Deathbed Dimes

by Naomi Elana Zener

  Armand was at the core of my mother’s discontent. While I had been successful in having him placed under my financial guardianship, it hadn’t been enough to keep Antonia away. My mother told me that within a few weeks of returning to life at home with her, Armand had taken to wandering the property late at night. When the night security guards first discovered him, Armand said that he was simply taking a midnight stroll to get some fresh air to help him sleep. Since the explanation seemed plausible, Sylvia told me that she had instructed the security staff to allow Armand to do so without disruption. However, Sylvia did advise that if they observed on the security tapes Armand involved in any behaviour that could threaten his well-being, they were to inform her at once. Almost as soon as she relayed these instructions, the security staff sat her down to review the video footage. There she witnessed Armand sneaking Antonia into the guest house after everyone had gone to sleep.

  Once she learned that Armand was still involved with Antonia, Sylvia became concerned that Antonia had found another way to access Armand’s accounts and, through them, all of Sylvia’s hard-earned money. She went to each and every financial institution that held her money — and Armand’s allowances alongside — to obtain credit and debit card statements. Sylvia wanted to know where Armand, if he was indeed to blame, had been spending her money. She quickly discovered that $200,000, all taken out in withdrawals, was missing from Armand’s allowance account. She was at the end of her rope and I agreed that for the sake of her sanity and both of our very public careers, we had to physically remove Armand from Antonia’s mesmerizing grasp.

  Sylvia’s first step was to convince Armand that he had gained weight from the medications he was taking to prevent another stroke. Then she arranged for Big J to fly with him to a spa. Armand agreed to go without protest; he was as narcissistic as my mother about maintaining his appearance and thought that he could benefit from a little liposuction. Once on the plane with Big J — the only person we could trust to keep Armand away from LA — he was met by two staff members from the “spa” who sedated him in order to escort him to his final destination: McLean Hospital in Belmont, Massachusetts. My mother had hastily packed Armand’s belongings and made arrangements with the hospital while I filed an emergency ex-parte application to have Armand admitted to a psychiatric facility of my choosing for assessment and protection until such time as the threats to his safety could be neutralized. I also acquired a restraining order against Antonia, preventing her from coming within a thousand feet of Armand and any financial institution where he performed his banking. With Armand out of town and Antonia essentially barred from accessing his money, Sylvia and I were able to enlist several advisors to help us review Armand’s bank accounts more closely.

  Our forensic accountant obtained records of the withdrawal of $200,000, which consisted of several smaller extractions that had been made during the period of time in question. Oddly, the bank withdrawal slips all bore the name Sylvia Zeller, but the signature was not my mother’s. As guardian of Armand’s financial affairs, only I had the ability to sign for his accounts, except for those where my mother maintained dual signing authority. After sufficient browbeating, the bank manager produced what he claimed was my mother’s power of attorney for Armand — sufficient proof for the bank that it was permitted to make withdrawals in Armand’s wife’s name. When it became clear that Sylvia Zeller had not been responsible for these withdrawals, the bank manager summoned his security staff to pull all of the security footage on the withdrawal dates. It was clear from the first tape that it had been Antonia who had stolen Armand’s money. Terrified by my threats of a lawsuit, the bank agreed to cooperate with the LAPD fraud detectives, with whom I had previously worked to expose Chip’s fraudulent practices. I called to advise them that this fraud was likely another product of Chip’s swindling schemes.

  Unwilling to wait for the LAPD to locate and arrest Antonia, I called upon Javier to ask his associates to help track her down. Members of an unsavoury crowd, Javier’s people were quickly able to locate Antonia — who turned out to be a forty-five-year-old unemployed Charlotte Dewitt from Brooklyn, New York. She had an outstanding warrant for her arrest for fraud from preying upon other wealthy men in New York and Chicago prior to arriving in LA. We figured out she was holed up in a studio apartment near LAX and informed the police of her whereabouts so they could arrest and entomb her in LA county lock-up.

  Recharged, Sylvia had her publicist call Variety, US, the LA and New York Times and CNN to give them all exclusive interviews depicting how both she and Armand had been the victims of a two-bit con artist. Once the papers hit the newsstands, Armand, who had been safely returned to LA, was the subject of renewed interest — not as a director, but as the subject of a feature film. He was wined and dined around town by all of the leading studio executives who were vying for the rights to his story. Sylvia obviously loved the attention and since the only bad publicity was no publicity at all, she used the attention being showered on Armand to her advantage. She portrayed herself as the heroine of the story, freeing Armand from Antonia’s evil clutches, with her daughter as her sidekick. While the studios did come calling offering age appropriate parts, Sylvia’s hopes of starring as the heroine in the Armand Zeller story quickly deflated when she found out that the part was being offered to the newest 25-year-old star from the tween drama “Zits Stole My Look.”

  With my family issues cinched up for the foreseeable future and new clients pouring into my business on a daily basis, I felt that I was on the fast track to success. Even Coco and Javier had made peace, agreeing that while there was no chance that they would ever date again, they could work together harmoniously. Our entire firm was overjoyed when we read about Chip’s and Tanya’s respective disbarments and their entrée into the California penal system.

  After the trial was over, Esty and I became close friends and the entire firm attended the final night of her songwriting competition. She won.

  Blake left LA and returned to Stanford the day after Esty’s trial ended. We parted ways on reasonably friendly terms, though he did leave me with the reminder that if I ever changed my mind, I knew where I could find him. I finally had everything I wanted in life. Well, almost everything. I still had to find a way to convince Ethan that I wanted to spend my life with him and him alone. Once Blake had left and the roller-coaster ride of settling the Iretzski-estate win had died down, I scheduled a long overdue dinner with Ethan at Geoffrey’s, undoubtedly the most romantic restaurant in Malibu.

  I arrived at the restaurant half an hour early to ensure that we had the most secluded table on the terrace overlooking the ocean. I planned to profess my love without interruption or prying eyes. Since Ethan was not the type of man who would appreciate flowers, I pre-ordered champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries to be delivered to our table upon his arrival. When Ethan arrived, dressed more casually than I had anticipated, I was somewhat concerned that he did not perceive our rendezvous as a date, despite the fact that I had told him how dreamy the restaurant was.

  “Ethan, over here,” I said, calling out with a smile as he stood searching for our table.

  “Nice place,” he said. “A bit fancy and out of the way to just grab a bite to eat though.”

  “Well, I thought it would be nice to make up for the fact that I kept rescheduling our original dinner,” I said sweetly, signalling the waiter to bring over the champagne and strawberries.

  “What dinner?” he asked nonchalantly, glancing around the restaurant.

  “The one we were going to have ages ago. You know, to talk, about us …” I trailed off as the waiter poured the champagne.

  “Oh, I totally forgot all about that,” he said, sipping on the champagne and leaning back in his chair casually. “So are we celebrating something?”

  “Well, I hope so,” I said expectantly, sitting up straight to address him. I was completely thrown off by Ethan’s cavalier attitude.

  “I guess we have a reason to party
. Winning the case for Esty has made us tremendously rich and successful,” he said. “It’s everything you ever wanted.”

  “Not everything,” I said, with a sly smile, trying to clue him that I was not there to rejoice in our legal accomplishments.

  “Do you want to order?” he asked. “I’m getting a bit of a buzz from the champagne and I have to drive back to LA in an hour.”

  “Um, yeah, let’s order,” I said, willing to postpone my announcement on the assumption that Ethan’s aloofness was due to an empty stomach. Unfortunately, Ethan’s surliness did not disappear once he had placed his order. He couldn’t stop looking at his watch.

  “Where do you have to be that’s so important?” I asked.

  “I have a date,” he said brusquely.

  I was thunderstruck. Not only had Ethan come to dinner having totally failed to recall our original purpose, he had scheduled a date with some other woman — no doubt his new flavour of the week. So much for being a changed man.

  “Is something wrong, Joely?” he asked. “You keep stuffing your mouth full of strawberries.”

  “Now that you mention it, there was a reason why I asked you to meet me here,” I said angrily, hoping my temper would give me nerve. It didn’t. “Uh, well, what I wanted to tell you is that I’m, I’m …”

  “Spit it out already,” he interrupted, finishing his glass of champagne in one impatient gulp.

  “I can’t believe that you double-booked me,” I cried. “How could you schedule two dates on the same night?”

  “Dates?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows. “I only have one date and it’s at 9:30.”

  I sat there, red-faced from humiliation. Despite the romantic locale, champagne, strawberries, my new hairstyle and sexy Louboutins, Ethan had no clue that he was on a date with me. Only after I started to stuff my face with the freshly baked French bread our waiter had brought over did Ethan realize that my carb-loading was directly correlated to his rejection.

  “Joely, did you think that this was a date?” he asked hesitantly, leaning forward slightly.

  “Yes,” I said with my mouth full, willing the tears welling behind my eyes to disappear.

  “I had no idea!” he exclaimed.

  “Are you serious?” I asked, gulping my last swallow of bread.

  “Well, why would you and I go out on a date?” he asked.

  “Gee, I dunno, maybe because you told me that I’m the love of your life and you want to spend the rest of your life with me?” I cried.

  “Joely, I said that a long time ago,” he replied, his voice low and even.

  “Are you saying you don’t feel the same way for me anymore? That you magically turned off fifteen years of loving me overnight?” I asked incredulously. “And it wasn’t that long ago.”

  “Joely, you made it clear that you didn’t want to be with me. Was I supposed to sit around and just wait for you?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” I asked snottily.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean, how can you just go and jump into bed with other women when you still love me? They won’t make your feelings change,” I told him, looking down at the napkin I’d been fiddling with in my lap.

  “Well, maybe not the chick I’m meeting up with, but maybe the next one, or the one after that, will be my future wife,” he explained, sounding confident.

  “Are you serious?” I asked jealously.

  “Why are you so angry? You should be happy for me that I want to settle down,” Ethan said, raising his voice slightly.

  “You can’t settle down with some random woman,” I stammered.

  “Why not?” Ethan asked coyly.

  “Because I’m in love with you,” I whispered after a long pause. “I think that I’ve always been in love with you, but I only recently admitted it to myself. You were right. I’ve always been so afraid of letting myself feel it because I didn’t want to end up hurt like my mother was. Ethan, it’s always been you.”

  My declaration of love was met with utter silence.

  “Say something, please,” I begged. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

  “Joely, I don’t know what to say,” he replied.

  “Say that you still love me. That you want to spend the rest of your life with me. That you want to have babies with me,” I whimpered. “Ethan, please!”

  “I don’t know how to respond to that,” he said quickly, pulling his chair back to leave. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

  “What do you mean ‘do with this’? Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’ve got to think about things,” he said.

  “There’s nothing to think about. Just be with me. Love me,” I implored, clutching his arm desperately.

  “I don’t know, Joely. Maybe you were right before. We could ruin our friendship and our law partnership. Everything is going so well with our practice that it would be too great a financial cost if we didn’t work out,” he said.

  “Are you saying that money is more important to you than me?” I asked, fearing that greed had overtaken his love for me.

  “No, of course not. Well, maybe, I just don’t know,” he said, breaking away from my grasp. “I really just to have think about my feelings, if I even have any for you anymore.”

  His words severed my heart in two.

  I walked quickly out of the restaurant heartbroken with tears streaming down my cheeks. I jumped into my car, not looking back to see if Ethan had stayed behind. I turned northbound onto the PCH, feeling rejected, mortified and enraged. Heartbroken and too humiliated to even call Coco, I continued to drive. The wind blew strands of hair into my face, where they stuck to pools of tears and mascara. I didn’t know where I was headed.

  It was only when I reached Big Sur that I finally became conscious of where I was running — toward Blake. I pulled over to the side of the road and took a hard look at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. I was en route for a head-on collision with my past if I stayed the course toward Blake. “Wake up, Joely!” I screamed at myself, the night quiet around me. “What are you doing? You’ve made so many strides toward making something of your life and if you go to Blake, you will undo everything that you’ve achieved!”

  I shook my head in disbelief. I refused to be a woman who would throw everything away for a man. I decided that I would call Coco when I returned to LA to let her know what had happened with Ethan. I had to accept that the only future he and I had would be as hugely successful law partners. As I turned on the radio, trying to clear my head of the clutter and noise, Sara Bareilles’ “Love Song” came on. In that moment, I knew that one day I would find love with the right man, but that I would not sit around and pine after Ethan. I pulled off the shoulder of the highway and made a U-turn back toward LA. With the music blaring, I failed to hear my iPhone buzzing with unread messages. When I finally pulled into my mom’s driveway at three in the morning, exhausted from driving for close to seven hours, I was starving and emotionally drained. I dragged my almost lifeless body to the pool house, but was stopped dead in my tracks by a vision of Ethan sitting by the pool, lit by candlelight.

  “It’s always been you. Only you. I love you, too,” Ethan said, sweeping me into his arms in one swift movement.

  EPILOGUE

  Six Months Later

  I awoke on a lazy Sunday morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. I wiggled my stiff body around in bed, propping myself up with the aid of several pillows. I sat alone with my thoughts and considered all that had transpired since I had been jilted by my gay former fiancé and rejected a life of indentured legal servitude on Wall Street. Reflecting back on my life to date, I was amused at where I had ended up.

  I had a thriving law practice, flush with clients and run like a tight ship with Coco as its managing partner. Coco continued to bicker with Javier while I ran interference. She also continued to bed hop and had no intention of ever settling down. Javier was a risin
g star who had been made a full equity partner after the Iretzski case — bumping his salary far north of the $50,000 he’d started at. Now that we had become the go-to estates law firm in LA, we continued to employ Blake as an independent consultant for our trickier matters, and even Ethan learned to live with him hanging around, with some provisos of course.

  Looking down at the men’s trousers crumpled on the floor beside my bed — the master suite of my newly purchased four-bedroom home in Hancock Park (I had grown up in Bel Air, after all, and wasn’t moving to the Valley anytime soon) — I smiled to myself. Some things never change.

  “How about some coffee?” a man’s voice called out.

  “Definitely, but only one cup,” I replied. “And some Nutella toast please.”

  “Would I ever forget that?” the voice got louder as he entered the bedroom. “I know what my baby wants.”

  I smiled lovingly, looking down at my burgeoning belly. I gently rubbed it with my diamond-ornamented hand as I felt the baby kick.

  “I love you so much!” he said.

  “And we both love you more than words could ever express, Blake,” I said.

  “Really cute, Joely,” Ethan replied with a sweet laugh as he kissed me and set the breakfast tray down on the bed. “And in case you were wondering, we are not naming our son Blake.”

  “It never crossed my mind,” I answered, nestling into the sweet spot on Ethan’s chest, happily munching away on my toast with my two favourite men in the entire world. I finally had it all.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I want to thank my family for supporting me as I pursued my dream of becoming a writer. Evan Berman, my husband, stood by me throughout this journey, playing the part of editor, critic and unwitting source of inspiration. Thanks for sticking with me as I disappeared with my laptop on yet another writing marathon, but most of all for being my best friend. My parents, Dr. Shery and Allan Zener, whose motto was find a means to financially support yourself until your dreams can, have been a wonderful audience, digesting my prose and helping me find ways of making it better. My sister, Dr. Rebecca Zener, has always been my sounding board, my partner in crime, and my most friendly and formidable competitor. You and the world you live in inspired so much of this book — thanks for being a great sister! My children, Isadora and Sebastien, to whom this book and everything I have ever written and will ever write is dedicated, fill my head with ideas every moment of every day. Never stop being your delightful, joyous, loving, hilarious, brilliant and entertaining selves. I love you all!