Bluff

by Jane Stanton Hitchcock

  At last, Jean speaks. “Tell me something, Greta. Have you ever heard any rumors about Sun?”

  “Rumors?” Greta is perplexed.

  “Since he’s been married to me. Have you ever heard he’s had any other…attachments?”

  “Are you serious? Absolutely not! Why?”

  “I just found out he’s a bigamist.”

  Jean says this so matter-of-factly, Greta thinks she’s misheard.

  “What…?”

  “A bigamist. As in, he has another wife.”

  Greta draws back. “Sweetie, I think you’re in shock.”

  “Goddam right I am,” she says, holding out her glass. “Another please.”

  Jean sips the warming liquor as she tells Greta the story. Greta is riveted as Jean describes the moment in the waiting room when the doctor came in asking for Mrs. Sunderland and she and “this patent leather floozy,” as Jean describes her, both sprang to their feet.

  “I thought she was some kind of kook. But I was just too exhausted to argue. So we both followed the doctor into intensive care where Sun was lying flat on his back like some sort of hideous sea creature with all these tubes and wires going in and out of him. This bitch in her hideous sunglasses and I were standing on either side of his bed. I bent down and whispered, ‘Sun, darling, it’s me, Jean.’ He blinked a couple of times, then turned away…Towards her. At which point, she took off her sunglasses, bent down, and gave him a kiss. On the mouth! Then he turned back to me and managed to utter two words…”

  Jean pauses. Her eyes well up with tears as she relives the moment.

  “Which were…?” Greta prompts, on the edge of her seat.

  “Mrs. Keppel.”

  Greta frowns. “Mrs. Keppel? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh I knew exactly what he meant. And he knew I knew,” Jean says with a mordant little chuckle.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “Sun fancies himself a great history buff, as you may recall from some of his endless digressions at dinner parties. He’s obsessed with monarchy—especially the Edwardian era. No surprise. He’s always wanted to be a king so he could behead people. Anyway, when Edward the Seventh was dying, the horny old toad told Queen Alexandra he wanted to be with his mistress—the love of his life. At that moment, all the pomp and circumstance fell away because he was about to meet his maker. King or no king, I guess human beings just want to be with the one person they truly love when they’re on the way out. Queen Alexandra graciously and unselfishly granted her husband’s last request. Long story short? Horntoad Eddie croaked with his mistress by his side, not his wife. Her name was Mrs. Alice Keppel. It’s one of Sun’s favorite stories so I knew what he meant. And now I know why. That creature calling herself Mrs. Sunderland is the love of his life—not yours truly!”

  “That is kind of romantic…I mean about King Edward,” Greta quickly adds.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, guess what? I ain’t Queen Alexandra! Oh, Greta, I feel like such a goddam fool!”

  Jean weeps. Greta hands tissues to her anguished friend. This serious incident has brought serious betrayal to light.

  “So you’re saying Sun is a bigamist? Maybe she’s just calling herself Mrs. Sunderland…”

  Jean shakes her head. “No…he married her. She showed me her driver’s license! That’s when I left the room.” She breaks down again.

  Greta’s heard juicy secrets, but never anything as juicy as this. Or as shocking. She’s so appalled she joins Jean in a stiff glass of scotch, even though it’s four in the morning and they’re not in Palm Beach.

  “I can’t believe it. Sun! Of all people! A bigamist! And for you to find out in this ghastly way! I mean, finding out in any way is bad. But while he’s dying. You can’t help feeling sorry for him and loathing him at the same time. Talk about an emotional tour de force.”

  “Right now I just loathe him,” Jean says, wiping her eyes.

  “I don’t blame you, darling. It’s a blow. What are you going to do?”

  “Kill him if he lives.”

  “Seriously. What if he dies?”

  “I don’t give a shit. It won’t be Sun dying. It’ll be a complete stranger—some felonious creep I was living with like one of those poor deluded wives who only finds out her husband’s a serial killer when she discovers a severed head under the bed. I hope he does die, the bastard!”

  Greta winces. “You need to call your lawyer, sweetie. You need professional advice.”

  “I never had a clue. Not one clue! I mean, he was away on business a lot…He’d call up and say he had to spend more time in Washington…He’s all involved in fundraising and politics down there so I never questioned it.”

  “Is that where she lives?”

  “How the hell do I know?” Jean snaps. “I assume so since that’s where he spends the most time.”

  “Do you know her name? Anything about her?”

  “Her name is Danya Sunderland, according to the license. Christ almighty! I can’t believe this is happening!”

  “Is it possible they’re not legally married?” Greta says, aiming for a bright side.

  “I don’t care! It’s the betrayal, don’t you see? Hell, I’m going to sue the bastard for everything he’s got! I’m gonna hit him where it hurts the most—in the money.”

  Greta pats her friend’s shoulder in an effort to be consoling. “Listen, Jeanie, I know you’re upset…”

  “Ya think?” Jean cries angrily.

  “I know, dear, I know…but we need to think this through for a moment.”

  Greta uses the word “we” because when one of her friends is in trouble, she takes it personally.

  “I’ve thought it through, believe me. I’m going to drag his rotten, stinking name that he gave to someone else through the sewers of New York! Her, too! You just watch me!”

  “Calm down, Jeanie, calm down,” Greta says in her most soothing, friend-indeed voice. “I understand how you must feel. But you don’t want to look bad.”

  Jean’s jaw drops. “Sun’s a goddam bigamist! How do I look bad here?!”

  “I know, I know...but he’s just been shot. He may die. No matter what he’s done, you may want to hold off letting the world in on it, just for the moment. It’s a lot for people to process.”

  “For people to process? How about for me, his wife?!” Jean downs another glass of scotch.

  “Please listen to me, Jeanie. The consequences of this could go far beyond your marriage.”

  “Whassat supposeta mean?” Jean slurs her words as the effects of the liquor begin to take hold.

  “Sun’s got that company with Sklar in which I and many of our friends have invested. If he’s arrested for bigamy…? What’s that going to do to his spotless reputation? Sun’s image will be shattered—not to mention the company’s.”

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  “Jeanie, bigamy’s illegal. Not to alarm you, darling, but you have to wonder what other illegal things he may be up to? Let’s face it: A man who betrays his wife might well betray his investors. At least that’s what people will think. Trust me, there are fortunes at stake here. And you know how some of our friends fear being swindled more than death.”

  “I wanna see the bastard fry! Fricassee!”

  “I know. But you don’t want to fricasee with him, do you, sweetie? You don’t want to go broke. I assume your finances are all tied up with his, aren’t they?”

  “I have no idea,” Jeans says, sniffing back tears.

  Greta’s eyes widen. “What do you mean you have no idea?”

  “Sun handles all the financial stuff. He always has.”

  Greta is stunned and appalled. “Jeanie, don’t you know what you have and where you have it?”

  “Not really. I gave my money to Sun when we got married and let him take care of i
t. He’s the Pope of Finance, isn’t he?”

  “Jeanie, you were a successful business woman, for God’s sakes!”

  “I was on the creative side of advertising. Business wasn’t a priority. When I married Sun, I was truly happy for the first time in my life. I didn’t think about money!”

  “One should always think about money, no matter how happy one is,” Greta says like a prim etiquette instructor. “I mean, look at poor old Lois Warner. Maybe Burt Sklar really did steal her fortune, like Maud says. And that would be because she never thought about money, and left everything up to him.”

  “Sklar,” Jean scowls. “I bet he knows about this. I betcha anything he’s been in on it from the beginning.”

  “He is Sun’s best friend.”

  “Yes. And he was the one who always called me to say that Sun was stuck in meetings down in D.C., or that Sun had to fly off somewhere and couldn’t contact me. I never dreamed that odious creep was lying. He must know about her. He’s got to!” Jean gasps with a sudden revelation. “Greta!”

  “What?”

  “I just figured it out! That’s the real reason Sun would never give Sklar up as a friend. It’s not just that they were pals back in the day. Sklar knew about the bigamy and he was helping Sun cover it up. Of course! It all makes perfect sense now!”

  “Jeanie, listen to me, as someone who loves you. You’ve got to protect yourself here. You need to tread very, very carefully. You can’t let anyone know about this. Not yet.”

  Greta is thinking clearly about this delicate situation. She understands that as much as Jean wants revenge, her fortunes are intertwined with her husband’s, both financially and socially. She knows that before Jean acts, she needs to get sound legal advice on what to do. Sun’s downfall could result in her dear friend’s ruination as well.

  It takes some doing, but Greta finally convinces Jean to call her lawyer before she does anything else. She then tucks her exhausted, distraught, and drunken friend into bed in the guest room. As Greta closes the door, she pauses, wondering what other dangers are lurking beneath the surface of her privileged little world.

  Chapter Eleven

  Burt Sklar sits behind the steel and glass desk in his office, absently twirling a pen between his fingers as he gazes out the window. The Park Avenue cityscape looks like a smoky mirage on this hazy, gray day. That suits him fine. He’s in no mood for sunny weather. First and foremost, he hasn’t heard from the one person on earth he longs to hear from. Second, Maud Warner’s on the run. The crazy bitch has managed to evade all of law enforcement.

  Sklar had always typed Maud as one of life’s lucky dabblers—a spoiled, prep school brat, insulated by money, who grew up viewing the real world from the safe distance of never actually having to earn a living. Sklar was sure that if it hadn’t been for her rich stepfather, the plain, bookish Maud would probably have wound up working in a bookshop—never owning one. However, in light of recent events, Sklar knows he’s sorely misjudged her.

  He can still picture Maud at the funeral of her stepfather some years back. She stood on the stage, speaking in a barely audible, grief-stricken voice. She looked so thin and pale and exhausted that no one thought she’d get through it. Was that scarecrow wreck of a girl the same person who had just marched up like a seasoned infantryman and taken a shot at him? What the hell happened to this disappointed loser not worth bothering about that changed her into a would-be assassin?

  The intercom buzzes. Sklar’s secretary announces that a Detective Chen is there and would like to talk to him about the shooting. Sklar remembers Chen from The Four Seasons. He didn’t laugh when Sklar made that crack about being safer in Syria. Now’s the time to get on the detective’s good side. It’s always good to have allies in the police department. One never knows when the law might be a problem.

  Straightening up in his chair, Sklar clears his throat, and gets into character. He’s taught himself a little trick when he wants to impress people. He pretends he’s in a movie and thinks of a star he can emulate. Today, he will be Gregory Peck in To Kill A Mockingbird. Atticus Finch was a real stand-up guy, an old-time hero, facing injustice and violence with calm, courageous resolve. There’s nothing cruel or false about Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch. The man is compassionate strength itself. Sklar holds that image in his mind as his secretary shows Chen into his office.

  The round-faced Chen is older and slightly heftier than Sklar remembers. But he still has that annoyingly humorless attitude Sklar couldn’t liven up with a joke. Sklar thinks Chen’s inscrutable, all right, with none of the wry charm of the cliché cinematic detective, Charlie Chan, as played by the Swedish American actor, Warner Oland.

  “Detective Chen. Good to see you again, sir,” Sklar says, rising to shake hands. “Please have a seat.”

  Chen sits on one of two leather and steel swivel chairs across the desk. Sklar leans forward with an air of deep concern.

  “How’s my best friend Sun? Any word?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “Please God, he pulls through.” Sklar bows his head for a brief dramatic moment.

  “So, Mr. Sklar—”

  “Call me Burt.”

  “I’m here to talk to you about Maud Warner.”

  Sklar relaxes back in his chair. “I figured,” he says with resignation. “I take it she hasn’t been caught yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’ll get her.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  “Poor old Maudie…” Sklar sighs.

  “You say that like you feel sorry for her?”

  “Truthfully…? I do. Very much so.”

  Chen furrows his brow. “That’s interesting, considering a lot of people think you were the one she was aiming at.”

  “Oh, I know she was. But I still feel sorry for her. She’s been through a lot.”

  Would Atticus badmouth Scout even if she took a shot at him? Never! Not Atticus. Not Gregory Peck. And not himself playing Gregory Peck playing Atticus Finch.

  “Candidly…? Maudie may not be in her right mind, Detective.”

  “Oh…? What makes you say that?”

  “Her brother, Alan, died, fairly recently. She’s all alone in the world now. A very sad situation. People can go really nuts without any support. You’re blessed in this life if you have a family.”

  Sklar pegs Chen as a family man himself and figures it can’t hurt to pledge allegiance to that vanilla flag. But Chen doesn’t salute.

  “Tell me a little about your history with Ms. Warner.”

  Sklar stretches out his arms to encompass the room. “Aye-yi-yi! Where to begin! Okay, so I’ve known Maudie and her family for, oh, over twenty years now. I was her stepfather’s accountant. Sidney Warner. Wonderful man. Genius in business. We were very, very close. Sidney made me the executor of his estate. As per his wishes, I took care of his widow, Lois, and her children, Maud and Alan.”

  “Maud was the eldest?”

  “Yeah. But she wasn’t Sidney’s biological child. Her mother was married before. Her real father died. Sidney adopted Maudie when he married Lois. Lois despised Maudie’s real father, and never really trusted Maud as a result. She always used to tell me how much Maud reminded her of her first husband.”

  “But Mrs. Warner trusted you?”

  “Absolutely. But lemme explain something, Detective. Lois Warner was a very beautiful, very charming, very willful woman. She made a lot of terrible investments against my advice. By the time she died, there was very little left. Maudie had to blame someone. Unfortunately, she blamed me.”

  As Sklar speaks in carefully measured words, he thinks about Lois, a drama queen who felt she’d given up a promising acting career for her family and was bitterly disappointed with her choice. He remembers her endless phone calls which drove him nuts. All the woman ever did was complain—about he
r kids, her staff, her failed career, her decorator, her doctors, her aches, her pains, and all the random violence in the world. Although, as a once-great beauty, she considered aging to be the ultimate terrorist attack.

  “When’s the last time you saw Maud Warner?” Chen asks.

  “Not counting The Four Seasons, right?” Sklar says, trying a little joke. Chen remains stony-faced. Insufferably inscrutable, Sklar thinks.

  “A few months ago,” Sklar goes on. “I can check my calendar. She came here with her brother. I hadn’t seen her in a while. She looked godawful.”

  “What was the purpose of her visit?”

  “Money. Her brother Alan owed a lot of money to loan sharks. Alan was kind of a screwed up kid. An addict. Maudie asked me if I’d help him out.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yup. Fool that I am.”

  “So you gave her money for her brother?”

  “I did.”

  “How much?”

  “I forget. A few thousand bucks, maybe. Nothing huge.”

  “In cash?”

  “Yeah. I keep quite a bit of cash in the office. Celebrity clients in from out of town need to cash a check, can’t be bothered to go to a bank. You know how it is with some of them, I bet?” Sklar chuckles.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Chen says flatly. “Given your history with Ms. Warner, I’m surprised you gave her money.”

  “Honestly…? Sun and I were doing a big deal for our company at that time. The last thing we needed was any bad publicity. Maudie’s gone around saying libelous, ridiculous things about me for years—not that anyone believes her. But you know yourself, Detective, there’s always some envious creep out there looking for a lie to spread around. I thought if I helped her out, she’d play nice. Then she goes and takes a shot at me! Talk about no good deed, right?”

  “So you believe she was aiming at you?”

  “Absolutely. No question. She had no reason to dislike Sun.”