Free Miranda's War by Howard; Foster

the town would allow summer concerts?”
    â€œClassical or jazz, yes.”
    He picked up the phone on the table and touched a button.
    I’d like to order in lunch for Mrs. Dalton and myself. We’ll have lobster salads from Legal Sea Foods.”
    He glanced over at Miranda. She nodded.
    â€œWine?” he asked her.
    â€œCertainly.”
    â€œAnd a split of that Pouilly-Fuissé I enjoyed, the 2008, remember?”
    â€œOh God no!”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI’ve never had a white wine that didn’t remind me of Champagne. And I’ve never had a Champagne that didn’t remind me of aging vinegar and rubbing alcohol.”
    â€œWhat would you prefer?”
    â€œA rosé from the Umbria region, before 2004.”
    â€œDone,” he said and repeated her request. “And if they don’t have it, then a bottle of the best Italian sparkling water.”
    She knew he’d go for it. He was a climber, like her, who’d spent his career buying properties in all the toniest places to gain entrée, which came at a heavy price. He’d been turned down for membership at Longwood in the late ’80s but persisted. When he’d made his fourth fortune in South End brownstones, his application was accepted. He chose not to join. Feelings at the Club were still raw. Longwood memberships, like dinner invitations at Buckingham Palace, were not declined. And when someone like Helen Mirren did just that, they had long attained what they had sought. Zenni was basically there at the pinnacle of his profession. He’d made his fortune several times over and could pursue those avenues that interested him even if they were not the most lucrative. Lincoln had prestige but didn’t have the quick upside of waterfront property. Yet he wanted it. He was still looking to climb. Miranda gradually turned the conversation to schools. His son was at Andover.
    â€œCan he get into Harvard?”
    â€œProbably not. Do you know the odds for a white male from the Boston area?”
    â€œI know. But you did it.”
    He was flattered, and she knew all too well that affirmative action, like any number of developments of the last generation, had shattered their world.
    â€œI couldn’t get in today.”
    â€œBut Harvard isn’t what it used to be. It’s for the world now. It’s not a Boston place.”
    â€œI agree,” he said. “And Boston isn’t Boston anymore. If it were, we’d be sitting in the old Custom Tower.”
    She leaned over toward him and stared into his green eyes wondering what he was like on a tennis court. Probably a wicked first serve and a deceptive second with top spin.
    â€œAnd neither of us wants to be in that ugly old building. But we want it preserved so we can gaze out this window and say this is a unique city.”

Chapter Twelve
    Julia and Karl were in his study, a comfortable wood-paneled room with books and papers piled on his desk and the coffee table. He had a few framed photos of himself with legal luminaries Elliot Richardson, Derek Bok and Elena Kagan. Otherwise, there was nothing to relieve the oppressively serious feeling Julia always had when she met him there. He didn’t know her except as a colleague and had no desire to. She’d asked him to meet her at her home a few times, and he’d declined. It was always here or at Town Hall.
    She had explained Miranda’s proposal to sell the Pierce estate.
    â€œAnd what would New England Properties do with it?”
    â€œIt would make it an elegant hall for corporate events. They even want to have classical music concerts in the summer.”
    â€œWe already have a summer concert series at the DeCordova.”
    â€œAlright, so we’ll have two. Maybe we can alternate between classical and jazz.”
    â€œAnd New England Properties is a big developer, just what Miranda has told us to avoid.”
    â€œThey build high-end tasteful