by Ames, Alex
“Don’t you think that will look like embezzlement? Remember, the contract says we get the heap of wood down there as security. And no need to squirrel that away.”
Hal occasionally tapped on the bank webpage to refresh the account statement.
“By the way, how is Mrs. Kellogg?” Rick asked.
Hal’s ears turned red. “I am such a miserable actor. She works hard, she tells me.”
“That makes two of us,” Rick muttered.
“I am keeping out of this.”
“Hey, shouldn’t you be on my side?”
“I am obliged to. But man, you split up with Louise Waters. That is even bigger than getting together in the first place.”
They closed shop for the weekend with a bad feeling, and together with their lawyer, Jerry, planned for the worst-case scenario on.
On Monday morning, the money in the Vera account was gone.
On Tuesday, Flint and Heller Fine Wooden Boats filed for protection under Chapter Eleven.
“What does Chapter Eleven mean, Dad?” Britta asked after their father had informed them on Tuesday evening.
“It means that we cannot pay our vendors or the bank loan. Instead of going bankrupt, and stopping doing business, we are allowed to cut the outstanding debts and gain time to restructure.”
Charles pushed up his glasses. “It is one of the fundamentals of the US system that allows entrepreneurs, people with businesses, to fail. In other countries you fail once, forever, and you have the debts for the rest of your life. Here you are able to start over.”
Britta looked hopefully at her father. “So this Chapter Eleven protection is a good thing, right?”
“Yes, it is. But not for us. We had to go into Chapter Eleven to protect ourselves because our main client, Josh, is not able to pay us anymore. But our business as such has not been working well for a while now. We had losses for the two previous years and barely managed the year before.” Rick looked at his kids. They loved the company as much as he did and were proud of the fine boats it had produced over the years. “So Hal and I have decided to shut down business by the end of year. Maybe there is a buyer for the company as a whole, but we doubt it.”
“Dad, then you are not under Chapter Eleven. Liquidation falls under Chapter Seven,” Charles clarified.
“Are you sad, Dad?” Dana asked, not getting most it.
Rick wrapped his little angel in his arms, it was answer enough for the little girl.
Josh Hancock’s disappearance hit the news on Tuesday evening.
twenty-seven
The Order of Affairs
Louise
“When did we have a day out together last, Lou-baby?” Izzy smiled broadly, deftly roaring his open-roofed red Ferrari through the LA traffic, Louise by his side.
“It’s not a day out together, it’s a trip to the doctor,” Louise replied. She wore loose black Armani slacks and a white blouse with a scarf around her hair and big sunglasses on. Even so, now and then another car honked. It was unclear whether because of her or due to Izzy’s racing style.
Five days since Josh had vanished without a trace.
“Do you know how happy everyone is that you were able to join the project? And it even fits the Sell! Sell! Sell! promotion cycle. It won’t do three figures at the box office but . . .”
“That’s not important. It gives me work and gets my mind off other things.”
“Sorry about Rick and you. Really am. He seemed like a nice guy. With nice kids. Did you good. Didn’t do me good.”
“No talking about that, remember?”
“Okeydoke, Lou-baby. Got it. Put it behind you. Back to work, back to normal.”
The producers of movies were requesting all sorts of insurances and confirmation that the multimillion dollars that they had poured into the production fund were securely spent. One of those conditions was a mandatory physical checkup of the leading actors. As Louise had jumped in last minute due to the broken leg of the previously cast actress, this was the only outstanding item before the shoot would begin a few days after Christmas.
Louise had had checkups in the small private clinic on Wiltshire Boulevard many times before, and the staff was used to working with movie and music stars.
Louise declined the tea offer and was immediately taken into a spacious and very stylish office that looked more like a yoga studio than a clinic. A nurse greeted her. “Hi, I am Stephanie, and we will be spending the day together.”
They started running through a variety of tests in various disciplines, basic physicals, eye and ear exams, and blood and urine samples to screen for sickness or drugs. Then a series of ultrasounds of various internal organs. Louise was always astonished at how tiny and strong the heart beats and the incessant opening and closing of its valves. A wonder. And imagine that this was the same for all mammals big and small. A hundred times smaller in a mouse, pumping away like mad.
The afternoon brought some more examinations, a skin check, another blood test, and then a sort of psychological evaluation with sets of questions, conducted by some bespectacled psych guy. After half an hour of interviewing, they wound down. Louise had had a hard time throughout the test trying to keep a serious mind-set and not to fall into a stand-up comedy routine.
“Mrs. Waters, thank you. Dr. Halliwell will discuss the final results with you later.”
“Did I pass?”
“What do you think?
“Is this a final trick question?”
“Then consider your answer well, ma’am.”
“I am thirty-six, and you are twenty years older. Did you just ma’am me?”
“Did you just avoid answering a trick question?”
“Does that make me a bad person?” Two can play this game.
“Is that your final answer?” The psych guy gave her a hard stare.
“That was a final question, if at all.”
“Just kidding, Miss Waters. You are fine. A little stressed, I think, but fine.”
“I didn’t need a shrink to know that.”
“Diving into work after a breakup is always a good idea as long as it does not become an obsession, and you find a balance after the movie is made.” They shook hands, and Louise was left alone for a moment. Then the door opened, and Stephanie and Dr. Halliwell came in.
“That was quick,” Louise said.
“I’ll be honest with you: we need to run another series of tests, and we cannot do it here.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to scare you. We found some markers in the blood tests that we need to verify. And the best place for that is not far from here.”
“I have to go there now?”
“I must insist. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Louise nodded and wrapped up her things.
The drive was indeed quick. They entered the new clinic through a side entrance, and Louise saw the sign: “Beverly Hills Cancer Center.” She stared at it. “Cancer, is this what Dr. Halliwell suspects?”
Stephanie swallowed. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Waters.”
“Don’t worry, Stephanie. When I see him again, I will slug him for being such a coward not telling me in advance and sending you along.”
Louise was angry, but it only masked her growing fears. Her father and all her grandparents had died of various forms of cancer. Her mother was an alcoholic, her sister, too.
Great! Cancer and alcoholism predispositions, two great options. Maybe if I got drunk first, I might not remember that I have cancer? Wouldn’t it be an irony if I died of a stroke? Waters, I can’t believe you are turning this into a standup comedy act.
The various nurses and doctors did a lot of things to and with Louise. Blood and more blood, X-rays, CT scan, MRI, and some acronyms whose meanings Louise forgot immediately. Most painful was the biopsy to take marrow from her pelvis. Afterward, Stephanie gave Louise privacy, and she rested in a comfortable chair in a bright and cheery room.
Izzy rang and asked how things
were.
“They took bone marrow from my hip. Jesus, Izzy, I swear I heard the crunching noise as the tool drilled into me.”
“Uh, gross!” Izzy said.
“We are done with the tests. They are taking good care of me.”
“Hang in there, girl; we are in it together, rain or shine.”
“Thanks, Izzy.”
Oh, Rick, I wish you were here to hold me. I need your steady rock-solid presence. And your hand to hold. And your kiss. And I could use Charles to tell me every detail about cancer with brutal childish honesty. And little Dana to make me laugh.
She started crying.
The oncologist, a long-legged Cary Grant type, came into the room, saw her crying, and was taken aback. “Now, we have not even talked yet, Miss Walters.”
“This is not about me being here. It’s about my love life,” Louise sniffled. “Or lack thereof.”
Dr. Fenshaw sat beside her. “Tell me about it; I’ve been married three times, and now I hate every single one of my exes.”
Louise had to laugh and got the hiccups. “Any kids involved?”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Six of them. But they turned out well, thank God.” He turned serious. “The results are back, and I’m not going to mince words or hold back. You have leukemia, cancer of the blood, already at a progressed stage.”
Louise stared at him, her eyes swimming, her vision spinning, hearing Dr. Fenshaw’s voice as through a long tunnel. “This is crazy. Cancer. Blood cancer?”
“Yes, the variety you have is called AML—acute myelogenous leukemia. It is a version of blood cancer that develops very quickly.”
“But I feel well. I am going through a hard emotional time after the . . . split from my boyfriend. But physically I feel fine.”
“That is possible. You told us that earlier this year, you had felt bone-tired, depressed, without drive. That may have been some sort of early stage.”
“So you can probably guess my next question?”
“Treatment chances. You have positive factors on your side. You have not had any type of cancer before, and the first gene scan did not show any mutations or changes. And you are below sixty.”
“You can tell?”
“Keep your humor, Louise. You will need it to get you through a difficult time.”
“What are my chances?”
“At your young age, we are close to fifty-fifty on the five-year survival rate.”
“That means, I can flip a coin to determine whether I’ll live or to die in the next five years?”
“Not you, but God does, yeah. Chance favors the prepared, and we will do our utmost to influence the chances. But the outcome is impossible to predict, as every patient reacts differently to the various treatment options. We’ll discuss this over the next few hours.”
“I have to stay here?”
“Let’s put it this way: your treatment must start immediately. It is up to you where you want to receive it. In the Southern California region there are some excellent options beside us, like Dana-Farber. Leading in the States is Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. My colleague, Dr. Singh, has some very advanced approaches to AML.” Dr. Fenshaw paused and looked at Louise. “Independent of the treatment location, make sure that you rely on your personal network. You and your body will undergo severe changes in the coming weeks and months. There will be good days, bad days, and very bad days. Having family and friends around you will help you to cope with any situation and provide you stability during the difficult times.”
Louise never felt so lonely in her life. She wouldn’t even know who to call. Izzy, sure. He would be there for her. The conversation she had in the car with Josh the first time they drove to Oxnard came back to her.
“I’ll give you a few minutes. Do you want to call anyone?”
Louise’s head was empty, she couldn’t talk to anyone now; all she wanted to do was cry and to be held. Tears came back in full force and effect.
“Could you please ask the large man outside to join me?” she sniffled between sobs.
“Sure. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Hang there.”
Floris came in, unsure of his role in this. He had never been a big talker. “Can I help you with anything, Miss Waters?” he mumbled. He knew where they were, and the state of Louise told him everything.
Louise patted her hand on her bedside, and Floris sat down shyly beside her bed. “Can you hold my hand for a minute and let me cry, Floris?”
“Sure, Miss Waters.” Floris put his giant hand on Louise’s hand and held it awkwardly. Louise closed her eyes, and her body shook while she cried and cried.
The rest of the afternoon and night was a blur. Additional tests, options discussed, and phone calls made. There was one unpleasant situation when Izzy barged in, demanding to talk to Louise, which she rejected, and the nurse had to drag him away. But Louise had gathered some strength from her previous tearful release, determined to set the course of treatment with Dr. Fenshaw and not be distracted by things that were not relevant anymore. Everyone commented on how brave she was, but Louise felt that they likely say this to everyone who has received such a diagnosis. An experimental drug on trial was the first option they had decided upon, conducted by the Johns Hopkins cancer center in Baltimore. Phone calls were made, and, through luck and name recognition, Louise was able to enter the trial, pending the outcome of various analyses. It offered a new way of activating the immune system against the cancer; however, the side effects were not yet controlled, so Louise had to stay under hospital observation at all times. It was a gamble between almost total possible cure and losing time. The several weeks of waiting and hoping for the drug to kick in were lost for the other treatment options. Precious time, not to be recovered.
Floris drove her the short way to Bel Air at around nine in the evening. Sleep had come late, and she woke up early around five. The night was cold, so she wrapped herself in a comfy oversize poncho and sat down on the terrace, the early morning city shimmering gold below. She made some notes to herself, a to-do list of things to take care of during her upcoming absence. The doorbell rang, and Louise went to open the door to her lawyer Jane Schuster, who had arrived with two oversize Starbucks cups in her chubby hands. Jane was a bleached blonde with an oversize hairdo and ego; she loved Italian food and looked like it, and was married to and divorced from a Jewish lawyer.
“Thanks for coming so early, but time is of essence, my limo arrives at eight.”
“Honey, you are the client. And you are paying me well. Who did you kill?”
Louise simply motioned toward the seat at her side. “I killed no one, but I might be killed within the next few weeks. I have a blood cancer called AML.”
Jane turned white as a sheet. “You are joking, right?” Then she saw Louise’s serious eyes and determined face. “No, you are not.”
Louise explained her situation—the experimental drug program and the outlook to beat her progressed cancer. “My doctor told me to get my affairs in order, and this is where you come in.”
“Sure, honey, anything you need.”
“Read this please and tell me if it fits the formal frame of a last will. And what we need to do to make it legal.”
Jane put on her reading glasses and started to read. “It’s in your handwriting and you appear to be in a sane state of mind, event after such a devastating diagnosis. So that is a good start. Who are these four people? Family? Your family name is Waters, right?”
“Close. Though I was not born Louise Waters, my birth certificate reads Cherry Louise Charlotte Waterman. I had it legally changed in my early twenties.”
“And the Flint beneficiaries? Ah, your former boyfriend’s kids.”
Louise took the liberty not to answer. “Is it solid? Can I make them beneficiaries of equal terms of my fortune? Three of them are minors.”
“Ages?”
“Between four and fourteen.”
“Sure, no problem. The parents still have guardianship and will be
administrators until the kids reach a certain age. That works for you?”
“There is only the father; the mother died a while back.”
“Doesn’t matter—I was just asking about background. He is not a gambler, a druggie, or a crook?”
“No, he is a fine man.” Louise had to swallow and to unclench her hands by force.
“You want to name an executor of the will?”
“Will you do it?”
“For money, I’ll sell my cat to you. It’s a bit morbid having this conversation with a woman in her midthirties and not with a seventy-five widow, though. Just write it down behind your initial provision. I also suggest to ask for a regular audit of the estate by a third party until the kids reach the age of consent. Parents aren’t what they used to be.”
They finished the will. Then Louise called the maid and Floris so that they could witness the signature. Ten to seven. Louise gave Jane a firm handshake. “Thanks, Jane. I won’t forget this.”
Jane looked at Louise. “Good luck. Don’t be a tough dry cookie in this. I see those firm lines around your mouth, trying to hold up. Cry a lot, hug a lot someone you like. My father battled cancer successfully when I was in my teens. You need to be in it for the long haul. There are good days—”
“Bad days, and very bad days. I know. Thanks, Jane. Find your way out; I need to get finished.”
Floris appeared, and Louise nodded. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Floris.”
Louise looked around the living room, the room she liked best in the house, extending to the large terrace. Otherwise, the Bel Air estate had never felt like home. The view was the only benefit, and the close distance to the studios. But the house had always been too big for a single occupant. She preferred the Malibu beach house whenever she was able to stay there.
Was this it? She felt an endless sadness. Not because of the possibility that she could die in the coming weeks but because of how fast the time had flown by over the last twenty years, from the second she had stepped out of the Greyhound in downtown LA until today. Twenty years like twenty seconds, every moment frozen in little miniatures in her mind, but in the end pressed together like a stack of cards. She had built a little altar of memorabilia on an old, original Chippendale table in one corner of the room. Tidbits, knickknacks and memories of stand-up comedy gigs, movie shots, run-down apartments, paychecks, friends, and planes and moments of fun, fear, humility, anger, and tears. Dust free but some of it already bleached by light and time. She had thought of taking the whole altar along with her on her journey but the danger of losing pieces was too great.