The First Wives Club (50 page)

But Shelby didn’t stop, even when she had picked up the phone. Then, at last, when she began to speak, she turned on him. “Morton, do you know what they put me through to get in to see you?” she snapped, her drawl turned treacherous. “Ah waited for hours, then Ah was body-searched by a woman who looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger. And the other women! They treated me like dirt. Me! And they all smelled so bad, and the children had filthy diapers and …” Shelby started to cry in earnest again. “Ah can’t be put through this, Morton. Ah may just die.”

She gulped air, trying for some control. He watched her coldly. “And they’ve gone through the apartment.

Those people from the Treasury were there for hours. And they searched the gallery, too. They went through everything.”

Jesus, Morty thought, those fucking feds are like cockroaches in New York, they’re all over. What would happen next? He felt his scalp tingle with sweat. What could they uncover? Morty knew he was in a vulnerable position. How far back will they go? He swallowed the panic that was beginning to tingle the back of his throat. How had this happened to him?

“Shelby,” he said gently, “I told you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one that has to deal with the authorities, I’m the one that has to face our friends.” Starting to cry again, Shelby dabbed at her eyes. “You’re in here not seeing anyone you know.”

She continued to whimper. “But what about me?”

Morty had never deluded himself into thinking that Shelby was loyal, certainly not like Brenda. That wasn’t why he wanted Shelby. But hearing her now whine about herself, while it was him in jail, hit him in a way that made him swallow hard. But Morty was a realist. and the moment passed. You get what you pay for, he reminded himself. And for the first time in a long time, he missed Brenda. One thing he had to say about her, she would have known what I was going through in here.

Look what she had done for her father whenever he went to prison.

Ashamed as she was, she never missed a visiting day, sent her father a package of goodies every week, and put spending money in his prison account every month. Now, where was Morty’s comfort?Angela hadn’t shown up, and he sure didn’t expect Tony to leave his fancy prep school. Where was anyone who wasn’t looking for a handout or a favor?

“So why did you come, Shelby?” he asked her, tired of her whining. “I mean, if it’s so much to go through, why did you come?”

Shelby’s tears stopped immediately. Her drawl lengthened out again.

“Morton, we have to talk. You have no idea what this is doing to me.

All your money is tied up by the feds, and Ah don’t have a red cent.

You ve got to do something. Ah Still have my social responsibilities.

And a business to run. You were going to underwrite my business until it began to pay its own way, remember?”

She touched at her eyes once again, but to Morty it seemed only as a way of punctuating her statement.

“What happened to the twenty-five thousand dollars Leo deposited in your checking account?” Morty asked, letting his irritation show.

“Morton, how far do you think twenty-five thousand dollars goes? There were clothes and bills and some paintings Ah had to pay for. What with odds and ends, it’s gone.”

A signal blared, marking the end of the visiting period. Getting up to walk back to his cell with the other prisoners, Morty suddenly knew for certain what he had only suspected most of his life. He was alone.

The sensation was like a deep hole drilled in his stomach, a hole that would never be filled. He looked at Shelby. He sighed. “Talk to Leo Gilman. He’ll set you up.”

L But Gilman had only bad news.

“Look, Mort. Something’s up. They don’t want to go to bail.”

“What? Are you crazy? What do they base it on?”

“Well, they seem to believe that you have significant secret assets abroad.”

“What are you talking about?” Okay, so he had cheated—well, played—with his taxes, but he had declared the money he had put in Europe. Nothing illegal about it.

“It seems they searched your place. I couldn’t stop them—they had a warrant.”

“Well, so what?”

“Well, they found something.”

Morty searched his mind frantically. “What? What?” he shrieked.

“A key. A key to a safety deposit box. A Zurich bank. Another account one you didn’t declare.”’ Leo shook his head. “Morty, I told you over and over, you gotta be straight with me. I can’t work in the dark, Mort.”

What the hell was going on? He had no Zurich safety deposit box.

Someone was trying to frame him, maybe. He thought of the money he had in the numbered account in Switzerland, but Leo wasn’t talking about that. It wasn’t illegal, although that was why he was being detained here, because of his significant holdings abroad. No bail because of it. Okay, but what was this crap about a Zurich safety deposit box?

“But there is no safety deposit box!” Morty cried. “There isn’t.”, ú.

When Miguel De Los Santos walked into the interview room at the Federal House of Detention, Morty Cushman did not look formidable to him. The man sat, a short fat guy in a blue jumpsuit, sunken into himself, his head in his hands.

Miguel knew he was taking a chance, but if the boys over at Internal Revenue cooperated, and if his calls to that sleazy Gilman had worked, he might be able to pull this off.

”Hello,” Miguel said.

Cushman looked up. “You from the IRS? If you are, I want my attorney here.”

“No. No. I’m not from the IRS,” Miguel assured him. “But I am with the government and I’m here to help.” The guy was sweating. He was a pile of jelly. Miguel smiled.

“Very funny. What’s the deal?”

“Exactly. It’s time for deals, Morty. That’s why I’m here. Because you are going to do time. The question is, how much and what kind?

The IRS has got you by the cojones.”

“Fuck youp’ Morty said, but Miguel could see he was listening.

“Offshore assets, undeclared cash in safety deposits, lots of tax evasion. So now, you have a choice to make. Hard time, or soft.

Allendale is very pleasant. You’ll lose weight. Play some tennis.

Get a tan. Or we can send you to a nasty place, where you’ll be keeping house for someone not as laid-back as Big Mo.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Miguel De Los Santos, and I’m from the SEC. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your stock offering, and if you cooperate, Morty, then I’ll talk to my friends at the IRS. As a witness against Gil Griffin you might be given a break. Mr. Cushman, it’s time to play Let’s Make a Deal.” ‘ Iarriage a la Merde Chris shook hands with both his father and with Leslie, the bride. He muttered some congratulations, then moved off the receiving line and grabbed a glass of champagne. After one sip he put it down, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He looked around Leslie’s loft as the guests continued to make their way along the line. It felt strange to be at his father’s wedding today, in his father’s new home, so different from the Greenwich house he grew up in. And so different from his parents’ apartment—his mother’s, he corrected himself—on Gracie Square.

What a crowd, he thought. There was that Rosen guy, Leslie’s brother, who’d already put the make on Karen. Jesus, was that guy a slime bucket! And the rest of the crew didn’t look much better.

Chris looked at Leslie and tried to smile. He just couldn’t understand his father. It wasn’t just loyalty to his mom—this woman seemed so cold. Last night, at the bachelor party, Aaron had seemed morose.

After a couple of drinks, he had pulled Chris aside and told him he was afraid he might be making a mistake. “Well, then, postpone the wedding, Dad,” Chris had told him.

“Oh, I can’t do that. Leslie would kill me. She’d lose too much face—we both would.”’ It seemed a bad reason to go ahead with a marriage. And he’d heard other stuff that made him question his father’s judgment. There was a rumor at the office that his father was being investigated by the police or something, and another one that he’d stolen some company funds. Chris didn’t know what to believe.

Well, he knew he hated this event. It wasn’t what a wedding should be.

Neither Leslie nor his dad looked happy, and the guests, well, he didn’t even know them. His grandparents weren’t here. His dad hadn’t invited a single person from the office, not even Jerry. Chris wasn’t even sure Karen was welcome, but he wouldn’t have come without her.

Chris took Karen’s hand and inched toward the front door, then turned around, got his father’s attention over the heads of the other wellwishers, and waved. He pointed to his watch, then went through the door.

By the time he dropped Karen off at her place and arrived at Ottomanelli’s, Chris had almost managed to push his father’s wedding from his mind. He was genuinely glad to see Annie when she came in a few minutes later.

”Good choice, Mom, although I’m a little overdressed for a pizza parlor, aren’t l?” he asked, looking down at his dinner jacket.

“Well, you said you felt like a good hamburger, and this is the best in town. And I can have a pizza, so we’re both happy.”

Chris’s beer and Annie’s diet Coke arrived. ‘I have some good news, Mom,” he said after a sip of beer.

Putting the glass down, he looked into his mother’s eyes. “Karen and I are going to be married.”

Annie smiled broadly at him. “I’m very happy for you both.”

“Mom, please don’t be nice. I know she’s a lot older and well … I want your approval, your real approval.” He watched his mother for a brief moment before she spoke.

”Well, you’re not going to get it. Nor my disapproval. This is between you and Karen, Chris. It has nothing to do with me—or anyone else. I only want you to be happy, anyway, age is not a concern unless you’re thinking about having children.” She put her cool hand on his cheek. “You are happy, aren’t you, Chris?”

“Oh, yes, I love her. She’s great, Mom.”

”I know it.” Annie smiled, then added, ‘But no one would know it by the expression on your face.”

“You know, Mom, I came directly from Dad’s wedding.”’ “And it was so wonderful that it inspired you and Karen?”

“It was gruesome. Before the ceremony—I guess because Alex couldn’t make it—all of a sudden I was given favored son’ status. You know, like how Dad does it with Alex. Chris did this, Chris can do that, Chris is going to do….” It was embarrassing.” He looked down at the hamburger the waitress had placed before him and picked up a french fry.

“But he’s proud of you, Chris. You know how happy he is to have you with him at the agency.

- “It’s so out of character for him. It’s like he’s buttering me up for something ” Chris took a bite of his rare burger. “Something’s going on at the agency. I mean, he’s changed. He’s not popular with the rest of the staff like he used to be.

He acts as if he’s the only one pulling the weight of the business. As if no one else is even competent. He’s lhe only one that knows anything. He’s spending way too much money trying to get neW business.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just his involvement With Leslie, bUt he’s become a prima donna.” Chris thought perhaps Annie winced at Leslie’s name, but he wasn’t certain.

“Can’t he be reined in, Chris? It seems to me the agency is doing excellent business if Aaron got himself in check.”

“It would be. With a stronger administrator. Or maybe without Dad.”

Chris wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and threw it on the plate.

“People are choosing up sides. And I can’t take his, Mom.”

“You have to be on your own side first, Chris. Do what is right, even if it hurts him.”

“I’ve heard rumors. About Sylvie’s trust fund and some kind of investigation. Are they true, Mom? Did Dad steal from the company?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I doubt it. Not steal. Your father did get into some kind of stock difficulty and borrowed money from Sylvie’s trust, but he’s paying it back.”

“Mom …” Chris didn’t want to involve his mother, but he needed to talk.

“Something bad is going to happen at the agency. I just know it.” He paused, then continued, “Dad is going to be humiliated.”’ “Maybe. But it’s not your problem. It’s Aaron’s.”

.

Aaron entered the boardroom at Paradise/Loest feeling suave and confident. He wore a navy blue French rayon shirt with a pattern of white mice. The tie was of the same fabric, but cats replaced the mice. His navy slacks had three pleats and a chalk stripe. And this morning he had splurged on a nifty white, hand-knit English sweater that looked as if graffiti had been scrawled over it, though the pattern had actually been painstakingly knit and purled into the cardigan.

He felt young and hip again. Reborn. He’d walked confidently down the hall to the boardroom and taken his seat across from the basketball hoop mounted on the wall, at the end of the conference table.

Aaron counted on his ability to rise to the occasion, in spite of any dogshit he might have stepped in. He smiled at the assembled group and winked at his son Chris. Then, as he greeted the junior partners, he flashed them a broad thumbs-up grin and looked like a man who had already won his victory. All a lot younger than Aaron, the staff were what he considered yuppies. Chris sat next to Karen, as he always did.

They were pals. He’d even brought her to the wedding. For a moment it occurred to Aaron that there might be something between them. There was that undefinable something between them in the air. Then he dismissed the thought. Karen was almost ten years older than Chris.

He’d once thought of dating her himself.

Chris would be way out of his league with her.

Next to Karen was Dave stein, the comptroller, his only failure. The guy had no vision at all. A pencil counter. He was the only one that Aaron could possibly see as potential trouble.

Dave and Jerry went out for drinks sometimes and seemed to have some kind of mutual understanding. Now they both looked at Aaron as if they knew something he didn’t. Jerry sat beside Dave, on Aaron’s left.

“So, how goes it?” Aaron smiled at the seven. They were extremely competent and professional, and, he thought, very hardhearted about business and money. But they liked him. He had hired them and brought them along. This was one reason he was sure they’d all back him up.