All That Was Happy (24 page)

“
You wouldn’t shoot me,” he
said.

Beckie thumbed back the hammer, the resultant
turning of the cylinders filled with the lethal hollowpoints a
sight Art watched with some fascination as the blood drained from
his face.

“
There’s two sets of books,” he said.
“Bernie skims the over-the-counter sales. The cash register never
rings after 2 P.M.”

“
Thank you,” Beckie said. “Now--what’s
your best estimate of value.”

“
Argon Tools, in my opinion, has a
conservative book value of approximately ten million dollars, based
upon our last two years’ performance and our current inventory.
That’s if we sold it as a business--if we simply liquidated the
business, I’d have to say it’s worth about half that much. If you
don’t believe me, I can show you the latest Balance Sheet. I should
add that I’m basing the ten million figure on the projected
revenues associated with the recent five-year contract we signed
with Home Depot for the Western States region--actually it was that
contract that was the springboard for the consortium
interest.”

“
How long have you worked here, Art?”
Beckie said.

“
I started in 1980,” he said. “Back in
the good old days, you remember--it was just you, me, and Bernie.
He was still delivering tools to the local stores in his van every
afternoon, but it was starting to grow to the point where he needed
to be on the phone all the time.”

“
I remember the good old days all too
well,” Beckie said. “In all that twenty years, has working for
Argon Tools ever made you rich? Can you retire comfortably right
now?”

“
I’ve done all right,” Art said. “But
you know how it is, what with inflation and all. I can’t say if I
retired tomorrow I could continue living in L.A. I might have to
move to a lesser economic area, such as Fresno or someplace, where
the heat and the mosquitoes keep housing prices down.”

Beckie scribbled a figure on a piece of paper
and passed it over to Art.

“
Take a look at that figure,” she said.
“What do you see?”

“
It says five dollars,” Art
said.

“
I’m selling you the business,” Beckie
said. “As Acting President, I have full authority to do
so.”

“
This is crazy,” he said. “Nobody can
buy a ten million dollar business for only five bucks.”

“
Of course you realize that buying the
business also means absorbing whatever debt exists,” she
said.

“
Sure,” he said. “But we’ve never had
much debt--you should know that.”

“
There’s two conditions to this sale,”
she said. “You can never hire Bernie to work for you in any
capacity whatever, not even janitor--and the same goes for his
girlfriend.”

“
This is still crazy,” he
said.

“
You just got very lucky,” Beckie said.
“If you decide not to buy, I’m going to call the Western Region
Manager for Home Depot and sell her the entire net assets for the
five bucks of which we are now speaking. Now--I’m going to leave
the room. I have to make a phone call. When I return, I want your
answer--if the answer is no, I’ll expect you to be off the grounds
within 1 minute of that answer. If your answer is yes, you will
stay at your post. My lawyer will messenger to you by 2 P.M. all
necessary documents to record the sale.”

“
Excuse me, Beckie,” Art said, fumbling
in his pocket and producing a small orange vial, from which he
uncapped and extracted a small white pill, which he placed under
his tongue. “Too many meals off the roach coach,” he
said.

Beckie left the room and dialed Lauren. “He’s
got hidden accounts with Nolene, Ira and Leah,” Beckie said. “I’m
selling the business in his absence to the controller, a guy named
Art Rivas. There’s two conditions--that he’ll never employ Bernie
or Nolene. He’ll be calling you in about two minutes to set up the
documents--can you have everything ready to record the sale by
early this afternoon?”

“
Can do,” Lauren said. “By the way,
I’ve already located all the joint accounts with Nolene and had
them frozen. I’m working on Ira and Leah as we speak--you should
know that their home is highly leveraged with a note to the Tool
business. I think Bernie took the loan out on their house to come
up with the money to buy in to the proposed consortium.”

“
If we call the note due,” Beckie said,
“will it force them out of that overstuffed home in their gated
Agoura Hills colony?”

“
Most certainly,” Lauren said. “Unless
they can come up with three million bucks in the next ninety
days.”

“
Make that part of the sale,” Beckie
said. “The three of them conspired against me. Leah was the
go-between to keep me from getting suspicious. Have the Demand
Notice delivered to their door by an armed guard. Let’s see how
they feel about being squeezed. Last, but not least, I’m going to
be unavailable for awhile--I don’t know how long--I need you to
arrange to receive my mail and settle all my affairs--I’ll sign a
power of attorney or whatever you need. Whatever estate I’ve got
coming once the divorce proceedings are final, I want you to fully
liquidate and divide the proceeds--send half to Catholic Charities
directly and half to the United Way.”

“
You go, girl!” Lauren said.

Beckie called over the smallest guard, a
young woman about as wide as she was tall.

“
I’m sending you to the airport,”
Beckie said. “Here’s a couple of hundred dollars for expenses and
the pink slip and a set of keys to a silver Jaguar--it’ll be in the
long term parking near the Japan Airlines terminal. I want you to
cab over to LAX and take the Jag out of long term parking, after
which I want you to park the car in front of a biker bar or similar
establishment and leave it there with the pink slip on the dash,
the windows down, and the keys in the ignition. When that’s done,
report back here--you can keep the change on whatever you don’t
spend.”

The guard, who’d witnessed the immolation of
the hundred and sixty grand silver Roadster, allowed an involuntary
snicker to penetrate the space between them.

“
What’s so funny?” Beckie
said.

“
Your husband should have thought twice
before giving you that black eye,” she said.

“
He didn’t give me anything,” Beckie
said. “I got hit by a surfboard.”

“
Yes ma’am,” she said. Again, the
snicker.

“
Stop with the snickering and get
moving,” Beckie said.

Art Rivas emerged from the office, as Beckie
had predicted, about two minutes after she’d left him there.

“
You decide yet, Art?” she
said.

He handed her a five dollar bill. “What’s to
decide?” he said.

“
Call this number,” Beckie said. “My
legal counsel will step you through the paperwork, including the
transferring of the operating accounts. Congratulations--now you
don’t have to retire in Fresno.”

“
Beckie,” Art said.

“
Yes?” she said.

“
Godspeed,” he said.

Beckie took a last look around at the
familiar office, the whereabouts of which she’d spent the better
part of twenty-nine years of her lackluster, but secure existence.
She’d never noticed how tired the place looked, with its gray walls
and curtainless windows.

“
Tell me Art,” she said. “When’s the
last time this joint’s been painted?”

“
I don’t know,” he said. “Not as long
as I’ve been here, that’s for sure.”

“
Paint it white,” she said, turning on
her heel and heading for the door.

Chapter
44

“
When you first pulled in to the
parking lot, I thought you’d come by to invite me to go surfing,”
Father Larry said. “What with the board sticking out of the back
like that.”

“
I hope you don’t mind returning the
board to Huntington for me,” Beckie said.

“
That’s no problem,” Father said. “What
concerns me is your request for assistance to enter a convent. The
decision to enter religious life isn’t one made
lightly.”

“
I’ve made up my mind,” Beckie said.
“I’ve spent a lifetime in the selfish pursuit of my own
happiness--I failed. Now it’s time to try another direction--my
therapist tried to tell me that I needed more compassion in my
life--I’ve decided I want to work with the orphans in Mexico or
India or someplace.”

Beckie and Father Larry sat in his office in
the Rectory of Our Lady of Grace which occupied a prominent Ventura
Boulevard corner at the base of the Encino Foothills.

“
You’re a wealthy woman,” Father said.
“With all the responsibilities attendant. And you’re still
married.”

“
This morning I instructed my attorney
to file for divorce,” Beckie said. “After it’s settled, I’m
transferring everything to charity.”

“
Religious life isn’t something you
choose,” he said. “It’s something that chooses you. It seems that
only a day or so ago, your life was called in another direction.
What about Huntington?”

“
Huntington always dreamed of belonging
to the Catholic priesthood,” she said. “If I become a nun, I’ll at
least feel that we’re connected, if not physically, at least
spiritually.”

“
There’s an excellent vocational
discernment program at a place called Our Lady of the Snows in
Belleville, Illinois--that’s just across the river from St. Louis.
My advice is to spend some time there and give God a chance to
speak to your heart.”

“
I haven’t been to confession since I
was a child,” Beckie said. “Will you hear my confession
now?”

Father Larry led her through the ritual.

“
Thank you, Father,” she said. She
reached into her straw bag and pulled out a wriggling Mr. Boopers.
“Father, I was wondering, as a favor to me, could you find a
suitable home for Mr. Boopers?”

“
My own dog died a few months back,”
Father Larry said. “Do you mind if I keep him for
myself?”

“
I’d be glad if you did--just
remember--he hates chalupas.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her
gun. “And also, Father, I don’t think I’ll be needing this
anymore.”

She flipped open the stainless steel chamber
and ejected the bullets before placing it on is desk, along with
the box of 50 cartridges she’d been keeping in reserve.

“
And here’s something to make up for
the money I never gave to the Church all those years,” she said,
handing him the bag containing the hundred grand in
cash.

“
Let me count this and write out a
receipt,” he said.

“
You can count it later,” she said.
“Forward the receipt to my attorney. Her name is Lauren Shane, in
Century City.”

“
Are you sure?” Father said.

“
I’ve got to be going,” she said,
rising. “Thanks a lot Father. Take good care of Mr. Boopers--he
saved my life once.”

The early afternoon was hazy, the warm Spring
air creating the necessary hydrothermality required for a Stage 2
smog alert. Downtown, at the bus station, the smell of diesel
exhaust from the massive bus engines was choking as she parked her
Mercedes in the lot. She laid the pink slip on the dash and tossed
the keys on the front seat. As an afterthought, she tossed the
empty straw purse into the back before making her way into the
terminal and up to the ticket counter.

“
How much for a one-way to Belleville,
Illinois?” she said.

“
Sixty-two dollars,” the clerk
said.

Beckie opened her purse and examined the
contents.

“
I’ve got just enough,” she
said.

“
You’re crying,” he said.

“
It’s only the smog,” she
said.

Epilogue

There was nobody on the bus. The driver kept
getting on and off and talking with a supervisor on the platform.
While her eyes were on the driver, a single passenger boarded.
Huntington.

"I bought all the seats," he said. "So it is
only you and me."

The driver boarded and said, "Where to?"

"Nowhere for now," Huntington replied. "Just
get us out of town."

The driver blasted the horn a couple of times
to avoid crushing anything behind him and smoothly backed out. Soon
they were racing down the Ventura Freeway to somewhere beyond the
smog, a place perhaps where sand and sea came together, a place
where two human beings would live out their destiny.

Beckie looked into Huntington's eyes, his
return gaze like a perfect wave breaking cleanly across the
interior of her soul.

“
Huntington,” she said.

In his hand was a white chrysanthemum.

The End

M. M. Wilshire

[email protected]