Sandra bowed her head and turned away, embarrassed for both of them. She wished she could disappear, but something told her that her presence might be useful to the family now, that she owed something to Jack to stay here and finish what she had started.
“Why haven’t you been getting your hair done?” He was making reference to the yellowed gray of her shaggy hair, recently cut in a youthful pixie style as soon as Jack’s funeral was over, after having been worn in a gleaming silver French twist for thirty years. Then he leaned forward and gently, with his hand under her chin, lifted her head slightly to look into her eyes. “Why haven’t you changed your clothes? Mom, what is going on here?” Bill was suddenly frightened. He wasn’t ready for Bernice to die and leave him alone. He didn’t want to be grown up, the head of a family. He went to her side and helped her stand up.
“I’m very well able to stand on my own, if you don’t mind. Insulting me in my own home and then insinuating that I am unable to function.” Her old pride had returned.
Bill stifled a sigh of relief. He looked at Sandra and tried to smile. She could almost read his mind. She was being given an opening here to take and bond as part of the family or to remain an outsider.
“Bernice, I don’t think that is what Bill means at all, do you, Bill?” She came to Bernice’s other side and took her hand. “Let’s go back into the den, okay? I’m sorry I raised my voice, Bernice,” Sandra said to her.
Bernice looked confused for a moment. “What were we fighting about, anyway?” She laughed then. “Oh, right! You, Bill, we were fighting about you.”
It was his turn to look confused. “What did I do? I haven’t even been around for two months.”
They took their seats in the den around the game table.
Bernice rang for Mildred. “Let’s eat, okay? I’m about ready to faint.”
Mildred brought the lunch tray in and decided there on the spot that she was going to speak to Mr. Bill about the money situation. Newly home from jail or not, now was the time. No one was prepared to work forever without pay.
“Sir, may I speak to you privately?” Mildred said to Bill under her breath.
Thinking she wanted to talk about the condition of his mother, he stood up, making the excuse to go to the bathroom to wash his hands, and whispered, “Yes,” back to Mildred.
They met in the hallway leading to the kitchen.
“Sir,” Mildred began, “we in the kitchen think you should know that finances here have reached a critical point. We haven’t been paid in over a month, and there is no money for food or to pay the bills we normally take care of, for the gardener, or for gas for the car.” She stopped, looking him right in the eye.
“I thought my sister-in-law was taking care of money while I was gone,” he said. Then he remembered, just that morning, Anne saying Sandra was giving Bernice money. He could feel his face turning red, his blood pressure going up rapidly. “This is news to me.” He was looking off into space.
What the hell am I going to do now? I don’t have a penny. That goddamned Pam!
Mildred was waiting patiently, but wasn’t going to budge until he gave her some answers.
“Let me look into it, okay? Can you and the others hold on for a few more days?” He knew that he needed some finesse right now, a commodity not normally used in a prison cell. Did he even remember how to charm?
“Thank you so much for not jumping ship, Mildred! I appreciate it so very much! I’ll get back to you, okay?” He took her hand and patted it.
She immediately went into the bathroom and washed it off.
Bill stood in the hallway for a few minutes, collecting himself. He was at a total loss for what the next move should be. He knew that anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere; it was too late for that. He had to be honest with his mother, and he supposed Sandra as well. Something had to be done, right that afternoon, probably asking Sandra or Pam for money. They didn’t need to keep the staff on, but he wasn’t going to do anything rash. He was beginning to think he made a mistake getting out of jail early.
Walking back to the den, he could hear pleasant conversation between his mother and Sandra. It was totally against everything he knew to bring up any unpleasantness during a meal. He would have to take a stand and be strong for once. And he had to control his temper. It had landed him in hot water with his brother and look where that lead. Both women looked up when he walked into the room. He decided to just say it.
“Mother, the staff hasn’t been paid in over a month.” He sat down with a thud.
Bernice’s hand was poised over the serving spoon, ready to scoop up a puffed pastry shell full of chicken and place one on each plate. Her hand hovered over the spoon. “That’s nonsense. I paid them myself, I am sure of it. What a thing to bring up during lunch, in front of our guest!” She reached for the spoon, ignoring Bill.
“Mother, listen to me. Put the spoon down and listen. We are broke. We don’t have the money to pay your staff, or to pay for food, or to buy gas for the limousine.” He waited, and Bernice continued to dish up lunch. Bill reached over his mother and gently took the spoon out of her hand. “You are going to face this right now,” he said firmly. The dialogue was giving Sandra a glimpse into why people lost their temper with Bernice. She could be obstinate. “We have a choice. We can ask Pam,” and then he turned to look at Sandra, “or we can ask you,” he said, directing his comment to her. “You benefited by my brother’s death.” He raised his hand when she began to protest. “Not intentionally, but you did. Let’s face the facts here. My brother was pissed off at me because I failed to live up to his work ethic.”
Sandra had to admit that was probably true. Bill wasn’t dynamic. He was weak. But that may not have been entirely his fault.
“We were desperate for his help and he gave it to us. He gave Mother a generous stipend for the year after my father died. You knew that. He promised me that he would field clients my way. And now you haven’t honored his intentions.” Bill sat down at the table, across from Sandra. He fought back tears. “When I learned that he willed his
business
to you, I knew we were in trouble. By not giving it to his wife, keeping it in the family, it would make it that much harder for us to benefit in any way.”
Bernice knew why Jack had been so angry, but she wasn’t going to bring it up in front of Sandra. She prayed silently that Bill wouldn’t, either.
It would be the final devastation.
Now this lovely young lady knows we’re broke. Can I keep a little of my pride?
“I’m not sure what I have to do with this,” Sandra said. “Your mother invited me here for lunch. I’m didn’t come here to argue with you.” She thought,
It’ll be over my dead body that he gets one percent of the business Jack left to me
. He had left it to her to protect Pam; Sandra could see that now. The date of the restraining order and the day Jack changed his will, giving his business interest to her, were close.
She was so pleased with herself! She couldn’t wait to tell Pam! This sudden epiphany made so much sense. Jack knew that the money issues here were escalating and Bill was going to be trouble. Jack hinted that he felt like he might be dying soon. She wasn’t the only person who noticed; even his own lawyer told Pam he felt that. He knew that Pam was too kind to deny Bill; if she had the controlling interest in the business, he would hound her to death. Sandra was tougher. Bill would not be able to harass her like he could Pam. Sandra felt vindicated. Jack hadn’t left the business to her because it would benefit her, after all. It had been to protect Pam.
Lunch was ruined. Bernice was numb.
What does Bill expect of me?
She didn’t know what to do. She looked beseechingly at Sandra. “Is there any way you can help us?” she asked.
Sandra stood up and walked toward the French doors that lead to a beautiful walled courtyard. It was August, and the flowers were still abundant, no sign of dog days out here. It was evident that the gardener was coming frequently, that one of the unpaid bills would be from the
greenhouse. “Well, let me ask you first. Is there any way you can help yourself?” She looked from Bill to Bernice and waited.
Neither said a word.
“Okay, let me word it differently. If I were to give you money right now, how would it change anything? You would still be broke tomorrow, correct? There wouldn’t be any income coming into this house or yours either, correct, Bill?”
After all, the guy was just sprung from jail. What income was he going to have?
She waited. “The way I see things, you are living above your means here. You both want to have expensive lifestyles, yet there is no money to support it. Can I ask what is going on with your office?” She could tell that she had hit a nerve; Bill was bright red in the face. But to his credit, he was keeping it together.
“It’s closed. The business is closed.” He was embarrassed to say it in front of his mother, even though she had to know it was his father, her late husband, who had driven the business into the ground, keeping it going by selling off investments and allowing his family to believe everything was okay when it was really over. Bill would have been forced to face reality and look for another job if he had known how bad things were. But would he have? He floundered for a full year after Harold died, trying to stay afloat with no business. Sandra just didn’t understand it. Maybe he was daft.
She looked him in the eye. “I have to think about this. But you do, too. I am going to talk to Pam to see if she can come up with anything.”
Bernice started to protest, and Sandra put up her hand to shut her up.
“I’m not keeping this from her, if that is what you are going to suggest. She is in this, too. I can’t risk what is, in all actuality, her money. I want you both to think about how you can help. If it’s putting your houses up for sale, your office, too, so be it. Someone has to go to work. The way I am seeing it, I am the only one working here, and I don’t like it.” She reached for her purse. This was not the way she wanted to spend her Saturday afternoon. “I am going home. Don’t get up.” She bent to kiss Bernice on her cheek, patted her hand, looked at Bill, and left the house.
S
andra moved quickly to get out of the house before Bill, or worse, Bernice called after her. She needn’t have worried. They sat there, numb. What Sandra had said was true, but something they didn’t want to face. They needed to sell the houses. They didn’t even have the money to rent a cheap apartment. At the same time, as though choreographed, they said, “Maybe Pam would let us live in the Madison Avenue apartment.” They looked at each other but didn’t laugh. It was too gruesome to laugh about.
Bill looked around the room.
Just the artwork hanging in here is worth a small fortune. Why hadn’t we done something sooner, like auction some of this art?
“You know, Mom, maybe we should think about having an auction. We can cull the flock, so to speak. There are boxes of things in the attic and even more in the office.” Bill knew he was grasping at straws. But the truth was that the house had been in the family since it was built over a hundred years ago. There could be priceless artifacts hidden away. He knew for a fact that the painting over the fireplace in the dining room was by a famous Dutch painter. He got up to find a pen and piece of paper. “Come with me. I’m going to start listing stuff we can sell.” He turned to look at his mother, who was looking at him like he had two heads. “Mother, come on! You can sell some of this crap or lose your house. What would be more embarrassing to you?”
Bernice got up then, not without difficulty. She felt like she was a hundred years old. “I need to get back to the gym,” she said as she joined Bill.
“You need to get to the beauty salon,” he replied, Bernice giving him a dirty look in return.
As soon as she was far enough from the house that Bill wasn’t a threat, Sandra called Pam on her cell. Taking care as she crossed a car-filled Broadway, she prayed silently that Pam would be home to answer the phone. The machine picked up with the nondescript voice answering.
“Pam, I am walking down Broadway after leaving the mansion. Give me a call when you get in. I am afraid I may have started World War Three today.” She ended the call and put her cell away. Remembering she hadn’t eaten lunch, she decided to stop in Zabar’s on her way home; it would save her from having to go out again. She took her time in the store, walking up and down the aisles, putting whatever was appetizing into her basket. She still hadn’t gained any weight yet with the pregnancy and, at over five months, was just starting to show. Her doctor told her that because she was tall, the baby had a lot of room to grow before he would push outward. They encouraged her to increase her calories. Sandra added a ready-made sandwich and a half-gallon of gourmet ice cream to the imported cheeses and freshly baked bread in her basket. She paid for her groceries and left the store, walking fast so her ice cream wouldn’t melt in the heat. Then her phone rang. It was Pam.
“What happened?” she asked, without saying hello.
Sandra told her everything.
“It sounds worse when I repeat it,” she said. “I just couldn’t let them go on thinking that we would give them money and they would do nothing to get themselves out of this mess.”
“I have been giving them money,” Pam said when Sandra was finished. “I continued giving Bernice two thousand dollars a week. I gave it in a check, however, because I want a record, and I sent it to Anne.”
Oh, oh
, Pam thought. “Maybe that wasn’t such a smart move. Let me check my bank statement, okay? I’ll call you right back.”