The Hungry House (25 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Within ten minutes, I
pulled up in Vicky's driveway. She was watching for me out the window and opened the front door for me.

"Come on in
and sit down."

"Where's Paul?"
I asked.

"He's watching a game in the family room."

"I'll poke my head in there before I go." I said.

Would you like a glass of sherry?" Vicky asked.

"That sounds super
. I'll have only one, since I'll be driving home soon."

Vicky
got us our drinks, and we sat in the living room. I took this opportunity to observe her in her own environment: confident, beautiful, and elegant as she handed me my sherry and seated herself. In some ways, she was an entirely different person than the young woman I had met years ago. Since she had become a multimillionaire, she no longer had to rely upon someone else's largesse in order to live in comfort and now felt entirely at ease entertaining on her own.

Her attire had changed
. For lounging in the late evenings, she wore velvet sweat suits, such as the charcoal gray one she now wore. And, during the days in class or playing with her son she spent her days in simple black or tan dresses and pantsuits, a gold bracelet on her wrist her only accessory.

The biggest alteration had occurred in her deme
anor since Paul's brush with death. Her eyes carried a thoughtful look, always.. I surmised that the deaths of her mother and the attack on Paul, in such close succession, had left an indelible mark of some sort on her soul. The twin tragedies had matured her but had only served to intensify her beauty.

As I looked around the room, I
marveled to himself at the manner in which such a great beauty had actually deepened and matured into something even more profound than before. At first a little in love with her, I now tried to think of her as a daughter.

A
t first, I had dismissed myself out of hand as a viable suitor, feeling that in my late forties I was simply much too old for her. Best to forget the notion and admire her from afar. So, I had played the part of the kindly "Dutch uncle" all these years. With Vicky, I could discuss the theological and social issues that still plagued my restless mind.

"A penny for your thoughts."

I was startled out of my
reverie. "Just thinking about how to decide what my next film project will be."

She curled her leg underneath her
on the sofa across from me and took a sip from her sherry glass.

"Tell me about the choices."

"There's the possibility of another period piece, set in Victorian England. It's a great story, but I've done several of those. Then, something of a black comedy set in Los Angeles, about all sorts of people with movie scripts--you know--waitresses, cab drivers, etc. But, the one I'm leaning toward is doing a movie based on a mystery novel set in Quebec, in a picturesque village, as well as Montreal.

"You've never done anything like the mystery, have you?"

"No, nothing like that."

Vicky
sat up, her sherry almost spilling out of the glass in her hand in her excitement. "What about doing the mystery for public television?  I know you wouldn't make much, but you'd reach a new audience."

"Actually, Victoria, I think the public television audience is already the same audience that watches my movies.
"

"That's not true
. What about
Snap Shot?"

"Yes, that one had enough sex and violence for a wide au
dience. It finances all my other projects." I turned serious. "A collaboration with PBS? That sounds so refreshing. A break from good-old 'Hollywood' for a while. Just what the doctor ordered. I'm going to do it. I'll talk to Paul about it. I've got to get going tonight--getting an overseas phone call from a friend later. Why don't we continue this discussion over lunch at my place tomorrow?"

"Okay
. I'll be there about 12ish. It will be a welcome distraction from my normal 'Frank's Foibles.'"

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The following day, we
met for lunch in John's dining room. His chef Henri, a tall and lean middle-aged man with piercing blue eyes and a rather prominent nose, personally served plates of chicken Fricassee. At first, I was speechless as I savored the chicken breast covered with a richly seasoned wine and tarragon sauce. I tore pieces from the baguettes he had baked for soaking up the creamy mixture.

Eventually, we
emerged from culinary heaven to discuss John's next project. John withdrew the pocket diary he carried in his breast pocket to take notes. John wondered where I thought the movie should be filmed--Canada or Oregon--to which I replied, "On location in Quebec."

Then, we returned to my
issues with Frank and little Alec. John again advised me of what to say on my next visit to my attorney, mainly that all trips and activities away from Frank's home, but especially out-of-state, should be cleared with me ahead of time prior to being mentioned to Alex.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

As we ate our lunch, a blonde man with a beard sat almost directly across the street in an older Toyota Camry. He appeared to be studying a map, which was laid across the steering wheel. Frank had taken to driving various cars and trying out disguises so that he could follow Vicky and track what she was doing.

He had been there the night John had come over for a drink, only that night he wore a white wig and sat acros
s the street in a parked Kia. He had followed Vicky to John's house and waited seething with rage. He wanted to ram the Toyota into John's Mercedes. He fantasized about taking a sledgehammer to the entire car. As satisfying as this daydream was, he knew he could never actually do it. John would ensure there were consequences to that sort of action.

In certain ways, Frank could barely remember why he cared so much about what
Vicky did. He had been obsessed with her for years, and it was a hard habit to break. Not that I haven't tried, he thought to himself. He had participated in one-night stands, including some ménage de trios, with skillful and beautiful women, taken his dental hygienist girlfriend to a bondage club many times, and even gone back to cocaine for a while. With all these distractions and more, he had not been able to conquer his obsession. If only she would just give in to him, then he might be able to discard and forget about her. I know it's sick, he though and then chuckled. Then he grew serious. What really galled him was that she was raising his son and still wanted nothing to do with him.

After the paternity suit, h
e had sent her flowers and shown up unannounced at her door from time to time. She would simply call the police, and he would have to leave because of her restraining order. After he telephoned her a couple of times, she changed to an unlisted number. Then, he had turned to his various distractions and tried to wait her out, believing that, eventually, she would have to come to her senses. She never did.

That's when he came up with the idea of visitation with Paul
. He despised children. It was almost like a physical aversion. They nauseated him. Children wet their beds, spit up, and needed constant care. Their noses were always running. And, they cried. Incessantly. What a complete waste of time. 

However, he had run out of ways to manipulate
Vicky. She doesn't care about anything I do. I'll make her care.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Tim telephoned Margaret regularly, and once again the subject turned to his wishes for her to spend more time with him and leave her employment.

"But why can't you simply give notice?  Or, at least take a week off?  You've said yourself you have enough savings to retire. So, what's the problem?" Tim asked.

"The problem is that I have an uneasy feeling that something is going to happen
. I can't explain it."

"Yes, that's what you keep telling me
. But, dear, is Alex really your responsibility, or shouldn't you just leave that to his mother? She seems like a fine young woman."

At this, Margaret felt herself bristle inside
. "I'm
making it
my responsibility. No one else knows the players as well as I do, and I do feel a sense of duty toward Vicky and Alex, a sense of duty bound up in love. I'm sorry, you're just going to have to try to understand it."

"It's not me, is it?  Not something I've done or said?  Because, if it is, just tell me
. You can't hurt the feelings of an old businessman like me."

"No, it's not you
. I'd tell you if it had anything to do with you. You should know me well enough not to even ask. Just, please, try to be patient and understand how important this is to me." He had ended their telephone conversation by saying that he did understand, while sounding as if he really did not at all.

There was something about Frank
these days that particularly bothered her, that set her nerves on edge. For one thing, since he had been asked by Vicky's attorney to give her a schedule of outside activities, there had been few trips outside the house. Not that Alex seemed to mind. No matter what Frank said or did, he seemed entranced. She often caught him studying his father with loving eyes during their now quiet visits. Frank purchased movies and books to share with Paul, and they went to Multnomah Athletic Club together to eat in one of its restaurant and swim. All through the seemingly serene visits, Margaret could not shake the eerie feeling that Frank was simply biding his time, that he was in some sort of a holding pattern. She knew that settling for quiet pastimes was completely outside of his usual mode of operation.

Margaret had come to work at the house when Frank was ten years old and she was 15
. He had never been one for quiet evenings at home. In fact, he was always in trouble for sneaking out of his room at night, drinking alcohol, taking drugs, or playing tricks on the staff. At the time, she had thought that he needed closer supervision and more structured activities, but with an invalid mother and a workaholic father who was often away on business, Frank was raised by a succession of disinterested servants. He had been expelled from one private school after another and had terrorized tutors and babysitters alike.

Only she had been able to handle him, simply because she was the eldest of five children and could circumvent all his tricks a
nd plans. She had come to realize there was something not quite right about the child. She discovered graphic and violent pornography in his closet and had infuriated him by burning it in a trash can. Very early in Frank's life, Margaret had concluded that he bore watching.

In the current situation, the longer Frank
played the part of doting father, the more anxious and alarmed she became. What could it mean?  She had no intention of leaving until she found out.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Frank's brother, Edward, had often heard it said that you never know what your last day or hour on this earth will be, and you should live every day as if it were your last. He had never believed any of that. It was just sentimental claptrap, devised by the weak, sentimental, and religious to control the behavior of others. He was only 45-years-old and planned to live to be 100. In his recent divorce, he had been forced to agree to what he felt was an overly generous property settlement. He still had feelings for her, but he was not concerned about the situation. She would always be coming around to get more money when the profits from his corporation increased, and, besides, there would always be other women. His only regret was the disappointment of his daughter Grace.

He stepped into the showers at the Madison Squar
e Club having just completed his regular personalized workout led by his trainer, Klaus. Every evening at exactly 5:00 p.m., he left his office, climbed into his limousine and headed to the gym, if one could call it a gym. Its luxury knew no bounds, from inlaid mahogany walls to marble floors covered with priceless Persian carpets. With a membership price tag of $25,000 a year, it should be opulent, he thought to himself. It was an oasis within the city of New York, frequented by celebrated models and actors, as well as business titans like Edward.

During his workout, h
e had felt an uncharacteristic sheen of cold sweat break out on his face and body, and then Klaus had suggested that they stop for the day. He had said Mr. Armstrong looked tired. That was very unusual. Klaus usually pushed him to the limits of his endurance. Minutes later, he felt the pain of something like heartburn in his stomach along with a little nausea. What in the hell is wrong with me today?  Edward was never sick, well almost never. He headed for the shower.

As usual, his agile brain turned over the things he needed to do when he returned to work that evening to put in a couple more hours
. He stepped out of the water, dried and after reaching his individual dressing room, bent down to check his schedule on his Smartphone. The pain spreading from his chest down his arm brought him to his knees. He slumped onto the floor on his side. After several agonizing minutes, he stopped moving. At 7:00 p.m., housekeeping found him, still clutching the smart phone that contained the record of all his essential elements of his life..

At 5:07 a.m. the following day Frank's bedside telephone rang. He turned over and went back to sleep. It rang two more times in quick succession.

"Fuck!
" Frank sat up in bed, manic with irritation. He lifted the receiver and looked at the caller id. It said Armstrong Media. Why was Edward calling so early? 

He returned the call
. "This is Frank Armstrong. Connect me to my brother so I can find out what's so god-awful urgent."

There were a few beats of silence, during which Frank rolled his eyes at his bedroom ceiling. "Yes, Mr. Armstrong
. Please hold."

"Frank, thi
s is Sully." Sean Sullivan, otherwise known as Sully, was the corporation's top attorney.

"What the fuck
--yeah, that's great. Now, can I
please
speak to Eddie?  Sometime this decade?"

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible."

"Now, you --"

"
-- just calm down for a minute and listen, please. I know you do not like to be disturbed early in the morning. Frank, Edward is dead."

"
No--are you sure?" Eddie was the picture of health. Always had been a fitness nut.

"Yes, we're sure
. He had a heart attack yesterday evening."

"Oh.
" Now, Frank was completely awake.

"I have another emergency meeting of the board starting rig
ht now, and then I'll call you back with more information."

"Okay."

"Are you all right, Frank?"

"Yeah
. I think so. I'll wait for your call."

Fra
nk buzzed her bedroom and asked Margaret to bring up his coffee, paper, and croissant immediately. After looking out the window, he got up and paced, cigarette in hand. He would be coming into some big time money now, and soon. Since Eddie had divorced his wife and given her shares in the settlement, all of his remaining shares would go to Frank.

I'll have power in that company
. They'll have to listen to me for a change. He pictured himself presiding over meetings, the most important person in the room, with everyone waiting to see what he would say next and analyzing his every mood to try to predict how it would affect them.

When Margaret brought up his breakfast and turned on the television he hardly noticed
. He was still in his reverie. Next, I'll completely remodel Eddie's apartment. He adored its view of Central Park and had coveted the place for years. Now, it would be his.

After waiting for what seemed an eternity, Sully telepho
ned. "Okay. I've got a snapshot for you of what's going to happen."

"What do you mean?  I'm getting my brother's shares and coming out to New York
. That's what's going to happen. I'll be taking over where he left off."

"It's not quite that simple."

"Don't try to pull a fast one on me. I've been around the block a few times."

At that moment, Sully made a decision
. "I'll come out there tomorrow and sit down with you. Go over Edward's will." The last thing they needed was Frank banging around their headquarters like a big, crazy bull. He might be drunk or high to boot.

"You can damn well say whatever it is you want to say right now."

"Okay." Sully did not need to look at any documents. He would need to distract himself in order to stay focused. He got up from his glass-top desk and turned to walk in front of his 20-foot floor-to-ceiling glass wall. He had grown up in a two-bedroom house in Poughkeepsie with his parents and seven siblings. The home had been a happy and loving one. All of their basic necessities had been provided, at great sacrifice to his parents. His luxurious office and its view of the Manhattan skyline never failed to calm and center him.

He took a deep breath
. "The family attorney can corroborate everything I'm telling you, but here goes: you get the penthouse free and clear. Ninety percent of his personal shares in the company have gone to the Edward James Armstrong Foundation to be administered by his ex-wife."

"You've got to be
fucking
kidding me!" Frank's screamed into the phone, and Scully moved the receiver well away from his ear.

Scully continued
. "And, in consultation with the Board of Directors, his will specifies that Chuck Horowitz, now Executive Vice President in charge of Operations will be the new CEO.” Sully paused to let this information sink in and waited for more screaming and yelling. It did not come.

"So, you see, there's no reason for you to fly right out here
. You can always contest the will and the corporate decisions. But, you'll have fierce resistance, both from the board and from the shareholders. There is one piece of good news for you."

"Oh, fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

Sully forged ahead, determined to press on to the end and get the disagreeable chore over with. Ten percent of Edward's shares are being held in trust for you. As of today, the value of those funds is $3 billion. You're personal fortune will increase four-fold." Upon his father's death, Frank had been give $1 billion.

"You dirty son-of-a-bitch!  You know I
should have had the whole thing, and I should be CEO."

"Frank
. Well--Frank, I shouldn't do this, but we've known each other a long time, so I'm going to be completely honest with you right now. With the properties, stocks, and investments you now have, you can live very well for the rest of your life, without lifting a finger. Running this company took everything your brother had. I might not be able to prove it, but I'd wager that's what killed him. You're not considering that part of it. He came into corporate headquarters every day at 6:00 a.m., left at five for his daily workout and health shake and came back for another two or three hours. That's at least 13 hours, and that was on one of the light days. I pulled many an all-nighter with him.
Jesus
, Frank. You don't even like to get
up
in the
morning.
Be happy with what you have. It's a lot more than most people ever even dream of." He was getting ready to say something else, but heard the dial tone. Frank was already gone.