All That Was Happy

by M. M. Wilshire

  “By the real ugliness,” Huntington said, “I mean the ugly part where they tear you apart publicly and ruin your good name, at which point your closest friends abandon you and you become the town leper.”

  Beckie shuddered at the thought, which crowded its way in among her other fearful festerings, mostly financial. She had used Huntington’s car phone to call her bank and verify the bad news about her sudden impoverishment, and was feeling the first icy fingers of shock seeping into her system, fingers which had, at the moment, begun to squeeze her heart.

  “My Citibank Platinum Preferred Business Customer Visa had a special credit limit of two-hundred grand,” Beckie said. “It was something we got from our personal banker, Jeff Santorini a few years back. Now the jerk won’t even take my call.”

  “You can stay with me as long as you like,” Huntington said, taking a shortcut from Sunset to Wilshire Boulevard.

  “You don’t understand,” Beckie said. “I can’t live with you--I’ve only known you two days. It’s wrong to even think of it.”

  “I understand,” he said. “We’ll get you a room at the Plaza when we get to Century City. You can stay there until Lauren is finished dismantling Bernie’s two-bit legal defenses.”

  “Huntington,” she said. “You’re still not getting it. I can’t take your money. I can’t even let you pay for my lawyer. That’s something I’m going to have to work out with her.”

  “Look,” he said. “I understand how you must feel--you don’t want to be obligated to me. But you need somebody to help you through the minefield. Why can’t it be me?”

  “You can’t possibly understand how I feel,” she said. “Do you realize that right at this very moment, if it weren’t for you, I’d have nothing? No home, no car, no money? Do you have any idea how that must feel?”

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I have no idea.”

  “I shouldn’t even be going in to see Bernie’s lawyers--what I should do is call Bernie and beg for mercy.”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said.

  “I can’t win this fight. You don’t know Bernie--he’s like a little pit bull. How do you think he built a tool business from scratch into a multi-million dollar enterprise?”

  “He can’t be that tough,” Huntington said.

  “When we were new in the business,” Beckie said. “Bernie crawled over a competitor’s fence one night and went through their garbage to find out what they were charging. But before he went over that fence, he shot the guard dog.”

  “That’s not tough,” Huntington said. “That’s just mean.”

  “I’m going to ask Lauren to see if she can get me some kind of settlement,” Beckie said. “Maybe she can get me a hundred grand if I agree not to contest the divorce. After legal fees, I’d have enough to make it through the first year until I can get some kind of job or something.”

  Huntington, having reached Wilshire Boulevard, suddenly pulled into the parking lot of Simonson Mercedes. Reaching into his glove box, he extracted a checkbook and began to scribble.

  “Here,” he said.

  The check was in the amount of five million dollars.

  “Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh,” Beckie chuckled. “Okay, Huntington, it’s funny. You made me laugh. And you’re right--I was taking myself too seriously. The truth is, I’m not totally without resources--if it comes right down to it, my friend Leah will let me stay with her. Or I can call Doctor Black--I’m a member of a self-help group called WE, which is short for Women Empowered--I’m sure they have some sort of assistance for a woman who’s being financially pounced upon by her greedy husband. All in all, I suppose I should be ashamed for feeling sorry for myself like I have been. After all, there are fifteen million people crossing over from Tijuana every year with nothing but the clothes on their backs and they’re not complaining.”

  “The check for the five mil is real,” he said. “It’s yours. I told you I found the woman I’ve been looking for.”

  He got out of the Suburban, walked around and helped her from the jump seat. A salesperson approached, her eyes trying not to register shock at the sight of Beckie’s swollen nose and black eye.

  “I’m Kasha,” the salesperson said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? Are you folks in the market?”

  “Kasha,” Huntington said. “I want you to witness something. My name is Huntington. This is Beckie. I’m about to hand her a check for five million dollars. I’m doing this of my own free will. There are no strings attached of any kind whatsoever to this gift. She does not have to date me, or love me, or be my friend, or anything else. I’m doing this because of something she told me earlier, something she learned from her mother. Her mother said that if you find your dream, don’t pass it by. She said that if you pass your dreams by, you can never go back and find them again.”

  Huntington got down on one knee. “Beckie,” he said. “You are my dream. Please accept this small gift in token of my undying appreciation for the two days of heaven I’ve experienced with you.” He handed her the check. “This is my pledge to you that this is one Old Fogy who will never pass you by. It’s my hope that you’ll use this money to start a new life--with this money, you won’t have to be dragged through a messy divorce--you can simply sign off on whatever Bernie wants and get him out of your life. Then you’ll be free to see if I’m the man you’re looking for.”

  With a flourish, Huntington stood up, reached into the Suburban, retrieved Beckie’s straw bag containing her bathrobe, her gun, and her dog. Climbing back into the driver’s seat, he rolled down the window.

  “Don’t forget,” he said. “You’re going with me to the United Way dinner tonight--I still have to prove to you who I am by introducing you to charitable important persons of substance who’ll vouch for me. Call me when you get situated.” Blowing her a kiss, he drove away.

  “We’re on Candid Camera, aren’t we?” Kasha said. “I recognize you--you’re Suzanne Sommers--at first I thought you might be Barbra Streisand--but now I see the difference--you’ve got more you-know-what than Streisand does--that’s a pretty good disguise job they did with the black eye and the short hair, but I recognize your figure and your smile. I love your show.”

  The two women stood there in the crisp, but warming morning breeze.

  “I’m not Suzanne Sommers,” Beckie said.

  “Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh,” Kasha chirped. “Where is the camera? Is it over there behind the pre-owned vehicles or something?”

  “We can’t turn back the days that have gone,” Beckie said. “I learned something last night--I learned that when you get your chance to ride a really good wave, you better take that chance, because that wave may never come again. Even if you can’t stay on the wave--even if you can’t catch it, you should at least try.”

  “That man really gave you five million?” Kasha said.

  “He wanted to strut his stuff,” Beckie said. “Apparently, he wasn’t having much fun until I came along. Life had been cruel to him--he’d never found his match.”

  “I have seen many strange things in this town,” Kasha said. “But I have never seen a man hand a woman five million dollars and then drive off. I’m thinking it must be a joke--that check isn’t real.”

  “It’s real,” Beckie said. “It’s my reward for something I did early this morning. I gave him something priceless. Something I can never give any man again. I gave him my first passion.”

  “What are you going to do now,” Kasha said.

  “Well, I’ve been giving that some thought,” Beckie said. “After all, this is Los Angeles. This is the town where nobody walks.”

  “You should maybe buy yourself a new car or something,” Kasha said.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Beckie said. “Have you got any Roadsters left?”

  Chapter 26

  “It took them awhile to accept the check,” Beckie said. “And after they called all the right good old boys and made sure the funds were good, they really freaked out wh
en I asked for a “less cash” of a hundred grand. They took me into a special room they had so nobody would see me put their bank bag holding the hundred grand into my straw purse.”

  “I don’t imagine too many people come in to World Savings carrying personal checks for five million dollars,” Dr. Black said.

  “They were kind of suspicious,” Beckie said, “--in fact, so were the Mercedes people--they followed me over to the bank to make sure they got their hundred-and-sixty thou. It didn’t help when they asked me for my address and I couldn’t give them one--they finally accepted the address of Century Plaza.”

  “I’m not surprised they were suspicious,” Black said. “The banks didn’t get where they are now by trusting anybody. Now tell me, why the hundred grand in cash in a bag?”

  “I’m through trusting banks,” Beckie said. “If they ever freeze me out again, I’ll at least have bus fare.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous to carry a hundred thousand dollars around in a straw purse?”

  “Maybe,” Beckie said. “But Mr. Boopers will be on top of it--and I also have my gun.”

  Black frowned, not from displeasure, but more from the effort to keep her mouth from simply gaping. “The real issue is,” Black said, “how does it make you feel accepting a gift like that from a man you only met yesterday?”

  “What can I say,” Beckie said. “I needed lipstick and foundation.”

  Beckie--having purchased a new dark-blue Mercedes SL-600 Roadster convertible, the Black Diamond Edition complete with hands-free telephone, plus a six-thousand cubic-centimeter 48-valve V-12 engine and a one-button electric top--which she’d put down to feel the warming April breeze on her way to open a new account and deposit her check before her appointment with Doctor Black in her office high up in the World Savings building at Wilshire and Barrington--was searching her feelings with the Doctor’s help trying to make sense of the recent events of which some had befallen her and of which she’d in turn befallen some.

  “The Roadster has a satellite to tell me exactly where I am,” she said. “The problem is, where I am on the planet seems to have nothing to do with where I am in my head.”

  “When you accepted the gift, did you feel any loss of integrity?” Black said.

  “Not at that moment,” Beckie said. “The truth is, I had already lost my integrity. Just moments before, I had made a decision to cave in to the pressure Bernie was applying. I was going to have my lawyer attempt to negotiate a flat fee and get the whole thing over with. But now that I have five million dollars in my new money market account, less of course, the hundred-and-sixty-thou for the car, and a few bucks for my lipstick and foundation, I think that I’ve actually had my integrity restored. But I learned a lesson.”

  “What lesson was that?” Black asked.

  “I learned that in some ways, as regards my relationship to Bernie, I’m a wimp. I thought I had more backbone than I did. It took Bernie only two days to cave me in. I guess I’m really a weak person--maybe that’s why I grabbed the five million dollars.”

  “Giving in has a heavy price tag,” Black said. “It can take a toll on your self image.”

  “I’m starting to have a real sense of shame,” Beckie said. “These last two days have been crazy. I’ve been thinking of my mother a lot--she was a woman of iron. If any man had tried to give her five million dollars, she would have torn the check in half. My mother used to tell me over and over that my soul isn’t for sale.”

  “Did you sell your soul just now?” Black said. “Did you sell it for five million dollars?”

  Beckie thought this over. “It’s just that I was under such inhuman pressure,” she said.

  “I’ll answer the question for you,” Black said. “You did not sell your soul. If my understanding was correct, the money was given freely to you by a friend with no expectation of repayment, or favors of any kind in return. The amount of the gift is not important.”

  “But I was caving in to Bernie, and now I’m not,” Beckie said.

  “You hadn’t caved in to Bernie,” Black said. “You were only entertaining the thought. You had yet to perform the action of caving. Actually, if you think about it, you had made what may have been a very wise choice. You’d decided to settle for a small amount in exchange for your freedom. You were giving up a lifetime of court battles in exchange for a chance to live your new, passionate existence. In my opinion, you weren’t caving in, you were affirming yourself to be someone to whom a price tag could not be assigned.”

  “You’re right,” Beckie said. “Besides, it was a totally no-win situation. I had little choice but to try to negotiate a small settlement and get the thing over with.”

  “So where do things stand now,” Black said. “Now that you’re financially independent?”

  “Where it stands now,” Beckie said, “is that I’ve scheduled a meeting with my new lawyer, Lauren Shane over in Century City--we’re going to discuss our strategy for the meeting with Bernie’s lawyers--to tell you the truth, I’m not ready to go through all that legal claptrap. The truth is, I’m so worn out by all these things, I’d prefer to take the day off and simply recuperate.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “You know? I think I will. I’ll pop in to see Lauren for a minute, but from here, I’m canceling whatever Bernie had prepared for me and taking my dog to the beach. I want to see if Mr. Boopers will eat a corn dog. Tonight, I’m attending a charity function with Huntington downtown, and that will pretty much finish up my day.”

  “I’m going to suggest that we continue to meet every day for awhile,” Black said.

  “That’s funny,” Beckie said. “Because I was thinking of cutting back to once a week. I mean, what’s there to discuss? The crisis is more or less over.”

  Black smiled. “We need to work through your anger,” she said.

  “But Doctor Black, I’m not angry.”

  “Anger has many disguises,” Black said. “Two days ago, I was talking to a woman who was ready to commit murder-suicide after her husband walked out on her. Now I’m talking to the same woman who’s taken a lover and tells me everything’s just fine. I can’t just let that go. I can’t just scratch you behind the ears and flatter you.”

  “You know, that really irritates me,” Beckie said. “I’ve just gone through a whirlwind and come out on top, and I don’t appreciate having my past thrown back in my face the way you just did.”

  “Does it make you angry?” Black said.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m sick of this whole head-shrinking routine you’re playing with me. I was fine until I walked in here. When I walk in here, I feel like I’m here because everybody expects me to be here, not because I need to be here. As far as blowing Bernie away, after what he did to me, it would have been the least he deserved! Do you know what he did with my car? The car that he stole from me? He gave it to his secretary! You don’t think I have a right to be angry over that? What am I supposed to do--just smile and say, Oh, that’s okay, Bernie, dear, you go ahead and have your fun? Let me tell you something, Doctor--the real reason I canceled the meeting with Bernie’s lawyers today is because if I see that fat little toad, and have to listen to some slime ball in a five-thousand-dollar Italian suit tell me what I can and can’t do with my own money, which Bernie stole from me, I don’t know what I might do--the honest truth is, I don’t trust myself enough not to blow Bernie away right then and there!”

  The room was silent for a few moments.

  “If I were in your shoes,” Black said. “I wouldn’t enter a legal office full of snakes armed with only a handgun and four bullets. I myself would toss in a grenade and take out the entire stinking nest.”

  “Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh,” Beckie chortled.

  The two women smiled, the smiles connecting into an energy pathway which fired up their faces into full-blown grins. The laughter came, then, flowing and free, from the deep spaces seldom touched by anything else as Black and Beckie, flopped back, mouths
open and bellies shaking, allowed the pureness of the event to fill them in cleansing waves, until at last their spirits connected with something greater than themselves, a something which understood energy and release, a something which delighted in resistance to injustice, and the fragging of evil men, a something which flowed for a very long time into, and through, the two women, empowered, as they’d just become, with the glories of their newfound sisterhood.

  They laughed on and on for the longest time, preferring the place it took them to the one they’d just left.

  Chapter 27

  “Do you have a shopping service?” Beckie asked the concierge.

  “Yes of course,” the concierge said. “Shall I call them for you?”

  “No, just tell them yourself,” Beckie said. “I’m in need of absolutely everything--and I mean everything. Here’s the list--I’ll be back in my room this afternoon, and I’ll need everything by then. In particular, I’d like her to make sure she picks up that fabulous pair of silver python mules I saw on display in one of the shops down the hall.”

  The lobby of the Century Plaza Hotel-a massive structure with a tower commanding impressive views of the ocean and all of Los Angeles on the Avenue of the Stars in Century City, which had begun its useful life, as had many thing in Los Angeles, on the location of a former back lot of a Movie studio--where Beckie had stopped in to book an outrageously posh Tower suite before going on her merry way to the beach--was bustling from the mid-week energies generated by the various conferences and conventions. Beckie, with her distinctive platinum cut matched by an even more distinctive black-eye, drew more than a few glances from the visiting corporate drones who flitted here and there through the lobby on their way to a day of captivity in some subterranean hive, where they received, along with a buffet lunch, any and all necessary reprogramming deemed necessary by the under lieutenants of the current Corporate Mindset.