by John Oakes
Cody reached up unconsciously to his face.
"But looks weren't even what I meant. God, if you aren't two of the most honest men God ever made. Childish and naïve at times, but so honest."
Monica sniffled and wiped at her check. Whether there had been a tear there or not, Cody couldn't be sure.
"And that honesty is the reason for your god-awful stubbornness."
People had always commented on how much he looked like his grampa, but never this much about how much else they had in common. It was all true, he supposed.
Cody let out a chuckle.
"People look at you, and they see some rich kid, laying by the pool with his little buddies and they think you are just some useless playboy."
Cody looked up, alarmed. "Playboy?"
"But there's a reason for that. You're honest, and you see things for what they are, and just like Bruce, you refuse to compromise. You grew up surrounded by a life you don't want, options you didn't choose for yourself. All you have seen is what you don't want. So you do nothing."
Monica leaned forward. She reached out a slender hand. She coiled it around the hand touching the stem of his glass. "You've been a caged animal, Cody. Bruce didn't grow up that way, living in the menagerie. You've never done anything with your life, because no one ever showed you a life worth living."
She gazed meaningfully into his eyes. Cody's mouth gaped open to speak, but he was dumbfounded.
"I missed the boat with Bruce by two generations. I don't want to make the same mistake ever again." Cody saw real tears welling up in her gorgeous hazel-green eyes.
They spilled over and rolled gently down her cheeks.
Chapter Nineteen
Prejudice
Cody drove to the law offices of Cafferty, Church and Espinoza in a daze. He missed the freeway exit two times and finally gave up and took arterial streets. Giving in or not giving in to Monica's sensuality had been the issue before lunch.
But now?
All these years, Monica had been struggling with her love for Grampa and also for him, sort of? It sounded like an episode of Montel.
He'd never seen Monica so vulnerable. She didn't seem so stony and plastic. She'd seemed like a real gal, for the first time ever. Had the manipulative bitch façade really just been some sort of self-protection that she'd built up over the years, like she said? Tragedy could bring out the worst in people, Cody knew all too well. But then, it had to be able to bring out the best too, right?
It was very possible that he had hardened himself to her from day one and had never even given her a chance. Had he acted like a petulant child who just didn't want to share his grampa? Sure she married Grampa for money. But she hadn't denied that back at the pool. And it was not as if Grampa hadn't married her for some superficial reasons too. She was a poor girl trying to survive in a high-class world, and Cody was a rich boy trying to do the same. Though they'd been traveling in different directions, they found themselves stuck in the same, in-between place.
Neither of them had truly found a home.
Cody walked up to Kelly's office, trying uselessly to clear his head. He knocked at the open door and she waved for him to enter. She greeted him happily and motioned to one of the low-back, leather chairs. Cody laid a binder on her desk and sat down.
"So, these are your financials?" Kelly asked, reseating herself and flipping the binder open. She was wearing a little, green Christmas tree on her lapel.
"So they tell me." Cody looked out the window at a bird singing in a tree, hopping from branch to branch.
"I'll admit that sometimes the financial side of being an estate lawyer makes my head hurt too."
"I doubt that," Cody said, absentmindedly. "You're a real smart gal."
Cody saw out of the corner of his eye that she was looking at him. When he turned back, she dropped her eyes and leafed through the documents.
"You've had these professionally done."
"Yeah, one of the guys who works in the shows is an accountant."
Kevin had done a bang-up job, showing precisely how funds had come into Cody Corp and left via transport and material costs and, of course, pay. He had arranged it by category and by event. Each section had a little plastic tab sticking out to mark it.
Cody felt good seeing the surprise on Kelly's face. She had probably expected some notes scribbled in crayon on the back of a wadded up takeout menu. And that probably would have happened if not for his new friends and coworkers. But let Kelly think she maybe didn't have him totally sized up. "Women love mystery," Winton had told him. "That's why illusionists get laid like rock stars."
"Mr. Latour...Cody," she said. "This is...impressive. I won't lie, I'm a little shocked that you've come this far. Cody Corp has profited a total of 15,445 dollars."
"We stand to clear somewhere around 8,000 after pay and expenses after the Alamo Bowl. That leaves us with working capital for whatever comes next."
"That's remarkable," Kelly said. Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to say something more but couldn't phrase it.
Cody flushed with pride in her obvious amazement in his business acumen. "Well, I didn't do it on my own," he said, humbly deflecting some of the praise that was surely about to come.
"I mean, I really am shocked. When you first mentioned you were doing these...these side-shows I was somewhat offended, but mostly just thought the idea was the most asinine thing I had ever heard of." She shook her head with a small laugh.
"Oh, yeah, I, uh..."
"I mean, football pep rallies with little people. Who would come up with such a thing?"
Cody felt like he had been punched in the gut. Cold embarrassment crept up his chest into his neck, closing off his air supply and making his face feel stiff.
"Well, I..." Cody tried to swallow.
"But you're only just over a month into the challenge. I find your methods distasteful and puzzling, but I have to applaud your results. I honestly doubted you would ever get anything off the ground." Kelly seemed to be talking to herself now. She scribbled a note here and there in the margins. "If you can come up with an idea for a business that's more legitimate, the sky is the limit. You may just be a Latour after all."
It was worse than Cody had thought. She didn't think he was a rich boy layabout or even a dumbass. She didn't think anything of him at all. Whatever glimmer of hope he'd harbored that she could ever like a guy like him was shattered.
Cody's mind went blank in a shower of pain. He closed his eyes hard, and ground his teeth to stay silent. He picked up his head and opened his eyes, looking for the exit.
A guy like him? What did that even mean? Was he so far beneath her? Was there really so much wrong with him?
"...Who knows, maybe with enough luck you could conceivably prevent your step-Grandmother from inheriting half of Mr. Latour's fortune."
"And why would you care about that?" He settled a cool glaze on Kelly Carson.
Kelly looked up, her pen frozen in mid stroke.
"I took it you didn't think much of her."
"Well, I'm not recommending her for sainthood, but maybe she ain't really so bad after all."
Kelly's eyes widened at this. "I...I thought you hated...didn't like, I mean, no, I thought you despised Mrs. Van Zyl-Latour."
"I did. But maybe if she inherited that money, that wouldn't be so bad. I mean she was his wife. And he wasn't stupid."
"Well, this is a change in the winds."
"And you didn't say it like I disliked her. You mean you don't like her."
Kelly paused briefly, and her eyes flickered to the open door. Then she said softer, "No, frankly. In my personal and professional opinion, she is the worst sort."
"Do you hate all the people who come through here? Or is it just us?"
"You? No, I—
"No it can't be!" he said. "You must spend all day taking care of the affairs of rich people and their spoiled kids, their trophy wives and their squabbles. And you sit there all calloused and hard, hati
ng and judging on every single one of us. Oh yeah, Miss, you got it all figured out."
Kelly got up, walked around the desk, and closed her office door. She retook her seat and said calmly, "I assure you Mr. Latour, I do no such thing." She glanced furtively at the photos on the corner of her desk, and she pulled her chair forward.
Cody leaned forward until his face was over her desk. He looked deeply into her eyes and said softly,
"Bullshit."
They each held the other's gaze for a long moment.
He leaned back finally, turned both hands palm up and took a conciliatory tone.
"You know what? If he didn't want her to get the money, why give her half of the 84 mil' if I failed? You can see the logic in that right? I mean, we all know, as you so eloquently stated, I'm a joke."
"Mr. Latour, I didn't..."
"Maybe he figured I might succeed, but I'd probably fail. Maybe he just wanted her to twist in the wind a bit. I mean, hell, I'd a thought she'd be fighting this will tooth and nail."
"Well," said Kelly, "She has."
It could have sounded like a retort, but it came out as an admission.
"Her lawyer," Kelly continued, "...lawyers, I should say, have contacted me and the partners numerous times. We've had to inform them that part of the will is sealed. I didn't see the need to tell you this, but I had to appear before a judge, because they made a motion to view the sealed portion of the will and testament. It was denied, but they suspect now that he had far more in assets than has been disclosed to Mrs. Van Zyl-Latour."
"How would they even know that there is still that much being held back?"
"They'll have hired forensic accountants. I doubt they know much, though, if I've done my job. But their play forced us to admit that part of the will is sealed, which fuels their suspicions."
"So, do they know about--
"No. They know nothing about the sealed stipulations of the will, those that deal with you."
"Is this normal, what they are doing?"
"There isn't much precedent I know of for this kind of arrangement, so I can't truly say. But the larger the inheritances, the larger the chances that one party will take legal action."
So Monica wanted as much money as possible. So what? And water runs downhill. And fish like to swim.
"Has she made any...advances toward you?" Kelly asked hesitantly.
Cody leaned back and looked straight at Kelly, brows furrowed.
"Well, no I..."
Kelly raised both hands, defensively. "It's just that there was that day at your pool house, and I've suspected since then that..." Kelly took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Listen, I should have explained better. But it's for your own...I mean it's for the integrity of the testament. If Mrs. Van Zyl-Latour has made advances, it would be very unwise for you to...to go along with any of them."
Cody laughed derisively and rolled his eyes.
"First you insult me and my business, and then you try and tell me who I can and can't get advanced by?"
"No, Mr. Latour," Kelly breathed heavily. "You misunderstand. I am trying to advise you legally. And what's more..." Kelly paused to consider her words, but then charged on. "I've seen Mrs. Van Zyl-Latour's type before."
"Yeah, we've been over how much you love your clientele."
Kelly leaned forward and whispered emphatically.
"She must suspect that part of the estate is being held back, and she wants it." Kelly pointed a finger down at her desk. Her professional demeanor was failing. "And I believe she would do anything to get it. It's pretty clear to anyone with half a brain that if she got her hooks into you, then she gets the money no matter what."
Kelly took a deep breath, leaned back and straightened her suit jacket. Her eyes were still a bit wild, full of emotion. She ran both hands through her hair and stared blankly at the calendar on her desk.
"...legally speaking."
Cody nodded slowly, and Kelly continued staring at nothing, her teeth working at the inside of her lip.
"Well, thanks a bunch for all the legal advice," he said.
Cody stood.
"But last time I checked, you made it perfectly clear you ain't my lawyer."
Chapter Twenty
The Special Report
Cody walked into Shooter's Billiards cherishing the characteristic dark. The pool hall was only illuminated by a flat-screen TV behind the bar playing an episode of M.A.S.H., the neon signs advertising beer and liquor brands, and the lamps hanging over each of the two dozen pool tables. If this was where the boys had decided to begin the evening, it suited Cody's mood perfectly.
TR's considerable girth was bent over a table and his tongue jutted out the side of his mouth as he focused on the shot before him. Jason stood just off to the side of him, chalking his cue stick. Ricky leaned back, almost sitting on the next table across from TR.
"8-ball, corner pocket," TR declared with the serene cool of James Bond. He struck the cue ball, which was two feet from its target. The cue ball glanced off the 8-ball, careened off the bottom bank, off the side bank and diagonally across the table to drill into the opposite corner pocket.
The 8-ball rolled to rest peacefully in the center of the table.
Jason came around the table and clapped TR on the shoulder. "It's a finesse game Tommy Ray. You play like you're trying to spear a boar."
Ricky stood up, grabbed the rack from under the table and began preparing for the next game. Jason looked up and saw Cody approaching.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Allow me to introduce to you, Mr. Cody Latour, tycoon of industry and purveyor of dreams."
Cody looked around for somewhere to sit. He would have curled up in a ball on the sticky cement floor if it wouldn't have appeared so melodramatic. He settled for one of the high bar stools situated around the nearest cocktail table. A pitcher of beer and two full pints sat atop it. Without asking if the beer belonged to his friends, he picked up a glass and drained it in seven long pulls.
"So, what's the plan, Stan?" Jason asked jovially. "Hey Code-man, I've been thinking that now that we are doing college gigs, we oughta parlay this into a way to meet cheerleaders."
"I like cheerleaders," TR said, nodding.
"What do you think, Hoss? Maybe work them into our choreography. Lots of late nights practicing? How does that sound?"
Cody reached for the pitcher and poured a stream of golden liquid into whoever's glass he held.
"Well, what's got you so long in the face?" Jason walked up to him and removed the other full glass from the table protectively.
"Couple hours ago you's happier than Liberace at the sequin store."
Cody sipped at his second pint more daintily than the first. "I got watermelon-sized thoughts in my head and nowhere for them to go."
"Well, hey, I got a million ideas too! So I'm thinking a float, like. If it's gonna be the Alamo, then we could have like an Alamo shaped float and all them Tiny Tacklers can be the Texans, and then all—
"They weren't all Texans," Ricky chimed in. He was walking their other pitcher over to where Cody was sitting. He set it on the small round table and gave Cody an appraising glance. Ricky refilled his own glass, and Jason carried on.
"Well, whatever...the good guys. And then, we'll have them defending the walls, and wait... How we gonna fit the cheerleaders in? No. We got to start there, with the cheerleaders. Then we build the rest of the show around that."
If Jason wanted to carry on about the Alamo Bowl, Cody was happy to oblige him. He'd been practicing drowning out Jason's yammering for ten years.
Jason and TR brainstormed, or brain-drizzled more like, a dozen knuckle-headed ideas. Cody tried just as many ways to sort through all the strands of his tattered mind. One moment, he told himself how much he didn't care about what Kelly Carson had said, and then the next he tried to figure out why it had hurt so badly. Then he was trying to recall all of his interactions with Monica over the years and reassess them in the light of fresh understanding
. He wondered what exactly Monica had been suggesting at the restaurant. A friendship? Dating?
Ricky pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"You can't smoke indoors anymore Ricky. The city passed that law." Cody looked around the largely empty hall. There were only a couple other groups in the place, along with the bartender.
"Shooters is designated legally as a cigar bar." Ricky had not taken a seat and was shifting his weight subtly from side to side.
"They don't sell cigars," Cody protested.
"If you walk up to that bar and ask to buy a cigar, they'll sell you one."
"You're joking."
"Cody, we been here five times since that law passed. How come you just now noticed?"
Cody looked around and saw that ashtrays were scattered about the cocktail tables in the pool hall, including one on the table where he sat.
"Aww hell." Cody set down his beer and placed his head in his hands. "My head hurts. Everything hurts."
"You went to see Monica today," Ricky said.
Cody nodded.
"What did she say this time?"
"That's just it. She ain't the problem. Not really." Cody turned face-to-face with Ricky and pulled a shocked expression. "She was nice, man. We had a conversation that can only be termed as pleasant. Defies the gosh-danged laws of nature."
"So, what's got your eggs scrambled?"
"Well, for starters, I saw Grampa."
Ricky's eyes were shielded by yellow shooting glasses, but his alarm was plain.
"I mean, I saw a guy, and he kinda looked like him."
Ricky's look eased some at that. "Where'd it happen?"
"The parking lot of the restaurant where I met Monica." Cody shook his head in frustration. "It's happened before too. I smell him or catch a glimpse of him. Startles me and just plain takes the starch out."
Ricky nodded sagely. "That's the grief, man. Brain is playing tricks."
"I guess. I just wish it would stop. Just makes missing him hurt all the more, like getting a scab ripped off.
"You met with the lawyer too?"