 
Estate Sale

Phil Wohl

ONE

"You know I don't like taking those pills," Bruce George said to his wife happy with the grunter frustration, even though we have been taking those pills for more than 20 years.

Happy wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead and did her best not to totally demean his manhood.

"Well, honey. I tried to inflate him with my mouth and also use my hands as an air pump, but I don't think that sale is going to unfurl naturally."

There was no logical reason why Bruce shows to go it alone on this night other than the 60th anniversary of his high school graduation. Yet always been a willing accomplice when taking performance enhancing drugs since he was diagnosed with type II diabetes and flaccidity became the rule. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a bottle labeled Cialis take one tablet when she's ready to ride. He shook his head to clear some cobwebs in the bottle read, "Take one tablet for erectile dysfunction."

He popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed after filling his mouth water from a plastic bottle that again and some dust from neglect.

"Now, where were we?" I'm now confident George said to his wife as she giggled like a schoolgirl.

Five minutes later, happy was growing tired of the never-ending foreplay session.

"Maybe you should take another one," she suggested with little sensitivity.

Bruce look down and said, Space "one pill usually does the trick," Space as he reached back into his drawer while taking a sip of water. He popped another pill in his mouth that's followed before his pride, represented by the devil yelled, "fuck that! Take another one! That bitch doesn't think you have anymore!"

"Don't do it," an angelic image of himself warned," the suggested dosage is one pill, not three! You're a man whether or not you can get an erection!"

"Fuck that! Those "Bruce said along with his devil ego, as he swelled the third pill, which was sure to wreak havoc on is 78-year-old body.

"What?" Abby asked.

"Nothing," Bruce replied. "Houston, we have lift off!" he yelled as she purred, "Now that's more like it!" at the sight of his fully functioning rocket.

TWO

"Hello," a male voice said without looking at the Caller ID on his cell phone. He was busy at work and wasn't really paying attention.

"Hey, it's me!" a younger female voice exclaimed. Grant George pull the phone away from his left ear and the name was blurry into extended further. What he saw the name Alice had a funny picture of those sister wearing a Raggedy Ann costume for Halloween when she was seven, he proceeded, "Hey, Ally! What's up?"

" I am worried about mom and dad," she said.

He wasn't that alarmist, but the sky was always falling in his sister's world, so he continued without hysteria.

"Okay. What's bothering you?"

"I tried to call them this morning, but nobody answered. And then I wet waited an hour, because they don't like it when I come over unannounced."

Grant flashback to a previous conversation he had with the sister years earlier.

"I walked in on them!" she yelled.

"You walked in on them?" he questioned.

"Yeah, they were doing it."

The words 'doing it' did not resonate in his mind at first since the last thing he was thinking about was his parents having sex.

"Doing it?" he questioned, and then the frosty imagery nearly ruined his day. "Doing it!" he yelled. "Why did you just tell me that? I gotta' go to go to the bathroom, and I'm not sure which end it's gonna' come out of!"

For the record, he was safely sitting when the landslide occurred.

Alice continue tour Wonderland, "And then I went over the house and no one answered the door."

"Did you check the garage door for the cars?" he inquired.

"Mom's car was in the garage and dad's car was in the driveway," she replied.

Grand was always thinking about his legacy, "Was the Mustang still there?"

Alice rolled her eyes, "Yes. How can you think about that car at a time like this?"

"Good question," Graham thought, since he was always thinking about that car and really wasn't concerned yet. At least, not yet. "Sorry," he said. "Did you use your key and going into the house?"

She hesitated, "I'm not going in there! Nothing good can happen if I go in there."

"Well, if they're not home, that could be good," he stated.

"Maybe they went for a walk or bike ride," he added.

She was quick to respond, "They don't go on walks or ride bikes."

"Maybe a friend of theirs picked them up to go somewhere," Grant said, trying to avoid anything that could be potentially serious.

"Dad always drives everywhere."

Grand out of his head in agreement, "That's true. So, what do you want me to do? Is it too early to call the police?"

"No police. Dad would be mad," she replied.

Grant was out of suggestions, "You do realize that I'm four hours away."

The silence on the other telephone spoke volumes. Grant looked down at his Apple Watch and stated, "If I leave Boston within the hour, I won't get home to New York until about two or three o'clock."

"Okay, call me when you get close," she said.

"And you call me if you hear from them before then," he said and then darn out of his office after emailing a few people that he could be reached by cell phone.

Hey things went through grants my journey from the Back Bay and Boston to Lincoln Lane in North Inlet Long Island New York. What wasn't happy having a pacifier's kitty sister, he felt fortunate that her call K midmorning on the week before the kids were scheduled to go back to school. Parkway's, freeways and expressways are generally wide open it's was good and bad – good because he was able to avoid traffic, but bad because he is able to avoid traffic that deal with what might be waiting at the end of the ride. As each your past is level of anxiety group. He called his parents' house a half-dozen times with no reply, and also call each of their cell phone several times without success.

He stopped only once halfway to go to the bathroom and get something to eat which wasn't easy at a rest stop. Grant thought about calling his older sister Patricia, but she lived on the West Coast and he hadn't spoken to her for years and she hadn't been home in forever.

As Grant turned off the main street and was now only a few blocks from his parents' house – the house he grew up in – the reality of the situation starts really sinking. His parents had been relatively healthy throughout the years despite his mom's breast cancer when she was 45 when he was away at college. But that passed after a few years of treatments and was rarely talked about again for fear that it would return and finish the job.

You thought about calling one of his old friends from the neighborhood, but it had been years and would've been awkward. But some sort of shield of the diversion would've been preferable. Grant stopped just outside of Alice's house, which was around the corner from his parents' house, and she got in the car. Normally, they would have hugged, but they're both too nervous for formalities. The quarter-mile drive seemed as long as the rest of the trip for Grant.

He parked at the curb and then unfurled as long frame out of the small SUV. Grant had grown tired of years of living in ho-hum suburbia and was on the verge of propelling real change, or so we thought. His kids were grown and out of college, off his insurance, making their own money and living their own lives. His wife had been fucking another man for years and she remarried a few months earlier. His thoughts often drifted to his father's 1965 Ford Mustang convertible in recent months and the bitterness he felt and not being at the drive that car, which had been started up every few months but was basically sitting in the garage for decades.

Bruce would always say to Greg, "You're not ready for it yet," but Grant never knew what he meant until he started walking up the stone path to the front door, he breached so many times. With each step two felt as if his life was about to change in ways that he was helpless to control. But he kept moving forward like he had always done.

THREE

Alice handed Grant the front door key and he opened the door with minimum apprehension. Any hint of a familiar smell vanished on first inhale, as the stale stench of vacancy pervaded his senses.

"Why don't you wait in the kitchen while I check things out," Grant said, as big brother gently patted little sister's back for comfort.

While he had no initial plan where he would look, his feet kept moving forward to the end of the hallway of this four-bedroom ranch. To the right was his bedroom, which he passed without reminiscence, and then Alice's bedroom after that at the end of the hall on the right that she shared with Patricia before Patricia hit the teen years and moved to the renovated attic.

Grand stared straight ahead to the bathroom he shared with Alice, awkward walk-ins and all, then made an immediate left turn into his parents' bedroom. The door was open and the room was dark, as the shades have been drawn, blocking out the light of the day. The room was cold – perhaps colder than usual – which was a departure from the sauna the house had become as his parents aged.

His mother often wore a sweater throughout the summer and turned off the air-conditioner. But she was much hotter than usual the previous night, as she got up to go to the bathroom after failed attempts to get her husband going. She was so overheated, in fact, that she walked down the hall and turned the central air conditioner down below 70°. Obviously, her internal heat stems from stem from a heart that was clearly overworked and was ready to cease functioning. Years of undetected blockage has finally come to a head for Abby George, when hadn't seen a doctor since she theoretically beat cancer.

Grant walked to the left of the bed instinctively felt for the cord that would open the dark blinds from the bottom. It was like he had ripped a bandage off in one quick movement, as the light of the day flooded the room and then drowned him in a sea of conflicting emotions. He turned and threw up in the corner of the room and then wiped the excess fluid from his mouth and dial 9-1-1.

"Nine, one, one, what's your emergency?"

"can you please send someone over to 44 Lincoln Lane in North Inlet?" a shocked Grant asked the emergency operator.

"What is your emergency, sir?"

Grant had his back to the bed and replied, "My parents are dead."

The female operator became concerned, "How did they die? What's your name?"

"My name is Grant George. My sister called me and said my parents were not responding to her calls, so I drove from Boston and just found my parents dead in bed."

"How do you know they're dead, Mr. George?"

"I'd rather not say, they're gone," he said and then hung up, put it in his pocket and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him protect his sister from potential exposure.

Grant walk down the hallway and his sister walked toward him as he stopped and turned toward her. She placed her hands on her face, just below her eyes and started to cry even before he said, "They're gone," as they hugged and sobbed in each other's arms until the paramedics, police and coroner arrived over the next 15 minutes.

The police came with every intention of questioning Grant after being briefed by the emergency operator. That was, until, they had a look at the obvious non-crime scene.

"I've seen this happen a few times, EMT paramedic Brian Christian said to Officer Steven Jones. "He took too many pills and had a massive coronary." Christian picked up the plastic bottle of pills with his plastic lab covered in right-hand. "But this is my first time witnessing a conjoined double coronary with the participants frozen in time in the act.

The officer removed his small flashlight from his utility belt and shined it on both of their faces.

"Damned if they don't look happy."

"Not a bad way to go," Christian said.

"Yeah, sign me up for that shit," Officer Jones stated. "So, he added as he took out a small note pad, "no signs of foul play and no reason to further investigate."

"Other than this woman is unusually flexible for a woman of her age," Christian observed.

"Are you going to be able to get them apart?" Jones asked just says Coroner Hector Maldonado walked into the room.

"Hey, Hector," Christian said.

"What's up, Big Cat?" Jones added as they bumped fists. Maldonado was the slugger on their softball team.

"how many pills did you take? He's in there pretty deep," Hector observed.

"I would guess three," Christian said.

"That boy was juiced," Officer Jones added.

"Not going to be an open casket for this one," Christian said.

Hector look down at the paperwork and the box for a cremation was checked. "No, these two are going to be dust."

"All right. I'm done here. See you later." Officer Jones said as he bumped fists with Hector again and then left the room.

Kristen look at Hector and asked, "Did you bring the big Hefty bag?"

"Yeah, definitely not a double-bagger," Hector replied.

Jones walked out and offered his condolences to Greg and Alice. "I'm sorry for your loss. Is there anything we can help you with?"

Grant replied, "as a matter of fact, yes..." and then went on to detail his problem that required special handling.

FOUR

Fighting and actually connecting with Patricia George recent years has become increasingly challenging, even for her own parents. As the head of a major motion picture entertainment studio, it was imperative for her to have a multitiered screening process similar to that of the President of the United States.

Grant try to call his sister as he stepped outside to the back patio after the EMT showed up. He told the screener that it was urgent, but it probably didn't matter what he said after giving his name. Their relationship had hit an impasse after their personal and professional lives intersected. It has been a cause of great mental anguish for Grant, but he didn't feel like his sister really gave a shit after their latest conversation.

"Patricia George's office, can I help you?" the 20-something transgender, Marva Prentice, asked a neutral tone of voice that masked her gender.

"Yes, my name is Officer Jones of the North Inlet Police Department in New York and I have some urgent information to deliver to Ms. Jones."

It was the second time that someone from New York had called with urgent information, with the first time being from my persona non grata in the George universe.

"Well, missed George is quite busy today and I doubt she will be returning calls anytime soon," Martha said in a snippy tone of voice that was not well received by the law enforcement professional.

"I'd appreciate it if you had a little less attitude and a little more empathy." Jones wasn't sure if he was talking to a man or woman, so he refrained from ending the sentence with Ms. or Mr.

And then the officer decided to take the most direct approach possible that would most likely enable him to exit from the proceedings.

Marco heard the word apathy and said, "I'm sorry, Officer."

"You're your boss needs to call her brother back straightaway. Between you and me, her parents have just passed in their house."

"Oh," Marva exhaled. "I will get her the message right away. Have a good day." And she hung up, ending the tense conversation.

And while Patricia George got the message, she did not call back her brother. Instead, she boarded her private jet in California and landed at an airfield 20 minutes from her old house in less time than it took her brother to drive from Boston to New York. She wasn't going back to New York in anticipation of reaping rewards from her parents will, since she was a billionaire with four houses, six cars and a couple of jets.

It had been years since she had stepped foot on Long Island, it was a few short weeks and she hung out in Manhattan during her latest successful blockbuster movie premier in the city. Her emotions had been relatively stable, which had been emblematic of her demeanor over the past five-to-10 years. Executive Patricia are was a much different person than pissed off, dissatisfied, citizen Tricia. While she now made decisions based on corporate betterment – which also benefitted her if the company performed well – everything she did leading up to that was based on what she could extract out of people. So, in the final analysis, she had become much better at disguising her intent. Although, in the self-obsessed world of Hollywood, she fit right in.

In actuality, Tricia George has no real use for parents since she was eight years old. The fact that they provided food and shelter for her until she was 17 reinforced no real sense of loyalty to them. Paying for undergraduate degree was also something her parents were supposed to do, and once she went to college at SUNY Binghamton, she never came back home. After two productive years in upstate New York, got a scholarship to attend Cornell University in their sociology program. And while Tricia could have given two shits about sociology, she found it to be the school's weak spot and opportunity calculated that it would be her best point of entry to obtain an Ivy League degree. She then let Saatchi& Saatchi pay for her graduate degree in media and film from New York University, which was down the block from her apartment.

She had a car service take her from the local airport to the house, always traveling with her faithful working companion Marva, who always seem to be one step ahead of her to satisfy her needs.

"There are a number of options for hotels in the area, but I've taken the liberty of booking the presidential suite at the Petunia Harbor Hotel."

Tricia had her senior prom at Petunia Harbor Hotel, losing her virginity to a guy named Adam Harris, who's she selected as the perfect stooge to deflower her.

"What was your second choice?" Tricia asked.

"I also booked the top floor of the Hyatt Regency in Kingston Bay," Marva replied.

Tricia thought about her options but decided that Marva often knew what was better for her than she did herself.

"Petunia Harbor Hotel it is," she simply stated.

FIVE

Patricia George might've been dynamic and bold, but she wasn't stupid or blind. An act of stupidity or blindness would've been to take a direct route from the airport to Lincoln Lane. What she chose, however, was to meet her brother at the Athena Diner, which was located a few blocks from the house and was a safe enough distance for first contact.

A Range Rover limousine pulled up in front of the diner Alice said, "Do you think that's her?"

Grant looked at his sister like he should have trusted his initial instinct and left her home, but he surmised that it would've been sort of barbaric under the circumstances. Although the road will be a little windier if he had met with Tricia alone, this was something that had to be done.

Tricia emerge from the limousine with Marva Intel oh and Alice inquired, "Is that a boy or girl?"

Grant didn't have a clue and continue to evaluate while responding, "Focus, Allie."

"Should I ask her? Or him?" Alice kept going.

"Not a good idea," as his sister and company breached the inner sanctum of the foodcropolis.

Marva arrived at the outer door first and held it open for Patricia, which elicited Alice to elbow Grant as if the gesture was a hint that Marva was a man.

"It's a sign of respect for the boss, not a gender thing," Grant said, which sent Alice back to her cell of confusion.

When they reached the inter set of doors, Patricia held the door for Marva, which pushed Grant to lightly elbow his sister.

"The mystery continues," he joked.

Patricia had thought about the level of access she would give her siblings, who were unsure how they should act around her. But, since height was the only position of power, he decided to hold it over his sister. Grant decided to stand up.

"Well, that a tall drink of water," Marva stated in an uncharacteristic moment of personal candor.

Alice stood up, and even though she was 5'10" and was slightly taller than Patricia, she was a little baby around her much older sister.

"Tricia!" Alice cooed, as she jumped into her sister's arms.

Tricia kissed her sister and said, "Allie, my little flower," and then she angrily mouthed toward Grant, "Why did you bring her?"

Grant put his arms up in frustration and mouthed, "I couldn't leave her alone."

He knew at that moment that this would be a conversation better suited for the adults in the room.

"Allie," Grant said, "why don't you and..." he looked at his sister for help.

"Marva, why don't you go sit at the counter with Alice," Tricia said.

"Like Alice in Wonderland?" the transgender excitedly exclaimed as she took hold of Alice's hand.

"Yes!" Alice replied as she unyieldingly searched for clues to her new friend's gender.

They walked away, as Tricia said to Grant as they sat down without further greeting, "She's trying to figure out Marva's gender, isn't she?"

Grant put his hands out and his palms up to say that he also didn't have a clue.

"You East Coasters are so behind the times. Why does everyone have to identify as either male or female?"

Grant shook his head and replied, "I think Allie is more intrigued than I am.

Allie and Marva were sitting on the round swiveling stools and getting along famously like two old friends, which surprised both Tricia and Grant.

But Tricia was all business, "So, what's going on?" in a tone that suggested that he was already wasting her valuable time.

"Why would you think I would try to contact you if it wasn't important?" Grant asked, as the tone turned hostile.

"I don't know, Grant?"

"Did you think I was desperate and was trying to get you to promote my words again?" he asked.

Shew wasn't going to get into that, but she also wasn't going to back down.

"Who the fuck knows?"

Marva and Alice heard the angry tone and they both looked over at the table, hoping the bad blood would cool. Tricia and Grant smiled and waved to suggest that everything was copacetic, so they went back to ordering and chatting when they were satisfied that everything was okay.

Grant dove back in, "You fuckin know!" he grunted. "You fuckin' know," he whispered as he started to break down as tears flowed from his eyes, denoting a shift from rage to pure sorrow.

Professional, corporate Patricia detached and was replaced by Long Island Tricia, who had a fairly short run in life. Tricia was not known for her sensitivity. In fact, she was a raging she-beast who never relented.

"What the fuck is going on? You had the police call my office. I could lose my job just for the insinuation of wrong-doing."

Grant had matured and hardened over the years, and he apparently had some deep-seeded anger toward his older sister.

"What the fuck is going on? Why did you jump on your private jet if everything was okay? Believe me, I didn't want to call you. In fact, I would have been content never speaking to you again."

Tricia's eyes welled up as she asked, "Are they gone?"

The last time Grant saw his sister crying was when she was 11 and throwing a bloody tampon at their mother and yelling, "How could you do this to me?"

"Well, I didn't do anything, Patricia. Nature did this to you," Abby George explained to her hysterical daughter.

Grant then walked into the room at the most inopportune time.

"Does his penis bleed?" Tricia asked, trying to take everyone down with her.

"No, not under normal circumstances."

Grant looked down at the area of his jeans where his penis was housed and was instantly befuddled.

"I kept looking at my penis for years to see if blood was coming out!" he blurted out back in the current-day diner.

"Are you still botching about the time I threw my bloody tampon at mom?" Tricia shot back once she figured out what her brother was talking about. Then she transitioned, "How did they die?"

"You don't want to know," Grant replied.

"Yes, I really want to know. Was it a car accident?"

"No," Grant countered.

Tricia was imagining ways they could have passed together, "Was it an accident at the house? Fire? Carbon monoxide poisoning?"

"No, no and no," although your first query was in the ballpark."

"Then what? Or how?" she asked.

"I'd rather not say, since I was the one who discovered them and it's still pretty raw," Grant explained, trying to give his sister a little more guilt.

"Bullshit!" she exclaimed. "Cough it up or I'll beat it out of you!"

"I'd like to see you try it," a steadfast Grant countered.

Tricia sat back, signaling a less aggressive stance.

"They fucked themselves to death," Grant stated.

Of all the things that she expected to hear, this was completely out of bounds.

"What did you just say? Did you say they had sex until they died?"

Grant nodded, "That seems to be the gist of it," Grant replied.

While it was hard for most kids to imagine, let alone not throw up at the mere thought of their parents together, it wasn't out of the realm of imagery for twisted Patricia.

Grant could see his sister's brain percolating, so he sought to quickly head off the inevitable questions by calling over the waitress, who was trying to time her entry.

"Hi, I think we're ready to order."

"What will you have, peaches?" the waitress asked Patricia.

Ninety-nine percent of the things Patricia was going to ask for either started with organic, non-GMO, or 10 other ways she could have expressed her overwhelming desire to eat health like most image-conscious Californian's. But she decided to play it safe.

"Yeah, I'll have a bagel with lox and cream cheese, please."

Grant was barely phased, "That sounds yummy, but I'll have an egg white omelet with bacon and cheddar. No home fries and a side of sourdough toast with cream cheese instead of butter, please."

"I'll take his home fries," Tricia interjected, "and an iced coffee for me."

The elder waitress looked at Grant, "And what are drinking, hun?"

He thought about decaf tea, but he hadn't brought his own lemon ginger blend and wasn't about to out up with a common blend, "Water's good."

The waitress put her number two pencil back into her substantial perm and then walked away.

"I can't believe you still drink tap water," Tricia stated. "So, what position were they in when you found them?"

Grant couldn't believe what he was hearing, "I can't believe you're not even the slightest bit upset that they're dead!"

Tricia cocked her head, "You don't seem overly upset for a guy who walked in on his parents having sex."

"They weren't having sex," Grant corrected as the waitress brought over their drinks and left straws before leaving.

"Well, technically they were having sex at some point until they both suffered fatal heart attacks. He took too many pills and she probably had catastrophic blockage."

Tricia was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, as the waitress brought over their meals, which were plated in what appeared to be record time... a New York minute if you will.

He split a piece of bread in half, liberally spread cream cheese, sectioned off a chunk of omelet with his fork, loaded it onto the bread and then went on to recount exactly what his sister wanted him to divulge.

"Allie handed me her key and I opened the door without apprehension. The smell in the house was different than I remembered. If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed that the house had been vacant for some time." He took a bite of his meal and then swallowed with the aid of some water before continuing. Tricia was as focused on the story as she was the home fries.

"The first thing I knew I had to do was tell Allie to wait in the kitchen so she wouldn't be exposed to whatever I would find. She complied without objection. I left her behind and walked through the hallway past my bedroom and then Allie's bedroom, which used to be your bedroom. I remembered how we would knock on the wall and talk after mom and dad had put us to bed and turned off the lights at night."

Tricia nodded and smiled and kept stuffing her face. "You like those," Grant stated, and Tricia grunted and nodded, urging him to continue.

"I instinctively turned left into the largest and darkest bedroom on the floor and it was much colder than I ever remembered it to be. My legs propelled my feet to keep moving forward, although my gut and heart were voicing objections to the contrary. My only course of action was to illuminate so I could get clarity. Of course, I could have simply turned on the light when I entered the room, but the thought of such an action had not occurred to me. So, I walked straight from the doorway to the left side of the bed and then opened the shade, which probably overwhelmed my senses. Most specifically, my gag reflex at seeing mom in front of dad, both of them on their knees, smiles on their faces and locked in a doggy-style position."

The scene shifted from the flashback to the diner, where Tricia and Grant continued to eat.

"That were the two things that I had worked so hard not to see in my life," Grant added. "My parents having sex and them being dead."

"Well, I saw the first but was thankfully spared from witnessing the second," Tricia stated as she tossed the last remnants of her New York delicacy down her throat.

"They just don't make bagels like these on the West Coast, which makes it easy to resist. I remember eating this very same meal every Sunday morning up at sleepaway camp in Pennsylvania. Except for the hash browns of course."

"Yeah, my bunkmates and the counselors would tease me because I wouldn't eat the lox," Grant replied. "They said that it was expensive and that I shouldn't let it go to waste. I really didn't give a shit because it was too salty and uncooked. Still not interested!"

"So, what's going to happen next?" Tricia asked. "I mean, do you need me to stay?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead," Grant replied. "How deep do you want to get into this?"

She struggled to smirk, "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

He shot her a look that suggested she was full of shit, so she continued.

"Funeral, two days of shiva..." and then it hit her, "Estate sale."

"Estate sale?" he questioned. "That's going to be a lot of work. If we do that, then we'll probably be here for a week to 10 days."

She shrugged, "Then so be it."

SIX

"Before we do anything else, we have to talk to their lawyer," Trisha said to grant as they walked out of the diner with Allison and Marva in tow.

They stopped at the limo and Marva handed the phone to Patricia it said, "Lawyer."

"How did you do that?" Alice asked as Grant looked at Tricia with amazement.

"Hello, this is Patricia George."

"Tricia, this is Marty Springer, your parent's attorney. How are you?"

"Very well, Mr. Springer. How is your daughter, Gloria?"

"She is well. Thanks for asking. I am sorry for your loss, all of our loss," Springer stated, inferring that the pain extended beyond the immediate family. "Are you all together?"

"Yes," Tricia replied.

"Do you have time to stop by my office?" Springer asked.

"Sure. Can you give my assistant your address?" and then she handed the phone to Marva.

She turned to Grant. "Did you drive here?"

"No, we walked," he replied.

"Can we take the limo?" Alice excitedly asked.

Tricia smiled are her sister's lack of complexity. "Yes, of course. We have plenty of room."

Since Marty had dispensed of the warm greetings, he ushered everyone into a conference room that seated five people comfortably.

"Can I get anyone anything to drink or eat?"

"No," Grant replied. "We just ate at the diner."

"Well, let's get down to it," Marty said as he struggled between being completely emotionally crushed and trying to maintain his usual high standard of professionalism.

"Patricia George, you are the executor of this Last Will and Testament for Abigail and Bruce George, who have now passed away. I am recording this conversation for record-keeping purposes only. Are you all in agreement that I can proceed?

"Yes," the three kids said in unison.

"The assets are to be divided in an even split of a third if all children survive us. Patricia will decide if she wants said assets to divided in this manner or the remaining shares will be redistributed in lieu of her forgoing her share. But Grant shall gain possession of the Ford Mustang title and he may register the car in his name. This also means that he can finally drive the car at his discretion now that he can finally appreciate it."

Grant started crying as Patricia patted him on the back.

"Patricia and Alice will gain access to the safe deposit box and Alice's jewelry while Grant will get the first look at any and all of Bruce's jewelry and possessions. The house will be dealt with at your collective discretion, with the proceeds from the sale of the house being split in accordance with the original disposition of assets. Your parents also planned to write you all letters, but we obviously thought that there would be more time. What I can tell you is that your parents loved you all very much and were really proud of you."

The roomed turned wet, as even Marty started crying from his own words.

"It's a parent's greatest joy to watch the development of their children from helpless baby to productive, loving adult. And we all couldn't have been more appreciative that you all turned out so great."

They all held hands around the circular conference table in a moment that would be ingrained in their memories for the rest of their lives. Marty went through a few more things before the meeting adjourned and the group left Marty's house after briefly talking to his wife, Aunt Fran.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Patricia asked Grant, although the question was generally lobbed at both of her siblings.

Grant was very much in the moment and hadn't given much thought until it came to him,

"Can I stay with you?" he asked Alice, not wanting to spend the night in the house where his parents had just died.

Alice really didn't enjoy living alone even though she significant human integration issues.

"Yes!" Alice beamed as Marva elbowed Patricia in a rare display of physicality and disrespect.

"Either that, or we could all stay in our huge suite at the Petunia Harbor Hotel."

"Can I order room service?" and excited Alice asked.

"Yes," Tricia replied, as there was a light moment before most of the heavy lifting.

SEVEN

Planning a funeral is never easy, especially in the case of sudden deaths where there is no time to adequately consider various after-life alternatives. Good thing that Marva was on the scene. She gathered information and preferences from the trio and then put their words into action.

They arrived at the funeral home a few days later in the public portion of what amounted to laying their parents remains to rest. Grant thought of returning home to pick up a suit, but Tricia did not want to let him out of her sight.

She looked at Marva and said to Grant, "We know a guy who can make you a suit overnight."

"I don't need a custom-made suit," Grant replied, as he was shrouded by the shadow of embarrassment.

Tricia always plowed through resistance.

"Have you ever worn a custom-made suit?"

Grant thought his response would be obvious.

"Of course not. How much money do you think I make? I barely have enough to live on after the divorce and the kid's college."

There was a tinge of anger in his voice but Patricia put that aside, as she was primarily responsible for his financial difficulties. She thought about backing up and then nodded to Marva that it should be set up.

"It was be transformative," Tricia added and then Grant gave in to the act of opulence.

The tailor arrived at 6:00 a.m. the morning of the funeral to confirm his brilliance for cloth and sizing. Grant came out of the shower, brushed his hair and then applied some deodorant that was supplied by the hotel.

Arthur the tailor was waiting patiently just outside the bathroom as Grant slipped on his boxer briefs and stepped out of the steam. It obviously wasn't the 72-year-old tailor's first rodeo, as he had fit kings and queens of industry and society from Wall Street to Hollywood, from Moscow to Milan and Jerusalem. Patricia George has been one of Arthur's best clients for over a decade once she ascended to power positions and realized that she had to dress the part.

Grant nodded at Arthur and quietly said, "Good morning," to which Arthur replied, "Good morning to you, Mr. George."

Arthur gracefully removed a white dress shirt from a garment bag and helped Grant slip it on. The moment it made contact with Grant's skin he realized two very important things:

  1. His sister was usually right

  2. He wanted to be buried in this garment

Once he buttoned up the shirt, Arthur removed the trousers and helped Grant slip them on. The fit was so perfect that no belt was required. Arthur had only spent less than five minutes the previous day taking Grant's measurement at the hotel. The fabric was so fine that it contoured perfectly to the shape of his legs. The two-button black suit jacket felt as good as the shirt and the pants, as Arthur buttoned the top button and the gently guided Grant to a full-length mirror, much to the delight of his new client.

Arthur then guided Grant toward a chair where he handed him a pair of black socks and then slid a pair of black wing-tip shoes on his feet. The shoes fit so well that Grant felt as if he wasn't even wearing shoes. He had removed Grant's jacket before he sat and then tied his tie before guiding Grant to his feet and sliding his jacket back on.

He looked at Grant and said, "Perfecto."

They exchanged brief pleasantries and Arthur hung the garment bag in the foyer closet before exiting the suite. Grant closed the door and then looked inside of the garment bag, which housed similar navy blue and charcoal gray suits of identical quality. He reached inside the breast pocket of the blue suit and pulled out a white business card that simply had Arthur's phone number on it in black lettering. He thought about how nice it was to have to have these new suits because it had been years since he had purchased any kind of formal attire in the world of business casual. Grant then wondered what else his sister was thinking in terms of his plans, since she never did something without anticipating a larger result.

"Nice suit," as Grant walked into the suite and then they all left the hotel with Marva in tow.

"Yeah thanks," Grant replied even though he had a lot more on his mind. While his sister was being unusually helpful and complimentary, it was the day he was going to say goodbye to his parents, so that would have to take precedence.

There would be no common burial on this day. No graveside ceremony with a wood box being lowered into the cold of the earth's core. Instead, a simple ceremony in the cemetery's chapel was planned, which would be followed by a few-hour reception back at the house and a private scattering of the ashes at Jones Beach.

The quartet were the first to arrive in the greeting room that was designated for the family. Technically, they were preceded by their parents, who were in ashes together in an urn on a display table near the back of the room.

"Well, I guess they couldn't be separated," Grant said with a tinge of nausea running up and down his digestive tract.

"Why stop now? They were always together," Tricia added.

"It's a nice container," Alice said and then received confirmation from her new best friend Marva with a smile. "Can we keep it?"

Grant and Patricia said in unison, "No!"

"What if I want to plant some flowers in it?" Alice asked.

Tricia looked at Grant and the two of them nodded in approval.

"Cool!" Alice exclaimed and then she and Marva walked away and started planning what kind of flowers would work best with such a prominent container.

"When did they become best friends?" Grant asked.

"I don't know?" Patricia replied. "And if you follow up with a gender question, I won't answer it."

"So, you don't know either?" Grant questioned, cutting through most of the bullshit his sister was always shoveling.

"I don't have a clue," Tricia replied.

"Didn't he or she have to fill out a job application and check a box for gender?"

"California is so liberal that is was possible to leave it blank," Tricia stated. "I'm guessing girl to guy, but it could easily go the other way," Tricia explained. "Regardless, best assistant I've ever had. She knows to spray air freshener before I even fart."

Grant started laughing but quickly shifted to tears of sorrow as other people starting to enter the room. Tricia patted his back as Marty Singer said to his wife Fran, "The kid's taking it hard. He's the one that found them in the act."

Tricia handed Grant a tissue and used another one to dry her own eyes, as the two of them had caught the tickle bug and could not stop laughing.

"Remember that time that glass ash tray fell on your foot and you needed to get stitches at the hospital?" Tricia asked, trying to take advantage of the rare funeral euphoria.

"Yeah," Grant said between chortles.

"I did that on purpose."

"Why?" Grant questioned.

"Because mom caught me smoking her cigarettes and she was going to tell dad."

Grant caught his breath and grabbed another tissue.

"So, you dropped a three-pound glass ashtray on my foot and it broke?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. But she never told him about it," Tricia said proudly.

Grant couldn't believe what he was hearing, "What were you like six or seven years old? Good for you. You got out of trouble and I got traumatized by being rushed to the hospital and then literally being scarred for life."

"I just wanted to be cool like mom," Tricia stated, anticipating Grant's next question and temporarily stopping the flow of unnatural hysterics.

They greeted about 100 people who had varied interest in their parents and family over the years. As the room grew crowded, Patricia looked over at Marva and then Marva knew exactly what had to be done. And within a few seconds she reappeared with the funeral director, who guided everyone out of the room and into the chapel where Rabbi Saul Morgenstern was about to give a eulogy of two dear friends.

Rabbi Morgenstern had misread his schedule and didn't realize that he was in the Hampton's for the week. Ninety-two-year-old Sonya Black was 84-year-old Morgenstern's assistant for more than half-a-century, and while she gainfully showed up at work every day, her faculties had diminished from their peak.

"Where's the rabbi?" Patricia asked.

All three kids had gone through their Bar- and Bat-Mitzvah with Rabbi Morgenstern and Grant had been married by him.

Marva made a few quick calls and then whispered to Tricia, "Rabbi Morgenstern is in the Hampton's and is unavailable, which is not what his admin said to me previously. He's not coming."

Tricia then turned to her siblings, "Well, I got some good news and some bad news."

Grant, the eternal optimist, said, "Hit us with the bad news first so we can end on a good note."

"Rabbi Morgenstern isn't going to show up today."

"Okay," Grant responded as if that really wasn't such bad news.

Tricia smiled, "Wait, was that the good news?"

"That depends on what you say next," Grant stated.

"We are going to have to deliver the eulogy," she said, "so I won't know until we get through it if that was good news or bad news."

"Let's do this," the usually introverted Alice announced.

Grant's eyes widened as he said to Tricia, "Look at the balls on this one."

"Yeah, she's always been brave while we do the work," Tricia added.

Alice would usually back down or complain to her parents that her brother or sister were picking on her. She looked at the urn and realized and then realized that option was no longer available.

"I'll talk," she said, which both surprised and impressed her siblings for the moment.

Since there was no intro, no warm-up act, due to absence of the charismatic rabbi – who was taking a walk on Dune Road in Southampton – the trio simply walked to the front of the room with the simple goal of setting the gold urn on a pedestal. Since Patricia was the most polished public speaker, she naturally took the lead.

"Good morning," she said and the crowd said, "Good morning," back to her.

"Thank you all for coming," she continued and then hit a content wall that she had never experienced in her personal or professional life.

Grant was about to fill the void of silence, but he had learned his lesson many times on trying to infiltrate his sister's space. Through his hesitancy, Alice calmly energized. And shouldn't have been a surprise that the one person who had remained close to home and had seen her parents almost every day would speak for the group.

"My parents lived a full life," she stated and then paused for the affect. "Even down to the last moments of their lives. I suppose it's fitting that their final resting place is in an urn together."

The three held hands and held it together as they continued to positively recount stories of their precious moments both as a family and individually. While Grant lived in Massachusetts and Patricia in California, their stirring stories led to happy tears in the crowd but no sad emotions on stage. Perhaps the shock of their parents' passing had not yet set in.

Alice grabbed the urn off the wooden stand and held it in her arms as is she was fearful that someone was going to take it from her. She held it in the limo and throughout lunch, setting it down only when she briefly went to the bathroom before people arrived at the house.

"We have to limit this thing to a few hours," an antsy Grant stated before the crowd materialized.

"Aunt Iris is always the first to arrive and the last to leave," Tricia stated.

"Then we'll leave her in the house," Grant replied.

"She'll take stuff," Alice interjected.

"Why don't we invite her back another day?" Tricia said.

"Yeah, that will get her to leave," Grant concurred and Alice nodded in agreement as Marva viewed a photo of Abby George's sister, Iris Davidoff, and committed it to memory.

People hung around the house for the better part of three hours, recounting story after story about their experiences with couple and family. Grant was less exposed to it all than Tricia or even Alice, who lived in the area and was more familiar with the local flavor and various players. But it was Tricia who had the most interesting experience of the afternoon.

She was standing in the kitchen gazing through the bay window to the backyard. Images of playing as a child with her father and basically growing up back there – blowing bubbles, painting her nails on the stoop and smoking pot in a secluded alcove – flooded back into her consciousness. She also had a flashback of making out with her high school boyfriend.

"If only that backyard could talk," a male voice said from behind Tricia.

Tricia laughed and was about to greet the person with great enthusiasm, but her memories precluded that. She was about to yell at him, but then regained her executive equilibrium by realizing that this – the day of her parent's funeral – was probably neither the time nor the place for such a display.

"Adam, what a pleasure to see you again," she said with nary a hint of sexuality, or so she thought, as their eyes met and they shook hands.

Marva, who was rarely offline – even when Tricia slept – made eye contact with Tricia and then knew what to do as Tricia walked out of the kitchen.

Marva extended her hand and Adam Harris was slow to react since he was neutralized by what had just happened. He wasn't sure to feel excited or queasy from Marva's sense of confidence. He eventually handed over his phone after a few awkward moments of silence, and then Marva unlocked the phone on her initial attempt much to his surprise.

"How?" he started saying before she removed one of her hands from working the phone to silence him with an index finger. She handed the phone back to him and then left the kitchen as he looked down at his phone calendar which read, "Patricia George, 9:00 p.m., Room 844."

Adam looked around and wondered why his old girlfriend would be guiding him to the same room they experienced their prom night in. Had he really come to the house to merely pay his respects – since Patricia's father never really liked him in the first place and her mother couldn't stop flirting with him, which (in hindsight) was probably the reason her father didn't care for him – or was he hoping for a deeper miracle?

EIGHT

The house cleared out and it was time for the personal part of the day to commence. You would think that eulogizing your parents – at least their urn – to a group of people you barely know anymore would be of such personal significance, but it obviously wasn't. The four of them piled in the car and drove 20 minutes to Jones Beach, which was a frequent staple of their formative years and one of their parent's favorite places to go at sunset.

They emerged from the limo and Grant said to Tricia, "It might be nice to take the Mustang next time."

Tricia nodded in agreement, but her thoughts were heavy and she was generally unreachable. Marva observed the moment, the likes of which she hadn't seen in her tenor as Patricia's shadow.

Grant had one of his high school buddies, Steve Scott, pick up the Mustang the night before and bring it back to his shop, Scott's Garage, for a tune up.

Scott said, "It's been a little over a year since your dad brought her for a tune up. I wouldn't drive it until you let me take a look at it."

The shop was a half-mile from the George residence and would be an easy walk for Grant when the car was ready in a day or two.

They arrived at the beach in Parking Lot D, which gave them direct boardwalk and beach access once they completed a quarter-mile walk. The family had always made this trek several time during the summer when everyone was around, to get some soft-serve ice cream and stroll on the boardwalk.

Business first and then ice cream was the prevailing, yet unspoken, thought. Alice, urn still firmly within her grasp, walked with Marva behind Tricia and Grant, much like a funeral processional. It was late summer and the transition from day sun worshippers to dusk sunset lovers was in full swing. The group walked to the boardwalk and then removed their shoes and headed out to the sandy beach and the tranquil shore, which was to-or-three football fields in length apart. But it felt much longer with the uneven footing and the task at hand.

Not a word was said outwardly, but they were connected in sorrowful reflection the entire way. The group discussed the best way to distribute the ashes and everything seemed to be set, except for the unpredictable nature of human emotions.

They stopped at the shoreline at a point between completely dry and completely wet. Alice set the urn down somewhat forcibly in the wet sand ensuring its secure placement. The group gathered in a circle surrounding the urn and joined hands – Tricia holding Marva and Grant's hands, Grant holding Tricia and Alice's hands, Alice holding Grant and Marva's hands and Marva holding Alice and Tricia's hands.

"We are keeping with mom and dad's wishes to have their ashes scattered in the Atlantic Ocean," Alice stated.

"We were apart for too long," Grant added.

"See, mom and dad," a tearful Tricia started, "you got what you wanted. We're all together," as she started sobbing as everyone else cried and met in a moist hug. The urn toppled over and whatever remained of Bruce and Abby George drifted out to sea.

A few minutes later, the quartet was seated on a park bunch at the boardwalk eating ice cream.

"It's true," Grant stated.

"What's true?" Tricia asked.

"Ice cream can make everything better," he stated.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Was it always this good?" Tricia asked.

"Yes," Alice replied.

"I like ice cream," a drunk-sounding Marva said.

"Her parents never let her have sugar growing up," Tricia explained, which left Tricia, Grant and Alice feeling that their parents weren't too bad after all.

The George's slept late the next morning, "late" being 9:00 a.m. to Marva's usual 5:00 a.m. awakening. All of their energies were focused on the funeral and the aftermath, and no discussion who initiated on nest steps since it would certainly be the most gust-wrenching and emotional part of the week.

Patricia was the last one to wake up because she participated in a late-night activity that was not her norm. It was nine o'clock the previous night and her siblings were scattered throughout the suite after an exhausting day. Tricia had vacated the suite and was in Room 844 of the hotel, teasing her hair in an attempt to sculpt an alluring look.

While most women in their mid-50s either wore their age well or were weathered from the struggle, Patricia George had taken care of her core and was well preserved. It also didn't hurt that she had a team besides Marva, including a chef, nutritionist, make-up, hair people and spiritual advisor, who were constantly present in her life but were left behind for this trip.

Adam Harris stood on the outside looking in of Room 844 and then had a flashback of the last time he was in the room. He had always viewed that night as the greatest of his life, which caused him much contemplation and associated difficulty over the years. When you put someone and something on such a pedestal for such a long time, the legend does nothing but grow. Of increasing complexity was also the fact that this person was always on TV and appeared to look better every time you saw her from your sofa or bed.

Tricia opened the door after closing her eyes and taking a few deep, cleansing breaths. Adam knocked on the door once he realized that being with Tricia was the only thing that he had dreamt about and he didn't want to waste another moment. She had a moment of hesitancy, although she had thought about Adam and their prom night from time to time when the mood was just right, which meant after a few glasses of long and a long, hot bath.

She swung the door open, their eyes met, and he said, "Hey, is this the same room..." and before he could put his foot in his mouth and ruin the mood by making small talk and reminiscing, she grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. He responded in kind as he picked her off the floor and she leveraged years of yoga and Pilates so she could straddle him while they kissed all the way to the bed.

While Tricia had casually dated over the years after being engaged in her 20s and then breaking off the relationship two days before the wedding when she discovered her Hollywood director husband sleeping with his male assistant. But, by then, she had been introduced to the most important people in the industry and doors had been opened. After that, no relationship lasted past two or three months as career always superseded intimate relationships. She hadn't had sex for nearly three years, but much of the compatibility she had with Adam reemerged as quickly as it had disappeared.

Adam, for his part, had never been engaged but had dated often throughout the years. He was a prolific casual dater, but when things were turning serious, he always started comparing women to Tricia, which inevitably squelched any flame. It was as if he had infinite patience and genuine belief that either she would eventually come around or he wouldn't settle for second best.

Two hours later they came up for air and she said while gulping some water, "How have you been?"

He replied while smiling, "I missed you."

Two things Tricia appreciated were dedication and loyalty. And while she hadn't necessarily wanted him to wait by the door until she came home, she nonetheless appreciated it and she felt his gratitude over the next hour.

Like Tricia, Adam had poured all of his time and energy into his law firm, Harris, Mulaney and Price, a practice that specialized in corporate class actions. The firm had expanded in recent years into the lucrative area of entertainment copyright and trademark law. And while their paths had not crossed professionally, that was about to change.

They both weren't big drinkers or recreational drug users, so Adam picked up the phone and ordered a couple of pieces of cheesecake from room service. A few minutes later, after a couple of bathroom trips, they were in bed eating the aforementioned cheesecake.

"What happened to you?" Adam asked and then fed Tricia a fork-full of cheesecake.

She wanted to say, "Sure, shove a big piece of cheesecake in my mouth and then ask me a loaded question," but she kept chewing and then took a drink of water to clear the way.

"The truth is that it just wasn't our time," she said directly with an honest tone.

Now it was Adam's time to chew, so Tricia filled the void with a question of her own.

"Did you ever marry?"

Adam took offense to that, "Was I supposed to wait for you?"

She picked up a fork and started to eat her own cake as the conversation heated up.

"Didn't you?" she jabbed, knowing full-well that he had never been married.

He thought about it and then replied, "I guess I did. But I suppose you did that as well."

They kept eating and the dialogue remained edgy.

"And don't tell me that you were married to your career!" he exclaimed.

"Well, isn't it true?" she replied. "We were both married to our careers. Do you think we would have been this successful if we were together?" she countered.

While he had been crushed by their break-up for years and she had subsequently buried her heart for safe keeping, she really couldn't argue with her logic.

"I guess not," he reluctantly replied. "That didn't make it any easier."

She fed him a piece of cake and then said, "No it didn't," as they kissed passionately and went at it again.

NINE

Grant was always the observer of the family, which probably amped up the detail in his writing. Tricia was never one to sleep late unless she had partied too hard the previous evening and early morning. He returned from breakfast with a plate of mixed berries, pancakes and coffee that Marva put together. He laid down on the bed next to her and removed the metal dome, which released fragrant smells that pleasantly awoke her.

"Is that for me?" she asked.

Grant inhaled before removing the dome and said once she talked, "Yes, why do you smell like cheesecake?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, which triggered a memory from the morning after prom when he asked the same question and she delivered the same response.

"Mazel tov!" he exclaimed. "Adam is a good dude."

"A good dude," she thought and then asked, "Are you guys Facebook friends?"

"No," Grant replied, "LinkedIn."

She started eating off the plate with her hands, but then he remembered that he still wasn't exactly happy with his big sister. Grant stood up and said, "We have to empty the house and get it ready to sell."

"Is that what we're doing, selling the house?"

"Why do you always do that?" he asked in an annoyed tone.

She walked out of the room, saying "I'll meet you at the house," and she wondered at first what had crawled up her brother's ass until she realized that it was her clenched fist. Grant exited prompted Marva's entrance, and Marva's entrance got Patricia's juices going. It wasn't long after she made a couple of calls that the Pilates instructor entered the suite and help Tricia work off the cheesecake and pancakes that had taken up residence on her hips. And while she had managed to regain her physical equilibrium, it would be her mental and emotional equilibrium that would be harder to balance.

Alice had the advantage of previously removing all of her stuff from her parents' house and putting it in her own house. She had already gone through the emotional minefield that was her room, even though she had arrived at the house early to see if there was anything left that she coveted.

"Hello!" Grant bellowed as he entered the house through a glass screened door, which told him that someone was already there.

"In here!" Alice yelled back as Grant nodded his head in acknowledgement and then walked down the hall in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts on a warm day.

He peaked into her doorway, "Hey, what's going on?"

"I just wanted to see if I had anything left in here," she said.

He was ready to work and stated, "Well, I might as well get started in my room."

She nodded and his world downshifted into slow-motion as he spun right and headed down the hall and then turned left to the room where he basically grew up.

While Alice was in her own usual wonderland, Grant systematically made piles that suggested his intent to hold onto or let go of things from his past. He immediately noticed how funny it was that the shit he left behind now held value when the concept of finality was introduced. Old t-shirts and sweatshirts that had gone from not hitting in recent months were considered for their individual merit. Some items, such as his high school basketball uniform, could never be worn again, but he didn't want anyone else to possess it. An hour later, the deep paralysis of reminiscence had crept in and his progress slowed to a crawl. He was laying on his old bed, which a newer bed placed in the spot of his old bed and was used for the occasional overnight guest or tired traveler in need of a nap.

Grant started daydreaming about the good days he experienced in his room, including scenes of he and his high school girlfriend resurfaced. She was a girl from the neighborhood who transitioned from best friend to girlfriend when they entered high school in the tenth grade. They were always in his room, listening to music, doing homework (mostly her) or trying to steal moments when they could explore each other's bodies (most of the time).

He remembered this one time when he was under a blanket going down on her when his mother walked in and had a full conversation with her when she was naked from the waist down.

"You guys hungry?" Abby George asked the couple as she ducker her head into Grant's room without knocking.

Grant had a face-full of muff and stood still for a moment as Amy Zeller put her right index finger to her lips because it was the only thing that came to her mind. She also picked up a chemistry textbook to make it look like she was studying while Grant slept.

"She is sleeping," she mouthed as Abby came over and sat on the end of the side of the bed that Grant wasn't sprawled on.

"How are you doing?" Abby asked Amy, who was having trouble keeping it together with Grant slowly moving his tongue around her erogenous zone. She had a hard time focusing and simply answered, "Fine."

Abby noticed that something was off with the girl she hoped would be her future daughter-in-law.

"Are you okay, dear?" she asked and then stood up to feel her forehead.

"Oh my, you're burning up!" Abby stated as Grant was within a few licks away from finishing what he started.

"I'm going to get you some medicine," Abby said and then left the room, much to Amy's delight.

Amy grabbed Grant's head in a move that suggested that he should end her. He furiously went at it, pushing her over the brink as Abby could be heard from the bathroom down the hall.

"Where did I put the Tylenol? Let me check my bathroom. I'll be there in a minute, Amy."

Amy was in the middle of a furious ending, she grunted, "Okaaay!"

Abby shook her head, "That girl doesn't sound right. Ah, there it is," she said and then emptied a few tablets into the palm of her left hand.

Amy was trying to breathe out the tail end of her ecstasy and she was still bottomless when Abby reentered the room. She noticed a glow on her son's girlfriend.

"Poor thing," she said as she felt her clammy forehead again. "Sweat is a good thing. Maybe your fever is breaking. You need some rest."

Abby handed Amy the pills and a can of Tab soda that was sitting on the dresser next to her. She then walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Abby spit the pills into her hand as sweaty Grant was trying to suppress his laughter, as he emerged a conquering hero from the blanket.

Amy again held her finger to her lips to keep the volume down. Grant smiled as he laid down on his back, knowing that it was now his turn. Back in the current day, Grant was about to go into full fantasy mode that he had revisited many times, but he was awoken by a familiar voice.

"I still think she knew," Amy said as she crawled through a window that she had climbed through many times.

Grant wasn't sure the voice was real at first, being that he hadn't seen Amy in decades. But when he realized it was Amy, he immediately sat up.

"Amy! Holy shit! I was just..." he started saying.

She smirked, "Yeah, I think about that a lot, too."

Amy walked over to the bed, sat down next to Grant and put her arms around him, "So sorry to hear about your parents."

Grant grabbed her tight and started crying and she joined him in a good cry.

He separated briefly and he wiped his eyes with his t-shirt.

"Is it true that you found them?" she asked, wiping away the moisture with her hands.

He shook his head, "It was pretty disturbing, but at least they went happy."

They laughed and then filled the void with each other's familiar lips, as time seemed to bridge the gap from past to present.

Alice got up to get a snack from the kitchen, walking past Grant's room and seeing a familiar sight that perfectly made sense.

"Hi, Amy!"

They stopped kissing but maintained proximity, "Hey, Alice from the Palace!"

Alice smiled and kept walking as the two old lovers rekindled an apparently strong flame.

TEN

To say that Patricia was delaying her arrival at the house would be a gross understatement of her resistance to revisit a weaker time in her life.

"The cleanup crew is all set. They will arrive at 11," Marva said and then waited for Tricia's response. Marva was concerned that her boss was out of sync, which was a condition that she rarely experienced.

Patricia simply nodded as they sat in the limo outside of the diner. It appeared that Tricia didn't want to the house before the cleanup crew arrived.

"Marva was tired of waiting. She opened the door and said, "I'll meet you at the house," and then she closed and started walking the two blocks to the house.

Patricia was about to say something, but she stopped and thought about how impressive Marva was at leading. This gave her fuel for thought as she said to the driver, "I am going to walk as well. We'll contact you when we need a ride."

The man nodded and Patricia emerged from the vehicle started walking. Only her path was different from Marva's as she immediately turned left after clearing the main road. There wasn't anything in particular about Jefferson Road that influenced Tricia's thinking, other than she could walk the neighborhood through a less direct route than Preston Avenue, which was the way that efficient Marva was headed.

Back at the house, Grant and Amy had disengaged and were sharing a snack when another person entered the house without believing that it was necessary to knock or ring the doorbell without being granted access to the house.

"Hello!" a deep male voice bellowed as he breached the doorway and entered the main foyer.

Being the remaining man of the household, Grant stood up and walked toward the greeting.

"Holy shit! Is that you, Adam?"

Adam Harris was just as tall as Grant and he was his hero and sports role model in his youth.

"Grant!" Adam exclaimed as they shook hands and then met in a thunderous bro' hug.

"I can't believe that you broke all of my records!" Adam said to Grant. "I couldn't have been prouder."

Amy walked into the room and Adam said, "Holy shit Amy, you look great!" And then he noticed that Amy and Grant's clothing and hair looked like they had been through the spin cycle.

He smiled, "It's been too long for all of us."

Grant and Amy happily nodded in agreement as Alice joined the party. She always had a crush on Adam from the time she first saw him in his basketball shorts at a game. She couldn't believe how well preserved he was.

"Adam!" she awkwardly, but excitedly exclaimed as she waved and then they cousin-hugged almost out of fulfilling some sort of ancient custom. The tension would have lingered if not for the entrance of Marva, who immediately bypassed the timber in the room and held hands with Alice.

"Amy and Adam, this is Marva," Alice proudly said in a more confident tone.

Adam nodded at Marva and she returned the knowing glance.

She was unaware who Amy was, but by the looks of her personal grooming, she surmised that she must have been an old girlfriend of Grant's who recently became reacquainted with him. Alice and Marva literally skipped off the Alice's room while the conversation continued.

"Your sister askes me to come over and go through stuff," Adam stated.

"Yeah, we can use all of the help we can get. Are you hungry?" Grant asked.

"I can always eat," Adam replied as he followed Grant and Amy into the kitchen.

Patricia was making her way through the neighborhood, which really hadn't changed that much in the 35-plus years since she had been gone. She thought that it would have been nice to see a few solar panels in what should have been a progressive neighborhood, but she was happy to be living on the coast where life seemed to evolve with greater urgency.

She walked past her best friend's house, but there was a little girl playing in the driveway, so she figured the house had changed hands. Tricia was in an interesting mood, so she pulled out her cell phone and said, "Call Becky Barton."

The phone rang and Becky said, "Is that you, Trish?"

"Did you parents sell their house, because I'm standing in front of it and there is a little girl playing in the driveway."

Becky looked out of her window and figured she would play along a little more for the years she felt abandoned by her famous friend.

"My father died, so we moved in with my mother. But when she died six months later, I decided to have a kid.

"When did this happen?" Tricia asked.

Seven years ago," Becky replied.

"So, you had a kid in your 40s?"

"Yeah, she turned out pretty good don't you think?" Becky stated.

Patricia looked at the girl in the driveway and then saw her wise-ass friend waving from the front window before she came outside, as Tricia laughed and then put her cell phone away.

"Your shit still looks good," Becky said, which drew scorn from her daughter.

"Mommy, you said a bad word!"

"Mommy is sorry pumpkin, but her friend is defying gravity."

Tricia laughed and they hugged, Becky smacking Tricia's butt and Tricia licking Becky's ear by habit.

Becky backed up, "You always did like to slobber all over me."

Tricia looked over Becky, "Talk about defying gravity!" Tricia exclaimed. "Now, that's a rockin' mommy body!"

"I teach Pilates and core training at the gym across the street." And then she turned to her daughter, "Muffin, this is my good friend, Patricia. She makes movies."

Tricia walked over and shook the little girl's hand.

"Why does somebody always have to die?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Tricia replied.

"Someone always dies in the first five minutes of every Disney movie. Why is that?"

"That's a good point. I don't know, but I'll look into it," Tricia replied, even though she had nothing to do with Disney or its movies. At least, not yet.

"We just got back from Disney last night," Becky said and then realized her friend wouldn't be standing in front of her unless something was wrong.

"What happened?" she asked in a concerned voice as they out of listening distance from Sam, which was short for Samantha.

Tricia was not one for mincing words, "My parents died."

"What?" a shocked Becky shrieked. "I just saw them before we left. Your mom suggested a suntan lotion with 60 SPF."

Tricia smirked, "Yeah, that's my mom," and then she faded into a flashback of her mom and a bottle of suntan lotion at the beach, slathering the creamy, slimy substance on her she resembled a ghost.

"Are you all right? Becky asked as she hugged Tricia, who was unaware they were making contact until she heard her friend's voice.

"They died while in the act," Tricia said as if she was imparting trivial information.

The words "in the act" floated through Becky's mind like a carefree butterfly on a beautiful spring day. Thankfully she didn't think of the George's as sexual beings until she thought of her best friend's parents as sexual beings, which made her step back, gasp and place her hands tightly over her eyes.

"Are you okay, mommy?" an intuitive Sam asked.

"Mommy's okay, Sam. Mommy's friend just told me something really sad," Becky explained.

"Like when Mufasa died in the Lion King?" she asked.

Becky looked at Tricia and nodded, which meant, "Can you believe this fuckin' kid?" And then she said, "Yes, exactly like that."

"I'm sorry, Patricia," Sam stated.

"It's all right, Sam. Your mommy's helping me feel better," Tricia replied.

"Like Nala and Simba?" the little one asked.

It was in that moment that Patricia George realized what she had been missing all these years and what an asshole she had been to the people who really cared about her before the beginning before she became famous. She put her forehead against her friend's forehead and the two shared a good cry.

As the hours passed, she was for formulating a grand plan in her head, as she was quite adept at putting pieces that fit into the right places.

"Hey, do you want to stop by later? We're probably going to order from Spinelli's."

"Just me?" Becky asked.

"No, you, Sam and Bruce," Tricia replied, pulling her friend's husband's name from the nether regions of her ass.

Becky smiled, "Yeah, we would like that."

ELEVEN

Patricia was feeling fairly well for being on Long Island, her usual reaction to the setting could be described as less than positive. She continued to walk down the street while utilizing the safety of the curb as she texted Marva.

"I'll be there shortly. Two blocks away."

The unflappable Marva was actually flapping for a change. The root of her unsettling feeling was the divergence of Patricia's personality now that she was back home. Her boss rarely shifted from boss mode and generally didn't appear to have much of a social life outside of her plentiful corporate social appearances. But, on Long Island, Marva was further demeaned by having to set up a booty call for her boss and she wasn't happy about it. In a plentiful job market with few qualified candidates, she was a hot commodity and the Hollywood sharks were already circling.

Just before Tricia entered the house, she received a text message from a rival studio head who said, "Looking at your assistant for a more substantial position if that's ok?"

Aaron Price was going to use the word "beefy" when describing the open position, but the abundance of vegans in Hollywood precluded him from feeling comfortable using such a reference.

Patricia didn't like the idea of Marva being for sale to the highest bidder and her mood shifted once again as she entered the house.

"Marva!" she yelled with a sense of aggression that initially startled her protégé.

Tricia walked into the kitchen, but that gathering had broken up a few minutes prior and people were scattered throughout the house. Grant, Amy and Adam were in the basement where the majority of the work remained. Alice was still in her room for some reason and Marva had just went upstairs to Tricia's room to take a call.

"Who told you that I was looking for a new job?" Marva questioned Aaron Price's personal assistant. And then she saw Tricia and said, "I have to go Hanney," which appeared to be a name derived by combining Harry and Halley in an effort to establish sexual ambiguity.

"You're looking for a job?" a defensive Patricia asked as she bounded up her stairs.

Normally, Marva would dismiss such chicanery to maintain Patricia's attitude, but it appeared that Long Island had brought the punk out in her as well.

"I don't know. I guess that's up to you."

Tricia was trying to stay disengaged since she already had a plan. It was probably the wrong place for Marva to take a stand, being that she was standing in the epicenter of Tricia's power base.

"Are you sure that you want to do this now?" Patricia asked with a hint of mercy.

It was too late for Marva to turn back. The genie was already out of the bottle and it was put up or shut up time for Tricia.

"I have to do this now," Marva replied.

"Do you think you're ready to take the next step?" Tricia inquired.

Marva couldn't believe what she was hearing, "Don't you?"

Tricia hesitated to ponder the query, the answer to which she had already pondered and concluded. The lack of an immediate positive response ignited the outrage of a fairly moderate thinker. Marva never got too high or too low, at least not in public, but that was about to change.

"I can't believe this!" Marva exclaimed.

"If you'll just give me a minute to explain," Tricia started, but Marva wasn't having it.

"I don't have that kind of time anymore!" Marva countered and then stormed out of the room and away from her boss.

"Well, that didn't go well," Tricia muttered. "Saw that going in a much more positive direction."

And before Tricia could think about cleaning her room or leaving before that thought crossed her mind, her brother rumbled up the stairs.

What's up her ass?" he asked.

Tricia would usually be all politically-correct with her response, but not on the throne of her castle.

"Probably my fist."

Grant smiled but then quickly shifted gears when he realized that he finally had the bane of his existence alone.

"You know I'm still pissed at you."

Again, she had a plan at the ready to soothe all of his wounds in her personal universe.

She was about to reply, but he unloaded all of the ammunition that was lodged in his mental machine gun.

"What the fuck were you thinking when you chose to ignore me and ruin my life? I don't think I can ever forgive you! Not that you care! I bet you didn't lose any sleep over it! Fuck this! You're not even listening to me!" he yelled at then stomped out of the room and down the stairs, slowing just enough to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

Adam tried to stop him, but Grant kept going.

"Sorry, I don't want to talk right now."

Adam walked up the stairs, also remembering to not bash his noggin.

"What crawled up his ass?"

Tricia was going to provide the same "fist" response, but she decided that silence would be her chosen path.

"So, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Tricia nodded in an effort to conserve her breath and sanity.

"Are you going to leave me again?" he asked.

But, instead of waiting for a response, he nervously negotiated through a minefield of insecurities.

"Because, when you left me the first time, after high school, it took me a while to get over it. In fact, I still think that I'm not over it and that's not something that makes me particularly happy. The thought of losing you all over again."

He started walking out of the room and then turned back to her and said, "I don't think that's fair to me. I don't think that's fair to us. I love you and I will always love you, but I don't think I can do this anymore."

Adam walked slowly out of the room and down the stairs, and he kept walking until he exited the back door and sat on a tub chair on the patio.

Tricia shook her head in disbelief at first and then to shake off any remaining cobwebs from the collective beat-down. And while she wasn't the reminiscing type, she nonetheless started looking through some of the shit she had left behind so many years earlier. But, before she got to work, she looked down the stairs to make sure that no one else was rising to bitch at her. Once she determined that the coast was finally clear, Tricia allowed herself to be vulnerable for a few moments of recollection.

TWELVE

The tension was alleviated somewhat by the arrival of the cleanup crew that Tricia and Marva hired. Tricia was back in her teenage mode of remaining in her tower and not mixing with anyone else. She was quite productive in the hour-plus that she was secluded, answering several emails and texts, and participating in a few short conference calls.

After she grunted, "Didn't need Marva's help to do that."

The process to remove items to the dumpster in the driveway or the town's various resale shops was underway, as well as an effort by the team's leader, Margo Scott, to stage the house for a pending estate sale. This would also be followed by a sale of the house, which was part of the service package provided by the real estate company. Tricia also had plans for additional business for the company that had bought and sold all of her houses over the past 30 years.

The atmosphere was chaotic even though Margo's team was an efficient and well-oiled machine. The confused parties being everyone but Tricia and Marva, who set the plans up in the first place.

Tricia eventually came down from her tower, mostly because she was hungry, but quickly wished she had remained upstairs.

"There she is!" Grant shouted. "What's going on in here? Why are all of these people in the house?"

A worker walked back Grant and he said, "How are you doing?"

The man nodded and smiled and kept walking through the main room.

Tricia usually relied on Marva for tedious explanations, but Marva wasn't cooperating at the moment.

"These people were hired to stage an estate sale and then sell the house," Tricia frankly stated without any bullshit. She had become a master of the sugar coat but was back in New York and was experiencing a bout of directness.

"Selling the home?" Alice questioned.

"What did you think we were going to do with it?" Patricia shot back.

"It would have been nice if we would have discussed it," Alice replied, as Grant shot Tricia a look and said, "Look at the balls on this one."

And then he looked at Alice, who wanted him to back her up.

"Yeah it would have been nice if we talked about next steps."

Grant followed Alice out of the room, and this started a contagion of exits.

"So, you're just going to sell the house and forget this ever happened?" Adam asked with more than a tinge of pain. He walked out of the room before Tricia could respond.

Patricia looked at Marva, her rock and voice of reason, and was about seek affirmation.

"Please don't," Marva stated. "Unless you're willing to see more in a different light, please don't patronize me." And then Marva exited the room as well, leaving Tricia to wonder what she did to elicit such treatment – at least in recent memory – and what she had to do to make everything right in her world.

The front door opened and Becky and Sam walked in with Sam exclaiming, "Party's here!" which drew a chuckle and a smile from Tricia.

Becky and Tricia hugged, "The things you are cramming into this innocent mind."

Becky replied, "She better learn that stuff now before she gets to those years when she starts wondering why I didn't give her the 4-1-1 on all of those things she needed to know."

Tricia's mind was so quick that she was planning her next moves on the fly, prioritizing who she needed to talk to – and the list seemed to be growing – and how she would deliver each message. In the topsy-turvy world of family and extended family dynamics, this was an extra-slippery slope that required some finesse and luck.

"I don't think you should be around for the estate sale," Margo said as she walked through the room.

Tricia trusted Margo and simply nodded in agreement.

"What are you going to do with all that time?" Becky asked.

"We all should go to an amusement park or something," Tricia suggested.

"You know, they're not going to close it down for you this time of year," Becky countered.

Tricia agreed, "That's a lot of people."

"And Six Flags is in New Jersey," Becky said with a serving of scorn.

"Yeah, there's that. Forget about it," Tricia added. "You have a kid, what would be fun for the whole family?"

"Are you inviting me?" Becky asked.

"Yes! You and the munchkin and your husband can come."

Becky smiled, "Then I have the perfect place!"

The estate sale wasn't until the following day, so Tricia had to endure a night on her own. Adam was nowhere to be found and she decided to stay in her own room at the Petunia Harbor Hotel.

"Good evening, Miss George," the front desk person said as she approached the desk. "What can I help you with?"

She glanced at his name tag and then proceeded, knowing that using first names was always an effective way to communicate.

"Hello, Ralph. I would like a room, please."

Ralph knew that Tricia already had a large party in the hotel's most expensive suite but didn't hesitate to get on his computer and book her in a room on the other side of the hotel, which would give her the privacy that she was looking for. He handed her a room card in a small folio and said, "I will have room service prepare a selection of complimentary edibles for you."

She nodded, "Thank you, I appreciate that Ralph." And then she took possession of the key, "Have a good night."

"You as well," he replied, as she walked away impressed with his thorough professionalism.

Elsewhere in the hotel, Grant and Amy came up for air after another spirited session.

"Wow! I haven't been pounded like that since... well, since you gave it to me like that in high school," Amy said.

Grant was elsewhere, so Amy filled in the blanks.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know why I keep taking it from her."

Amy knew what he was talking about as familiar feelings started tumbling back into place.

"We just had earth-shaking sex and all you can think about is your sister?" Amy exclaimed. "That's a little weird."

Grant quickly snapped out of it at the thought of being incestuous.

"I'm sorry. You should know that I wasn't thinking about her any time during all of that."

Amy countered, "So you're telling me that you risked slipping a disk in your back because you weren't angry?"

"I just don't know what she wants from me?" he stated.

She thought about asking him the same question even though things were going very well. It had crossed her mind a few times about what would happen once the music stopped and the week was over. Everything was happening so fast that it hadn't come up yet.

"Can you be more specific?" she asked, not directly knowing what he was talking about.

Grant and Amy had grown so close again so quickly that he forgot that she didn't know about the bad blood between he and his sister.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wrote a few books and self-published them as eBooks online. Being that I am Patricia's brother, people tend to look her up on IMBD and sort of follow the trail of breadcrumbs to find out more about her background and family."

"What, wait, you wrote a book?" Amy questioned.

"Yeah, I've written 10 books," he replied trying to shake off the reference to his lack of intelligence. "Do you mind if I get back to the story?"

Amy shook her head, "No," although she really wanted to tell him how proud she was that he had taken his love of words from love poetry and actually done something with it.

"At the time, my sister had just been named head of the studio, so I guess this was about 10 years ago. An intern at the studio who had just started, had a girlfriend who was a voracious reader and tracked down one of my books..." and then he hesitated.

Amy filled the void, "What's the name of the book?"

Grant paused because the title of the book would be extremely impactful to his high school girlfriend.

"First Friends."

Amy was catapulted back to a time when she and Grant first met on a line outside of Beach Elementary School with other first-graders on their first day of school. They locked eyes and Abby George said to Shirley Zeller, "These two are fast friends." And then she turned to her son and said, "Shake her hand, Grant. That's what friends do when they say hello to each other."

It was the late 1960s and that's what people did, so Grant and Amy shook hands and time stood still as he said to her, "We are first friends."

Amy repeated the phrased and smiled, "First friends," as she said it out loud while holding Grant's hand in the present.

"I didn't know what my mom meant when she said, 'fast friends,' but I did know what "first friends" meant, so I said it. I remember it like I said it to you yesterday."

"So, what's the book about," Amy asked, diving deeper into love with him by the moment.

He smiled, "It's about us."

"Until high school?" she questioned, thinking that would be a sad ending.

He shook his head, "No," and then said, "All the way."

"Did you talk about our sex life?"

"No! Get your mind out of the gutter for a minute. I imagined what would have happened if we separated briefly and then got back together later on. Where we were first friends and then last friends as well."

His words burrowed deep into her soul as she started sobbing, "You do love me."

He put his head against hers, "Until the end,"

She wiped her face with the bed sheet and asked, "So what happened?"

"The 20-something woman read the book and was so deeply moved that she told her girlfriend about it, so she read and also cried at the bittersweet ending."

"Right?" the girl said as the intern nodded in agreement.

"I can see that as a movie," the intern stated.

"Right?" the girl replied, as her limited range of responses eventually doomed the relationship.

Grant continued, "The intern brought it to the attention of a lower level person at the studio that she befriended and then it spread like wildfire until it reached my sister's office."

"Her assistant, Tracy, at the time, dumped a physical copy of the book on her desk. Tricia didn't look at the title or author and asked, "Is there a script for this as well?"

"Yes, the author also wrote a script, but I suggest you read the book first."

Tricia nodded and then picked up the book a few hours later when things quieted down and brought it over to a comfortable chair in her office to read. She glanced at the title as she opened the first pages without giving much credence to the author. She liked to form an opinion about the work on its own merit without letting the gender, race or ethnic background of the artist impede her determination. She started reading the book and immediately flipped the pages closed, even though the pages were usually delivered to her with only the title and without the author's name.

"Tracey, can you come in here, please," Tricia said politely as the assistant hustled into the room and then closed the door behind her when she saw the serious look on her face.

"Do you know who wrote this, because I have a pretty good idea?"

"No," Tracey replied, "but the buzz is that it's somebody important."

Tricia had thought about replacing her assistant for some time, but this cemented Tracey's fate. She then went through six assistants in six years before hiring Marva.

The truth then hit Amy all at once, "She killed it!"

Grant nodded in acknowledgement, "She killed it after someone at the studio had already contacted me and wanted to discuss a deal."

"Wow, I would be mad at her, too!" Amy concurred.

Perhaps it wasn't so simple, at least from Patricia's perspective, that Grant's book and script were put on long-lasting ice. As the new head of a major motion picture and entertainment studio, the thing she had to do was resist the temptation of making a decision based on nepotism.

Marva discovered a copy of the book when she was cleaning Tricia's office one day shortly after taking over as her personal assistant. It was one of the rare times that she had dictated the terms of their relationship. Marva felt the weight of the words and knew it hadn't seen the light of day. Marva felt it was unusual that her boss wouldn't capitalize on such a great idea amidst a lull in the industry.

Marva held up the manuscript as we walked into Patricia's office.

"I can't do it," Tricia said before Marva even breached the subject.

Marva spun back around and walked out of the office with the manuscript in hand, which she made sure to procure over the years just in case her boss changed her mind.

And it came full circle on the night Patricia decided to separate herself from the herd. Tricia had a facemask on and was giving herself a pedicure when she heard a knock on the door. Food had already come and she had eaten and disposed of the tray, so Tricia knew it wasn't hotel personnel at the door. And then she surmised that the only person who would be able to detail her location was Marva – it was like she had installed a tracking chip inside of her that could be accessed at all times.

But it was Marva's ability to know her boss and extract information from even the most tight-lipped source that brought her to Patricia's door. It had also been the longest period of time that they had either been out of communication or not seeing eye-to-eye since they met.

On her walk through the hotel, Marva thought back to the moment Patricia George entered her stratosphere. They met in the bathroom at their building, most people being awkward initially when they encountered Marva. But not Tricia.

"How are you doing today?" Tricia asked as they both looked into the mirror, Marva washing her hands and Patricia fine-tuning her makeup.

"Fine," Marva initially said, and then amended that weak response with "Great!" in order to meet the positivity in the room.

"Are you new here?" Tricia asked, although she already knew that Marva had just been hired.

"Yes," Marva replied and then dried her hands off.

They squared off, "Patricia George."

Marva didn't blink as they shook hands, "Marva Prentice," to which Tricia was impressed with the poise of this young person and her firm grip and soft hands. Marva obviously knew who Patricia was and had timed her bathroom stop so she could meet the big boss. Tricia then came that very realization as she opened the door to her hotel room.

"Did you follow me inti the bathroom that day?"

Marva knew exactly what she was referring to and broke cover by smiling for a change, "Of course. Would you expect any less from me?"

Tricia was a master of disarming people and making them feel at ease. She knew why Marva was there and prepared to alter that course.

"See, that's why I love you," Patricia said without hesitation.

Marva was struck by the word "love," as no one had said that to her in her life. She also knew that Tricia was kind of person to throw that word around. In fact, it was the first time she had ever heard her utter the word in reference to another person.

Patricia, for her part, loved many people in her life, but Marva was her closest confidant. She could see that Marva was moved by her words, so the two had a rare tender moment in what had always been a non-stop ride of a business relationship.

She moved in closer and touched her moist forehead to Marva's.

"You know how much you mean to me."

Marva started sobbing and Tricia hugged and comforted her before they talked again.

"I will always take care of you."

She waited for Marva to calm down.

"I didn't want to leave, but..." Marva started.

Patricia was the head of the studio for a reason.

"I want you to run your own studio."

Marva always processed information at lightning-speed but was having difficulty making sense of what she had heard.

"What?" she mumbled in a dream-like state.

"I am opening a smaller independent studio called Home Base Studios and I want you to run it."

Again, Marva was having difficulty finding the words.

"Run it?"

"I want you to be the head of the studio," Tricia stated.

Marva smiled and then hugged Tricia, "Thanks, mom."

It was a natural expression of their mother-daughter bond, for a woman who never had kids and a girl who unsuccessfully sought the love of her birth mother.

THIRTEEN

It was finally the day of the estate sale. Tricia's instructions were to sell everything that remained at reachable prices and the donate the remaining items to a local resale shop that donated all of its profits to helping elderly people in the community. It was unclear whether she was making a statement about her parents or just trying to fill a glaring need in the community. Patricia wasn't the kind of person who would usually second-guess herself – when she made a decision it was with all her intellect and conviction and it always had meaning.

To that end, she had to mend fences and build bridges with the other primary people in her life. She first stopped by her friend Becky Burton's house at 7:00 a.m. with a tray of coffees, a frozen hot chocolate and a bag of pastries, better known locally as donuts and bagels.

She knocked on the door instead of ringing the bell and the door opened to what appeared to be a clear pathway. Then Patricia looked down and sat little Samantha standing there with a big smile and waving.

"Hello!"

Tricia looked down and said, "Hello!"

"Do you have any donuts?" Sam asked.

Just then, Bruce walked toward the door, "Sam, what did I tell you about opening the door and talking to strangers."

Tricia was about to defend herself until Bruce smiled at Tricia to convey that he just kidding.

"But I know Tricia!" Sam insisted, which sent both Tricia and Bruce into hysterics as Becky entered the hallway.

Bruce and Tricia shook hands and then hugged and then she handed the frozen hit chocolate and a donut to Sam and Becky said, "Go eat that in the kitchen."

"She likes to eat in her room," Becky said as she grabbed one of the coffees and then handed another to her husband.

"Thanks," Bruce said as Becky shared the sentiment.

"It's great to finally meet you," Tricia replied.

"Same here," Bruce agreed.

The atmosphere was chilled and very familiar as they moved into the den, which was adjacent to the kitchen and dining rooms in the expand ed ranch house.

"So, what brings you here so early in the morning?" Becky asked in typical New York fashion of wanting to get directly to the point with minimal buildup.

Bruce lightly elbowed his wife as they sat on the couch across from Tricia, who was sitting in a comfy tub chair. Neither of them had any idea why Tricia had dropped by, but Becky knew that her friend always had something brewing and made things happen.

"That's what I miss about being in New York," Tricia said. "There's no foreplay," a loose Tricia said while laughing.

That elicited laughter from her friends.

"Well, let's get to it then," Tricia started. "I obviously came back here, home, for reasons that weren't exactly ideal. And, although I thought I had a complete life all of these years away from home, I started to realize that there has been something missing in my life and that's all of you."

Becky smiled because she knew the next thing that her best friend said would change her life. Bruce grabbed a raisin bagel out of the bag and started innocently munching on it.

"I have decided to open an independent entertainment studio and my assistant Marva is going to be the chief executive officer."

"Oh, that's great!" Becky exclaimed with a tinge of disappointment that the news was about someone else.

"And, I also wanted to leverage some of the other talent around me," Tricia continued. She turned to Bruce and said, "Bruce, I've been looking at your background and thought you would make a great chief financial officer."

Bruce was deep in delicious bagel consumption and nearly choked on a chunk. Becky patted him on the back rather forcefully with some apparent frustration until the airway was clear again.

"Wow! That was surprising!" Bruce exclaimed as he put the bagel down on the table and took a slurp of coffee.

"Are you oaky?" Patricia asked.

Bruce nodded and said, "Never better," so Tricia continued. "And," she smiled at Becky, "I know you'd make a great chief people officer for us."

The joy of the moment was quieted somewhat by precocious Samantha, who asked after she scarfed down the last remnant of her donut and then walked into the dining room, "Does that mean we get to move to Disneyland?"

She was excited but had boiled her query down to its most essential elements.

"Do you want to move to Disneyland?" Becky asked her daughter, who seemed to be gaining steam and power by the moment.

"Yes!" Sam replied. "Will you be there, Patricia?"

Tricia looked at the adults in the room first and then replied, "Yes, of course."

"Good. I'll be in my office," Same said and then walked away.

"Does she have an office?" Tricia inquired.

"No, that's what she says when she goes to the bathroom," Becky stated.

"Yeah, that one's on me," Bruce explained. "I usually say that when I'm going in the bathroom to read the paper."

Becky looked at Tricia, held two fingers up and mouthed, "Number two," and then waved her hand in front of her nose to suggest the smelly nature of the deposit.

And then reason pervaded the minds of the Barton's. They had a mortgage and were both worried about taking such a leap of faith. Patricia could see that the gravity of the situation was weighing heavily on their minds, so she quickly put a stop to that.

"As part of your compensation packages, we're going to pay off your house and then sell it for you, and we also have a place for you to live once we get there," Tricia said, which instantly eased both of their minds.

The next person on the hit list was Adam Harris. Tricia texted him, "Meet me behind the stoop on the back porch."

The estate sale wasn't expected to start until 9:00 a.m., so Tricia figured she had a good 30 minutes until people would start queuing up on the front walk to get in. Since she was just down the block from her parent's house, she decided to stretch her legs and walk over to the house.

Adam came zooming down the block in his Toyota Prius, at least as much as he could zoom in a neutered hybrid vehicle. Once he realized that it was Patricia walking in the street, he rolled down the passenger side window, stopped and said, "Get in."

Patricia hopped in his car and Adam drove past her old house where there was more activity than she initially anticipated. The estate sale company had taken great pictures of some premium items and here was quite a buzz created in the collecting community. A robust line was already forming in front of the house with more people streaming in by the minute.

Adam thought fast and drove into the empty elementary school parking lot after making a few turns away from the house. He emerged from the car and started walking toward the playground, which was in the middle of an open field. Tricia walked behind him, waiting for him to speak first. He stood in the middle of a linked foot bridge on a climbing structure as Tricia nestled into her favorite playground apparatus, a swing.

"I don't know what you want from me," he started and the continued with no real direction other than to vent. "You left me the first time and then I got over it. Eventually. Well, not really ever. I don't know what I will do this time when you leave."

Tricia interjected, "Are you saying that you will consider taking your own life if I leave without you?"

Adam jumped down off the bridge and made a loud vibration on the rubberized protective surface.

"What? Do you feel like you have a magic vagina?"

She was always so self-confident, "Well, don't I?"

He thought briefly and responded, "Yeah, but I wouldn't take my life over it. I might be upset for the rest of my life, but I wouldn't end it all!" he exclaimed and then sat on the swing next to her. They started swinging at different intervals and heights.

"Well, that's good to here, since I don't think I can hire employees that are suicidal."

He kept swinging but in a less powerful and impactful way.

"What did you just say?"

She wasn't going to repeat herself, so it was time for her to take the dialogue to the next level.

"I'm starting an independent studio and wanted to hire you as my general counsel."

He didn't blink, "Who's the CEO?"

"Marva," Tricia replied.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"I would, but then I can't hire you," she replied.

"But we'll be together," he stated.

"Most definitely!" she gushed.

"Then I accept if you agree to never leave me again," he countered.

"Well, technically, if you come live with me in California and then decide to leave, it will be you leaving me."

He smiled, "I'll take that chance. It's a better bet in my 50s than my teens."

Tricia laughed as she continued to swing as Adam sat and watched her.

FOURTEEN

Patricia was feeling quite well after her extremely positive conversations with Marva, the Barton's and Adam, with the latter including some sex. They left the elementary school, because it would be extremely creepy to have sex there and snuck into her backyard only minutes before the estate sale was going to start. Margo Scott looked out of the back window and winked at Tricia just as she was about to cum. For some reason, this turned her on even more and it was a sign of things to come in their expanding relationship.

She went back to the hotel and worked out before showering. In between, Patricia texted Grant and told him to meet her at North Inlet Bagel. She picked that spot because everyone there spoke in a loud voice and no one would notice if she and Grant were arguing. Conflict was a way of life on Long Island and its inhabitants reveled in the constant discourse.

Grant wasn't even sure that he was going to show up to talk to his sister. She knew his weakness was bagels, but she could have also gone with pizza, knishes or a wide variety of baked goods and still have registered comparable significance. With the week almost over, he was starting to dread the thought of returning to the city, but the smell of fresh bagels wafted into his nostrils and made him forget about such foolish pursuits.

Under normal conditions, Patricia the warrior would let the other party arrive first and then make a grand entrance. But, on this day, she chose the softer route and arrived 10 minutes so she could secure a preferred booth and put out a spread of foods that her brother liked. Or at least he used to like.

He walked into the bagel store/restaurant and spotted his sister and then eyed the table, which then sealed his fate for having an early lunch with her. There was a time when Grant was scared of his sister, and there were other times that he revered her. Although this was an occasion when he felt neither emotion.

Grant nodded at Tricia and tried to play it cool.

"Hey."

She was going to let him take the lead before reassuming control, or so she surmised.

HE sat down and really didn't know where to start. She always had difficulty apologizing to people. She also never like to show weakness. This was a trait she inherited from her lioness of a mother who basically shammed her limp-dick husband into overdosing on Viagra.

It was killing Grant to sit there and not dig into the food, so he spoke after a pregnant pause as a survival skill in order to not pass out from hunger.

"What the fuck, Trish," he grunted.

"It wasn't my fault," she shot back.

He shot her a "Seriously?" look and then they got into it. "Just fuckin' tell me why! That's all I've wanted all these years! Why did you fuckin' bury it?"

"Because I had to!"

"Because it wasn't good?" he questioned, already knowing the answer.

She dropped her gaze and shook her head, "No, it was good. It is good."

He always wanted affirmation from his sister, but never got it, until now. She would never let him beat her. Tricia would crash a chess board if defeat was inevitable and walk away from other contests if sensed that he was about to overtake her. He heard what she said and was stuck on the word "is," somehow inferring that his words were not as dead and buried as he thought. He picked up a black-and-white cookie and started alternating his eating of the chocolate and vanilla sides.

She started explaining her difficult decision while he appeared paralyzed by unexpected euphoria.

"I had just taken over control of the studio and had to weight making my brother's sure-fire hit while having to deal with the calls for immediate ouster over nepotism. I had worked too hard for too many years to throw it all away."

He interjected, "Did you say is?"

She screeched on the brakes of her sideways apology and asked, "What?"

"Did you say my book and script is good?"

"Yeah, what of it? Do you want me to say it again?" she said sarcastically.

"Well, you could but you're talking in the present tense like that shit still has a chance to see the light of day," he stated.

And while Tricia always enjoyed torturing her little brother, she surmised that even Grant might have taken enough punishment. She tried not to smile, but the moment was too big to suppress her emotions.

"You always had this way about you. This casual confidence that I always found unsettling..."

Grant put the remnants of the cookie down and thought about a bagel with cream cheese for a moment before turning his full attention to his sister, who appeared to be trying simple honesty for a change.

"But I read that book and then the script and it blew my mind," she added.

Grant didn't know how to read her, so he took the plunge into a warm sesame bagel with a generous shmere of cream cheese.

"And upon further examination, it appears that you have other books and scripts that could take us in a variety of other directions."

Grant kept chewing but he had the innate ability that had been bestowed on New Yorker's to be able to eat and talk at the same time. It was an efficiency born in the city that never slept, where time wasn't a commodity that was ever wasted.

"Us?' he questioned.

She smiled and then started crying.

"Mom always wanted us to get along and work together," she said as she channeled her mother. "Patricia, you and brother are so similar and that's why you fight. You must think of him as an ally, not an adversary. The two of you would be an unstoppable force together," Tricia continued as she wiped her eyes with a napkin that Grant handed her. "I am now willing to test mom's theory."

Grant stopped chewing after swallowing and put his bagel down.

"I am starting a new independent studio called Home Base Studios. Marva's going to be the CEO, Adam will be general counsel, Becky Barton as chief people officer, her husband Bruce CFO and you will be our chief creative officer. Marva wants her first project to be First Friends."

Grant nodded in affirmation but, as usual, he was focused on the well-being of his little sister.

"What about Alice?"

Tricia laughed and dried her remaining tears, "You see, that is the difference between you and me. I always think big picture first and people second, and you are always fixated on people."

Grant shrugged.

"She's going to be Marva's assistant. There's no separating those two."

Grant jumped up and sat next to Patricia, kissing her on the cheek and forehead.

"I'm glad you finally came to your senses. Can Amy come with us?"

"I already slotted her in as director of craft services," Tricia replied.

"Is there anything else?" Grant asked, knowing his sister always had other fires burning.

"Well, I have this big house on the ocean in Malibu. I kind of thought that we all could live together. Like mom and dad has us living with grandma' and grandpa' when we lived in the apartment building in Brooklyn."

While Grant had vague memories of his first few years, the thought of being part of a familiar community was really appealing after so many years of living in solitary.

"That's a great idea! I'm in!" Grant exclaimed as they hugged and then ate a few delicacies from their shared past.

FIFTEEN

Tricia and Grant went back to the suite at the hotel and took bagel-coma naps in their rooms. After a few hours of being dead to the world, the two showered and the fetched Alice and Marva to go by the house and see how the estate sale went.

Margo Scott greeted the quartet, "Hello George's and Marva! I've seen a lot of things in my life, but I don't think I've ever witnessed and experienced that kind of passionate intensity. These people wanted items and they were willing to pay for it, but not before negotiating feverishly."

The siblings looked at each other and Grant said, "That's Long Island for you."

And then Marva split off with Margo from the group because she realized that Patricia and Grant had to talk to Alice about their plans. Alice started following Marva until Grant said, "Allie, can we talk to you for a minute?"

Usually a tone like that would have carried a negative connotation, but not in this case.

"What would you think about coming to live with me in California?" Tricia asked and then quickly amended her question to suit the end user. "About living with us?" as she motioned toward Grant, who nodded and smiled.

While Alice thought the idea was interesting, it was obvious from her change of countenance that she had concerns.

"Are you worried about leaving home? Leaving New York?" Grant asked, figuring that his sister had barely traveled beyond the borders of their hometown except for the years she went to college and resided in the same dorm room for four years.

"No," Alice started. "I was just wondering if Marva was going to be there?"

Marva apparently heard everything that was said and shouted from the next room, "Only if you're there!"

Alice beamed, "Then I'm in!" She started running out of the room to be with Marva, but Tricia momentarily slowed her roll.

"We'll have to sell your house."

"Yeah, whatever, "Alice replied and then gleefully hopped into the next room to reunite with Marva.

"Well, that was a lot easier than I thought," Grant said.

"Yeah, I saw that going a different way and taking a lot longer," Patricia agreed.

Grant nodded his head as Margo walked back in and stated, "Those two became fast friends."

Tricia eyes Grant and then said to Margo, "Looks like you'll be selling two houses in this neighborhood. Not as much stuff as this one."

"Do you think she'll being her furniture?" Grant asked the group.

"It doesn't really go with the décor," Tricia said and then Alice said from the next room, "Sell it all. I don't need it."

They all were amazed and then shrugged it off, "How much did we make?" Grant asked Margo.

Margo turned on her phone and replied, "Twenty-four thousand, six-hundred thirty-eight dollars and fifty-two cents. Somebody bargained me down below a dollar on a few items. Honestly, I would have thrown those items in with the amount they were buying, but they insisted on paying."

"That is going to be one happy charity!" Patricia beamed.

"Is Operation Malibu a go?" Margi asked Tricia.

Tricia looked at Grant and he replied with a thumbs up, "Yes, it's a full go!"

The group left the house and headed over to the Playhouse for a night of good food and fun games. It was the only establishment of its kind: part children's paradise and part adult playground. It was truly a good time for the whole family, a fact that Becky Barton was well aware of when she booked the location.

"I told you this place was awesome!" Becky said to Tricia. "I wonder if they franchise these things?"

"Cold weather states would appear optimal on the surface, so why is this place so busy in the middle of the summer?" Tricia asked.

"Because there's nothing for families to do unless you focus on the kids. Everyone can go their own way in a safe environment. Kids are tagged with colors and bar codes that match their parents or groups and this place has intense security," Becky stated.

"Yeah, I know. You don't see a bunch of guards standing around. They must have an intense computer security program with a proprietary algorithm," Tricia stated. "I would franchise that."

Marva smiled, since she hadn't fully transitioned yet to studio director.

"I'll look into it," then she looked at Alice.

"Yes, that will be my job. I'll talk to some people and parse the analytics. Maybe they'll even be an opportunity to brand it with our studios."

Necks were cracking between Marva, Tricia, Grant and Becky at Alice's keen insight.

Becky said, "Look at this fuckin' kid!"

"Our little girl is growing up," Grant said to Tricia.

The group formed a tight circle with everyone arm-in-arm. Tricia looked down at little Samantha, who was in the middle of the circle and said, "Okay Sam, take us out!"

Sam smiled and then swung her fist in the air, "Let's kick it!"

The group yelled back, "Yeah!" and then everyone jumped up and down, yelling "Kick it!"

They became instantly inseparable, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. It was like they had never been apart, never separated and completely healed from the pain of separation and disappointment. The unbridled joy at the Playhouse that night spilled over to the rest of their successful lives together.

