Part 31 (1/2)

”Thanks to everyone for making this a priority,” announced a tall, absurdly handsome man who was standing to address the others, most of whom I couldn't see. He was clearly Vince's father; he looked just like him and he carried himself with even more self-involved confidence. Next to him, his son looked like a cheerful puppy. I immediately understood why Vince hated him so much.

”The pet.i.tion to have the illegal tenant in apartment 8A removed is being pa.s.sed among you for signatures,” he explained. ”We have asked everyone to sign, because if a lawsuit should result from this action, we want to make it clear that the entire board is in agreement and no one can be singled out for culpability.”

”Can they sue?” asked someone unseen on the other side of the room.

”Why don't we let our lawyer answer that one, that's what he's here for,” Vince's creepy dad responded. ”Gary?”

Another good-looking guy in a suit stood up. I swear to G.o.d, he looked like every other lawyer I had met during this fiasco except Stuart Long, the Egg Man. These guys all looked like the suits they were wearing. ”From what Roger has told me, and what I've gleaned from phone calls with many of you, these people are aggressive and determined,” announced Gary the lawyer. ”Under these circ.u.mstances, lawsuits are always a possibility. Lawsuits are, however, expensive. It is clear that they have few resources other than the speculative value of the Livingston Mansion Apartment. We've spoken to the legal department at Sotheby's, and they have rea.s.sured us that they will not support any action on behalf of the so-called heirs of Olivia Finn until the co-op has had the opportunity to state its legal position concerning the property.”

”Do we have a position?” asked Mrs. Gideon, sounding like she was standing in front of the door right next to me. ”Other than we wish they would go away?”

”That's what we're here to discuss,” Vince's hyperconfident ice cube of a father a.s.serted.

”My husband told me not to sign anything until we have our lawyer look at it,” came another voice from beyond my sight line. But I recognized this one: it was Mrs. White, who sounded nervous and kind of unhappy.

”We can have copies sent to your lawyer, certainly, and wait a few days for your signature,” said Mr. Ice Cube. ”The reason we asked Gary to be here was to set your mind at ease about the legality of these doc.u.ments.”

”But he's not our personal lawyer. He doesn't represent me or my husband. And the interests of the co-op are not necessarily our interests, are they?” continued Mrs. White, insistent. She really sounded bothered, like she might secretly be on my side. That is what I told myself anyway. I wished I could see her face for a moment. I wondered what color suit she was wearing.

”No one should sign anything they're not comfortable signing,” said the lawyer, trying to be soothing and looking more like a shark than ever. ”I am happy to interface with anyone's attorney around all of this.”

”He's already spoken to my guy,” someone offered up.

”Mine as well,” Mrs. Gideon purred. ”I'm completely satisfied this is the appropriate move to make.”

”Look, we can get her out of here with a simple majority of votes, and legally we don't need more than six signatures,” Gary explained. ”But if the co-op wants to send a message to these people and to the real estate community and to the city in general, my recommendation is that it be loud and unanimous. That's why I hope to have everyone's signature on the doc.u.ments of removal.”

”I want to support the building, I do,” protested Mrs. White. ”Maybe I could call my husband at the end of the meeting and just make sure it's okay.”

”You do whatever you need to, Alice,” said Ice Pop. ”We all have a lot at stake here.”

”Once they're gone, though, does it really change anything?” a woman asked. ”I saw all the things on television and the papers, and it sounds like these two sets of heirs are going to fight it out whether we like it or not, and we're going to be dragged into the press for who knows how long. Is there anything we can do-beyond a.s.serting our right to have the apartment remain empty?”

”That's an interesting question, Jenny,” Ice Pop agreed. ”And it's why I made sure that all of us could be here tonight. As it turns out, there is something we can do. Len, maybe you could explain the situation.” He made one of those graceful little gestures that mean ”the floor is yours,” and Len stepped out of the invisible side of the room and into the front and center. He was wearing the dark green suit coat I'd seen him in at the press conference, and he carried a cream-colored folder with some papers in it. He had a big bandage on his left hand. Their nocturnal confrontation had taken place almost two weeks ago. For all her claims that she wasn't trying to hurt him, Charlie must have scored a real hit.

But Len wasn't acting wounded. With his calm, treelike posture and wry smile, he radiated strength and gentle wisdom to the entire gathering. ”I do have some rather interesting-some exceptionally interesting-news about the legal status of the Livingston Mansion Apartment,” he claimed. ”As some of you know, I was quite friendly with Bill and his wife Sophie for many years before her death. I was in fact a confidant of them and their sons.”

”And the second wife, the one who made all the trouble?” someone called.

”I knew her, yes, and yes she was-problematic. Some of the things I saw her doing to her husband made me very unhappy, because of the degree to which she was maneuvering him around these questions of inheritance and the apartment.”

”Could you be more specific? You actually saw-”

”I saw a lot, and I'm willing to testify to that,” Len claimed, with seemingly sincere regret. I wanted to rip his face off or at least give Charlie another go. But before he could continue to tell spectacular stories about how evil my poor lost mother was, Vince's dad leaned forward and whispered something to him. Len tilted his head and listened, then nodded with bemused respect. ”I quite agree. I quite agree,” he murmured. Then he looked out at his audience and held up the little packet of papers.

”Our esteemed board president, Roger Masterson, has made the excellent point that a discussion centering on Bill's more recent wife, who actually never held any rights in regard to the Livingston apartment, is not the most useful way to spend our time together this evening. What's more important to all of us is the status of the apartment as designated by the last will and testament of the first Mrs. Drinan.”

Something was up. Len was curling his sentences on top of each other so deliriously that the whole thing sounded fishy before he even started telling the story. But everyone in the room was eating it up. There was a pause and a hush. He sighed and looked down, sad. ”Those of you who lived here then know that there was some difficulty surrounding Sophie Livingston. Those who knew her remember a woman filled with pa.s.sion and delight. At times she was unhappy, and at times her spirit was greatly troubled. Today some might choose to label these fluctuations in temperament as mental illness. And indeed, her unhappiness led her family to make choices for her that were questionable, and they were questioned.”

People s.h.i.+fted in their seats. He was taking too long. I could see old Roger Masterson twitching, trying to figure out how to get Len to move the story along. But Len was enjoying his moment. ”One evening Bill came to me, explaining his plan, which was to have his wife admitted to a psychiatric facility in the city. I was appalled. My experience with Sophie would never have led me to believe that such a drastic action, a removal, was called for. What I could see, from my vantage point, was that there were problems in the marriage, and the truly rational solution for everyone would be for them to divorce. But Bill was having none of it. What would happen to Sophie, he asked, if she were left alone in that glorious apartment? He was convinced she would do harm to herself. I thought this was nonsense. He didn't want to talk about it; his mind was made up. And he told me that his two grown sons supported his decision. The most I could do was insist that the facility to which Sophie was taken be the best possible home for her. I contacted a friend at the university where I was teaching, pulled some strings, and got her placed in a wonderful, wonderful treatment center.”

He paused dramatically and considered the doc.u.ments in his hand. The room was silent, expectant, waiting for the story to fulfill itself. ”I visited her there often,” he explained. ”Bill, and Pete and Doug, her beloved sons, did not. They moved on with their lives. But I never thought she belonged there. We would have long talks about her life growing up in the Edgewood, the happiest times and memories for her centering on the building, which was so precious to her parents. And I said to her, Sophie, you belong in your home with us. She felt it was too late for that. And so she asked me to help her make a will.”

He stopped and held up the little folder. ”Which left the apartment to the building.” No one said anything for a moment. Masterson and the lawyer glanced at each other, expressionless.

”Okay, wait a minute,” someone finally said. I was really wis.h.i.+ng I could see that half of the room, filled to the brim with people I knew and didn't know. What a load of nonsense, I thought, I can't believe anybody is going to fall for this. But there was money in the air now, and that crowd was particularly attuned to its potential. ”You helped her make a will?” the questioner asked.

”No, no, I am not an attorney, I cannot legally 'help' anyone make a will. But I did alert a member of the staff, who wrote down her wishes. She was agitated but definitely in her right mind. So I agreed to serve as a witness, as did the nurse's aide who helped us. And I was given a copy of the doc.u.ment for safekeeping.”

At this, Gary the lawyer stood up holding a stack of papers, which he proceeded to hand out to the group. ”We have copies,” he announced. There was a rustle of pages as each person obediently pa.s.sed the copies on to the next, and the lawyer took over the narrative for a moment. ”We have contacted the other witness on the will, who is willing to testify about the legitimacy of the doc.u.ment.”

”This counts? It's more like a letter,” someone behind the door said, worried.

”It states her wishes clearly. It counts,” the lawyer a.s.serted.

”Is this will later than the one that left the apartment to her husband?” someone else asked, also worried.

”It is the only will,” the lawyer rea.s.sured the room. ”When she pa.s.sed six years ago, some questions were raised about when and why her will had not been probated properly. Because of the recent dissent between the two so-called sets of heirs, investigation was made into the failure to probate any will. Court doc.u.ments indicate that there was no other will and that the apartment was improperly awarded to the husband as the next of kin.”

”If all this happened six years ago, why are we only hearing about it now?” The unseen questioner was clearly not happy with this situation. He was getting pushy.

”That-was-my mistake,” Len a.s.serted with a regretful sigh. He was really a better actor than I'm making him sound. He was quite deft during this part of the performance. ”Bill was truly bereft when she pa.s.sed. There was bitterness and recriminations, so much sadness, and finally a real rupture between him and his sons. For years they didn't speak to each other! So I confess that my friends.h.i.+p with Bill overwhelmed my sense of loyalty to Sophie. I thought, what would be the harm in letting him spend his last years in the home he made with her in better times? He was so lonely. And so isolated there. I thought that when he died I could bring the will forward at that time.”

”You were taking a lot on yourself,” the angry guy noted with some asperity.

”Yes, I was, I most certainly was, and I regret it deeply,” Len said. ”I wasn't sure what to do. I consulted several people about the correct course. I spoke to Delia Westmoreland about it at the time; she was such friends with Sophie, and I knew she would understand the dilemma.”

”Delia, is that true?” asked Mrs. White, as if this possibility might actually change her opinion about this improbable story.

”Yes, yes he did, he came to me, I can't remember when exactly-”

”It was six years ago, just after she died,” Len provided.

”That's exactly right,” Delia agreed. She was nervous, but almost everyone seemed to be going along-at least they were listening pretty intently-so she plowed ahead. ”I wanted to tell people right away, though. I didn't like the idea of holding back information about Sophie's wishes. I never thought it was fair of them to put her away like that and then make a grab for the place, that seemed really bad to me.”

”He was her husband,” Mrs. White reminded her.

”He was Irish. He wasn't even American. And it wasn't what she would have wanted. Well, she wrote that down, I guess, that it wasn't what she wanted. And you know she was a feminist, Sophie would never have agreed that Bill could just grab her family's heritage, she wasn't into all that male power stuff, that's why it was so terrible, what he did to her. That he and those boys just sent her off to the asylum, I know that's not what they call it anymore, but let's face it, that's what they did. It's appalling really. And you know, her parents never liked him. So I wasn't surprised when Len told me about this. I thought, it serves them right, after the way they treated her, that she would not stand for them getting the apartment too. No, I was not surprised at all.”

”Did you see the will, did Len show you this doc.u.ment at the time?” prompted Roger Masterson.

”Yes,” said Mrs. Westmoreland. ”He most certainly did.” I was watching her through the door crack; she was right in my line of vision, and she had gotten the hang of it by then; she was confident and even defiant. ”Len showed me the will, but also he told me his concerns, that Bill wasn't well and that he didn't have a lot of years left in him and that maybe it would be cruel to just kick him out. Even if it's what he deserved. Like I said, I thought we should bring it to the board right then. But then Len pointed out he would die soon enough. Certainly neither one of us thought some cleaning woman would show up and try to make off with all of it. That I know Sophie did not want.”

”But no one else has a copy of this doc.u.ment?” asked the persistent questioner from the corner. ”Was it registered anywhere? I just don't think it looks good that someone in the building had it all along and didn't bring it forward before now. That doesn't seem right.” I wish I knew who that person was; he seemed to be the only one in the room with a shred of a clue.

”I think you need to leave that part to the lawyers,” soothed Gary. ”Stranger things have happened over the years with regard to wills and inheritances. And we have several witnesses. Len here, Delia, the aide from the nursing home. We can verify the history of the doc.u.ment. Our case is strong.”