned with you. Let me start by telling you about the steps to the building.

There was no wind, and the air was comfortably warm. It was a true gem of a day by Oklahoma standards. The morning sun reflected back from the expansive staircase, and Ted noticed how clean the steps were. Everyone moved closer to Betty.

See how rough this first step is? It’s made from granite. The rest of the steps are quarried from limestone, which is much smoother. Grab the handrail and walk up the stairs slowly, one at a time; count ’em on your way up. There’s supposed to be 30 steps in all.

Ziggy counted out loud and started up the stairs. One! he shouted.

Pipe down, Ziggy. Keep the numbering to yourself, or people will think you’re nutso.

Everyone in the group, heads bowed, kept one hand on the railing and counted the steps as they ascended. Most of the people reached the landing at the top of the stairs with ease. Not Harry Wiley. He was third from last on the stairs, counting intently as he approached the top, when he stopped suddenly with two steps to go. He felt a pent-up sneeze coming on.

He tightened his grip on the handrail and prepared himself. He wanted his handkerchief. It was neatly folded and tucked away in his right back pocket. Afraid of losing his balance if he let go of the handrail, he twisted and thrust out his hips, trying to reach around to his back pocket with his left hand. The sneeze grew deep inside his lungs, and it gathered strength and power. His chest expanded a full two inches. His back stiffened like an ironing board. The expectation of a lung blast glued Harry to the second step from the top of the staircase.

He hung on to the railing with both hands, inhaled an enormous quantity of air, and locked his eyelids shut. The toes of his cowboy boots vibrated in a barely perceptible tap dance. A tremor drifted upward to his knees, and each knobby bone flexed just enough to jiggle his trousers. The tremor morphed into a full-fledged muscle jolt, much like that from a stun gun, and signaled the arrival of an explosive, bazooka-like sneeze.

Yaaah-cha-cha-KA—CHOOOO!

His false teeth, both upper and lower dentures, shot from his mouth into the Oklahoma sky. For Harry, the world stood still. All his friends saw