Murder at the Spa

by Stefanie Matteson

  “Today, we are celebrating the anniversary of the third stage in High Rock’s history, a stage in which the trends established by Elisha Burnett and by Dr. Allen—the spa and the bottled waters—have come together, producing a rebirth of High Rock Spa. Five years ago, High Rock Spa was taken over by Paulina Langenberg and High Rock Waters. The result has been nothing short of miraculous: together, these companies have given the spa a new lease on life; together, these companies have put High Rock Springs back on the map.”

  The speech was interrupted by applause. Miss Small gave a jingling ovation, orange fingernails flashing. As she clapped, Paulina bounced up and down in her seat like a child. Charlotte felt a jab in the ribs. “Smart, eh?” said Paulina. She leaned toward Anne-Marie. “This time, you’ve got a good one. ‘A’ number one.” Addressing Charlotte, she added: “He’s not a creep like the last one.” She shot a sidelong look of distaste at the adjoining table, where Dr. Sperry was nuzzling Corinne with unseemly familiarity.

  Gary cleared his throat. “It is therefore fitting,” he continued, “that today we are commemorating the commencement of another stage in the history of the spa, a stage that will marry the two trends in High Rock’s history—the spa and the mineral waters—a stage in which Paulina Langenberg and High Rock Waters will look toward the future, together.”

  “How nice,” Paulina whispered, “he’s going to plug the spa line.”

  Gary glanced over at their table. “What I’m about to say may come as a surprise—even as a shock—to some of you, but I can assure you that there is no cause for concern. The future that we will share together will be even brighter than our separate futures might have been.”

  A shock? Charlotte didn’t understand.

  “Oh, God,” muttered Leon, who was sitting to Charlotte’s right. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to wipe his brow, which had begun to perspire profusely despite the cool breeze.

  Paulina had stopped bouncing. With a puzzled expression, she cupped a hand around her ear.

  Gary continued: “I am proud to announce that as of today High Rock Waters, Inc., is the majority shareholder in Paulina Langenberg. High Rock Waters has acquired a twenty-five percent share of Paulina Langenberg. Our goal is a thirty-four percent share. High Rock Waters’s tender offer will be announced in the financial pages of tomorrow’s newspaper.”

  For a moment, Paulina’s jaw hung slack. Then she glanced around the room like a beleaguered general seeking the support of his troops. There was a buzz of conversation as it dawned on the guests what was happening.

  “In the future,” Gary continued, “High Rock Waters and Paulina Langenberg will be working together. The merger is a natural for both companies.” Gary went on to talk about mutual interests, marketing compatibility, and increased growth and profits.

  But no one was listening.

  It was a takeover, plain and simple. Charlotte watched Paulina in fascination as the realization took hold that the empire over which she reigned had been attacked. Corporate raider—the term was perfect. For the first time in her life, Paulina would have to answer to someone else.

  Paulina looked stunned.

  How had it come about? Charlotte wondered. High Rock Waters—however profitable—was still only small fry by comparison with Paulina Langenberg. How had David felled Goliath? Then Gary let the other shoe drop.

  “I want to stress that High Rock Waters is acquiring stock in Paulina Langenberg with only the friendliest of intentions. We have every expectation of working to make our two corporate cultures fit together. Toward that end, I have another announcement. As of today, I am resigning my position as president of High Rock Waters. I will, however, stay on as chairman of the board. The new president will be Elliot Langenberg, who, as you know, is director of the spa and executive vice president of Paulina Langenberg, Inc.”

  Gary went on, but everyone’s eyes were on Elliot, who managed to look both triumphant and sick at the same time. In fact, he looked as if he were about to crack his cookies—or rather his filet mignon—on the spot.

  It was then that Charlotte realized what had happened: Elliot had sold his stock in Paulina Langenberg to Gary. As Paulina’s son, Elliot undoubtedly owned a lot. Gary had probably thrown in the presidency of High Rock Waters to grease the deal. By adding Elliot’s block of stock to shares purchased on the open market, Gary could easily accumulate enough to meet his goal.

  In fact, a David gaining control of a Goliath probably wasn’t so unusual in the business world nowadays; it seemed as if there was nothing too big to take over or to try to take over. All it took was good credit and a lot of nerve. Gary apparently had plenty of both.

  Leon was bending consolingly over his aunt: “I’m sorry. The letter of intent came this morning. I wanted to tell you myself. To break it gently.”

  “Do you think I’m senile?” she snapped.

  Leon went on: “Thirty-four percent is slightly more than a third. According to our bylaws, High Rock Waters’s ownership of thirty-four percent will give them negative control. Which means that all major decisions will require their approval. To put it another way: he’s got us hamstrung.”

  “I know what negative control means,” hissed Paulina.

  Leon shot Elliot a dirty look, which Elliot returned. The exchange made Charlotte realize why Elliot had done what he had. He was afraid Paulina would someday carry out her threat to leave the company to Leon. With negative control, he could block any effort to install Leon at the head of Paulina Langenberg. In fact, he could defeat any proposal he cared to contest.

  Gary was still talking—about what an honor it would be to work with Paulina. But the flattery was going over her head. She was over being stunned; her face was a study in fury. Her nostrils were flared, her lips compressed. She stood up, giving Anne-Marie a look that would scorch the desert. Grabbing Charlotte’s arm, she said, “Come on. Let’s get away from this scum.”

  Anne-Marie looked up importunately, as if she were being rejected by her own mother. Either she was a good actress, or she had had no idea that a tender offer was in the works.

  With the dignity of a dethroned monarch, Paulina, resplendent in her red gown and her red jewels, tossed her shawl over one shoulder and marched over to the table where Elliot sat with Claire and the others.

  She stood squarely in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Traitor,” she said. “Rotten, rotten, traitor.”

  And then she spat on him.

  6

  “Betrayed me. You betrayed me,” shouted Paulina. “My own son. How could you? The company that I’ve worked my entire life to build. Sold out from under me. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it.”

  In her hand, Paulina held a letter, which she passed to Charlotte in evidence of her son’s treachery. It was from High Rock Waters, describing the terms of the tender offer and the plans for the future of the company.

  After being hustled out of the fete on Paulina’s arm, Charlotte had been dragged back to Paulina’s apartment. She now sat at the side of Paulina’s bed, the unofficial witness to the family melodrama.

  Elliot stood at the foot of the bed, his face as white as if it were smeared with a layer of Langenberg cold cream.

  For the last ten minutes, Paulina had been delivering a tongue-lashing that was mesmerizing in its drama. Always extravagant in her use of gesture, she had embellished her performance by alternately raising her fist to the heavens and beating her breast. Now she was signaling an unofficial time-out by burying her face in the pile of silk pillows at the head of her huge Chinese bed. She was huddled on her knees, her hands gripping her elbows. Her chignon was coming apart. Strands of blue-black hair hung down her back. She rocked back and forth, keening like an Indian squaw for her dead brave.

  Charlotte took advantage of the break in the melodrama to survey the room. The rosewood platform bed was covered by a canopy and enclosed on three sides and part of a fourth by a latticework railing. On the purple wall abo
ve the bed hung a spectacular Picasso, a mother and child. One wall was lined with windows over which were drawn rose-colored brocade draperies. The overall impression was a combination of French bordello and opium den—one that had just been ransacked: newspapers were heaped next to the bed, clothes overflowed the dresser drawers, food lay uneaten on plates on the bedside table.

  Entering with a brandy snifter on a tray, Jack gently shook Paulina’s shoulder. “Here, drink this,” he said softly. “It will make you feel better.”

  Paulina raised her head. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara, the corners of her mouth smudged with lipstick. Picking up the snifter, she downed its contents in a gulp. Revived by the brandy, she wiped her nose on a corner of the pink satin sheet and pitched into her son with renewed vigor.

  “Ingrate. Ingrate,” she shouted. She had risen to her knees. “That such a monster could come from my own loins.” She raised her fist to the ceiling. “I rue the day that I ever gave birth to you. All that I’ve done for you, and you sell me down the river—me, you own mother.”

  Elliot’s face reddened. Stepping forward, he gripped the latticework railing at the foot of the bed. “I’ve betrayed you. That’s rich. How many times have you betrayed me? Huh? I’m asking you, Ma. How many times have you threatened to leave everything to Leon? I’ll tell you. One too many.”

  At first uncomfortable, Charlotte was now settling in, like the audience after the curtain has gone up. Her head moved back and forth as if she were following the ball at a tennis match.

  “That’s right,” Paulina replied. “Too many times I’ve threatened. This time, it’s no threat. This time, it’s for real. You’ll see.” Her eyes narrowed. “You won’t get one red cent out of me.” Reaching over, she pressed the tail of another turtle buzzer on the bedside table.

  Jack appeared at the door. “Anne-Marie is here to see you,” he announced.

  “Another traitor. I won’t see her. I’d like to fire her, but I can’t spare her. But I’m going to sack her ex. I’m not going to keep him around any longer just as a favor to her. Make sure he gets his walking papers this week.”

  Jack pulled a small leather notebook out of his breast pocket and made a notation. It appeared that in addition to being Paulina’s lapdog, he was also her hatchet man. Then he turned to leave.

  “Then come back,” said Paulina. “I want you to get out my will.” She looked pointedly at Elliot. “I’m going to disinherit my son.”

  Elliot had been standing by silently as if waiting for his mother to recant. “So you’re finally going to carry through,” he said, realizing that she wasn’t going to change her mind.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  Elliot didn’t answer. “Well, you’re mistaken if you think I’m upset. I’m sick and tired of your fucking black notebook; I’d like nothing better than to see it dragged out for the last time.”

  “That’s right. The last time.” Paulina stared at him.

  He turned away, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. “Go ahead, leave all your money to Leon. But I’m the one who’ll have the last laugh. Leon will never run Paulina Langenberg. I’ve made sure of that.”

  “Traitor. After all I’ve done for you.”

  “All you’ve done for me?” said Elliot, spinning around. “Ha. That’s very funny.” He threw back his head. “Ha, ha, ha, ha. Do you know what you’ve done for me? Made my life miserable, that’s what. You never cared about me. All you ever cared about is money. Money, money, money.”

  Paulina let loose a wail and buried her head in the pillows.

  Charlotte was sure Elliot’s accusations were quite true. He must have had a lonely childhood—the only child born late in life to a world-famous businesswoman, his father having died while he was still a boy, shuttled off for safekeeping to posh boarding schools. But Charlotte couldn’t blame Paulina. It was simply too hard to do both—to be a career woman and a mother too. If Charlotte had had children, they probably would be leveling the same accusations. Anyway, Paulina hadn’t done that badly. Elliot struck her as a decent person, which was saying a lot these days.

  “Oh,” said Elliot sarcastically, “the inconsolable mother act. Well, let Leon console you this time. He’s being well paid for it.”

  Paulina’s wailing stopped. She looked up, surprised that her bid for sympathy hadn’t worked. Score one for Elliot.

  “See? It was just an act, like everything you do. You are a despicable old woman, always manipulating people with your money. Well, Ma, I’m not going to be your puppet anymore. I don’t need your fucking money. I have all the money I need. I have a job where I’m respected …”

  “Not for long,” Paulina sneered. “You won’t be respected for long. The Seltzer Boy will find out what a no-good bum you are. You’re just like your father: a rotten, lazy, no-good wastrel. I slave to build the company, and you sell it out from under me. You’re a parasite, just like he was.”

  Elliot’s face flushed to his bald temples.

  Elliot’s father had been a handsome womanizer who had gambled away thousands of Paulina’s dollars before she finally divorced him. Her second husband, who had died some years ago, had been an impoverished European aristocrat a dozen years her junior whom she married for the glamour of his title. Not that she was impressed by it, but she thought others would be. Much to everyone’s surprise, the second marriage had worked out very well. His relaxed personality was an effective counterpoint to Paulina’s volatile one. But it was her first husband who had been the love of her life.

  “But you respected him, didn’t you?” Elliot replied. “Because he took money from you. You only respect people who are clever; people who can match wits with you. Well, maybe you’ll respect me now.”

  Paulina gave him a scathing look. “Where’s my will?” she bellowed, pressing the buzzer again in irritation.

  Jack reappeared at the door.

  Reaching into her bosom, Paulina withdrew a key and handed it to him. From a glass vitrine in the corner he extracted the black notebook that Paulina had shown Charlotte on her earlier visit and set it on the bedside table, a Louis XV bombé commode topped by a cupid lamp.

  “My glasses too,” ordered Paulina.

  Kicking off her shoes, she got under the covers, pulled the sheets up around her waist, and arranged the pillows behind her back. With exaggerated care, she carefully reknotted her chignon and reapplied her makeup. Then she leaned back, balanced her glasses on the tip of her nose, and lifted the notebook onto her lap. “A pen, please,” she said. “Not a pencil,” she added, making the point that she had no intention of erasing anything.

  Once Jack had brought the pen, she slowly opened the cover of the notebook. From where she was sitting, Charlotte could see that it was alphabetically arranged. Paulina turned to E for Elliot. Solemnly leafing through the pages, she made a great ceremony of crossing out this and writing in that. It was, Charlotte conceded, a hypnotic performance.

  Elliot looked on mutely.

  “Everything to Leon,” she said finally, closing the notebook with an air of finality. Then she addressed Jack: “Jack, call the estate lawyer. The One with the Blond Wife. Tell him to get up here on the double.”

  Elliot, who had taken a seat on one of the bedside chairs, looked miserable. He was actually wringing his hands. “Ma …” he implored.

  Paulina ignored him.

  Rebuffed, he sat immobile, as if turned to stone. Finally he rose and headed toward the door. Pausing at the door, he turned. “You spit on me,” he said, his teeth clenched in anger. He pointed at the spot of dried spittle on the lapel of his blazer. “You spit on your own son.”

  “So what,” said Paulina implacably. “You deserved it.”

  “I’m going back to the city.”

  “Good. By the way, you’re fired. Anne-Marie can run things until we find someone else. Jack, clear out his room. Then have Leon’s stuff moved up here. And give him that,” she said, pointing to his photograph. “The one in
the living room too. I don’t want to look at his traitorous face.”

  Jack picked up the photograph and gently handed it to Elliot, who opened the door and quietly left.

  Paulina watched him leave, stone-faced. During this interval, Charlotte tried to leave herself, but Paulina wouldn’t let her. Once Elliot had gone, Paulina ordered Jack to summon Leon, who had been waiting in the living room until the scene with Elliot was over.

  “Sit,” said Paulina as Leon entered. She patted the edge of the bed. The notebook lay open on her lap. “Leon is my good boy,” she said, taking his hand. She gazed at him benevolently through eyes moist with tears of self-pity. “The son of my beloved sister. Leon would never betray me.”

  “No, Aunt Paulina.”

  Her tone changed: “He just doesn’t tell me when my company is being sold out from under me.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Leon, looking contrite. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t know he would announce it at the fete.”

  Paulina’s expression turned benign again. “The estate lawyer will be here tomorrow. You’ll be my sole heir. Sonny has fixed it that you can’t be head of Paulina Langenberg. But don’t worry.” She waved her arm. “I’ll make you a rich man. Everything will go to you.” Turning around, she pointed to the painting above the bed. “Including the art.”

  Leon looked up at the painting disinterestedly. It was clear he could care less about art. Charlotte detected a sour expression cross Paulina’s face as she registered his lack of interest.

  “I’m honored, Aunt Paulina,” said Leon. He looked like the cat who’s just swallowed the canary.

  “Now, Leon,” said Paulina. “What can we do?”

  “About what?”

  “The Seltzer Boy, dummy!”

  Leon shrugged. “He’s got us. We might have been able to do something if he’d just been going after the outsider stock, but with Elliot’s block, he’s already got twenty-five percent. All he needs to gain negative control is another nine percent, and he’ll probably have that locked up by tomorrow.”