…”
Maybe I should have taken Tony up on that offer to shoot her.
After our breakfast, my mother and I went our separate ways: She to the beauty parlor she runs in Hauppauge, Long Island, I to my apartment to change. I told her that the super would let her in if she got home before I did, but she assured me that he had already given her an extra key. Great.
I put on a pair of tan khakis, a white dress shirt, tan boat shoes, and carried a blue linen blazer, the outfit I wear when a client requests “a nice, clean boy.” I considered wearing a tie, but the blistering heat made me decide otherwise. I don’t know how people who have real jobs survive in this city.
I took a cab to the law office where Al en’s wil was to be read. Standing outside was Freddy, looking spectacular in a black suit with a white silk T-shirt underneath. The outfit was just this side of Miami Vice, but Freddy could pul it off.
“What happened to the sequins?” I asked, getting out of the cab.
“I thought, ‘why detract from my natural beauty?’”
Freddy answered. “You look very Lands End, darling.”
“Thanks for coming.” I kissed him on the cheek.
“These people scare me.”
“Wel, Auntie Freddy wil protect you,” he said, ushering me inside. “You know there isn’t a white person in the world who scares me.”
We rode the elevator to the forty-fifth floor, where we entered the offices of Al en’s law firm. I could see why rich people would trust them with their finances.
Everything about the place screamed old money and new tax loopholes. Even the mail clerks were better dressed than me.
Two receptionists sat behind a long mahogany desk. One looked as if she was in her mid-sixties, with silver hair sprayed into a stiff wave seen only in fifties horror movies and Town and Country magazine. Her facelift was pul ed so tight that every time she blinked her hairline moved down an inch.
From the way she was looking at Freddy and me, it was impossible not to imagine she had one hand on the police cal button.
The other woman looked to be in her mid-thirties.
She was attractive, but in a less artificial and frightening way. I told her we were there for the reading of Al en Harrington’s wil.
After checking my name against a printed list, she ushered us to a plush waiting area, where we sank into brown leather armchairs that cost more than I made in a month. And I make a lot in a month. An older man sitting across from us snorted. A passing attorney looked at Freddy and me questioningly.
“May I bring you something?” the nicer, younger receptionist inquired. “Coffee, tea?”
“Valium?” I asked.
“Five or ten mil igrams?” She winked.
“Fifty,” I answered.
The receptionist whispered. “Don’t be intimidated.
Most of them take the train back to Brooklyn just like the rest of us.”
“You’re a dol,” Freddy said to her. Then, to me:
“See? I told you there was nothing to be afraid of. I’m sure everything’s going to go fine. How bad can it be?”
Ten minutes later, the receptionist took Freddy and me to a swank, windowed corner office, where the other invitees were seated at a smal oval conference table.
I recognized the Harrington sons, Michael, the oldest, and Paul. Michael was as handsome and wel — built as he appeared in his picture. His forehead was high and distinguished. Strong cheekbones pointed the way to a perfectly sculpted nose and thick lips.
He had a footbal player’s body. Bulky and dense, with wel — rounded shoulders and biceps that peaked even under his suit jacket. You could have posted a bil board on his expansive chest.
Paul was even more effete than he looked in his picture. He was dressed in true metrosexual style, in a Hugo Boss suit and two-tone Prada shoes that were new for this season.
In person, he was better looking, though. Thinner and less muscular than his brother, he was nonetheless trim and fit. He shared his brother’s handsome features, and although not quite as striking as Michael, his blue eyes and lighter hair made him look less imposing and more approachable.
His wife, Alana, perched at his side. She, too, was perfectly turned out in a charcoal gray Chanel-like suit and an impenetrable mask of Clinique. Even seated, you could see she was tal er than Paul.
She was wearing a sweet perfume that I could smel from across the table. It did little to soften her attractive but harsh features.
There were two other women in the room I didn’t recognize. One was long and skinny, with smal dark eyes and a short-cropped haircut. The other was short and stocky, with an attractive face that looked nervous. Her eyes were red and teary.
Their clothing was sensible and modest. I guessed Banana Republic for the skinny one and Lane Bryant for the other.
No one was speaking.
Alana regarded me and Freddy with narrowed eyes. She whispered something to her husband, who chuckled.
Michael refused to look at us at al.
So far, it was going fabulously.
Freddy and I sat, too.
Freddy looked at Michael and kicked me under the table. “Who’s the hunky one?” he whispered.
I kicked him back harder. “Shhhh!”
Freddy stuck his chin out at Alana and Paul.
“They’re whispering!” he whined.
“I thought you were going to behave yourself,” I hissed.
A door opened at the far end of the office. A tal black woman with strong features and a bald head walked through it. She was impeccably dressed in a man-tailored black suit with a white silk blouse underneath. Two-inch heels provided a percussive accompaniment to her confident stride and increased her already impressive stature.
“Thank you al for coming,” she began, sitting down at the end of the table nearest the Harrington family. “I’m Tamela Steel, Mr. Harrington’s attorney.”
Freddy elbowed me. “ Get Christie Love,” he stage whispered.
Ms. Steel looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
Freddy straightened up in his chair.
“The purpose of our meeting today is to go over the bequests of Mr. Harrington’s wil. Mr. Harrington left specific instructions…”
Paul Harrington interrupted her. “Excuse me, Miss, um, Beals, but is this real y necessary?” He spoke in an irritated, above-it-al sigh. “I’m sure you could handle the disposition of my father’s estate in a more appropriate manner. I don’t know why we have to hear about it in front of” he waved his hand at the four of us who weren’t part of his family “these people.”
The look the lawyer gave him could have melted a brick. “It’s Ms. Steel. And as I was saying, Mr.
Harrington left specific instructions as to how he wanted his wishes conveyed. Everyone in this room is here at his request.”
She leaned forward, getting in Paul’s face. “His last request. I trust you have no problem honoring your father’s last request, Mr. Harrington?”
I never heard anyone harrumph before, but I suppose that was the noise that escaped from Paul’s lips.
“Hey,” Freddy whispered, “did that guy just fart out of his mouth?”
“If there are no more interruptions, then,” Ms. Steel continued, “some time ago, Mr. Harrington taped a video to be played for you al in the event of his death.”
She pressed a button under the table, and a thin, fifty-inch plasma screen descended from the ceiling.
The lights automatical y dimmed and a quiet popping sound signaled the presence of hidden speakers in the wal.
“Cool,” Freddy said aloud. Ms. Steel tried to give him a dirty look, but she couldn’t help smiling. Like I said, Freddy has that way with people.
Although not, I couldn’t help but notice, with the Harringtons. Paul harrumphed again, and Alana looked like she wanted to strangle Freddy with the strap of her Louis Vuitton bag.
The screen came on and there, suddenly, bigger than life, was the understandably serious face of Al en Harrington.