Thirty-Seven
Things have changed with Jerome. Not because of Noah, they had changed well before Noah came on the scene, but I have neither
the fortitude nor the strength to do what I know needs to be done.
Jerome picks me up in the morning, taking me to the lawyer’s office who have requested my presence for the reading of the
will. Jerome is solicitous and careful with me. If I didn’t know better, I would say he senses this—us—is coming to an end. I’m sad every time I look at him. What an incredibly good man he is, just not the right man for me.
There is no point trying to find his failings, or blaming him for doing anything wrong. He is not to blame for the fact that
we are not right together, that forces stronger than myself brought us together in the first place. Jerome was my father’s
protégé, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I know there was a part of me that chose Jerome because I thought it would
make my father happy.
The lawyer’s office—Bernstein, Bernstein, Gaczy and Ross—are on Page Mill Road in Palo Alto, a low glass-and-steel building that sprawls close to the ground, the sloping red Mediterranean tile roof out of keeping—I have always thought—with how modern the rest of the building is.
Jerome holds my elbow, as if I’m an old lady, guiding me up the wide stone steps. It is true, I feel frail, almost as if I'm
underwater, still not able to fully comprehend how my life has fallen apart in the way that it has.
Scarlett is in the waiting room in a muted gray pantsuit, huge diamonds glittering in her ears, a bright pink crocodile Birkin
bag on the chair next to her.
“Are the kids in school?” I step back from kissing Scarlett on each cheek.
She shakes her head. “They’re with their grief therapists. I have to be out of here in an hour to pick them up.”
“Do they need grief therapists?” I think of how Scarlett has always thrown money and experts at anything she thinks may be
a problem, or a potential problem in the future. When Paloma was accused of pulling a classmate’s hair, Scarlett immediately
had her undergo a barrage of tests to determine whether she was on the spectrum, had ADHD, oppositional defiant disorder,
or antisocial disorder. And those were just the ones I can remember. My father would roll his eyes and quietly confess to
me that he thought it all ridiculous. “In my day,” he’d say, “we’d just get on with it.”
Paloma, it turned out, was just tired and being naughty.
“I always think it best to get out in front of a problem before it develops. Hopefully this will allow them to express their
grief in a healthy way.”
“Have they expressed anything?”
She frowns. “No. Which also worries me. And Nico seems convinced his father is coming back as a cat. He wants me to take him to the shelter because he’s certain Marty will be waiting for him there.
” I say nothing, giving her what looks like a sympathetic smile, but it’s a real smile as I remember Preeti’s story.
I would quite like Marty to come back as a cat, I think.
I could then pick him up and cuddle him whenever I wanted.
It occurs to me that I might need a grief therapist.
We are ushered into the partner’s office. Laurence Bernstein, known to his friends and family as Larry, has been my father’s
attorney for so long, he feels part of our family. As such, he gives Scarlett and me hugs, and a warm respectful handshake
for Jerome.
We are offered drinks, which we decline, and after some small talk about how lovely the service was, how loved Marty was,
how many people showed up, he starts the reading of the will.
I try to focus on what he’s saying, but my mind keeps drifting. Jerome is sitting next to me on the leather sofa, and every
now and then, when he sees I’m miles away, he puts a hand on my leg to bring me back to the present. I may not want to spend
the rest of my life with him, but I am grateful he is here.
I don’t care about the will. I don’t care about the money. I never have. No amount of money will bring my father back, and
I couldn’t care less about crocodile Birkin bags and diamonds that are the size of the sun.
My father knew that. In his infinite wisdom, he leaves everything material to Scarlett. The houses, the yacht (who knew he
had bought a yacht? It was one of his final purchases, a huge yacht from a Russian oligarch), the enormous pension, the various
life insurance policies that will set them up for life. Then there are the trusts, a huge one for Scarlett, separate ones
for Paloma and Nico, their mother, Jerome, and myself as the trustees.
To me, he has left his old stainless steel Rolex Daytona watch, the one he has had since I was born, the watch I most associate with my father.
It was given to my father by Paul Newman, after my father got to meet him on a movie set for donating a sizeable amount to Newman’s Hole in the Wall Gang Camp for children with severe illnesses.
It was always my father’s most treasured possession.
He also leaves me his 1958 Indian Woodsman motorcycle, which I have always loved, despite being too scared to ride it.
Damn, I think, drifting off as I remember the time my father made me drive his Porsche, taking it to speeds I would never ordinarily have dared.
Now I will have to take my motorcycle test.
“Missy? Did you hear what Larry just said?” Jerome brings me back to the present. I look at him and shake my head.
“I’m so sorry, Larry. I drifted off for a moment.”
“That’s quite alright. Your father has also left you a large portion of his ipryy stock, which would amount to . . . hang
on, let me check the percentage before I tell you what that’s worth . . .” He riffles some papers to check, before nodding
to himself and looking over at me. “Thirty-three percent.”
“Thank you.”
Larry continues talking, but I drift away, too immersed in grief, in disbelief, too lost in memories of my father and his
old watch. I remember being at his house on the weekends when I was a little girl, when all I wanted to do was swim; a swimming
pool in our own backyard was the most exciting, glamorous thing imaginable.
“Hey, Peanut,” he’d say, sitting on the edge of the pool, his jeans rolled up and his bare feet in the water, “I’m going to change your name to Fish.
How about that?” I’d laugh in delight, begging him to throw the watch again.
He’d pull his arm back and toss the watch into the deep end, over and over, so I could show off my diving skills, pushing my way to the bottom with my eyes open, stinging from chlorine, until I could see the glinting metal.
I’d grab it and push to the surface, holding the watch triumphantly aloft, half paddling, half swimming to where he was sitting on the edge, so he could do it all over again.
Scarlett excuses herself. She looks delighted, the picture of the merry widow, which I find oddly incongruous given that her
husband has just died. I understand she is now a wildly wealthy woman who never has to do anything again for the rest of her
life, but I am shocked at how quickly she seems to have recovered.
Jerome and I say goodbye to Larry. It isn’t until we’re safely out of the building, out of earshot, that Jerome, his hand
once again underneath my elbow, stops and stands in front of me, clasping my arms.
“Missy, are you being deliberately obtuse or are you too out of it to realize what just happened?”
“What just happened? Scarlett got everything and I got a watch, a motorcycle and some stock?” I start to laugh. “God, I sound
as if I care. I don’t care. Nothing will bring my father back.”
“Missy!” Jerome almost shouts. “Don’t you understand what this means? He didn’t just leave you stock. He left you thirty-three percent of the stock. That means you have a voice. No matter what Clara has done, no matter who is CEO, your father ensured that
you get to speak directly to the shareholders.”
It starts to compute as he pulls me aside, out of earshot from the others.
“Clara thought she’d got the better of him, but he was way too smart for that,” Jerome adds. “Congratulations, Missy. You’re
back on the field.”
I’m not just back on the field, I realize.
My father believed in me all along. No matter what rumors Clara Woodlander may have spread, what she may have told the shareholders about me, my father always knew I was good enough; he believed in me all along.
My whole body exhales with relief as a nugget of determination lodges itself into my heart: I will make Clara Woodlander pay.
There’s an emergency shareholder conference next week, says Jerome, called in the wake of Marty’s death. With 33 percent of
the shares, I have a stake on the board, for God’s sake. I am entitled to speak.
“What should I speak about?” I asked Jerome. “I have to be careful before I prove what Clara did. I have a nurse and Scarlett
who know what happened, but I have no idea how reliable they are as witnesses.”
“Tell them what you told me. About the child labor at the mine in India. That’s something your father would have been horrified
by, not to mention whatever else Clara did.”
I look at Jerome with gratitude, which is immediately clouded by guilt. He’s being so good to me, so supportive, but I can’t
let him think we are bounding off into the sunset together, I have to do right by him, however painful it may be, however
much I may not want to be alone right now.
I take a deep breath. “Jerome, the timing of this sucks, but there’s something we need to talk about.”
“I know.”
“You know?” I am horrified. How could he possibly know about Noah? Did he guess? Did someone tell him? Who could have told
him?
“I know that we are breaking up. I’ve known since before our trip that things aren’t what they should be between us, and I know we are not meant to be together.
I will always love you, and, given how upside-down your life is right now, you could do with a friend.
Missy, whatever happens between us, I still want what’s right for you.
I loved your father, and if he were here, he would tell you exactly what I’m about to tell you, that you need to get your shit together and take control of your life.
He left you his shares because he trusted that you would know what to do with them.
The only person who can change this, who can make this right, is you. ”
He looks at me then, but I don’t see Jerome looking at me. I see my father reflected in his eyes. And I know exactly what
needs to be done.