Final Arrangements (10 page)

"Stretch, I--"

"--Don't say it. Don't say anything. Not now,
not ever. It never happened. And even if it did, there's nothing to
say. Get yourself another Coke."

"No. I have to say it."

"No you don't. I'm going to pray for you
right now. Father in Heaven, we ask for you to take a strong hand
in Shannon's life. We need immediate assistance with her job
situation. We ask all roadblocks be removed and any enemies be
struck down. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but
against spirits in high places. We place our complete faith in you,
Father, in your abilities. Thank you for answering this prayer in
Jesus' name."

"Thanks, Stretch."

"Don't thank me. Have faith. We have a God
who can create something out of nothing. Believe in your heart
whatever's just happened can be reversed. No. Believe God is
opening a new door and closing an old one."

"Okay. I'll try. I'm not entirely sure I'm up
to it, though."

"Just believe as best you can. Now go and get
yourself a fresh Coke with plenty of ice. As long as you stay where
you are in the snack bar and wait for me, whatever just happened
won't get any worse. And one more thing--"

The phone beeped. Call waiting.

"Call coming through?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to take it?"

"Stretch, can you hold on?"

"Yes."

"Shannon?" A deep voice, filled with gravel,
speaking in heavily accented--but perfect--English. The only voice
of its kind she knew of. A voice comfortable with absolute power,
so much so the voice was seldom raised above the merest of
whispers.

"General Kremsky?"

"Yes. I'm here in Mr. Archer's office. A few
minutes ago, he informed me your father had passed away. I am
deeply and sincerely sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. I'm afraid things haven't gone
well for me today. I won't be attending the closing. I'm
sorry."

"Don't be. I just explained the facts of life
to Mr. Archer on that point. The man is a beast. He criticized you
right in front of me. Said you should be expected to put the
company business above that of your own personal needs. Imagine!
Expecting someone to work when they should be paying their respects
to their dead."

"General, I think you should know I've
probably lost my job. My last conversation with Bob Archer didn't
go in my favor. But I wish you all the best just the same. Griffen
and Brunstetter is a good company. You won't be sorry you placed
your business with them."

"You didn't lose your job. I just spoke with
Griffen. About your new position."

"My what?"

"Your new job. Here, I'll put the big boss
on. He can tell you."

"Shannon?" It was Ronald Q. Griffen. The old
man of the firm. Who seldom came down from his personal heaven on
earth to mix with the mere mortals. In fact, she'd spoken to him
only once, at the annual Christmas party. That conversation had
been somewhat awkward, after the manner of children meeting the
department store Santa Claus for the first time.

"Hello, Mr. Griffen."

"Shannon, the General has asked me to appoint
you as Griffen and Brunstetter's investment manager for his
account. I have accepted his suggestion. Is this something you
would be interested in? I am certain we can arrange the details of
your compensation to your satisfaction."

"Mr. Griffen, I don't know what to say. It
would be an honor to be the manager of the account. But I'm still
in shock over the fact that a few minutes ago, I stood up for
myself and lost my job, and now I'm being offered another one. I'm
truly wondering if I'm still welcome at the firm. What does Bob
Archer think of the idea?"

"Bob Archer isn't here."

"Oh. Well, when he comes back, I think I'd
like to get his input before I can give you an answer."

"That will be hard to do, Shannon. Bob Archer
no longer works for us. I just had security escort him out."

"You did?" She tried to imagine it. The firm
employed security guards best described as apes in suits. Had they
flung Archer over a shoulder and trotted him out to the street, or
simply glared him into total submission and a hasty retreat.

"I can't believe Archer is gone," Shannon
said.

"I can't employ someone I can't rely on,"
Griffen said. "He should have been more sensitive. He upset General
Kremsky. That's a big no-no in my book."

"But he was going to be your successor."

"Not anymore. Would he respect my core values
and run the firm the way I would after I'm gone? The man showed no
sympathy over your bereavement. "

"You fired him because he called me away from
my father's funeral?"

"Among other things. Let's just say Mr.
Archer has accumulated some pretty bad joss, as our Chinese
Ambassador friend up on the hill likes to say."

"But with Mr. Archer gone, who's going to
supervise the signing?"

"I am."

Shannon almost gasped. Griffen handling a
closing? For years, the man had served the firm, not as a hands-on
money manager, but more as a powerful financial icon, a figurehead
of Wall Street West. Having him actually mucking about in a closing
was to Shannon somewhat like finding herself visiting the Sphinx
with a tour group and suddenly realizing the thing had winked at
her when nobody else was looking.

"Shannon, I've got to get cracking. I'm
putting the General back on."

"Shannon," he, "Will you accept your new
position?"

"Well, sir, I must say I'm overwhelmed. I
want to say yes, but I feel I should think it over carefully before
I do. I want to be sure I'm the right person for the job. And I'm
sorry I can't be there right now to help you with the closing. But
with Mr. Griffen looking things over for you, you certainly don't
need me there. You're in good hands."

"I always am. How do you think I lived so
long and gotten so rich? Because I have the right friends
surrounding me. Now enough about all this. Shannon, after the
signing today, I realize of course you are going to be a woman of
independent means. And you will have other offers. But I ask you to
consider staying on at Brunstetter and Griffen. I would consider it
a personal favor. But first, you take care of your father. In fact,
let me know when the burial is. I would like to attend."

"Thank you. I will."

"Shannon, when you get settled in your new
office, please call me and let me know of your decision to stay on
and manage my account."

"My new office?"

"Yes. The corner one where Mr. Archer used to
work. Of course you will have to redecorate. The man had deplorable
taste. In particular, I found his wall display of primitive masks
rather unsightly."

The General was gone from the line. With a
start, she realized she'd left Stretch hanging on hold the entire
time.

"Stretch?"

"Still here," he said. "But a lot closer than
I was before. My ETA is about 15 minutes."

"I'll be waiting," she said. "You'll never
believe what just happened."

"Sure I would," he said. "We prayed and
things took a turn for the best."

"That's exactly what happened."

"Just don't forget to give God the
credit."

She ended the call and walked to the counter
for another Coke. It was a lot to take in. Almost too much for
anybody. Even an Ireland.

The phone rang.

"Ms. Ireland, your plane is ready."

"My plane?"

"Yes. The sky marshall is here. You're clear
to taxi."

She'd almost forgotten she was still at the
airport. So much had transpired in the past few minutes, it seemed
a lifetime had gone by.

"Cancel it."

"Ma'am?"

"Cancel the plane."

"May I ask why?"

"It's beyond explaining," she said.

"I just need something to put in the
cancellation report," the clerk said.

"Okay. Will this explanation suffice? Last
night my father ran out of available hours."

"Ma'am?"

"My father passed away last night."

"Yes ma'am. I understand. My deepest
sympathy. And I sincerely mean it."

As she ended the call, Shannon realized she
was over the hurdle of telling people, especially strangers, about
her father's passing. It was with something close to relief she was
now able to receive their brief condolences. It was a sign progress
was being made among all God's children. There was a new
understanding, however fossilized and impersonal, that empathy
still remained in the world, doing its work of keeping them all a
part of each other, and shepherding them to their final
destinations.

Chapter 7

Lunch with Stretch was crispy chicken tacos,
french fries and gigantic Styrofoam cups of iced root beer, served
in a cardboard box from a catering truck parked in front of the
Bank of America across from the Warner studios in Toluca Lake. The
sun was up but not too hot, making it a plus to be sitting in the
large convertible roadster with the top down.

"There's enough fat in one of these to clog
every artery in my body," Stretch said. "It's why they're so
tasty."

"Ingested fat doesn't clog your arteries,
because it's either burned or eliminated. Ingested sugar does all
the clogging, when it's converted to fat at the end of the day.
Anyway, as I was saying, it was eventually going to be Brunstetter,
Griffen, and Archer," Shannon said, recapping the events of her
encounter with General Kremsky and Mr. Griffen. "But now Archer's
gone."

"Maybe it will wind up being Brunstetter,
Griffen, and Ireland," Stretch said. "Ever think of that?"

"Not likely."

"And why not?"

"I'm something of a fluke. If my dad hadn't
gotten an education and moved us to L.A., I'd be living on 90 acres
in Tennessee with my truck driving husband and 10 children and
hanging out my sheets on days when the wind isn't blowing red dust
over everything."

"Doesn't sound half bad," Stretch said. "And
it's probably the exact same way Mr. Griffen's mother used to dry
his clothes."

In spite of herself, Shannon laughed. "Get
real. What I'm trying to say is that deep down inside, I'm still a
country girl. Even if I do become a millionaire, I won't be able to
take the farmer's daughter out of my soul. I'll probably still make
fresh homemade applesauce every fall like my Dad did."

"Nothing wrong with that. Most Americans have
humble roots, and can remember somebody in their family hanging out
those sheets."

"Not everybody. Do you realize there are
people in the Encino Hills who have never slept on sheets which
weren't ironed by somebody first?"

"Is there any other way?" Stretch said. "I
like my creases sharp."

"Don't make me laugh. You're a bachelor. You
probably don't even own any sheets. Even if you are a
millionaire."

"I do own sheets. They cover my windows."

Shannon laughed again. "Stretch, I'm glad I
didn't have to leave town--oh, I can't believe I said it. I don't
know what's going on with me. I'm sad my father is gone, but I'm
happy to be sitting here with you eating tacos and french
fries."

He reached over and rested his hand on her
wrist. "Me too, Shannon."

She pulled her arm away, saying nothing, but
suddenly wondering what it would have felt like to have let his
hand stay. No. It was too much, too soon. "At any rate," she
continued, using words to keep up the illusion nothing in
particular was going on, "I'm not blue-blooded enough to be a
headliner at B & G."

"Shannon, it's God's world. But you act like
the blue bloods own it."

"Because they do. Which is why it surprised
me they put Archer out. Archer is young, but he comes from old
money. His father owns half the real estate on the San Francisco
waterfront, and--oh my gosh! I just realized, I never even asked
you about my brother! After I left the house, did you and Phil see
each other again after he went upstairs?"

"We did," Stretch said.

"And?"

"I can't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Our conversation was private."

"He's my brother."

"Yes. But I promised him whatever we talked
about would be between me and him."

"So you can't tell me anything?"

"I will tell you we're all going to dinner
tonight. Phil's going to be sleeping the rest of the day."

"Dinner where?"

"I know a great rib joint on Sepulveda. It's
called Dr. Hoggly Woggly's Tyler Texas Barbecue."

"I've been there. Dad used to take the whole
family there every so often when we were kids. It's the place with
the great sweet potato pie."

"Affirmative."

"I feel responsible for Phil," Shannon said.
"For his getting drunk. I should have gone to him when he called me
about dad's passing. I was being selfish, my body was craving
sleep, and I wanted to be alone. But I should have been there for
him. It was up to me."

"It's nobody's fault when an alcoholic
drinks," Stretch said. "Besides, there's really no such thing as an
alcoholic."

"I'm sure the folks at AA would be very
interested in that theory," Shannon said.

"Our flesh became corrupt in the Garden of
Eden," Stretch said. "It seeks it's own pleasures, whatever they
may be. In your brother's case, alcohol seems to be his preferred
escape. But it's pointless to hang a label on it. A sinner is a
sinner. Plain and simple. And there's only one answer to sin.
Repent, be baptized, and follow the Lord."

"AA might feel differently."

"No. Even AA admits they don't have the
answer. They can only point the way to where they believe the
answer lies, to a higher power. And we know who that is, don't
we?"

"You've got a theory about everything, don't
you?"

"Yes."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Yes."

"Wham. Another tennis match. Stretch, do you
ever simply talk to folks, or is every conversation you have a
sparring contest?"