Cory's Dilemma

by Dan Petrosini

  “A week, two maximum.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Cory checked the time. Tracy was on the way over. He was dreading the Zoom call. He lit a joint and inhaled deeply. The last thing he needed was a problem with the law. He was glad the label and their team of lawyers were involved. It was proof he was worth something to them, but also that he was in trouble.

  Cory replayed the encounter. Stein was surprised by Cory’s visit, stumbling over himself as he let Cory in.

  Cory didn’t have a plan, and his anger surfaced. He pulled the knife out, screaming at Stein to give him back his money. His manager backed down the hallway as Cory threatened him. Stein’s wife came down the stairs and started yelling for help.

  If she hadn’t been home, what would have happened? Would he have stabbed Stein? He shook his head; it was surreal. He had felt like a spectator, not a participant. While he didn’t think he would have hurt Stein, he was grateful Stein’s wife interfered.

  Cory took a toke, thinking that things were bad but could have been much worse. Tracy stepped off the elevator, scrunching her nose. “How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  Tracy slid the terrace doors open. “Smoke that over here. I don’t want my clothes to smell.”

  Cory smiled. “You want a hit?”

  “Not now. This call is too important.”

  Tracy set the laptop on the kitchen table. “It’s just about seven. Sit down.”

  “I hope they can fix this.”

  “These guys are good. Here we go.”

  Tracy answered the call, and a man in a white shirt and red tie appeared on the screen. “Good evening, Mr. Lupinski, Ms. Burnett. My name is John Doolan. I’m chief counsel for the label and will be directing the response to the episode.”

  Cory said, “So, I don’t need a lawyer?”

  “Not unless you’re uncomfortable with our representation.”

  “Well, it was one of your agents, Dave Bee, that got me involved with that thief Stein. How do I know this is going to work out for me?”

  “We’re aware of the introduction, but the label wasn’t a party to the contract between you and Mr. Stein and accepts no responsibility.”

  “Figures.”

  “Now, though this is a serious matter, we believe there is a path free of criminal charges.”

  “I hope so.”

  “We’ve been in touch with the DA and Mr. Stein. The state has limited interest in prosecuting an assault—”

  “I didn’t assault anybody.”

  “It may come across as legal semantics, but threatening bodily harm, in a convincing way, is considered an assault. You may be thinking of assault and battery, battery being the physical contact part.”

  “I was just trying to scare him.”

  “Now, we believe we can argue successfully that no real threat existed. We can convince the DA to drop any charges as long as Mr. Stein doesn’t file a complaint.”

  “I’m the one who should be filing a complaint. He stole from me.”

  “We had a preliminary discussion with Mr. Stein and his wife. If you’re prepared not to seek restitution, they will not file a complaint.”

  “So, I never get my money back?”

  “If you want to be assured that no criminal charges will be filed, I’m afraid so.”

  Tracy said, “Would Cory have to make a court appearance or anything like that?”

  “No. We’ll handle what is necessary.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Tracy ended the call. “I’d say that’s a good way to put this to bed.”

  “But I need my money back.”

  “I understand, but Stein doesn’t have the money. He lost it all. He’s in hock up to his neck already, and he’s going to lose whatever clients he has left.”

  Cory went to the bar. “All right. Tell them to make this go away.”

  After Tracy made the call and left, Cory flopped on the couch. One problem was gone, but he wasn’t happy. He needed cheering up and made a call.

  “Ava, it’s Daddy. How are you?”

  “Good, Dad. What are you doing?”

  “Just finished a writing session. How was school?”

  “Boring. We’re doing division and multiplication. Uh, it’s so hard. I don’t like it.”

  “You have to be good at math.”

  “Why? I’m never going to use it.”

  “Oh, you will. Every day. You’ll see. Anytime you have to buy something, it involves math. You have to keep track of your money. I didn’t do a good job, and I regret it.”

  “It’s okay, Daddy. You do great.”

  “Promise me you’ll be the best in your math class.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  “Great. How’s Tommy?”

  “He’s crawling all over the place. We have to run after him all the time.”

  “Oh, I remember chasing after you.”

  Cory heard Linda say, “Who are you talking to?”

  “Daddy.”

  “You have to get off the phone and get ready for bed.”

  “Can’t I have five more—”

  “Now.”

  “I gotta go, Dad. Bye.”

  The line went dead. He understood that Linda was pissed at him for going at his manager with a knife, but rushing Ava off the phone was unfair. He wanted to call back, but Bruno said when someone was mad not to push it. He’d wait until she calmed down.

  Cory scrolled through pictures of his kids on his phone. He wanted to find one of Ava crawling around like Tommy was and send it to her.

  He found one of her in the bedroom. Cory couldn’t believe how small the room was. He paged through photos, not looking at Ava but at the apartment they’d lived in. It was old and cramped.

  Cory had to figure a way out of the mess he was in because there was no way he was going back to his old life.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Between the lighting, traditional furniture, and barely audible speech, the place reminded Cory of a funeral parlor. Cory took comfort in knowing Joe Baffa needed a sparkler in his hand to get noticed.

  The sixtyish Baffa said, “We’ve only had one other client in the entertainment sector. We normally shy away from clients with visible profiles, but given what you’ve experienced in your previous relationship, we’re willing to assist.”

  “I appreciate that. You’ve been around a long time, right?”

  “Since 1925. My grandfather built this business servicing the needs of families who owned successful businesses. He guided many prominent families through the Great Depression and made a name for the firm. Our philosophy is conservative; we don’t swing for the fences. We’ll take the singles and doubles while avoiding risk. It’s not sexy, but it allowed generations of families to protect and grow their assets. Does that strategy suit your objectives, Mr. Lupinski?”

  “Yes. I don’t know any other way to say this, but I make music. Math isn’t my bag. How can I be sure I won’t get robbed again?”

  “We’re not the custodians of your assets. They’ll be held in your name at Bank of America. We’ll set an amount on payments, say five thousand dollars, that will require your sign-off. For recurring payments, such as mortgages or rents, you’ll sign an authorization allowing those to be paid without your permission.”

  “So, nobody can send money out without checking with me?”

  “You can allow payments to be made up to whatever limit you are comfortable with. Anything above it will require Bank of America to have your concurrence.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

  “We appreciate the trust you place in us. The first order of business will be a transfer of the financial records and accounts. We’ll have an authorization drafted to move the assets to Bank of America. Now, Mr. Lupinski, what are your financial goals?”

  “To not have to worry about money. Right now, I’ve taken a bad hit, and I got expenses, a family to take care of.”

  Cory liked the
way Baffa talked about financial security. He left the meeting feeling that the new manager was the right one, especially with Bank of America in the middle. It was the first thing Cory felt good about in a while.

  * * *

  Cory exited his building, heading toward a waiting Navigator. Tracy was on the sidewalk, holding the door open. A man in a suit stepped in front of Cory. “Mr. Lupinski?”

  “Yeah?”

  He handed Cory a document. “You’ve been served.”

  Cory’s eyes moved from the man to the paperwork. “What the fuck?”

  Tracy grabbed Cory’s arm. “Jump in. We’ll deal with this.”

  Cory climbed in the SUV. “Linda wants a divorce.”

  “We’ll handle it.”

  “We? What the fuck does that mean? My family’s being destroyed!”

  “I know it’s difficult, but I’m sure there’s a way to reconcile the—”

  “Stop the car! I said stop the fucking car!”

  The driver pulled over. Cory opened the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to my apartment.”

  “But they’re waiting at the studio. You have to shoot the video today.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “You have to.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m sick of everybody running my goddamn life for me.” Cory got out and slammed the door.

  Walking to the apartment, he called Linda. “What the hell is going on? Now you want a divorce?”

  “Calm down, Cory.”

  “Don’t you think you should have talked to me about it?”

  “I made a decision.”

  “How could you?”

  “How could I? It wasn’t me who attacked someone with a knife. I’m not the one high all the time—”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  “What I know is that I don’t feel the children are safe around you.”

  “That’s bullshit! You think I’d harm my own kids? You’re fucking sick, you know that?”

  “You have anything to say, you’re going to have to go through my lawyer.”

  “Fuck the lawyers! We got to work this out—” Cory realized she had hung up. “Goddamn it!”

  Shoving the phone in his pocket, Cory realized a handful of people were recording his outburst with their cell phones. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  Back in his apartment, Cory fumed as he made a drink. How could she divorce me? That crap about him being violent was nothing more than a setup to take his kids away from him. He took a sip wondering how anyone could believe he was dangerous. It was bullshit. Her lawyer was going to use it to suck money out of him.

  His cell rang. It was Tracy. He swiped the call away. A second later the intercom sounded.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Lupinski, it’s Spencer, from the front desk. Ms. Tracy is here. Shall I let her up?”

  “No! If you do, I’ll make sure you get fired.”

  * * *

  Cory squinted at the sunlight streaming into the living room. His head pounded as he got off the couch. He picked up the empty bottle of bourbon that lay on the floor and closed the curtains.

  Cory checked his phone. Ten missed calls from Tracy and a voice mail from a number he didn’t recognize. He listened to the message: “Uh. Hi, Mr. Loop, this is Terry Gimlet from the New York Post. I’d like to get your side of the story on your, uh, the way you lost it yesterday outside your apartment. You can reach me at—”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cory sank into the couch. Dr. Bruno said, “How are you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “How am I supposed to feel? My wife filed for divorce.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “She didn’t even have the nerve to talk to me about it. I mean, we were doing good, pretty well, anyway. It’s not a straight line, right?”

  “All relationships have their ups and downs. How the low periods are resolved is key to maintaining a healthy connection to each other.”

  “She got bent out of shape about the whole Lew thing. Said some bullshit about the kids not being safe around me. What kind of frigging nonsense is that?”

  “I realize your manager stealing from you was a frustrating experience, but your reaction was uncommon. Can you see how she might have concerns regarding it?”

  “No. We’ve been together too long. I’ll bet you it’s her damn lawyer. Frigging scumbag just wants to run up the bill.”

  “It might be helpful to see it from her perspective.”

  “And she should see it through my eyes. I mean, the bastard stole from not just me, but from our family. What did she want me to do, sit on my fucking hands?”

  “It may be her viewpoint isn’t solely shaped by the manager incident. Linda is aware you’ve been drinking too much.”

  “That has nothing to fucking do with anything.”

  “Using alcohol or drugs removes the filter we develop. Under normal circumstances, when a situation is stressful, we’re usually able to keep it in check. But when our guard is down, for example, when we’re under the influence of alcohol, our judgment is off. We go outside the bounds of acceptable behavior. Basically, our anger gets the best of us.”

  Cory shrugged.

  “Do you believe that you could have handled the situation better?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I was so damn mad at the bastard that I lost it.”

  “I understand. Anger is the go-to emotion for many people. However, oftentimes, the expression of anger toward others is nothing more than an attempt to blame someone else for a problem. The reality is, though there may be some culpability, below the surface of someone’s anger is fear or a sense of hopelessness.”

  “Of course, I’m afraid. Afraid of losing money, and now my wife and kids. I can’t lose my kids. No way. I swear, I’ll kill her if she takes them away from me.”

  “It’s not helpful to speak in a violent—”

  “It’s an expression, that’s all.”

  “It sounds angry and aggressive. Language can contribute to an escalation—”

  “All right already. I get it.

  “I’d like to return to your fear of losing money. Let’s go back to before you had any money to lose. Did you feel you were happy then?”

  “Definitely. I mean, it wasn’t easy in a one-bedroom apartment with a kid, but we did all right. Everything was good.”

  “Is it the inability to deal with money or fame that bothers you?”

  “Look, I’ve experienced both, and I can tell you, having money is a heck of a lot better than being broke.”

  “What about becoming famous? You’ve mentioned your father never believed you would make it. Was obtaining the success you achieved a validation of some kind? Does it feel good, or are feelings of inadequacy still there?”

  Cory shifted positions. “Like I’m not good enough? And don’t deserve it or something?”

  “A common feeling among successful people is something we call the impostor syndrome. It’s a thought pattern where someone doubts their success is real and fears being exposed as a fraud.”

  “We’re almost out of time, and I got an appointment I can’t be late for.”

  Cory rushed out of the office and turned his phone on. Two voice messages. He listened to Tracy’s appeal to call her. He made a mental note to make her wait another couple of hours and deleted the voice mail.

  He clicked the next message and froze as he heard a familiar voice. “This is Mr. Black. Get back to me as soon as possible. We’ve identified the party in question.”

  Cory leaned against the wall as blood pounded in his ears. He was about to find out who it was, but now he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He told himself there could be an easy way to end the blackmailing. He called back Mr. Black, asking him to meet at his apartment in thirty minutes.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  His nerves calmed by a joint and a glass of bourbon, Cory and Mr. Black settled into a pair of
white club chairs. Cory said, “So, you found who it is?”

  “Yes.” He opened a manila envelope and handed Cory a photo. “It’s Joseph Bonner.”

  “Joe Bonner?”

  “You know him?”

  “He seems familiar, but I can’t place him.”

  “I did a background investigation on him.”

  “You did? What did you find?” He was afraid Black found out what he’d done and held his breath.

  “Bonner teaches piano—”

  “Jay Bird was taking lessons?”

  “No. Bonner taught Jay Bird as a kid. He tunes pianos on the side. He was at the studio to tune theirs and ran into Jay Bird.”

  “So, that’s why he was there. What else were you able to find out?”

  “That’s about it. He lives in Sheepshead Bay. Takes the occasional tae kwon do class and is divorced.”

  “How old is he? And is he a big guy?”

  “Bonner is in his early sixties. Five feet eight, about one hundred fifty or so. What do you want to do?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “If he’s a threat, you need to take precautions. He knows some martial arts. My recommendation would be bodyguards on a twenty-four by seven basis. We can make the arrangements.”

  “I don’t want any more people around me than I already have.”

  “Our men won’t interfere in your life; they’re virtually invisible.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass for now.”

  “Well, then you should be prepared to defend yourself.”

  Cory leaned forward. “And how would I do that?”

  “With a firearm.”

  “A gun?”

  “Unfortunately, public figures are targets for the lunatics out there.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I understand your hesitancy, but the failure to prepare could have dire consequences.”

  Cory got up. “I need a drink. Can I get you a bourbon or something?”

  “No, I don’t let anything interfere with my reaction time or judgment.”

  “I need something to calm my nerves.”

  “The optimal way to take care of your problem is elimination.”

  “Elimination?”