Philanthropist

by Larry Hill

  “Duke and North Carolina.”

  “So what’s the big deal? You didn’t go to either of those schools.”

  “I hate Duke. Everybody hates Duke. I don’t like UNC any better, but they’re not as evil as Duke, so in this game, I love ‘em.”

  “I don’t hate Duke, so if everybody else does, I better root for them. Go Duke!” Jennifer loved to love things that others loved to hate – undocumented aliens, movies about asteroids destined to hit Earth, sweet wine, all-you-can-eat restaurants, and the New York Yankees.

  Jason, having changed from his day of discovery, came into the room, looked at the TV, recognized the uniforms, and said matter-of-factly, “I hate Duke.”

  Changing subjects from tall young men playing ball, Jennifer pointed out that she hadn’t taken anything out for dinner and suggested that they go out, maybe Thai or Vietnamese.

  “Great idea,” said Jason. “This time it’s on me. You guys have been too good to me. You make the call and I’ll pay the bill.”

  “OK, Kid. We’ll find the most expensive Vietnamese place in three counties,” responded Fred. Jennifer was thrilled by the change in the father and son relationship in the few weeks that Jason had boarded in their home. And, what better sign that Fred was on his way back than the fact his sense of humor had returned? For a moment, she had forgotten about the call in the park.

  The salon was located on Sacramento St., not far from Pacific Heights. Jennifer drove even though she’d probably end up in a parking space as close to home as to the shop. She did not tell her husband that she was driving; to him, that was not an important piece of information. The cut and coloring took almost two hours. She didn’t call home when she left. Fred was now quite capable of taking care of himself in the friendly confines of his house. He expertly crafted a tuna sandwich with just enough mayo not to upset his internist, garnished with a reasonable handful of chips and half a dill pickle.

  As the fog had not cleared in the western part of the city, Golden Gate Park was chilly. Parking was not a problem in the park on a week day. As it was a few minutes before the noon horn blew, she expected to get to the museum before Ernesto. She was wrong. He was leaning on the wall just in front of the visitors’ entrance. He had seen her before she picked him out of the dozen or so people in the area. She hoped for, but doubted she would get, something akin to a fifties cinematic greeting. Her doubts were well founded; his hug was feeble, his smile, forced. She went from hopeful to infuriated in an instant. They walked without handholding the several hundred feet from the museum to the Garden and quickly found a bench amongst the South African fynbos.

  “Good to see you, Jen.”

  “Yes. Good to see you, too.”

  Silence. Thirty seconds, maybe forty-five. Jennifer looked at Ernesto. Ernesto looked at plants.

  “I think you owe me an explanation,” she said.

  “Right. I do. I don’t know where to start.”

  “How about why I didn’t hear from you after I told you I was pregnant. Didn’t you want to know what I did about it? How about why I didn’t know that you hadn’t gone to South America. How about why you didn’t answer any of my phone calls. Hell, I even wrote you a letter – I hadn’t written any letters in years. You know something, Mr. Contreras – you are a bastard, a son of a bitch, an hijo de puta.” In anticipation, she had Googled for the worst Spanish invective she could find. She felt better having used it.

  “You are very right. I am all those, and worse. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I love you. I really love you.”

  “Cut the crap. If you love someone, you don’t treat them like dirt. And, my friend, I feel very dirty right now.”

  “I know how you feel. I understand. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you don’t have a fucking clue how I feel. You don’t understand a damn thing.”

  “OK. OK. You’re right. I don’t understand how you feel. I know how I feel though. Let me explain.”

  “Go for it, buster.”

  “All right. Give me a minute.” He wished that he’d be able to make his presentation in Spanish, but obviously couldn’t. He ran his fingers through his black hair and retied a loose shoestring.

  “No minutes. Just give it to me.”

  “OK. Here I go. About the pregnancy. Remember what you told me? Something like, ‘Get out of town.’ You didn’t want me involved. You told me you’d go to your doctor and he’d help you. I really felt you meant what you said, that I should stay out of it.”

  “You’re right. I did say that. But look. This was a big deal. You should have called. You were the goddam father.”

  “Sorry, Jen. With this one I was just following orders.”

  “All right. I guess I got carried away. It would have been really nice to hear from you, but it’s probably my fault.”

  “So what happened? Did you have an abortion?”

  She told him about the pills and the bleeding and how depressed she was when she didn’t have anybody to talk to. He sympathized.

  “Now, Uruguay.” He filled in the holes regarding Kobe beef and South America, but did not immediately identify the capitalist who had done him wrong.

  “You aren’t going to believe this but here goes. I prepared my ass off for the trip. I spent all that time at Davis and then in the firm’s office. I knew beef and I knew business. Actually, I was proud of myself. I hadn’t studied anything since college, but I’m still a pretty good student. Ask me any question about Uruguay and I can give you the answer – who is the President? When is Independence Day? What do they import from the US? I knew all that shit. I even bought a new suit – three hundred bucks at Macy’s. I had tickets, first class, and a room at the Sheraton – they say it’s the best place in town. I’m ready to leave the next afternoon and the boss calls telling me that I’m not going. Something about the guy they work for in Montevideo – that’s the capital of Uruguay.”

  “Duh. What do you think I am - an idiot?”

  “Sorry. The boss says that one of the partners will have to go or the cattleman will pull out of the deal. He just shines me on – tells me I’m not going, nothing more. And I’ve tried to get an answer in a hundred ways, but all I hear is that Spencer will call me back. Never does.

  “Wait a second! Spencer? What’s his first name?”

  “Mark. Mark Spencer.”

  Jennifer well remembered having heard the name Spencer at Ernesto’s house, but she’d spent no time thinking about it since, dismissing it as a coincidence.

  “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch. Don’t you know who that is?”

  “I guess I don’t. All I know is that he is a big roller and is the first name on a firm in the Transamerica building. And, until all of this happened, I thought he was a nice guy.”

  “He may be that, my friend, but Mark Spencer is also the husband, no, the widower of the woman who was killed in the hit and run that they say my husband committed.”

  “Jesus. I thought it was strange that he picked me out of a restaurant to send me to Uruguay to work on a big deal. Then, even stranger when he tells me at the last minute that I’m not going. But I don’t understand it. Why would he do this to me? I didn’t kill his wife.”

  “No you didn’t, Ernesto, and neither did I. It doesn’t make any sense, does it? Think about it. A man loses his wife when some old guy hits her with his car and runs away. The guy is arrested and becomes big news all over town, then gets out on bail but will eventually come to trial in an open and shut case. And then the old guy has his own accident and may not go to trial after all. What could be motivating him? What’s to gain by playing with the emotions not of the killer, not of the killer’s family, but of the lover of the killer’s second wife? And how the hell did he ever get to know about you and me? We’ve been pretty damn good about keeping this quiet- until that time in the Redwood Room.”

  “You don’t think that your stepson… what’s his name…put Spencer up to this, do you?”

  “Jason’s his
name. And, no, I can’t imagine any reason whatsoever for Jason to contact Mark Spencer, tell him about our affair, and suggest that there might be something gained by messing with you. And then Spencer saying, ‘What a good idea. I think I’ll drum up some big role for him to play in my business and then pull the rug out from under him. That’ll really help me get over losing my wife.’ That’s idiotic, but give me another explanation for all this.”

  “I can’t. But look what it’s done to you and me. Before Spencer came into the restaurant, we were fine. More than fine – you were the only person I could talk to about anything serious.”

  Jen nodded. “Yeah, same for me, but what the hell happened to you? You get this big offer and suddenly I’m out of your life. No calls, no answers to my calls.”

  “I’m really sorry, mi amor. You’re right. I thought I was pretty hot shit. I started thinking different about my life. I thought it was time to start thinking about a family, kids, a full-time wife, a nice house, not that piece of junk that I live in now. And that meant that I’d have to give you up.”

  “You could have told me that. I’m a big girl. We’ve had fifteen years of something pretty goddam important, and you just stop all contact because you have a new suit and a first class ticket to Montevideo. You’re a coward, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was a coward.”

  “I didn’t say you were one. You ARE one.”

  “OK. But I’m gonna change. Let me show you how much I love you. Let’s get a room.”

  “Oh, come on, Ernie. That’s really horse shit. Yesterday, a room with you was what I longed for, but not today. You go figure out what you are going to do with your life. Once you do that, let me know, by telephone, or better, since you’re such a good student, study up on how to use email. You know, we’ve been more than lovers for all these years – we’ve been best friends. I wouldn’t mind getting back to that, but get your own act together and maybe try again.”

  Two teen-aged boys in short sleeve white shirts, skimpier than appropriate for the windy cloud-covered park, and dark, narrow ties walked up to the morose looking couple on the bench. “Hi, how are you folks doing today?” asked one, a wide smile showing bright white adult teeth.

  “We’re just fine,” said Ernesto, grumpily.

  “Yes, we are fine,” said Jennifer, “but I don’t think we want to become Mormons today. Maybe later. Thanks for stopping by and have a great afternoon.”

  STEPMOM

  Jason had been a guest in his father’s and stepmother’s house for several weeks. He was not likely to be returning to Los Angeles any time soon, having recently received notification from Emily that, not only was she going to be filing for divorce, but that she was leaving her high-flying practice in Beverly Hills to take an even more lucrative position as a partner with a mergers and acquisitions specialty firm in Manhattan. In addition to being involved in the great mergers of the day, she’d be close to her parents, whom the children would get to see weekly rather than seasonally.

  Jason was, to his surprise and the surprise of Jen and even Fred, not terribly upset by the news. His work had been going very well in San Francisco. His big case had settled, not for the thirty-million the plaintiff wanted but for just a few million short of that. His LA firm had been giving thought to setting up an office in the Bay Area. Jason, a partner for four years, would be an ideal helmsman to get the office moving.

  He liked the part that he wouldn’t have anything to do with his in-laws. Mr. and Mrs. Park were not among his favorites. Moreover, he was not overly troubled by the prospect of his two offspring living on the opposite coast. Not one to say that the most important defining aspect of his life was being a “Good Dad,” he calculated that seeing his kids in the summers and occasional holidays would be just about right. He had grown weary of squiring them to classes, lessons, games, and meets. He hadn’t heard many ‘”Thanks Dads” and rarely learned of the outcomes of the meets or the progress of the lessons. He hoped that the children would grow up to be successful adults and perhaps show a little gratitude if and when they developed wisdom with the success.

  Jason initially did not worry about the financial aspects of divorce. Both he and she took in handsome salaries, hers about to be more handsome than before. Plus their LA home, while not as valuable as it was prior to the housing crisis, was still worth much more than was owned on it. He’d put his foot down regarding schooling. The public school in West Los Angeles had been more than good enough. He’d leave it to Emily to find an equivalent in New York. If she thought that only a private school would suffice, she’d come up with the tuition. Alimony, thank goodness, would not be an issue. While he reckoned that they could make the split without hiring lawyers, she employed a woman known for making rich LA working-wives even richer. He was therefore forced to counter, signing on with one of San Francisco’s finest. He didn’t know what issues had to be negotiated but based on his years in the profession, knew that he’d be screwed if he didn’t have a powerhouse attorney on his side.

  He was sitting in the downstairs den, scotch on the rocks in hand, reading the New York Times on the computer when his stepmother walked in. Often, on seeing her after a bit of time, his immediate reaction was one of envy of his father. Jennifer turned heads and Jason’s head was one that turned. Her auburn hair, azure eyes, tiny nose, and thin, barely colored lips conveyed a classic 40s and 50s motion picture beauty. Her figure was full but not at all excessive. Her slight but shapely legs would have been just right for silk stockings forty years earlier. As a single man to be, one who assumed he wouldn’t stay that way too long, he hoped that he could do half as well as his Dad. It was clear at this time, however, that his stepmother was not her usual self. Her beauty was capped by an expression of intense discomfort.

  “Jennifer, what’s up? You don’t look good.”

  She shut the door although it was unlikely that Fred, a floor above with TV volume at high decibels, could hear anything they would be saying.

  “Jason, it’s time that we laid all our cards on the table. You’ve been here over a month and neither of us has said a word about the meeting at the Clift.”

  “Right. I didn’t think that I was the one who should bring it up.”

  “Yeah, true. I’ve got a question. Did you say anything about what you saw to anybody else?”

  He hesitated but wasn’t about to lie at this point. “Yeah, I met with the twins a few days after the meeting and told them. And then, assuming that it might have impact on his legal situation, we talked it over with Irving Greenberg.”

  “What do you mean impact on the legal situation?”

  “We didn’t know. But in today’s world, surprising releases about who’s sleeping with whom become big news and we didn’t want either Dad or his lawyer to be hit with something.”

  “What did Greenberg say?”

  “He didn’t think much of it. Said that it would have no bearing on a trial. Might be a middle of the Bay Area section headline in the Chronicle, but it wouldn’t have legs.”

  “I guess that’s good to hear,” said Jennifer. “Now, let me tell you what I learned today. Remember the guy I was with?”

  “Ernie?”

  “Ernesto. Doesn’t like to be called Ernie. He and I have been together for a long time. Long before your father and I even met. When Fred and I got married, we stopped seeing each other for a while, but got back together, maybe once a month, after about a year.”

  “Does Dad know anything about this?”

  “We’ve never talked about it, he says things from time to time that make me think that he knows, and even that it’s OK with him. Remember, there are 30 years between us.”

  “You don’t need to remind me of that. Was there…is there, any chance that you are going to leave my father for this guy?”

  “Jesus, no! I’m sorry for saying this to you, his son, but the main reason Ernesto and I get together is for sex.”

  “You mean that my father cannot perform? Can’t
he get it up?”

  “I don’t want to talk about your father that way. Actually saying it’s only for sex is not exactly correct. Ernesto has been helpful to me a lot and serves as a confidant. Remember when your father was missing-when he was in Emergency at the General? It was Ernesto I asked to find him. He called all the hospitals and the morgue. He didn’t find him but he was a godsend.

  “OK. I think I got the picture. But you look like something bad has just happened. I take it that it has something to do with your boyfriend.”

  “Come on Jason. Cut the boyfriend crap. You’re more mature than that.”

  “Sorry. So, what happened?”

  Jennifer relayed the story, starting with her call from Ernesto asking her whether he should pursue this job opportunity presented by a man who had eaten in his restaurant, following with the story of his taking the job to do something with cattle in Uruguay and then, at the last minute, being told not to go, for no reason. She showed no emotion when she relayed the part in which Ernesto seems to break off with her – no calls, no responses to her calls.

  “And then yesterday, I’m at the movies with Fred and find on my cell a call from Ernesto. I dropped your Dad off at home and went to the park to return his call and, all of a sudden, he has to meet me the next day, like today. So we meet at Golden Gate Park and guess who he tells me was the man who offered him the job and then took it away?”

  “Donald Trump?”

  “Funny. Real funny. It was none other than Mark Spencer.”

  “Oh my God. Why? Why did he do something like that?”

  “I have absolutely no idea. Ernesto doesn’t either. By the way, he’s a very smart man, in spite of his performance when he was trying to explain who he was and what he did when you met him at the Clift. We still laugh about the EF Hutton comment.”

  “Yeah, that was hilarious. But how does Spencer gain anything from doing this. Is he just a malicious son-of-a-bitch?”

  “He did just lose his wife and the mother of his daughter. He’s got a right to be angry and there’s no easy way to take it out on Fred. He’s not going to sneak into our house and shoot him. So, I guess he was just striking out and found an easy target.”