Final Arrangements (7 page)

"Is it so terrible?"

"Did I say it was?"

"Did Dad tell you I was going to be
rich?"

"He said you were doing well at work. I
didn't associate that with you being rich."

"Do you think I'm rich? Do you think I
succeeded?"

"No."

"Why, because I'm a woman?"

"No. I know you're not rich yet because I can
see it in your face. You're still hungry. You're like a hungry
child. The rich don't have that hungry look."

"I will be rich, and very soon, and I won't
be ashamed of it," she said.

"Do you feel guilty about wanting to have
money?"

"No. Somebody has to be rich. If it weren't
for the wealthy, there would be no jobs for the rest of us."

"Indeed," Stretch replied. "So by aspiring to
become rich, you're actually helping the poor." His face revealed
nothing.

"You're mocking me. I can feel it. And we're
doing it again," she said.

"Doing what?"

"Tennis. We've just had a very vigorous back
and forth. But I'm not sure who won the point."

"Was there something to be won?"

"I don't know. Was there?"

"Perhaps."

"Stretch ... are you rich?"

"Yes."

"Very, or just sort of."

"Oh, sort of medium, I'd say."

"From cleaning pools?"

"Yeh."

In spite of her premonitions, the image of
Stretch Murphy as a con man just wasn't adding up. She was back to
square one. Attracted to him almost against her will, knowing it
was probably wrong.

"I lied," she said. "I'm not dating anyone.
And haven't been for over two years. I had the same boyfriend since
high school. He and I were both active Christians. We both taught
Sunday school at Bel Air Presbyterian."

"Where they had the big scandal with their
pastor?"

"We hung in there throughout that awful
time," she said. "Besides, even Jesus picked Judas. It doesn't mean
there's anything wrong with our faith. Anyway, my boyfriend was
studying at UCLA for his Ph.D. in Clinical Psych. We were waiting
to get married, until he finished his education and our careers
were better established."

"How very modern," Stretch said.

"But two years ago, right after we both
received our Masters, at about the same time my mother was dying,
the whole thing fell apart. He told me he couldn't keep up with me,
that he didn't want to wait until our careers were established to
get married, that he wanted a family more than he wanted the big
career. He decided to go into practice as a Licensed Clinical
Social Worker at a place in Sherman Oaks. I guess I wasn't ready to
get married and have children, so I took the job with Brunstetter
and Griffen in San Francisco. He went and found somebody who was
ready for a family. They've already given birth to their first
child. I've been permanently off men since then. When I'm not
working, which is almost all the time, I camp in front of the tube
and eat junk food. Aside from going to church once a week, I have
no life."

"You're missing Judge Judy," he said.

"Let's go in, then," she said.

"Okay."

"And I promise not to stare at how tall you
look in my house."

"Or worry whether or not I'll bump my
head?"

"Or that either."

She reached out and touched his forearm
lightly. "Friends?"

"Always were," he said.

"Always?"

"God knew us before we were ever born."

"Stretch, do you really believe we were meant
to be?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"I don't know. I ... it's all so fantastic.
I'll have to think about it."

They went in, she to the TV room to distract
herself with Judge Judy, he upstairs to attempt to locate the boxed
remains of Shannon's mother.

Judge Judy was working an easy mark, a sullen
young girl with a twice-pierced tongue who'd stolen a hundred bucks
from her grandmother's purse. She'd never watched the show before
and found herself instantly addicted to the likable, sharp-tongued
Jurist who dispensed motherly advice and the wrath of Moses with
equal alacrity.

"I found it," Stretch said, walking into the
TV room. His voice jolted her back to reality. "No urn. Just a
small box wrapped in dusty white butcher paper on the top shelf of
his closet. Do you want to see it?"

"No. Perhaps you wouldn't mind putting it in
the Suburban for me. I'll take it with me to Forest Lawn."

"Shannon?"

She looked his way. He held it toward her.
The box. He shook it. The loose remains rattled.

My God
, she thought.
Is this the
way it must be for each and every one of us? To wind up as a box of
loose debris and nothing more? After all the noise and light we
give off, it all winds up buried?

"Why did you do that? Why did you show it to
me when I asked you not to? And shake it like that?"

"You needed to see it, Shannon. It's time you
started reconnecting."

"I should ask you to leave."

"I'll put it in the trunk of my car," he
said. "Since I'll be driving us out there."

"No, you don't have to. You've done enough
for one day."

"I want to. You've got a lot on your mind.
It'll be safer if I drive. I'm staying with you until everything's
done."

"Okay, Stretch."

Her phone chimed, necessitating a short run
to her straw bag on the dinette.

"Shannon? Bob Archer." The wispy, high voice
of her boss from Brunstetter and Griffen. Bringing sharply into
focus the fact there was a whole other world she belonged to in
addition to the one she was currently occupying.

"Hello, Bob."

"Shannon, you were going to call us this
morning. When you didn't, we got a little worried."

"Bob, my father passed away last night. Or
rather, early this morning. So if this can wait--"

"--Our deepest sympathies," Bob said, his
voice smooth and even. "Listen, I'm sorry to call you like this,
but we've got a bit of an emergency here. General Kremsky's office
called. I've got some incredible news for you. I hope you're
sitting down--the General is ready to sign. He's decided not to
wait until his fiscal year closes in November after all."

"Bob, I --"

"--You don't have to say anything. I know
you're knocked out by the news. And another thing, Shannon. The
General had dinner with Mr. Griffen on Mr. Griffen's yacht last
night and said it was your effort which brought him across. In
fact, he said more. He said he won't sign a thing unless you are
there to walk him through the process. Apparently, you're the only
one he trusts."

"I understand," Shannon said. And she did,
too. Expatriate General Ivan Kremsky had somehow parlayed a fortune
made behind the iron curtain doing Heaven knew what to whom into an
even larger fortune from post-communist era Russian raw materials
shipping contracts. Had a net worth, it was said, of well above 20
billion dollars.

Although she'd introduced General Kremsky to
the firm, winning her a position initially as junior player on a
seasoned team working on developing the relationship, a work which
had been going on for almost the entire two years Shannon had been
with the firm, it had been Shannon's awesome good fortune to have
been the one to find the key--by cutting a special energy tax
credit with the State, Shannon had been single-handedly responsible
for actually netting the Kremsky dollars.

Her bonus was going to be gigantic--a
fractional percentage of the total investment slate, expected to be
somewhere in the neighborhood of close to one billion dollars, with
more to come if things went the way they were supposed to. The
competition from their financial services competitors had been
fierce, but it had been Shannon's coup when she'd done something
the other's hadn't thought of--invited California's shrewd
Lieutenant Governor into the picture and secured his cooperation to
shelter Kremsky's short-term California energy investments from
capital gains taxes. In a nutshell, the account was Shannon's big
break. After which, her reputation as a winner established, there
would be no looking back. Offers would come pouring in as the world
opened it's arms to the newest star on the street.

"When do you think you'll be back?" Bob
asked.

"What?"

"How soon will you be back?"

"Soon," she answered. "I'll have everything
wrapped up here in a few days. Why don't you go ahead and set up
the signing for Saturday? We can celebrate at Mr. Griffen's mansion
in Atherton. We can sign Saturday afternoon and take the corporate
chopper to the mansion for the party. You can have my secretary,
Dave, get the invitations delivered. Dave will call Stanley Gatti
and have him start putting the menu together. Just remember not to
invite the United Way president, what's-his-name. Kremsky has a few
problems getting along with the guy after the Boy Scout
fiasco."

"Shannon? I know this isn't the best time to
say this, and what with your father's passing and all, but Mr.
Griffen expressed to me personally the signing must take place
today. At the express wish of General Kremsky."

"Today?"

"Today. Mr. Griffen's exact words. And I must
admit, he sounded a little flustered to hear you were out of town.
The deal with the State energy bonds is time sensitive. If we don't
sign today, we risk losing some of the hedge."

"Bob? Does Mr. Griffen know I'm away because
my father died?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows your father was
having surgery."

"Then you must call him and tell him what has
happened."

"Shannon. I can't do it. You know how Mr.
Griffen is. When the man speaks, the words appear immediately
engraved on polished stone tablets. He said today. This isn't
something that's negotiable. Again, I'm terribly sorry, but I must
insist you return to the office immediately. Mr. Griffen made it
very clear the firm will not keep General Kremsky waiting."

"But I--"

"--If you aren't here, if you in any way
impede the signing of the Kremsky account, I have to tell you your
prospects for continuing with the firm will be less than
certain."

"You're threatening to fire me? After I
landed you the account of the century? And from which my expected
net bonus check should be well over two million dollars? Get Mr.
Griffen on the 3-way."

"Shannon, please be reasonable. Calm down.
I'm not threatening to fire you. Right now this is just between you
and me. But if you bring Mr. Griffen in, you're taking a big risk.
He was very--and I mean very upset you weren't in town. He doesn't
really care what the reason is. If he knows you're in mourning for
your dad, he might believe you're too unstable to handle the
closing. That alone, at this critical time in your career, could
really hurt you."

"This is an outrage, Bob."

"I'm calling you as your boss, but also as
your friend. You don't want to go against Mr. Griffen. The man owns
the plantation the rest of us work on. He'd bury you in a minute.
There's not an attorney on the West Coast who'd want to defend you.
I understand you're under a lot of stress. But you have to return
now. It's a quick up and back. The whole thing will be over by
Sunday. After, I'll personally authorize some well-deserved leave
time for you. In the meanwhile, if you need help with your dad's
funeral, I suppose we can contact somebody in the area to see to
it."

"I have someone helping me. And you have no
right to even offer to meddle in my personal affairs."

"It's settled, then. We've chartered a jet
for you. And there's a car on the way over to take you to the
Burbank airport. If you hustle we can start the staff meeting in
two hours."

"Bob--"

But the line was dead.

Stretch was standing there. "Everything
okay?" He moved closer. "Shannon? You're shaking like a leaf."

She looked up at him, at his big kindly face
downturned towards her. Felt the measure of him, and wanted at that
moment to bury herself in his arms. To be held without thought or
feelings other than those connected to security, safety, and
eternal hope. Somehow she found the strength to resist the
plunge.

"Stretch, I've got to fly back to San
Francisco."

"Fly back? When?"

"Right now. The company's sending a car here
to pick me up."

"You can't do that. You've got to bury your
father."

"He'll have to wait. I've got to go back to
work. I'll lose two and a half million dollars if I don't."

"But what about your father?"

The front door flew open. Phil, looking
disheveled and out of control. She could smell the alcohol from 10
feet away.

"What is this?" Phil shouted, words slurring.
He fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled note and threw it
at her. "I come home and find this note telling me you told Minda
to take the kids to the Philippines?"

She left the note after I told her not
to
, Shannon thought.

Phil glared. "And who is this clown? Why is
he always over here? Don't tell me he's your new boyfriend! Already
trying to move in on our inheritance? What're you doing in my dad's
house?"

Stretch stepped protectively in front of
Shannon. "You better go home," he said to Phil.

"C'mon man," Phil said, taking a wide-legged
stance and hunching his shoulders in a very menacing gesture. "I'm
waiting."

This is beyond terrible, Shannon thought. And
it was--to the point where it seemed the kitchen simply could not
contain the bad vibrations.

"Phil, stop!" she said, as though calling him
on it would somehow make him come to his senses. But her statement
lacked conviction, the authority of her accusation coming out as it
did in a hoarse squeak, like a frightened mouse might issue forth
when faced with the sudden intrusion of a cat.

"At least I know what I am," Phil said. "I'm
a drunk. But I'm not sure who you are. You used to be my little
sister, but now you're just somebody who doesn't live here and
hasn't been a part of this family for over two years. Now you have
the nerve to come down here and act like you care about Dad, and
tell Minda to leave me! It's time somebody brought you off your
high horse, little Miss Pacific Heights."