Chapter 21

Paul and I screamed as well, but to each other in shock and surprise. Us? We shot down the boulevard, my poor little Subaru screaming under the strain. Wild eyed and with our jaws hanging open, we were literally vaklemped. Several blocks later, we escaped into the Trader Vic’s parking lot at the Beverly Hills Hilton. Sitting in the dark of the bar, our booth illuminated with a little tea light, we chanted “Oh, shit” until we laughed ourselves hoarse. Then we sipped on fruity drinks and munched on chi-chi (but still fried) appetizers in bewildered silence.

“Darlinnnn…” someone purred into my ear. Gripping my seat, I slowly, cautiously turned to find Jasmine standing at our table, hand on her hip, toes turned out to accentuate her figure. “What are you doing here getting sloshed in the middle of the day? Shouldn’t you have your little nose to the grindstone in that cute boutique office of yours in the oh so trendy Wiltern?”

I pointed over at Paul, who leaned forward into the tea light. Jasmine let out a gasp of surprise and looked from him to me. “What are you doing here with him?”

I looked at Paul, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Um, sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but, well, Paul and I are together.”

Jasmine promptly dropped her pose and slid into the booth next to Paul. Totally focusing on me, she continued, “What? Are you kidding me? When? How? Why?”

“What do you mean ‘Why’? Look at him. Why not?” I shot back.

“Thanks babe,” said Paul. “Nice to know you’re with me for my looks.” Paul smiled and turned back to Jasmine, who was having trouble controlling some emotion I couldn’t quite make out in the shadows of the tea light. I squeezed Paul’s leg. It was warm.

“Lois, you should not have kept this from me,” Jasmine said in unusually clipped tones. “How long has it been that you two have been together?” Her very expensively manicured finger ping-ponged back and forth between Paul and me.

“No offense, Jas, but since when are you my mother?” I was curious aboutt her new attitude. I was also tipsy enough to put aside the fact that she was my best referral that I tried hard never to offend or embarrass.

“This is all a shock. Is it not enough that Kip is gone and no one knows why?” Jasmine dabbed at her eyes with a Hermes handkerchief. “Now I find that you, Lois, have taken up with this man, a man who labors with his hands and carries dirt and filth around on his clothes.”

As I recall, Jesus labored with his hands.

She continued, “I wanted you to succeed, Lois. You had so much potential. You were perfect for the right man with means. That is why I pushed Kip to hire you.”

“OK, stop right there.” I put my drink down and lit a cigarette. This was making me nervous.
She was starting to sound exactly like my mother. I squinted into the darkness. No, it was still Jasmine. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted you in a position to meet someone who could give you the lifestyle you deserve. You struggle so much, darling. Working at what you do is not going to make you rich.” Jasmine continued to dab at her eyes. “You deserve better.”

“Fuck you.” I said it. “Fuck you.” I said it again.

I could hear Paul breathing, the warmth flowing over my neck and collar bone. “Jasmine, I think it’s time for you to leave,” he told her. “No one is in a good place right now. The cops will figure out what happened to Kip. I know that you’re hurting and you’re taking it out on Lois.”

Jasmine turned and glared at Paul. “Bastard! You didn’t deserve Kip and you don’t deserve her!” She gestured at me.

Then Jasmine stood up to leave, poised as ever. Turning on her toe, she looked me right in the eyes and said, “Stupid, silly girl. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. TTFN.”

What the fuck! All right! I had to know once and for all. I started to slide out of the booth, but Paul grabbed my arm, “Where are you going? She can’t help it. She was in love with Kip.”

“It’s not about her. I want to know what that god damn fucking ‘TTFN’ means!” I hissed.

“Well, I know what it means so sit your drunk ass down and be calm,” said Paul, pulling me back into the booth next to him.

“How would you know?” I demanded, arms crossed, daring him to educate me.

“ ‘Cause I’m an uncle, that’s how.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded again.

“It has to do with Winnie the Pooh. Tigger says it all the time,” he explained. “It means ‘Ta-ta for now’.”

I gasped. “You have got to be kidding? I have been plagued by a rich bitch’s use of a term from a children’s story?”

Paul smiled in affirmation.

“I thought I was so old and uncool that I didn’t know what that meant,” I confided. “And I was killing myself over a children’s story. Bitch.”

“Yep.”

I looked over at Paul. He was an uncle. How come I didn’t know that? I knew who his mechanic was and the name of his gardener, but I hadn’t known he was an uncle. I am an idiot in the forest of trees.

“Do you think it’s safe to leave?” I asked.

Paul thought for a second. “Yeah, if they haven’t found us by now, I don’t think they’d still be out looking for us.”

We shimmied out of the booth and made our way to the front door. There were no suspicious characters in the parking lot, so we got the valet to get my Subaru. Paul drove back to my place so I could check on Brian and Kash.

No cat greeted us at the door when we arrived. That worried me. I checked the doors for forced entry. Would someone steal Kash? Would they hold him for ranson and blackmail me
until I confessed to Faraday’s murder? Wait, what would they have to blackmail me with? I think kidnapping my cat would be enough leverage. I stepped across the threshold into the kitchen and continued to the slider. As soon as I clicked the lever, Kash’s head popped up from the couch outside. So he was cheating on me with Brian. Caught you in the act, cat!

Kash looked at me with half-lidded eyes, yawned, and then stretched his legs over the back of the couch. Brian’s head instantly shot up as I’m sure Kash had dug his hind claws into his thighs. He looked at us with glazed eyes and then lazily waved when he saw that it was just us. Well, at least everything was right with this world. Paul went out on the patio to talk with Brian while I gathered up more clothes and amenities that I needed over at Paul’s. I wondered if Paul would give me a drawer? Better yet, a dresser. Did Paul even own a dresser for himself? I would have to check. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Just pack your suitcase, Pushkin.

Paul came back in and we set out. He had briefed Brian on what had happened to us at the lawyer’s office and told him not to answer my phone or the door. Brian was also to call us everyday and update us. And I needed him to take care of the apartments while I was gone. Let the tenants know that I had a ‘family emergency’. With any luck, my picture wouldn’t end up on any tabloids to dispel this white lie.

Chaptee 20

We made our way over to Westwood for our scheduled appointment with Paul’s lawyer’s office. As we pulled into the parking garage under a huge marble edifice rising above, the dollar signs started reeling around in my head. I knew I couldn’t afford these people. I was beginning to wish I had stuck with my mother’s lawyer friend. My eyes must’ve been as big as saucers because Paul grabbed my hand to bring me back down to Earth.

“Don’t worry about the cost, babe,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, like you have the money for these fancy cats. I can’t ask you to do that for me,” I said. “If they’re as good as you say, then they’re worth all my dollars. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying them back if it’ll keep my fanny out jail.”

Paul laughed, “I’ll help you out then, OK? They are worth every penny and they’ll get the cops off of our backs. The statements from this office should keep the authorities at bay and give us some peace.”

We ascended in the lavish, silent elevator to the higher floors of the marble-clad monolith. The doors opened onto a compact, but sophisticated and tailored lobby with an equally tailored receptionist sporting a high-tech, silver Janet Jackson headset with nails to match.

Immediately, we were seated to wait complete with complimentary mimosas. Presently, we were shown into a small conference room with a round table of Brazilian walnut surrounded by modern, hand-stiched leather chairs in a complementary chocolate color. The room was small and understated, but rich with wood paneling to match the table and a million-dollar view of Westwood and Beverly Hills. I felt like Charlie in the Great Glass Elevator. In this room, my life would now move in all sorts of new directions. Was I capable of staying in control? Paul sat next to me, facing the view and we waited for his lawyer.

Soon, a young man, possibly Brian’s age, came in and greeted us. He introduced himself as Ari. Ari informed us that he and the senior counselor for our account would be taking our statements. His boss arrived shortly after and greeted Paul heartily. They embraced and Paul introduced me to Clive Blackwell, his corporate lawyer. I looked at Paul questioningly – didn’t we need a criminal lawyer?

Mr. Blackwell spoke up. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Before I succumbed to the lure of the big bucks, I was a defense attorney in Newark.”

New Jersey. East Coast. Seeing the mischievous gleam in his eye, the word Mafia floated through my brain. I smiled my best “Oh shit” smile and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

As Paul and I took turns giving our statements and the young lawyer scribed furiously and monitored the tape recorder, I began to feel more at ease. These guys were going to be worth every penny. The spin and sparkle that our statements were taking on were simply gorgeous and hypnotizing. I was relaxing and enjoying the view when the receptionist came into the room
bearing a tray of drinks in sparkling, heavy, highball glasses. Baccarat, of course. The bicep in her beautifully tanned serving arm was taut with tension, but she moved with effortless grace, balancing her charge as if it were a powder puff. I took the glass she offered and sniffed it. Whiskey and soda water. Mmm, delicious. Tasted like Ballentines. No expense spared, even for those low on the economic totem pole. I think I melted in my chair. I would’ve nodded off if I hadn’t caught Paul staring at the receptionist. I went to kick him in the shins. No, wait, he was dictating something to her and she was writing it down. My head turned to fuzz and I resumed enjoying my different view of the world.

After I didn’t know how long, my reverie was interrupted again by the receptionist, this time bearing coffee. Thank God. I think I would’ve relaxed right into the Aubusson carpet. Perking up from the first sip of the rich, silky, obviously European-roasted coffee, I sat up straighter in my chair and tuned in.

Paul reached for my hand and held it while we listened to Mr. Blackwell tell us our next steps and what we should expect. Also, what our rights were as suspects and what the police could and could not expect of us. We were to call him at any sign of harassment or if we were suddenly arrested. Well, duh.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to do this for us,” I said shaking Clive and Ari’s hands as we were leaving. “I will spend the rest of my life paying your invoice.”

Clive laughed and the young lawyer ducked out of the room. “Don’t worry ma’am. We’ll make sure that you’re taken care of. You have a good man here in Mr. Atkinson. And he is very lucky to have you.”

Shouldn’t he have meant that I was the lucky one to have Paul? Did he think I was paying Paul’s bill? I looked over at Paul, confused as usual when trying to understand this inner
sanctum of the wealthy and its accoutrements. Paul was shaking his head and smiling.

“Clive, you were always the smooth talker. Must be what kept you alive and allowed you to walk away from it all,” Paul chided him in a friendly manner. “Thank you and we’ll keep in touch.”

“I’ll see you at the memorial service,” said Clive. “How are you doing with the eulogy? I know it’s probably the hardest task for anyone to do.”

Paul shook his head. “Yes, I have to work on that. With the statements out now, I hope to have the time to do Kip justice.”

I looked at Paul, “Memorial service? When is that? When was that decided?” That had thrown me for a loop and I was embarrassed that I had not known. My eyes stung as I looked at Paul, hurt that he was hiding this horrendous task from me.

“Now, don’t look at me like that,” Paul pleaded. “I forgot about it myself. Only today did the receptionist here remind me. With all that’s been going on, keeping my mind off of Kip’s funeral is what’s been keeping me going.”

I looked at him closely. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face looked worn. He had a 2-day growth of beard and his lips looked chapped. (Although I thought that I was guilty of that last detail.)

My voice came out strained and a little scratchy. “So do you have to plan the service and notify family and friends?” That all seemed gi-normous and not within the realm of Paul’s skills.

Paul exhaled audibly. “Thankfully, no. Kip had planned his own memorial service while he was still alive and his entertainment coordinator is taking care of every detail. I was asked to do the eulogy only.”

Ah, yes. The entertainment coordinator. I should’ve guessed. Was this the posthumous continuation of the three-ring circus that was Faraday’s life or finally the grand finale? Had he scripted himself in death? Funeralpalooza?

Clive had been watching me and chuckled. “That was Kip. I wasn’t ever one of his personal lawyers, but we did hear the stories of how he planned out everything to maintain the ultimate control. Except, of course, where Charlene was concerned.”

Interesting. I waited for Clive to go on with more elusive Charlene information, but he didn’t.

“Now, stay out of trouble. Don’t call attention to yourselves,” warned Clive, “and don’t talk to the media.”

Yeah, like the media would want to talk to small fries like us. The receptionist escorted us to another bank of elevators and accompanied us down to what was the back lobby. Guess it was her coffee break. We continued down to the parking garage to get the car. Pulling it out onto a side street, we rounded up back onto Wilshire. There, we saw the receptionist outside the building fending off a throng of reporters, their camera people, and TV vans. That would make sense in the timeline. Word would’ve gotten out that these lawyers were Faraday’s lawyers. I was sure the world wanted to know what was to become of his estate and heirs. They could care less how he died.

As we continued on our way down Wilshire, past the mass of news people, one reporter looked right at me. As I turned away to say something to Paul, I heard her scream, “It’s them!”