The Saddlebrook grand opening was set for Saturday evening, two weeks before the women’s tour event. A star-studded evening was scheduled featuring a silent auction, buffet dinner and a pro-celebrity tennis match featuring Pete Sampras and Jim Courier. The final event would be a one set singles match between Martina Hinges and Florida resident, Chris Evert.
Marco’s team worked overtime to complete the finishing touches. Tampa received six inches of rain the preceding week, ending the typical winter draught and signaling the beginning of Florida’s rainy season. The rain was welcomed by gardeners and golf course owners, but cost the construction team precious time. The hard rain had also revealed several leaks in the roofing membrane. Fortunately there were no structural problems and the roofing contractor made the necessary repairs.
Wednesday, two days before the scheduled opening, Marco declared they were ready.
“That’s great, Marco,” I replied. “For a while I thought this was going down to the wire. Gee, you have a couple days to spare.”
“I said we were ready, Jim. I didn’t say we were done. We will be doing touch up work and landscaping right up to the tournament, and probably after. We’re at a point where the guests won’t notice the little things that still need to be done.”
“I understand, good job! Take the rest of the day off and celebrate.”
Marco looked at his watch which read 6:30 PM. “Thanks, boss.”
“Ten more minutes,” Mary yelled from the bedroom. “I’m almost ready.”
“The invitation said casual dress,” I yelled back as I looked down at my slacks and Greg Norman golf shirt. You’re not dressing up are you?” Saturday evening was no different than every other evening out in the past 20 years. I poured myself a small drink and turned on ESPN News to catch the baseball scores. My Milwaukee Brewers were playing the Cubs this weekend in an important series. The National League scores were flashing across the bottom of the screen, when Mary came downstairs.
“How do I look?” she asked.
She need not have asked, because she looked fabulous. “Wow” I gasped. “You look absolutely wonderful.” She wore a tight black dress with a neckline that provided more than a hint of cleavage and sported the pearl necklace and matching earrings I had bought her for our 20th anniversary. “Are we going to the same party? The dress code said casual.”
“It said dressy casual, which is completely different. You can bet that there will be a lot of women that are more dressed up than I am. There just aren’t many places to go anymore where a woman can look nice. Did you notice the people wearing shorts to the Performing Arts Center last Saturday?”
“Well, you sure do like nice,” I replied giving her a soft kiss on the lips. “Give me a minute to change my shirt and get my sport coat, and we’ll be off. There is no way I’m wearing a golf shirt when you look so great.” I looked back at the television screen and saw that the ESPN update line had advanced to hockey. I would have to wait until tomorrow to get the score. With over 100 games left in the six-month-long baseball season, it wouldn’t hurt me to wait another 12 hours. St Louis was already running away with the division and the Brewers and Cubs were destined to fight it out with Houston and the Mets for a wild card spot in the playoffs. It wasn’t easy being a baseball fan for a small market team, particularly a Milwaukee Brewer fan.
We arrived fashionably late, which meant that we got there just on time per Mary’s clock. There were enough people mingling near the entrance to notice us valet park our new Porsche Boxer and make our grand entrance. It always amazed me that the women paid more attention to how the other women were dressed, than the men.
The silent auction was in full swing as guests appraised the merchandise and gifts that had been donated by local restaurants and businesses. I stopped at the open bar for a wild turkey and splash of water, and a glass of Kendal Jackson chardonnay for Mary. I scanned the crowd as we waited. Mary had been right, most of the women had taken the opportunity to dress up. Mary was soon talking fashion with several friends. It was a good time to make the circle of the silent auction tables. Local sports celebrities and tennis players with a connection to Saddlebrook donated many of the items. I noticed there was already a $500 bid for a Pete Sampras autographed racquet. The price jumped to $600, and then $750 as I watched. The proceeds of the auction would benefit the Florida USTA youth tennis programs.
There were also the typical donations from restaurants and resorts. I had just entered a $200 bid on a dinner for two at Bern’s Steak House and a $450 bid on 3-day Caribbean cruise, when Dick Browning caught me by the shoulder. “Jim, its nice to see you here.”
“Hi Dick,” I said as we shook hands warmly.
“Your people have done a fabulous job. I never dreamed we would be ready in time when we started this last year.”
“It’s been a real pleasure working with your group. They provided us everything we needed.”
“Jim, listen. I hate to talk business at a social event, but there are a couple gentlemen in my office that need to speak with you. They have a business proposition that I think you might want to hear. Do you have a couple minutes?”
“Sure, Dick, I always make my best decisions after a couple drinks. What’s this about?” I asked as I put my drink down and followed him to one of the small administrative offices.
“I don’t know the whole story so I’ll let them tell you. All they asked me was if we were happy with the work your firm had done here and I told them we couldn’t be more pleased.”
“That’s nice of you, Dick. I appreciate the kind words.”
“Gentlemen, this is Jim Simpson, president of Global Development and Simpson Construction. Jim, these gentlemen are from Paris. Paul Gutreau represents the Province while the other two gentlemen, Georges Hewes and Emey Labrey represent the steering committee that operates Roland Garros. Gentlemen, it’s your meeting.”
After the obligatory handshakes and pleasantries, I took a chair next to Dick and waited to hear what they had to say. All three were impeccably dressed and I was glad that I had grabbed a sport coat at the last minute. At the mention of Roland Garros, the effects of the two bourbons quickly disappeared, replaced by the adrenalin of the moment. I had a feeling this was big.
George Hewes was first to speak. “Mr. Simpson, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice and interrupting your evening. We will try to be brief and let you get back to the celebration. Mr. Browning had told us that your firm has just completed a tough job in a tight timeframe and that is why we are here. We need your help.”
Hewes paused for a moment and I took the opportunity to offer our services. “I hope we can be of service, but what is it exactly you are looking for?”
“I’m aware that you and your family were in Paris last week when terrorists attacked Roland Garros Stadium. I trust that none of your family was injured.”
I leaned forward in my chair and gave Mr. Hewes my full attention. “My family escaped injury, but thank you for asking. I’m sorry for the hundreds of citizens that were not as lucky. You and your nation have my sincere condolences.”
“Thank you. What you probably don’t know is that in addition to the tragic loss of life, the explosions caused structural damage to the foundation to the exterior walls as well as to the two stadium courts. We are still looking into the extent of the damage but we don’t think we can use the stadium until these problems are fixed.”
“No, I didn’t know the damage was that severe. I’m sorry to hear that. The news reports just said there was minor damage.”
“Let me summarize our plight,” Hewes continued. “We need to do whatever is necessary to make Roland Garros playable for next year’s tournament, but at the same time, we want to make some long-range improvements that have been on the drawing board for some years. We want to enclose the two show courts, expand seating and do some work on the infrastructure surrounding the stadium. Mr. Browning and others tell us that your firm specializes in fast-track projects.”
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sp; I sat back in my chair trying to assimilate what I just heard. “Just so I understand, there are repairs that must be completed in ten months, and long-range renovations including two domed stadiums that must be ready 12 months later. Is that correct?”
The three Frenchmen nodded in unison.
“I don’t want to sound negative, Mr. Hewes, but that seems like an ambitious undertaking.”
“Mr. Simpson, if I may add to what Georges has told you,” Emey Labrey interjected. “The Roland Garros steering committee has been working on this refurbishment plan for almost three years and have detailed drawings, cost estimates and engineering take-offs for the entire project. We have paid Bouygues, the French construction firm, 2,000,000 Euros over the past two years and have detailed manpower needs and construction schedules. We are further along on this project than you might think.”
Even after two drinks, the next question was obvious, “And what did Bouygues say when you asked them if they would do it? I assume they said no or you wouldn’t be here.”
“They said it was a three, or possible a four-year project,” Georges Hewes responded with a wry smile, “but you know how pessimistic the French can be.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his self-deprecating sense of humor. The tension in the room dissipated and I realized my mood changed from pessimistic to, how can we make this happen.
Paul Gutreau entered the conversation. “Jim, there is one other problem. The foundation that operates Roland Garros is broke and neither the city of Paris nor the Province has the money to get started. You will get paid eventually, but we need creative financing up-front. We understand that also is your specialty. The French banks will help, but it’s too big a risk for them to go it alone, especially with the terrorist threat.”
“You have been busy,” I commented with a smile. “Let me ask you, will Bouygues help? Would they be interested in a partnership or joint venture? We sure could use their expertise.”
“They will help, as long as they get paid on time and are not held responsible if the project is delayed.”
That should have been a warning, but I skipped right over it. I was in my I can do anything, superman mode which Marco had come to fear. “Okay, I’m interested. May I suggest we meet tomorrow morning in my offices and get into the details with my construction manager and staff.”
“Let’s meet Monday. Tomorrow Mr. Browning has us scheduled to play the Palmer course.” That should have been another warning, but I missed it completely.
“Where have you been? Mary asked as I sat down next to her to watch the Sampras-Agassi exhibition. Sampras was up a break, serving at 5-4 in their eight-game pro set.
“You have been begging to visit France again, without the kids. It looks like you will have your chance.”
Pete and Lisa didn’t touch a racquet for a week after we returned from Paris. Lisa, in particular, was devastated. “At least Pete got to play a set,” she complained. “I didn’t even get on the court.”
Kids are nothing, if not resilient. They soon were back in their old routine. Pete wanted to finish junior tennis with a bang and was committed to climbing to the #1 ranking in the 18s before he said goodbye and left for college. There were two boys from Miami ranked ahead of him so Pete entered a designated tournament in Ft. Lauderdale, but at the last minute both boys withdrew. They were ducking him. Pete won the tournament, but didn’t earn enough points to overtake them in the rankings.
Lisa regained her enthusiasm and starting training hard again. The 50-minute commute to Bardmoor was getting old so Lisa switched to Saddlebrook. She won a designated tournament in Jacksonville and her ranking is the 18s improved to #4. She was #1 in the 16s. Her next stop was Kalamazoo, Michigan, longtime host for the national championships.
Chapter 27
The French Proposal