Class Act

12

Mickey woke early, then went to the kitchen upstairs and made his mother’s favorite, scrambled eggs, for breakfast. He set everything on the tray, then warmed the coffeepot with hot water before pouring in the coffee and replacing the lid. He found a little vase and put into it a single rose, from a bunch on the windowsill, then he poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, set the New York Times on the tray, and carried it into her bedroom, where she was just waking up.

“What’s this?” she asked as he set the tray beside her, then pressed the button that raised her bed to a sitting position.

“Just breakfast,” he said, setting the tray on her lap. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Use the money well,” she said, “but not on the horses. That’s over, or your inheritance ends there.”

“Gotcha. May I have some advice?”

“Well, that’s new. What do you need?”

“Are you happy with your stockbroker?”

“Very.”

“May I have his name and number? I want to invest about half the money.”

“His card is in my center desk drawer,” she said. “Take his advice.”

“I’ll do that.”

“What are you doing with the rest of the money?”

“Well, I bought a house.” He gave her the address. “A duplex and two rental apartments and a garage.”

“Good move. I suppose you’ll need a car to fill the garage.”

“It crossed my mind.”

“There’s also a card in my desk for a man named Herman Goldsmith. He deals in high-end cars, independently; he’ll find you what you want.”

“Great. I need some clothes, too. The rest I’ll spend on wine, women, and song.”

“You’re entitled. Now, let me eat my breakfast and read my newspaper before the eggs get cold.”

Mickey called the broker and made an appointment, then he got ready to go out. He was early, so he called Herman Goldsmith. “I’m Michael O’Brien. My mother, Louise, sent me to you.”

“Great. Nice lady. What can I do for you?” the man asked.

“I want a Mercedes S-Class four-door, loaded.”

“What color?”

“A nice shade of silver would be good.”

“Interior leather?”

“Tan or dark brown.”

“Give me your cell number, and I’ll get back to you.”

They both hung up, and Mickey went to see the broker. An hour later he was a growth-oriented shareholder.

He was waiting for the elevator when Herman Goldsmith called.

“Check your e-mail. You’ll find pictures and equipment lists for three Mercedes S 560s. One of them has the sports engine and package, which is very expensive. They are available immediately. Call me.” He hung up.

Mickey let the elevator slide and made himself comfortable in the broker’s waiting room while he checked out the photos of the cars and their prices. He called Herman back. “I’d like the one with the dark brown leather.”

“Where do you want it delivered?”

Mickey gave him the address of his new house. “What time?”

“An hour and a half. The guy will give you a package with the invoice, title, and other stuff. You give him a check for the amount of the invoice. My company name is on it.”

“Thank you, Herman.”

“Anytime. My best to Louise.” They both hung up.

As Mickey left the building he saw something he had seen when he had left the house: a gray van with the name of a plumber emblazoned on its panels. It had darkened windows, too. Odd, he thought, that he should see the same van in two different places on the same morning.

He walked down the street for a block and stopped before a store window that gave him the reflection of the street behind him. The van pulled out of its parking spot, drove past him for a couple of blocks, then made a turn and was gone. He had gotten spooked for nothing. Besides, who would give a damn how he was spending his morning?

Mickey was at his new house with the garage door open, when his new car showed up on time. He did a walk-around with the deliverer, pronounced it okay, and wrote a check. The guy gave him the envelope with the window-sticker, the title, and the invoice marked Paid.

He showed Mickey how to set up the electronics, then left. Mickey got into the car and started it. The thing made a beautiful noise.

Jack Coulter turned on his iPhone at 11:00 am and logged onto his offshore bank account. No sign of the money he had demanded. Well, they had another hour. He sat by the pool until noon, then called back; the money was there, all of it. It paid to be remembered as someone who kept his promises, he reflected.

Hillary came down from their apartment at the Breakers, and they ordered a good lunch.

“I’ve had some interesting news this morning,” she said over her lobster salad.

“Tell me.”

“We’ve had an offer for the company,” she said.

“That is interesting.”

“My share would be just over a billion dollars, and that’s after taxes.”

Jack had just stuffed a large piece of lobster into his mouth and he chewed it carefully for a while before swallowing. He considered that the delay might make him appear thoughtful. “That’s very nice,” he said finally, keeping calm. “Is it a first offer?”

“Yes.”

“Turn it down,” he replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Always turn down a first offer. Ask for twenty percent more, then take fifteen.”

“All right,” she said, picking up her phone.

Jack went to the men’s room to give her some privacy. When he came back, she was smiling. “They went for it,” she said. “You made me a million and a half dollars more on the transaction. That’s your commission: a million and a half.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, “so don’t argue with me!” She kissed him.

“You win,” he said.