The Test

by Patricia Gussin

  “This is Carla, her sister, may I speak with her, please?”

  “Can she call you in the morning. We’re running late.”

  “No, she can’t fucking call me in the morning.” Not caring if she sounded hysterical, Carla screamed. “I need to talk to her now.”

  “Very well,” the voice said.

  “Ashley, my love, you have a phone call,” Carla could hear in the background, “your sister—No, Carla.”

  “Carla!” Ashley picked up in an instant. “Hi, honey. You just caught us. Conrad’s taking me to dinner at Le Bec Fin. Very posh, but it is Valentine’s Day. Remember Dad used to take Mom there on special occasions?”

  “Ashley—” The words would not come out, that she had HIV. Suddenly Carla cared what Ashley thought. She’d always lived in her big sister’s shadow. How could she now tell her how far down into the muck she’d sunk.

  “What is it, Carla?” Ashley’s tone changed to serious. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Carla said, stemming the flow of tears that needed to be unleashed. “I just wanted to say Happy Valentine’s Day and make sure that you were all right.” Shit, it was Valentine’s Day?

  Ashley lowered her voice. “I am better than all right,” she confided. “You know, all these years, I’ve never had a ‘Valentine’—unlike my gorgeous little sister who had more than her share. Right?”

  True, Ashley had been too busy studying. No time for fun. Too busy for dates. Too busy to get HIV.

  “I’m happy for you,” Carla managed, disheartened. She couldn’t tell Ashley, not tonight.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta run. You can’t believe how many strings Conrad had to pull to get a reservation tonight.” After a pause, Ashley’s voice softened, “Carla, we do have to get together. Sometime soon. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Carla mumbled, recognizing the threatening undertone. We all know how bad you’ve fucked up your life.

  Hanging up the phone, Carla lay back and wept. Wept for her mother whom she still missed desperately. The rest of the family, Frank and Meredith, to be exact, thought her too indulgent with Carla, but they were wrong. When Mom was alive, Carla had someone to talk to. Mom always understood. Carla knew that if her mother were alive, she would never have let her sink so far.

  Carla dialed Rory’s number. Rory had been thirteen when Carla was born, a second mom to her. But Carla figured if she told Rory, Rory’d tell Chan. Chan was a doctor. He’d know what to do. But would they tell the others? No, she couldn’t face the shame.

  “Hello?” A bright young voice. “Stevens’ residence.”

  “Becky? Or Emily?” Carla asked, trying to sound normal.

  “It’s Em. Hey, Aunt Carla?”

  “Yes,” Carla said, desperate to hear Rory’s voice, so much like Mom’s. “Em, can I speak to your mom?”

  “She’s not here,” Emily said. “Dad took her out. Somewhere in Doylestown. ’Cause he’s on call. Nobody wanted to trade on Valentine’s Day. You gotta hot date tonight, Aunt Carla?” Both Rory’s older girls liked to swap gossip with Carla about the fashion scene in New York. Styles, hot models, teen stuff, but Carla let the phone slip into her lap.

  Next thing she heard was that annoying beeping. As she reached to hang up the phone, she saw the scribbled note on her pillow. Her engraved personal stationery, Bunky’s hand.

  Meet me at the Buzz Club, Valentine. Let’s party.

  Love ya, babe,

  Bunk

  With a sinking emptiness, Carla crossed the room to her desk. Her hands shaking, she fondled the bottle of sleeping pills she used to take her down from the highs. Then she cursed. Only two left. Had there been a full bottle? She didn’t remember, but she knew she would have taken them all, then and there.

  She was shaking now. Making her way to her closet, she stumbled face first into a hanging rack of dresses. Still standing, grasping a handful of garments, she selected one, a slinky red sequined number, and yanked it off the hanger. She had to find Bunky. She needed something now and Bunky would take care of her. Carla’s cravings surged as she wriggled into the dress and groped for a pair of spike heels. She needed to get fucked up. That’s all she could think, I need to get fucked up.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MARCH 2001

  “Senator, Mr. Schiller’s here.” Matt Cleveland plunked a thick dossier on Frank’s desk in the Senate Russell Office Building and started to unwrap a Snickers bar. “Right on time. Six o’clock.”

  “I’m beat. Two straight days of closed hearings on intelligence matters. Scary stuff coming on the heels of the Armed Forces Committee. All I need right now is that old man.” Frank looked up and ran his fingers through his hair. “And get that candy bar out of my sight. Here I am trying to stick to the Atkins diet, living on cheese and no-sugar Jello.”

  “Don’t forget you’re meeting with Senator McCain. Seven in the Dirksen Building.” No sympathy from Matt.

  “Let’s hope this does the trick.” Frank patted the dossier, then reached into a drawer for his stash of cashews.

  He was crunching a few when Matt ushered Carl into his office. Frank offered the usual amenities. Did he want coffee? Tea? He held out the jar of cashews. Carl politely declined all as he settled into the client chair opposite Frank’s polished mahogany desk. Frank assessed Carl’s tremor and judged it to be no worse than two months earlier, but nevertheless he felt a certain guilt in making the old man travel to D.C., when he could have seen him in Philadelphia the next day.

  Frank asked about Phyllis. Carl asked about Frank’s congressional agenda. To get off on the right track, Frank indulged the lawyer by confiding that he was worried about national security. That there needed to be a loop connecting intelligence with technology, with the armed forces, with immigration. Carl told Frank that Phyllis was just getting over bronchitis.

  Then Frank got down to business.

  “I have retained the law firm of Stewart and Stewart to create a challenge to Dad’s will,” he began. “I think it’s in the best interest of the family. I assume you knew I’d go ahead and do this, but I wanted to let you know in person before I filed, out of courtesy. You’ll find the arguments well presented.” Frank pushed the brief across his desk as if he expected Carl to pick it up. Carl didn’t. He just wrinkled his face, smoothed back his dyed hair, and stared back across the desk.

  “You’ll see the premises. That Dad suffered from dementia. Disabled by the cancer. Metastases all over.”

  “Except the brain.” Frank felt Carl’s eyes bore into his. “I’m sure you’ve checked the medical records.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “but—”

  “I told you before. A challenge will not prevail. Your father took precautions. I assure you, Frank, that this course of action will ruin you politically.”

  “What is this, Carl, a threat?” Frank’s voice rose. “Because there’s more. No question that Dad was under the undue influence of an avaricious stepdaughter with no legal rights to his estate.”

  “Stop right there, Frank,” Carl said, taking out a white starched handkerchief and mopping his brow. “I must be coming down with that virus Phyllis had.”

  Now came the tricky part. Frank had decided to disclose his challenge to Carl’s competence, and the conflict of interest inherent in the financial gain he’d enjoy as executor of such an unorthodox trust. Frank had researched Parkinson’s disease, and his experts had assured him that dementia is common. In fact, Carl wasn’t talking as if he were demented, but Frank’s experts promised to make a good case that the old man’s competence could be questioned based on statistics. A tricky maneuver as Carl was managing partner of Donnor and Schiller. Meredith was a senior partner at the firm, but Frank figured that he had no choice, and his wife wholeheartedly agreed.

  “No, Carl, I won’t stop. There is the matter of your integrity, I mean how can you be capable of unbiased judgment? Then there’s your health.”

  Carl stared across the desk. His black eyes did not flicker as they
focused on Frank, and his tremor seemed to have disappeared.

  “It’s all in here,” Frank said, pushing the dossier toward him. “Stewart and Stewart, firm here in D.C.”

  “Listen carefully, Frank,” Carl steeled his voice. “I advise you to reread the letter that Paul left for you. Read it very carefully.”

  “What?” Frank had almost forgotten that rambling note.

  “Read it,” Carl repeated firmly. “Your father’s will has been reviewed not only by my firm, but by specialty firms in Washington and New York City. I repeat, a challenge will not be successful and the process will be a nightmare for you and the family.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a family, except for my wife and child. I’m doing this so I can launch a successful presidential campaign. Just as my father wanted. I would have expected to have your help and the help of my family. No, I’m not standing by—”

  “Try to understand. Your father did what he thought was right. Now put this aside.” Carl pushed the dossier back toward Frank, unopened. “Reread your father’s message to you and prepare to excel along the lines he laid out. The four tenets of his credo, his legacy to you. If you want that money, this is what you must do. It’s the only way. Frank, I have never lied to you, never misled you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! You set this thing up so you could be in control. Control of the family you never had. You always were jealous of my father. You, with no kids of your own—coercing a dying old man?”

  “Frank, you can’t afford a political mistake.”

  A jolt of acid hit Frank’s stomach and he reached inside his shirt pocket for the roll of Pepcid Complete. What right did this old man have, preaching to him?

  Carl rose and headed for the door in his shuffling gait. “I’m sure you’re busy,” he said. Frank did not rise, and Carl turned. “Frank, things that are said in the heat of passion are best forgotten. I understand your frustration. For my part I intend to go on as if this conversation never took place. But there is one thing—”

  Frank stood, dumbfounded, refusing to let the lawyer get the best of him.

  “Carla,” Schiller said. “I’m afraid that she’s gone downhill. Peggy Putnam has a running list of complaints, but yesterday I received a frantic call from Sara Waring. You know how levelheaded Sara is and how loyal.”

  “We all know Carla’s using drugs,” Frank said coldly.

  “Today the apartment manager called to tell me they’re starting eviction proceedings. He claims she’s bringing in ‘undesirables.’ Using the service elevator, and—”

  “And what?” Frank demanded. His impatience escalated. First the threat to his career and now Carla tarnishing the Parnell name.

  “Allegations that she had been providing sex in exchange for letting her friends up. The night guard got fired. It’s a mess.”

  “For crying out loud, I can’t afford this type of behavior.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you, Frank. Best that you take care of this. Maybe that psychiatrist that Ashley has been seeing can give us some advice. Carla needs help.”

  “I’ll have Meredith look into it,” he said.

  Carl left without another word, closing the door behind him. Immediately, Frank called Meredith. “Get her out of the meeting,” he demanded of her secretary.

  “Frank, what’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t give him the brief. He scared the hell out of me. A threat. Political ruin was his terminology.”

  “Don’t you think he’s just reacting to the veiled, or not so veiled, allegations of his ineptitude?”

  “No, I think that it was a real threat. That they anticipated us doing something like this and they got a shitload of lawyers to make it ironclad.”

  “Shitload?” Meredith remarked and Frank imagined her eyebrow shooting up. No obscenities. No coarse language. Something his dad said on the exact day Frank told him he wanted to run for office. Not even in private, he said. Keep it out of your vocabulary. Otherwise it’ll slip out when you least expect. And Meredith usually called Frank on it when he slipped.

  “Sorry. I’m telling you, he put it out as a threat. He said to read Dad’s letter again. Follow the guidance and we get the money. This was a threat, a warning.”

  “I’ll fly in tonight, Frank,” she promised. “We’ll figure out what to do next.”

  “Will you bring a copy of Dad’s absurd note? We need to read it again together. And when you get here, I’ll fill you in on what the old man said about Carla. More problems.”

  “‘Dear Frank,’” Meredith read. Her short dark hair was wet from the torrents of rain that enveloped the East Coast. She’d taken the Amtrak Acela from Philadelphia rather than wait for weather clearance for the Gulfstream. Changing out of her dusky blue business suit, she threw on a terry bathrobe and accepted a snifter of brandy, as she and Frank situated themselves on twin oversized ottomans in front of the fireplace. Rain continued to pelt the front window, and she hesitated as thunder shook the room.

  You have made me so proud. A United States senator. If only your mother and your grandparents could have been here to share such a grand accomplishment. I can only believe that you will use your tremendous influence to promote peace and prosperity for our country and the world.

  I reflect on your childhood with feelings of inadequacy. If only I had spent more time with you when you were a young boy. If only I had spent more time with your mother. Maybe she would not have taken that fateful trip to Bermuda, leaving you without a mother and with a father overly absorbed in his career. When we became a real family with Vivian, you were already a young man.

  “A real family?” Frank sneered. “A new family, yes.” Meredith put her arm on Frank’s shoulder and read on,

  If you focus on these values, you will strengthen your appeal to the American people. Just think, my son, president of the United States. A dream that you and I and Meredith have shared. To accomplish this, I am confident that you will take this legacy seriously.

  This is what I want for you: ethics and compassion as a senator; dedication to family; commitment to the community, both personal and financial; celebration of your faith, Catholicism, and for Meredith, Judaism. I understand you may prefer that your inheritance be immediately available, but I don’t think that would be to your advantage. Carl understands my motivations, so please respect his advice and counsel. He has handled all aspects of the estate with extensive legal consultation. The trust that I have established is innovative, perhaps controversial, but it is absolutely legal.

  “I read that as a threat,” Meredith said. “Especially after your meeting with Carl today. He must have something set to go, should you contest. Maybe it’s a public-relations campaign. Like headlines: Senator Parnell contests will—charges that old man was incompetent, crazy, or whatever sensational sound bites those vultures can dream up. Make you look avaricious—ungrateful. Politically, I don’t think we’d survive it.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Frank sounded petulant and he knew it. “We had Stewart and Stewart prepare the basis for contest.”

  “But, honey, they weren’t predicting success,” she reminded him. “Said they’d do their best, but—”

  “Carl refused to accept it, even to read it. If only someone else in the family would jump on this. But no, they respect Daddy’s wishes. For crying out loud, the rest of them don’t need the money.”

  “So we’ll do it his way.” Meredith reached over to smooth his hair. “Go through the motions. Pass the sham test.”

  “Like I’m not busy enough. Now I’ve got to play a high-stakes charade. Family patriarch. Pillar of the community. Lay leader of the church. Might as well sign me up for canonization.”

  Meredith shrugged. “Nice to know I have permission to be Jewish. Carl must have thrown that in. Your dad never resented me, but your uncle never approved of our marriage.”

  “The family’s a mess,” Frank said, changing the subject to Carla’s apartment crisis. �
��We need to get her into a rehab clinic.”

  “Yes. Somewhere very discreet.”

  “Maybe she’ll just kill herself,” Frank said, resenting the family’s dysfunction interrupting his quest. “She overdoses. We suppress the cause of death. We have one less contender.”

  Meredith stared at him. “Frank, I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Back to our situation. So we do all the goody-goody stuff like we’re the champions of Dad’s insane credo? Pass that test with flying colors? Heck, we can do anything for one year. We may even get to like our new lifestyle.”

  “I think it’s the only way to get the lion’s share,” Meredith said.

  “So we’ll put together a plan to ace the test. May have to take acting lessons to pull it off.”

  “There’s something else I’ve been thinking about, Frank,” Meredith said, screwing up her face as she did when something important was on her mind.

  “What?”

  “The Parnell Foundation.”

  “What about it?” Frank’s mind raced to plan the tactics of their new strategy. He needed Meredith to stay focused.

  “What if I left my position at Donnor and Schiller and became the chairman of the board?”

  “What?” Frank was incredulous. Meredith was a tough lawyer, through and through. She couldn’t just walk away from an equity partnership.

  “Think about it,” she said. “The foundation assets exceed two billion. Think of the political clout that goes with allocation of all that money. Your dad never bothered to leverage the foundation, not even during your senatorial race.”

  Clearly, Meredith had given this some thought. Frank was impressed. What a lush playing field for Meredith to marshal her superior manipulative skills.

  “Who could be better than I?” Meredith was on a roll. “I’m an attorney—a plus. I’m the daughter-in-law of the beloved founder—how perfect. I will step down from my day job to concentrate totally on the foundation—a statement of dedication. We make the case that Carl is so busy managing Paul’s estate that he’s overextended.”