The Chef said, “I think the real problem is the outgoing currency violation. Let’s assume this guy Saurel has spilled his guts, which means the feds are gonna take the position that the money made it over to Switzerland on a bunch of different dates. So what we need is a document that counteracts that—that says you gave all the money to Patricia while she was still in the United States. We need an affidavit from someone who physically witnessed you handing the money to Patricia in the U.S. Then, if the government wants to say different, we hold our piece of paper and say, ‘Here ya go, buddy! We got our own eyewitness too!’”
As an afterthought, he added, “But I still don’t like this business with the will. It smells bad. It’s a shame Patricia’s not alive. It would be nice if we could parade her downtown and have her say a few choice words to the feds, and, you know— bada-beep bada-bop bada-boop—that would be that.”
I shrugged. “Well, I can’t raise Patricia from the dead, but I bet I could get Nadine’s mother to sign an affidavit saying that she witnessed me handing the money to Patricia in the United States. Suzanne hates the government, and I’ve been really good to her over the last four years. She really has nothing to lose, right?”
The Chef nodded. “Well that would be a very good thing, if she would agree to do it.”
“She’ll do it,” I said confidently, trying to guess what temperature water the Duchess would be pouring over my head tonight. “I’ll talk to Suzanne tomorrow. I just need to run it by the Duchess first. But, assuming I get it taken care of, there’s still the issue of the will. It does sound kinda hokey that she wouldn’t leave any money to her kids…” All at once a fabulous idea came bubbling into my brain. “What if we were to actually contact her kids and get them involved? What if we had them fly over to Switzerland and claim the money? It would be like hitting lotto to them! I could have Roland draw up a new will, saying the money I’d loaned Patricia was to come back to me but all the profits were to go to her children. I mean, if the kids went and declared the money in Britain, then how could the U.S. government make a case that the money was mine?”
“Ahhhhh,” said a smiling Chef, “now you’re thinking! In fact, you just won the game. If we can pull this whole thing together, I think you’re in the clear. And I’ve got a sister firm in London that can do the actual returns, so we’ll have control of things the whole way through. You’ll get your original investment back, the kids’ll get a five-million-dollar windfall, and we can move on with our lives!”
I smiled and said, “This guy Coleman is gonna flip his fucking lid when he finds out Patricia’s kids went over and claimed the money. I bet you he’s already tasting blood on his lips.”
“Indeed,” said the Chef.
Fifteen minutes later I found the soon-to-be-doleful Duchess upstairs in the master bedroom. She was sitting at her desk, thumbing through a catalog, and by the looks of her she wasn’t just in the market for clothes. She looked absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was brushed out to perfection, and she was dressed in a tiny white silk chemise of such fine material that it covered her body like a morning mist. She had on a pair of white open-toe pumps with a spiked heel and sexy ankle strap. And that was all she wore. She had dimmed the lights, and there were a dozen candles burning, giving off a mellow orange glow.
When she saw me, she ran over to shower me with kisses. “You look so beautiful,” I said, after a good thirty seconds of kissing and Duchess-sniffing. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful tonight. You’re beyond words.”
“Well, thank you!” said the luscious Duchess in a playful tone. “I’m glad you still think so, because I just took my temperature and I’m ovulating. I hope you’re ready, because you’re in big trouble tonight, mister!”
Hmmm…there were two sides to this coin. On the one side, how mad could an ovulating woman get at her husband? I mean, the Duchess really wanted another child, so she might shake off the bad news in the name of procreation. But on the flipside, she might get so angry she would throw on her bathrobe and go to fisticuffs. And with all those wet kisses she’d just showered on me, a tsunami of blood had gone rushing to my loins.
I dropped down to my knees and began sniffing the tops of her thighs, like a Pomeranian in heat. I said, “I need to talk to you about something.”
She giggled. “Let’s go over to the bed and talk there.”
I took a moment to run that through my mind, and the bed seemed pretty safe. In truth, the Duchess wasn’t any stronger than me; she was just an expert at using leverage, and the bed would minimize that.
On the bed, I maneuvered myself on top of her and I clasped my hands behind her neck and kissed her deeply, breathing in every last molecule of her. In that very instant I loved her so much that it seemed almost impossible.
She ran her fingers through my hair, pushing it back with gentle strokes. She said, “What’s wrong, baby? Why was Dennis here tonight?”
The high road or the low road, I wondered, looking at her legs. And then it hit me: Why tell her anything? Yes! I would buy her mother off! What an inspired notion! The Wolf strikes again! Suzanne needed a new car, so I would take her tomorrow to buy one and then spring the idea of the phony affidavit on her during idle conversation. “Hey, Suzanne, you look really great in this new convertible, and, by the way, can you just sign your name here, right at the bottom, where it says signature?…Oh, what does I swear under penalty of perjurymean? Well, it’s just legal jargon, so don’t even waste your time reading it. Just sign it, and if you happened to get indicted we can discuss it then.” Then I would swear Suzanne to secrecy and pray that she’d keep her mouth shut to the Duchess.
I smiled at the delectable Duchess and said, “It was nothing important. Dennis is taking over as auditor for Steve Madden, so we were going through some numbers. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that I want this baby as much as you do. You’re the greatest mother in the whole world, Nae, and you’re the greatest wife too. I’m lucky to have you.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” said the Duchess, in a syrupy voice. “I love you too. Make love to me right now, honey.”
And I did.
BOOK IV
CHAPTER 30
NEW ADDITIONS
August 15, 1995
(Nine Months Later)
You little bastard!” screamed the delivering Duchess, sprawled out on a birthing table in Long Island Jewish Hospital. “You did this to me, and now you’re stoned during the birth of our son! I’m gonna rip your lungs out when I get off this table!”
It was ten a.m., or was it eleven? Who knew anymore?
Either way, I had just passed out cold, my face on the delivery table, as the Duchess was in the middle of a contraction. I was still standing, though hunched over at a ninety-degree angle, with my head between her puffy legs, which were now propped up on stirrups.
Just then I felt someone shaking me. “Are you all right?” said the voice of Dr. Bruno, sounding a million miles away.
Christ! I wanted to respond, but I was just so damn tired. The Ludes had really gotten the best of me this morning, although I had my reasons for getting stoned. After all, giving birth is a very stressful business—for the wife andthe husband—and I guess there are some things that women just handle better than men.
It had been three trimesters since that very candlelit evening, and Lifestyles of the Rich and Dysfunctionalhad continued unabated. Suzanne had kept my confidence, and Aunt Patricia’s children had gone to Switzerland and claimed their inheritance. Agent Coleman, I assumed, had shit a pickle over the whole thing, and the last I’d heard of him was when he’d made an unannounced morning visit to Carrie Chodosh’s house, threatening her with jail time and the loss of her son if she refused to cooperate. But those were desperate words, I knew, from a desperate man. Carrie, of course, had stayed loyal—telling Agent Coleman to go fuck himself, in so many words.