Bluff

by Jane Stanton Hitchcock

  “That’s obviously why I was calling. Not nice, Burt. I’ll remember,” Hobbs says, holding up his index finger.

  “Touchy, aren’t we…?”

  “You fuckin’ bet! You’re part of the biggest story of the decade and you don’t return my calls? How many favors have I done you, Burt?”

  “It hasn’t exactly been a one-way street, Hobbsy. But, as it happens, I was going to call you because I have a little something that might interest you.”

  “I’m listening,” Hobbs says.

  Sklar steers Hobbs off into a quiet corner and pauses for effect. “Danya Dickert Sunderland,” he says.

  “What about her?”

  “How’d you like to interview her?”

  Hobbs’s eyes widen. “Are you kidding?!”

  “Would I kid a scribe in the presence of Osiris?”

  “Here…take my right arm now,” Hobbs says, excited.

  “She’s a great girl, Brent—nothing like the slut they’re portraying her as in the press. Jean’s thrown a lot of mud on her. I’m trusting you to wash it off.”

  “Just say when.”

  “Tomorrow at ten. My apartment. Bring a friendly pen.”

  “Burt…have I ever let you down?”

  “You better not, seeing as I’m handing you the biggest scoop of your career,” Sklar says. They shake on it.

  Hobbs can’t believe his good fortune. He feels like a prospector who’s just struck gold. He finds Magma at the bar. She’s still irritated.

  “I don’t know why you want anything to do with that odious man. You know he’s ruining my friend Jean’s life,” she says.

  “It’s business, baby. I deal with people who ruin other people’s lives on a daily basis.”

  Hobbs doesn’t tell her he’s about to land an exclusive interview with the second Mrs. Sunderland. He knows enough about Magma to know she’s more dangerous than Twitter.

  Dinner is announced by a series of tinkling temple bells. The fiery lights dim to ember wattage as the guests take their seats at round tables of ten dotting the space. Though striking at first glance, the centerpieces are much too big. Diners begin grumbling that they didn’t pay twenty-five hundred bucks to stare at a pyramid made of leaves.

  “Isn’t it amazing how life goes on? Sun’s dead and it’s just like he never existed,” Magma says to Hobbs.

  “Tell that to the pharaohs,” Hobbs says absently, thinking about the scoop he’s just landed.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Danya cracks open her door and peers out into the corridor, making sure Sklar isn’t lurking there. She was freaked out when he got home from the party, tiptoed into her room, and stood over her bed for a minute while she pretended to be asleep. He finally left. But it felt like the longest minute of her life. She puts on a robe and walks barefoot to the kitchen so as not to make any noise. She’s startled to see Sklar there making coffee. He’s in gray silk pajamas with the top unbuttoned.

  “Hey, baby girl! You’re up bright and early.”

  “Hey.” She hugs the robe tight around her.

  Sklar holds up the coffee bag. “Mocha java, your fav.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So… Did you read my letters?”

  “Some.”

  “And…?”

  “And, like, if you’re so in love with me, Burt, how come you didn’t stop him?”

  “Stop him…?”

  “From hurting me! How come you didn’t?”

  “Truthfully…? I had bigger plans for us.”

  “For us? You saw me the morning after he almost killed me with that fuckin’ strangle thing he liked to do. You took me to the emergency room when he dislocated my arm. There might have been no us if he’d fuckin’ killed me.”

  “You’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah? Well, I nearly got exaggerated to death. Screw you!”

  Sklar looks sheepish. “Okay, I’m sorry. Just believe me when I say it’s all been worth it. You’ll thank me very shortly. We have a meeting with the lawyers this afternoon.”

  “Don’t tell me I have to sign more shit.”

  “Yes. Problem?”

  “What exactly are these papers I’ve been signing all these years? You guys would never tell me.”

  “You’re gonna find out this afternoon in my lawyer’s office, okay? But in the meantime, I have some more very good news for us.”

  “Catch me, I’m falling,” she deadpans, buttering a piece of toast.

  Sklar ignores her sarcasm. “I ran into Brent Hobbs last night at the gala. Know who he is?”

  “Nope.”

  “He writes a gossipy business blog called HobbsNobbing. He’s an old pal. I trust him.” Sklar thinks it wiser to portray Hobbs as a friend rather than a guy with whom he swaps favors in a shady arrangement.

  Danya sits down at the opposite end of the steel kitchen table and munches on the toast.

  “Jeez, Dany, so far away? I feel like we’re in that great breakfast scene in Citizen Kane where they sit a mile from each other and eventually quit talking. Remember that scene?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Burt.”

  “Citizen Kane. You don’t know it?” She shakes her head. “Most influential movie of the twentieth century. We’ll watch it tonight on the big TV in the den. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

  “Whatever.”

  “So, anyway, Hobbs is coming over here this morning to meet you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re going to give him an exclusive interview.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Don’t argue. This is the guy who’s gonna to spin the story our way. You’re gonna talk to Brent and charm the hell out of him. Then you’re gonna meet me at the lawyer’s office and sign some papers. We’re almost there, baby. I’m just doing my best to protect you.”

  Danya rolls her eyes and lets out a guffaw. “Protect me? Are you fuckin’ kidding?… The whole world thinks I’m some gold-digging bimbo slut. I’m being sued. I could be arrested for bigamy. I have no money, no credit cards, no place to live. I can’t get hold of the neighbor who’s taking care of Mooncat! I still have scars from all that stuff with Sun that you did nothing to stop… You haven’t protected me from shit, Burt. I miss my cat!” Danya buries her head in her hands and weeps.

  Sklar pulls up a chair beside her and puts a comforting arm around her. At first she resists. But gradually she melts into his shoulder, crying softly. He strokes her hair. He loves the look of her, the softness of her, the smell of her. The man who’s made a career out of talking people into doing whatever he wants them to do is inexplicably tongue-tied.

  Danya looks up with glistening eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything, baby.”

  “What are these papers I’ve been signing, Burt? Why do I have to sign more?”

  Sklar draws back. “What’s the matter? You don’t trust me all of a sudden?”

  “I just want to know what they’re about.”

  “They’re about making both of us very, very rich. That’s what they’re about.”

  “I think I need to know more before I sign anything else.”

  Sklar grips her arm tight. “Now you listen to me, Dany. You’re gonna sign those papers today. You don’t have a choice.” His grip tightens.

  “Okay, okay! You’re hurting me!”

  His releases her as if he, himself, is frightened of what he might do.

  “Sorry, baby. But this is important.”

  Danya rubs her arm. “You know, for a minute there I thought you were Sun back from the grave.”

  “You need to realize there’s a helluva lot at stake here. My lawyer will explain everything to you at the office. I need your promise that you and I are to
gether in this thing. Otherwise, we both lose and it will all have been for nothing.”

  “What will?”

  “Just go get dressed, like a good girl!” he says, spurring her on with a pat on the rear. “Brent will be here soon. Wear something sexy so he’ll fall in love with you like everyone else!”

  Chapter Thirty

  I’m finishing up the breakfast of coffee and doughnuts Pratt so kindly left for me. Aside from the kaffeeklatsch of chattering birds, it’s nice and peaceful here in Odenton. Pratt’s small cabin on a ragged patch of land surrounded by scrubby woods is quaintly furnished with rag rugs, calico curtains, and cheap cherrywood furniture. The worm-eaten antique butter churn, a parting gift from a girlfriend he dumped, strikes me as quite the inventive revenge. This cabin is a far cry from my parents’ so called “cottage” in East Hampton—a twenty-room gray-shingled house, set back on ten acres of emerald green lawn dotted with towering shade trees. The carefully landscaped grounds included a swimming pool, tennis court, greenhouse, plus vegetable and rose gardens. Though different in size and scope, these abodes do have one major thing in common: Drugs.

  Pratt is a drug dealer. Alan was a drug user. With the smell of marijuana now wafting through the house, I can’t help thinking of Alan, who got into drugs at a young age and never really grew up as a result. I go over my brother’s history often. It’s like a poison fairy tale I keep hoping will have a happy ending. But Alan’s death is the second biggest reason I’m here.

  My mother always refused to admit her baby boy had a drug problem. But deep in her heart she knew. Knowing she couldn’t discipline Alan herself, she turned to Sklar. He suggested Mummy set up a trust fund for Alan over which he, Sklar, would have control. Sklar promised to supervise my brother, get him a job, and make sure he was clean. Sklar convinced Mummy he would watch over Alan with the same care and attention he was watching over her money.

  Then came the day Alan was arrested for trying to buy heroin on the Lower East Side. He couldn’t get hold of Sklar so he called me to come bail him out of jail.

  “Swear you won’t tell Mom,” Alan pleaded with me as we left the court.

  I refused. I explained to Mummy exactly what had happened. She was so upset, she finally listened to me. I told her to quit relying on Sklar and get Alan professional help.

  “Alan’s got to go to rehab,” I said. She agreed.

  I arranged for an “intervention.” Alan came to Mummy’s apartment, where she and I and a counselor confronted him about his drug use. After a grueling session of accusations and denials, Alan finally agreed to go to Hazelden, a well-known drug treatment center. Arrangements were made. He was scheduled to leave for Minnesota at the end of the week. As an added bonus, I’d also persuaded Mummy to let someone else have a look at her finances.

  Sklar called me the next day.

  “Maudie, I just got back from L.A. and called your mother. She sounds upset with me. She told me to call you. What’s up?”

  “I had to bail Alan out of jail for buying heroin. He admitted to me that he hasn’t had a job in months and that you’ve been giving him money without the supervision you promised our mother.”

  “Candidly, Maud, that’s simply not true,” Sklar said.

  “Well, true or not, Alan’s going to Hazelden at the end of the week. And Mummy’s agreed it’s time to let another pair of eyes look into her financial affairs. I’m arranging that now.”

  After a brief pause, Sklar said: “Honestly…? If that’s what your mother wants, then that’s what will happen. I’m happy to talk to anyone you like and show them anything they want.”

  Sklar spoke to me without rancor or any sign of panic. I gotta say I was impressed by his reaction, but wary nonetheless.

  The day before Alan was scheduled to go to Hazelden, Mummy summoned me to her apartment for tea. When I arrived, I found Mummy in the library with Sklar. Their conversation stopped when I entered.

  “Sit down, Maud,” Mummy commanded, pointing to the couch. “Burt has something to tell you.”

  I sat on the tufted chintz ottoman across from Sklar and Mummy, who were seated on chairs, peering down at me like judges at a witch trial. Kindling lit, I smelled smoke. Panic buzzed in my gut. Sklar’s pious demeanor was scary. He looked like Cotton Mather in Armani.

  “Truthfully, Maudie…? There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.” I crossed my arms in defiance. He went on. “Your brother was not buying drugs. Alan was caught up in a sweep. And through absolutely no fault of his own, he got arrested.”

  “That’s not what he told me,” I said.

  “Truthfully…? Alan was afraid you wouldn’t bail him out if it didn’t seem really important.”

  I threw my hands up in exasperation. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means your brother doesn’t have a drug problem!” Mummy cried. “And we’re going to get this ridiculous record expunged forever! Right, Burt?”

  “That’s absolutely correct, Lois,” Sklar said with a solemn nod.

  I took a shaky breath. “If Alan doesn’t get help now, he could wind up dead.”

  Mummy turned to Sklar in exasperation. “Sharper than a serpent’s tooth! I told you she’d be like this, Burt!”

  “Mummy, please! Once he has the tools to fight this disease, he’ll conquer it. But he needs to go to rehab. It’s all set up now. What’s the harm? It’s only a few weeks.”

  “The harm is in stigmatizing your brother just because you’re jealous of him. Alan told me himself he doesn’t have a drug problem. It was all a ghastly misunderstanding. And I believe him.”

  Now I was furious. “Really? Just when did you talk to him about this?”

  Sklar and Mummy exchanged knowing looks.

  “Alan was here for lunch. He just left,” Sklar said.

  “Perfect.” I shook my head in disgust.

  “Your brother doesn’t want to go to that awful place because he’s not an addict and he’s afraid of being surrounded by addicts,” Mummy said.

  “Mummy, listen to me…Alan is an addict. Addicts lie. He’s lying to you and very possibly to himself. He was arrested by an undercover cop! He admitted everything to me.”

  Mummy shook her head. “No! Alan’s afraid of you, Maud. He’s been afraid of you since he was little and you teased him and played mean tricks on him because you were jealous. You’re your father’s daughter, all right.”

  I shot back. “I know, I know, I’m the spawn of Satan because my real father treated you like the devil. But I’ve got news for you, the only devil in the picture is sitting right beside you.”

  Mummy gasped. “What a wicked thing to say about Burt! And after all he’s done for this family! You apologize to him this instant!”

  “She doesn’t mean it, Lois, dear,” Sklar said.

  “I do mean it!”

  “Well, Maud, I mean it when I say your brother’s not going anywhere! Burt’s going to continue looking after Alan. Aren’t you, Burt?”

  “I absolutely am. Count on it,” Sklar said.

  Sklar’s hold on my mother was stronger than ever. As I left, he gave me a covert smirk, daring me to interfere any further.

  I called Alan the second I got out of there.

  “Alan, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Not going to drug jail, for starters. Did Burt tell you he’s getting my record expunged?”

  “I don’t care about your record. I care about your life. You need to go to rehab for your own sake.”

  “Maudie, I’m fine. Trust me.”

  “You’re an addict. That’s not fine.”

  “I’m not an addict. I can stop whenever I want to. I just don’t happen to want to stop at the moment.”

  “You understand, of course, that Sklar is using you to keep control of our mother, right? If you sided with me, Mummy would listen to us an
d he’d be out of the picture.”

  “You’ve got Burt all wrong. I know him better than you do. He’s really an okay guy.”

  “Oh yeah? I wonder what you’ll think when he steals all the money.”

  “Maudie, there’s so much money there I’m pretty sure there’ll always be plenty left.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Sklar called me that night. I didn’t hang up because I was curious to hear what he’d say.

  “Look, Maud, I’m sorry about this afternoon. It was tough on you because, as you well know, your dear mother has a problem with women. It’s just bad luck you were born a girl. I’m calling to reassure you that I’m handling your brother. Honestly…? I also happen to be making your mom a ton of money. I promise you kids will both be enormously wealthy one day. Now, take my advice: Send your mom some flowers with a note. She loves you. I love you. Your brother’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry so much. You’ll get an ulcer.”

  So here’s the thing. I actually felt better after that conversation. I wanted to hear that my mother loved me, that Alan was going to be okay, and that Sklar was looking after the family fortune. So I quit bugging everybody and let the whole thing drop.

  Sklar was like the guy at a poker table who assures you that you made a great fold. You feel good until you realize the son-of-a-bitch was bluffing the entire hand.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Hungover from a night of booze and sex, Brent Hobbs arrives at Sklar’s apartment a few minutes past ten. He succumbed to Magma’s unsubtle invitation to spend the night with her, not just because she can be useful to him, but because she was hellbent on proving to him that she could outdo any younger woman when it came to satisfying him in bed. And whaddaya know? She was right! Magma was terrific in the sack—possibly not as terrific as that clinically depressed Russian model he interviewed for a piece he did on the oligarchs two years ago. But she came pretty damn close.

  Sklar greets Hobbs as he steps off the elevator. The sleekness of Sklar’s black designer duds makes Hobbs feel slightly self-conscious in his ancient tweed jacket, pilling cashmere sweater, stained corduroy trousers, and tattered loafers.