Paul Robertson: The Heir

“Jason!”

“Yeah. Who’d have thought? He acted rich, but not that rich.”

It took her a few seconds to get her breath back. “A billion dollars?”

“That’s right. That’s not an M, it’s a B. You have hit the jackpot, cupcake. Call your momma and tell her she was wrong. No, I think I’ll call the little rapscallion myself.”

“It’s all ours?”

“To the last brass farthing. If you invested a billion dollars in the bank, do you know what the interest would be? Two hundred thousand. Per day. You could even have hard feelings against the old man for being stingy, with the paltry thirty grand a month he was giving us.”

“What are we going to do?”

“If we keep on a budget and don’t spend too much, we’ll manage somehow. A billion dollars isn’t what it used to be, you know.”

She took a deep breath and we both calmed down. “That’s not what I meant. Oh, never mind. Are you all right?”

I wasn’t. A billion dollars weighs a lot, and right then I was feeling it all. “I want to get to bed.”

“Come this way.” Mama Katie took command.

Tuesday morning I went running. I do it for exercise and I don’t push myself, but that morning I set a world record in the four mile Run Away From Your Problems event. Katie was still asleep when I left, and was just coming down to breakfast by the time I came back in.

“That was fast.”

“Paparazzi. You have to sprint to keep ahead of them.”

“Really?”

“No.”

She was waiting when I came back down from my shower, and we ate together. We always eat breakfast looking out over the garden.

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I want to meet more of the people who worked for Melvin. And I want to catch Nathan Kern before he goes to Africa tomorrow, to talk about the foundation. That’ll be dinner out again tonight.”

“Could we have him over here?”

Our house could use the blessing of his presence. “Yeah. I’ll have Pamela set it up. It’ll be friendlier, in case he has hard feelings about not getting Melvin’s wad for the foundation.”

I finished breakfast, and Katie was still there watching me. “Did you see Angela yesterday?”

“We had lunch downtown,” she said. “It was very nice.”

“Does she know what she’s doing with her life?”

“No.”

“She has no money worries.”

“She’s very lonely. And she’s afraid to make friends.”

“She should be. She’s a rich, single, lonely sitting duck.” Besides, she didn’t know how to make a friend. She never had.

“I told her we’d take care of her.”

“I guess we have to.”

“She had a husband. Now she’s by herself, and she never has been before.”

A little kitten in the deep woods. I’d never get the adoration from Katie that Melvin did from Angela, and I’d hate it anyway. Maybe when I was older. Maybe for my second wife I’d pick an Angela.

“We’ll take care of her,” I said. “We’ll assign you to watch her, and I’ll keep Eric under control.” Who needs kids? “Maybe we could set her up with Nathan.”

Katie’s eyes lit up. “What an idea, Jason. I’m going to think about it.”

“Katie, I was joking.”

“But still…”

“And they could adopt Eric. They could be the parents he’s always wanted.”

“Now, that’s being silly. When are you seeing Eric again?”

“I’ll call him today.”

I didn’t. It was a long day and I was being very conscientious regarding my many responsibilities, which involved mainly sitting upstairs in my little office and talking on the phone to people whose names were on lists that Fred Spellman and George Elias had given to me.

I left the house to meet with Stan Morton of the newspaper and television empire. We talked about his daughter Natalie, whom I hadn’t seen since Yale, except at my wedding and then at hers. She was married to one of Stan’s vice presidents, but I was sure that this morning, she was thinking about the fish that got away. It wasn’t her husband’s fault that he wasn’t the richest man in the state. She’d just make him feel like it was.

But Natalie did not inherit her claws from her father. Stan was a reasonable man, pleasant and to the point, and with the kind of beard grown by people who don’t want to shave every morning. He was independent and not about to take orders from anyone about what his paper and television station were going to say. But he also knew where his bread was buttered. I had three of his nine board members in my pocket, and I was his biggest stockholder. We cordially reached an understanding that we would discuss anything of mutual interest and parted on friendly terms.

I met with Fred for a few minutes and then with two more of my corporate presidents, and then Pamela called with the disaster of the day.

“Nathan Kern will be at your house at eight.” That was not the disaster. “And, Jason, do you know Felicity Nottingham Cavalieri Gildanov?” That was the disaster.

“This is a person, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, it certainly is.”

I thought so. I’d heard of her in the news-kind of like I’d heard of the Titanic -but didn’t know the exact details.

“She would like to meet with you,” Pamela said.

“Well, put her on the list, and I’ll get to her if I want to.”

“That might be difficult.”

“Isn’t she with the opera?”

“That’s right. She has a tour arranged for you at two o’clock.”

“I’m not going to tour the opera.”

“Dear, I’ve told presidents of the United States that your father-was unavailable, but this is one lady I’m leaving to you.”

At two o’clock sharp I arrived at the gilded portal of that great and so very important and beneficial institute, our state’s own War-wick Opera House-home of that beacon of enlightenment and uplifting purpose, that instrument of civilizing culture, that bedrock of society, the State Opera. For over two hours I was honored, even privileged, to be in the company of the dignified, gracious chairwoman of that splendid temple of worthiness. She was all that a person of such exalted position should be, and much, much more. Much, much, much more. The sights I saw that precious day will stay with me always. But even that magnificent stage, the glistening lobby-itself a showcase of the first order-paled compared to the words I heard, the many, many descriptions, enlightening lectures, entire college courses on the sophisticated genius, the ancient history, the crucial importance of the most devastatingly wonderful achievement in the entire accomplishment of all mankind, the opera. It was with the greatest regret, and difficulty, that I cut short my visit to that hallowed place due to other pressing business, and I could only hope that my donation, on the spot, of one hundred thousand dollars would somehow mitigate my praiseworthy and admirable hostess’ sublime sorrow that I could not stay for the second half of her tour.

“You got off easy,” Fred said when I called.

“Melvin put up with that battleship?”

“He called her Stalin. You’re going to be on her board of directors.”

“No.”

“Yes you are, Jason.”

“I said no.”

“It doesn’t matter what you say to me. You’ll have to deal with her.”

“Fred, after this afternoon, I could do it. I could say no to her.”

“Don’t. Kindly say that you would be honored. Every person who could realistically be a rival to you is on that board, including Harry Bright and Bob Forrester. She has forced them all onto it, and you need to be there.”

I was not in a good mood when I got home. Katie steered clear, and I had to sit still in my office for a few minutes before I could trust myself with the telephone.