HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (20 page)

“You know,” said Ed. “We’re not going to
solve this here. Our client is going to blow money. Probably a lot.
Some will be completely wasted and all he’s gonna have to show for
it is memories. You know, it’s his money. We’re all gonna do good
for him as long as this gig lasts, so, Larry, take your time…, go
slow, but we won’t solve the piggy debate here, so I’m gonna finish
my report and hand it back to Lawrence.”

Larry opened his soda cup and took in a
mouthful of ice, which he promptly chomped loudly. “Sounds good to
me,” he said.

“Please finish, Ed,” I said.

“We have the liquid funds in currency. We
have consensus on the mix of funds vs. bonds vs. equities. Last
point is do we want any real property’? Some of that would fall
under the foundation and trusts, but how ‘bout it, Larry?”

“What?” said Larry, his cup now tipped
upside down as he tapped on the bottom to get the last of his
ice.

“Wanna buy houses? Office space? An island
somewhere?”

“An island?” said Larry. “Why would I want
an island?”

“Chew on the property question,” said Ed.
“Maybe there’s a special space you’ve always wanted, or some
building you thought it’d be cool to work at.” Ed started stacking
debris onto his tray. “That’s it for me.”

“Lori,” I said, savoring the word as it came
out. “Anything?”

“No, just that I may not be sticking around
much longer,” she said, “Might be re-upping.”

“In the army?” I said. “Again?”

“I might,” she said. “We’ll see.”

“That’s pretty cool,” said Ed. “Brave
shit.”

“Yeh, whatever,” said Lori. “I’m good at it.
Like it. Works for me. We’ll see.”

“What about the movie?” asked Larry.

“The movie?” asked Emily.

“These filmmakers from Denmark want Lori to
star in a movie they’re making,” said Larry.

“Star?” I asked. “Those two we drove down
with?”

“Do you have a contract?” asked Ed.

“When you get an offer, show me the contract
and I’ll go over it before you sign,” said Emily.

“Me and Emily can help negotiate terms,”
said Ed. “I love dealing with entertainment people. They’re fuckin’
wacked.”

“Lawrence,” said Larry, “what about
you?”

“I don’t know anything about movies.”

“No,” said Larry, saving me. “The meeting….
Your report.”

“Signature control,” I said. “Cashflow.”

“I’m not getting a vault,” said Larry, “but
I get the whole vault-and-register thing, so I think we’re on the
same page there. And I appreciate the level of concern you’re
showing, Lawrence, to make sure that I don’t totally just blow
everything I’ve won.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s, um, really well
said. Thanks.”

.

Larry van der Bix waved awkwardly to Emily
Kashabara, as she entered Modica’s deli, from Ocean Boulevard, as
though she might miss him in the small dining room otherwise. She
set her small bag down on the plastic chair at the table, leaned
her skateboard on the chair and sat in another, across from Larry
and next to the wide, plate-glass window that overlooked the
stretch of downtown where once squeals from the Pike could be
heard.

“Thanks for joining me,” said Larry.
“Thought you might like a place with metal forks and interesting
cheeses. The pastrami’s good here, too… like, really good.” He
pointed to the next room, with its glass case of marinated
asparagus spears, basil with sliced tomato and mozzarella, multiple
pasta salads, and a shelf containing plates each with a slice of
dark chocolate mousse cake or a pair of filled cannoli. Emily took
her wallet into the next room as Larry drank soda water and flipped
through the local weekly paper, the
Grunion Gazette
,
stopping at a piece about the future of the Queen Mary.

“Nice selection of sandwiches,” said Emily,
sitting down and setting plastic number onto the table, alongside
Larry’s.

“So, a question,” said Larry. When your mom
got into trouble with the tax board, did it mean she couldn’t be in
business anymore?”

Emily raised her eyebrows. “Uh, well, um,
she closed her video business, but business people tend to be
business people, so it didn’t take her too long to figure out
another line, and she opened another shop. She’s doing antiques
right now, though that’s pretty slow. The recession and all.”

“Yeh,” said Larry.

“As long as she is paying rent and can turn
a profit, then the only person she has to report to is herself,”
said Emily. “Sort of envy her in that way, but it’s a really scary
idea to me. She’s carrying a lot of debt. I don’t think I could do
that.”

“You’re a lawyer, though,” said Larry.
“Don’t you owe a ton of student debt?”

“But that’s different.”

“You and her are still carrying debt. Whose
is bigger?”

“Mine, probably. Almost $80,000. I don’t
even want to think about it.”

A white platter with a pastrami sandwich as
long as an arm and just as wide, with melted Swiss and gloriously
yellow mustard dripping from the edges, cut across the
conversation.

‘My God,” said Emily.

“It’s even better then it looks,” said
Larry. “It may be the best pastrami sandwich you’ll ever have in
your life. In two lives.”

Another platter, with a grilled sandwich, a
side of asparagus, tomatoes and a small plate with a slice of dark
chocolate cake replaced the number Emily had set down,

“What’ s that one?” asked Larry.

“Roasted bell peppers, goat cheese, dried
tomato, basil and greens,” said Emily.

“Sounds healthy.”

The two ate joyfully.

“So where’s your mom’s shop now?”

“In Hermosa Beach,” said Emily. “Kashabara’s
Place.” I told her it was a so-so name, but she said people still
look her up that way, so….” Larry broke his sandwich apart and
offered a three-inch section to Emily, who nodded while working on
her own sandwich, but when done chewing added, “there’s no way I’ll
ever finish this.”

“That’s why God invented styrofoam,” said
Larry.

As Emily bit in to the pastrami, she rolled
her eyes upwards slightly and gave out a soft groan.

.

Larry and Ed wandered through the business
machines aisle of Antique Warehouse, stopping occasionally so Larry
could poke the buttons of gray or yellowing metallic or plastic
cash registers.

“So how serious are you about these models?”
asked Ed.

“I haven’t seen a model here I like,” said
Larry.

“No, Ewa Sonnet and your Italian friend with
the big blood.”

“Hot blood.”

“I bet,” said Ed. “So, what’re you gonna do
for Ewa Sonnet? Finance an album?”

“Well, maybe,” said Larry, “or try to break
her in to the U.S. market.”

“I checked her out and as best I can tell,
the girl can barely speak English,” said Ed.

“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.”