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42 Chapter Eight Fissures Please Lord, Let me know if I can do Anything—Anything well —Stephanie Finell Imperceptibly Stephanie’s illness changed us. It pointed out the superficiality and transient existence of our lives. The children lay asleep upstairs; pine logs crackled in the living room fireplace . I had put the guitar next to my chair when I finished playing a Spanish dance. The setting would have been cozy, and Marvin usually felt mellow when I strummed these easy pieces, but this time his expression did not change to relaxed and smiling, rather he slouched in his favorite chair, grimly silent, while he swirled the amber liquid of the J&B, furiously, clinking ice cubes against crystal. He put me on edge, downing his third Scotch. His eyes were fixed on the fire, staring, unblinking. Suddenly he broke the silence, almost shouting as if in self-defense, “I’m leaving the firm. I can’t take the squabbles anymore.” “You’re what?” “I don’t know. . .It’s the only move that will keep me sane.” “You mean you’re going to leave. . . leave the firm? The law firm you built?” “Gene and I. They don’t need me. Klein made me an offer to work for him—” “Wait. . . Marv, he’s your client. I don’t understand—I can’t see you working for someone else. You’ve never had a boss.” “Yes I did. When I carried Charley MacCarthy in a suitcase.” “Come on. You were just out of law-school—” “Yeah, you’re right. What a fool I was, thinking I’d get to practice law for the great Edgar Bergen. All he used me for was to carry that damn dummy onto the Fissures 43 plane, train, cars, wherever he was going. I was his valet.” He chuckled. “An expensive Harvard valet.” He twirled the Scotch in his glass with increasing intensity , studying the bursting soda bubbles. “With Gene Klein it’s a different story. He won’t—technically speaking—be my boss.” He continued in a monologue, as if to convince himself this was the right decision. “He won’t interfere. Christ, I’ve been working for Klein now for the past three years. Almost exclusively for him.” He stared at the fire again. The silence was awkward, with only the popping sounds of exploding resin in pine logs that sounded like gun shots. The cozy fire, drinks in Waterford glasses, the guitar; this tranquil setting belied the tension. “At National General,” he continued, “I wouldn’t be bugged by these supercilious young Turks. Labels, show, names, I’m sick of it all. I love running the insurance company. I’m damn good at it. I won’t have to waste time with superficial crap.” He let out a wounded sigh. “It’s getting to me.” “Think it over. Don’t do anything rash.” “I’d be getting a ten-year contract. Stock options. We’d do all right.” “Will running the insurance company give you real satisfaction?” “Yes. Definitely!” His face took on a triumphant expression when he explained the details of restructuring the company. His slanted dark eyes had always reminded me of the eyes of Mongolian warriors. These Genghis Khan eyes took on the hard glitter of excitement that I had not seen in a long time. “It’s like a big game, and when I see the outcome, the figures that spell success. . . I feel great. Just great. ’Cause I did it!” “You do what you must,” I said, though I felt a dark premonition. The children were happy when Marvin’s sister, Aunt Farol, blew into town just before Easter. Her visits always created great gusts of wind—tornadoes, cyclones, or a hurricane, depending on her mood and length of stay. She was flamboyant and she sparkled, as Stephanie would say. She was incredibly funny, entertaining, lovable, and annoying. To the children she was an “Auntie Mame.” She planned for us to accompany her to Jim Nabors’s house in Bel Air. She had known Jim from long before he became a famous actor-singer. And she thought the children would have fun coming along. Farol had told Jim about Stephanie’s illness. Years ago, when still a toddler, Stephanie had sat on his lap several times. Now she was her usual happy self, humming and bouncing along the garden path, skipping ahead of Steven, Farol, and me. Jim’s secretary, Mary, welcomed us, offering the children candies from a silver...

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