by Bill Orton
“Ms.,” said Larry.
Emily smiled.
“What?” I said.
“It’s Ms. Kashabara,” said Larry, before he turned to Emily. “Where’d you go to school?” Larry asked, opening his straw and trying to work it into his orange juice container.
“I hold an M.B.A. from Stanford and a Juris Doctor from Yale,” she said, with a hint of a smile. “I am a member in good standing of the Bar in three states and the District of Columbia.”
“No,” said Larry, still struggling with puncturing his juice box, “where’d you go to school? High school... Where’d you grow up?”
“High school?”
‘Right,” said Larry, abandoning the straw, and pulling open one end of the juice box.
“I grew up in Torrance,” she said, “I went to Torrance High.”
“I hate Torrance,” said Larry. “Nothing but red lights on P.C.H., no synchronization at all… you look like you skateboard.”
“So random,” said Emily, staring at Larry.
“Okay, Larry,” I said, “back to the tax issues.”
“So what’s so interesting to you about tax law?” Larry asked.
“I wouldn’t say ‘interesting’ is the right word,” said the attorney. “Frankly, tax law is about as dry as it gets.”
“Yes...,” said Larry.
“But I got into it, actually, because I saw my mom’s business fail. She ran into a brick wall with the Board of Equalization and the Department of Corporations. And no one she brought on would give her the help she needed. It was all about their specialty and billable hours.” The attorney sat up straight. “I’m sorry, that was not the sort of thing one should say....”
“Oh, that’s... hey...” said Larry, “would you like something, by the way? It may not be fancy, but this is a food place.”
“Actually,” she said, standing, “if you wouldn’t mind. I rushed out the door.”
“Tell ‘em you’re with me,” said Larry, waving his hand, as she disappeared around the corner. Larry leaned towards me. “She’s the tax person.”
.
“By school,” asked the man in the crisp, dark suit, “do you mean graduate? undergraduate?”
“High school.”
“High school!” said the man. “I attended preparatory in Ossining, on the Hudson, as a student at the Atwood Academy.”
.
“Would you like something, by the way? It may not he fancy…”
“Oh,” said the woman, in her mid-20s, looking around, “I simply never eat at... at....”
.
“Larry, this is Mr. Lossé,” I said, pronouncing the last name in two syllables.
“The little thingie over the E makes it silent,” said the tall, thin man, who sat without hesitation. “Just ‘loss,’ like losing. But Ed Lossé doesn’t lose. I’m like Charlie Sheen… always winning. It’s the tiger blood. Mind if I get coffee or something?”
Larry nodded his head to me as Ed Lossé wandered to the counter. Larry’s phone, buried under food wrappers and napkins, buzzed. Larry pushed the debris aside, looked at the screen, and picked up the cell. “It’s the stupid film people. Tell ‘em I’m not here.” He handed me the phone.
“Uh, hello,” I said. “You’ve reached a private line for Larry van der Bix.”
“Hel-loooow,” said von Sommerberg. “Tres... Tres von Sommerberg, from Denmark... the director, the film....”
“I remember you,” I said over the phone. “I was with Larry in the car.”
Ed Lossé returned to the table with a full tray of food. He proceeded to doctor his coffee, as Larry unburied sugar packets and unused creamers, which he offered silently to Ed.
“Can you tell your friend we’ve been six days here,” said von Sommerberg. “Soon we fly to Connecticut, and it would be really lovely if we could meet Emma Mathilde.”
“I will tell him that,” I said.
“Great.” I watched Ed and Larry both eating. I waited during the long silence on the phone. “Well,” said von Sommerberg, “please do.”
“I will.”
“Okay.... Lena says hello.”
“Good, yeh,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Really soon would be great,” said von Sommerberg, finally. “And we’re not in the Hyatt, but not far. A smaller place, but still really lovely. Please, if today is possible....”
“I will be sure to let him know.” As I handed the phone to Larry, Ed looked up from eating. “Being chased for money already?”
“What?” I asked.
“Film people,” said Larry.
“Oh, they’re the worst,” said the investment advisor. “If you hit the gamble, it can pay off big. Cameron’s a solid bet, but he’s already got a pool of investors. Not a gamble anymore, really.”
.
“Most of your money will necessarily be invested,” I said Larry, as we both stood at the counter for his coffee refill. “You’ll still have a portion as liquid cashflow, but....”
“More coffee yes?’ the woman asked me, warmly.
“Si, thank you,” said Larry, as he handed his cup to the dark-haired, middle-aged woman. “Remember, I want to give it away.”
As Larry waited for the woman to return with his fourth cup of coffee, I pointed to the cash register. “Larry, imagine your money is all in that cash register.”
“It wouldn’t fit,” he said.
“Just... imagine, Larry.”
“Even a stack of hundreds is only ten thousand to the bundle, so two hundred and eighty four million....”
“Larry,” I said, cutting him off, “Just… just....”
The woman returned with a fresh cup of coffee and a bag of creamers and sugar packets. Both she and Larry smiled warmly at one another and we returned to the table.
“Okay,” said Larry, adding cream to his coffee, “a big register that can somehow hold 28,485 bundles… it’d probably be more like a vault.”
“Fine, a vault. Imagine a vault….”
“Lawrence, I am not going to get a vault. Those’re probably really expensive and besides….”
“Larry, please, just stop... and imagine. Just imagine it,” I said, taking a fast breath.
“Okay, what next?” asked Larry.
“Imagine a vault or a register….”
“Or both...”
“Yeh, good, both,” I said. “Better image. You’ve got all your money in the vault.”
“The 28,465 bundles and the loose change.”
“Right, it’s all there.”
“Probably on pallets. I think that’s what they do, Pallets, and they shrink wrap it. So, guess we’d have to get a fork-lift or something. Those’re probably pretty cheap, or we could rent one. A fork-lift would be a good thing to have.”
‘‘Larry….”
Larry, after stirring his coffee, looked up. “What?”
“So most of your money you want to keep safe, right? You want a little available…. Not much, just some.”
“Like the loose $920,” said Larry. “That’s not much, though. That’s barely a month’s rent, so it’ll go quick.”
“Right,” I said, drained. “But still, most of it is protected…, safe. Those’re your investments, Larry. That’s what we’re shooting for. Safe, over the long-term, but you still have money available – liquid capital – for when you want to pay for things.”
“Do you think I’m dumb, Lawrence? I know what an investment is.”
I looked at Larry, whose dull expression took on an air of disgust. “Right. So you know that it’s about protecting your assets.”
“Which I want to give away.”
“Larry, let’s say everyday you grab money to hand out.”
“Like, what, ten bundles a day? That’s $100,000 a day, Lawrence. That’s why I need help,” said Larry. “I can’t walk around with a hundred grand. That’d be crazy.” Larry sipped his coffee. “And you ever tried to blow that kind of money? I haven’t, cuz I haven’t had it, bu
t even if you’re at a high-end girly bar where you’re paying twelve bucks for orange juice, you couldn’t blow that kind of money, although, you know, maybe, if you’re really tipping.”
“Not where I was going with this, Larry,”
“Just thinking outside the box, Lawrence.”
“Well, okay, you seem to get the whole investment thing. Emily will protect as much of your winnings from taxes and Ed will help make the money grow.”
“I’ll look at getting a register, but I really think the vault thing is a ridiculous idea,” said Larry.
“You don’t have to get a cash register,” I said. “It’s just an image. You open the drawer and take out a little bit. Even if you give away that money, the register is just an image, a tool to help you remember how cash goes in and out.”
Larry looked at me as he sipped his coffee. “I’m not slow, Lawrence.”
“Larry, do you have any sense of what you spent on your trip up to Sacramento?” I watched with a sense of triumph, banking on his inability to track cash to win my point.”
“Up? Back? Or both ways?”
“Uh,” I said.
“Let’s see,” said Larry, pouring a bag of curly fries onto his tray.
“Up; gas, three stops, $41.80, $36 and $42 even; Harris Ranch, sort’a pricey, but December saved us $420 on the package; snacks, $51.50, plus tax. Morton’s. Is that part of ‘up’ or ‘back?’ “
“I take the question back,” I said.
“I may not have money much of the time,” said Larry, “but it’s not because I can’t count, or track my cashflow. Dude, when my grandmother makes her deposit to my account, it only goes one direction.” Larry ate a curly fry. He reached in his pocket and handed me a slip of paper without looking at it. “Just look.” I did. An ATM receipt. “Now give it back.”
“Okay, what was that about?” I said. “So long as we can arrive at a system to track cashflow and it works, is all that matters to me.”
“What was the balance?”
“What?”
“The receipt you just looked at.”
“Huh?” I said. “Oh, I don’t remember.” Larry handed the slip back to me without looking at it.
“$4,218, after a withdrawal of $6O, of’ which $54 is in my pocket,” said Larry. “I get cashflow. If I didn’t, I’d have to go to my dad for help and I would rather starve then ask my father for money. Actually, I have. So tracking my money it is sort of a life-or-death thing.”
.
Ed Lossé, Emily Kashabara, Larry, Lori and I managed to fill an entire table at Jack-in-the-Box with opened wrappers, sandwiches, starches, coffee cups, Lori’s unsweetened iced tea and – for Larry and Emily – desserts. Lori dipped her fingers into the tea and pulled out a slice of lemon, which she squeezed and dropped back into her drink. I watched her put her lips back around the straw as she sipped. I cleared my throat.
“Thanks, everyone, for coming,” I said, as Ed dipped an egg roll into a sauce container. “Based on calls with the lottery office and the state Controller’s office, we’re looking at another two weeks or so before the check is cut for Larry’s winnings. Based on that information, we’re going to need to take some immediate strategic steps on day one to shield the winnings from tax loss and to guide the bulk of the asset into safe harbor. I know this will mean each of us doing work while we wait to be paid, but we can think of these two weeks as waiting for a paycheck.” Larry cleared his throat. “And, Larry has some things to say.”
“Okay,” said Larry. “so, yeh, do your best, and all that, but remember, this money, and I don’t think it’ll be on a pallet or be shrink-wrapped, it’s gonna get handed out, and that’ll be me; I’m the decider, so I know Lawrence will be making a lot of calls, but if you have questions, yeh, okay.”
Lori sipped her iced tea, the sound of the straw finishing the liquid sounding about as eloquent as Larry’s comments.
“Can I talk?” ask Emily. Larry nodded. “First,” she said, reaching to shake Lori’s hand, “I’m Emily, Emily Kashabara.”
“Hey,” said Lori, meeting the handshake. “Lori Lewis.”
Ed reached out, shook Lori’s hand, the two trading first names and sparking a round of hand shaking, which Larry joined, including his shaking my hand and Lori’s.
“I know you want to give this money away,” said Emily, “and I would be very happy looking up charities and outlining a giving strategy that steers clear of the 35-percent federal rate on gifting. But before you take possession of the asset, we should create some trusts and philanthropic funds which could become vehicles for distributing dollars and also safeguard the asset. That will mean more to hand out over the life of the asset.”
“Are you going to eat that?” Larry asked Emily, pointing to her untouched cheesecake. She looked down and quickly covered the slice with her hand. Emily looked down to her dessert and held it up to Larry, who waved it off.
“I have churros… just hadn’t tried the pumpkin cheesecake,” said Larry. “On the money, not everyone I’m gonna give money to is a charity, and probably some who get money will make people mad, but I’m the decider, it’ll be what I want.”
“Purely for tax purposes, I’d stick to organizations that meet the 501 section of the tax code,” said Emily, “and obviously (c)(3)s, but others, too, if you want to engage in advocacy or giving that’s not deductible. Gifting that fulfills your heart sometimes comes at the cost of non-deductibility.”
“That sounds nice, but not everything I give will be like that,” said Larry, “like there’s some artists who I want to encourage, and some actresses and singers and models, too.”
“Singers and models?” said Ed.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard of Ewa Sonnet, but she’s from Poland.”
“If you wanna call her a singer,” said Ed. “Isn’t she just a tit model?”
“Excuse me?” said Emily.
“That’s just how she got her start,” said Larry. “I’m sure December’s got stuff going on, too, and my friend, Anekee, in Italy, and that woman on Spanish TV with the candid camera show....”
“Odalys Garcia?” asked Ed.
“Exactly!” said Larry.
“Incredibly short mini-skirts,” said Ed, in a matter-of-fact tone. “If you wanna do Spanish TV, why not throw money at Don Francisco? His numbers are bigger then anything on English-language media.”
“I suppose.”
“Larry, you know, this isn’t really the sort of direction... owww,” I said, cut off mid-sentence by a kick to my shin that, based on expression and proximity, came from Lori. “Is this where you wanna go? Are we just going to be team players on your fantasy cruise?”
“I got feelings about these things,” said Larry. “There’s talent there and if someone with money treated these artists seriously, I think there is real money to be made. Not all of the projects will hit it big, but it’s not like this money is real. It’s all a fantasy, so why not climb on and go with the ride?” Larry looked to Lori and smiled.
“I could do that for awhile,” said Emily. “Honestly, it’s hard out there, and the money you’re offering for a one-third-time gig is better than the full-time offers I’ve gotten. Can’t believe I’m out’ta law school and this is my best offer, but if this is the direction you’re headed in, then I’d be signing on with the intent of finding another gig.”
“That’s the nature of the gig economy,” said Ed. “Welcome to the new normal.”
Larry offered churros to Ed and Lori, who each declined, and then to Emily, who took one.
“Those are good, wow,” she said, after biting in.
“Well,” I said, “again, Larry, there will be cashflow, and then there will be long-tern asset protection and growth. Why don’t you start looking at your own priorities, including... including your... artists, and Emily and Ed will go to work on their end of the bargain. We know there is a short delay for the payments, so I appreciate everyone’s willingness to start building a path fo
r the next quarter. I think that will keep us busy until the money comes in.”
“Is that December Carrero you’re talking about?” asked Ed.
“Yes,” said Larry. “I know her. She’s nice.”
“She is smokin,’ “ said Ed. “And she’s like 24. Kind’a raw, but if you can Henry Higgins her, you’d be able to bottle gold on her.”
“Who’s Henry Higgins?” asked Larry.
.
Larry lined up his pool cue and badly missed the nine-ball-in-the-side-pocket shot he had called. Emily moved up to shoot, as I watched from the bar. Lori and Ed, each holding a cue, talked while they waited for their turns to shoot.
.
Lori uncovered her face and sipped from her water glass, as she and Larry lay in the sun.
“So what’ta’ya think of Lawrence’s new team?” asked Larry.
“It’s your team,” said Lori, “and, honestly, I think they’re good. I think you’ll be able to tell them what you want and they won’t fuck around.”
“I kind’a think so, too,” said Larry. “Wanna burrito?”
“Too much salt,” said Lori, turning on her belly. “You will lose Emily, though, if you’re too much of a pig.”
“Pig? I’m not a pig.”
“Bixie, if you’re pouring money into women’s g-strings, that isn’t going to inspire loyalty in a smart, talented young professional woman,” said Lori. “Isn’t that kind of obvious?”
“You know, some people like Picasso’s by Rembrandt. Me, I like the other side of the canvas.”
“Larry, that doesn’t even make sense.”
“W’ull, like December... I’m sure if she didn’t have to pay the bills with web diva stuff, she’d be able to find a project that allowed her to grow as an entertainer.”
“Larry, I love you, and I like the girl, but, I mean, c’mon.”
“Remember at Harris Ranch, when we were eating and she said the reviews are in? What was she focusing on? Her public. Don’t you think someone who knows that the fans can always tell is someone who would be thinking about the fans when she considers a real part?”