by P. L. Gaus
Sonny stood up and paced in front of the divan.
With slow, deliberate words, Juliet said, “I still have the authority to delay both your trusts until you’re thirty, if I don’t like the progress you’ve made.”
“You wouldn’t,” Sonny said and stopped pacing to face his mother at the fireplace.
Juliet Favor sipped her drink, looked at her son over the top of her glass, and said, “Henry.”
DiSalvo pulled up another document on his screen and read, “I, Juliet Favor, deem that Sally Newton Favor is not presently competent to take responsibility for the trust left her by my late husband, Harry Newton Favor, and I do hereby suspend implementation of said Trust until her thirtieth birthday.”
“That means, Sonny,” Juliet explained, “that Sally is going to have to get by on an allowance of $4,000 a month until she is thirty.”
“You wouldn’t,” Sonny repeated, less confidently.
“Who’s her current lover?” Favor asked.
“You know, Mom.”
“Exactly. We’re not going to have that sort of thing among the Favors.”
“You’ve got no right to control her life like that, Mom.”
“I am simply delaying the onset of her trust. Perhaps she’ll change her mind.”
“What about Martha?”
“Don’t be silly. I won’t hear you talk this way.”
“What are you gonna do, Mom? Take away my trust too?”
Favor pointed a finger at the laptop.
DiSalvo chose another document and began to read. “I, Juliet Favor, deem that Samuel ‘Sonny’ Newton Favor is not competent . . .”
“Stop it!” Sonny shouted, arms stiff at his sides and eyes watering.
Pointing at DiSalvo’s laptop, Favor hissed, “Dump that Mennonite loser, or I’ll sign it. I swear I will, Sonny.”
Sonny froze in the center of the parlor, back straight, arms to his sides, making impotent fists. DiSalvo blushed for the boy and closed the laptop slowly. Juliet walked to Sonny and lightly embraced him. He stiffened. She took a step back, rested her left hand gently on his shoulder, and lifted his chin with the slender, tanned fingers of her right hand.
“Listen to me, Sonny. You’ve no idea how vast your father’s fortune really is. How vast mine is. And yours, if you measure up. Daddy always meant to bring you along himself, but he didn’t live that long, did he? Instead, when he knew he was ill, when you were eight, he began training me. So that I could be there when you came of age. Now you’re already a freshman. That gives us only three years. You’re going to have to excel at your studies. I’ll demand an MBA after college. I have Harvard in mind, and I’ve already started working on that. Your grades aren’t going to be that good if high school is any indication, so you’ll need my help then, as usual, and it’s time I laid the groundwork for that. No matter, it’s already in the works. But you’ll have to spend summers with me, learning how to manage the wealth. It’s not just money, Sonny. It’s holdings, directorships, chairmanships—a conglomerate you’ll never understand unless we start now.”
“What about what I want?” Sonny asked weakly.
“What you want? I’m talking about you, Sonny!” Favor shouted and shook his shoulders. “Henry, put it all on your screen there.”
DiSalvo stroked the keys of his laptop, and Juliet led her son to a seat beside the lawyer. On the screen, Sonny read an outline of his future. Board memberships in three companies upon graduation. Directorships after an MBA. CEO of one company at twenty-eight. More positions and responsibilities with each coming year. And last, when his mother was gone, complete control of the Favor fortune. The enormity of the plan staggered him, and he could not think clearly. His mind struggled with the notion that so much had been planned for him, and he felt caged. He wondered, briefly, how Martha Lehman would fit into such a life.
“Sonny,” Juliet said and sat down beside him. “Sonny, listen.
“You’ve been sheltered, Sonny. Now it’s time you faced the destiny your father and I have laid out for you. Wealth is more than money. It’s the one asset that rises above all others. It’s the only reliable commodity this world has to offer. It is the supreme commodity, Sonny, and you’ve got to learn to handle it. Oh, it takes many forms, and you’ll have to start learning about that. But Sonny, everything you’ll want in life derives from wealth. Your estate. Freedom. Power and choice. These all lie subordinate to the one thing that drives them all—raw, fabulous wealth.”
Sonny sat for a long moment as if hypnotized. He eventually stirred, and Juliet drew him to his feet.
“Now, Sonny,” she said. “Many people will come and go tonight. I want you to stay close beside me. Follow me. Listen. Learn tonight, Sonny. I do it all for you. Life’s a dance. It can be orchestrated. Watch me lead the first dance of wealth, Sonny—the Puppeteer’s Waltz. You’ve got to learn to be a puppeteer if you’re ever going to handle wealth properly.”
3
Friday, November 1 8:10 P.M.
IN MILLERSBURG, Martha Lehman parked Sonny Favor’s silver Lexus in the deep snow on the parking lot of Cal Troyer’s little white church house. A ground light shined through the falling snow to illuminate the church sign: Church of Christ, Christian. Caleb Troyer, Pastor.
Martha dried her eyes and pushed the car door open, scraping the drifts aside with the bottom edge of the door. She stepped out and sank into the snow, soaking her hose and shoes. She folded her black parka closed in front by wrapping her arms across her chest and trudged, head down against the blowing snow, to the side door of the church building, which she found unlocked. Inside, she slipped out of her parka, took off her wet shoes, and sat in the dark sanctuary’s first pew. She stared at the gold cross on the plain oak altar and tried to think. To formulate a plan.
Clearly her first meeting with Sonny’s mother had been a disaster. What right did she have to talk that way? There seemed little point in going back. But even more troubling was Sonny’s reaction. Or rather his lack of one. Send her away with his car? What had that been about? And not to have come with her?
Hurt as much as angry, Martha got up from the pew and paced in front of the altar. Frustrated, she stopped, looked at the cross, lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and shouted, “Why can’t you let me be happy? I deserve to be happy!”
From the back of the sanctuary, Cal Troyer answered, “Looks like you’ve come to the right place, Martha.”
Martha spun around and saw the short pastor coming slowly down the center aisle. “How long have you been there, Cal?” Martha asked.
“Just got here now,” Cal said, removing his coat and stomping snow off his boots onto the carpet. “I saw a car in the parking lot.”
His long white hair was tied in a ponytail. Calm eyes anchored his round face, and he smiled at her as he approached.
Martha, unnerved as usual by his peacefulness and grace, sat down and said, “Everything’s falling apart, Cal. My boyfriend’s mother hates me, and I can’t sleep through the night. My professors aren’t happy with my work anymore, and my parents think I’m a tramp. I just want to be happy, Cal. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all,” Cal said. He sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Maybe you and I need to pray about this.”
“A lot of good that’ll do,” Martha said bitterly.
“I can’t believe you mean that.”
“Maybe I’m not the girl you think I am, Cal.”
“You know you can talk to me,” Cal said. “Any time, and about anything.”
“I’ve lost my way.”
“Is it really that bad?” Cal asked.
“Nothing’s right anymore, Cal,” Martha said. Tears formed in her eyes. “There’s something wrong with me. Something really big. Something’s broken, and I’ve known I wasn’t normal for a long time. It’s horrible. You wouldn’t believe my nightmares. I can’t get a minute’s peace. I don’t know. Everything goes rotten on me. School, friends. Boyfriend. Why does God hate me?”
&nb
sp; “He doesn’t,” Cal said softly.
“Why can’t I remember my childhood?”
Cal waited a beat, then said, “What do you mean?”
“My psychiatrist knows more about my childhood than I do.”
“You weren’t much of a talker, Martha.”
“Yeah, but why? Something must have happened. From five or six to about nine, I can’t remember a thing. After that, I did bad things, Cal. Still do.”
“What does Dr. Carson say?”
“That I have issues. Something I haven’t been able to face. She says when I’m ready to face it, I’ll remember.”
“Tell me about your nightmares.”
“You’ll think I’m nuts.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s always a blue shirt. An Amish shirt. Flies off a clothesline and wraps over my face so I can’t breathe.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s heavy, Cal. The shirt is heavy on me. It gets on top of me, and I can’t breathe. Then all the other laundry on the line starts whispering. It’s Amish laundry. Amish whispering. It all piles up on me. It’s supposed to be light as a breeze, but I can’t move. Can’t get up. I’m gasping for air.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“Just you.”
“Dr. Carson could help.”
“I don’t want doctors anymore. Don’t want to be sick anymore,” Martha said, crying again. “Why can’t I be normal?”
“We need to pray about this,” Cal said.
“God doesn’t answer my prayers.”
“Have you tried?”
“Not lately.”
“You ought to.”
“God doesn’t care about me. I’ve known that since I was a kid,” Martha said and rose. There was a wild anger in her eyes.
She grabbed her parka off the pew, and then sat back down to put on her shoes. Getting up again, she said, “I’m in trouble, again, Cal. So you tell me. How has God ever cared even two cents for me?”
4
Friday, November 1 8:30 P.M.
JULIET Favor came back into the foyer squeezing her temples, and slowly climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. In the bathroom, she found a little glass bottle with a ground-glass stopper and carried it into the master bedroom, inverting the bottle to moisten the stopper. When she switched on the light, she found Sally Favor sprawled on the bed with her girlfriend in her arms. They both held champagne glasses, and they smiled at Favor and drank.
Although her ears flushed crimson, Juliet Favor showed no other immediate reaction. She tilted her head back to let her hair fall away from her face and dabbed the wet glass stopper at each temple.
“That’s just great, Sally,” Favor said bitterly. “Rub my face in it.”
“You remember Juliet, don’t you, Jenny?” Sally taunted. “She’s that trust-busting homophobe we call Mom.”
“Brat!” Favor hissed.
“Takes one to know one, Mommy Dearest,” Sally Favor replied spitefully, her speech slurred. She drained her champagne and threw the empty glass onto the carpet, where the stem broke with a muted “tink.”
Juliet Favor dabbed at her temples again and rubbed the clear liquid in with her thumbs. “Your trust is suspended, Sally. But I guess you already know that.”
“I can hire a lawyer, too,” Sally said. She took the second glass from Jenny, drank it down defiantly, and tossed it onto the carpet beside the first one. Then she pulled Jenny off the bed to stand face to face with her mother. “Why don’t you just go ahead and castrate him, Mother? I’m sure you know you’re raising a eunuch as it is.”
Favor pushed her daughter away and headed for the staircase.
Drunk, Sally listed like a ship whose cargo had broken loose in the hold. She steadied herself against a dresser, recovered, and led her lover by the hand down the staircase too rapidly, following her mother carelessly. They stumbled on the steps and grabbed for the banister near the bottom of the staircase. Once down in the foyer, Sally inquired mockingly, “Do we have another headache, Mommy? Professor Pomeroy’s little miracle bottle almost empty?”
Favor retreated into the bar and then the library, and leaned over with both palms flat on a large reading table, eyes closed, feeling pressure and pain rise in the back of her neck.
Sally entered the paneled library with her arm around Jenny, spun around with her, and ushered her into the adjoining butler’s room, where they poured the two last drinks from a champagne bottle before clanging the empty into a wastebasket beside Daniel’s desk.
Favor charged after them and said, “Since you two must have been eavesdropping, you’ll know I explained to Sonny that I can do whatever I want with your trusts.”
Sally lifted her glass high and shouted, “There’s more to life than money, Mother!”
“Get out!” Favor screamed.
“No, Mom.”
“You’re a disgrace!”
“Like I care what you think.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t bother,” Sally said and pushed with Jenny through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
Favor snatched a cordless phone from Daniel’s desk and followed. She found the two women struggling into winter coats, and, with a forced show of calm, went back slowly through the swinging doors.
JULIET found her little bottle of medicine in the bedroom and dabbed anxiously at her temples. Frustrated, she eyed the bottle, saw that it was empty, and threw it into a corner of the room. At the wall-mounted intercom, she rang impatiently for Daniel several times. No answer. She rubbed the back of her neck and moved slowly to a front window to peer out. Normally, that window gave a view of a long, curving, blacktop driveway that led down to the north side of Route 39, seven miles west of Millersburg. Tonight, she saw only a blinding blizzard of white. It unnerved her, and, feeling trapped, she retrieved the medicine bottle from the corner of the room. Suffering, with the bottle inverted close to her eyes, she tried to wet the stopper with a film of the thick liquid, but the bottle was truly empty.
In the master bathroom, Favor pulled medicines and perfumes from the medicine cabinet and cast them angrily to the floor. Pawing now, in the back of the cabinet she found an old bottle that still held some of the clear and colorless liquid. She rubbed the stopper against her temples and leaned over at the sink to calm herself. After a moment, with her balance restored, she tried the wall intercom again, with no result. She heard a faint growl outside and went back to the bedroom window to see Daniel below, on a small tractor in driving snow, plowing the blacktop circle in front of the house. Resigned for the moment, Favor got the last bit of medicine out and then composed herself to descend the staircase.
In the parlor with her lawyer DiSalvo, she busied herself for the next several minutes with the various documents they were to finalize. When she heard Daniel at the back door, she excused herself, left through the door to the dining room, and found her butler in the pantry at the back of the house.
“I’m out of medicine,” she said directly, pulling the butler aside, out of earshot of the cooks.
“Already?” Daniel asked and hung a long black dress coat on a peg beside the back door. He watched her close her eyes and rub her neck and said, “Pomeroy didn’t give you his new bottle?”
“No,” Favor replied in exasperation.
“I sent him up.”
“Never saw him.”
“He just went up. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.”
“I came through the dining room.”
“Wait right here, if you please,” Daniel said and went quickly up the back staircase to the second floor. Shortly, he returned, carrying a fresh stoppered bottle. “He put it on your dresser, ma’am.”
Grateful, Favor took the little bottle in both hands and closed her eyes as if meditating. She dabbed more of the liquid on her temples, and after composing herself, said, “OK, then. Please put this back in the bedroom. I’m afraid I left quite a mess in the bathroom
.”
“I will attend to it, ma’am,” Daniel replied.
She handed over the bottle as if it were of immense value and said, “I’ll be with DiSalvo when Laughton arrives. But I’m not going to change first. We’ll have to do that later, Daniel.”
5
Friday, November 1 8:45 P.M.
MARTHA swiped her plastic night pass through the magnetic reader at her dorm’s front entrance, pulled the heavy oak door open, and climbed the stairs to her third-floor suite. She pushed through the door, switched on the lights, and startled her roommate, who was tangled in the arms of her boyfriend on the couch, finishing a cigarette. Her roommate, only mildly embarrassed, grumbled, “Turn out the lights, would you.”
Martha switched off half the ceiling lights and sat in an old armchair, across a coffee table from the two lovers. She fanned at the smoke in front of her face and said, “Hey, Wendy. Will. Got another smoke?”
Wendy sat upright on the couch, and Will fumbled for a pouch, mumbling something unintelligible. Wendy took the pack from Will, knocked out a cigarette, and handed it across the table. Martha took a book of matches from a dirty ashtray, lit the cigarette, drew on it heavily, and said, “You didn’t think I was coming back.”
Wendy brushed stringy blond hair out of her eyes, passed the joint on to Will, and said, “No. Sonny’s not with you?”
“Back at the mansion. He’s with his mommy.”
Wendy raised her eyebrows. “You two had a fight?”
Martha shrugged. “Not so much a fight as a surrender. His mother told me off, and he said I should take his car. I wanted to leave anyway.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Beats me.”
“You going back out?”
“Not while she’s there.”
There was a knock at the door. Martha got up reluctantly and opened the door. There stood a young man in a blue Amish blouse, black vest, and heavy denim jacket. He held a black felt hat in his hands.
