THE SPELLMANS STRIKE AGAIN

by Lisa Lutz

  OLIVIA: Who’s stopping you?

  ALBERT: Quiet. Okay. Where was I? Okay, I call to order the first annual shareholders’ meeting of Spellman Investigations, Incorporated. Now what, David?

  DAVID: We have already discussed the basic issues. On paper, Isabel is now vice president and owns 25 percent of the company. However, for the next few years Isabel, Mom, and Dad will run the firm together and will take a three-way vote if there are any disputes.

  ISABEL: I know how that vote will turn out.

  ALBERT: I don’t always agree with your mother, Isabel.

  ISABEL: Right.

  RAE: Let’s get to the whole reason we’re here. What’s our cost-of-living increase?

  ISABEL: I should point out, Rae, that you don’t even pay for your cost of living.

  OLIVIA: Let’s just go over our plans for the year, Al. We don’t need to drag this out any more than we have.

  ALBERT: Oh, so now you’re turning on me too?

  ISABEL: I would really like this “meeting”4 to begin so that it can eventually end.

  DAVID: Here, here.

  ALBERT: I thought you told me not to use that language.

  RAE: I’m going to kill myself.

  DAVID: Maggie, please step in.

  [Maggie gets to her feet in front of the campfire and takes control of the room, so to speak.]

  MAGGIE: What’s the first order of business?

  ALBERT: We’ve started a retirement fund for Isabel and she gets a 5 percent salary increase. Same for Rae.

  ISABEL: That’s not fair. I’m more important than Rae.

  RAE: Excuse me?

  OLIVIA: Rae’s entire raise will go into her college fund.

  RAE: I quit.

  MAGGIE: Next order of business.

  ISABEL: I’d like my mother to stop harassing my boyfriend.

  OLIVIA: I haven’t harassed him. I checked on his immigration status and I pay him a visit every now and again and ask him what’s he’s been up to.

  ISABEL: Can you just leave him alone?

  [Long pause while mother pretends to be concocting a plan she has already concocted.]

  OLIVIA: I’ll make you a deal. Go on a blind date with a lawyer once a week and I will pretend that Connor does not exist.

  ISABEL: Mom, that’s ridiculous.

  DAVID: Yeah, Mom, that’s kind of weird.

  OLIVIA: Once every other week.

  ISABEL: I said no.

  ALBERT: Once a fortnight.

  OLIVIA: Al, quiet. Isabel, I really think you should accept my offer.

  ISABEL: Why do you hate him so much?

  MAGGIE: Next order of business.

  OLIVIA: Sorry, Maggie. I don’t believe Isabel and I were through with our negotiations.

  ISABEL: We were through.

  OLIVIA: Every other week, I’d like you to go on a date with a lawyer or another professional. Then I’ll leave your boyfriend alone.

  ISABEL: I think Connor would have more of an issue with me dating other men than with you harassing him. If that’s how you want to use your time, I guess I can’t stop you.

  OLIVIA: Do you remember Prom Night 1994?

  [Dead silence.]

  ISABEL: What are you getting at?

  OLIVIA: I have pictures of you in that green dress with the puff sleeves and the tulle petticoat. The one Grammy Spellman made you wear.

  ISABEL: Why don’t we talk about this later?

  OLIVIA: Great. Then we can iron out the details.

  DAVID: Fifty bucks.

  ALBERT: Seventy-five.

  RAE: Eighty.

  ISABEL: What are you guys going on about?

  DAVID: We’re bidding on those prom pictures. How come I’ve never seen them?

  OLIVIA: That’s enough, everyone. Let’s get back to the meeting. Any other orders of business?

  RAE: I’m going to work for Maggie part-time.

  MAGGIE: Rae, remember what we talked about.

  RAE: More like an unpaid internship. But I thought everyone should know.

  OLIVIA: I think that’s an excellent idea.5

  ISABEL: Me too. I guess when you’re independently wealthy you can afford to work for free.

  RAE: I took a beating in the stock market this last year.

  OLIVIA: What will you have her do?

  MAGGIE: I’m going to have Rae help me review some pro bono cases I’m thinking about taking on. Preliminary research.

  ALBERT: That sounds very educational.

  RAE: Don’t try to ruin it for me.

  ISABEL: Speaking of pro bono work, when are we going to start investigating Harkey?6

  ALBERT: I don’t think now is the right time.

  ISABEL: Why not?

  OLIVIA: He’ll fight back, Isabel.

  ISABEL: He already did. Do you think that audit last month was random?

  OLIVIA: My point exactly. I was the one who had to spend three weeks pulling together two years of financial data.

  ISABEL: So you’re just going to let him get away with it? Is that what I’m hearing?

  ALBERT: This is not a good use of your time, Isabel. In this economy, we should be focusing on keeping our business afloat, not taking anyone down. Besides, we don’t even know if Harkey was behind the audit.

  ISABEL: You’re kidding, right? The timing was impeccable. I run into Harkey at the liquor store, suggest that maybe he should watch his back, and the next thing you know the IRS is knocking on our door.

  DAVID: Who goes around threatening people like that?

  RAE: Isabel loves to threaten people.

  ISABEL: Shut up. Back to the audit. Harkey started it, Dad.

  ALBERT: Listen, Izzy, business is slow. Do you really want to waste our resources on a witch hunt?

  ISABEL: I do. We know he’s crooked. If we can put him out of business, that cuts our competition by about 20 percent.

  [Albert shakes his head, still undecided.]

  ALBERT: He won’t just roll over, Isabel.

  ISABEL: I’m ready for him.

  [Olivia whispers in Albert’s ear; Albert nods his head.]

  ISABEL: Maggie, is whispering allowed at an official board meeting?

  MAGGIE: I don’t take sides with you people.

  DAVID: “You people”?

  MAGGIE: You know what I mean.

  OLIVIA: Okay, we’ll make you a deal, Isabel. You accept now or we shelve this conversation for a later date. One, the Harkey investigation cannot take you away from your regular work, and two, you may not use more than $200 a month in company resources.

  ISABEL: Deal.

  MAGGIE: Any other orders of business?

  DAVID: I hope not.

  RAE: One last thing. I request that we never do a group camping trip ever again.

  ISABEL: Better than the threatened cruise.

  RAE: It’s still torture.

  ISABEL: At least you didn’t have someone kicking you all night long and shouting conspiracy theories.

  DAVID: If that’s all, I call this meeting to a close.

  ALBERT: I wanted to do that.

  DAVID: Then go ahead, Dad. It doesn’t actually matter.

  ALBERT: Maybe to you it doesn’t.

  OLIVIA: Al, enough.

  DAVID: [to Maggie] I hope you’re paying attention. Nothing about this morning has been out of the ordinary.

  MAGGIE: Relax, David. I’m fine.

  ALBERT: As president and CEO of Spellman Investigations, I call this meeting to a close.

  RAE: I really do think people can die of boredom.

  RULE #22

  Sometime during my employment contract negotiations and the redrafting of the Spellman bylaws (which are hardly as professional as they sound—they’re simply the codes of the family’s personal and work ethics put into writing to prevent arguments at a later date), my mother came up with a new Spellman dictum: the daily rule. It can be written on the whiteboard next to the copy machine by any family member (including David), and so long as no more than tw
o parties object to it at one time, it remains law, punishable by trash duty for the week.1

  Rule #22—No speaking today!

  (Author: Olivia Spellman)

  After the excess of quality time on our camping disappearance, we’d all had quite enough of one another and the hum of bickering filled our domestic and office space. My mom wrote the rule on the board the night before and there was not a single veto. We communicated through e‑mails, text messages, and the occasional pantomime. Rae suggested that we do this all the time. That suggestion was vetoed, even though typically we don’t veto suggestions.

  My mother sent an e‑mail to inform me that in line with me being the new face of Spellman Investigations, she had decided I should take the meeting with one of our repeat clients, Mr. Franklin Winslow, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Apparently my mother’s primary concern with the meeting was my sartorial choice. My mother made it clear that a dress was in order and wanted to be sure that one still remained in my closet.

  The e-mail was followed by an instant-message exchange:

  Olivia: What exactly are you planning on wearing?

  Isabel: Remember that periwinkle bridesmaid’s dress from cousin Sandy’s wedding?

  Olivia: There’s no way it will still fit you. Just remember to err on the conservative side.

  Isabel: Don’t you worry, Mom. I plan on erring.

  The phone rang, so I ended our chat.

  Isabel: Nice chatting with you, Mom. Let’s not make a habit of it.

  I picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” I said, which felt strange after four hours of silence.

  The voice on the other end of the line was awkward, formal, and extremely familiar.

  “Hi, Isabel. It’s Henry.”

  “Rae’s not here. She’s probably at school.”

  “I’m not calling for Rae.”

  “My mom just stepped out of the office. You can try the house line.”

  Sigh. “I’m not calling for your mother either.”

  “Is it Dad you’re after? Because, frankly, I’m running out of people who can be found at this number.”

  “Nope. Don’t want to talk to your dad.”

  “Has someone else moved in that I don’t know about?” I asked.

  “I was calling for you,” Henry said, impressively containing his annoyance.

  “Huh,” I said. I tend to say “huh” when I’m not sure what else to say. Some people rely on more classic nonresponses, like “I see” or “Interesting” or even “Oh.” But I say “huh” and so far it’s worked for me.

  This might be a good time to elaborate just a bit on the awkward telephone conversation, even though I shouldn’t really have to elaborate if you’ve read these documents in order.2

  Henry Stone, once my sister’s best friend, then enemy, then BFF again, has been tangled in the Spellman web for over three years now. A few years back, he was the lead investigator on a missing persons case—the missing person being Rae. (The conclusion: She staged her own kidnapping.) Since then, Henry has been around and I have gotten used to him being around. And last year I got so used to his whole being-around-ness that I started to think that it was something more than just that, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, you’ll have to figure it out because I’m not in the mood to dig up the details.

  Anyway, when I got this idea into my head, I couldn’t get it out, which makes it like most ideas I have. Eventually I made my feelings known to Henry and he made his nonfeelings equally well known. And that was the end of that. I then got used to him not being around. Not that he wasn’t around. He and Rae had settled their primary disputes and continued their bizarre friendship. My parents still invited him over for dinner and consulted him on cases, and he and my mom even have lunch now and again, exchange Christmas presents, and once went shopping together.3

  As for me, I see Henry as little as possible. I find it’s healthier for my ego. When you’re thirty-one years old and someone tells you you’re not a grown-up, it stings. Now, at the age of thirty-two, the worst of the sting was gone.

  Besides, I had matured considerably in the intervening months and was about to take over the family business. In fact, at that very moment I was wearing a tucked-in shirt that was relatively wrinkle free, and my hair was combed. I could certainly handle a simple telephone conversation.

  “Isabel?” Henry said into the receiver. I guess I had been silent awhile.

  “Sorry. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to speak to you.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

  “In person.”

  “Why? Are the phones tapped and I don’t know about it?”

  Sound of throat clearing. “Meet me for a drink after work.”

  “I’ll be at the Philosopher’s Club4 at—”

  “Not there!” Henry said too quickly and with a buzz of hostility.

  “Then you better be buying, because I’ve grown accustomed to free booze and I have to pay rent these days.”

  “Yes. I’m buying,” Henry said, sounding like he was regretting this entire conversation.

  “Okay. Where?”

  “Edinburgh Castle.”

  “I thought that place was too divey for you.”

  “It is. But I want you to be comfortable.”

  “How kind.”

  “Six o’clock?”

  “Six thirty,” I replied, only to assert a share of control.

  UNHAPPY HOUR

  It was still light outside, even though the fog had rolled in, but the interior of the bar felt like the night was nearing its end. I spotted Henry at a booth in the back. He was easy to spot, being the most well-groomed patron in the establishment.

  He’d already started drinking, but there was a glass of some kind of whiskey and another glass of ice waiting for me.

  “I ordered for you,” Henry said. “Hope you don’t mind. I just got the booze you usually steal from your brother’s house.1 Wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

  “The question is: What do you want?” I said.

  I took a sip of the excellent whiskey and studied Henry, trying to get an angle on him.

  “All I want is to have a drink with a friend,” he said.

  “Then you should have called one.”

  “We were friends.”

  “Were,” I repeated.

  “Well, I would like to be friends again. What will it take?”

  I drained my bourbon and contemplated the scratched wood table for the answer. It wasn’t there.

  “Another drink wouldn’t hurt,” I replied.

  Henry slid a twenty across the table and told me to order whatever I wanted. He still wasn’t halfway finished with his whiskey, so I didn’t even take his order.

  At the bar I considered the most expensive options, but then I chose the house label, because I didn’t want Henry to think that his bribe had worked. I returned to the table with ample change.

  Henry sniffed my drink and instantly got the message.

  “How can we work this out?” he asked.

  “My brother says I should start making friends my own age.”

  “Ouch,” the inspector replied with mock injury.

  “We’re not enemies,” I offered, thinking that was friendly enough.

  “I want to be more than enemies.”

  “Archenemies? I suppose we could head in that direction. But you’d have to do something pretty awful for us to drive down that road.”

  “I was thinking in the other direction,” Henry answered, not amused.

  “We can be friendly acquaintances,” I suggested, realizing that I had found myself in the midst of negotiating the terms of a friendship. How odd. Although it’s something my sister and Henry have done on numerous occasions.

  “No,” Henry flatly replied.

  “Well, that’s my best offer,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Henry said with an interrogation-room stare.

  I was unprepared for t
his type of meeting. I figured I held all the cards. Therefore, I would control the conversation. Something was going on here—the power had shifted but I couldn’t trace when it had happened.

  “I’m going to leave now,” I announced.

  “See you soon,” Henry answered.

  “Not that soon.”

  I left my half-empty drink on the table and Henry opened the book he had been reading when I entered. He made no move to leave, which I found odd since this wasn’t his kind of bar and at the moment the smell of hops mixed with something sour was harsh. When I exited, it was dark outside. I didn’t have to adjust to the light and therefore didn’t have to adjust back to the darkness when I returned to the bar five minutes later.

  I stood beside Henry, casting a shadow over his literature. He looked up and smiled.

  “Forget something?”

  “I want my keys and my wallet back,” I demanded.

  “Have a seat,” Henry calmly replied, “and we’ll talk about it.”

  “No,” I said. “Just give ’em back.”

  “Or what. You’ll call the cops?” Henry chuckled at his little joke.

  I sat down in a huff and glared at him.

  “Have you gone mad?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Henry replied. “I’ve just figured out the Spellman way of doing things.”

  It was then I realized that this particular tactic—the coercion/blackmail/threat technique of reviving a friendship—was exactly what Rae did to return to Henry’s good graces. It had worked on him; why wouldn’t it work on me? I had to admit that I was both impressed and intrigued that Henry would do something so out of character just to keep me around. If I’m honest with myself, which if you know me you know I’m not all that often, I missed Henry too.

  Henry slid a fresh drink across the table. I took a sip and realized it was the good stuff again.

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I waited for my captor to speak.

  “Now tell me, Isabel. What’s new?”

  A GENTLEMAN’S GENTLEMAN

  Before my meeting with Mr. Winslow, my mother insisted I drop by the house for a personal inspection. Mom took one look at the dress I was wearing, pulled out the iron and ironing board, and told me to take it off. I stood in just a slip and heels in the foyer while she reironed my dress. Just as the lingerie show was ending and I was slipping the dress over my head, one of our lawyer clients, Gerard Mitchell, exited the office.