And so it was agreed: David would leave everything to Pat. If one of them had to die, at least the other would be financially secure for the rest of their life. David felt it was the least he could do for someone who'd stood by him for so many years, especially as he was the one who had been unfaithful.
They had known each other almost all their lives, because their parents had been close friends for as long as either of them could remember. Both families had hoped David might end up marrying Pat's sister Ruth, and they were unable to hide their surpriseâand in Pat's father's case his disapprovalâwhen the two of them started living together, especially as Pat was three years older than David.
For some time David had been putting it off and hoping for a miracle cure, despite a pushy insurance broker from Geneva Life called Marvin Roebuck who had been pressing him to “take a meeting” for the past nine months. On the first Monday of the tenth month he phoned again, and this time David reluctantly agreed to see him. He chose a date when he knew Pat would be on night duty at the hotel, and asked Roebuck to come round to their apartmentâthat way, he felt, it would look as if it was the broker who had done the chasing.
David was watering the scarlet
Clupea harengus
on the hall table when Marvin Roebuck pressed the buzzer on the
front door. Once he had poured his visitor a Coke, David told him he had every type of insurance he could possibly need: theft, accident, car, property, health, even vacation.
“But what about life?” asked Marvin, licking his lips.
“That's one I don't need,” said David. “I earn a good salary, I have more than enough security, and on top of that, my parents will leave everything to me.”
“But wouldn't it be prudent to have a lump sum that comes to you automatically on your sixtieth or sixty-fifth birthday?” asked Marvin, as he continued to push at a door that he had no way of knowing was already wide open. “After all, you can never be sure what disaster might lie around the corner.”
David knew exactly what disaster lay around the corner, but he still innocently asked, “What sort of figure are you talking about?”
“Well, that would depend on how much you are currently earning,” said Marvin.
“A hundred twenty thousand a year,” said David, trying to sound casual, as it was almost double his real income. Marvin was obviously impressed, and David remained silent as he carried out some rapid calculations in his head.
“Well,” said Marvin eventually, “I'd suggest half a million dollarsâas a ballpark figure. After all,” he added, quickly running a finger down a page of actuarial tables he had extracted from his aluminium briefcase, “you're only twenty-seven, so the payments would be well within your means. In fact, you might even consider a larger sum if you're confident your income will continue to rise over the next few years.”
“It has done so every year for the past seven,” said David, this time truthfully.
“What kind of business are you in, my friend?” asked Marvin.
“Stocks and bonds,” replied David, not offering any details of the small firm he worked for, or the junior position he held.
Marvin licked his lips again, even though they had told him not to do so on countless refresher courses, especially when going in for the kill.
“So, what amount do you think I should go for?” asked David, continuing to make sure it was always Marvin who took the lead.
“Well, a million is comfortably within your credit range,” said Marvin, once again checking his little book of tables. “The monthly payments might seem a bit steep to begin with, but as the years go by, what with inflation and your continual salary increases, you can expect that in time they will become almost insignificant.”
“How much would I have to pay each month to end up getting a million?” asked David, attempting to give the impression he might have been hooked.
“Assuming we select your sixtieth birthday for terminating the contract, a little over a thousand dollars a month,” said Marvin, trying to make it sound a mere pittance. “And don't forget, sixty percent of it is tax deductible, so in real terms you'll only be paying around fifteen dollars a day, while you end up getting a million, just at the time when you most need it. And by the way, that one thousand is constant, it never goes up. In fact it's inflation-proof.” He let out a dreadful shrill laugh.
“But would I still receive the full sum, whatever happens to the market?”
“One million dollars on your sixtieth birthday,” confirmed Marvin, “whatever happens, short of the world coming to an end. Even I can't write a policy for that,” he said, letting out another shrill laugh. “However, my friend, if unhappily you were to die before your sixtieth birthdayâwhich God forbidâyour dependents would receive the full amount immediately.”
“I don't have any dependents,” said David, trying to look bored.
“There must be someone you care about,” said Marvin. “A good-looking guy like you.”
“Why don't you leave the forms with me, Mr. Roebuck, and I'll think about it over the weekend? I promise I'll get back to you.”
Marvin looked disappointed. He didn't need a refresher course to be told that you're supposed to nail the client to the wall at the first meeting, not let them get away, because that only gave them time to think things over. His lips felt dry.
Pat returned from the evening shift in the early hours of the morning, but David had stayed awake so he could go over what had happened at the meeting with Marvin. Pat was apprehensive and uncertain about the plan. David had always taken care of any problems they had had in the past, especially financial ones, and Pat wasn't sure how it would all work out once David was no longer around to give his advice. Thank God it was David who'd had to deal with MarvinâPat couldn't even say no to a door-to-door salesman.
“So, what do we do next?” asked Pat.
“Wait.”
“But you promised Marvin you'd get back to him.”
“I know, but I have absolutely no intention of doing so,” said David, placing his arm around Pat's shoulders. “I'd bet a hundred dollars on Marvin phoning me first thing on Monday morning. And don't forget, I still need it to look as if he's the one who's doing the pushing.”
As they climbed into bed, Pat felt an attack of asthma coming on, and decided now was not the time to ask David to go over the details again. After all, as David had explained again and again, there would never be any need for Pat to meet Marvin.
Marvin phoned at 8:30 on Monday morning.
“Hoped to catch you before you went off to sell those stocks and bonds,” he said. “Have you come to a decision?”
“Yes, I have,” said David. “I discussed the whole idea with my mother over the weekend, and she thinks I should go for the million, because five hundred thousand may not turn out to be such a large sum of money by the time I reach sixty.”
Marvin was glad that David couldn't see him licking his
lips. “Your mother's obviously a shrewd woman,” was his only comment.
“Can I leave you to handle all the paperwork?” asked David, trying to sound as if he didn't want to deal with any of the details.
“You bet,” said Marvin. “Don't even think about it, my friend. Just leave all that hassle to me. I know you've made the right decision, David. I promise you, you'll never live to regret it.”
The following day Marvin phoned again to say that the paperwork had been completed, and all that was now required was for David to have a medicalâ“routine” was the word he kept repeating. But because of the size of the sum insured, it would have to be with the company's doctor in New York.
David made a fuss about having to travel to New York, adding that perhaps he'd made the wrong decision, but after more pleading from Marvin, mixed with some unctuous persuasion, he finally gave in.
Marvin brought all the forms around to the apartment the following evening after Pat had left for work.
David scribbled his signature on three separate documents between two penciled X's. His final act was to print Pat's name in a little box Marvin had indicated with his stubby finger. “As your sole dependent,” the broker explained, “should you pass away before September 1, 2027âGod forbid. Are you married to Pat?”
“No, we just live together,” replied David.
After a few more “my friend”s and even more “you'll never live to regret it”s, Marvin left the apartment, clutching the forms.
“All you have to do now is keep your nerve,” David told Pat once he had confirmed that the paperwork had been completed. “Just remember, no one knows me as well as you do, and once it's all over, you'll collect a million dollars.”
When they eventually went to bed that night, Pat desperately wanted to make love to David, but they both accepted it was no longer possible.
The two of them traveled down to New York together the following Monday to keep the appointment David had made with Geneva Life's senior medical consultant. They parted a block away from the insurance company's head office, since they didn't want to run the risk of being seen together. They hugged each other once again, but as they parted David was still worried about whether Pat would be able to go through with it.
A couple of minutes before twelve, he arrived at the doctor's office. A young woman in a long white coat smiled up at him from behind her desk.
“Good morning,” he said. “My name is David Kravits. I have an appointment with Dr. Royston.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Kravits,” said the nurse. “Dr. Royston is expecting you. Please follow me.” She led him down a long, bleak corridor to the last room on the left. A small brass plaque read “Dr. Royston.” She knocked, opened the door, and said, “Mr. Kravits, Doctor.”
Dr. Royston turned out to be a short, elderly man with only a few strands of hair left on his shiny sunburned head. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, and had a look on his face which suggested that his own life insurance policy might not be far from reaching maturity. He rose from his chair, shook his patient by the hand, and said, “It's for a life insurance policy, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, that's right.”
“Shouldn't take us too long, Mr. Kravits. Fairly routine, but the company does like to be sure you're fit and well if they're going to be liable for such a large amount of money. Do have a seat,” he said, pointing to the other side of his desk.
“I thought the sum was far too high myself. I would have been happy to settle for half a million, but the broker was very persuasive ⦔
“Any serious illness during the past ten years?” the doctor asked, obviously not interested in the broker's views.
“No. The occasional cold, but nothing I'd describe as serious,” he replied.
“Good. And in your immediate family, any history of heart attacks, cancer, liver complaints?”
“Not that I'm aware of.”
“Father still alive?”
“Very much so.”
“And he's fit and well?”
“Jogs every morning, and pumps weights at the local gym on weekends.”
“And your mother?”
“Doesn't do either, but I wouldn't be surprised if she outlives him comfortably.”
The doctor laughed. “Any of your grandparents still living?”
“All except one. My dad's father died two years ago.”
“Do you know the cause of death?”
“He just passed away, I think. At least, that was how the priest described it at his funeral.”
“And how old was he?” the doctor asked. “Do you remember?”
“Eighty-one, eighty-two.”
“Good,” repeated Dr Royston, checking another little box on the form in front of him. “Have you ever suffered from any of these?” he asked, holding out a clipboard. The list began with arthritis and ended eighteen lines later with tuberculosis.
He ran an eye slowly down the long list before replying. “No, none of them,” was all he said, not admitting to asthma on this occasion.
“Do you smoke?”
“Never.”
“Drink?”
“SociallyâI enjoy the occasional glass of wine with dinner, but I never drink spirits.”
“Excellent,” said the doctor and checked the last of the little boxes. “Now, let's check your height and weight. Come over here, please, Mr. Kravits, and climb onto this scale.”
The doctor had to stand on his toes in order to push the
wooden marker up until it was flat across his patient's head. “Six feet one inch,” he declared, then looked down at the scale and flicked the little weight across until it just balanced. “A hundred and seventy-nine pounds. Not bad.” He filled in two more lines of his report. “Perhaps just a little overweight.”