Second Love

by Gould, Judith

  Now Dorothy-Anne remembered her reply. 'Then bank it. It's yours. You've earned it.'

  'Mom?'

  Dorothy-Anne was jerked out of her reverie by Liz's voice. She looked at her daughter questioningly.

  'You didn't know about this investment fund, did you?' Liz had a serious look on her face.

  'No, sweetie,' Dorothy-Anne said shakily. 'I knew absolutely nothing about it.'

  Liz got up and hugged her mother tightly. 'Oh, Mom,' Liz said, 'this is just like Daddy. A big surprise gift . . . from . . . beyond.'

  There was a knock at the door, and Venetia called out. 'Dorothy- Anne?'

  'Come on in, Venetia,' Dorothy-Anne answered.

  Venetia came into the room slowly, warily, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. 'Am I interrupting something?' she whispered.

  Liz and Dorothy-Anne saw the expression on her face and laughed in unison.

  'What . . . what's going on?' Venetia asked cautiously.

  Dorothy-Anne gave Liz a squeeze and let her go. She turned to Venetia and said, 'You're not going to believe it. Look at the monitor. See for yourself.'

  'Mom,' Liz said, 'if you don't need me anymore, is it all right if I go do some computer work of my own?'

  'Sure,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'And Liz.' She looked into her daughter's eyes. 'Thank you.'

  'Any time!' Liz said, and left the room.

  Venetia stood peering at the computer monitor, scrolling the document on the screen back and forth. She finally looked over at Dorothy- Anne with a gleam in her eyes and a wide smile on her lips.

  'Child!' she said in a near-whisper. 'This is, like, blowing your girlfriend away. I mean . . . this is one hell of a piece of news!' She looked at Dorothy-Anne seriously. 'You didn't know anything about this?'

  Dorothy-Anne shook her head. 'No,' she replied. 'It came as a complete surprise. I saw a note on Freddie's calendar. It was about this file and getting in touch with somebody in Aspen. It turned out to be this woman . . . Caroline Springer-Vos.' She looked at Venetia questioningly. 'Did you ever hear of her?'

  'Hear of her!' Venetia exclaimed. 'You haven't? Where have you been, girl?'

  'I know I've heard the name,' Dorothy-Anne said, 'but I can't for the life of me remember who she is.'

  'Dorothy-Anne,' Venetia said, as if lecturing a child, 'she is only the greatest financial investment adviser in the whole wide world. As in the planet. As in Earth?' She gave Dorothy-Anne a significant look.

  'Only she's about a hundred and fifty years old and has been more or less retired for years,' Venetia continued. 'And from what I hear, she only works for two or three very special people. All very secretive.'

  'Of course,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'It's just been so long since I've heard anything about her, I couldn't place the name.'

  The telephone rang on Freddie's desk. It was his private line. 'You want me to get it?' Venetia asked.

  Dorothy-Anne considered for a moment, then said, 'No, Venetia, thanks,' she finally said. 'I think I can handle it.' She picked up the receiver. 'Hello?'

  Her eyes grew wide with excitement and she put her hand over the receiver. 'It's Caroline Springer-Vos,' she whispered to Venetia.

  'You want me to leave?' Venetia whispered back.

  Dorothy-Anne shook her head.

  Venetia began pacing the room, trying to ignore Dorothy-Anne's voice in the background as she talked to the legendary financial wizard. At Freddie's antique architect's table, she stopped to look at the plans for Eden Isle spread out there, studying them for the umpteenth time, still fascinated by the imagination that created them.

  Finally, Dorothy-Anne hung up the telephone and turned to Venetia. She was obviously still nervous with excitement, but trying to contain it. 'Venetia,' she said. 'Caroline Springer-Vos just confirmed everything. There is seventy-three million dollars in the account—and it's in my name, too. It was a joint account, automatically transferable to either of us should something happen to the other. Without going through probate.'

  'But why didn't she let you know about this?' Venetia asked. 'My God, it's been three months!'

  'She tried to,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'She's been leaving E-mail messages ever since she found out about Freddie's death. She said that Freddie insisted that she was only to contact me via E-mail here at home, should something happen to him. He didn't want anyone else to know about this. I didn't have Liz check his E-mail. It hasn't been checked since his death!'

  'Freddie knew if anything happened, his brilliant daughter would eventually be getting to his E-mail.' Venetia laughed. 'Only she got to this file first.'

  'The only reason Springer-Vos called me now,' Dorothy-Anne said, 'was because I left a message for her personally after I found her number.'

  'So she assumed it was cool,' Venetia said.

  'I can still hardly believe it,' Dorothy-Anne said. She stared at Venetia. 'Do you know what this means, Venetia?' she asked.

  'I think I'm going to find out,' came Venetia's retort.

  'The fifty million dollars due on May fifteenth is in the bag,' Dorothy-Anne said triumphantly. 'It will be paid in full before Sir Ian or the bank can do anything.' She shot an arm into the air. 'Yes,' she crowed. 'It will be paid in full, straight from this account.'

  Dorothy-Anne smiled at her friend with mischievous glee in her eyes. 'But we'll keep this to ourselves, won't we? I want to surprise these nasty bankers.'

  A conspiratorial smile spread across Venetia's face. 'My lips are sealed,' she said with impish delight.

  'I can hardly wait to see the look on that smug face,' Dorothy-Anne said gloatingly, 'when Sir Ian sees the check.'

  And she thought: Somewhere Freddie is smiling.

  51

  So, no rest for the weary. Now Amber was on his case. Nag-nag-nag.

  Bitching about how he wasn't around enough lately so she could bitch at him! Something eating at her, only she wouldn't come right out and say what.

  Not that Christos gave a rat's ass. He tuned her out and tried to get some shut-eye.

  He needed rest. It had been a long day, and he had an even longer night ahead of him.

  Instead of counting sheep, he decided to review the events of the day.

  His accomplishments had been prodigious.

  The silver Tercel had checked out. The model was old enough not to be equipped with car alarms, and a test drive had proved it to be in sound mechanical condition. The body was a little rusty, but hey. Big fuckin' deal. It wasn't like he was shelling out good money for it. And besides, a look under the hood ascertained that it came equipped with a new battery.

  Moreover, Christos was now the proud owner of a certain icy blue '85 Coupe de Ville, for which he'd paid legal tender. It was registered to one Ivan P. Smirke, the name on an extra driver's license Christos happened to be carrying around.

  For the time being, the Caddy was safely stashed in a parking garage off Van Ness—mainly so Amber would be none the wiser.

  In the afternoon, Christos had gone looking for Carlos, the locksmith, at the hardware store on Mission, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth. It was the kind of place that catered to a Spanish clientele and sold tools, toasters, cheap boxed knife sets and plastic dishes, and was big on layaways.

  He'd had to drop by twice before he found the guy with the name Carlos embroidered on his work shirt. A wiry little squirt, sleeves rolled up to display jailhouse tattoos.

  Christos waited for him to finish laying away a set of nonstick cook- ware boxed in shrink wrap for a Spanish lady, five dollars down, two bucks a week for nine weeks.

  As soon as she was gone, Christos sidled up to the counter and looked at Carlos, saying, 'Slick sent me,' by way of an introduction.

  Carlos motioned him aside and looked him over. 'Yeah?'

  'Said you were the man to see about getting this made.' Christos showing him the little slide-top contraption with the wax impression.

  Carlos wasn't stupid. Recognizing the mold as a car key, he put two and two together. 'C
ost you four C-beels,' he said. 'Half een advance, half when you peek eet up.'

  Four hundred smackeroos?

  'You got to be kidding.' Christos looking to see if he was.

  And Carlos, deadpan, shrugged his shoulders and said, 'Take eet or leave eet. Ees no skin off my back, man.'

  Christos knew he was in no position to argue. Shit. He needed that key. Carlos was no doubt aware of that fact. So he went ahead and peeled off two hundred-dollar bills from the wad in his pocket. Crisp new ones, kind that looked like play money with the big engraving of Ben Franklin.

  Carlos palmed the bills and the wax mold. 'Come back before closing time.'

  When Christos returned at a quarter to six, Carlos had the key ready. But before handing over the final two hundred, Christos had a question. 'What if it doesn't fit?'

  Carlos giving him a look, quiet for a moment. 'Eet feet,' he said real softly.

  'You sound sure of yourself.'

  'I am sure, man.'

  Then Carlos surprised him, saying, 'Here. Thees ees on the house.' Handing him a little brown paper bag.

  Christos looked inside. It was a screwdriver.

  'Eet so you don' forget to sweetch license plates. My advice, do eet right away. Eef you fock around, you be stampin' out license plates, man. Hear what I'm saying'?'

  Christos, not sure how to take it—as well-intentioned advice or a put-down—just nodded and left.

  Next, he'd driven the de Ville out to the airport, SFO. Parked it in the short-term garage, and headed to the long-term garage on foot. Keeping his eyes peeled for the oldest car around, one that probably wasn't equipped with an alarm.

  Once again, fortune smiled on him. He found an old Celica, unscrewed its plates, stuck them inside his jacket, and returned to the de Ville. Driving back into the city, he decided he'd wait until after the bars closed, two in the morning, to boost the Tercel. Then switch plates at the first opportunity.

  Now, letting Amber's yakking go in one ear and right out the other, something about their not communicating, Christos rolled over. The next thing he knew he must have dozed off, because when he awoke, Amber's plastic wall clock, one of those pink cats with bug eyes clicking left and right, left and right, with a pendulum for a tail, indicated it was nearing midnight.

  Yawning, he sat up and rubbed his hair.

  He was alone. Amber was gone, probably at the topless club, shaking her boobs at tourists. He decided some strong coffee was in order. He had a car to boost, and it behooved him to be fully awake.

  52

  Monday, Dorothy-Anne strode out of the private elevator that let out directly into her office. It was ten a.m. and she had a confident spring in her step and a glow on her face. Her cream Chanel suit was trimmed with aqua braid the precise shade of her sparkling eyes and had gilt buttons that complemented the gold of her hair.

  She swung her Vuitton briefcase onto her Regency desk, unlatched it, popped it open, and withdrew a sheaf of papers.

  Before she could sit down, Cecilia Rosen, severely chic as ever, elbowed her way through the door from the service area next door, sterling tray in hand. On it were the requisite cappuccino, grapefruit juice, and tiny, fat-free Danish.

  'You've got an unexpected arrival in the outer office,' she said without fanfare. 'Ian Connery is chomping at the bit to see you. He doesn't have an appointment. Didn't call beforehand. Nothing. Just showed up.' She looked at Dorothy-Anne with disgust.

  Sir Ian Connery, Dorothy-Anne mused. Well, well, well. Now I wonder what he could want?

  But, of course, she was certain that she knew. He was here to deliver the bad news. From Pan Pacific Bank. They were not going to extend the due date for the fifty million dollars due on May 15. This was one bearer of bad tidings she couldn't wait to see.

  Cecilia was staring at her, with an expectant look on her face. She set her cup of cappuccino down. 'So. Shall I send in Sir Ian now?'

  Dorothy-Anne stared at her thoughtfully. 'Why don't we finish our coffee at a leisurely pace, then you can show Sir Ian in. Okay?'

  Cecilia grinned. 'I see. Keep the snotty vulture waiting a little longer. Great.'

  The service area door opened again and Venetia swept into the room. 'My, my! Just in time for a kaffee klatsch, I see!' She went over to the tray and poured herself a cup of cappuccino, then took a seat in the chair next to Cecilia and crossed her long, elegant legs.

  'Good morning!' Dorothy-Anne said with a smile. 'Am I glad you're here.'

  'What's up?' Venetia asked, sipping her cappuccino.

  'We have a very special visitor,' Dorothy-Anne said. 'And I think you'll enjoy seeing him today.'

  'Who?' Venetia asked.

  'Sir Ian Connery,' Dorothy-Anne replied with a mirthful tone of voice.

  Venetia almost choked on her cappuccino. She put her cup down and clapped her hands together with glee. 'Ah! This is rich! Really rich! I can hardly wait!'

  Cecilia looked from Venetia to Dorothy-Anne and back again. Then she set her cup down, brushed off her hands, and stood.

  'I think I'll make myself scarce,' she said with a hint of self- righteousness. 'I've got a lot to do today while you two talk in riddles.' She looked at Dorothy-Anne. 'Buzz me when you're ready for Sir Ian.'

  Dorothy-Anne looked up at her. 'Don't be offended, Cecilia,' she said. 'We'll fill you in on the details later. In the meantime, why don't you send Sir Ian on in?'

  'Right away,' Cecilia responded and walked purposefully out of the office.

  Venetia looked over at Dorothy-Anne and gave her a quick wink and a thumbs-up sign.

  It was only moments before Cecilia opened the door to the outer office and announced Sir Ian Connery.

  'Mrs. Cantwell,' Sir Ian intoned in his rich, plummy voice. 'How are you? Well, I trust?'

  The well-fed aristocrat strode toward Dorothy-Anne with a small, pudgy hand extended. Dorothy-Anne rose from behind her desk and walked around to shake it, noting that he seemed puffed up with self- importance today.

  'Fine, thank you, Sir Ian,' Dorothy-Anne responded, shaking his hand. 'And you?'

  'Very well, thanks,' he said, a smile planted on his chubby, pink face.

  A greedy smile, Dorothy-Anne thought. A vulture's smile.

  'Venetia,' Dorothy-Anne said, 'I'd like you to meet Sir Ian Connery of Pan Pacific Bank. Sir Ian, Venetia Flood, our head of publicity.'

  Sir Ian turned to the beautiful African-American woman, who had risen from her chair, hand proffered. He merely gave a nod of his head. 'How do you do?' he said in an offhand manner.

  Venetia drew her hand back to her side, smiled widely, despite the slight, and said: 'A pleasure, Sir Ian. One I've been waiting for.'

  'Why don't you have a seat, Sir Ian,' Dorothy-Anne said, indicating the chair next to Venetia, 'and tell us what this surprise visit is about.' She returned to her seat, and Venetia sat down again.

  Sir Ian Connery looked from Venetia to Dorothy-Anne. 'I think, Mrs. Cantwell,' he said, 'you'll want to have this conversation in privacy. A bit personal.' He chuckled. 'No offense, of course.'

  'Of course,' Dorothy-Anne said coolly. 'However, anything you have to discuss with me, you can discuss in front of Ms. Flood. She is one of the powers that be behind the Hale Companies, and my best friend. I have no secrets from her.'

  'If you insist,' Sir Ian said. He sat in the chair next to Venetia, and crossed the chalk-striped, black legs of his Savile Row suit. Then he shot his cuffs and eyed his gleaming gold Rolex.

  'Why don't you get straight to the point, Sir Ian?' Dorothy-Anne said, staring at him levelly.

  'Yes, yes,' Sir Ian said. 'You see, Mrs. Cantwell. Here as a representative of Pan Pacific. The bank, of course. Regrettably, they have sent me to inform you that they have decided not to extend the due date for the fifty million dollars.' He paused, the benign smile on his face widening somewhat. 'The hour is at hand, so to speak.'

  'I see,' Dorothy-Anne said neutrally.

  'However,' Sir Ian continued, 'we do h
ave a proposal. One you can't refuse, I think.' He chuckled lightly.

  Dorothy-Anne stared at him wordlessly, and caught Venetia looking at him with an expression of barely contained amusement. 'And what is this offer I can't refuse,' she replied.

  'What we're willing to do, Mrs. Cantwell,' he went on, 'is take a percentage. Of the Hale Companies. A small percentage of stock, you understand.' He stared at her over the desk. 'But control of the boardroom.' He raised his barbed-wire eyebrows at her. 'Managerial control. One might say. Have to work out the details, of course.'

  'In other words, Sir Ian,' Dorothy-Anne said in a frigid tone, 'you want a percentage of the Hale Companies and you want to kick me out. So you can run it yourself. Right?'

  'Bluntly put,' he replied. 'One might say that is essentially what we're offering. To salvage your company, of course.' Sir Ian's smile never wavered. 'Run it the way we see fit. We would be doing you a huge favor. Huge favor.'

  Dorothy-Anne exchanged glances with Venetia, whose eyes had grown wide with genuine amazement. Then she turned the full power of her beautiful, now blazing, aquamarine eyes on Sir Ian.

  'I think, Sir Ian,' she said quietly, 'that we might as well end our little meeting.'

  'What? We're in agreement, then,' he said. 'Very good.'

  'I don't think so,' Dorothy-Anne said, her voice dripping with ice.

  Sir Ian looked at her, surprise registering on his baby-smooth face as he finally took in her meaning.

  Dorothy-Anne picked up the stack of papers she had taken from her briefcase earlier, and extracted a letter with a check attached to it.

  She handed the letter and check over the desk to Sir Ian, and sat back, a snow queen's smile on her face.

  'If you'll notice, Sir Ian,' she said, 'that is a check drawn on me personally for the full fifty million dollars that is coming due.'