by Bill Orton
“That might not be too big a problem.”
“And Anekee?”
“Like I said,” said Larry, “some sort of vehicle where people are following her because she’s so hot-headed.”
“Where’s the money in that?”
“There may not be any up front,” said Larry, stopping at a green register. He looked it over, poked, and walked on. “It may be a few years down the line, where my support will allow her to build a unique brand in the marketplace.”
“As what? An opinioned model?”
“Why not? If the internet means someone will pay Ane to talk, why shouldn’t she use her gifts that way?”
“Looking at the talking heads right now, there aren’t many who think as deeply as she does, and when you pull back the camera there’s more to her than a gray suit.”
“You are correct on that one,” said Ed. “And Miss Mini Skirt, Odalys Garcia?”
“W’ull, she’s already a proven media property,” said Larry. A highly-polished silver register drew Larry’s eye.
“She’s the host of fuckin’ candid camera, man,” said Ed. “What? Are you gonna fund a movie version of it?”
“Maybe she can act.” Larry raised his hand as a staff member in a blue vest walked up the aisle, and, with Larry waving, continued walking, right past us. “I mean, ‘Lente Loco’ is an imprint and she’s got a built-in audience….”
“That wants to see her get naked,” said Ed.
“See? You’re the one who says this stuff and I get in trouble.”
“And December Carrero?”
“What about December?”
“Is it just cuz you want these women to pop out their tits for you, or something? I mean, dude, if that’s where you’re going with this, there’s way easier ways….”
“I want December to be able to do what she wants,” said Larry. “I want Ane to be able to do what she wants. I grew up people telling me ‘oughta do this,’ ‘need to do that’ and I hated it. I don’t tell people what to do, but if I can make it possible for nice people….”
“... smoking hot babes...”
“... to do what they want, and I can toss fake money and make it happen, then why did I win this thing, if not for that?”
“Well, dude,” said Ed, “it’s not fake money. You got scads coming your way and you’ll be a chick magnet until your body parts start falling off, so you don’t gotta just blow it all at once.”
“I’m not seeing what I want here,” said Larry. “I wanna ask if this is all they got.”
Larry and Ed walked past the remaining adding machines, cash registers, mimeograph machines and ancient computers of all shapes and sizes, finally making it back to the main aisle, where Norge and Philco refrigerators sat alongside teak credenzas, maple phonographs and row upon row of bookshelves and cabinets, to the main customer information counter, where an elderly, well-dressed man sat upright on a tall stool, behind a gleaming, golden cash register. Can I help your gentlemen? Larry ran his hands along the back of the register, as one would a lover returned from a long journey.
.
Larry sat on the sand, a Mexican blanket wrapped around him as he looked out to sea, at the tall figure walking out of the waves, up the shore, towards him, Lori, in her olive green swimsuit, stood like an Olympic champion, towering over Larry, when she finally reached him. He opened the blanket and stood, shaking the sand from it and then letting the wind spread it so they could both sit. Lori grabbed her rolled-up towel, put it around her shoulders, and sat cross-legged on the woven blanket. Both she and Larry looked out to the sea.
Larry’s phone rang. He let it ring. He let several calls in a row go to “missed,” as the two watched the pelicans diving into the water, neither saying a word, each as silent as a pelican. Finally, Larry reached into his pocket, and, without looking at the screen, pushed and held the red button, silencing the device.
PART Three – Chapter Thirteen
A Check from the Governor
Larry van der Bix stood fidgeting in front of a California Lottery backdrop, as a technician wheeled a full-studio-version television camera into position, the wheels of the unit lined up with blue duct tape on the linoleum flooring. Larry checked his shirt pocket, removing and examining the giveaway Southwest Airlines pen in his pocket, before carefully placing it back in his pocket.
Bright lights flashed and glowed around Larry. He raised his arms to the orbiting glowing suns, and under the shade of his hand he watched as Governor Jerry Brown, and a group of uniformed workers crowded the stage near Larry. The rangers stood several feet behind the Governor, whose bald head reflected glints of glare from the overhead lighting.
Two voices — a male and a female – welcomed viewers to the California Lottery channel. “With us is Larry van der Bix, of Long Beach, winner of the biggest lottery jackpot in state history,” said the woman. “Let’s look…,” said the man, as the holographic video of the numbers being pulled for Larry’s $284 million jackpot played.
The blanket of lights – harsh and bright – glowed around Larry, prompting his pores to open as though on cue and release any moisture they held.
“I normally don’t do these, kid,” came a gravelly voice to Larry’s side.
“Thank you for coming, Mister Governor,” said each of the hosts.
“You’ve opted for a lump-sum payment,” said Brown, holding an oversized check, “and with taxes extracted – California not receiving one penny, I might add – here is the check for your winnings, son.” Larry reached to touch the check, but as he stepped forward, he again raised his arm to shield his eyes from the studio lighting, knocking the check out of the Governor’s hands. As the hosts scrambled to pick up the check and regroup for the photo op, Larry kept his hand above his eyes, and his pores continued their drainage. Larry’s shirt clung wetly to his body.
The lights dimmed and Larry blinked. “Am I entering from the left or the right?” asked the gravelly voice. Workers rolled into place a tall backdrop with a dark blue curtain against which was set a white oval depicting the state Capitol. The female host removed the California Lottery logo from the podium and, seconds later, a young man in a crisp suit affixed the ornate circular seal of The Governor of the State of California onto the podium.
Larry, having stood still, was now standing alongside the Governor’s podium, slightly behind where Jerry Brown would be standing, with a row of uniformed state park rangers alongside him. The lighting rose on Larry and the wardens, with several main spotlights aimed onto the podium. The two studio cameras each glowed red.
The Governor of the State of California entered the stage and strode directly to the podium and began to speak.
“Thank you, today I have the pleasure of welcoming to Sacramento again — because we met earlier, at a local steakhouse — a young man, from Long Beach, and not just from Long Beach, but a member of one of the families that pioneered our state’s sixth-largest city – used to be fifth, but now Fresno; number five – Mr. Larry van der Bix.”
Larry stood straight and nodded several times, before finally waving feebly.
The Governor turned his body so he was speaking directly to Larry. “Son, you had asked us to join you. Is there something you wanted to say?”
“Uh, yeh,” said Larry.
After a moment of silence from Larry, the Governor guided Larry to the podium. “Yeh, sir, um, it was a steakhouse,” said Larry, patting his pocket, “but when he told me I hit all five plus the mega, he gave me this pen, and said the state parks sure could use money.” Larry reached his hand into his shirt pocket and struggled to pull out the pen, finally producing a blue, plastic Southwest Airlines pen. “That’s how everybody knew it was true. And I am gonna do it, but not with a big check… it’ll only be on this,” said Larry, reaching into his trousers and pulling a plastic Farmers & Merchants Bank checkbook. “I’m gonna write a check with this free pen… Dang it… is this thing out’ta ink? Okay, there… I’m just gonna guess a number
,” said Larry, writing with his hand tightly gripping the very tip of the pen. “And spell it out... eighteen million... oh, damn… cramp….” Larry stopped, spreading open his fingers and then returned to writing. “… and four-hundred-ninety-two-thousand... and 64 cents.” Larry wrote “State Parks per EGBjr” in the area for memo and signed his name on the bottom right. “So, here, Governor, you said the state parks could use it. You can also have your pen back, too, if you want. I know you’re cheap.”
“Keep it, kid,” said the Governor, as one of the studio cameras rolled to within six feet of Larry and the Governor. Two of the park rangers circled in front and took out snapshot cameras to photograph Larry handing a personal check for $18,492,800.64 to the Governor. “Mr. van der Bix,” said the Governor, gently and insistently extracting the narrow slip of paper from Larry’s grip, “your gift is extremely generous, and noting your memo, I pledge that this contribution will be directed as you indicate to our beautiful state parks.” The Governor finally succeeded at extracting the check from Larry’s hand. “And thank you, not only on my behalf, but for the men and women who staff our state parks, some of whom are with us today.”
When the Governor stopped speaking, Larry was mobbed by the rangers, hands outstretched and every person smiling. For nearly a minute, hands were patting Larry on the back and shoulder or reaching to grip his own hand. Brown silently looked on, from the podium.
“Well deserved, kid,” said the Governor, muscling in on the crowd and shaking Larry’s hand in prolonged, photo op fashion, as the park rangers again formed an orderly line.
The studio lighting was switched off. Jerry Brown exited stage left. The young man in the crisp suit removed the Governor’s seal from the podium. Workers wheeled off the dark blue backdrop. After another round of jovial handshakes, the rangers left. A minute later, Larry was alone on stage. The two Lottery public information staffers who had served as hosts for the big check handoff stood in the spots they had held throughout the Governor’s photo op.
“Well,” said the woman, holding a clipboard, “perhaps your team would wish to join you for the disbursement conference.”
“What an incredibly generous gift,” said the man. “The Governor will give your check to the Treasurer, who will then deposit it into the state’s account, and so you’ve got a little time before the check hits. Don’t want to bounce a check for eighteen-and-a-half million dollars to the State.”
“Won’t be doing that,” said Larry, walking towards the PR duo.
.
“Off the top, my client asks the taxing authority to subtract, or exempt, the eighteen million dollar check given to the Governor,” said Emily Kashabara, standing with her back to a panoramic window showing the forested riverbank and the snaking, dark-blue American River. “The notation on the check – ‘per EGBjr’ – and, as the chronology of this gift, as laid out in Attachment IIIa, states, it was the initial encounter at Morton’s – where the Governor suggests a gift for state parks and hands over a pen – that suggests to a reasonable person that the decision by my client was to act at the behest of the Governor…. Therefore, my client seeks to be spared the 35% federal rate on this item,” said Emily, to an audience of four people she knew, two PR people she had just met, and seven others – men, women; formal, casual; tall, thin, squat; pink-haired, long-haired, and balding – all seated around a long, austere, wooden conference table. “Exempt from consideration.”
“Decision deferred, but exemption taken under consideration,” said one of seated seven.
Emily nodded to Lori, who stood, holding a stack of stapled papers. The stack rested in the crook of her arm, just inches above her navel and the thin sliver of skin visible under her short David Bowie tee-shirt. The scent of oranges lingered around Lori and her skin glowed a warm honey brown. On the drumming of Emily’s fingers, Lori swiftly distributed a set of papers to each of the seven individuals seated at the table.
“Foundations, two are outlined; one is purely personal – the Fantasy Fund – and non-exempt; the second – the California Sunshine Fund – will be a 501(c)(3) philanthropic fund, based upon the By-Laws, Articles and Statement of Officers included,” said Emily, casually. “Consideration?”
“Each considered as submitted,” said one of the primely-seated ones.
“Trusts, six, as noted in support notes, identical to draft 1.32 distributed to this office four days ago, save the disposition of dollars outlined here,” said Emily, sipping a diet Coke. “Consideration?”
“Upon advisement,” said a seated figure, as others around the table took notes. “Any other matters taxable?”
“None taxable,” said Emily, casually, holding her soda can.
“Very good, thank you,” said another of the seated figures. Those around the table closed their folders, gathered papers and stood, exiting as a single group, leaving Larry, Lori, me, and Ed with the two PR people.
.
“The client believes in flexibility and liquidity,” Ed Lossé said, seated at a dark cherry-wood conference table. Water glasses and cans of soda sat on circular disc coasters. “Euro, yen, dollars; metals; short- and long-term government debt…. Prefers tax deferred or exempt, of course…” Ed pointed to the cooler on the floor alongside the table. “You got a Cactus Cooler in that thing?”
“Cactus what?” said an aide, reaching a hand into a layer of ice, pulling up a green can. “7-Up?”
“Naw, orange can, cooler... Cactus Coo....”
The hand plunged back into the ice and brought up a brown and white can. “Root beer... wait, orange?” and with a fast twist and another pull upwards, the hand held an orange can displaying a stylized saguaro cactus and handed it to Ed, who smiled in a way that drew all eyes to his face. Ed popped the soda and a faintly-orange mist sprayed out, offering the smell of pineapple and orange.
“How about that?” said Ed. “I think we’re making progress.”
“A question,” said one of the distant voices. “On expenses…, let’s see… oh, yes… ‘Investment in modeling, photography, and video services.’ Could you explain that ‘investment?’ “
“Why? There is no request for tax exemption,” said Ed. “The client will be paying in real, post-tax dollars for linear services and investing in business plans.”
Two aides stood in a hushed mini-conference, each pointing to spots on their respective papers and whispering to the seated figure who had raised the question. The figure deftly lifted the papers out of the hands of one aide, glancing at it in passing. “Oh, really just curiosity,” said the figure, letting the papers fall to the table.
“Then I can answer that,” said Larry, taking an apparent interest in the conversation, pulling himself away from his study of the soda cans on the table, which he had stacked into a pyramid, a wall, a tower and other shapes.
“My client’s role here is not to speak, per se,” I quickly injected, hoping to cut Larry off from attempting to explain away the weakest part of our presentation. Ed sat down and turned to me, folding his hands in his lap.
“If he’d like to say something, this is about his wishes,” said the seated speaker. “Isn’t it, son?”
“Everybody thinks they’re my parent,” said Larry. “You, the Governor, but he gave me a pen,” and Larry felt in his shirt pocket, then the front of his Dickies trousers. “And I have it,” said Larry, producing a Southwest Airlines pen.
“Is that all you have to say, Mr. van der Bix?”
“What? About the models?”
“Well, yes, if you wish.”
“W’ull, it’s not just cuz you’d think, ‘oh look they’re all super-hot,’ which, of course, they are,” said Larry. “There’s lots of beautiful people, and it isn’t hard to see that not very deep underneath, nope, not pretty; totally not pretty.”
The seated figures nodded and slightly gyrated in their chairs, like caterpillars.
“But that’s life, that’s everywhere, so it isn’t only beauty.”
“Why models? How do they figure in to this?”
“I have this friend, in Italy... Anekee. I haven’t actually really met her, but I’ve known her since my birthday eight years ago, when we first emailed, and she’s my friend... I actually know her. Her life has been hard and it took her a long time to get free from the awful life she was trapped in, but now she’s a mom and it’s all good for her. But I’m not sure what she does for work, except that she seems to have some sort of gig, but I’d like to build a charismatic personality forum site for her, linked to several pay sites, but those would... would… Lawrence? What about those sites?”
“… All derived revenue streams would be segregated and reconciled under a strict regime of accounting protocols,” I said.
“Well, son, it sounds as though you want to make dreams come true,” said a seated figure.
“I believe we should view such spending as routine conduct of business as outlined within the provided attachments,” said another seated figure. “I believe we can approve this here.”
“I don’t like it,” said a third person at the table. The aides in the room suddenly began writing. “These gifts take hedonistic form. Spending is untraceable. Vulnerability and exploitation walk hand-in-hand. I simply cannot sit idly by and let legitimate concerns go unvoiced.”
“What do you suggest, son?” said the figure on the left, who had earlier spoken of making dreams come true.
“Me?” said Larry. ‘‘Oh, no. It isn’t gonna be me who is the decider. I need help with this, and look how lucky I am.” Larry waved with the appearance of confidence. “I got good people, but, me? Yeh. No. Was that the question you asked?”
“Spellbinding, Bix,” said Lori.
“Son,” said the central figure, very softly, “what are ya gonna do when you’re with the models?”
“Talk to ‘em,” said Larry. “Although with Ane, it’s gonna have to mean having someone who can translate, although I bet her English is better than my Italian.”