From Riches to Rags (16 page)

Finally I drove us over to billionaire’s row where my parent’s house sat on top of a hill overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay below.

“Oh my God. This is your house, Melinda?”

“Yes, it’s one of the smaller ones.”

“It’s a freakin castle!”

“Come on, let me show you around.” We walked in through the front door so she could see the main entrance. When I opened the door, the staff was lined up as if ready for inspection. They all welcomed me home and I greeted them by name, introducing them to Chris and vice-versa. There were ten of them, from the head butler down to the chamber maid and as soon as the introductions were done, they scurried away to different parts of the house.

The house was three stories, with a half floor at the very top. That was my room. But I wanted to save that tour for last. I showed Chris the outside garden first, with its heated pool, array of colorful fall flowers, shrubs and trees, and a covered basketball slash tennis court. Then I showed her the inside garden with its hot tub, surrounded by fresh cut flowers. Next I showed her the wine cellar with over two thousand bottles of Blackstone vintage wine. From the cellar I brought her back up to the library, explaining that I would sit in the bay window for hours, reading a swashbuckling adventure while ships past below me in the bay. I pointed towards the ballroom, at the very end of the house, past the formal dining room and living room. I told her there wasn’t much to see in there right now, so we continued our tour up to the second floor.

The second floor is where my parents bedrooms are, three bedrooms, one each and one together, their offices and another surround sound theater. I explained that the half floor on the fourth floor was where the staff lives, so we’d be skipping that one, but the third floor was really what I wanted her to see.

So, I took her up to the third floor, where I lived. At one end of the floor was my own recreation room with pool table, table tennis, foosball, and air hockey, with several pinball machines lining the walls. There was also a video game center with a jumbotron monitor and several specially made game recliners in front of it. I explained with a grin that this room was why the San Francisco house was my favorite. At the other end of the room was an ice cream parlor slash soda fountain where the soda jerk greeted us with his scoop held high and asked Chris what her favorite ice cream was. She asked if he had chocolate cherry fudge and he nodded, scooping up a large ball of it into a waffle cone. I had a scoop of strawberry champagne. Then we walked down the long hallway to my bedroom.

I thought she was going to drop her ice cream when I opened the door and showed her in. My bedroom took up half of the third floor with its four poster custom sized bed at the far end of the room, a surround sound theater complete with video game set up in another corner, a pool table on one end and a five computer station at the other.

She looked around several times, and then walked over to the expansive bay window overlooking the peninsula. She turned to me and said, “Wow.”

“Yeah, it’s not much, but its home.”

She looked at me incredulously and then realized I was joking.

“My parent’s entire mansion would fit in this one room alone.”

I heard someone clear their throat behind me and I turned to find the Butler in the doorway.

“Pardon the intrusion, Miss Blackie, but where would you like your breakfast served?”

“Chris?”

“Oh, um, the inside garden would be nice don’t you think?”

“There you have it, Jeeves, the inside garden, if you please.”

He smiled and said jovially, “I always aim to please you, Miss Blackie.”

When we were alone again Chris shook her head and asked, “Is his name really Jeeves, the butler?”

“No, it’s Charles, but when he calls me Miss Blackie, which I hate, then I call him Jeeves, which he hates. We’ve had a love—hate relationship for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet in a malevolent sort of way.”

“Oh, to rough. Come on, you, let’s go have breakfast.”

Time to Face the Music — Meg Bumgartner
and
Carl and Felicia Livingston

Mr. Livingston greeted me at the door to his mansion with an angry question, “What do you mean you don’t know where she’s at, Ms. Bumgartner? She couldn’t have gotten too far because she can’t afford it.”

I had been summoned by Mr. Livingston himself, to report in person, and explain how I lost Chris, and what was I doing to find her. I started from where I had left off the last time I reported in person, the integration of her new friend, Blackie Blackstone, who had
probably
unintentionally blown my cover. At least it was only the no contact portion of my cover. The part that I was working for him and conducting surveillance on her was still a secret.

I left out a few things like how I wanted to puke when I walked into my wife’s office and saw Chris standing there. I don’t think I’ve ever been as shocked or as pissed as I was at that moment. But then, once I got over the shock, I was so happy to see my adopted kid sister in person again.
God I feel so guilty tricking her like this.
I suppose I should be grateful to Blackie for bringing us together ahead of schedule, because I was exhausted from fighting off the urge to go to her and help her out. I had been close to reaching out to her before, like when she was unconscious in the gutter with that drunk. I stood at the corner of that alley all night to make sure she was safe. I had to do something similar like that several times, until she finally sobered up and got a job.

And now I needed to tell them the part that would probably get me fired, the part that I had deliberately left out when they interviewed me.

“Uh, Chris knows me from when you all lived in Collierville. My family lived next door to you, and my little sister, Bonnie, was Chrissie’s, I mean Chris’s best friend until you moved away.”

Mrs. Livingston looked at me curiously, “Your mother and I are still the best friends, Margaret, that’s why when your name was suggested, I called your mother to ask her opinion. She asked me if there could be anyone more capable of protecting Chris as if she were family, than you were. You have proven her right, many times over. Thank you.”

“You talked with my mom? She never told me.”

“No, I shouldn’t imagine she would have.” Mr. Livingston said, “Meg, sometimes parents have to make the really hard choices in order to save their child. Your sister was killed by someone very much like what Chris had become and when she almost killed that man, leaving him wheelchair bound, we had no choice left. We hoped she would learn a lesson and stop drinking. I’ll admit, I was holding my breath there for a while, but she has done it and I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Your mother told me she asked Bonnie to watch over Chris, and Margaret, you were the angel God sent to her.” Mrs. Livingston had tears in her eyes when she said, “I have one regret that I must apologize to you for. I don’t know if you remember because you were very distraught at the funeral, but I was there. My regret is that I never told Chris of Bonnie’s death. She was already drinking at the time and I was afraid the news would send her into a tailspin. I realize now, that was a mistake. She was already in a tailspin and telling her how Bonnie had died, might have brought her out of it.”

“No, I think your first instinct was the right one, Mrs. Livingston. I think it would have only made things worse. When I saw her the other day, I told her about Bonnie and she handled it well. I think she wanted to tell me then about her drinking, but for whatever reason, decided not to. Probably because Blackie was there nosing around.”

Mr. Livingston looked at me, “You don’t like her very much, do you Margaret?”

“No sir, right now I do not. She’s a loose cannon who doesn’t care about anything or anyone but herself. But, I do believe that Chris has been a good influence on her, although I would never tell Blackie that. And I think that wherever Chris is at with Blackie, she is much safer than when she was passed out in that back alley. When Blackie pulled up in front of the restaurant in a limousine, they drove to the airport and got into her private jet. I don’t know where they were flying to because without a court order, I can’t see the flight plan.”

“I have a few connections with the port authority, I’ll find out for you and have my jet standing by to take you wherever you need to go.”

“Thank you, but I’m hoping that won’t be necessary. From what I can tell, Chris did not make arrangements for someone to care for her kitten and I know she would never leave her pet for very long without food and water.”

“You’re that sure of the kitten’s importance?”

“Oh yes sir, very sure.”

“All right then, I’ll still find out where the plane went and if she’s not home in a day or two, you’ll go find our little girl, won’t you, Margaret?”

“Yes sir, I will.”

Chapter Thirteen

One Last Hurrah, Part Two – Melinda Blackstone
and
Christine Livingston

“Ever ridden in a helicopter before, Chris?”

“Yes, once, when I was a teenager, why do you ask, Melinda?”

I looked at her and grinned, “I have more to show you.”

I led her out to the helipad, where a sleek Bell 407 helicopter waited for us. We climbed inside the spacious craft and buckled our seatbelts. As soon as I gave the thumbs up to the pilot, the four rotor blades began to whirl above us, and in moments we were airborne.

“Where are we going this time?” She shouted to be heard over the thumping sound of the blades.

I pointed to the headset hanging beside her and once we put them on, we could have a normal conversation. I told her that we were going to several different places and I would explain each location once we got to it.

The first stop was my car vault. A few years ago, a new company came to my father asking to secure and protect his cars with their 150,000-square-foot vault. Using state of the art technology, his cars would be stored as if they were being showcased, and protected by laser security, inside and out, with a fingerprint key entry, silent alarms, and invisible cameras. All of which made the facility impenetrable. My father, with his dry, wicked sense of humor, hired them to test it out using my cars. Thankfully, they were proven right and my cars have never been safer.

I made a special effort to point out my American cars to Chris.

She laughed and said, “Consider me embarrassed.” And then she asked, “Melinda, why do you need so many different cars?”

“As you know, I’m a very complex person and depending on my mood, I drive the car that will either enhance it, or change it.”

“I’ve never heard of mood cars before.”

“Oh yeah,” I said without missing a beat, “It’s the latest craze.”

We hopped back in the copter and headed to our next destination, the ocean, where my father’s two hundred million dollar yacht was anchored close to the peninsula but far enough away to avoid the harbor traffic. The yacht has its own helicopter pad, complete living quarters including master bedrooms and bathrooms, living room, game room and dining room. And one very cool toy, that I couldn’t wait to show Chris.

Once I showed her around the four hundred and thirty square foot yacht, I took her to the stern of the boat and opened the door to a one-atmosphere, two person, submersible submarine with a three-hundred and sixty degree pressure hull. It is a very compact little sub that can submerge down a thousand meters, and goes about three and a half miles per hour, but the view outside the hull is worth slowing down for. I started to climb in when Chris stopped me.

“Are we going somewhere in that little thing?” She asked timidly.

“Yeah, if you’re comfortable with the idea. I thought we could take it out for a spin.”

“I don’t know, Melinda, it looks awfully small.”

“That’s the beauty of it. I promise, we won’t go very deep below the surface and if you decide you don’t like it, I’ll bring us back up, pronto. Are you game?” I held my hand out and she took it, smiling, with her forehead crease in doubt.

She was nervous at first, but once we submerged and began to glide through the water, she relaxed and looked at the different species of fish swimming by, seemingly oblivious to us. I pointed out a shark coming our way, and she leaned back, I guess so he wouldn’t see her, and held her breath until he passed us by. And then a squid swam by and it was my turn to hold my breath, praying that his tentacles wouldn’t become entangled around the machinery.

Once we had our fill of that adventure, we enjoyed a sumptuous lunch on the aft deck and by sheer coincidence, the chef had prepared squid barbeque.

She took a bite and said, “Oh my gosh, this is so good!”

“I’m glad you like it. So, what do you think so far?”

“You mean about your magical never-never land? I think it’s wonderful. And here I thought I was privileged. You’re right, now I have a much better understanding of what you’re giving up. But I’m not surprised that you’re going through with it. I’m thankful, actually.”

I was confused and asked, “Thankful, why?”

“Because, Melinda Blackstone, you are worth so much more than all these toys you play with. So much more than what your net-worth is.”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

“It’s not my expectations you should be trying to live up to. You need to find your own potential, just like I had to do, like all of us must do. When I woke up hung over but sober in that alley, it finally hit me that I didn't want that life anymore. But if I was going to have the life I wanted, I was going to have to find it on my own. And you know what, I did. I know, it isn’t much, but it’s my life, not my parent's life, not my parent’s money and certainly not the booze I poured down my throat every night.”

I decided to come clean with her, “Chris, I don’t know if I can leave all of this behind, even for a month. It makes me feel really lonely, if that makes sense to you?”