HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (21 page)

Larry stood straight and nodded several
times, before finally waving feebly.

The Governor turned his body so he was
speaking directly to Larry. “Son, you had asked us to join you. Is
there something you wanted to say?”

“Uh, yeh,” said Larry.

After a moment of silence from Larry, the
Governor guided Larry to the podium. “Yeh, sir, um, it
was
a
steakhouse,” said Larry, patting his pocket, “but when he told me I
hit all five plus the mega, he gave me this pen, and said the state
parks sure could use money.” Larry reached his hand into his shirt
pocket and struggled to pull out the pen, finally producing a blue,
plastic Southwest Airlines pen. “That’s how everybody knew it was
true. And I am gonna do it, but not with a big check… it’ll only be
on this,” said Larry, reaching into his trousers and pulling a
plastic Farmers & Merchants Bank checkbook. “I’m gonna write a
check with this free pen… Dang it… is this thing out’ta ink? Okay,
there… I’m just gonna guess a number,” said Larry, writing with his
hand tightly gripping the very tip of the pen. “And spell it out...
eighteen million... oh, damn… cramp….” Larry stopped, spreading
open his fingers and then returned to writing. “… and
four-hundred-ninety-two-thousand... and 64 cents.” Larry wrote
“State Parks per EGBjr” in the area for memo and signed his name on
the bottom right. “So, here, Governor, you said the state parks
could use it. You can also have your pen back, too, if you want. I
know you’re cheap.”

“Keep it, kid,” said the Governor, as one of
the studio cameras rolled to within six feet of Larry and the
Governor. Two of the park rangers circled in front and took out
snapshot cameras to photograph Larry handing a personal check for
$18,492,800.64 to the Governor. “Mr. van der Bix,” said the
Governor, gently and insistently extracting the narrow slip of
paper from Larry’s grip, “your gift is extremely generous, and
noting your memo, I pledge that this contribution will be directed
as you indicate to our beautiful state parks.” The Governor finally
succeeded at extracting the check from Larry’s hand. “And thank
you, not only on my behalf, but for the men and women who staff our
state parks, some of whom are with us today.”

When the Governor stopped speaking, Larry
was mobbed by the rangers, hands outstretched and every person
smiling. For nearly a minute, hands were patting Larry on the back
and shoulder or reaching to grip his own hand. Brown silently
looked on, from the podium.

“Well deserved, kid,” said the Governor,
muscling in on the crowd and shaking Larry’s hand in prolonged,
photo op fashion, as the park rangers again formed an orderly
line.

The studio lighting was switched off. Jerry
Brown exited stage left. The young man in the crisp suit removed
the Governor’s seal from the podium. Workers wheeled off the dark
blue backdrop. After another round of jovial handshakes, the
rangers left. A minute later, Larry was alone on stage. The two
Lottery public information staffers who had served as hosts for the
big check handoff stood in the spots they had held throughout the
Governor’s photo op.

“Well,” said the woman, holding a clipboard,
“perhaps your team would wish to join you for the disbursement
conference.”

“What an incredibly generous gift,” said the
man. “The Governor will give your check to the Treasurer, who will
then deposit it into the state’s account, and so you’ve got a
little time before the check hits. Don’t want to bounce a check for
eighteen-and-a-half million dollars to the State.”

“Won’t be doing that,” said Larry, walking
towards the PR duo.

.

“Off the top, my client asks the taxing
authority to subtract, or exempt, the eighteen million dollar check
given to the Governor,” said Emily Kashabara, standing with her
back to a panoramic window showing the forested riverbank and the
snaking, dark-blue American River. “The notation on the check –
‘
per
EGBjr’ – and, as the chronology of this gift, as laid
out in Attachment IIIa, states, it was the initial encounter at
Morton’s – where the Governor suggests a gift for state parks and
hands over a pen – that suggests to a reasonable person that the
decision by my client was to act at the behest of the Governor….
Therefore, my client seeks to be spared the 35% federal rate on
this item,” said Emily, to an audience of four people she knew, two
PR people she had just met, and seven others – men, women; formal,
casual; tall, thin, squat; pink-haired, long-haired, and balding –
all seated around a long, austere, wooden conference table. “Exempt
from consideration.”

“Decision deferred, but exemption taken
under consideration,” said one of seated seven.

Emily nodded to Lori, who stood, holding a
stack of stapled papers. The stack rested in the crook of her arm,
just inches above her navel and the thin sliver of skin visible
under her short David Bowie tee-shirt. The scent of oranges
lingered around Lori and her skin glowed a warm honey brown. On the
drumming of Emily’s fingers, Lori swiftly distributed a set of
papers to each of the seven individuals seated at the table.

“Foundations, two are outlined; one is
purely personal – the Fantasy Fund – and non-exempt; the second –
the California Sunshine Fund – will be a 501(c)(3) philanthropic
fund, based upon the By-Laws, Articles and Statement of Officers
included,” said Emily, casually. “Consideration?”

“Each considered as submitted,” said one of
the primely-seated ones.

“Trusts, six, as noted in support notes,
identical to draft 1.32 distributed to this office four days ago,
save the disposition of dollars outlined here,” said Emily, sipping
a diet Coke. “Consideration?”

“Upon advisement,” said a seated figure, as
others around the table took notes. “Any other matters
taxable?”

“None taxable,” said Emily, casually,
holding her soda can.

“Very good, thank you,” said another of the
seated figures. Those around the table closed their folders,
gathered papers and stood, exiting as a single group, leaving
Larry, Lori, me, and Ed with the two PR people.

.

“The client believes in flexibility and
liquidity,” Ed Lossé said, seated at a dark cherry-wood conference
table. Water glasses and cans of soda sat on circular disc
coasters. “Euro, yen, dollars; metals; short- and long-term
government debt…. Prefers tax deferred or exempt, of course…” Ed
pointed to the cooler on the floor alongside the table. “You got a
Cactus Cooler in that thing?”

“Cactus what?” said an aide, reaching a hand
into a layer of ice, pulling up a green can. “7-Up?”

“Naw, orange can, cooler... Cactus
Coo....”

The hand plunged back into the ice and
brought up a brown and white can. “Root beer... wait, orange?” and
with a fast twist and another pull upwards, the hand held an orange
can displaying a stylized saguaro cactus and handed it to Ed, who
smiled in a way that drew all eyes to his face. Ed popped the soda
and a faintly-orange mist sprayed out, offering the smell of
pineapple and orange.

“How about that?” said Ed. “I think we’re
making progress.”

“A question,” said one of the distant
voices. “On expenses…, let’s see… oh, yes… ‘Investment in modeling,
photography, and video services.’ Could you explain that
‘investment?’ “

“Why? There is no request for tax
exemption,” said Ed. “The client will be paying in real, post-tax
dollars for linear services and investing in business plans.”

Two aides stood in a hushed mini-conference,
each pointing to spots on their respective papers and whispering to
the seated figure who had raised the question. The figure deftly
lifted the papers out of the hands of one aide, glancing at it in
passing. “Oh, really just curiosity,” said the figure, letting the
papers fall to the table.

“Then I can answer that,” said Larry, taking
an apparent interest in the conversation, pulling himself away from
his study of the soda cans on the table, which he had stacked into
a pyramid, a wall, a tower and other shapes.

“My client’s role here is not to speak, per
se,” I quickly injected, hoping to cut Larry off from attempting to
explain away the weakest part of our presentation. Ed sat down and
turned to me, folding his hands in his lap.

“If he’d like to say something, this is
about his wishes,” said the seated speaker. “Isn’t it, son?”

“Everybody thinks they’re my parent,” said
Larry. “You, the Governor, but he gave me a pen,” and Larry felt in
his shirt pocket, then the front of his Dickies trousers. “And I
have it,” said Larry, producing a Southwest Airlines pen.

“Is that all you have to say, Mr. van der
Bix?”

“What? About the models?”

“Well, yes, if you wish.”

“W’ull, it’s not just cuz you’d think, ‘oh
look they’re all super-hot,’ which, of course, they are,” said
Larry. “There’s lots of beautiful people, and it isn’t hard to see
that not very deep underneath, nope, not pretty; totally not
pretty.”

The seated figures nodded and slightly
gyrated in their chairs, like caterpillars.

“But that’s life, that’s everywhere, so it
isn’t only beauty.”

“Why models? How do they figure in to
this?”

“I have this friend, in Italy... Anekee. I
haven’t actually really met her, but I’ve known her since my
birthday eight years ago, when we first emailed, and she’s my
friend... I actually know her. Her life has been hard and it took
her a long time to get free from the awful life she was trapped in,
but now she’s a mom and it’s all good for her. But I’m not sure
what she does for work, except that she seems to have some sort of
gig, but I’d like to build a charismatic personality forum site for
her, linked to several pay sites, but those would... would…
Lawrence? What about those sites?”

“… All derived revenue streams would be
segregated and reconciled under a strict regime of accounting
protocols,” I said.

“Well, son, it sounds as though you want to
make dreams come true,” said a seated figure.

“I believe we should view such spending as
routine conduct of business as outlined within the provided
attachments,” said another seated figure. “I believe we can approve
this here.”

“I don’t like it,” said a third person at
the table. The aides in the room suddenly began writing. “These
gifts take hedonistic form. Spending is untraceable. Vulnerability
and exploitation walk hand-in-hand. I simply cannot sit idly by and
let legitimate concerns go unvoiced.”

“What do you suggest, son?” said the figure
on the left, who had earlier spoken of making dreams come true.

“Me?” said Larry. ‘‘Oh, no. It isn’t gonna
be me who is the decider. I need help with this, and look how lucky
I am.” Larry waved with the appearance of confidence. “I got good
people, but, me? Yeh. No. Was that the question you asked?”

“Spellbinding, Bix,” said Lori.

“Son,” said the central figure, very softly,
“what are ya gonna do when you’re
with
the models?”

“Talk to ‘em,” said Larry. “Although with
Ane, it’s gonna have to mean having someone who can translate,
although I bet her English is better than my Italian.”

The third figure sat upright and, joining
the two others, weaved with the others caterpillar-like. “I see no
reason to presume negatively this foundation so long as accurate
and verifiable account is taken of all expenditures, obligations
and receipts.” The aides wrote.

“Great,” said Ed. “Moving on to the
cinematic investment. European content. EU produced. Stake may rise
from single millions to as high as twenty million. Speculative.
Seek a ‘clear and release’ to execute rights.”

The left seated figure sat up, looked into
the soda tub, reached a hand up, and dipped rapidly, a moment later
holding a Lipton unsweetened tea. Before the hand had lowered, a
female voice said, “tea, here,” and the figure stood, stretched and
handed the can to Lori before again plunging wrist-deep and this
time pulling out a red Coke can. “I support yes on all questions.”
A flurry of writing, silence, and Ed moved to his next points.

.

“And Mr. van der Bix, your signatures on
this last set of papers will complete the distribution of your lump
sum payment process,” said a tall, very well dressed woman in her
40s, standing at a wide desk centrally placed in the long office
Larry and his team had stepped in to. Beyond the desk was an
amazing view to the river, this being a corner office on the top
floor of the building.

“This is it?” asked Ed. “After this, we can
blow out’ta here?”

“That’s right,” said the tall woman. “Don’t
spend an extra second you don’t have to....”

“Does that mean when I am done with this,
then I don’t have any more business here?”

“Yes,” said the woman, straightening,
smiling less.

“Then I have a request….”

.

Larry stood to the edge of a wide marble
counter in the lobby on the ground floor. I looked at Larry’s
reflection in the polished marble and mirrors, behind the counter,
as he carefully lifted each sheet of paper, and used his Southwest
Airlines pen to affix his signature. The woman with long red hair
waited patiently for each signature and, upon the last one, lightly
touched Larry’s hand with the tip of her finger. Larry looked up
immediately. “You’re done, Larry. You’ve finished everything.” The
woman put down her pen and just smiled to Larry. “Good luck.”

Larry looked at the woman for a long time,
and with a faint smile, said, “Will you be in a picture with me?” A
moment later, he was holding a stiff board, smiling widely, looking
into her eyes and slowly, delicately reaching his hand towards her
tangle of red hair.

And then the cameras were gone.

Finally Lori whispered, “Bix....”