“Stone? I mean, yeah, he got fired, but so did most people.”
“Stone is Bob Dennis’s grandson, you know, the CEO and owner of Monaghan Multimedia, the guy who gave Feagin millions in banking fees each year. That kid’s gonna inherit a cool billion. No wonder he wasn’t too motivated on your accounts. He was hired as a favor and knew it and anyway, Belle, he actually called yesterday.”
“Stone called you?”
“Yeah, he wanted your phone number. Think he’s looking to give a chunk of his fortune for you to manage.”
“The little f-worder,” I marvel. “How did I not figure that one out?” For a second I think of how it’d be great to get a billion dollars under management at Arbella Financial, and then I reconsider.
“I don’t want his fortune. I don’t ever want to talk to him again. I’m listening more to my instincts these days, Kath. Some money costs too much.”
She laughed again. “Isn’t that the truth.”
As for the leftover people from the younger crowd, most, like New Guy, went to start-ups, while people like Monty and King retired early. I see Naked Girl on Taxi TV, advertising a gym in New Jersey that she undoubtedly used her Marcus settlement money to launch. Her body appears to only have gotten better.
I’m not in touch with Henry. He is CEO of Cheetah and is often on television, providing pithy quotes and market insights. When Henry is on the television, the room becomes a corral of insults.
“Could your lips be any thinner?”
“Maybe you could adjust your hair one more time.”
“How about those mortgages you shoved back in Feagin’s face?”
And when I hear that, I make people shut up before we sound like we’re back in the barnyard we formerly worked in. I used to wonder what happened to the apartment Henry imagined being ours, but now do not.
I still think about why I didn’t pursue the lawsuit. The case was open-and-shut and the money was there for the taking. Sometimes, like a tired old lady, reliving her glory years, I raise the subject to whoever will listen. It’s an ongoing joke. Last night I did it while Bruce drove our minivan to the beach for what he pleasantly called our “broken family workout.” A shining, souped-up Land Rover cut in front of him and peeled through a red light, the driver’s aggression palpable.
“Damn, I shoulda sued,” I said, referring to the hotness of the car and the absurdity of the driver. “I could have been as cool as that guy if I drove a car like that.”
“Here we go again,” Bruce said, looking adorably at me. He flirts with me constantly. It’s like one-way flirting because I’m holding on to my resolve to not screw anything up by screwing. I love our days together, love that he cooks dinner, love that he’s respecting me again while the respect I lost for him grows by the day.
We really should be sleeping together, I thought as I looked at his beautiful hands on the steering wheel, but not until we know we’re never parting again. I couldn’t put my kids through that one again. I couldn’t get through that one again myself, and besides, there is something delicious about the wait.
“You know why I didn’t sue?” I asked.
“I know why you didn’t sue, you lunatic,” Bruce said.
“Tell me why,” I said. “?’Cause I don’t think we’ve talked about this enough.”
“You didn’t sue because you didn’t want to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
Kevin leaned forward, putting his head between the front seats, always looking for some sort of action from his parents. He’s fourteen now and thinks he’s a kid detective.
“What’s a non-discloser agreement?” he asked.
“Noniscloserweeeement,” says another little voice from the back, for no obvious reason. Owen still has an unusual way of speaking.
“A non-disclosure means you won’t disclose, you won’t tell any bad stories about someone or something. Usually you accept money to sign something like that,” I said to Kevin, “and then you have to keep your promise and not tell any bad stories.”
“And your mom,” said Bruce. “Your mom didn’t want to sign something like that.”
“Because Mom wanted to tell the story?” Kevin asked, looking very much like he just figured something out.
“Yes, Kevin,” I said. “Because I want to tell the story.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Numerous times this manuscript was set aside and each time Steve Klinsky encouraged me to reopen the file. For hounding me with your love, all the way to the finish line, I’m very grateful.
To my mother, Kathleen Sherry, who could never have a conversation without asking, “How’s that book coming along?” Dementia was a deadline that gave no extension and I truly regret not finishing this in time for you. Ditto for my father, James Sherry, who raised his girls on the north side of strong.