Bruce Wagner - Memorial

They bonded over the fathers they never really knew. 2 hurt people tilting against the injustices of the world. And all that. She liked listening to what she dubbed Chester’s “love rants” (so named, he thought, because he got so passionate; she called him Chester, never Chess). The latest was on class-action suits. There were apparently attorneys who specialized in suing banks for the clever little wrongs regularly committed against customers. Judges forced settlements—5,000,000 here, 10 or 20 there — and the lawyers took half. The rest was distributed, minus a mysterious calculus of deductions, to X number of the public, who never even knew they were involved in a class-action suit to begin with. That would explain how one day he got a check in the mail for “Zero and 23/100 Dollars”—23¢. (Laxmi went on a mucousy laughing jag when he dug through a drawer to show her the perforated stub.) The Internet said if you didn’t cash it, the 23¢, or whatever, would go to a shadowy “charity,” the beneficiary details of which the banks refused to disclose. He spent an hour at Washington Mutual, standing there while pain shot up his leg, just so he could endorse his 23¢. (Laxmi went on another jag.) Worse than that, Chess was convivial with the teller, who was some kind of mongrel bitch that wouldn’t even joke along through the bullet-proof glass; the microphone system was so fucked that when he wasn’t cupping his ears from feedback he was practically doing sign language.

(Laxmi nearly crapped her pants.)

He dared to wonder how much he could squeeze out of Friday Night Frights. There had to be a formula to it, one of those statistical templates accountants dispassionately applied and attorneys rubberstamped. Had to happen each and every day. Buyouts and hush money settlements made the world go round! Shit, they were still giving so-called falsely accused Rampart scandal cops 5,000,000 apiece — and they’d already compensated the bad guys to the tune of 50 or 60 mil. Chess thought it would probably be hard for him to get a mil, but you never knew. He wasn’t even close to plumbing the litigable depths of his physical trauma, no real diagnosis seemed on the horizon, plus Remar said it was the type of thing juries would automatically be sympathetic toward because “plain folks” could definitely relate. Everyone could see themselves in exactly this kind of unjust situation; for reality shows (like frequently sued tabloids), settlements were the cost of doing business. The popularity of the genre was definitely on the wane and jurors would probably want to sock it to em, for fun. Nobody liked to be made a fool of for free — it was unAmerican. Besides, Remar said he’d scored with a bunch of similar cases. Chess hadn’t yet had the giddy conversation with counsel about how much he might expect monetarily. The lawyer would take a 3rd but hadn’t even clarified if the award was taxable. Part of him didn’t want to know. Part of him knew that whatever anyone got in this world would be chopped off like that knight in the Monty Python movie, arm by arm, leg by leg, until only a dancing torso remained.

He just needed to make sure his slice of the piñata had enough cash stuffed inside: if it was ¾s of a million, then Remar and the MDs could take the arms and legs. ¾ s of a mil was a lot, as long as you made sure to move your ass out of the country. Go subtropical and comport yourself like a king. Set up shop in a walled compound in San Miguel de Allende, right next to Remar and his gay caballero’s homo hacienda. Laxmi told him that in Costa Rica you could get a hundred acres easy, plus servants, chef, and private yoga instructor — for the rest of your livelong days.

For now, he had other concerns. He needed about $5,000 until mind and body were wrapped a bit tighter. Something to float him for the next few months. He put the call in to Marj. She had plenty of bread and he’d never asked for much; that had to count for something. He didn’t want to give too many details about the FNF fiasco (the whole thing embarrassed him — an authentic part of the pain and suffering angle) but would think of an “alternate history,” as Laxmi put it about various aspects of her journal.

I T’S some kind of bone spur but they don’t think I’ll need surgery. It’s pressing against a nerve — the sciatica. Yoga’s really helping. I know a girl, a real yogahead. She takes me to this studio and we do Bikram. They keep it over a hundred degrees. It’s a sweatbox but you feel a thousand times better when you’re done. I’ve been doing some Pilates too, but it’s costly. They have these beautiful machines, beautifully designed. One of em’s called a Cadillac — leather padding, gorgeous wood, nice straps. Elongates the muscles. No, they work with injured people all the time. I think they were originally designed for people with injuries. Anyway, it’s not an injury, Ma, we’re not really sure what it is yet. An “inflammatory process.” That’s the big phrase. The main thing is it’s limited the amount of time I can spend in the car. Which is where I spend most of my time, as you know, because of the nature of my work, which was going very well until a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to bother you about it. I’m holding off on an epidural. I’ve already had an MRI and X-rays, and the epidural is next. I’ve talked to a lot of people who’ve had em and they’re pretty successful. They can really pinpoint the pain. Usually you need 3 of them and there’s one they do that really targets the problem, they go in real deep. It’s all outpatient. No, no, the last thing I want is surgery. The insurance thing is hard right now but I got a great attorney and we’re working that out. Oh yeah! I had to get an attorney. I’m not looking to make a killing, Ma, I’m just looking to feel better. So I’m spending a helluva lot less time in the car, which is a good thing. But how are you doing? You look great, Ma. You’re in better shape than I am! The good news is, I’m about to get a chunk of money. A serious chunk. A settlement. You know my friend Maurie? Remember my old friend Maurie Levin, Mom? Well, he finally got it together to make a feature. He’s been kicking it around for years. A dark little comedy. He cowrote it with the guy who did Million Dollar Baby. Did you see that film, Mom? Million Dollar Baby ? With Clint? Clint Eastwood? Was Ham still alive? Maybe not. Ham liked to go to the movies, didn’t he? Didn’t Hamilton like to go to the movies? He would have liked that one. Million Dollar Baby was the Clint Eastwood, and the guy who wrote it directed a movie about LA that made a lot of money. Crash. That’s what they called it. Did you hear about it, Ma? Did you watch the Academy Awards? It got the Academy Award. But I’m talking about the other movie the guy did, the boxing movie. I know you like Clint Eastwood, but I don’t know if you’d like this one— Million Dollar Baby. I can bring over the DVD. You have a DVD player, don’t you, Ma? It’s about a girl boxer. Probably not your thing. That girl Hilary Swank, the one who kind of looks like a guy though every time you see her in a magazine she’s all done up to make you forget it. Good lookin woman but her bread and butter seems to be the roles where she’s a tomboy or a cross-dresser or whatever. I don’t know if Million Dollar Baby would be your thing. It wasn’t really mine either, but it was well done. Very well crafted. Good script. Dark. Hilary won an Academy for it, her 2nd. She must be the luckiest person in the world. She finally dumped that dipshit husband. Pardon my language. Jeez, what a cipher. Pretty good movie though — old Clint knows his stuff. A pro. Been doin it forever. Anyway, Maurie’s going to direct a film from a script he cowrote with the Crash guy and yours truly is going to produce! That’s right. I think Haggis is a Scientologist. You know, there’s so much bullshit written about Scientologists but they must be doin something right. They always get bad-rapped but how come so many of em are so successful? And happy. How come? I’m going to go down to the Celebrity Center and check it out. There’s just too many famous, rich, happy Scientologists! It can’t be a coincidence. They hate shrinks and so do I. Useless carbuncles on the ass of society. What, is it going to be any crazier than Islam or the Kabbalah or Christianity ? I don’t think so! Our movie’s fairly low-budget — these days, 15,000,000 is low-budge, Mom! — so I’ll get a nice chunk of change around the end of the year. Be able pay you back without a problem. I know you’re not worried. No, Ma, I insist. Have I ever not paid you back? I’ll even give you interest— I have it all printed out in one of those accounting programs. QuickBooks. My assistant did it for me. Very official. Ma, you’re not a bank. No, no, no. Are you serious? Because it’s not necessary. I mean, that would be amazing. You know, all I needed was 5 but 10 is fantastic. 10 will really, really help, Ma. A check is great or a transfer — what do they call that, a wire transfer? — however you want to do it. I’m ignorant. Whatever’s easiest and whatever makes you comfortable. I’m still at the same place. You’ve never seen it? I can’t believe that. Yeah, Don Knotts’s daughter! Yes, it’s sad. Very sad. One of the greats of all time. Karen is amazing. When she found out what happened, about the bone spur, she dropped by and brought me soup and stuff. She’s the best. But 10 is great— that’ll really help with car insurance, rent, all that good stuff. I’ll make it last, Ma — it’s not like I’m shopping at Barneys! But how you doin? Seriously. You OK? You sure? You look good. You look great. I love that jacket. What is that, Chanel? Or is that a Tremayne Clothiers original! How’s Joanie — she OK? I haven’t talked to her since Ham’s memorial. She’s a little — you know Joanie, the air she breathes is sometimes a bit rich. That’s her, always was. I don’t like to judge but I’m a tad more working class. Not so fancy. I could live for a year on what she runs through in a week. But she’s talented, a very talented gal, I’m not running her down. She’s my little sister. Very, very talented. I just hope she gets her due. She should have a kid already. Wouldn’t you like to be a grandma? I might surprise you on that score myself! If she doesn’t make you one, I will, how bout that? Do we have a deal, Ma? But she should have one, seriously. Meeting men was never a problem for Joanie! Unless maybe she can’t — have a kid. They’re all adopting now. Meg Ryan got one from China. And look at Angelina Jolie — I always thought she couldn’t, but there ya go. Shiloh. That kid’s gonna be a heartbreaker. Can you imagine having Brangelina’s genes? I’d like to be in her jeans. And fit in Brad’s! You know, I’m really sorry I haven’t been to see you, Ma, but I’ve been swamped with preproduction stuff and trying to sandwich doctors in between. I’ve had so many scans I feel like one of those airport luggage machines. I ran into Cora outside. Yeah, of course I said hello. Her son was just leaving. What’s his name, Stein? Anyhow, Frankenstein was pulling out. That’s my pet name for him. He’s got a black Rolls, I couldn’t believe it. They’re like Jewish mafia pimpmobiles. I’m kiddin, Mom. But it’s like a tank. A 400,000 dollar tank. You couldn’t give me one of those. Well, maybe if you gave it to me! Stein — that name! Frankenstein waved, and off he went. I chatted with her a minute — nice lady — and she said her dog got sick. Then she started talking about her fatass son. Sorry, Ma. Excuse my language. I’m not running him down. Probably a good guy. Treats his mom right. That’s how you have to judge a person. Lucky guy though. You don’t drive a car like that without having some kinda killer karma. Pardon the pun: car -ma. You know Cora seemed a little out of it but she’s smart as a whip. I asked her what Stein did — for a living. Know what he does, Mom? Did you ever talk to her about it? It’s so crazy. I didn’t really even understand what she said. The guy distributes drugs — prescription drugs — to pharmacies. He stockpiles em in warehouses. And she said that every January the drug companies jack the prices of the pills or whatever and her son collects on the difference! It sounded like stock futures or…the racetrack! I don’t know what it sounded like. I couldn’t figure it out but my brain isn’t so big. That’s why I don’t drive a Rolls! I’m glad you and Cora look out for each other. You do, right? You have her number pasted on the fridge? Neighbors have to look out for neighbors, especially in your age bracket. Widows are a prime target. I was watching 60 Minutes. Those telemarketers — ever get a call from a telemarketer, Mom? Promise to let me know if you do. Do you promise? Do you promise, Ma? Let me know if someone calls and wants you to invest in gemstones, OK? Or “reverse mortgages.” Whatever that is. Mike Wallace was all over that. Jesus, I think he’s older than Don Knotts, and Don Knotts is dead! Seriously, the guy looks better than I do. Maybe he’s got pain too, who knows. Sucks it up and lives with it. Probably’s had 14 epidurals. Different generation. The Great Depression generation. Different mindset, stoical. My generation, we’re just depressed! Mike Wallace — now there’s a guy who could afford a Rolls. All those 60 Minutes people. There’s like 12 of them, right? But you let me know if somebody calls and says they want to put your money in “guarantee bonds.” They call them the “8 Gs of senior softspots”: guarantee bonds, gambling, gardening, golf, gourmet food, grandchildren, groups, and Greyhound bus trips. These people are professionals at gathering information. They trick you into giving them your Social. Don’t ever give anyone your Social — OK, Ma? Promise? You know how they say never to use an ATM at a 7-Eleven? You never heard that, Mom? You don’t ever do that, do you? I mention it cause I know you buy lottery tickets. Never use the ATMs in those places. Or a liquor store. You don’t do that, right? Only use ATMS inside your bank. Cause these other ATMs are information gatherers. They’re like spybots in computers. Spyware. I read all about it. If you’re at the mall and they’re giving a car away and you want to be a contestant or whatever and you fill out a form, these guys are in a consortium — it’s like The Sopranos— and they wind up buying all the names for like a hundred dollars a pop. That’s how they get their victims. They call em mooch lists. Don’t enter any contests, Ma! Dentists are supposedly the easiest targets cause they’ve got issues with self-esteem. That’s what I read. Isn’t that funny? I think it was in Time magazine or something. Somewhere. Dentists are big losers — they’re prime. I’m saying this as your son. Thank God you don’t have a computer! I can’t tell you the solicitations I get over the Internet. From Nigeria. From Johannesburg. I got one from a guy who said he was handling the estate of an entire family that went down in Lockerbie! I barely remember Lockerbie. He wants my help. I can become a 25 % beneficiary — for a small fee! Me, Chester Herlihy, of West Hollywood! Good luck, buddy. I told him I had back problems and had to reboot. They’re always from Africa. The blacks are the blacks, I don’t care where they live. And I’m no racist. Anyhow, I keep getting these stickers in the mail with my name and address. They come once a week. They’re from charities, legit charities, harelip-fixers, that think you’re supposed to be thrilled they’ve printed out your name. I never throw em out because what if someone picks them from the trash and uses em? I can see why people become packrats. You know, anyone can fill out a form and have your mail changed so that you go to pick it up one day and suddenly it’s being delivered someplace else! I mean, the post office hasn’t figured that one out yet! It’s like the whole cargo container thing. Can you imagine? I think you can do that with a driver’s license too. You just drop by the DMV and tell em you lost your license, give em a name and they pump it out. See, you could never do that with a credit card. The credit card people are all over that. If it doesn’t involve money though — a fraudulent little address change or a bogus driver’s license — it’s easy! Party time! I got an envelope the other day that said in this fake kid’s-pencil-scrawl computer font: I JUST DON’T WANT TO BE HIT ANYMORE — HELP ME PLEASE! Inside was a letter saying how some kid was beaten with a stick because his uncle made him do “bad things.” Can you imagine the scams, Ma? I mean, the scope. That Palestinian bitch who lured the little Jewish kid off the Internet? Said she wanted to meet him for sex? After they shot him, all she had to say was, he was “cute.” We’re never gonna beat the terrorists. We can’t compete. If you ever get a fireman or a cop or a whatever who comes to the door, do not answer. Cops never come to the door. And if they do, you are not required to let them in —it ain’t the law. OK, Ma? You don’t legally have to provide access. They need a warrant. That’s right — just like the movies. Ask for their card and their phone number, then call me. These guys impersonate cops. And they’re not just blacks. The really good ones are lily white. They impersonate cops and firemen and whatever, the BTK guy did that, told people he was checking the phone, for chrissake. Oldest one in the book. That guy in Manhattan did it, set a fire in the hall then knocked on some chick’s door and of course she let him in. So if that ever happens, unless the neighborhood is being attacked by Al Qaeda and everything’s going up in smoke or there’s a serious earthquake, or unless it’s someone you know, you give me or Cora a call, or call 911. OK? Even the government’s getting into the act. The government is targeting the elderly, Ma! If you get on a “list of felons” they will make your life miserable. They’ll threaten to take away your Social. I’m talking about maybe a traffic ticket you forgot to pay 30 years ago. Or a ticket Hamilton forgot to pay. I’m talking about some felony your “alter ego” committed — the other Marjorie Herlihy. Marjorie Herlihy, the Pomona welfare fraud queen! But they don’t care! They’ll come after you, Ma, even if you’re disabled! And I won’t be able to help, financially anyway, till I get my settlement. So if you ever have something like that happen, call me. I know a terrific guy, one of the top attorneys. Remar DeConcini. Tough as they come. Remar’s A-one. He’s black, by the way. Now: are you hungry, Mom? Why don’t we do Indian. Oh! I brought you some books and DVDs. The DVDs are an Oprah compilation. The money goes to charity. And I got you 2 books. One is exercises you can do for arthritis. The other’s called Die Rich and Tax Free! Kind of a morbid title but I thought you might like it. Might give you some helpful hints, though I know you keep up on this stuff cause Hamilton was good at it. He taught you stuff, right? You’re not offended, are you? It’s funny, isn’t it? The title? Yeah, I laughed too! We can cross out the “Die” and write “Live.” “Live Rich — or Die Tryin!” Come on, let’s go, I’m starved. Yeah, I got the check, I put it away, and thank you. Ma, it’s right here, in my wallet. You want to see? It’s already deep in my pocket. Thank you, Mom — that’s really going to make a difference. I love you. Now let’s go have Indian. And you gotta let me treat. OK? You promise? You promise you’ll let me treat?