Our Father

by Marilyn French

  Hollis started forward in his chair, appalled. “No! The whole point is to … Listen, Elizabeth, sit down!”

  She stopped.

  “What I was going to suggest is that you girls each kick in a little sum, say a hundred, a hundred fifty, two hundred apiece, and we’ll have her sign a paper promising to make no claims against the will. She’ll be happy, you’ll be safe.”

  “A hundred and fifty dollars?” a dismayed Alex whispered to Mary.

  Mary smiled patronizingly at her. “Thousand, dear.”

  “Say what you have to say in her presence and see what she says,” Elizabeth said brusquely and left the room.

  Hollis sat back, glancing uneasily at Mary and Alex. What was the matter with Elizabeth? And the others, just sitting there, not even trying to stop her. Never heard of such a thing. Ridiculous. Improper. Insane. Old man crazy at the end, maybe it ran in the family, maybe they’re all nuts, maybe he always was crazy, all those wives, all those women, god, I remember a few of them, a real swordsman he was, why couldn’t he just have stayed married to whichever one it was, oh yes, the Irish secretary, well of course he was just a kid then, and then the next one died, suicide they said, still a gentleman should just stay married and keep his sex life discreet, the rest of us managed it, you don’t have to keep getting married, and you damned well don’t have to produce bastards. …

  Elizabeth was gone a long time, and while she was gone, no one spoke. At least fifteen minutes passed before she returned, rather pink in the face, leading a reluctant Ronnie. “Had to go out to the woods to find her,” she announced, a little out of breath. She dropped into a chair, motioned Ronnie to do the same. Ronnie slid out of her heavy jacket, threw it on a chair, and sat down next to Elizabeth.

  “Now will you please repeat what you told us, Hollis?” Elizabeth asked formally, politely.

  His face was patched with pink and he seemed for a moment unable to speak. Alex took pity on him. She stood and took his glass from his hand. “Another Manhattan, Hollis?”

  He nodded.

  “You know you can’t make a Manhattan, Alex—andra,” Mary said, rising to do it. Hollis surrendered to them and did not speak until he had sipped his fresh cocktail and Mary had seated herself again.

  “Miss … Velez. I know these ladies believe you to be their half sister, their father’s illegitimate daughter …”

  “Believe her! Look at her eyes, Hollis! Look at her chin!” Elizabeth interrupted.

  “Ummmm,” he mumbled, fiddling with some papers. “Nevertheless, he has not acknowledged you in his will, which gives you no legal right to any claim on his estate. What I’m saying is that unfortunately, your father left you nothing. Now what these ladies are willing to do …”

  “NO!” Elizabeth said sharply. “We have indicated no such willingness! What you are proposing we do, Hollis.”

  He flushed and his voice changed into that of a lawyer dealing with an opponent, a tough negotiator, an enemy.

  Our enemy, Mary thought.

  “What I propose is that these ladies compensate for your father’s neglect, and share part of their inheritances with you. I have mentioned a certain figure, but of course that would be negotiable. But it seems to me receiving some hundreds of thousands of dollars would go a long way toward making you feel you’d received some justice, and it should certainly help make your life easier.”

  Ronnie’s face was expressionless. “And in return?” she asked.

  “In return, you sign a paper relinquishing any claim to his estate.”

  “Don’t do it, Ronnie,” Mary advised. “You never know. Maybe some old letter will turn up admitting something. You’ve never gone through your mother’s things. Maybe she had something …”

  “My dear!” Hollis exploded.

  “Anyway, we’ll share with you without your signing anything, Ronnie,” Alex said. “He left so much!” She looked at Mary. “Well, I’ll share with you anyway. You can have half of my share.”

  Ronnie looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth shrugged. “We’re not asking you, he is.”

  Hollis’s heart was palpitating, he put his hand over it. “Ladies, ladies,” he protested weakly, “as your attorney, as your father’s attorney, I cannot countenance such promises, such …”

  “I won’t sign a fucking thing,” Ronnie said savagely. “He never acknowledged me, I’m not acknowledging him. But I’ll tell you this, old man: I don’t want his money. I don’t want half of Alex—andra’s inheritance, or half of anybody else’s. The only things I ever might have wanted from him he didn’t have to give.” She stood up, reached for her jacket. “If that’s all, I’ll go back outside. The air is better out there.”

  She left. The sisters watched Hollis’s face. He stared after Ronnie, stared at them.

  Finally he spoke, stiffly, formally. “Perhaps you’d like to get someone else to probate this will for you. I have all the files, I can easily transfer them to another attorney.”

  “No, Hollis, we’re quite content with you handling it. You just don’t understand Ronnie. But we want you to set things in motion. How long will it take, do you think?”

  “Six, eight months. At least.”

  “This house is left to us?”

  He nodded and began to return his papers to his briefcase. He never looked directly at any of them again until Mary sidled up to him as he was leaving and asked about the chances of receiving an advance—perhaps a quarter-million—within the next month. Now that he understood. He smiled benignly. “With an estate of this size, Mary my dear, I don’t think that should be a problem. I’ll see to it first thing next week.”

  He left feeling something of himself had been salvaged.

  Ten to fifteen million dollars. Ten to fifteen million dollars. At the least. Pay off all the debts, hire a full staff of servants again, get a car and driver, pick up my old life. Lunch at Le Cirque, go to the designer shows, the charity balls and lunches, travel, maybe even buy a little place somewhere wonderful. Capri.

  Mary undressed slowly, her wonder affecting the way she saw her body, which seemed to shimmer in the shower like the white silk undergarments she had removed, the white silk nightgown she put on afterward. She moved toward the chaise like a queen walking in state, in slow dignity, her head erect. Ten to fifteen million dollars. I wouldn’t have to lift a finger to find another husband, they’d be clustering around me, it would be like the old days when I was young, only this time the bait wouldn’t be me but my money, I could pick and choose. I could hold out for the real thing, for another Don. If there can ever be another Don …

  Will I ever feel that way about anyone again?

  She lighted her joint and gazed benignly out at the darkness as if in it she saw the winding stone lanes of Capri, the bougainvillea, the sky the color of periwinkle, the bay below. … She remembered being with Don in San Francisco, disappointed, they had planned something, what was it, a picnic? a walk? But they woke to a terrible morning, dark and ominous, the fog rolling over the top of the mountains like clouds, poured over them like lava, wave after wave of it, and rain would ruin everything. But it was only fog pouring over the top of the mountains and by ten it had risen and the sky glistened as if it had just been washed. …

  It had been one of their perfect days.

  That might not come again, but now everything was as it had been years ago, always had been. My birthright returned to me, at least he did that much. If he hadn’t died when he did, though …

  She shook off the thought.

  How could Elizabeth and I possibly live together, what can I have been thinking of, all we do is quarrel, we share nothing, not one thing, and a room in the house for Ronnie, what nonsense! How could we introduce her? She might bring her friends, a bunch of Latino dykes, are we supposed to entertain them? Even Alex is a problem, she doesn’t fit into my world, even Elizabeth just gets by because she has manners and Father’s name and is secretary of the treasury or assistant or whatever it is. …

&n
bsp; What was I thinking of, staying here with Ronnie, bringing Marie-Laure here on her school vacation, I must have been out of my mind.

  Ten to fifteen million dollars.

  Marie-Laure will start to get money from her trust immediately, luckily I have control of it, I’ll have her pay her own expenses, school fees, her clothes, get that car she’s been nagging me for. … Must make sure she makes a will too, don’t want Alberto ever to get his hands on her money. Bertie too, well he’s a lawyer with a wife, he surely has a will and there’s no way he’d include Alberto in it. I won’t have to worry about her anymore, she’ll be able to marry well, it’s not a huge amount, but it’s enough, enough to attract someone from a good family. … If there are any left, so many scandals, everyone seems corrupt these days.

  Maybe they always were but we didn’t know about it. Were people more honest years ago? Who was it during the Revolution who bought and sold imported goods after vowing not to, signing a boycott, John Hancock, I think, and now there’s a building named for him. And Paul Revere making an engraving about an incident with violence on both sides but changing it into soldiers massacring a crowd of poor peaceful citizens so it was called the Boston Massacre, wasn’t it? And who was it herded poor immigrants off the boats and loaded them onto railroad cars that ran straight inside his factories to break strikes, and the poor men didn’t know what was happening to them, when was that, who was that? Andrew Carnegie? Maybe Elizabeth would know.

  That’s how they made all that money.

  I wonder how the Uptons made theirs. I wonder how Father …

  Don’t think about that.

  Surely he was always honest in business at least, he was a lawyer, how could he not be, he’d know he’d get into trouble. But lawyers on the inside track always hear about deals. …

  Harry cheated, I know he did. Something came out after he died, I sensed at the time that he was under some pressure, he was so irritable, drinking so heavily, that’s what killed him, not screwing around, he knew some government agency was breathing down his neck, selling parts to the air force at inflated prices, something like that, I didn’t really read the stories. …

  Don’t think this way.

  Besides, I’ve never done anything evil.

  She took a long drag on her joint and put it out. The darkness outside the window was almost total now, only a faint line divided sky from treetops. There were no stars.

  Ten to fifteen million dollars, times three is thirty to forty-five million, not counting the real estate and all those other bequests, all told he must have had a hundred million or more, god he was rich, how did he get so rich, how can anyone get that rich? You’re supposed to be an economist, Elizabeth, you should know.

  Word will get out without my lifting a finger. It will make me. Whatever cachet I had before will be multiplied infinitely, just the smell of money, as potent in Washington as in L.A. or New York, anyplace, anyplace at all, just the hint of it makes you a magnet, draws them all, the lowly and the powerful, the wanna-bes and the haves. If Mary comes to live with me we could buy a house in Georgetown, she could decorate it, we could hold small dinner parties, invite only the very powerful, they’d come, all that money, she’s a wonderful hostess, she has charm and I could talk politics with the men, we could be like Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas except not lovers. Maybe I could even make the Council, be the first woman on it.

  Elizabeth was still sitting fully dressed on the chaise in her bedroom, smoking. She put out her cigarette and stood, feeling enormously tall, commanding, as commanding as … Father. She walked toward the bathroom and began to undress slowly, imagining how people would treat her now, the little marks of deference she would receive, not that she didn’t receive deference as it was, but it would be multiplied exponentially. …

  They could keep a car and driver for Mary, she of course had her official car, they could afford anything, everything, how could you possibly spend that much money, they’d each have ten to fifteen million, invested even conservatively they’d have a million or two to spend every year, when even on her salary, which was a fraction of that, she saved money now. No, the money was too much, couldn’t imagine spending it, maybe I should look around for some worthy foundation to endow, I have no kids.

  What can you do with ten to fifteen million dollars that’s worth doing, that’s as wonderful as the idea of it, that’s as wonderful as the sound of it, that can make you as happy as the sound, the promise of it? Mother’s going to have a few million, Hollis said. Really did get her revenge. What on earth do I want, can I want, that’s as good as that?

  Maybe something Ronnie cares about, something environmental, one thing about us Republicans, we aren’t too good on the environment. But it’s important. Maybe set up a foundation and have Ronnie run it, no she wouldn’t like that. Want to make sure she has an income, she won’t take anything from us, I know that. Have to take care of her somehow. Everything stacked against her kind, people not exactly like us. Nothing about her matters as much as that … she could be a bastard, who would know or care? Or a lesbian, well of course she’d have to hide that. But she can’t hide her golden skin. …

  And he made me executor, she thought, a smile crossing her face as she stepped into her shower, feeling tall, commanding, as if she’d grown a few inches today. He gave me that responsibility, didn’t treat me like a woman, treated me like a son, of course, he would have left a son the major part of the estate, and left the daughters smaller trusts, but he didn’t have a son, hah hah. Still, he made me executor.

  She was smiling as she stepped out of the shower, as she dried her body, and when she glanced at herself in the mirror while brushing her teeth, she saw herself smiling still.

  Ten to fifteen million dollars, she thought. I won’t ever be lonely again.

  Good heavens. I can’t even picture ten to fifteen million dollars. What would that much money look like? What on earth can a person possibly do with it?

  Alex undressed uneasily, feeling somehow unlike herself, and stepped into the shower. Unthinkingly, she turned on only the cold water and was blasted with a freezing rain. She stepped back and slipped, almost fell. God. She adjusted the temperature, holding her hand under the water until it was warm enough, then stepped gingerly back under the waterfall.

  David will want to invest it, put it away for the kids’ future, but there’s too much, they don’t need that much, that much money isn’t good for people. Especially for kids. No. I can’t let him do that. Some of it, yes, but not all. But I’ve never opposed David about anything. How can I do it now? This damned money is going to wreck my marriage, this inheritance, why did he have to do that to me?

  What I’d like to do, he probably won’t want me to do it, is give it to the nuns—they could use it for something worthwhile. Maybe if I gave him half to help the Ethiopian Jews settling in Israel. He had tears in his throat when we were talking the other night, I could hear them in his voice, so proud of Israel for taking in those poor people, homeless, with nothing. Even though Israel is so small, and has so many problems of its own, it always makes room for Jews in the Jewish homeland, the state as it should be but almost never is, he said, a state that exists not just for the men who rule it but that is concerned with its people. Funny to hear him so emotional. Most of the time he’s angry at Israel, thinks it’s militaristic. But maybe the tears just meant he misses me more than he says.

  Drying her hair with a towel, she walked naked into her bedroom and threw open the window. Cold air blasted in, but she stood there as if she were trying to bring herself back to consciousness.

  Drunk, it’s as if I’m drunk. Isn’t that what they do to drunks? Toss them into cold showers? She wrapped the towel around her shivering body, pulled the window shut and went for her pajamas.

  I need to get sober. Drunk on money am I? On the promise of money. On words that mean money. Nothing’s really different, is it? I’m still the same person I was this morning, aren’t I? Why couldn’t I cal
l David and tell him? Sat there for almost an hour but couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone.

  That time in Jerusalem, when David attended that conference of chemical engineers. We stayed at that wonderful guesthouse, Mishkenot Sha’ananim. I couldn’t sleep the first night and from there I could watch the sun come up over the walls of the Old City. First time I ever heard of the Shechinah, she-who-dwells-among-us, really means the neighbor-woman, but also the spirit indwelling, Esther said, the spirit in us that reaches out to others, who forms community. Esther, a rabbi in spirit but not allowed to be one, she’s a woman, spoke like a prophet, a healer, she sold potions, secret teas and herbs. Lived above a potter’s shop in the Old City, stone walls, stone streets, voices echoing, quiet in the Jewish Quarter, the Muslim and Christian quarters clamorous like bazaars, brilliant-colored silks hanging across the passageways to cool them from the sun, everyone pulling at you, come, come in, buy buy. But the street the pottery shop was on, Yoel Moshe Salomon, was only a narrow passage like an alley, the sidewalks so narrow you had to walk single file.

  The tiny shops opened onto the street, their doors wide open. The potter’s shop had a door leading to a courtyard where he kept his wheel. Esther tended the shop when he went for clay or to make a delivery or worked his wheel in the yard. I visited her while David attended the conference, sat and drank tea with her in the cool beautiful shop full of things made of earth, made by a man’s hands. I’d like to go back, see if she’s still there. She told me to walk around outside the walled city, just walk.

  Out the Damascus Gate, brown hills spreading across the visible world, like an entire hemisphere baking under a merciless sun, a few trees dotting the terraced mountains, tall thin shapely cypresses, the olive groves, a few eucalyptus trees. Once long ago, plum trees grew in Jerusalem, she said. Gone now. I blotted out the ugly new buildings, Brigham Young University, the Hyatt, the Hilton. I tried to see it as I remembered it, I knew how it used to be, I knew I’d been there before in another life.