Deathbed Dimes

by Naomi Elana Zener

  When she returned to the pool, I told my mother what happened at lunch. She remained remarkably calm and spared me her usual histrionics.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, confused. “How are you so calm?”

  “Well, of course, I know about all of this,” she said. “Is this what I ended my yoga session for?”

  “No, not exactly,” I sputtered. “What about Antonia?”

  “I’ve met her,” she replied casually.

  “When?” I asked.

  “Four months ago, at a dinner I was having with my agent. Your father introduced that woman to my agent for representation. Ari and I had a great laugh about it!” she chuckled.

  “What about Armand’s strange behaviour? He was slurring his words and he had not been drinking. He could barely stand up without teetering over,” I said.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “His motor skills have not been the same since.”

  “Since when?” I asked.

  “Since the strokes, dahling,” she said as though I should have known about them.

  “STROKES?” I felt nauseous. “When did Armand have a stroke?”

  “Several months ago. He had a series of mild episodes,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I shouted.

  “Well, I must have …” she trailed off.

  “No. You didn’t,” I barked. I leaned against the patio table, bile rising in my throat.

  “Are you sure? Not even by email?” she asked innocently.

  “I would have remembered. All of this makes sense now,” I said, thoughts tumbling in my head.

  “Honey, look, don’t be so concerned about him. The doctors all said he was fine,” Sylvia advised. “If you should be concerned about anyone, it’s me and my career. You cannot imagine the effect his issues have had on moi. Besides, you hate Armand!”

  “My concern, Mom, is that your finances are still tied up with him,” I explained.

  “But I signed the post-nup. You made me a new will last year,” she replied. “So what can he really get his hands on?”

  “Plenty. For starters, all of the income you will receive from your new movies. Or how about your real estate acquisitions? You refused to listen to me when I said that you needed to exclude your homes in Bel Air, Montecito, Paris, Tuscany and Maui from community property. At the time you executed those documents, you swore you were retiring, so you had no future earnings that he could claim,” I explained. “Now you will if you star in those two pictures.”

  “Oh shit!” Sylvia shrieked.

  “To make things worse, this Antonia woman has convinced him that in order to produce his next atrocity, he needs a new power of attorney naming her as his guardian for property, replacing me, or she won’t finance her fiancé’s film.”

  “Fiancé? What the hell are you talking about? We’re married! He’s going to practice bigamy now?” she screamed.

  “I don’t know what he’s doing,” I said, trying to keep my voice even to calm her. “I just know that we need to ensure that your money is protected and that she cannot access it.”

  “What have I done!? To you?! TO ME!?! He’ll take everything I worked for. Your inheritance …” She began pulling at her hair desperately.

  “Please calm down,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “I don’t think we need to panic. Based on what I observed at lunch, Armand’s mental competency is as about as good as Howard Hughes’ was when he shut himself in his screening room and pissed in glass bottles. If Armand is deemed incompetent to handle his financial affairs, then you don’t need to worry about your money. He won’t be able to handle his allowance or change his power of attorney, no matter how clever Antonia may think she is. If he divorces you, I would still be his attorney for property, so no matter what he would get in a divorce settlement, Antonia could not touch it. But I don’t think it will get that far. He won’t leave you, Mom.”

  “My life is OVER! What am I going to do now! I just booked two fantastic films, which could get me my third Oscar — ARGH!” she yelled hysterically.

  Dr. Feelgoodstein had been enjoying a post-yoga hash brownie in the driveway when he heard our screaming. He ran over with a syringe of sedatives, quick to bend my mother over and inject them into her ass.

  I immediately emailed Dr. Soundtree in New York — the psychiatrist I used for all of the competency assessments in my estates cases — to ask him to refer me to his counterpart in LA. My second email was to Coco and Ethan to bring them up to speed on what had transpired with Armand. Officially, we now had two clients: Esty Baxter and my mother. I requested that they take on the matter of declaring Armand incompetent quietly, since my relationship created a conflict, and to not let anyone know about the situation. I slipped into my mother’s bedroom and lay down beside her, reassuring both her and myself that I would neutralize Armand.

  CHAPTER 11

  Greenback-paved Road

  Several days had passed since the Armand fiasco, and I decided that the best distraction was to throw myself into work. Ethan had arranged for the three of us to go to see office spaces. The first three were horrendous. They were either too small, had little to no natural light or, in the case of the last one, reeked of cat urine. Above all else, they were all located in the Valley. My new office space had to be in Beverly Hills, or at least within parameters of the Beverly Hills post office.

  “Listen, none of the spaces will work,” I advised Ethan and Coco as we left office space number three.

  “You’re right, but where are we going to come up with enough money to bankroll an office space on the Westside?” Ethan asked.

  “Well, while I’ve had to face an insurmountable pile of bills from the wedding that never was, my mother did give me an early wedding present that she never asked me to return,” I offered.

  “What kind of present?” Ethan asked.

  “A down payment for an apartment in New York,” I answered.

  “And what kind of down payment are we talking about?” Coco inquired innocuously. “A seven story studio walk-up in Harlem or a classic six on the Upper East Side?”

  “Try a brownstone in the West Village. One that would be next door to Kate Hudson’s,” I said.

  “So let’s get down to brass tacks. How much money are we talking about here?” Coco asked, never embarrassed to discuss the almighty greenback.

  “About two million, if you don’t count the fifty thousand I reimbursed myself for the wedding expenses,” I said.

  “We could buy an office building with that!” Ethan screamed as he slammed on the brakes, stopping traffic in the middle of Beverly Glen.

  “Don’t be so dramatic. Once I remembered that the money was there, I figured we could put that into the firm as a capital contribution for all three of us. Also, I wanted it to cover our first year’s rent, office supplies and staff salaries until paying clients start rolling in,” I advised.

  “I think you mean until we start to get paid,” Coco said.

  “Look Ethan, tell your broker to find us a space on the Westside. Not Century City or Beverly Hills, but maybe in Westwood. It’s hip, close to where many law firms are located and somewhat cheaper than other west LA locations,” I instructed.

  “All of this talk of money has made me hungry,” Coco said excitedly. “Anyone else?”

  “I could eat,” Ethan said.

  “That’s fine by me,” I said, “but, Ethan, see if your guy can line up some viewings for this afternoon. We need a space this week that is move-in ready. Esty’s case has been filed, so, once we hear back from Chip, we are going to need a professional space to work out of.”

  “You mean to say that client conferences in the Jacuzzi are unprofessional?” Ethan asked sarcastically.

  “Look, there’s a Mexican resto,” Coco said from the back seat, “pull over.”

  We walked into the tiny half-empty restaurant, which was not too far from UCLA’s campus off of Sunset Boulevard. We grabbed a table and menus for ourselve
s since there was no hostess to seat us.

  “Just a second,” a male voice shouted from the kitchen. “We are understaffed today, so I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  “Nice choice of restaurant, Coco,” Ethan said with an irritated tone. “Maybe, if we’re really lucky, we’ll even get to cook for ourselves.”

  “I would think that the love child of kibbutzniks would be a little more open-minded,” Coco retorted. “Does the décor not match your Zegna suit?”

  “Quit bickering! Now that we’re partners, the fighting has to stop,” I said. “Where’s the waiter?” Ten minutes had elapsed since we had sat down, and the voice from behind the curtain had not emerged from the kitchen.

  “Seriously,” Coco said, looking down at her watch, “I don’t have all day. I have an appointment in an hour.”

  “Where?” Ethan asked.

  “Oh, umm, it’s just something to do with my cousin’s dog,” she replied.

  “Lucky? What do you have to go and do for him now?” I asked.

  “Who is Lucky?” Ethan asked.

  “I am the executor of my cousin’s estate. She left all of her money to her dog Lucky. Lucky has diabetes and kidney stones, so part of my responsibilities is to care for him,” Coco explained.

  “How much money did he get? Enough to buy him treats for life?” I asked.

  “Six million dollars, plus her condo in Aspen,” Coco replied deadpan.

  “I seriously hope that you will at least consider bringing the business to our firm if Sparky the Chihuahua challenges that estate!” Ethan replied, breaking into thunderous laughter.

  “It’s not funny!” Coco exclaimed. “I’m an indentured servant to this mutt!”

  “Then why don’t you refuse to act as the executor?” Ethan asked facetiously.

  “Well, no one else in my family wants the job. You see, Lucky did not live up to his name,” Coco said.

  “I would disagree. Six million could buy a lot of provimi veal for the fuzz ball. While Aspen may not be his scene, you could always sell it and get him a place on the beach,” I said, joining Ethan’s laughter.

  “He’s the reason she died. Apparently, a batch of Lucky’s food was tainted and when he refused to eat it because he knew something was wrong, my dumb cousin ate a spoonful out of fear that her dog had developed an eating disorder. She thought if he saw her eat it and like it, then he would follow suit. She died from eating the poisoned dog food,” Coco explained morosely. “So he’s bad luck.”

  “There are worse gigs,” I offered. “You get paid executor fees for handling the estate, right?”

  “This is true,” Coco admitted. “And my cousin’s will only gave Lucky a life estate in her money. If I remain the executor until Lucky dies, I inherit the remainder of the estate.”

  “So no six million dollar veal then for Lucky?” I asked.

  “He’s lucky if he gets a Milk-bone a day. Mama needs to buy her Gucci,” Coco replied.

  Distracted by our laughter, we did not even notice that the waiter had emerged from the kitchen ready to take our order.

  “So what can I get you?” the waiter asked.

  Looking up from my menu, I saw that this was no ordinary waiter. It was Javier, our former law school classmate. Apart from the stained cook’s apron, Javier hadn’t changed one bit. Javier was average height and cute — but never sexy — with big brown eyes and perpetually slick-backed black hair. However, it was his reputation for being hot between the sheets that made him popular with women and got him laid more often than Ethan. It certainly was what attracted Coco to his bed.

  “Jav, is that you?” I asked.

  “Yoely?” he replied in his Spanish-hued English. “Ethan? Coco?”

  “It’s so good to see you,” I said, getting up to hug him.

  “Man, it’s been forever,” Ethan said, standing up to shake Javier’s hand. Only Coco remained seated. She was too stunned to move.

  “Is good to see you all!” Javier exclaimed. “It’s been eight years, no?”

  “Something like that,” I replied. “Sit down. Tell us what you’ve been up to since Stanford.”

  “Well, none of you have changed,” he started, “especially you, Coco. Still impolite, I see.”

  “Uhh. Hi. So you’re a busboy now?” Coco retorted.

  “Waiter actually,” he replied.

  “What happened, man? Did you forget you have a law degree from Stanford?” Ethan asked sarcastically.

  “Never forgot, buddy. This job reminds me of that fact everyday,” Javier replied.

  “Judging from all of the empty tables, you must be successful,” Coco said sarcastically.

  “Don’t be a bitch,” I whispered, nudging Coco in the ribs.

  “It’s ok. She cannot help herself,” Javier said.

  “I’m really not surprised that you ended up here, Jav,” Coco said, “given your laziness. From the dirty table in front of me, I see you still do a half-assed job.”

  “Maybe, but not where it counted, Coco. At least that’s what you used to tell me,” Javier replied.

  Coco retreated to looking at the menu, trying to hide her reddened cheeks.

  “So you were telling us why you are working here? Tired of the rat race?” I asked hopefully.

  “No. I’m not here because I got tired of practicing law. After I graduated, I couldn’t find a job before my student visa ran out. I can’t tell you the number of ‘please fuck off’ letters I got from firms in California: ‘While you have an impressive resume, we don’t believe that you are the right fit for our firm.’ Bullshit! The subtext was that I was too Hispanic for those toast bread firms,” Javier stated.

  Coco nodded her head in agreement. She knew a thing or two about being the token at a firm.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. I just thought that when you applied to my firm that there were really no open positions,” Ethan said, embarrassed.

  “Hey brother, no resentment here. Don’t sweat it,” Javier said. “Working here beats being taxi driver or waiting by the Home Depot on Hollywood Boulevard with the other illegal aliens, trying to get manual day labour work. This is my friend’s place. He hired me before I was about to be deported. It helps to pay off my student debt, but it just sucks because I know that I am too smart to do this job,” Javier explained.

  “Of course you are,” I said, knowing how well Javier had done at Stanford.

  “Enough about me. So what brings the Three Musketeers together again?” he asked.

  “Well, actually, we’ve started our own law firm,” I said.

  “That’s fantastic,” Javier replied.

  “We hope so. We came in for a quick bite on our way to see some office spaces,” I said. “Hopefully, we will find one today.”

  “Speak of the devil, it’s my broker,” Ethan advised, waving his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

  “So what can I get you, since it looks like this will be a short visit,” Javier asked.

  “I’ll have two beef tacos with a side of rice,” Coco ordered confidently slamming her menu shut, whilst I buried my face in mine.

  “Yoely, don’t be embarrassed. It’s cool,” Javier said. “What do you want to eat?”

  “I guess I’ll have a burrito?” I ordered hesitantly.

  “Great. What about Ethan?” Javier asked.

  “Two burritos, refried beans and rice,” I ordered. “He always eats the same thing.”

  “Great. Be back in a few,” Javier replied and returned to the kitchen.

  “So my broker found us what he says is a gem in Westwood,” Ethan advised, smiling as he returned to the table.

  “Tell us about it,” Coco said.

  “Well, there are six empty offices, all with windows, a large space for a filing room, a boardroom, reception area and an open space for secretaries or clerks,” Ethan advised. “And it’s fully furnished.”

  “What’s the rent like?” I asked.

  “It’s $7,200 a month,” he replie
d, “but we could get it for seven flat and the landlord is willing to throw in parking for the three of us.”

  “That sounds amazing!” Coco said encouragingly. “When can we see it?”

  “Today,” he said.

  “This sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?” I asked.

  “We need to get there in thirty minutes, so we’d better eat fast if we are going to make it,” Ethan said.

  “What’s the rush?” I asked.

  “Apparently, the landlord has another showing right after us with someone very eager to lease the space,” Ethan explained.

  “Hey Jav,” Coco shouted at the kitchen, “can you put a move on the food? We have to run!”

  “It will only be five more minutes,” he advised, poking his head out from the kitchen. “We should grab a drink another time, when you are not so rushed.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Coco said sarcastically.

  “Maybe I could pick your brain about the job market. The owner’s uncle is a lawyer, and, um, he said he offer me a part-time job as his personal attorney. I wouldn’t mind getting your thoughts,” Javier said timidly.

  “Sure thing, buddy. Anytime.” Ethan patted Javier on the back.

  “Come to think of it, we’re hiring,” I said spontaneously. Coco shot me a look that would turn a face to stone faster than Medusa. “Well, we are. The ad is on Craigslist.”

  “Really?” Javier asked as he returned to our table.

  “It’s a very junior position,” Coco said, trying to discourage Javier’s interest. “And you may even be too junior for it.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Ethan retorted.

  “I just meant that, if you have not practiced law at all, given that we are just starting out together, I don’t know how much time we’ll have to mentor you,” Coco responded.

  “The ad is for a first year, so what’s your point?” Ethan asked rhetorically. “We’ll have to mentor any first year who works for us.”

  “Yoely, I’d come in as a first year,” Javier said, deferring pleadingly to me.

  “The pay wouldn’t be what a first year associate normally makes at a large or even medium-sized firm,” I said.