Blood and Oranges by James Goldsborough (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

to resemble their fathers as they age? She’d thought it was only girls and mothers. She wouldn’t mind resembling Nelly at her age, before her stroke, that is. She glanced sideways at Maggie, sitting quietly, expressionless, staring straight ahead. Whatever the news was, her sister was in on it.

He laid down the manila folder he’d brought from his office and extracted a paper.

“This letter from Summa is in answer to my letter to them. You recall I sent them a copy of Howard’s letter to us about disposition of his airfield after Maggie and I flew to Las Vegas to witness the signing before he disappeared. Summa’s answer says about what we expected, but look at the signature.”

He handed her the letter.

Under an elaborate Summa Corporation letterhead, under the text, the letter was signed:

Robinson A. Morton, vice president

(for Howard Hughes)

♦ ♦ ♦

Four of them gathered that night in Brentwood. Lizzie was still shell-shocked, but found Joe more intrigued than surprised. He had a perverse habit of always seeing the story side of events, however dire.

She, however, was angry. “It’s the treachery of the thing.”

“Not the first time, is it?” said Cal.

They settled in the living room with drinks before dinner.

“He’s never hidden his views,” said Joe.

“I could forget the treason,” said Cal, “but how could he be so blind about the land?”

“Robby goes his own way,” said Joe. “Think Sea Ranch.”

“But Summa?” cried Lizzie. “Sea Ranch is one thing, but working for Summa is setting himself up directly against the foundation, against the family, against us.”

“Of all the companies in the world, how in God’s name did he end up working for Summa?” said Maggie. “It has to be deliberate.”

“We won’t know until we ask him, will we?” said Lizzie.

“I have a good idea without asking him,” said Joe, taking a book from the shelves. “It’s called Atlas Shrugged and is the new bible for people like our son, superseding The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand’s first paean to capitalism. Geniuses, we’re told, are created to move the world forward, and whoever or whatever gets in their way must be destroyed.”

“Robby’s a genius?” asked Maggie.

“Of course,” said Joe. ”In his own mind.”

“Robby believes in that stuff?” said Lizzie.

“Remember our little discussion about John Galt?”

“Who is John Galt?” asked Maggie.

Joe explained.

“So Robby believes he’s John Galt?”

“Something like that. Remember the name of Robby’s girlfriend? Dominque is the name of the protagonist in The Fountainhead.”

“Oh come on, Joe,” said Maggie. “You don’t date someone because of their name.”

“If you’re Robby, maybe you do.”

“Rand’s writing is lunacy,” said Lizzie.

“She’s no lunatic,” said Joe. “She’s a smart Russian Jew getting even with the Bolsheviks. She has a talent for turning pulp fiction into pseudo philosophy.”

“I tried once to read The Fountainhead,” said Lizzie. “Couldn’t get past the sex scenes. It’s comic opera.”

“Then try Atlas Shrugged,” said Joe. “Rand’s women enjoy being raped, use rape to control men, very liberating.”

“So Robby’s letter from Summa means we now go to court,” said Maggie.

“Can you get a letter from Hughes disowning Summa?” asked Joe.

“Howard hates Summa,” said Maggie. “But where is he?”

“I’ve been trying to track him down,” said Cal. “After Las Vegas, he went to the Bahamas, to Nicaragua, which he left after the earthquake, back to Las Vegas, back to the Bahamas, and at last report he was in Acapulco. I’ve made some calls. He’s at the Princess Hotel, has the entire top floor, but no one ever sees him. Doctors come and go. He’s either dead or dying. Surely drugged. His minders, whoever they are, have total control of him and his assets.”

“Poor Howard,” said Maggie.

“Does he have a will?” asked Lizzie.

“No one knows but the minders,” said Maggie.

“Summa,” said Cal. “Which probably wrote it.”

They adjourned to the dining room where Lizzie laid out a Mexican spread. Joe opened a bottle of Almaden rosé. “I don’t see exactly how this plays out,” he said. “I mean, not in real life. In my writer’s imagination I see a hell of a family story: the Barrymores, John and Lionel, Arsène Lupin, remember that one? Or maybe a courtroom scene, son against uncle, Lionel in his wheelchair against alcoholic John. One of those family love-hate things—rejection, insecurity, jealousy, all the things psychiatrists make their livings on.”

“Joe,” said Lizzie, “this is serious.”

“You know what Summa will say about the Hughes letter,” said Cal. “That it was written by a man losing his faculties.”

“But he wasn’t!” said Maggie, louder than she meant to. “When I picked it up at the Flamingo, Howard was fine.”

“That’s not what you told me,” said Lizzie.

“Physically, he was a mess. Those fingernails, ugh! But mentally he seemed all right, OK enough to make a pass at me.”

“But it had already started, hadn’t it,” said Cal. “I saw it at the signing.”

“You’re saying the letter is worthless?”

“I’m saying that its potential is more moral than legal. Since no one knows the relationship between Hughes and Summa, any court will want to know Hughes’s intentions. Especially if he dies intestate.”

“Whatever Robinson A. Morton may have to say about it,” said Lizzie.

“For Howard Hughes, of course . . .”

“There’s my story,” said Joe.

“No, Joe. Before we get too deep into this family fight, I want to talk to him.”

Joe stared for some time at his wife. “We’re too far into it now, Liz.”

“He’s my son. I want to do it.”

“You want me?”

She shook her head. “Let me try first.”

Joe finished pouring out the wine and the table fell silent for a moment. Then: “Speaking of our children,” said Lizzie, looking at her sister, “what’s the latest on Didi?”

“Ralph drove Mother up in the Hollywood Hills before her stroke. Directions were vague. He got lost and couldn’t find it.”

“Couldn’t find what?” said Cal.

“She’s living with that guy. Didi told me to butt out when I called. He gave her a screen test, which she failed. I could have saved him the trouble, but they take one look at her and say, my god, another Jane Russell. Then she gets in