Deathbed Dimes

by Naomi Elana Zener

  “Enough, you two!” I shouted. “We are not going to make it if you don’t get along. Ethan accept the fact that, no matter how hard you try to sabotage this new firm, I will not go back with you to your old firm. And, Coco, be nice!”

  They looked at each other with a huff.

  “Whatever. I will put another ad together for an associate attorney. Perhaps Ethan can put out an APB on Javier,” Coco said.

  “Moving forward, we mine all of our connections — cultural, social, professional, whatever — to find clients. I’ll file Esty’s copy of the codicil at the Beverly Hills court tomorrow and draft our notice of objection to the validity of the second will,” I said, getting excited.

  “I have a friend in commercial real estate. I’ll give him a call to see if he can help us find some suitable office space,” Ethan said, already pulling out his phone.

  “Fantastic,” I said. “I have the retainer from Esty, which will cover the disbursements on this file. Based on my review thus far, this is a solid case of undue influence exercised by Mandy Chalmers, Ivana’s nurse and sole beneficiary under the second will, and Sumner, which will invalidate the will. For Christ’s sake, Mandy plied the testatrix with so much morphine, no wonder she was able to get her to execute a new will.”

  “But what about Ivana’s letters to Esty that Esty received from Rita?” Coco asked. “If Ivana was not lucid and lacked testamentary capacity for a new will, how can anything she wrote to Esty be valid?”

  “I need to depose Rita to figure that part out. A comparison of the handwriting in the letters, when compared to the signature on the will, which was ‘guided’ by Mandy, will likely show some lapses. That will allow us to argue that once Mandy got what she wanted, the morphine drip stopped, thus lifting some of the mental fog in Ivana’s mind. Unfortunately, the ravages of Alzheimer’s, combined with the effects of the drugs, likely disabled Ivana from remembering what she signed. It won’t be a slam dunk, but if we get a handwriting expert, we should be able to prove that Mandy signed the will herself and not as Ivana’s amanuensis, regardless of Mandy having dotted the i’s with hearts.”

  “Seems complicated, but it sounds like you have a solid grasp on this for someone who had little involvement with the file,” Coco said, eyeing me.

  “Yeah, maybe too much knowledge. How do you know Mandy helped Ivana sign the second will? That wasn’t written down anywhere,” Ethan said, exchanging a glance with Coco.

  “Look, I have a decade of estates experience. It doesn’t take a genius to know that was likely the case. Also, Mandy admitted in her affidavit that she helped Ivana sign the second will,” I said, holding it up for emphasis.

  “Sorry for doubting you, but I don’t want to be on trial by the bar for an attorney misconduct complaint right out of the starting gate,” Ethan said.

  “Well, you won’t be. I was never the attorney of record for the case,” I said, making a mental note of the meeting with the clients where I was referred to as an employee. “And if anyone would be targeted, it would be me and not you. Not that that would even happen.”

  Coco put an end to the strategy session as our order-in steak lunch arrived.

  “Listen, it has been a very long few days,” Coco said, looking at the steak longingly. “Let’s just eat lunch and relax for a bit. Ethan, you still have to find a place to live — it can’t be the Four Seasons forever. We all have our tasks for this afternoon, so let’s enjoy some downtime before we start pulling all-nighters to make this firm a success.”

  We took our time enjoying the Atkins-approved lunch that Sylvia ordered. As everyone dug in, I began to think — starting the firm would be easy — but keeping Coco and Ethan off of my involvement with the Iretzski estate would likely prove to be trickier. Nonetheless, I had come this far and knew that with time, they would stop sniffing around as they became more preoccupied with building the firm and their own clients. I just had to convince myself that I could handle a case of this magnitude without the resources of Meinsdorf at my disposal and with Chip as opposing counsel. At least a few thousand miles created a buffer between us.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Family Goes Nuclear

  Four bottles of champagne later, our Mastro’s lunch bled into happy hour, so our plans to get started that afternoon were postponed. Early the following morning, I sat down and carefully reviewed all of the materials Chip served on Esty and compared them to my secret copy of the Chalmers file. In reviewing Chip’s materials, in which he had attempted to make the undue influence claim seem less plausible, I found that Chip’s inability to draft or advocate for a client worked in my favour. The idiot managed to include all of the facts from the file, including Mandy’s administration of multiple daily morphine drips into Ivana’s IV line. For some reason, he also included in Mandy’s affidavit details of Mandy’s relationship with the Sumners and the manner in which she was hired. It seemed as though Skeet, John and Chip’s collective strategy was to expose everything and argue that his client had nothing to hide because she had no influence of any kind to exhort over Ivana. They were taking the position that Ivana’s bequest was simply the kindly act of a dying woman and the fact that Mandy dotted her i’s with hearts was irrelevant. The triumvirate of idiots probably concocted this strategy while sailing along the Hudson River on a lazy afternoon, instead of actually researching the law.

  I drafted all of my reply materials based on my notes to ensure that the facts were free of Chip’s spin-doctoring. My filing demonstrated blatantly that everything Mandy stood to inherit was both directly and causally linked to the undue influence and coercion she had exercised over Ivana. I imagined Chip soiling himself upon reading the letter informing him that I would be Esty Baxter’s counsel and grinned. If only I could be there to see his face. By the time I had finished drafting my documents, I noticed that it was almost noon.

  I had promised Sylvia that I would meet Armand for lunch at Crustacean. I got dressed quickly, knowing I had to also make a pit stop at the Beverly Hills Courthouse to file my materials before lunch. Needing positive emotional reinforcement, I called Coco.

  “I am on my way to the courthouse and then lunch with Satan,” I said, getting into the car and making my way to Sunset. “Make sure that the ads go live today. By the way, Ethan texted me to let me know that his broker has already found a few places, two of them in Beverly Hills.”

  “Can we even afford that?” Coco asked.

  “You tell me, my little abacus. In any event, we are just going to look at them,” I replied.

  “I’ll let you know after we see the places. Good luck with Armand. Remember to stay calm during lunch. We don’t want you making a scene in full view of our potential client base,” Coco offered.

  “Thanks for the reminder.”

  After I was done at the courthouse, I drove over to the restaurant and the valet parked my car.

  “May I help you?” asked the alarmingly slender hostess.

  “I have a reservation. It’s under Zeller,” I replied.

  “The other members of your party are here. Follow me,” she instructed.

  “Other members? I thought the reservation was only for two people,” I muttered to myself as we weaved between tables to get to the patio. Armand was seated next to a bottle blonde with the largest breasts I had ever seen spilling out of her hot pink spandex tube dress.

  “Joella bella!” Armand exclaimed, clasping and shaking his hands together as he struggled to get up to greet me.

  “Don’t get up,” I ordered as I slid into my chair. “Who is this?”

  “This is Antonia. She is a beautiful Italian actress who will be starring in my next …”

  “Affair?” I interrupted. The waiter who had approached our table to take drink orders took a sharp U-turn around Sean Penn’s table and disappeared.

  “Masterpiece,” Armand said, visibly deflated, “Why do you have to embarrass your papa?”

  Armand was not minding his volume or tone. He had always
prided himself on propriety and maintaining a certain European-mannered politesse. I had never seen him raise his voice in anger in public.

  “Why is she here, Armand?” I demanded.

  “You don’t have to talk like I’m not here. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Antonia stated in an affected Italian accent, stretching out her hand.

  “What are you doing with this tramp, Armand?” I asked ignoring Antonia’s outstretched arm still dangling above the table.

  “I’m no tramp!” she shouted.

  “I am not talking to you,” I snapped. “Clearly this is some kind of sick joke. I’m leaving.”

  “Please be civilized, you are in public for heaven’s sakes,” Armand pleaded, slurring his words. “She is my actress and investor.”

  “Are you drunk?” I asked, noting no bottles on the table.

  “Oh Armie, don’t lie to the child. We are lovers,” she purred.

  “I’m going to be sick. Why are you doing this to Sylvia?” I asked, a feeling of sadness joining my rage.

  “You know we have an understanding,” Armand said with a sly grin. “Now shall we order?”

  “Who is this Sylvia? You must tell me at once!” Antonia demanded.

  “She’s my mother, his wife,” I told her, “but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, her. I know about that woman!” she said, now looking bored.

  “Don’t ever refer to my mother like that. She is more of a lady than a whore like you could ever be,” I said defensively. “How old are you anyway?”

  “I am twenty-four,” she said smugly.

  “When was that? In 1995?” I asked sarcastically.

  “What looks good here? Lobster?” Armand asked without recognizing that no one else at the table was reading their menus. He was also blithely unaware of the stares of other patrons directed at our table.

  “Well, I’m thirty-two, so that makes me your elder. So sit there quietly while your sugar daddy and I have a little chat,” I instructed. “What are you thinking, Armand? This was never part of your ‘understanding.’ While you and Mom have a distorted concept of marriage, you always agreed to keep your infidelities under wraps. Does the word discretion ring a bell?”

  “Honey, you are so provincial for someone so young and born into a more liberal generation,” he said. “Anyway, Sylvia knows about us.” His cavalier attitude was bordering on malicious. At the very least, while I was growing up, Armand had always been respectful of my mother’s image, but his dismissal of her caused me to question his mental state.

  “I know, and she’s a mess. But you don’t seem to give a shit,” I argued.

  “I do what I must for my art. Besides, if it wasn’t for her ambition, I might have been an Oscar winner. If only she had given up her career and supported mine,” he said, slurring again. “Listen, this is business. I asked you to come here to help me with my film contracts.”

  “I already told you. I’m not an entertainment lawyer. As for your dreams of being an Oscar winner, you’re clearly delusional.” Armand directed skin flicks that were one step above soft-core porn movies.

  “It is better you’re not an ‘entertainment lawyer,’” Antonia interjected. “These only need to be simple agreements. I give your father the money for the film and he pays me as an actress in case the film flops. This way, I am not out my precious little investment.”

  “Even if I was an entertainment lawyer, I would not help you,” I said, turning to leave.

  No sooner had I turned around, Armand stretched his hand across the table and grabbed my forearm to stop me.

  “Joely, listen. This is my last chance. If I don’t direct a winner, I will never make it back on top. This is my Mickey Rourke moment!” he claimed desperately while imitating Mickey Rourke’s character in The Wrestler.

  “You’re embarrassing me,” I seethed, glancing around at the other restaurant-goers nervously.

  “My unbridled passion for my new film and this beauty beside me has brought about my renaissance. Mark my words, I will be number one again in this town!” He flopped a hand down on the table noisily.

  “You never were number one. In fact, you were never anything. If it weren’t for Sylvia, you would be living in some tract housing in Palmdale shooting porn on super-8,” I hissed. “You’re not even making a real movie. It’s just a movie-of-the-week.”

  This rude awakening seemed to shock Armand into submission. He sat back down and played with his napkin, fingers loose and wavering.

  “As for this trash, you had better get rid of her or, so help me Prada, I will have your ass tossed out of the house and all of your assets frozen before you can shout ‘Action!’” I threatened.

  “Armand, are you going to let her speak to you this way? To your fiancée?” she exclaimed.

  “I think I just had a stroke. Did you say fiancée?” I asked in horror.

  “You show much disrespect to your father,” Antonia scolded. “Listen, I only have your father’s best interests at heart, unlike you. Such an undeserving child.”

  “Don’t speak to me like you know me. I know what you are. I’ve seen younger versions of you fleeting through his life since I was a toddler. So, while you may think you are about to hit the gravy train and that he’ll leave my mother for you, just know that he has nothing without her. Their post-nup is ironclad, and I should know because it was the first thing I drafted when I became a lawyer. So, take my advice and get on Alitalia’s first flight back to the wine vat you slithered out of,” I replied.

  “Never have I been spoken to in such a way!” Antonia cried, pinching Armand’s arm to resurrect him from his fiddling trance. Acutely aware of Armand’s intermittent odd behaviour, I made a mental note to ask my mother what was wrong with him.

  “No! Joely, speak to my girlfriend with some respect. One day she will be your stepmother and I will not tolerate—” Armand started.

  “I’m done,” I announced as I threw down my napkin and stormed out of the restaurant. As I waited for the valet to get my car, Armand and Antonia accosted me.

  “Listen, Joely, please. I never asked you for anything. Ok, so you don’t do contracts — fine. But you do estates stuff, right?” Armand begged.

  “What are you babbling about now?” I asked.

  “For the film. I need a new power of attorney. I have to name Antonia as my attorney so that in case anything should happen during production, as my only investor, she can access the film’s production bank account and make sure everything in the budget is paid for,” he explained.

  “Are you insane? I will do no such thing!” I seethed as I got into my car. “All of your assets are Mom’s, and that is why I am your named attorney for property: to protect you both from yourselves!”

  “Joely, I would never take what is not mine. But I give him all of my money to invest and what if, heaven forbid, something happened to my Armie? Not only do I lose my love, I lose my money,” she whined. “I need to protect us both. If I am his attorney, then I can access the money, normale.”

  “So, then, why don’t you both become signatories on the bank account?” I asked sarcastically. “That way, you both have access to your money and all of Armand’s assets remain protected?”

  “This cannot be. He won’t let it happen,” she said angrily, waving her arms about.

  “Who?” I inquired.

  “Artie Wise, my accountant. He set up the production account naming me as the joint signatory with him,” Armand advised, leaning against the open car door.

  “So get him to change it,” I said.

  “He won’t,” Antonia complained.

  “Sucks to be you!” I said, slamming the door shut before speeding off.

  As I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I saw Antonia standing next to my father in her stripper-heeled glory, waving her finger in Armand’s face, telling him off. Next to her, he looked like a crumpled old failure of a man. Pulling into the driveway at my mom’s, I couldn’t help but feel a littl
e sorry for him. Clearly, Antonia had an ulterior motive in hooking up with Armand as he was connectionless in a town of networkers. He had no money of his own and was basically a kept man. I parked my car in the garage and tried to sneak around the back into the house without detection. Despite my best stealth efforts, Dr. Feelgoodstein was waiting patiently by the pool doing yoga with my mother.

  “Inhale,” the yogi instructed calmly. “Now exhale into Cobra pose.”

  My mother and Dr. Feelgoodstein, dressed in matching Lululemon yoga gear, were quite the sight to behold.

  “Namaste,” exclaimed the instructor. I bowed back solemnly.

  “Joely,” Sylvia beckoned, “come join us.”

  “No, thanks, but don’t let me stop you, Mom,” I said, feeling really badly for her, given what I had just learned and experienced at lunch.

  “Wait a second, I have the most fabulous news,” she cried out after me, unable to contain her glee. “I have just been offered leading roles in two indie pics! And they are not middle-aged mother roles!”

  “That is fantastic, Mom. Congratulations!” I exclaimed. “Maybe you should stop jumping around. You might rupture an implant.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “What’s up with you? No ageist remarks about my being old enough to play the Queen’s grandmother?”

  “Nope. I’m really happy for you, Mom,” I said sincerely.

  “Sylvia, while I love doing yoga with you, I should start my session with Joely,” Dr. Feelgoodstein said.

  “Not a problem,” Sylvia replied, looking relieved to be escaping Dr. Feelgoodstein’s nauseating body odour.

  “Actually, if you don’t mind, I need to speak with my mother privately,” I said.

  “Don’t be silly! Nothing you have to say to me cannot be said in front of Dr. Feelgoodstein or Yogi Barrett,” she admonished.

  “Ok,” I replied, knowing that she was going to change her mind in three seconds, “it’s about Armand.”

  “Alright, yoga time is over. Thank you for your time, Yogi Barrett. See you later, Dr. F-G,” she said, clapping her hands and escorting them out.