by Bill Bernico
“And?” Gloria said.
Olivia cleared her throat. “And we were thinking, that is we were wondering about…”
“When’s the wedding?” Elliott said. The room fell silent. “Come on,” Elliott continued. “It doesn’t take an Einstein to see that you two are in love and what with you both going off to school twenty-two hundred miles away, well, I guess it was inevitable.”
“Is that what you two are leading up to?” Gloria said.
“That’s part of it,” Matt said.
“What’s the other part?” Gloria asked.
“The other part is that Chris and I have also been talking about getting married, as you both know,” Matt said. “And, well, the four of us got to talking and wondered how you two would feel about a…”
“A double wedding?” Gloria almost shouted, catching Olivia off guard with a broad smile.
“Well?” Olivia said. “What do you think about that idea?”
Gloria stood and spread both arms wide, inviting Chris and Olivia into them. “I think it’s wonderful.” The three women hugged tightly while the three men looked at each other, dumbfounded.
*****
Matt managed to make it through nine days of working side by side with his mother occupying Elliott’s desk. On the tenth day Elliott hobbled into the office on crutches to find Matt already there, sitting at his own desk. Gloria was home again, helping Olivia and Chris put together a quick plan for the upcoming double wedding.
Matt got up and stepped over to Elliott’s desk, pulling it a little further away from the window to make room for the cast on his leg, before helping to ease Elliott down into his chair. Elliott leaned the crutches against the wall behind him and sat sideways, his leg sticking out from his desk.
Elliott hadn’t been sitting two minutes when his phone rang. “I’ll get it, Dad,” Matt said.
“I’ll get it,” Elliott insisted and picked up the phone. “Cooper and Son, Elliott Cooper speaking. How can we help you today?”
“That’s the Elliott Cooper I know,” Lieutenant Eric Anderson said. “How you feeling, old man?”
“I was feeling just fine until you called me an old man, Eric,” Elliott replied.
“All right,” Eric said. “So you’re not that old. How are you feeling anyway?”
“Something tells me you didn’t call just to ask about my well-being,” Elliott said. “Something else on your mind this morning, Eric.”
“Just thought you might like to hear what happened with the briefcase case,” Eric said.
“The what?”
“The case involving that guy who had the briefcase full of money that you found on the elevator,” Eric said. “I just figured you’d want to know how that whole thing turned out.”
“To tell you the truth, I almost forgot about that guy, what with all the excitement around here,” Elliott said. “Sure, fill me in.”
“Guy’s name was Byron Handleman,” Eric said, “But then you already knew that, didn’t you? Anyway, one of my patrolmen hadn’t heard the broadcast cancelling the APB and picked up this Handleman character anyway. He brought the man into the precinct in cuffs and let him cool his heels in the holding cell. That didn’t go over to well with Handleman, as you might have guessed. By the time it got back to me that we had him in custody, he was threatening to sue the whole department. I got him calmed down and he agreed not to sue after I reminded him about that little stunt he pulled in your office, pulling a gun on you and Matt. I told him I’d forget about that little incident and in turn he could forget about any lawsuit. I let him go and reminded him that if the six of them didn’t report their winnings to the IRS that they might be hearing more from me.”
“Mr. Subtle, aren’t you?” Elliott said.
“Hey, it worked,” Eric replied. “Just thought you’d like to know, is all. I’ll let you go for now. If you like I can stop by later and help you eat your applesauce.”
“Funny,” Elliott said and hung up. He turned to Matt. “Boy I’ll be glad when this recuperation period is over and everyone can stop trying to be a comedian.”
“I can relate,” Matt said, and got back to work on his client database.
*****
On the third week of August the three families converged at the church for Matt and Olivia’s double wedding celebration. Gloria had gotten together with Chris Sullivan’s mom and Tom Bowers’ mom and the three of them had agreed to limit the reception to five couples each, making a total of just over forty people at the reception that took place at Elliott and Gloria’s house afterwards.
Elliott’s cast had come off a week earlier and he had spent the last few days exercising the newly mended leg so he’d be able to dance with his daughter, the new Mrs. Tom Bowers. It was a night that he’d been preparing for since Olivia was born, and a night he’d remember for the rest of his life. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely and the night ended with Olivia and Tom thanking everyone before they departed for their hotel room. They had a long cross-country drive ahead of them in the morning. Chris and Matt said their goodbyes as well and left for their hotel room shortly before midnight. The next morning they’d be driving up to Big Bear Lake for their own honeymoon.
Elliott and Gloria would team up once more to run the business until Matt and Chris returned in a week. Sometimes it seemed like life was one big circle and Elliott felt like he was just along for the ride.
127 - To BB Or Not To BB
By the time Elliott Cooper came in to work that Monday, his son Matt was already at his desk, pecking away at his computer keyboard. Matt was not exactly a hunt-and-peck style, two finger typist, but he was also not a skilled home-row kind of guy, either. This typing skills involved five fingers—two fingers and a thumb on his right hand and two fingers on his left hand, yet he still managed to rack up an impressive forty-five words a minute during bursts of creativity.
“Morning, Matt,” Elliott said, hanging his coat on the coat rack. “How was the honeymoon?”
Matt had recently married his girlfriend, Christine Sullivan, in a double wedding ceremony with his sister, Olivia and her boyfriend, Tom Bowers. Olivia and Tom had left for Wisconsin the day after the wedding, opting to drive the twenty-two hundred miles in Tom’s car. Matt and Chris had spent their honeymoon at a cabin on Big Bear Lake, not far from Los Angeles. Elliott’s wife, Gloria had filled in for Matt in the office during his absence. It was a familiar atmosphere for her, since she had started out as Elliott’s partner all those years ago, eventually ending up as his wife.
“It was peaceful,” Matt said. “Most of the summer crowd was gone so we didn’t have to listen to a bunch of kids yelling and running all over the place. But it’s kind of good to be back on the job. After a week in the mountains, you run out of things to do.”
Elliott gave Matt a wry smile, but said nothing.
“I know what you’re thinking, you dirty old man,” Matt said to his father. “I meant besides that.”
Elliott didn’t pursue this line of questioning. “Are you still trying to be a writer?” he said, looking across the room at his son and gesturing toward Matt’s keyboard.
Matt Cooper looked up from his computer keyboard and stared off into space, as if trying to complete and idea. It must have suddenly come to him because he turned his attentions back to the screen and began typing again.
“Matt?” Elliott repeated.
Matt held up his index finger briefly to silence Elliott while he got his thoughts down on the screen. When he’d finished, he smiled and looked back over at Elliott. “Now,” he said, “What was it you wanted?”
“I said, are you still trying to be a writer?”
“Hey,” Matt said, “Your dad did it. He got his book published and I figured if he could do it, how hard could it be?”
“Yeah, but Dad’s was a cook book,” Elliott said, with a bit of embarrassment. Elliott’s father, Clay has started out writing a book of steamy memoirs that revolved around some of the private investi
gator cases he’d been involved with, but after he’d been warned off the project by some of the principle characters in that book, he turned the project into a cook book just to fulfill his contractual obligations with his publisher.
“So what,” Matt said. “He still sold quite a few copies and got his book in the library. It’ll be there long after you and I are dust. I’d say that was quite an accomplishment, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s what you’re looking for—notoriety?” Elliott said. “Don’t you get enough of that every time one of our cases makes headlines in the paper?”
“It’s not the same,” Matt explained. “That’s out there for one day before someone lines their bird cage floor with it. A book in the library is permanent. I want to leave something behind before I die—something that will make people remember me long after I’m gone.”
Elliott sighed. “All right, what’s this book all about?”
“Book?” Matt said. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Elliott looked puzzled. “Well, then what have you been typing this whole time?”
Matt smiled and looked up at his dad. “Possible titles for my book,” he said. “So far I’ve got a couple that would be sure to make potential book shoppers at least stop and pick it up, if for no other reason than to satisfy their curiosity.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Elliott said. “Let’s hear some of these clever titles you’ve come up with.”
Matt cleared his throat and looked down at his computer screen and then said, “This is one I just now thought up. How about a medical thriller about a doctor who operates on himself? I call this one Suture Self.” He looked over at Elliott for a reaction but just got a blank stare from his father. “Didn’t like that one? How about a urologist who runs out of candy on Halloween and gives out samples to the kids who come to his door? That one would be titled, Urine For A Treat.”
This time Elliott rolled his eyes. “You’re not really going to use those, are you?”
“Too much?” Matt asked.
Elliott nodded. “Uh, yeah. Are all your books going to be about the medical profession? You know, they say you should write what you know and I don’t know if it had occurred to you, but you have no medical experience.”
“There is that,” Matt agreed. “All right, how about a well-built female operative who hangs around street corners looking for her contact? I could call that one, Bust Op at the Bus Stop.”
Elliott had to laugh at that one. “Matt,” he started to say but thought better of it. “You know, with a goofy title like that you just might catch some publisher’s eye. Now all you have to do is write the novel to go with the title. How hard can that be?”
“You know,” Matt said, “I originally thought about titles based on variations of old movies.”
“Like?”
“How about, Young Man With A Whore?” Matt said, referring to the 1950 Kirk Douglas movie, Young Man With A Horn. “Or there’s, The Six Year Itch. Too late to get Tom Ewell to play the part in this one. It could be about a roving husband who’s a year ahead of schedule. Remember Marilyn Monroe’s skirt flying up on the street in that one?”
“I can see you’ve had too much free time on your hands,” Elliott said. “We’ve got to find you a case to work on.”
“You didn’t like that one?” Matt said. “I could always write a thriller called A Midsummer Night’s Scream. That could catch some publisher’s attention.”
“At least that one doesn’t sound so, so…what’s the word I’m looking for?” Elliott said, staring at the ceiling. He looked back at Matt, snapped his fingers and said, “Goofy.”
“You want goofy?” Matt said. “I’ll give you goofy.”
“All right,” Elliott said. “But just one more and then we have to get back to work. Go ahead. What have you got for me?”
“How about a novel about a farmer trying to decide which crop to plant?” Matt said, setting his father up for the punch line. “Picture this in your mind, if you will. He’s standing in the feed and grain store trying to decide whether to buy the national brand of wheat seeds or go with the house brand that they also sell. After careful deliberation, he makes his decision, looks at the clerk and says, House Wheat It Is.”
“How sweet what is?” Elliott said. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s a visual,” Matt explained, and wrote the title down on a piece of paper. He stepped over to Elliott’s desk and handed the paper to him, reciting the title again as Elliott read it from the sheet.
Elliott crumbled the paper into a ball and tossed it up at Matt. “Come on, Hemingway, let’s get back to work.”
“Admit it, Dad, that last one was funny,” Matt insisted. “They were all funny.”
Elliott tried to hold back the smile but couldn’t. He laughed out loud and said, “The Six Year Itch. I like that one. Now can we get back to work?
“Sure,” Matt said, “If you have something you’d like me to do.”
Elliott had to think about it for a moment. He realized that there wasn’t really anything either of them could do until a client sought them out for their private investigator skills. This business wasn’t like selling cars, where you could make cold calls in an effort to drum up business. You were at the whim of the client. He was about to make up something for Matt to do when his phone rang.
“Cooper and Son Investigations,” Elliott said. “This is Elliott Cooper. How can I help you today?”
“You just did,” the familiar voice on the other end said. “We were having a bet here at the office and we were wondering which was the proper phrase—’can I help you’ or ‘may I help you’. Which one is it, Elliott?”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Eric,” Elliott said, referring to Lieutenant Eric Anderson from the L.A.P.D. They were old friends who frequently called on each other with work or for favors. “If you must know, it’s MAY. You happy now?”
On the other end of the phone, Eric pretended to be talking to someone else in his office, his mouth away from the telephone receiver. He said, “You owe me five bucks. Cooper says it’s MAY.” Eric came back on the phone. “Thanks, Elliott. I just made five bucks off you.”
“We’re kind of busy here, Eric,” Elliott told him. “Can you cut to the chase?”
“Sure thing,” Eric said. “I know you said you two were busy, but do you suppose you could squeeze me in for some time tomorrow afternoon? I might have some work for you.”
Elliott made an exaggerated effort of shuffling papers on his desk, trying to mimic the sound of paging through an appointment book.
“Uh, Elliott,” Eric said. “You forget that I’ve already been in your office when potential clients have called and I’ve seen your phony paper shuffling routine.”
“Busted,” Elliott said. “Sure, we’re available. What have you got for us?”
“Do you know anything about tailing a guy?” Eric said.
“Very funny.”
“Couldn’t resist,” Eric said. “Seriously though, I need both of you on this one. I have a guy who we need to have tailed for a while. The job could run into a week or more of your time. Are you both free?”
“No, but we’re very reasonable,” Elliott shot back. Eric didn’t take the bait. “All right,” Elliott added. “We’re both available. You happy now?”
“Very,” Eric said.
“Okay, so what’s the tail job and who are we supposed to follow for you?” Elliott said.
“Not on the phone,” Eric said. “Let’s meet, the three of us. I’ll lay it all out for you then.”
“Where? When?” Elliott said.
“Gold Cup, nine o’clock?”
“We’ll be there,” Elliott said. “Where is this Gold Cup?”
“Now who’s the comedian?” Eric said and hung up.
The Gold Cup was a coffee shop on Hollywood Boulevard less than half a block from Elliott’s office, which itself was located on the third floor of the Cahuenga Building. He and Matt could make it there in und
er a minute.
Elliott hung up his phone and turned to Matt. “Can you put your novel on the back burner while we both go out and earn a real living?”
“I can put the title on the back burner,” Matt explained, “Since that’s all I have at the moment. What’s up? Eric have some work for us?”
“Looks like it,” Elliott said. “Tail job for both of us that could last a week or more. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Matt said.
“To meet with our client,” Elliott explained.
“I heard you talking to Eric,” Matt said. “I also know that we’re supposed to meet him at the Gold Cup, which, as you know, is a minute away. Any reason we need to get there now?”
“I want to make one stop along the way,” Elliott explained. “Come on, grab your jacket and let’s go.”
The two of them locked up the office and rode the elevator to the lobby, exiting out onto Hollywood Boulevard. They could see The Gold Cup from where they stood, four doors down on the opposite side of the street. Next to the coffee shop there was an electronics store where Elliott liked to buy his latest surveillance gadgets. He and Matt crossed the street and walked into the electronics store.
“What are we doing here?” Matt said.
“We’ve got some time,” Elliott said. “I just want to see the newest stuff that’s available. You never know if there’ll be something we can use on the job.”
“But you’re in here every other day,” Matt complained. “How much new stuff can hit the market in two days?”
“Would you like to go wait in the coffee shop?” Elliott said. “That’s got to be way less stimulating than looking over the goodies in here.”
Matt didn’t answer. He just split apart from Elliott and began walking down one of the other aisles while Elliott stared at the miniature cameras, recording devices, microphones, model helicopters and dozens of other interesting gadgets on the shelves. This was all very interesting merchandise, Elliott thought, but there was nothing here he hadn’t already seen last week.