Bruce Wagner - Memorial

3,000,000,000. In a peace-and-love prescripted press release, he said there were no hard feelings — he really liked the company that tried to steal from him, and even announced he’d be doing business with them in the future. Well who the fuck wouldn’t. A lot of experts said that half the 250,000 spinal fusions done in the States each year were totally unnecessary; statistics said that instead of fusion, you could have the far less invasive laminectomy or even no surgery at all and do just fine. A little Pilates or even a walk around the block went a long way. But Medicare had bought into the game big-time and everyone was brainwashed into thinking that the more money a procedure cost, the more effective it was. The American way: $$$ = Best. Docs got kickbacks, free trips to Hawaii, and 6-figure consulting fees from whoever made the hardware, and hospitals quadrupled their fees, leaving the crippled, infected, and dead in their wake. Money kept talking even if it didn’t end up walking.

Chess went into some of the blogs and chat rooms. People were beginning to wake up and smell the litigation. But you had be careful: a lot of class action suits had fraudulent underpinnings: big drug companies were being extorted, and they were starting to fight back. Reading about this shit was like staring at one of those Bosch paintings. Gave him the willies. He would never let someone cut into him, that’s for damn sure. He’d be on a beach somewhere counting his money before that would happen.

Slurping daiquiris.

Watch me, Maurie. Watch it happen. Fuckin Jew.

LUCAS Weyerhauser was late.

He laughingly asked if she’d spent the $1,863,279.47. She told him she had the money order, the 11½-thousand-dollar “marker.” He thanked her and said he’d be sending that to the New York State Attorney by special courier, the same folks who flew out jewels for Academy Award presenters, and “trucked” Federal Reserve gold bullion. “Your money order,” he said with a smile, “might very well be sharing a ‘pouch’ with Scarlett Johansson’s Harry Winston tiara.”

He asked how it went at the bank, wanting to make sure she hadn’t “shared” with friends or family members just yet. (She decided not to tell him about her close call with Joan.) He showed the old woman the contracts she’d signed, now notarized and stamped with official-looking seals. Marj asked when she could expect the 1st payment and he laughed again, sweetly, and said sometime in the next 6 weeks, as soon as the tax was paid on her winnings. That was standard, he said, showing off a cashier’s check — not the “marker” monies, he clarified — from the family in Ojai who “were unfortunate enough to win a bit less” than her. The amount was for $335,000, which meant, he said, they’d be able to “liquefy” within the next 10 days. Mr Weyerhauser didn’t think Marj wanted to “cash out” that quickly but if she “so desired,” arrangements could always be made. A minor hassle but he’d do anything for his Sisters. She said no — she didn’t want to be pushy — and the young man thought that prudent.

He’d be back on Friday. He urged her to stop calling him Mr Weyerhauser (she toggled back and forth between Lucas and the former) “because it makes me feel a bit beyond my years.” What a smile he had! Then he pulled a box of expensive chocolates from his briefcase and said, “Of all my Blind ones, you’re the teacher’s pet. I’m not supposed to say that but I don’t think I’ve broken any federal laws.”

After walking him to his car — the nice black chauffeur stood in readiness — she went next door to check on Cora. She was always slightly concerned that her neighbor would see Lucas through the window; the old woman hadn’t yet concocted a story to explain him.

When Cora opened the screen, she began to babble, without Marjorie having said a word.

“Oh, Pahrump’s just fine! The clinic is wonderful. It’s like the Mayo! They said he won’t be there but a few days…did you know that as little as a few years ago, the poor veterinarians used to sneak sick dogs into UCLA at night to use the radiation machines? Those men are living saints. You don’t have any idea what goes on, Marjorie — but everything’s different now. The world has completely changed when it comes to animal care. Thank God! There is an entire oncology department, and the nurses —angels from heaven!”

She invited Marj in. As they settled onto the living room couch, a toilet flush startled. Stein came in from the bathroom, still drying his hands.

“Hi, Mrs Herlihy,” he said.

“Oh, hello!”

“I oughta get you a Toto, Ma.” He turned to their visitor. “They’re from Japan — I just got 3 for the house. They’re like car-washes for your tushie.”

“Oh, Steinie!”

“How are the kids?”

“Fine!” said Marj. “They’re fine.”

Cora gave her son a look, telegraphing that “the kids” never came around, and the topic might be best left unexplored.

“I was just telling Marj about the marvelous hospital Pahrump is in.”

“The tumor’s out and they don’t think it’s spread.”

“Tumor?” said the guest.

Cora shot Stein another look.

“Let’s not talk about it! My son has already taken me to a variety of boarding schools, for when Pahrump gets out.”

“Boarding schools?” said Stein, with an indulgent smile.

“He’s not coming home?” said Marj.

“Well, no — not right away.”

“He’s going to need close looking after for a few weeks,” said Stein. “I didn’t want to put Mom through that.”

“You should see the place we went to, for my Rump!”

“Watch your language, Ma! It sounds like you’re talking about my Toto! But it was pretty amazing. It gives that convalescent home in The Sopranos a run for its money. You know — the one Paulie put his mom in? I think she turned out not to be his mom. They go so long between seasons, I get confused. Anyway it’s like a palace.”

“The dogs watch television.”

“On plasma. I kid you not. There’s even a little beauty salon, and a spa. It was written up — in Los Angeles magazine, I think.”

“And if you pay just a bit more,” said Cora (her son playfully interjected, “You mean if I pay just a bit more”), “those wonderful people sleep in the bed with them! If that’s what your dog is accustomed to…”

Marj couldn’t get a grip on what they were talking about.

“Each program is individually customized.”

“If the pet is lonely or frightened the ‘tenders’ climb right in!”

“Yeah, they tenderize. Our insurance picks up a lot of it.”

“Insurance?” said Marj. She was getting an education.

“Oh yeah. It’s only a few hundred a year. You can get coverage on potbelly pigs and chinchillas. I’m serious. Google employees get it automatic. A lot of big companies are doing it. One of the partners at my firm has insurance on his gecko. I kid you not. He has a gecko called Gordon. By the way, Mrs Herlihy, that check you gave my mother was above and beyond.”

“Oh! Yes!” exclaimed Cora, silently clapping her hands. “You dear heart! I didn’t even thank you! But we can’t accept it.”

“You must,” said Marj.

“Mom, I already told you. We’ll give it to the Humane Society.”

“Yes,” said the old woman. “That would be marvelous.”

“But you shouldn’t have, darling.”

“ Very thoughtful and very generous,” said Stein. “The donation will be made in yours and Hamilton’s name.”