Lucky Suit Legacy

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit you more often since the funeral,” Drew says.

“No biggie, son,” Leif replies. “I was mentally prepared for your mother’s passing. I loved her and didn’t want to lose her, but it was better for both of us. It was hard watching her die an inch at a time. She was such a vibrant woman, and she was in a lot of physical pain. But Sandy’s helped me adjust to life after forty years of marriage.”

“Sandy? Who’s Sandy?”

“Misses Amuso.”

Drew snickers. “You and the neighborhood yenta?”

“She’s more like the self-proclaimed head of the neighborhood watch,” Leif replies. “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Leif’s ghostly pallor serves as a reminder of the stress he endured as his wife, Aya, was dying from cervical cancer and he battled heart problems. But the glint in his eyes gives Drew hope that his father’s health is on the rebound.

Thirty-four-year-old Drew Tranquil has his father’s rugged good looks. Still, it was his mother’s inherited charm that helped him land the job of Public Relations and Marketing Director for “Seeing Stars,” a charity that put him in direct contact with Hollywood celebrities.

Leif answers the rap on the door, letting in Sandy Amuso, their sixty-six-year-old neighbor and family friend. Sandy’s short hair, wide blue eyes, and English accent substantiate her boundless energy, but she can be challenging and uncompromising in her role as the neighborhood’s protector.

She gives Drew a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Your Dad’s been missing you. We all have,” Sandy says, following Drew into the living room.

“I should be around more often now. We’re just about finished working on our fundraising video.”

“So, what exactly is it that you do again?” Sandy asks. “Your father said you work with celebrities…”

“We film them talking about health and safety topics. I write the scripts.”

“Spectacular! Have you worked with Gracie Hart? Is she really America’s sweetheart?”

“She’s every bit as nice as the characters she plays. And Nigel St. Nigel was great. When we filmed him on set in New Mexico, I brought a copy of his greatest hits CD with me for him to sign. He gave me that Cheshire cat grin and deep, hearty laugh, saying, “So, you’re the one who bought this!”

“Who was the nastiest star to deal with?” Sandy asks.

“Jason Colby. I think playing Moses and Ben Hur made him think he was God. He complained about everything. The bagels, the extras, the script. And to make matters worse, his toupee was crooked.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Tell the man who played John the Baptist that he looks funny? No, and none of the crew were willing to take that chance. We filmed him from the side.”

Sandy smiles awkwardly. “I know my relationship with your father may come as a bit of a shock to you. But I assure you, nothing inappropriate happened while your mother was alive.”

“And now?”

Sandy pats Leif’s hand. He holds her hand affectionately.

“…We’ll see…”

                                                           ***

Over the next several months, Drew frequently makes the two-hundred-mile drive to see his father. Sandy answers the door every time he visits, filling him in on the neighborhood gossip while a bemused Leif looks on.

He’s thankful when business slows down at Seeing Stars but is suspicious when his boss, Marty Tannenberg, begins vetoing his suggestions.

“He’s funneling the money into his own bank account,” Drew’s assistant, Jillian Hogg, insists.

The thirtyish Aussie with oval glasses has a keen mind but can be aggressive and stubborn and harbors a dislike for Marty, who passed her over for the Director’s job and hired Drew. Her attitude toward Drew thawed when he promised to treat her as his equal.

“I’m telling you, he’s stealing,” Jillian repeats. “All he does is sit in his office, drink coffee, and read the New York Times. We haven’t had a production meeting in a month. Do you want me to talk to him about it?”

“Why don’t we both meet with him?”

The organization’s seventy-year-old, baggy-eyed, bald-domed President is scrutinizing the newspaper’s crossword puzzle. A former talent agent, Marty comes from Hollywood’s pre-woke era when risqué jokes, casting couches, martinis, and power-hungry moguls ruled. Still, Drew and Jillian are relieved he’s let them run their department.

“What’s up, Bunky?” Marty asks.

“We wanted to talk with you about our production schedule…”

“Yeah. There isn’t one,” Jillian adds.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you two about that. The home office in Hollywood wants us to change things up a bit…”

“But we’re in New York,” Jillian snaps. “We operate on our own.”

“We’re still one organization,” Marty returns. “We’re bringing in a consultant. He’s going to handle fundraising and the production of our educational films for a while. Instead of us spending money traveling to film the stars, he’s going to have them come to him at a studio in Hollywood. His name’s Ted Segal. He’s got forty years of experience schmoozing with celebrities. He wants to freshen things up, maybe get sports stars, rappers, and reality stars to do our films. This is no reflection on either of you. It’s just a cost-cutting move. Okay, Bunky?”

Drew and Jillian remain quiet as they pass Marty’s impassive office assistants and return to their office. Once there, Jillian explodes.

“A cost-cutting move! I bet the money they’re paying that hack Segal is twice as much as we use on travel! If they want to cut costs, they should lay off one of those wooden statues masquerading as Tannenberg’s assistants and get him to retire!”

“Have you gotten all of your anger out of your system?” Drew asks.

Jillian sniffles as she pushes her glasses up her nose. “I suppose so. You know what this means, don’t you? Segal takes your job. You take mine. What do I do?”

“Enjoy the free ride.”

“Right. Nobody rides for free. Not for long.”

***

Giving Drew a worried look, Sandy points upstairs.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s been moody lately, talking about what’ll happen to the house and his finances when he’s gone.”

“He’ll snap out of it,” Drew replies. “He did the same thing when Mom got sick. He likes to be prepared. He wants to know everybody will be cared for when he dies.”

“He needs to live in the present, here, with you and me. When my husband, Errol, died, your mother and father reminded me I still had two wonderful daughters and a job to do looking out for the neighborhood. They gave me the gift of a new life. That’s all I want to do for him.”

“I’m sure he knows.”

                                               ***

Leif doesn’t hear Drew enter the sitting room. He remains riveted in position, staring out the window at the yard.

“Dad?”

“I was thinking I need to make a list for you… In case… You know, bank accounts, investments, the deed to the house, that sort of thing…”

“Are you all right, Dad?”

“Never felt better. Do you remember playing catch in the front yard?”

“Yeah. We practiced every day after school. I made the All-Star team because of all those grounders and fly balls you hit me.”

“Nah, you did it on your own. The garage… That was us working together.”

“I must’ve dropped half a dozen cinder blocks on my foot that summer,” Drew recalls. “And working on cars together…”

Leif laughs, his eyes still focused outdoors. “I almost managed to forget that Mustang of yours. It was a death trap, a shell when you bought it.”

“It was like the Flintstone mobile. It had no floor and was rusted. But it won a prize when we were done restoring it.”

Leif gives his son an earnest look. “Try and keep those memories alive, son… And do me a favor. Take care of my disco suit.”

“That imitation John Travolta rag is my inheritance?”

“Yeah. It’s my lucky suit.”

                                   ***

  Drew rushes toward the hospital’s automatic door so quickly that it barely has time to

open.

Breathless, he utters, “Leif Tranquil” to the woman behind the front desk.

Tapping her keyboard, she replies, “Cardiac care. Room 314.”

                                   ***

Sandy nearly tackles Drew to keep him out of his father’s room.

“He’s resting.”

“From what? What’s wrong with him?”

“He took a walk, just like he does every morning. He was late coming back, so I went looking for him. I found him sitting on the curb, gulping for air. He couldn’t move, couldn’t talk…”

Sandy hyperventilates, grabbing at Drew for support. “He’d gone into cardiac arrest by the time the ambulance got him here.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“No. He needs a new heart and a new set of lungs.”

“So, let’s get him on a waiting list.”

Tears run down Sandy’s cheeks.

“The doctor said he’d never survive the operation.”

***

Drew and Jillian stare at Ted Segal from the opposite side of the table.

Ted Segal is a cadaverous-looking man with saggy, liver-spotted skin, watery eyes, and snow-white hair whose bent posture denotes a tired, broken man.

“I thought you were supposed to work on the West Coast,” Jillian says.

“I will, but I’ll be living here for the next five months. I wanted to meet my new co-workers, to get a feel for one another.”

“A feel for each other? This isn’t Tinder, old man.”

“Why don’t you get Ted copies of our last three press releases?” Drew suggests.

Jillian stares Ted down as she passes by him.

“Smart move getting her out of here,” Ted says. “She was being insubordinate.”

“She’s passionate about her job.”

“From what Marty tells me, you do all the work and cover for her. Look, Drew, despite how it may look, I’m not here to take your job. I’m here to enhance it. You’re a heck of a writer and a promoter, and the Board of Directors wants you to concentrate on that. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a great fundraiser, and that’s what I’m going to do. The Board knows who’s been doing the heavy lifting around here. Marty is a fun guy. He knows a lot of people but doesn’t know how to capitalize on it. He got a late start planning for his retirement and needs the job. So, I need you to be a sport and help me carry him.”

“And Jillian?”

Ted wheezes. “She recently applied for a job with a small public relations firm in Manhattan. She shouldn’t have used a Seeing Stars computer to send her resume, but what’s done is done. She doesn’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell at getting the position on her own merit, but I know the owner. You and I are going to write recommendation letters for her… One last thing… I don’t mean to pry, but how’s your father? Marty said he was ill.”

“He hasn’t got long. He wants to be home, to look out the window at the yard, and talk with his girlfriend.”

“And what about you? Have you got someone to talk to?”

“Sonya. She’s in the entertainment field, too. We met while standing in line at Starbucks, and there was an instant connection. She’s funny, smart, and kind. We had a few dates. Then my mother got sick. Now, my father’s dying. There isn’t any time for us.”

“Make time.”

                                               ***

Olga the Amazon flings Sonya Slamovich into the ropes, which bend like elastic bands, propelling Sonya back at her opponent.

Sonya slams into Olga’s midsection, dropping her backward onto the mat. Stradling Olga, Sonya pounds the Amazon with her fists.

“STOP!” the trainer yells, entering the ring. “Your punches look fake, Sonya.”

“They are.”

You’ve gotta work on making them look real.”

Sonya helps Olga to her feet.

“You may actually have to hit me. That’ll be real enough.”

“I can’t do that. You’re too nice,” Sonya replies. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Fifteen-minute break, girls,” the trainer says. “Stay away from the vending machine, Olga. You’re barely fitting into your costume as it is.”

Sonya climbs through the ring ropes, joining Drew.

“Jeez. How big is Olga?”

“Six feet, four inches. She’s about two hundred forty-five pounds of ever-increasing bulk and sweat.”

“And you’re what, five foot six?”

“But very agile,” Sonya replies. “I have to be. Olga doesn’t know her own strength. If she hits me directly, it’s lights out. Luckily, she’s a gentle giant. She raises prize-winning gardenias and is studying to be a therapist.”

“It’s more likely that somebody would need therapy after a session with her.”

“Still witty, I see,” Sonya replies. “You weren’t okay with me being a wrestler before. What changed your mind?”

“Loneliness.”

“Are you sure you can cope with being with a woman who can throw you across the room?”

“My goal is to never give you a reason to treat me like a Frisbee.”

Sonya takes on a Russian accent. “I always knew you were a smart American boy, comrade.”                 

As the rest of the mourners file out, Marty corners Drew, shaking his hand. “I never met your father, but I know he was a good man because he had you.”

Marty gives Sonya a toothy grin.

“Friend of the family?”

Sonya hooks her arm around Drew’s waist.

“Very much so.”

“You look familiar… I got it! Sonya Slamovich! Say, ‘Die, American capitalist pig!”

“This is my father’s funeral, Marty, not an episode of Monday Night Wrestling.”

“Your cousin’s son recognized me too,” Sonya notes. “I promised him an autographed picture if he kept quiet. Would you like one too, Marty?”

“How about a piece of memorabilia, like a bra or something?”

“Okay…Sure.”

“I can’t believe you’re Sonya Slamovich.”

“I’m really from Hoboken. I was the only woman who auditioned who could do a Russian accent. I enjoy playing the villain. It’s fun.”

“…I’ve got an idea,” Drew says.

“I’m not wearing the costume in the bedroom.”

“That’s not what I meant, but we need to talk about that,” Drew replies. “I was thinking if Marty recognized you, then millions of other people would if you appeared in one of our safety films. What do you think, Marty? We’re looking for new blood, someone popular that everyone will pay attention to. Maybe Sonya can convince other wrestlers to work with us.”

“Brilliant, Bunky... So, you two are an item. I bet your father would be happy for you, Drew,” Marty says, winking at him.

“That man’s a real horndog,” Sonya whispers as Marty departs.

“He must have heard you. He’s coming back.”

Marty hands Drew a card.

“It’s from Ted. He wanted to be here, but as you know, he’s been sick lately.”

Drew opens the envelope, reading the card.

Drew,

Losing someone you cherish is never easy. You had good times and created pleasant memories, but right now, the one thing you’re wishing for is the one thing you can’t have – more time. I know your loss feels overwhelming, but once the grief has lifted, you’ll find happiness in the years you spent together.

Ted

“You can bet Ted meant every word he wrote,” Marty comments. “That’s the kind of guy he is…”

Marty glances at Sandy, who sits alone in the front pew, sobbing.

“All things considered, Drew, you’re handling things well. On the other hand, that woman in the pew looks miserable.”

“That’s my father’s girlfriend, Sandy.”

“She looks like she could use a shoulder to cry on,” Marty says, heading down the aisle.

“You want me to put him in a chokehold?” Sonya asks.

“Leave that to Sandy. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Marty’s irreverent humor might be what she needs right now.”

                                               ***

Drew nods at Marty’s wooden assistants, entering his office.

Marty lowers his copy of the New York Times.

“Sit down, Drew. I know it’s only been a week since your father’s funeral... I wish there were some way I could soften the blow, but there isn’t… I wondered why Ted decided to come here. It was so he could get treated for liver cancer at Sloan Kettering. But they caught it too late. He passed away last night. With Jillian gone, you’ll have to handle publicity, production, and fundraising yourself. Something tells me you’re up to the task… Oh, one last thing. Ted’s originally from New York, so he’s going to be buried here. He made a dying request. He wants you to deliver his eulogy.”

                                               ***

Sonya adjusts Drew’s tie as he checks his appearance in the mirror.

“Try not to look so terrified. It’s a funeral. You don’t want to scare people to death…”

“I’m stressed about Ted’s eulogy. I didn’t know him that well,” Drew says.

“That’s not what I hear. I spoke to his wife at the wake. She said you’re all that he talked about. He admired you for your talent and how you’d weathered your father dying so soon after your mother.”

“Ted’s the one I should thank. He’s the one who told me I should reach out to you.” 

“Guess he had a gift for matchmaking… You know what? I’m not liking that tie,” Sonya says.

“Pick another one out. The ties are next to the white suit in the closet.”

Sonya pulls the suit out of the closet, chuckling.

“Oh, my God. A Saturday Night Fever suit! At what point in your life did you channel John Travolta?”

“It’s not mine. It belonged to my Dad. It’s part of my inheritance. He wanted me to keep it.”

“Why? Disco’s dead.”

“So’s Dad.”

“Don’t get morbid, Drew.”

The jacket falls off the hanger as Sonya moves to put it away.

“Oops. Something fell out of the pocket. Wow! Take a look at this!”

Drew turns to face Sonya. She’s holding a wad of cash.

“They’re all thousand-dollar bills. I’d say there’s at least fifty of them.”

“Dad always said it was his lucky suit.”