John nodded. “Yes, but you will still take the money.”
“Yes, I said I would. You can invest it for me, and I will be happy not to worry any more. Do you know the kind of worries I had? I worried that the money I earned in my shop wouldn’t be enough and that I’d have to work in a factory. I was lucky to have bought the house and that it’s paid for, because I couldn’t pay the rent they’re asking for these days. I don’t know how little stores can survive, but, oh well, that’s over my head and something for others to worry about.”
“Now, let the boy say something,” mother told father. “Tell us, John, what kinds of worries do you have over in Italy?”
John held on to his glass like a crystal ball and looked at the dark-red liquid. The thirty-year-old ceiling lamp made sparkles of light on the liquid’s surface. The wine smelled strong and spicy. “Tell me,” he began thoughtfully, “what you know about Lorenzo.”
$15,000,000,000,000
SHE SAT IN her seat like a stone statue, stiff and dazed, staring straight ahead, as the function of the seat belts and oxygen masks were being explained. She barely noticed the plane accelerate and take off. She knew only that there were people around her and heard noises and that it was all over.
It was as if she had known it all along. It was supposed to be a surprise. By God, it had been a surprise all right! If only she had cried! More than anything else she wished she had been able to cry over what had happened. Her heart was still pounding, as if hadn’t been hours ago that she had gone ballistic and screamed and bit and scratched until the hotel staff had to drag her away. If she’d had a knife in her hand she would have committed murder. Even now she felt this endless hatred, this incredible desperation that hemorrhaged out from her and it felt good to imagine ramming a knife into his throat, cutting his balls and dick off, stabbing the knife into his flesh.
Ursula Valen, a twenty-five-year-old history student and freelance journalist from Leipzig, Germany, was single again and had been for exactly two hours and fifty-five minutes. She closed her eyes. It hurt so much. It felt like a wound in her stomach, in her soul. As if he had cut out a piece of her heart. She felt like curling up in the fetal position like when you do when suffering from a bad stomachache, to cry for the rest of her life. But she knew she wouldn’t. She would go back to work tomorrow and not let anyone see her pain.
The worst part was not when she had opened the door and saw him naked, not even seeing another woman in there, naked too, of course. No, it was the way he had treated the other woman. It was the way he talked to her, the way he moved and the tone of his voice and his gestures. All the things that were supposed to just be for her, given to someone else! What she had considered to be his love just for her. What seemed to be a one-of-a-kind thing in their relationship was nothing but his routine trick to get himself laid.
How much money had she spent, how many contracts had she rejected to be with him in New York as much as possible? Enough to buy a decent car, but she was the one traded in for a newer model.
Breathe, just breathe. In. Out. And don’t think. Feel the seat pressing against your body. Take in the cold air from the ventilation system. Listen to the engines roar, to the conversations of the people around …
“Listen, John is a fairly educated American and this in our time and age.” It was the voice of a woman … impatient, sharp and hard. “How can anyone like him believe in such a thing … a prophecy?”
“I didn’t get the impression that he believes in it.” It was the voice of a man … unsure, soft, and reluctant. “He only noted that it existed and wondered if there was something to it.”
“No, no, my dear, he clearly said that he needed to keep the money together to have the entire amount available to fulfill the prophecy!”
“Is that what he said?”
“Yes it is!”
There was still that voice inside Susan that insisted she had suspected it all along. When did she get the assignment to write a background story for the automobile’s one hundredth anniversary? In December? It was clear back then that her research would take her to Chicago and Detroit. And how often had they seen each other or talked on the phone since then? She hadn’t let him know anything, just taken a flight from Chicago to New York to surprise him. But maybe it hadn’t been the spontaneous decision she tried to convince herself had been. Maybe months of festering jealousy had planned it all. What does he do when I’m not around?
Now she knew. He fucks young students.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” said the man. It was as if he only wanted peace and quiet. “Maybe he really does believe in it. But I don’t think that’s so bad.”
“It gets on my nerves. Just like when Marjorie won’t leave the house if her horoscope is bad.”
He had been such a handsome man when she first met him at the press ball of the International Historic Society. Doctor Friedhelm Funk was fifteen years older than her. His mother was an American and his father a German; he had grown up in Germany and built up a splendid scientific career in the US. He was now working as a teacher of history in New York and was an advisor to the United Nations. He was the one who wrote the synopsis of the historical background of conflict in the Balkans, which the secretary-general consulted before making any decisions about the war in Bosnia. How could she not have felt charmed by his interest in her? How could she have resisted his praise for her work?
But he had only really admitted her to the ranks of the harem parading through his bedroom.
“The one thing I do understand is that this Giacomo Fontanelli believed in his visions. He lived during the fifteenth century. It was a normal enough thing back then. But today? Please!”
What is this woman talking about? Fontanelli … she had heard the name before, in a different lifetime, in a life filled with dreams and blind love. Wasn’t he the young guy who had inherited a trillion dollars? She always thought that it was only a meaningless rumor, but obviously not. Interest and compounded interest and five hundred years time. All the magazines had done the math right down to the penny. Since then the savings accounts that were set-up for newborn babies had tripled in Germany.
Ursula Valen briefly glanced at the two passengers beside her. The man looked familiar. Of course! She had seen his picture in the Bild newspaper. He was the older brother of the trillionaire. The only one of the three brothers that was married.
If this man had a son, then he would be the richest man on earth, the newspapers wrote in their inimitable way. But instead, he’s only an IRS employee with an annual income of around forty thousand dollars.
The woman beside him must be his wife. But prophecy? What prophecy?
Ursula Valens cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said and smiled as warmly as she could. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation … your name is Fontanelli, right?” The skeptical expressions the two had melted, especially the woman’s when Ursula added: “I’m a journalist from Germany. May I be so very bold as to ask what sort of prophecy this is?”
On the return flight to Europe, John decided that he would pay a visit to Lorenzo’s family. He didn’t know what good it would do, but he had this strong desire to learn as much as he could about the boy he had never met.
When he arrived in Portecéto, Marvin had disappeared without leaving a note or letter. Jeremy told John that Marvin had used the telephone on Monday morning, and then left without saying a word, taking his backpack with him. Sofia, the housekeeper, thought she had seen him getting into a car a bit further down the street. Francesca, the chambermaid, said she had already cleaned his room. “Everything is straightened up,” she said. She bit her lip as if it were her fault that the guest from America had left.
“Very odd,” John said. He had been looking forward to spending an evening together with his friend. But it looked like Marvin must have got homesick being all alone in the big house and flown back.
The rest of the day John avoided going near the telephone, deliberately delay
ing the call to Lorenzo’s relatives in Rome. After all, they didn’t even know him. It would seem to them that he had profited from Lorenzo’s death. It was already late and the sun was low, casting the room in an orange glow by the time John finally pulled himself together and dialed the number.
And what a surprise! The woman on the other end of the line, Lorenzo’s mother, the wife of his father’s cousin, was very happy to have someone interested in her son. Yes, of course he could come, anytime he wanted. Tomorrow was no problem, she was at home anyhow.
John was relieved when he put the phone down, and his armpits were soaking wet. The deep red sun sank behind the horizon. The heavens above were clear and the first stars were shining. He looked up at the tiny twinkling spots of light, and thought how insignificant even his life and vast fortune were compared to the hugeness of the universe. The stars would keep shining whether he saved humanity or not.
To John’s surprise, he found Marvin lounging on the white sofa in the salon the next morning looking through an English music magazine.
“Hey,” he said to John without looking up. “Nice weather in New York?”
“Yeah, sure,” John answered. “Nice enough.” He slumped into an easy chair. “I’m surprised that you’re here. Last night I thought you’d flown back home.”
“No way. I like it here. I’d like to stay a while longer, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. That’s what I said.” It irritated John that Marvin didn’t look at him while they talked. And he couldn’t ignore Marvin’s clunky black shoes resting carelessly on the armrest. “Good,” John said and tried not to let his irritation show. “So, what do you plan to do here in Italy?”
“What I always do; try to get along with life.” Marvin was concentrating on a photo of a black lacquered bass guitar. He scratched his back, causing his shoes to rub on the sofa; John almost felt it himself.
“Hey, dude, could you take your shoes off the sofa.”
Marvin looked up. “Hey, are you getting stuck up on me, or what?”
“That’s alpaca leather. I can see the black streaks you’re getting on it from over here.”
Marvin didn’t budge. “I don’t think that you’ll land in the poor house if you have to buy a new one.”
“That’s right, but I won’t buy a new one,” John said with a sharpness that surprised him. “Someone put a lot of work and effort into making this sofa. Even as rich as I am, I don’t have the right to let you trash his work.”
“Okay, okay, calm down!” Marvin took the shoes off the armrest and let them plump on the floor, causing him to lie in an awkward position. “Satisfied?”
John wondered what it had become normal now for him nearly to start a fight over a sofa made of delicate leather. “Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” Marvin responded generously. “Honestly, I understand that. You’re a rich dude now, and rich dudes have nice stuff they take care of.”
John didn’t reply. With dismay John realized that they were not the same type of buddies they had been only three months ago and probably would never be so again. For some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on when the money had become a barrier between them.
“By the way, I was at Constantina’s,” Marvin told John unexpectedly.
John said, “Oh, really.” And when Marvin said no more, he added: “That’s nice. I … well; recently, when you arrived … I thought that … it was only a sort of a one-time thing.”
“It is. Well, it’s one time, then another time then another time, know what I mean? You can’t imagine how crazy she is about me.” Marvin turned the page. “Last week we almost screwed the shit out of each other, and I thought that taking a break for a few days would do us some good.” He cackled. “A future DA. She was pretty stunned when I offered her a joint. I guess she never smoked one before.”
John blinked his eyes. Marvin must be crazy to carry marijuana around. “What about Brenda?”
Marvin made a dismissive gesture. “Forget her. We’ve had our problems for a while.” He put the magazine away, stretched, and then looked around the sunlight-flooded salon as if judging the worth of the furniture. “Hey, do you have a job for me?”
“A job?” John asked surprised.
“I thought that maybe you could hire me as your personal executive secretary or whatever,” Marvin explained. “You know, your man for everything, like getting your dad’s watch, that kind of thing. You gotta admit, I did a good job with that, didn’t I? If that pawn dude had seen your name engraved on the backside of the watch, those thousand dollars you gave me would’ve never been enough.”
John just stared at him. He felt taken by surprise. “I don’t know…”
“You need someone like that, man!” Marvin’s voice had that singing tone to it that he used when he talked Konstantino into extending his credit. “You’re rich now, and you’re famous. You can’t go anywhere without bodyguards. People stare at you wherever you go. Your money is your golden cage, man, and that’s why you need a personal secretary, someone like me, smart, inventive, and trustworthy. Someone you can send off to do your dirty work.”
John felt cornered. For some reason he didn’t have a good feeling about the idea. Marvin had told him some crazy stories about his previous jobs and how he had been taken advantage of and treated badly. He had always doubted that Marvin was as innocent as he had let on. On the other hand, the more Marvin talked to him about it the more it seemed like the inevitable next step. As if this was a new way to touch base with his friend. “Okay, you’re hired,” he said, not fully enthusiastic about the newest staff member.
“Hey, I knew I could count on you, buddy!” Marvin grinned. “I take it that it’ll be okay for me to live here. You need your secretary within hollering distance, right?” He must’ve noticed the shadow in John’s face, because he added quickly: “For the time being, of course. I figure that Constantina will want me to move in with her soon anyhow, she just can’t get enough of me. And, oh, by the way, how much do you pay?”
John didn’t feel like thinking about that now. “How much were you thinking about?”
“How about five grand a month?”
“Okay.” What was five grand for him? He made that much in the time it took to draw breath. Besides, Marvin would no doubt be at Constantina’s more than anywhere else.
Then something occurred to him. He got out the notepad that he had had with him on the plane and read the scribbled sentences. “I’ve got your first errand right here,” he told Marvin.
“Well, looky here,” Marvin said with somewhat unconvincing enthusiasm.
“I need books in English. I can’t send Jeremy — he’s a Spaniard and knows only the English as he needs to be a butler. And I’d like to avoid going myself with the bodyguards and all.”
“Books?” Marvin said and looked as if he had never heard of this word before.
“I need everything you can find about the environment, world population growth, greenhouse effect, air pollution, species extinction, the ozone layer, and so forth. I want a complete library concerning humanity’s future.”
“Wait,” Marvin mumbled. “I have to write all that down. Do you have a pen and paper?”
John handed him his pen from his notepad and Marvin started to scribble on the cover of the magazine. “Okay, what was that … environment and what else?”
John told him again. “And books on the economy and finances — whatever you can find.”
“You’re gonna need a bunch of bookshelves, I guess.”
“Yes. Get those too while you’re at it. And you can put them up. We’ll make a library in one of the smaller salons in the back.”
Marvin looked concentrated. “Any ideas where I can find English books in spaghetti-land?”
“No,” John admitted. “I’d start looking in Florence. That’s a university town, after all.”
“Will do. Can I take the Ferrari?”
“I’ll need it later,” John said. M
arvin would take John’s toothbrush if he let him have everything. “You can use the little delivery van. Sofia’s got the keys.”
“Is that the housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Marvin got up lethargically. “This is all a bit faster than I had imagined. I suppose I should set up a bank account and stuff okay?”
“Go ahead. Give Jeremy the number. He’s in charge of the staff.”
“I see — everything is properly organized here.” As he went out he stopped and turned around with an unsatisfied expression. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You would’ve paid me ten grand if I would’ve asked for it, wouldn’t you?”
John shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know if he would have.
“Shit,” Marvin mumbled and left.
When the phone rang a short time later John knew that it was the stranger. He just knew it.
“Did you think about what I said?” the dark voice wanted to know.
“I’ve thought of nothing else,” John answered and suddenly felt like getting on the guy’s nerves. “Did you happen to fly from New York to Paris yesterday?”
“What? No.”
Now there was something, it wasn’t impossible to rattle his composure.
“I just thought I recognized you.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a subdued laugh. “Nice try.” He did very well regaining his composure. “But now let’s get back to your plans. What will you do with all the money?”
“My best idea so far is to start a global birth control measure.” Why was he talking about this? But on the other hand, why not? It was a lie, after all. The truth was that he was still totally confused. And he didn’t want to tell the stranger that.
One Trillion Dollars Page 22
