“I’m not calling about your case.”
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Humpy Wheeler didn’t call you?”
“No. Why would he?”
“No reason,” I said, suddenly a bit defensive. “It’s just that you said you had good news.”
“I do. Frank Fanoflincoln died. Isn’t that great?”
“Hey, I know he wasn’t a saint, but how about a little respect for the dead?”
“Respect? I’ve got more than that. I’ve got his last will and testament. You’ll have to forgive my enthusiasm. I get a little excited whenever one of my estates matures.”
“Did you draft the Link’s will?”
“Yes, I did. But even better, I’m the executor of the estate.”
“I thought the rules of ethics prohibited the lawyer who drew the will from also serving as the executor. Something about a conflict of interest.”
“Sky, Sky, Sky. The ethics guys try to take all the fun, and worse, all the fees, out of practicing law. None of that conflicts bullshit is important. What’s important here is that, if memory serves, you are the intended beneficiary of a sizable bequest.”
I swallowed.
“I am?”
“Yes. I’m going to be reading the will tomorrow morning at my office. Why don’t you come over around ten A.M.?”
“Okay,” I answered, a bit stunned by the news. “I’ll stop by.”
After the call ended, I wandered around the house in disbelief for some time. Why would the Link leave me anything after what happened at the convent? Then the obvious hit me. Of course. He’d never had the chance to change his will. He’d been in a coma. But still, before that, before I helped put him in a coma, he’d thought enough of me to leave me something. Suddenly, whatever warm words he’d ever shared with me in life took on added significance in death. I could no longer disregard them as manipulative gestures, like I had when he was living. The Link cared about me. He cared a lot. This shouldn’t have been important to me, but it was.
I called Cal to tell him about the trip.
“How’d everything go?”
“I think it went well.”
“Were you tailed?”
“No, I wasn’t tailed. Who would be tailing me?”
“I don’t know. This whole thing has me jumpy.”
“Well, there’s nothing to be jumpy about. It’s all over.”
“So Thickens is going to talk to Humpy Wheeler?”
“He said he would.”
“God, that’s great.”
“Just make sure the contest evidence is secure.”
“I will. (Pause) Did the SERMON suit come up?”
I hesitated.
“No, it didn’t. I’ll have to find another way to get my pension.”
“You’re a good friend.”
“Thanks. (Pause) Listen, I need to call Annette. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”
I purposely avoided telling Cal about the Link’s will. In a strange way I felt guilty about inheriting anything from someone I’d disparaged so frequently in front of my best friend. I called Annette to clear my conscience, a difficult thing to do, considering my rectal cancer charade. It was academic anyway, since she wasn’t around, forced out for the evening by some political fund-raiser, no doubt.
Ethan was also out when I tried him, but Skull advised me Macrocock.com’s share price was off $20 from its peak and that management had been forced to make eighteen layoffs recently. Fortunately, my son was not among them, but his roommate painted a bleaker picture of the fledgling start-up’s finances than I’d ever heard before. All staff were now subjected to Mussolinilike motivational speeches from their appointed leader, some twenty-seven-year-old named Bilbo with a nipple piercing. When Skull joked that soon he’d be back to passing out on my lawn for a living, I knew not to rely too heavily on Ethan’s enterprise for my fiscal future. From what M.C. said, however, it didn’t sound like I’d need to. The irony that the source of my money problems might prove to be their solution was impossible to ignore. Exhausted, I went to bed, humbled by the Link’s death and my own life.
38
Bequest
THE LAW OFFICES OF M.C. SHUFELBARGER
The brown shag carpeting and orange vinyl furniture in M.C. Shufelbarger’s office were as rude as Randi, the receptionist.
“Whaddya want?” The question sprang from her red-lipsticked mouth, along with a loud snap of gum.
“Uh . . . yes, I’m here to see M.C.”
“ ’Bout what?” Without looking up at me, Randi busily lined up a toenail to trim from the foot propped up on her desk.
“About the Fanoflincoln will.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m Sky Thorne. I’m a client.”
“Nah. I don’t think so. I know all of M.C.’s clients.”
“Believe me, I’m a client. I’ve been in here more times than I care to think about the past three months. I’m sure you recognize me.”
“Nah. You don’t look familiar.”
“Will you at least look up at me before you say that?”
Visibly perturbed, Randi craned her neck upward and took a long look at my frowning face.
“Wait.”
“Recognize me now?”
“Yeah, I do. You’re the guy who got all those crippled kids hooked on porn. Shame on you.”
“I didn’t get anyone hooked on porn. It was an advertising campaign that . . .”
“They’re all in back,” she said, cutting me off midsentence and signaling for me to take leave of her.
Sullied by the exchange, I put my head down and traveled further into the bowels of M.C.’s brown carpetdom, guided only by the voices of the Fanoflincoln brothers—men clearly still in the grip of their grieving.
“I’m telling you right now, he’s number one in scoring average, number one in driving distance, and number one in greens in regulation, but only number two in sand save percentage.”
“Ted, you don’t know shit,” Ned declared. “He’s number two in scoring average, two in driving distance, one in greens in regulation and number eight in sand save percentage.”
“Yeah, but what about his driving accuracy and scrambling rank?” Fred asked, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. “He’s nowhere in those categories. Goddamn Duffy Waldorf blows his doors in scrambling.”
“Will you shut up, Fred?”
“All I’m saying is that Tiger’s got a long way to go before he’s number one in my book.”
“As if he cares.”
“You don’t think he cares what the fans think?”
“He sure as hell doesn’t care what you think.”
My entrance to the room brought the great golf debate to a close. The brothers, dressed identically in black shirts, knickers, tam-o’-shanters and spiked shoes, were shocked to see me. I spoke to break the silence.
“Guys, I’m very sorry about your father. (Pause) I knew him for a long time and well, (Pause) he was really something.”
Dead air returned until Ned filled it.
“Sky, why are you here?”
“Well, uh, M.C. told me to come down. Didn’t he mention anything to you?”
“Oh, I get it,” Ned said, a lightbulb going off above his head. “You’re here to talk about your upcoming trial.”
“Ordinarily yes, but not today. I, uh . . .”
“He’s here for the reading of your father’s will,” M.C. blurted out, entering the room with an armful of files and a Slim Jim dangling from his mouth.
“What?” the brothers exclaimed in disbelieving unison.
“He’s in the will. I told you that.”
“No, you didn’t. This has got to be a mistake,” Fred insisted.
“There’s no way our father put Sky in his will.”
“That’s right. There’s no way!”
“Now don’t get your undies in a wad,” M
.C. warned. “Just sit down and let’s get started.”
“This is total B.S.,” Ned fumed.
Ned, Ted and Fred took seats, crammed three across on an orange vinyl couch, while I remained standing near the door and befriended a dead potted plant.
“Take a seat, Sky.”
“I’d rather stand, M.C.”
“Suit yourself.”
M.C. shuffled the papers in front of him like a deck of cards until he located what he was looking for. Organized files were not his strong suit.
“Okay, this is it. I’ve found the will. Are you ready?”
Palpable tension, the product of fear and anticipation, could be felt as M.C. held up the document from across the room and began to read.
“‘I, Frank Fanoflincoln, being of sound body and mind, hereby bequeath all right, title and interest in my worldly possessions as follows: To the Monroe County Chapter of the Ulysses S. Grant Society, I leave my guns, my collection of Matthew Brady photographs and all of my rayon sweatsuits for use as ponchos in future battle reenactments.’ ”
“He gave them the guns?” Ted asked in disbelief. “I wanted those,” he whined.
“Shut up, Ted,” Ned demanded.
“‘To the Queer Nation, in honor of my hero, Abraham Lincoln, I leave three hundred thousand dollars for the establishment of a scholarship fund in his name.’ ”
“No waayyy!” Ned shouted in agony.
“I told you Lincoln was gay!” Fred jumped up from the couch and pointed his finger at his brothers. “I told you! But you wouldn’t listen!”
“I don’t believe it.” Ned was defiant.
“Neither do I. Where does it say that in the will, M.C.? I want to see that,” Ted demanded.
The three Fanoflincoln brothers stormed toward M.C. and surrounded him at his desk, daring the executor to point out the provision.
“Son of a bitch! It’s right there. I see it,” Ted conceded.
“Three hundred grand. Right down the shooter,” said Ned.
“More like up the shooter.”
“I told you Lincoln was gay, but you wouldn’t listen to me.”
“We’re named after a gay guy. This is total B.S.!”
“Boys, you have to get back on the couch so we can continue,” M.C. implored them.
Ned, Ted and Fred, collectively stunned, slowly stumbled back to their respective seats of orange vinyl while M.C. continued.
“Let’s see what else we have here. (Pause) Well, well, well. Sky, let me be the first to congratulate you. It looks like your ship has finally come in.”
An audible chorus of gasps came from Ned, Ted and Fred as they contemplated the impossible: the loss of their inheritance.
“I mean it has literally come in.”
“What did he leave me?” I asked excitedly, financial independence mere moments away.
“Settle down now. Let me read the will.”
Shufelbarger ran his finger down the yellowed document until he found the desired passage.
“ ‘To Sky Thorne, in gratitude for keeping my spirits and my company afloat more times than I care to remember, I leave my beloved boat Bastard Boy and...’ ”
M.C. paused.
“Hold on a moment. I seem to have lost my place.”
There was still a chance. Anything could follow the word “and.” Cash, stock, jewelry. I could still be taken out of servitude. I could still walk away from all of this with a pile of fuck you money.
“Okay, here we go,” M.C. continued. “It says, ‘I leave my beloved boat Bastard Boy and my collection of adult films that I keep down below in the main cabin.’ ”
“He got the boat and the films? Didn’t he leave anything for us?” Ned wondered bitterly.
“Yes, he did. He left this video,” M.C. shot back, holding aloft a black cassette.
M.C. stood and opened a cabinet behind him housing a large television and VCR. As he popped in the tape, my mind drifted off to what could have been. Still, I had the boat, something I could sell for a fair amount. I had no right to be the slightest bit disappointed.
“Hello, boys, this is your father speaking.”
The Link’s fat face lit up the television screen. He was dressed in a purple sweatsuit (his favorite) and appeared to be eating strips of bacon.
“Just finishing breakfast here and thought I’d make this tape. I’m not getting any younger and I want to talk to you, father to son.”
The Link paused to wipe grease from his mouth with a paper towel.
“First of all, you get the old homestead. It would have killed me to sell Gristle-Vale while I was living, but now that I’m gone, I want you to get rid of it. I’d die twice knowing my family was there having fun without me. I’m sure you understand. (Pause) Sell it and split the proceeds one-third each. Actually, on second thought, Ned and Ted, you take forty percent each and give Fred twenty. He needs to shape up a bit.”
“Aw shit,” Fred moaned dejectedly.
“Neddie, (Pause) Teddie, (Pause) Freddie (Pause). These are troubled times we’re (Pause), I guess I should say you’re living in today.” The Link’s face turned visibly more somber.
“You’ve got all these crazy activists from PETA and Green-peace and the Junior League. You’ve got those Jackie Chan movies and that stupid Survivor show. You’ve got people spellin’ ‘woman’ with a ‘y’ and that guy from Inside the Actor’s Studio with his asinine French questionnaire. There’s this whole lattice, I don’t know what else to call it, covering the country like a sheet of cellophane on top of a casserole, and you can’t get out from under it.”
The Link ate another piece of bacon, swallowing it quickly.
“See, I never told you the whole truth about the American dream. In America, we love to build people up. We build ’em up and up and up. Higher than they ever thought they’d go and higher than they ever wanted to go. Why? (Pause) So we can tear ’em down. Bill Clinton. Clarence Thomas. O.J. Simpson. Newt Gingrich. Pee Wee Herman. Successful men America tore down. Everybody’s a target. Everybody who’s willing to stick their nose up above the pack and say, ‘Hey, I’ve got something special to offer— something nobody else has got.’ Now there are folks who think they can get out from under the cellophane—master-of-the-universe types like Larry Ellison and Bill Gates and that little red-haired chick on the Pepsi commericals—but they can’t for one simple reason. America’s out there waiting. Just waiting for the slightest screwup, the smallest crack, that one piece of information that’ll begin the process of destruction. And if it doesn’t exist, America will manufacture it, make it up out of thin air. Used to be you had to be a big star for this to happen. You had to be president or heavyweight champion or Frank Sinatra. America wouldn’t waste its time with Congressmen or talk show hosts or those kids from Diff’rent Strokes. But now it doesn’t matter. We’ll rip down anyone who’s built up anything, including me, your old man.”
The Link shook his head, conveying his disappointment.
“Take a look around. They’re coming after Tailburger and they’re coming after her hard. The animal rights cabal, the food safety freaks, the fitness fanatics, SERMON. And that’s just for starters. Sadly, the list goes on and on and on. (Pause) So I’m doing what an officer does for his infantrymen. I’m leaving you all my shares in Tailburger, a fifty-one percent interest in the company, on one condition: that you get out of the business right now and dump the stock—when it still has some value. Ten-dollar shares of Tailburger won’t be worth ten cents in two years. Mark my words. (Pause) This is an order. If you don’t sell the securities within two weeks of my death, the shares go to Joey Puma’s campaign fund. I don’t care if his wife does have a beard, I don’t want to see Thickens in the governor’s mansion.”
The Link stopped talking and looked wistfully into the camera.
“Boys, you know I love you. More than I ever said when I was alive. (Pause) And I’m damn proud of you. (Pause) Remember that.”
M.C.’s office was silent wit
h the exception of the sniffles emanating from the Fanoflincoln brothers. They had the approval every child seeks, and I had a buyer for Cal’s business.
The Link finished with his favorite words.
“So for the final time, I ask you, as the great Abraham Lincoln once asked Congress, ‘Can we do better? The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise to the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew!’ (Pause) Good-bye.”
39
Life Preserver Thrown
ANNETTE’S KITCHEN
“Let’s go on a trip.”
“Sky, that’s a great idea. We can go to Vermont for a weekend. Just get away from it all. Just you and me.”
“Actually, I was thinking of someplace a little more exotic.”
“How about Burlington? You never know what you’ll see there.”
“I don’t think you understand. I want to go to Tahiti.”
“Tahiti? For a weekend?”
“Annette, I’m not talking about a weekend. I want to go away for a while.”
“You mean a week?”
“Longer.”
“Not a month?”
“Longer.”
“But your health. You need to be here for treatment.”
“I’m feeling fine.”
“What about your trial? It’s starting in three weeks.”
“There isn’t going to be a trial.”
“There isn’t?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”
“Sky, what’s going on?”
“It’s hard to explain. See, I just came from the reading of the Link’s will and (Pause) well, it made me realize some things. (Pause) Annette, I owe you an apology.”
“Why? We’ve had a few ups and downs, but you don’t owe me an apology.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been walking around this past year feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been blaming others and making excuses for why I wasn’t living the life I wanted.”
“We all do that sometimes.”
“Maybe, but I did something worse. I put myself in a position where I felt I had to lie to the people I care about in order to protect my own self-interests. (Pause) I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right. When you sacrifice the truth just to keep something, you don’t have anything worth keeping in the first place.”
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