by Rick Boling
Doris didn’t seem to be following up on her question, so I shrugged and said, “I guess it would be a few hundred million, right?”
“Jesus,” she said, “you need to get your head out of the sand. The holding company alone is worth over a billion.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, laughing. “What exactly is this holding company thing anyway?”
She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “I’ve explained that to you half a dozen times. You do realize our flagship businesses make a ton of profit, don’t you?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, we have to do something with that profit, don’t we? We hardly spend any of it ourselves, and we can’t stuff the rest in a mattress. So we invest it in other companies, buying their stock, and in some cases gaining controlling interest. You negotiated many of those deals yourself, and approved the rest.”
“You know I don’t pay much attention to that kind of stuff, at least when it comes to the details. I listen to you and the finance people, decide if I think it’s a good idea, then turn on the charm and start haggling. Mostly I go along with what you think, and when I’m through I try to put it out of my mind because there’s always a new bag of shit to worry about. To me it’s all simply moving money from one place to another, for reasons I never really understood. Anyway, what are you saying, that we’re some kind of new Rockefellers or something?”
“I can’t be precise,” she admitted, “because at any given moment the value of our holdings could be up or down by quite a bit. But a ballpark figure would be in the neighborhood of four billion. A cash out could be a little less or a little more, depending on where things stand at the time.”
“Bullshit!” I said. She had to be joking, although I couldn’t help but think back to what Ellie had said at age seven about wanting us to become billionaires.
“It’s not bullshit, Rich. It’s a fact.” For the first time she cracked a smile. It was a sly smile, as if she’d lured me into a trap. And it wasn’t long before I found out she had done precisely that.
Intervention
Okay, here’s the deal,” Ellie said, spreading a bunch of papers and charts out on the dining-room table. I would soon realize I’d been ambushed, and when it dawned on me what was happening, all I could do was sit there and look from face to face. The mind-numbing thing was that two of those faces belonged to Aurélie and Doris. Apparently Ellie had managed to broker a peace between the two, and they now sat side-by-side, clearly amused by my confusion. The other conspirators included Heyoka, Jackson, Sam, Jimmy, and David Geffen. It almost seemed like one of those drug or alcohol interventions, though I couldn’t think of any reason for such a thing. Except for an occasional beer or glass of wine, I wasn’t a drinker, and the only drugs I took were a couple for my blood pressure and a non-prescription sleeping pill.
“Dad?” Ellie said, peering into my eyes, which I’m sure resembled those of a deer caught in the headlights. “Are you with us?” I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway, hoping I was about to be let in on the joke. “Good. Now try to concentrate, because there’s a lot you’re going to have to absorb before we’re through here tonight.”
Although Doris and I had continued to discuss her proposal, without my knowledge or consent, she and Ellie had started putting together a plan for liquidating the company. They’d let me in on it a couple of months before the ambush, and the passion of my protests had slowly faded as the prospect of freeing myself from the shackles that had held me captive for so long began to seem like a real possibility. As time went on, the debate evolved into a negotiation, during which my arguments were reduced to only a couple of demands. One was that Sam and Jimmy had to be on board with any plan; the other was that no one in the organization would lose their job. Unless, of course, they chose to quit, in which case they were to be compensated with more-than-generous severance packages. I was prepared to fight for these conditions, but as it turned out, I didn’t have to.
Doris and the financial folks had structured things so that Sam could assume ownership of the computer division, with the financing arranged in such a way that we received fair market value without saddling him with too much of an immediate financial burden. She had also negotiated a collaboration between Jimmy and Geffen that involved a buyout of the music division and a partnership between the two; the only condition being that I would agree to serve in an advisory capacity and as a member of the corporate board. I feigned reluctance at this, even though I was somewhat intrigued by the idea. There was a lot of financial stuff Ellie tried to explain to me during the meeting, but all that did was cause my eyes to glaze over again. Sam and Jimmy were apparently satisfied with everything, so in the end, I made Ellie and Doris swear things would be handled exactly as they had described, and left it at that.
The job-retention language, I was assured, would be written into any and all contracts for sale of the company’s other assets. These did not include the small division that handled legal and bookkeeping for the holding company, because that division would not be sold.
The liquidation was going to take some time, most likely six months or more. But in the end—in addition to retaining the holding company, which was valued at over a billion dollars—we would come out with nearly three billion in cash and/or negotiable securities, whatever that meant. One thing it was supposed to mean was that I would soon be free of any responsibilities related to Blue Note Enterprises, with the exception of a minor obligation to the music end of things. And as this realization began to sink in, it felt like I was being released from a long stint at hard labor in a Siberian work camp. That is, until the meeting began to break up and Ellie pulled me aside. “We’re not through here,” she whispered.
Jimmy and David said their goodbyes, and as the door closed behind them, I noticed Heyoka and Aurélie had not moved. Then I realized they couldn’t even stand up unless someone pulled their chairs out for them. I was about to help Aurie with her chair, when Heyoka—who had done a fine job of imitating a corporeal human until then—stood as if to stretch his non-corporeal legs. This would not have been a big deal, except for the fact that he walked right through the arm of his chair and then through the corner of the table. I looked at Sam and Jackson, who had clearly observed this ghostly phenomenon, and when Ellie saw my concern she squeezed my arm. “It’s okay, Dad,” she said. “They know everything.” I was still trying to absorb this news, when she raised her voice and said, “Okay, gang, now let’s move on to the more important business.”
Letting Sam in on the truth seemed logical. After all, he’d been suspicious since that first day when I suggested we go swimming in my non-existent pool. And even though he’d never broached the subject again, I'd often seen a glimmer of skepticism in his eyes. That Ellie had confided in Jackson, however, came as a shock. I didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because she immediately launched into a long and detailed presentation of the “more important business.” This, it turned out, concerned how our soon-to-be-liquid wealth should be reinvested and used. I hadn’t given much thought to that, even though Doris had reminded me earlier that large chunks of money could not simply be left lying around. Or, as she’d put it, “stuffed in a mattress.”
To my way of thinking, the best thing to do would be to just stick it in the bank, live off some of the interest, and let the rest grow. But she was quick to point out things like the limits on FDIC insurance coverage (which for us would have meant using literally thousands of federally insured banks and savings & loans), and the fact that savings-account interest rates were only running around seven percent. I assumed this meant we would have to do a lot of complicated reinvesting, but she said that would not be the case. At the time, her convoluted explanation of how the money would be allocated had left me seriously confused. Now, however, I was about to learn that their real intent was to implement an elaborate plan they’d devised and cultivated behind my back.
Thinking it would mean a return to some kind of corporate slog for me, I objecte
d strongly at first to Ellie’s proposal. But as the details of the plan became clearer, I began to lose my footing in the debate. For one thing, she said I would only be required to participate in whatever way I chose, even if that meant no participation at all. For another, there were apparently all manner of tax breaks and exemptions involved in forming a non-profit foundation and financing it through grants and endowments. The holding company would be retained to provide a modest income for us and operating cash flow for the proposed foundation, whose public activities would include donations to various charities and causes, plus support of organizations working to affect sociopolitical change. What would not be known to the public was that the foundation would serve as a front for implementing Heyoka and Aurélie’s efforts to use our universe as a testing ground for actions that might rescue their world from impending devastation. And, hopefully, to save our own from the same future fate.
My only mandate in this scenario was to coordinate and direct our efforts to neutralize the threat to Lennon and Chapman’s other potential victims. Doris, Ellie, Sam, and Jackson had agreed to act as the primary operatives for Heyoka’s plans in this dimension, so all they needed was my permission to allocate the money as the group saw fit. Of course, there was the more or less honorary role as advisor and board member for the new entertainment business, but those obligations were not in writing, so could be manipulated to fit my chosen lifestyle. What that lifestyle would be was a question I had yet to even consider.
Unbeknownst to me, however, the intervention wasn’t over, not by a long shot. In fact, it was about to move into its second phase, a phase intended to answer that question for me. This part of the conspiracy was subtly woven into the evening’s business, and the bit of amateur theater they managed to pull off was performed with surprising expertise and perfect timing by all.
The Foundation
Once I’d agreed to the terms of the liquidation, we celebrated with champagne toasts, then moved on to a brainstorming session to select a name for the foundation. Suggestions ranged from the tedious (The Foundation for Benevolent and Transformative Intervention) to the nebulous (The Millennium Foundation, The Star Foundation, etc.). Without thinking, I suggested “Dreamworks,” but after a stern look from Aurélie, I remembered that was going to be the name of Geffen’s future collaboration with Steven Spielberg and Jeffrey Katzenberg. Unfortunately, everybody liked the suggestion, so Aurie, who had an implant that gave her instantaneous access to the Internet in her dimension, bent the truth a little, saying she’d checked and found that the name was already protected by copyright.
We were mulling over some other ideas, when I remembered Heyoka’s comparison of the flow of time to a river into which pebbles of change were thrown. But when I said we should try incorporate pebbles in the name, no one understood the significance of the word. I thought about trying to explain, but decided it would be best to ask Heyoka to repeat his metaphorical analogy. Not only to justify my suggestion, but to give everyone a better idea of how important and potentially dangerous the foundation’s work would be. He did so in his typically eloquent style, and when he finished there was general agreement that we should try to include at least some reference to pebbles in the name.
The champagne was soon gone, but by then the gathering had taken on an excited, optimistic tone, so Jackson offered to run up to the liquor store for a case of beer. Meanwhile, Doris called out for pizza, and by the time Jackson got back we had all the makings of a party. We felt bad for Heyoka and Aurélie, who could not partake of the refreshments, but they seemed to catch the spirit of things, and soon we were all laughing and joking and kicking around absurd ideas for names. Because Heyoka had described the pebbles as colorful and flavorful, Sam said we should call it The M&M Society. This was followed by Jackson suggesting the Swedish Fish Foundation. And, picking up on the river reference, Doris chimed in with The Gurgling Brook Foundation. All of these drew collective groans, and, finally, Ellie demanded we stop goofing around and get serious.
Among a dozen or so pebble names eventually rejected were “Pebbles of Change” and “Sand Pebbles” (nixed because it was the name of a well-known Steve McQueen movie). “Rainbow Pebbles” came close, but just as we were all about to agree, Ellie pointed out that it would conjure up images of the colorful children’s cereal. The final death knell for the word came when Doris suggested that any use of it might bring to mind not only the cereal, but the Flintstone’s character as well. After another few minutes of debate, we all agreed that something more ambiguous would be best and settled on The Millennium Foundation.
After that, the conversation turned reflective and the mood grew somber as everyone began to realize the magnitude of the tasks that lay ahead. Before long, Jackson seemed to tire of the humorless atmosphere, so he wandered over to the piano and began tapping out the opening notes to the theme from Dragnet. The ominous Dum de Dum Dum was clearly intended to add a note of levity, but when he sat down to play he ended up transitioning into the prelude to Before the Deluge. And as he began to sing, Ellie joined in, singing in harmony with the bleak, disheartening lyrics.
The song, from his 1974 album Late for the Sky, told a sobering story about the once-promising ‘Hippie’ and ‘New Age’ movements. It was a cautionary tale, written, it now seemed, with uncanny foresight, since the much-ballyhooed Age of Aquarius was on the decline and would soon be overtaken by the age of I-me-me-I materialism. And if the fate of Heyoka and Aurélie’s dimension turned out to be true for ours, those movements would end up being little more than historical footnotes, rather than leading to world peace and ecological balance. But even though the song’s prediction of a coming deluge was depressing, it did contain one subtle, upbeat message: that music was the one thing that could help us get through the worst of times.
After the final piano notes faded, Jackson spun around on the stool and looked at me. “Aurélie tells me you wrote something similar in your first life,” he said. “Why don’t you play it for us, Rich?” And before I could protest, Ellie produced my Ramirez and placed it in my lap.
“Man, I can’t perform anymore,” I said. “My voice and fingers are as rusty as the cars in a redneck’s front yard. Besides, I don’t remember writing anything that would even approach Before the Deluge.”
“Come on, Dad,” Ellie said, looking at Aurélie. “What song is Jackson talking about Aurie?”
“It’s that post-apocalyptic one from your first album,” she said. “I don’t recall the title, but it was about the artist and the writer who can only paint or write from memories.”
“Baptism,” I said. “Hell, I can’t remember the chords, let alone the words.” But something stirred in my memory, and without meaning to, I started picking at the strings. As the arrangement began to take shape, the room went silent, and I realized I was humming the melody. Soon Jackson joined in on the piano with a murmuring bass line and a tinkling cascade of high notes that so perfectly matched the song’s melancholy spirit, I was transported back to Georgia and that wintery morning on the banks of the creek when the lyrics had come to me, it seemed, out of nowhere.
We had run through it a couple of times, making subtle adjustments to the arrangement, when Ellie let out an exasperated sigh. “Dad!” she said. “You can’t leave us hanging like that. Quit humming and sing, dammit!” I tried to come up with an acceptable excuse, but before I could think of one Jackson played an elaborate intro so inviting that the words began to spill out of their own accord:
In the clear and crystal morning
As the autumn sun paints rainbows on the weary trees
See the artist’s brush performing
Spreading colors on the canvas in the gentle breeze
And the painter is the only one who knows
But if you look upon his face
You’ll see his eyes are closed
For the painter cannot paint the things he sees
The painter only paints from memories
From the poet
’s gentle verses spring
The memories left sleeping in a long past day
Recalling how it first was
In the fantasies of woven rhyme his pen displays
And the poems written yesterday live on
While the hand that writes today must tell
Of days that long are gone
For the poet cannot write of things he sees
The poet only writes from memories
While Jackson improvised an instrumental break, I stretched my aching fingers and glanced at the smiling faces all around me. Then, closing my eyes, I tried to recapture the emotion I’d once put into the closing words.
Everyone must pay the price
The waters will run still
Nature’s wrath will fall upon
The universe until . . .
The tender tears of promise fall
From paradise to cleanse the earth of man’s great sin
And on the wind the breath of God
To wash the heavens clean and bring the sun again
And the sun will lift the oceans to the sky
And purify the waters with the tears the angels cry
And once again the songs we sing
Will be of things we see
Beginning once again
We shall be free