A Very Good Life (12 page)

“I think you made a great selection,” he said. “We’ll serve French hors d’oeuvres in front of the pisher tree.”

“What are you talking about?” Dana asked, feeling her anger from earlier in the evening resurface. “You’ve had entirely too much to drink.”

Brett laughed, realizing that she didn’t understand his meaning. “Pisher,” he said. “Not pisser. It’s Yiddish for small.”

“It’s Yiddish for insignificant,” Dana snapped back, “which is exactly how you’re making
me
feel! In case you haven’t noticed, I happen to like the tree.”

“Let’s just forget all this,” Brett said with a rather silly look on his face. “The goose is cooked.”

“Whatever you say, Brett,” Dana said dismissively as she started climbing the stairs to the bedroom.

Brett quickly chased after her. “Just a stupid joke, honey! Goose, like Christmas goose. Get it?”

“You got the stupid part right,” Dana replied. She suddenly began to cry, realizing that she had been so distracted for most of the evening that she hadn’t even told her parents about being invited by Rosamond Bernier to the after-party at Café des Artistes.

Brett put his scotch down in the bedroom and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “You’re right, Dana,” he confessed, using his best apologetic tone of voice. “Guilty as charged. I’ve had too much to drink.” He paused. “Say, I forgot to mention that I picked up your wine journals today. They’re in the downstairs hall.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I had some time after my meeting and thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Dana wiped her cheeks with a tissue. “That was . . . very thoughtful. Thank you.” She paused for several seconds. “Brett, were you serious last night about getting a weekend home, or were you just trying to placate me?”

“Of course I was serious,” Brett answered without missing a beat. “It would be a wonderful place to go on weekends and holidays—and a great place to raise a family. And I’m sorry if I appeared insensitive this evening. Please forgive me.”

Dana turned to face her husband. He had gone a step further and pronounced the magic word: family. “Did you have a hard day?” she asked. “Is that why you’ve been so tense all evening?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You have no idea just how hard it was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Brett shook his head. “Not really. I’d rather go to bed and make love.”

An hour later, Dana felt drowsy. As she’d told Andrew that afternoon, Christmas could be stressful, but the day had ended on a good note. Brett had drunk too much, but he was still serious about their future. She fell asleep with peace of mind.

A
fter making a call on Sunday morning from the library, Brett discovered Dana in the living room tying red plaid bows to adorn the Christmas tree. She was clearly in love with the Concolor fir.

“Are we still going to decorate the tree tonight?” Dana asked, hoping her husband wouldn’t have to review legal briefs before the work week began.

“The tree will definitely be decorated today,” Brett said confidently. “And it’s going to look nicer than you could possibly imagine.”

Dana was pleased that her husband’s sincerity and thoughtfulness from their late night talk had carried into Sunday. “Aren’t you bright and chipper this morning? Would you like to come to mass?”

Brett held out his arms to indicate that he was dressed for squash. “Next Sunday, honey. I promise. Johnny and I already have a match scheduled for this morning.”

Dana stopped tying the ribbons and looked across the room, absorbed in thought. “It’s a shame Johnny doesn’t want to attend church anymore. He’s breaking Uncle John’s heart.” Dana proceeded to relate the trouble John Cirone was having because of Johnny’s upcoming Episcopalian ceremony and the early mailing of the wedding invitations. “Don’t tell Johnny I mentioned any of this,” she added. “My parents and I have decided to stay out of it.”

“Mum’s the word,” Brett said, picking up the leather bag that held his racquet.

He kissed Dana and left for the New York Athletic Club. He needed to work off more than a little stress because of events in the past twenty-four hours.

Dana found it peculiar that Brett didn’t take time for his honey bun and cup of coffee. Perhaps it was the scotch from the previous evening, she thought, although she couldn’t recall any time in eight years when he’d passed up his favorite morning pleasure because he’d had a couple of extra drinks. Also, he wouldn’t be playing squash if he had even the slightest hangover. The morning was sunny and bright, and she decided to continue tying ribbons for the tree.

• • •

Brett quickly realized that Johnny was definitely off his game. He was losing badly, and Brett couldn’t help but notice that the younger Cirone was swinging hard, as if he were angry, but without any finesse or strategy. Brett took the match easily, after which he turned to his partner. “Another?”

“No, not today,” Johnny replied with little emotion in his voice. “As you can tell, I’m just going through the motions.”

In the locker room, Johnny toweled off and walked over to Brett, who was unlacing his sneakers.

“I guess Dana’s told you how badly my engagement to Suzanne is upsetting my father.”

“Actually, she did mention something in passing this morning. An Episcopalian service, an invitation snafu—something like that.”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot going on besides that. My dad’s moving to the city because the Metropolitan Opera Board is working overtime with budget deficits and other problems. I don’t think I’ll get a minute’s peace.”

“Sure you will,” Brett said reassuringly. “Just make sure he doesn’t move into the same building as you and Suzanne.”

Johnny shook his head and sighed deeply. “I wish it were that easy. Say, would you mind looking at some papers for me? I could use a little legal advice if it wouldn’t be an imposition.”

Brett waved off the remark. “No problem, Johnny. I’d be happy to.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Johnny said, sitting beside Brett on a bench near the lockers. He reached into his bag and produced a manila envelope. “It’s a financial report, and my name is listed inside.”

Brett took the folder and began to examine the papers. He surveyed the documents for several minutes while rubbing his chin. “This company is leveraged to the hilt. It’s borrowed a lot of capital, but only part of it appears to have been invested. The full amount isn’t accounted for.” Brett shuffled through the papers and pointed to the top of a page. “My guess is that the money is in these offshore accounts. But look at the salaries for these upper level managers. The amount they’re being paid equals the amount of investment capital that is unaccounted for. It’s an old trick, although it’s hard to prove the dishonesty. The portfolio for company officers is usually complex, making it difficult to track any funds they’ve received in the event they’re audited individually. Did you ever sign any papers that would explain your involvement in the company?”

“I didn’t think I had
any
involvement in the company,” Johnny answered. “Not like this, that is. I mean, I bought some stock, but that’s all I did.”

“I’m afraid you may have done more than just purchase stock,” Brett said. “You probably signed a lot of papers with fine print, only some of which were stock certificates. You’re obviously the majority stockholder since you’re listed as the company’s Chief Financial Officer for two of its subsidiaries. That makes you responsible for the offshore accounts. In short, my friend, this company is cooking the books and you’re in the hot seat if anyone gets suspicious. There’s a lot more in this report that doesn’t look right, but you get the gist.”

“I was afraid of that,” Johnny admitted. “What the hell can I do? Is there any way I can get out of this mess?”

Brett smiled. “I know
exactly
what you can do. You want me to handle this?”

Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. “You bet—and I can’t thank you enough. My whole life is crashing down around me.”

“Keep all this between the two of us. Deal?”

“Deal. Hey, would you like to come over to Cipriani’s for lunch? I’m meeting my dad before we start hunting for apartments again.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

The two men got dressed and headed to Cipriani’s.

J
ohnny and Brett entered Cipriani’s, the fashionable Fifth Avenue restaurant located off the lobby in the Sherry-Netherland. Harry Cipriani’s restaurant was modeled after Harry’s Bar in Venice and served Venetian cuisine, which included its signature drink, the Bellini cocktail.

“What’s going on over at my dad’s table?” Johnny asked, noting that the restaurant was unusually crowded for late morning.

Brett and Johnny walked across the restaurant, noticing that several police detectives and uniformed officers were speaking to guests, including John Cirone and his dining companions. The policemen had just finished their questions and were tucking away their notebooks into jackets and coat pockets as they got up to leave the restaurant.

“What’s up, Dad?” Johnny asked as they approached the table. “Is everything okay?”

“It was unbelievable, Johnny,” Uncle John said. “The hotel was robbed this morning. The thieves hit the safety deposit boxes. I lost a pair of cufflinks, but Ralph and Sandy Hartlen lost $50,000 in jewelry. Ralph, Sandy—this is my son Johnny and our friend, Brett McGarry.”

“We met Brett briefly the other night,” Ralph said. “Good to see you again.”

Brett and Johnny shook hands with the Hartlens and then sat in the chairs formerly occupied by the detectives.

“That’s awful,” Brett said. “Do the police have any leads?”

“Fortunately, yes,” Sandy Hartlen said. “My daughter-in-law Patti—she and her husband Jack are also staying here—woke up at six
A.M.
and came down to the lobby to get a piece of lost luggage that arrived last night. She saw two robbers holding guns on the bell captain, concierge, and the main desk staff while a third plundered the safety deposit boxes. They all wore ski masks, but when the three left, Patti noticed everything—their clothing, shoes, height, weight, and what they were saying. She saw the get-away car and memorized the license plate.”

“That’s simply amazing,” Johnny remarked.

“The police said this gang has hit other hotels recently,” Ralph said, “and that Patti’s information was invaluable. She never misses a thing! We always tease her that she should have been a private investigator. Patti was a bit shaken since she and Jack are moving here in January.”

Brett realized that Janice’s claim that a meeting between Jack and Patrick was in the offing made a lot more sense now. The Hartlens were moving to New York City, and for reasons he didn’t know yet, they were apparently retaining the services of Davis, Konen and Wright.

“But Patti won’t be starting any P. I. agency,” Ralph laughed. “She’s planning to continue her philanthropic work with a corporate foundation. She’s been a grant manager with the Houston Endowment.”

“That’s terrific!” John said, beaming. “Brett, maybe Dana can see if the Altman Foundation is looking for someone. I’m sure she’d be glad to help Patti get started.” “Absolutely,” Johnny declared. “Dana also has good contacts around town through her PR work, right Brett?”

Brett felt numb. Dana and Patti working together? Could the scenario get any worse?

“Brett?” It was Johnny who had spoken. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Just a little dehydrated from our squash match. But yes, I’m certain Dana would be glad to help Patti in any way possible. Where are Patti and Jack now?”

“Looking for apartments,” John said, “which is exactly what Johnny and I are going to do after lunch.”

““I’m really glad I got to see all of you,” Brett said, standing, “but I have to run. Dana and I are decorating our Christmas tree later, and I need to get out the decorations and do a few errands. It was great to see everyone. Have a good lunch.”

Brett smiled and left Cipriani’s. Outside, he took a series of deep breaths and tried to calm his nerves. He would need Janice’s help more than ever. Patti, who had been described as observant as a private detective, had already noticed that he and Janice had been shopping together. The Hartlens were presumably retaining the firm, and Dana had been enlisted to help Patti find a job. Brett began walking without purpose, his mind reeling. He would have to give Janice whatever she wanted—and for as long as she wanted it. He desperately needed her protection—the cover story that she was seeing someone. He had previously thought he might escape with a tryst or two with the bohemian blond, but if the Hartlens were going to become part of Brett’s daily routine, he might be at her mercy for much longer.

He regained his composure after several minutes. He would get through it. Children, a house in the country—he would give Dana the life she desired and hope that Janice would tire of New York and leave the firm sooner rather than later.

Meanwhile, he had a special surprise planned for Dana later in the day. She was going to love it. It would be the first of many steps needed to keep home and hearth stable while he was seeing Janice.

D
ana had decided to pick up new decorations for the tree given its distinct character—its shape, color, needles, and fragrance—and returned to her apartment in the afternoon carrying a shopping bag filled with handmade ornaments from the Gazebo. She had found both porcelain and handcrafted wooden pieces representing scenes from
A Christmas Carol
, as well as lampposts and snow-covered cottages. She’d also discovered delicate crystal figurines that would reflect the miniature lights on the tree. The Concolor fir, with the new ornaments and the red plaid bows, would have an elegant yet old-fashioned look that would be perfectly accented by soft candlelight, swags of garland, and baskets of paperwhites. Dana was relieved that Brett had come to terms with the small tree, and it also bode well for what Dana saw as his emerging adaptability.

She stood in her lobby, waiting for the elevator, when she overheard a couple a few feet to her right.