The Last Word (7 page)

She gave me a quick glance and said, “No Izzy!”

“Do not speak to Aunty like that,” Maggie snapped, “or I’ll give you a time-out.”

Sydney resumed sipping air.

“Relax, Princess Banana, I’m staying right here,” I said, planting my ass in the foyer.

“That’s good,” David said, “sitting on the floor. We should sit on the floor more
often.”

“We could eat on the floor sometimes too,” Maggie suggested.

My brother then took a slug of beer and forced an unremarkable burp.

“Manners, Daddy.”

“No manners, Sydney. We don’t have those manners here,” David said.

“Motherfucker,” Maggie mumbled under her breath, but apparently Sydney heard her.

“Bad language!” Sydney said, parroting no one in this room.

Maggie turned to her husband mournfully and said, “What if she’s always like this?”

“We’ll send her to boarding school.”

“Isabel, would you please come all the way inside?”

“I’m not really comfortable with that.”

“I promise. No funny business.”

“Put it in writing,” I said.

Maggie drafted a document on a Post-it
¹⁹
and delivered it to me in the doorway.

“Thank you,” I said as I relocated to the couch. Sadly, the document was binding only
for the next twenty-four hours.

Maggie stretched out on an easy chair (the kind with a reclining lever) that she’d
fought violently against as a newlywed and then became its primary occupant. My brother,
dethroned, shot her a smug glance and sat next to me.

“Claire and Max are coming over tomorrow,” David said to Maggie.

“Good-bye, Izzy,” Sydney said.

She says that sometimes, thinking it will precipitate my departure. Sometimes it works.

“That’s rude,” Maggie said.

Then David muttered under his breath, “Remember, we don’t use the R word.”

“Don’t be rude,” Sydney said.

“Okay, it’s time for bed,” Maggie said. Instead of waiting for her daughter
to get to her feet, she scooped her up en route and held her under her arm like a
football as they trudged up the stairs.

“You found someone to play with her?” I asked.

“Max is my buddy. He’s a single dad. He’s kind of doing me a favor. Also he wants
his daughter to be more assertive, so he figures eventually Sydney will annoy her
enough that she’ll snap.”

David finished his beer and grabbed another from the refrigerator. He attempted to
uncap it with his teeth.

“What are you doing?” I said. “Sydney’s not here to witness your bad behavior.”

“I’m a method actor.”

“I don’t think your method is working,” I said.

“It’s just like a cult,” David said. “Deprogramming takes time. Enough about my troubles.
Let’s hear about yours. Has employee morale improved at all?”

“Can’t say that it has.”

“That, too, will take time.”

I suppose I have a little more explaining to do. Please allow me one final digression.
²⁰

1
. And it would have had to be against my will.

2
. Never admit defeat.

3
. Rick Harkey, PI, was a retired cop whose reputation was smeared (by me!) a few years
ago when I found a collection of his old cases that involved serious police misconduct
and witness tampering. He managed to pawn off his PI practice on some slob before
he took off to Florida.

4
. Seriously, one escaped once. The first thing Grammy Spellman said when she heard
was: “What do you think they’ll do with his coat? I bet it’s
gorgeous
.”

5
. That’s not true. Fifty percent seem the same.

6
. This is what I have to say about Marina people: Why don’t you just move to L.A.?

7
. Working on marketing terms to bring in higher-end investigative work.

8
. I moved my pawn, the one in front of the thing that moves sideways, two places,
because it’s the only time you can move it two places.

9
. Unlike moving companies.

10
. I think it’s charming that some people pretend these are letters.

11
. He eventually loses steam on the niceties.

12
. For more information on H. Stone, see appendix or previous document.

13
. This question is more loaded than it might seem.

14
. We broke up six months ago. He dated Lola Leggert for at least a month, some other
Blank Blank for another few weeks, and this Annie character for four months tops.

15
. If you say it enough, eventually it becomes true. Right?

16
. I never had a fighting chance with these two as parents.

17
. Note to self: Learn how to reconcile bank statements.

18
. I never eat the stuff; why do I buy it?

19
. Toilet paper, Post-it, back of a T-shirt—all can contain binding contracts.

20
. Er, there will likely be more digressions than this.

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

Please take note that Isabel Spellman is now the primary owner of Spellman Investigations.
That means that she is now your boss, no matter what anyone else might tell you.

Signed,

Management 2.0

T
here were about two weeks of relative calm as my parents were stunned into silence
at the change in regime. I suppose we all expected to have some kind of succession
plan and I made a few political promises, like making our filing system electronic.
²
Once my parents adjusted to the initial shock and were willing to accept my new role
in the company, a personal shift happened that I must admit I’m not proud of. After
the dust settled
and your typical workplace malaise set in, I realized that I had an opportunity here
that I was squandering. As the president/vice president
³
/CEO or whatever, wasn’t it my job to shake things up a bit? Isn’t that what happens
in giant corporations when there’s a massive personnel shift?

I’d never had power before. You know, like warehouse foreman, chain restaurant manager,
camp counselor, gun owner, benevolent dictator kind of power. So, when I finally realized
I had the right to call the shots, I will admit that it went to my head. I’ll also
admit that after thirty-five years
⁴
of being at the mercy of my parents’ shenanigans and power plays and manipulations,
I wanted a bit of payback.

The imperative memos were my first order of business.

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

Tomorrow everyone must wear something in a shade of orange.

Signed,

Management 2.0

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

Isabel Spellman should be addressed as Madame President henceforth.

Signed,

Management 2.0

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

Isabel Spellman no longer wishes to be addressed as Madame President.
⁵

Signed,

Management 2.0

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

Tomorrow is Black-Tie Tuesday. Dress appropriately.

Signed,

Management 2.0

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

Filing must be completed every morning before any office work begins. The shifts are
as follows.

Monday: Albert Spellman

Tuesday: Olivia Spellman

Wednesday: Demetrius Merriweather

Thursday: Isabel Spellman

Friday: Filing-Free Day!

Signed,

Management 2.0

If it’s not patently obvious, there was some recreational malevolence to my filing
protocol. Aside from ignoring my campaign promise of making Spellman Investigations
a paper cut–free office, I was reigniting a filing war we’d had since the beginning
of time. Since Friday was designated a
Filing-Free Day!
my father was left the bulk of the filing work (an activity he loathes more than
jogging or getting the flu shot, and which he has, in the past, pawned off on any
human who gets within spitting distance of the filing cabinet). I knew my mother wouldn’t
abide my father’s leaving the filing to her. And that my mother, with her undying
devotion to Demetrius, wouldn’t insult him by leaving her day’s filing for him. Since
I was directly involved in getting Demetrius out of prison, I knew Demetrius wouldn’t
stiff me either. On Thursday morning, I’d arrive early, stash the stack of papers
in my desk, and slowly slip them back into the filing pile on Friday afternoon. Perhaps
not the wisest play for company morale, but I really do loathe filing and after years
of being a grunt, I didn’t see why there shouldn’t be a slight shift in the power
structure and some new benefits to being the boss.

Before anyone got wind of my filing scam, I stepped up my game and sent out what would
ultimately be my last recreational memo.

MEMO

To All Spellman Employees:

As the company structure has changed, the Management has decided to reinterview
all Spellman employees. Please schedule an interview with Vivien at your earliest
convenience, but no later than one week from today.

Signed,

Management 2.0

Upon seeing the note, my father quickly attacked the sign-up sheet and got the first
slot: the next morning at eight
A.M
.
⁶

My father showed up in a seersucker suit (ah, the good old days when he wore outside
clothes) and pulled a pastrami sandwich out of his briefcase, which he bit into only
after I posed a question.

INTERVIEWER:
What do you think are your primary strengths?

INTERVIEWEE:
[under or over the sound of chewing] I’m loyal, reasonable, a human lie detector,
have twenty years’ experience as a cop, another twenty-two as a private investigator,
and I know a good sandwich when I see one.

INTERVIEWER:
What are your weaknesses?

INTERVIEWEE:
[lettuce and bits of mustard have now migrated down to his tie] I could lose a few
pounds, get some exercise. I’m no genius.

INTERVIEWER:
Are you questioning your own intelligence?

INTERVIEWEE:
That’s all I’ve been doing these last few weeks.

INTERVIEWER:
Care to elaborate?

INTERVIEWEE:
I lost my business to someone thirty years my junior, who lives in a basement, has
a rap sheet, and still doesn’t know how to separate whites and bright reds when doing
the wash.
⁷

INTERVIEWER:
Do you even want this job?

INTERVIEWEE:
I don’t know anymore. But you sure can’t beat the commute.

Not the best interview ever, but shockingly, not the worst. My mother scheduled hers
for the following day. At the appointed time, there was a knock at the door and my
sister entered in attire so professional I barely recognized her. She wore a pair
of brown leather pumps, a houndstooth pencil skirt, a blue button-up shirt with a
complementary navy blue cardigan. Her hair was strangled in a bun, and topping it
all off were reading glasses dangling from her neck. My sister is petite, like my
mother, with an even flatter chest. In jeans and a baseball cap, she is often mistaken
for a thirteen-year-old boy. She favors my mother in many ways but is sandy-haired
and doesn’t possess Mom’s striking good looks.
⁸
That morning my sister looked like something between an eye-catching young professional
and a little girl playing dress-up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’m here on behalf of Olivia Spellman,” Rae said.

“You mean Mom?”

“Let’s keep this professional,” Rae said, donning reading glasses and looking over
a sheaf of papers in a manila folder.

“You won’t need those glasses for twenty years.”

“I’m here,” Rae said, clicking her pen to attention, “to negotiate the terms of Mrs.
Spellman’s employment at your agency.”

“I am not looking to negotiate,” I said. “This is simply a job interview.”

“Mrs. Spellman would like to cut her hours and receive a ten percent raise.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Do you know how to do her job?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve been doing it for almost twenty years.”

“Have you managed the payroll and bills, and liaised with our outside contractors
and accountant?”

“No. But those have always been her responsibilities.”

“And she would like to be appropriately compensated.”

“I don’t know that we have the money for that. Anything else?”

“Yes. Since Mr. and Mrs. Spellman own the property in which you do business, they
would like a rental agreement in place. I’ve looked at comparable spaces, with access
to a kitchen, bathroom, television, and a view.”

“What view are you talking about?”

“There’s a window. We think fifteen hundred dollars a month is fair.”

“That would mean everyone would have to take a pay cut,” I said, the error of my ways
not just sinking in but drowning me.

“Not everyone,” Rae said, removing her glasses, snapping shut her file folder. “You
have forty-eight hours to negotiate the terms.”

By the time Demetrius was up, the game was over. D arrived promptly for the interview
wearing a tweed coat and tie. He sat down across from me and said, “Thank you, Ms.
Spellman, for this opportunity.” Then he placed a piece of paper on my desk.

DEMETRIUS MERRIWEATHER

CV

1994–1996: Merriweather Communications

Owner

• Procured inexpensive televisions and accessories (i.e., VCRs, stereo speakers) for
the budget-conscious.

1996–2011: San Quentin Penitentiary

Inmate

• Worked in the kitchen, laundry room, and library. Familiar with the Dewey Decimal
System.