Chapter 12
Maris’s call came at an inopportune time, but Noah figured he had better take it to avoid her becoming suspicious. Even though he had a meeting scheduled in ten minutes, he asked his assistant to put her call through. “Darling! I’m so glad to hear from you.”
“It’s nice to finally talk to you, too,” she said. “It’s been so long, your voice sounds strange.”
“Strange?”
“My ears have become attuned to a southern drawl.”
“God help you.”
“Even worse, I’ve actually slipped and said ‘y’all’ a few times, and I’ve acquired a taste for grits. The secret is lots of salt and pepper and drenching them in butter.”
“Keep packing down a diet like that and you’ll return to me fat.”
“Don’t be surprised if I do. What the southerners don’t cook in butter, they cook in bacon grease, and it’s all delicious. Have you ever had fried green tomatoes?”
“Like the movie title?”
“And the book. Both named after the real thing. Dredged in cornmeal, fried in bacon grease, they’re scrumptious. Mike taught me how to make them.”
“The author extraordinaire also cooks?”
“Mike’s not the author. He’s… well, Mike does just about everything around here except the writing.”
Noah checked the sterling Tiffany clock on his desk and wondered when he could gracefully break this off. “Is the book coming along? How’s it working out with the author?”
“He’s talented, Noah. He’s also opinionated, difficult at times, and impossible at others. But he’s a challenge I can’t resist.”
“So the trip has been productive?”
“Yes. And unless there’s something that requires me to come home, I’m going to stay here through the weekend and spoon-feed him constructive criticism and encouragement. There’s no reason for me to rush back, is there?”
“Besides my missing you, no.”
“Your missing me is no small thing.”
“I wouldn’t selfishly have you return strictly on my account. I can tell by the enthusiasm in your voice that you’re enjoying being a hands-on editor again.”
“Very much. Are you writing?”
“When I can. I’ve been busy going over second-quarter reports, but I’ve managed to put in a couple hours writing each evening.” After a short pause, he asked, “You aren’t going to start nagging me about my output, are you?”
“I wouldn’t call it nagging.”
“Just remember it’s a part-time job, Maris. It can’t take precedence over my responsibilities here.”
“I understand. It’s just that I’m eager to read something new by my favorite author.”
“Don’t hold your breath. It might take a while and the process can’t be rushed.”
“Has your idea gelled?”
“It’s getting there,” he replied evasively.
“Whatever you write will be well worth the wait.”
“If you’ve got that much time for leisure reading, we’re not keeping you busy enough.”
“No worry there,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve got my hands full with this project, in addition to the other manuscripts coming due in the next few months. I’ll be editing in my sleep.”
He liked the sound of that. If she was distracted by work, he’d be freer to devote more time to finalizing his deal with WorldView. He was feeling the pressure of the deadline unexpectedly set by Morris Blume. While it was uncomfortably compressing, he welcomed having a definite goal, a finish line toward which to make a final push.
He wasn’t panicked, but he definitely experienced an adrenaline rush every time he thought about it. He was confident he would meet the deadline. If for any reason he didn’t, he was equally confident that he could persuade Blume to extend it. The CEO coveted Matherly Press too much to relinquish it over a matter of days.
Meanwhile, this was a perfect time for Maris to be out of town. Her absence made it more convenient for him to manipulate Daniel. The old man had to be carefully finessed. Subtlety was key. Hit Daniel over the head with something, and he would fight it to his dying breath. Stroke him lightly, and his mind could be changed. Perhaps not as easily as most, but Noah didn’t doubt his ability to eventually whittle down all of his father-in-law’s objections to a merger.
Maris’s absence also allowed him more time with Nadia. She could be a harpy if she was unhappy, and she was unhappiest when deprived of the time and attention she felt she deserved.
“I can’t wait for you to read this book, Noah,” Maris said, drawing him back into their conversation.
What had she been talking about for the last few minutes? Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t retained a word of what she’d said. He couldn’t see that his inattention mattered much.
“The author hasn’t shared with me the whole plot,” she went on, “but I think it’s going to be good.”
“If you think it’s going to be good, then it will be. Listen, darling, I hate to cut short our conversation, but I’m due down the hall in two minutes.”
“So what else is new?” She posed the question tongue-in-cheek and without rancor. Their exchanges during work hours were typically brief.
“I have a meeting with Howard, and you know what a stickler he is about punctuality.” Howard Bancroft was Matherly Press’s chief counsel and head of the legal department. “If I’m a nanosecond late, he’ll stay miffed for days.”
“What’s the meeting about?”
“I can’t recall off the top of my head. Something to do with one of our foreign licensees, I believe.”
“I hate to get you on Howard’s bad side,” she said, “but there is something else I wanted to talk about.”
He had to work at keeping the impatience out of his voice. “Then I’ll take the time. What’s on your mind?”
“Is Dad all right?”
“Seems to be. I saw him last evening and talked to him again this morning.”
“He came into the office?”
“No, he called to ask if I could muddle through without him today. I urged him to take off not only today but the remainder of the week. You’re not here, so we haven’t any scheduled meetings that I can’t handle alone. It’s an ideal time for him to take it easy.”
“He’ll get bored.”
“Actually he’s got a fairly heavy schedule. He said he planned to spend the morning at his desk at home to handle some personal chores, then he was having a late lunch with an old crony. They were meeting at the Four Seasons.”
“Lunch with an old crony,” she repeated absently. “I hope he doesn’t drink too much wine.”
“He’s certainly earned the right to have a few glasses of wine at lunch if he wants them, Maris.”
“I know, but I worry about him negotiating the stairs at home. With that weakness in his joints—”
“He needs full command of his equilibrium. I see your point.”
“When someone his age falls and breaks a hip, they sometimes never completely recover. He couldn’t abide being bedridden.”
“I’ll ask Maxine to keep a closer eye on him.”
“No! That would start World War Three,” she exclaimed. “He’ll get mad at her for babying him, and then he’ll get mad at me for asking her to.”
“Another good point,” he said. “How about…”
“What?”
“Well, I was going to suggest that I talk to him about it. Caution him confidentially. Man to man.”
“Yes,” she said, sounding relieved. “I like that plan much better.”
“Then I’ll go over this evening and have a chat with him.”
“Thank you, Noah.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else?”
“Why?”
“Howard’s waiting on me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. I shouldn’t have kept you.”
“Nonsense. This was important.” He wanted to end the call quickly, but he didn’t want to leave her worrying over Daniel. Concern might bring her rushing back. “Maris, don’t worry about Daniel,” he said tenderly. “He’s a tough old bird, stronger than we give him credit for. There’s really no cause for alarm. If anything, over the past few days he’s seemed more like his old self. Full of piss and vinegar.”
“I’m sure you’re right. It’s just that when I’m not with him, my imagination gets away from me and I start worrying.”
“Unnecessarily, I assure you. Now, forgive me, but I really must run.”
“Apologize to Howard for me. Tell him it’s all my fault that you’re late.”
“Don’t worry. I will.” He chuckled. “ ’Bye, now.”
“Noah,” she added just before he disconnected, “I love you.”
For a moment, he was taken aback. Then, in the absentminded way of a devoted but preoccupied husband, he replied, “I love you, too, darling.”
Professions of love meant nothing to him. They were sequences of words without any relevance. He’d told many a woman that he loved her, but only when trying to woo her into bed. He’d vocally expressed his love for Maris when they were courting because it was expected. He’d vowed his love for her in order to win her father’s blessing on their marriage, and he’d played the expressive newlywed husband to the hilt. But in the last several months his avowals had become increasingly infrequent.
By contrast, Maris had an affectionate nature. She was touchy-feely to an irritating degree. She declared her love at least once a day, and while he’d become accustomed to hearing it, he still felt no connection to the sentiment.
But this most recent profession of love gave him pause. It wasn’t the words themselves that had been curious, but the manner in which she’d spoken them. It had sounded to him almost as though she were trying to reestablish, either in his mind or her own, that she loved him. Had the surprise anniversary party failed to reassure her of his devotion? Did she still suspect him of infidelity?
As he breezed past Bancroft’s assistant with barely a nod and entered the counsel’s private office, the exchange with Maris lingered on his mind. It had raised questions that required further thought. Her “I love you” had been declared with an undercurrent of desperation. He must determine what, if anything, that signified.
One thing was certain: She would not be proclaiming her love for him if she knew the contents of the folder he carried into the lawyer’s office with him.
“Hello, Howard. Sorry I’m late.” He banged ahead to prevent Bancroft from remarking on his tardiness. “I was on the telephone with Maris, informing her that she would be receiving this document either tomorrow or the day after at the latest. She’s in the boonies, on the outskirts of nowhere, but she assured me that the parcel carriers deliver.”
Without invitation he sat down on an upholstered love seat and spread his arms along the back of it, a study in nonchalance. Looking through the windows behind the attorney’s desk, he remarked, “You know, Howard, I don’t know what you did to rate this office. It’s got an incredible view.”
His cavalier attitude was calculated to distract Bancroft from the business at hand. But he knew from experience that the little Jew was no pushover. His wizened appearance added a decade to his age. He stood five feet five inches tall in elevated shoes. He had a bald, pointed head with a distinct knob on the crown. He favored wide suspenders and wore them with tweed trousers regardless of the season. On his nose were perched small round reading glasses. Howard Bancroft looked like a gnome. Or exactly what he was—a shrewd legal mind.
“Is the document ready?” Noah asked, even though the referenced document was lying in plain view on the lawyer’s desk.
“It’s ready,” Bancroft replied.
“Thank you for preparing it so expediently.”
Noah leaned forward and reached for the document, but Bancroft laid his heavily veined and spotted hand on it. “Not so fast, Noah. I’m unwilling to let you have this today.”
“Why’s that?”
“I followed your directives and drew up the document as you requested, but… May I be candid?”
“That would save time.”
“I was reluctant to write the document as you specified. Its content is troubling.”
The lawyer removed his glasses and began polishing them with a large white handkerchief he’d taken from his pants pocket. Shaking it out, it looked to Noah as though he were waving a flag of surrender, which he might just as well do. Howard Bancroft could not win this fight.
“Oh? How is it troubling?” Noah gave his voice just enough edge to caution the attorney that Noah’s reasons for requesting the document were not open for discussion. They weren’t even to be questioned. Bancroft, however, did not take the hint.
“You’re certain that Maris approves of this?”
“I made the request on her behalf, Howard.”
“Why does she feel that such a document is necessary?”
“You know as I do, as Maris does, that publishing isn’t the gentleman’s cottage industry it was a century ago. It’s gone cutthroat like everything else. If you stand still in this marketplace, you’d just as well be backing up. If you’re merely maintaining the status quo, your competitors will pass you by, and before you can blink, you’re in last place. We don’t want Matherly Press to be choking on the heel dust of the others, do we?”
“That’s a stirring speech, Noah. I suggest you deliver it at the next sales conference to rally the troops. However, I fail to see how the valid points you made relate to either my question or this document.”
“That document,” Noah said, pointing to it where it still lay on the desk, “is our safety net. Publishing is changing constantly and swiftly. Matherly Press must be prepared for any contingency. We must be able to operate with fluidity, so that if an opportunity arises, it can be immediately seized.”
“Without Daniel’s consent.”
Noah assumed a sad expression. “Ah, Howard, that’s the hitch. It breaks Maris’s heart, as it does mine, that Daniel is getting on in years. That’s a sad fact we’ve been forced to accept. If he should take a sudden downward turn, say a stroke that renders him incapable of making business decisions, this power of attorney guarantees a smooth transition and protects the company from being pitched into chaos.”
“I wrote the provisos, Noah. I know their purpose. I also know that similar documents are already in place and have been for years. Daniel’s personal lawyer, Mr. Stern, drew them up when Maris turned twenty-one. I’ve got copies in my files, so I know that these documents include a living will and, as you say, cover every contingency. Should the unforeseen happen, Maris has been granted full power of attorney to make all Daniel’s decisions for him, personally and professionally.”
“I’m aware of the previous documents. This one’s different.”
“Indeed it is. It supersedes the others. It also grants you power of attorney to make Daniel’s decisions for him.”
Noah took umbrage. “Are you suggesting that I’m insinuating myself—”
“No.” Bancroft raised his hands, palms out. “Both Daniel and Maris have mentioned to me the need to amend their power of attorney documents to include you. But that responsibility should fall to Mr. Stern, not to me.”
“You’re more convenient.”
“To whom?”
Noah glared at him. “What else do you find so troubling, Howard?”
The lawyer hesitated, as though knowing it was ill-advised to continue, but apparently his convictions won out over caution. “It feels sleight of hand. I get the impression that this is being done behind Daniel’s back.”
“He’s authorized it. You said so yourself not thirty seconds ago.”
Obviously frustrated, Bancroft ran a hand over his knobby head. “It also bothers me to release such an important document when it hasn’t been signed and witnessed in my presence.”
“I told Maris that I refuse to sign it until she has,” Noah said. “I was adamant about that. She’ll have her signature notarized in Georgia. When the document is returned, I’ll sign it. As soon as she gets back, we’ll meet with Daniel. Frankly, I think he’ll be relieved that it’s a fait accompli. No one likes to think of himself as vulnerable to incapacity or death. He’ll be glad that we relieved him of this responsibility.”
“I’ve never known Daniel Matherly to shrink from life’s realities no matter how grim,” Bancroft argued. “But, that aside, why not wait until Maris’s return and do it all at one time? Explain to me the urgency.”
Noah sighed as though getting a grip on his diminishing patience. “Her being away is one reason Maris wanted this done with dispatch. She’s working with a reclusive fledgling author. Until his manuscript is finished, she’ll be pulled away frequently, and she’ll be out of town for extended and unspecified periods of time. Shit happens, Howard. Plane crashes. Car accidents. Sudden illness. In a worst-case scenario, she wants Matherly Press protected.”
“Is that why the document becomes valid with your signature alone?”
Noah said tightly, “I told Maris, and I’m telling you, I will not sign it until her signature is in place.”
Bancroft exchanged a long stare with him, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Noah. I need Maris’s verification that this is the document she wants, and even then I will advise her to rethink its provisos. They’re unorthodox and inconsistent with prudence. I’ve worked for the Matherlys for a long time. They rely on me always to act in their best interest. Therefore, I’m sure you understand my precaution.”
“Which is completely unnecessary, besides being a flagrant insult to me.”
“Even so.”
“All right. Call Maris.” He gestured toward the telephone. It was a bluff, but he was gambling that Bancroft wouldn’t call it. “Or better yet, Daniel’s at home today. Ask him to come in and review this.”
“I’d like to reacquaint myself with their original documents prior to a meeting with either of them. Until I’ve had an opportunity to do that, I don’t wish to waste their time.” Bancroft folded his hands on top of the document, a gesture that was a statement in itself. “Unless Daniel or Maris calls me and gives me authorization, I cannot release this document to you today.”
Noah leveled a hard look on him. Then he grinned. And grinned wider. He had actually hoped the meeting would result in a standoff between him and Bancroft. He had hoped that the dwarf wouldn’t capitulate too soon and spoil his fun. Everything till now had been a warm-up for this, the big finish. He was going to enjoy it to the fullest.
“Well, Howard,” he said with soft menace, “it seems as though you suspect me of corporate subterfuge.”
“I suspect you of no such thing,” the lawyer returned blandly.
“That’s good. I’m relieved to hear that. Because I would hate for you to suspect me of duplicity. I find that despicable, don’t you? Duplicity. Betrayal. Disloyalty to one’s family. One’s race.”
Noah held the lawyer’s gaze as he picked up the folder that he’d brought in with him. Gently he set it on the desk and slid it toward Bancroft, who stared at it with the misgivings of one who must remove the lid from a basket, knowing that a cobra was coiled inside. After a full minute of palpable silence and dread, the attorney opened the cover and began to scan the printed material inside.
“Who would have thought it, Howard?” Noah said. “Your mother fucked Nazis.”
Bancroft’s narrow shoulders sagged forward.
“See, Howard, knowledge equates to power. I make it a point to learn all I can about the people around me, especially those who could be a hindrance. Investigating your background cost me a lot of money and took up valuable time, but I must say it yielded more than I bargained for.
“I paid your mother a visit in the nursing home where you had sequestered her. After a little arm-twisting, she confessed her shameful secret to me, and, for a nominal fee, an attendant wrote it all down word for word. Your mother signed it. Recognize her signature there on the last page? At that point she was so weak, she could barely hold the pen. Frankly, I wasn’t surprised that she died just a few days later.
“You know the story well, Howard, but I was fascinated. She was twenty-three when she was dragged from her home in Poland. The rest of her family, her brothers, sister, parents, were backed against a wall and shot. She was lucky enough to be transported to a concentration camp.
“At that time, in the Old World, twenty-three was borderline spinsterhood. Your mother had prevented her younger sister from marrying an ardent suitor because she hadn’t married first. Her inability to attract a man had created quite a rift in the family.
“But at the camp, she received a lot of attention from men. From the guards. See, Howard, your mother bartered her * for her life. Routinely. Over the next five years. She came to like the favors she was granted and flaunted them. She could have toiled alongside the other women prisoners, had her head shaved, subsisted on bread and water, lived in daily fear of her life. But no, she fucked her way into comfortable quarters. Ate well. Drank wine. Made merry with Nazis. She was the camp whore. And for that, she was despised.
“Now, is it any wonder she changed her name and created a fictitious history for herself when she emigrated to America?
“That story she told about the Jewish freedom fighter who had sacrificed his life for her and his unborn child was sweet, but it was completely untrue, as you yourself discovered when you were… what? Seven? Eight? Old enough to get the gist of the accusations hurled at her. You came home from school one day and asked your mother why everyone called you ugly names and spat on you. That’s when she decided to relocate.”
Howard Bancroft’s hands were trembling so badly that when he removed his eyeglasses this time, he dropped them onto his desk. He covered his eyes and uttered a low moan.
“She couldn’t be sure which of the camp guards was your father. She had spread her legs for so many, you see. But she suspected it was an officer who shot himself in the head hours before the Allied troops liberated the camp. You were born four months later. She was too far gone to abort you, I guess. Or maybe she had a soft spot for this particular officer. I’ve heard that even whores have feelings.
“Howard, Howard, what a nasty secret you’ve kept. I don’t think the Jewish community would look too kindly on you if they knew that your mother happily serviced the men that marched them into the gas chambers, and that your father had ordered thousands of their people to be tortured and exterminated, do you?
“Considering the advocate you’ve been for Holocaust survivors, they might regard your crusade as hypocritical. Your friends in Israel—which are many, I understand—would revile you. Your blood is tainted with that of a traitorous whore and an Aryan murderer.
“Now, you might say to me, You can’t prove this. But your reaction is proof enough, isn’t it? Besides, I don’t need to prove it. The rumor alone would effectively destroy your reputation as a good Jew. Even a hint of something this shameful would do irreparable damage.
“Your family would be shattered. Because even your wife and children believe the fabrication that you and your mother concocted. I shudder to think of the impact this would have on them. Imagine them having to explain to your grandchildren that Grandpa started as Nazi ejaculate. You would never be esteemed or trusted by anyone, ever again. Indeed, you would live in infamy as a liar and a traitor to your religion and your race, just as your mother was.”
Howard Bancroft was weeping into his hands, his whole body shaking as uncontrollably as if he’d been inflicted with a palsy.
“No one need ever know, of course,” Noah said, switching to an upbeat tone. He stood up and retrieved both his folder and the power of attorney document. “I can keep a secret. Cross my heart.” He drew an invisible X on his chest.
“However, I’m sure you understand my precaution,” he said, making a mockery of the lawyer’s earlier statement. “A copy of your mother’s confession is in my safe-deposit box. Another is with an attorney I retained solely for this purpose. He’s an oily, unscrupulous, litigious individual with strong anti-Semitic leanings.
“Should anything untoward happen to me, he’s under strict instructions to distribute your mother’s signed statement to all the synagogues in and around the five boroughs. It would make for very interesting reading, don’t you think? Especially the accounts of her sucking off the SS officers. Some were too fastidious to have intercourse with a Jewess, but apparently fellatio didn’t count.”
Noah crossed to the door. Although the lawyer had made no effort to move but continued to cry into his hands, Noah said, “No, no, Howard, don’t bother seeing me out. Have a nice day.”