Crown Jewel (3 page)

 

Ricky Lam woke, his head pounding. He remembered instantly that he had fallen off the wagon last night to the tune of at least four bottles of champagne. His eyes wild, he looked around to see if anyone was sharing his bed. His sigh of relief when he saw that he was alone was so loud that Ellie, his housekeeper, probably heard it in the kitchen.

He deserved the misery he was feeling. What in the name of God had possessed him to start drinking after fifteen years of sobriety? Philly was the answer. Thank the Lord he didn't have to report to the studio. He'd never make it even if it was just a walkaway part for him. He scrunched his eyes to look at the clock: 6:30. He rolled over with the intention of sleeping all day so the headache banging inside his skull would go away.

The phone rang. No one called him at six-thirty in the morning except Philly, who was also known to call him at five-thirty, four-thirty, midnight, and any damn time he felt like it. The studio also called whenever they felt like it.
Should I answer it or shouldn't I? The hell with it.
The phone kept ringing. The sound was killing his head. He finally picked it up.

“Ricky,” Ted said urgently, “the studio called last night and left a message. The shoot's on. Get your ass in gear, and I'll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah, shit! Be by the gates, and we'll do a wheelie and get over there in nothing flat.”

Ricky made it with a minute to spare. “You're in no condition to drive that race car this morning, Ted. Are you crazy?”

“Probably. However, I don't have a hangover like you do. I ate my breakfast. I also slept four hours. I'm good to go. Did you check your messages?”

“No,” Ricky groaned. “Listen, Philly's going to be on the lot. Let's not say anything about last night, okay? I'll go to AA and confess my relapse. I'll go to Makeup before I see him.”

Ted nodded. “I was thinking this morning in the shower. I will go with you to the islands if the invitation still stands. I decided to pass on that D.C. flick they're planning.”

“Yeah, sure. Glad for the company.” At least he would have someone to talk to while he was there.

Thirty minutes later, they showed their security passes to the guards and drove through the gates. Ted headed for the lot where they were scheduled to shoot the car chase scene. They both heard the sound of the siren at the same time. Ted pulled to the side as an ambulance careened past him. Another accident on the lot. Somebody probably broke a finger or sprained an ankle.

When they saw the ambulance skid to a stop on Lot 9, they both hit the ground running.

“What the hell happened?” Ricky shouted to be heard over the chaos.

“Where the hell were you, Lymen?” the director, Donald Sandusky, yelled. “I can tell where you were, Lam, by the looks of you. We waited a goddamn hour for you and had to go without you since time is money around here as you well know. This is the result, and you two can take the blame for it!” He waved his arms to indicate the bedlam.

“What…happened?” Ricky croaked.

The director dropped his head to his hands. “Jesus, Ricky, I'm sorry. We had it covered. I swear to God we did. That car was checked five times. Conway, Ted's backup, was driving. I don't know what the hell went wrong.”

Ricky looked around at the milling cast, at the crumpled race car. Then he noticed that no one was looking at him. His stomach flip-flopped as the wind kicked up and ruffled his hair. “For God's sake, what are you saying, Sandusky? Why are you apologizing to me? You just got done blaming me and Ted. Make up your mind already.” He started walking toward the wrecked car.

Ted Lymen, his face whiter than the tee shirt he was wearing, grabbed at Ricky's arm. “Don't go there, Ricky.”

Ricky shook Ted's hand off as he raced to where they were lifting a still form onto a stretcher.

“Oh, Jesus, no!” he screamed. “Not Philly! Oh, God, why?”

Donald Sandusky put his arm around Ricky's shoulder. “He came by the lot. I think he wanted to talk to you. He was standing there watching and the car careened out of control. I think Philip thought it was part of the stunt. He didn't move, Ricky. Hell, maybe he froze. Everyone is crazy right now, so until we can piece together what happened from rational eyewitnesses, let's just call it a tragic accident. I told Philip he might as well leave because you weren't here, but he said time is money and insisted on staying. You know me, I had to relate to that and the budget. Jesus, Ricky, did your brother ever think about anything except money? I'm sorry, this is no time to be talking about money. My point was, we were prepared to wait another hour, figuring neither you nor Ted got the message we left for you last night, but then with the clock ticking I decided to go ahead with the stunt. I'm sorry, Ricky, I wish there was something I could say, but there isn't.”

“I gotta go with…”

“No, you don't have to do that. Besides, the cops want to talk to you. There's nothing you can do now. When did you get the message?”

“I never did get it. Ted called and picked me up. What the hell are they blasting the siren for now? Did anyone call Roxy?”

“No. We thought you would want to take care of that, being family and all. I wasn't sure if Roxy came with Philly this trip or not. As soon as you finish with the cops, you better tell her before she hears it on the news.”

“She came with him. She never lets…let Philly out of her sight. At least that's the way it usually is. She's either at the house or the hotel. When they come for just a day or so, they stay at the Beverly Wilshire instead of opening up the house.”

Ricky walked away. He needed to sit down. He needed to think. He needed to puke. What he really needed was a
drink
. He knew he'd never, ever touch alcohol again. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away.

It seemed like a long time later when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked up to seeTed Lymen towering over him.

“This is all my fault, Ricky. It's not something I can make right either. I don't know what to do, what to say.”

“It's no one's fault, Ted, so don't blame yourself. Where is it written that we have to check our messages at night? They could have given us a wake-up call. It's not like they haven't done that before when a shoot was canceled, then rescheduled. It's Philly's fault. Don't you understand, it's his own fault? Why do you think he always managed to show up for the action scenes? He wanted to be part of it. He loved the action stuff.

“Listen, drop me off at Philly's hotel. I don't want Roxy hearing this on the radio or television. She might need me to…I don't know…just drop me off, okay?”

“Sure. Christ, Ricky, I'm sorry.”

“I know, Ted, I know.”

 

He was always awestruck at the hotel where the rich and famous gathered to pay a thousand bucks a night, sometimes more, for a room. Philly loved staying in one of the cottages at the Beverly Wilshire. Usually he booked in advance to make sure he got the same one. Philly had always been a creature of habit.

Ricky walked slowly down the path that led to the little villa and knocked on the door. He wished he'd brought his sunglasses. When there was no answer, he knocked louder, then took two steps back to wait.

She was wearing one of the hotel's fleecy white robes, her hair wrapped in a thick white towel. “Philip went to the studio,” Roxy said coolly.

“Do you mind if I come in? I have to…we need to talk, Roxy. Don't worry, I'm not going to attack you.”

“I mind very much if you come in. Tell me whatever you have to say right here, or else call Philip on his cell phone.”

Ricky took a deep breath.
How to say it? Lead up to it? Blurt it out? What?
“Philly's dead. He died in a car crash at the studio. The stunt car careened out of control and hit him. They said he died instantly. I came here to tell you because I didn't want you to hear it on the TV or radio.”

He couldn't remember the name of the biblical figure who turned into a pillar of salt, but that's how Roxy Lam looked to him at that moment. She didn't so much as twitch or blink. She didn't cry or sob. What she did, after five, excruciatingly long minutes, was back up, step by step, until she was in the room. The door closed quietly. He heard the
snick
of the lock falling into place.

He turned around, aware of men and young boys moving about. The gardening crew was trimming and weeding the premises. He could smell freshly mowed grass. The smell reminded him of his boyhood, when he and Philly used to take turns pushing the old mower with the dull blades. Whoever mowed didn't have to rake up the grass. Then they invented power mowers with bags attached that caught the grass as it was cut. He wondered how many kids were put out of jobs by the new mowers. And then there were riding mowers. His own gardener had one.

Is it Roxy's place to make the arrangements, or mine as the closest blood relative?
he wondered.
Should I knock on the door again and offer my help? Why not? All she can do is say no.
He knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he knocked a second and then a third time. While he waited, he noticed the gardeners looking at him strangely. Maybe it was time to leave.

Leave to go where?

Home to his empty house and the picture of the two little boys on the mantel.

 

Roxy wanted to bury Philly in a cemetery in Los Angeles and to hold a service at the grave site rather than at a chapel. Ricky fought her tooth and nail on that and finally won when he convinced her Philly needed to rest in peace next to their parents in the cemetery that was close to their old hometown, Placentia. The private service was mercifully short. Ricky listened to the words, wondering how the minister knew so much about his brother. Roxy must have told him. If everything he was saying was true, Philly was already a saint with a giant wingspread. The minister didn't say anything about his hard-ass attitude or his do-it-my-way-or-it's-the-highway philosophy. Nor did he mention his two nephews, Tyler and Max. He barely touched on Philly's name before going on to say that he was a wonderful father, which was an outright lie. Reba was Roxy's daughter. Roxy, according to Philly, had married at the age of sixteen. The marriage had lasted six months, and Reba was born three months later. Philly had never adopted Reba, and Ricky wasn't sure why. Maybe because he wasn't able to love another man's child. That had to mean Reba had no claim to his brother's estate. In the end, it wouldn't matter. Philly would have provided for his wife and Reba because that's the kind of guy he was. At least, that's the kind of guy Ricky thought he was.

Ricky looked over at Reba, who was standing next to her mother, having flown in from New York the night before. They were both dressed in black from head to toe. He thought Philly would have hated all that black. He'd always said black reminded him of Halloween, witches, and goblins.

Thank God the service was almost over. The little parade of mourners, and there weren't many, filed past the casket, each with a flower in hand. Ricky purposely waited, Ted next to him, until Roxy and Reba were on their way to their car.

“Some guy over there wants to talk to you, Ricky,” Ted whispered.

“Who is it?”

Ted shrugged as he laid his white rose on top of the bronze casket. “He said he's your brother's lawyer.”

“Tell him this isn't a good time. He should be talking to Roxy, not me. Is he some kind of ghoul? Go on, tell him. I want this one last minute with my brother for myself.” Ted trotted off.

Ricky felt the lump in his throat grow larger as he placed his rose on the casket next to Ted's. He placed his hands, palms flat, on the shiny surface. “I did…do love you, Philly. Maybe I should have said it more often. Hell, maybe I never said it at all. If I didn't tell you, I'm sorry. What's making this all bearable for me is knowing you're gonna be with Mom and Dad. I'm going to miss you, Philly. I wish I could tell you I'll look after Roxy for you, but we both know that isn't going to happen.

“Wherever you are, I know you're going to be looking out for me. I know it as sure as I'm standing here. You know how you always used to say, ‘This is where the rubber meets the road?' This is it for me. I'll come back, and we'll talk again.”

Ricky felt rather than saw the stuntman's presence. “He says your brother wanted his will read right after his death. He reserved a conference room at the hotel where your brother was staying. Roxy and her daughter will be there. You have to go, Ricky,” Ted said.

“Yes, I guess I do. Are there a lot of reporters outside the gates?”

“Six deep.”

Ricky sighed. “All right, let's go.”

He walked away, head high, shoulders squared. And he didn't look back.

Something should have changed in the four days since he'd come to see Roxy the morning Philly had died, Ricky thought as he made his way to the main entrance of the hotel. The shrubs looked the same, the gardeners were still scurrying about, the flowers were just as brilliant, the sun just as golden.

There was no reason on earth that he needed to be present to hear Philly snub him in death the way he had in life. Did he really need to hear how much money he was leaving Roxy? No, he did not. Nor did he need to know about Philly's other private holdings and investments. He should have simply declined the invitation to attend. The lawyer, Philly's old friend and confidant, could just as easily have sent him a letter.

His father had once said that a dying person's wishes should always be honored. If this was the last thing he could do for Philly, he'd grit his porcelain caps and do it.

The conference room was small, almost stark, which surprised Ricky. A shiny oval table, with a centerpiece of brilliant orange and gold spider mums nestled among feathery greenery, stood in the center. A silver service with coffee cups sat on a sideboard next to a telephone console, fax machine, and copier. In the corner on a small table was a seventeen-inch television set, along with a VCR. He smelled the coffee, so it must be fresh. He helped himself. He needed all the caffeine he could get.

Ricky carried his cup to the table and set it down. He looked around to see if there was a
NO SMOKING
sign but didn't see one. It was probably understood that you couldn't smoke. Like he cared. He smoked two cigarettes a day, one with his first cup of coffee and one after dinner. On the occasions when he had sex, he smoked three. Philly had chain-smoked, a three-pack-a-day man. His only vice, according to Philly. In all other areas of his life, he was perfect. According to Philly.

Ricky looked down at his watch. Time is money. Philly would be really pissed that the lawyer hadn't arrived yet. Everyone knew lawyers were all about billable hours. He continued drinking his coffee and smoking his cigarette. A perfect smoke ring sailed upward. Ricky tilted his head until he was sitting directly underneath it. His own personal halo. He smiled to himself, wondering if Philly was watching. Probably, since Philly never missed a trick.

The door opened just as Ricky was about to crush out his cigarette. Roxy and her daughter Reba, minus their black hats and black veils. He expected to see red-rimmed eyes and little or no makeup. Especially on Roxy. But she was perfectly made-up and was wearing pounds of jewelry and at least a pint of perfume. Reba didn't need makeup, jewelry, or perfume. She had youth on her side, twenty-three, if he remembered correctly. She looked…for want of a better word, angry.

Roxy looked pointedly at the cigarette Ricky was about to put out. “Show some respect,” she said. Ricky looked down at the cigarette before he brought it to his lips and blew a cloud of smoke in her direction. It was a childish, ridiculous thing to do, and he knew it. Roxy brought out the worst in him. Philly smoked three packs a day, so she should have been used to the smell. When he finally stubbed out the cigarette, he looked at his watch. He'd give the fat-cat lawyer another five minutes, and if he wasn't there by then, he'd leave. The lawyer entered three minutes later and took his seat at the oval table.

Timothy Andreadis was Greek, but he could have passed for Italian, Jewish, or maybe even Spanish. He had a hawklike nose, and the bushy hair that stood away from his head like a shrub gone awry was obviously all his own. He gave the impression of being thick, from his bull neck down to his thick legs and exceptionally big feet. He'd been Philly's lawyer forever. He opened his briefcase and rustled papers before he withdrew Philly's will, encased in a shiny blue cover that acted as a protective sleeve.

“Before you do anything, Timothy,” Roxy said, “I want to say I don't think this is necessary. I know
exactly
what's in the will, and I don't think my brother-in-law needs to be present to hear it all. I resent this.” Ricky was surprised at how cold the grieving widow's voice sounded.

“For once I agree with you, Roxy,” Ricky said, standing up. “You made it sound imperative that I be here, Tim. Why? Roxy was Philly's wife, so if you don't mind, I'll just head on out. I'm going to the islands today.”

“Please sit down, Ricky. Your brother wanted you here.” While the attorney shuffled his papers, he asked, “Did you wind up the film?”

“Yes. They used the footage of the car crash. Philly's name will appear in the credits. I think he would have liked that. We finished it the day after…
the day after.”

Tim snapped open the blue sleeve containing the will.

“Coffee anyone?” Ricky asked. When there was no response, he poured himself a cup and lit another cigarette. He remained standing, which seemed to annoy Roxy. Reba looked up at him, the same angry expression on her face.

“This is the last will and testament of Philip John Lam.”

“Timothy, would you please cut to the chase,” Roxy said. “We know Philly was of sound mind, and we know he made bequests to some of our employees. I'd like to put this behind me so I can go home and
grieve.
We could have done this next week or the week after. I don't see what the big hurry is.”

Ricky's stomach tied itself into a knot as he waited for the lawyer's response. Something was going on here.
Damn, Philly, what the hell did you do?
It looked to him like Roxy was wondering the same thing.

“I'm doing exactly what your husband instructed me to do, Roxy. That's what lawyers do. Now let me get to it, and we can all go home.”

Ricky leaned against the sideboard, coffee cup in one hand, cigarette in the other. He stared at his sister-in-law as the lawyer's voice droned on, the legalese dripping from his tongue. Roxy was an advertisement for Rodeo Drive. She wore it well. If it was top-of-the-line and expensive, if it sparkled, glistened, or shimmered, Roxy owned it. He thought he could see dollar signs in her eyes. Philly had said the same thing many times.

“And now to the major part of Philip's will.” Andreadis rattled the paper in his hands for effect. “I leave my entire estate to my brother Ricky. To my wife I leave the sum of ten thousand dollars. To my stepdaughter Reba, I leave two thousand dollars. To my nephews Tyler and Max, I leave the sum of five hundred thousand dollars each, said sums to be disbursed by their father when and if he deems necessary.

“All partnerships, all holdings held in my brother's and my names revert to Ricky Lam. All insurance, including the key man policy, is to go to my brother, also.

“The house and furnishings in Laurel Canyon are bequeathed to Roxy Nelson, along with the cars and the boat.”

The coffee cup in Ricky's hand slipped to the floor. Brown liquid splashed up his pant leg. He could feel the cigarette starting to burn his fingers. Reba bent down to pick up the cup. She handed it to him, looking shocked.

Roxy wasn't a pillar of salt today. Her face was contorted into an ugliness Ricky had never seen before. Deep guttural curses exploded from her lips as her hands jabbed at the air around her. For one wild moment, Ricky thought those hands were going to reach out and strangle the lawyer.

So much for grief.

The attorney leaned back and waited for Roxy's outburst to subside. When she saw him lean back and steeple his fingers, she calmed down, and said quietly, “I assume there is an explanation for this. When did Philip change his will?” She let her gaze sweep to Ricky. “Just how much did you have to do with this?”

“I'm as shocked as you are. Philly never said a word to me,” Ricky said, his eyes glazing over.

“You want to know why?” the attorney said, his eyes on Roxy. “Philip said if you were to ask, I was to respond by telling you, you know why. He said if you still persist in questioning me, I was to mention the word
insurance
. In addition, Roxanne, Philip instructed me to say if you even
think
about contesting the will, everything he did bequeath to you will revert to his brother Ricky Lam. He changed his will exactly fourteen months ago. I believe it was when he got some personal bad news to answer your question.”

“This is California. There are common property laws. Everything should be split down the middle,” Roxy challenged.

“If, Roxanne,
if
it was held jointly. None of Philip's assets had your name on them, just Philip's and Ricky's names. This will is so airtight, a gnat couldn't get through it. In addition, you signed another document, a prenuptial agreement, explaining all this to you. I have a copy here in case you feel the need to refresh your memory.”

“Philip said he rescinded the prenup.” Ricky thought Roxy's voice sounded cold as well as desperate. He stared at her, almost expecting chunks of ice to fall off her teeth.

“In that case, you should have gotten it in writing, my dear. The prenuptial agreement was never rescinded.”

“I don't believe this!” Roxy screamed, turning to Ricky. “I know you had something to do with this you…you poor excuse for an actor.”

Ricky threw his hands in the air. “I'm outta here. I don't want it. Give it all to her.”

“Your brother said you were going to say that,” the attorney said quietly.

Ricky turned back. His eyes narrowed. “He did?”

“Yes, he did. He said he would be forever disappointed in you if you ignored his final wishes. He had great faith in you.”

Ricky walked back to the table and stood over the lawyer. “How did he know…what if he had outlived me? This all sounds like…it was…a plan of some sort. He shouldn't have thought he was going to die until he was old. Is there something you aren't telling me?”

“Yes. Your brother had, at best, a year to live. He got the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer fourteen months ago. As far as I know, his doctor and I are the only ones who knew about the precarious condition of his health. Perhaps his passing was a blessing in disguise. He didn't suffer.”

Ricky wondered if his own expression looked as stunned as the expression he was seeing on his sister-in-law's face. His brother had been terminally ill, and he'd had no clue. Not one. Obviously, Roxy hadn't had a clue either. The hot tears he held in check pricked at his eyes.

“He wanted it this way, Ricky,” the attorney said.

“Wait a minute. Philly was married to Roxy for twenty years. I need to know why he turned his back on her like he did. Otherwise, I'll just turn around and give it all to her once it's settled. What's fair is fair. I'm waiting, Timothy.” He glanced in Roxy's direction. A look of hope crept across her doll-perfect face.

The attorney uttered a long sigh. Ricky could see that he was troubled. “Philip valued a promise made. He told me how he promised your mother always to look after you. He said you honored the promises you made to him when you returned from the clinic. That was very important to Philip.” Timothy turned to address Roxy. “You, Roxanne, broke promises, according to Philip, and on top of that, you tried to cheat him, and in so doing, cheat his brother. He considered that unforgivable. I'll file this will for probate. Do either of you have any questions?”

Ricky had a barrelful, but he wasn't going to ask them now.

“What about the islands? I had a job there. Did he rip that away from me, too?” Roxy demanded harshly.

“Yes.” The will crackled again when the attorney slipped it back into its sleeve. He slid it into his briefcase, then closed and locked it.

Ricky left the conference room in a daze. While he waited for a cab, Timothy Andreadis joined him. All Ricky could do was stare at him. “I'm waiting for a cab. A friend dropped me off after the funeral.”

“Would you like to go somewhere for some coffee, Ricky? You look like you're in shock. Accept it. It was what Philip wanted.”

“But Tim, to cut Roxy out like that, I just don't understand it.”

“They hated each other. Can you understand
that?”

“No, no, I can't understand that. I always thought they had the perfect marriage. There wasn't anything Philly wouldn't do for Roxy. At least that's how I perceived it. He took real good care of Reba even though he never adopted her.”

“That might have been the case once. Philip didn't believe in divorce, as you know. He had many different insurance policies. There was one fifty-thousand-dollar policy with Roxy as beneficiary. All the others had you listed as the beneficiary. About fifteen years ago, right around the time you came back from the clinic, Philip wanted to go over all his holdings. The estate planner in the office is the one who found out what Roxy had done. She'd forged Philip's name on the different policies and put her own name in as beneficiary. As far as I know, he never told her that he knew. He went over everything with a fine-tooth comb and he took her name off everything. He did it legally and had her sign all the papers. I don't know if she knew what she was signing. But she
did
sign them. If you need something more by way of explanation, Philip said his wife betrayed him. The same way she betrayed you. He said you would understand. He came to believe, but only later on, that you never stalked her as she claimed. She's the one who should have been an actress.