Make it rain
The law office of Fielding, Martin, and Holmes was an imposing edifice on Collingswood Boulevard. It was a two-story building around for nearly 40 years. So imposing that John and Deborah Powers felt a bit uneasy, well Deborah or Deb at least. But John held her hand. “It’s just his will being read,” he said. “Who knows? We might get something out of it.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Why not? We’ve known him for years.”
Will Staton died of a heart attack at the age of 64. He was an award-winning and best-selling fiction writer whose novels ranged from critically acclaimed award winners with psychological intrigue to his Rick Masters spy series which sold over 1 million copies worldwide and spawn a successful movie series. But despite his success, he still loved small-town life. He and his wife of nearly 35 years, the former Ellen Grierson, made their home in the Ottawa Hills section of Toledo, Ohio. When Ellen succumbed to breast cancer, he still stayed in the New England style home, where they lived for 15 years. Toledo was Ellen’s hometown. She went to school there and graduated from the University of Toledo, but had seen the world and wrote travel guides, which sold well and led her to meet Will at a meeting at the publishing company, where their books were published.
Will’s nomadic childhood led him all over the country and eventually a job near an Army base. His family life was slim and none. In fact, his lone living relative was his cousin, Steven Richards, who lived in Muncie, Indiana.
But all of this was mute. Will’s death made headlines worldwide. The tributes came in from the book world and Hollywood. But he still considered himself a local guy. After mourning Ellen’s death for over seven months, his friend Deborah Powers, head of the English Department at Owens Community College, was able to work out a deal with the college to have him teach a night course in creative writing once a week.
But a massive heart attack ended the life of this complex man. He was tall and thin with wavy salt and pepper hair and wireless bifocals. He loved wearing preppy clothes and Nike running shoes. He was nobody’s idea of a Casanova, but he had a quiet charisma about him. That calmness was attracted to comely women like Ellen and Deb saw this. Their childless marriage made the closer through all that mattered in their lives.
And now both were gone. After they received their passes from the security desk, they took the elevator to the second floor where the law office was located. When they arrived and spoke to the receptionist, they saw a familiar face sitting in the waiting room.
“Hello, Claudia!” said Deb as she reached and embraced Claudia Webber, Will’s long-time editor. Claudia immaculately Vogue Magazine dressed from her Cazal glasses to her clothes to her shoes to her Louis Vuitton purse. “You look wonderful, Deb!” said Claudia. “And John, you look as handsome as ever.”
“Thanks,” blushed John, who couldn’t help himself, despite Deb’s stern look. “Was the flight from New York a smooth one for you?
“Yes, I must say it was for once,” said Claudia. “No turbulence, but not much luxury on a flight to the Midwest.”
That’s so Claudia, Deb thought to herself. She’s only thinking about her and her alone.
“Well, regardless,” said Claudia. “We’re all here to see what Will left us.”
“Is it only us?” John asked. “I mean, Will didn’t have any other relatives, right?”
“That cousin, I believe,” said Deb. “But I don’t think he’d drive in from Indiana, I think.”
“I don’t think they were even close,” said Claudia, who almost pulled out a cigarette before realizing where she was. “Again, it’s just us.”
Before they could sit down, the elevator opened, and the aforementioned Steve Richards walked out. He was the total opposite of his cousin. He was balding and burly. A bit too slovenly for the likes of the Powers and Claudia, but there he was. He recognized John and Deb from Ellen’s funeral.
“Hi, it’s Jim, right?” asked Steve. “I’m Steve…”
“Yes, we met before, and my name is John.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Steve, attempting to button his jacket over his pot belly. “I got caught in traffic from Muncie.”
“Did you take Route 80 to get here?”
“Absolutely,” said Steve, “But once I got to Toledo, the bottleneck began.”
“Well, you haven’t missed anything,” said Deb. “The lawyer’s still in conference.”
“Good!”
Their conversation was briefly broken up by the receptionist asking them if they wanted some coffee. John and Deb declined, but Claudia asked if they had an espresso machine. The receptionist said no, and Claudia went back to checking her emails on her iPhone. “Black coffee, please?”
“I’m sorry, but the coffee machine is over there!” said the receptionist.
“Oops! Sorry!” he said as he walked over to the machine to pour into a Styrofoam cup.
* * *
“My name is Kendra Bondermann. B-O-N-D-E-R-M-A-N-N!”
“Oh, here it is!” said the bald, black security guard. “Here’s your pass. The office is on the second floor.”
“Thank you!” she said.
Kendra had absolutely no idea why she was there. She felt self-conscious walking into the law firm. She shook her white girl dreadlocks behind her head. She knew him, but from the nightly creative writing class, she took after her shift at Black Kits Coffee Shop. The class worked into her schedule. Her father watched Taylor, her 2-year-old son during the day (it helps he was a Gulf War Army veteran living off his military pension) while she worked. She knew Taylor’s dad was in no financial or mental condition to take care of their son. But she had her small coterie of friends. The Ghastly Trio, she called them: Cassandra, with her long dark wavy hair, and her boyfriend Luke at the Air Force base outside of Las Vegas. She was a friend, sister, confidant, and occasional fuck buddy when she needed a little more than a vibrator. Then there was Troy, who was dark-haired, lithe, and even more feminine at times than her. Like Cassandra, he was there when she needed him. He was working two jobs to buy the wigs, makeup, and costumes he needed for his drag alter ego: Holly Toledo. He was determined to be a contestant on Drag Race. All he needed were the shoes.
And they all were in Mr. Staton’s creative writing class. Kendra wanted to work on her prose, Cassandra her short stories, and Troy wanted to write poetry but took the class anyway.
When Kendra walked off the elevator, John and Deb couldn’t help but stare at this slightly plump, blonde-dreadlocked, numerous pierced, right-armed tattooed girl with the boho dress, and black combat boots. John felt Deb’s tension while staring at Kendra.
“How do you know Will?” Deb had to ask.
“I was a student in his creative writing class.” said a fidgety Kendra, looking awkwardly at the floor
“I’m familiar with the class,” said Deb. “I was the one who suggested there would be a class.”
“Are other students coming to the reading of the will?” said Claudia, who couldn’t help but ask.
“I don’t know,” she said, as she glanced at the back of her phone with Taylor’s photo engraved on the cover.
All Deb could do was look at Kendra with disgust. Why is she here? She doesn’t have a history with him! She thought to herself.
“Weren’t you the one…” John was about to ask.
“Yes, but,” said Kendra, “could you excuse me? I have to go to the bathroom.” She abruptly leaped from her chair and asked the receptionist where the restroom was. “It’s down the hall to the left.” She said as she pointed.
Kendra ran so fast that he collided with the door before opening it. After banging her head, she opened it. She was fortunate no one was in the stalls or by the sinks. She paced around the floor, wringing her hand as the clanks of her rings came together like a small chime. She started to sweat a bit and reached for the paper towel dispenser to pat the sweat off her forehead. She lightly touched it and began to breathe heavily. She thought about that night…
Will was always comforting to me. The class had ended on time. That was the beauty of night classes. Creative Writing 101 was a non-credit class. I didn’t want to miss any of his classes. He was a best-selling and award-winning author. Class one was about writing about what you knew. I did. I wrote about Taylor and the little birds that gathered around the birdhouse with his name on it. It became prose of 500 words. Then I expanded it to 1,000 words. He wanted me to enter it for the school’s literary magazine Firelight. “Taylor’s Wings” made it to publication. I told him at the end of the semester. He was elated. He was happy for me. He had always looked at me in a different way than my classmates. Even Cassandra noticed this when he took the class at Kenzo Sushi. I usually don’t like sushi, but watching him being fed California Rolls by Troy, just the four of us together, eating too much ahi tuna, drinking too much Saki, and finally leaving. I saw Troy and Cassandra walk away to her car. I found myself with Will. We giggled and then it happened. He kissed me, then apologized. Then inhibitions went away. I kissed him back. I kissed him harder and deeper, open-mouthed, lips parting, then tongue, chest kissing, fondling, unzipped pants, aroused genitals, fellatio, orgasm… Regardless of our tryst, Will became a presence in my life. He watched Taylor for me when my dad went to his veterans’ meetings. He invited Cassandra and Troy over to his house in Ottawa Hills. Troy would perform his drag show, complete with chiffons and lip-synching. Cassandra would cook a Middle Eastern dish to die for. We even slept in his bed together. Troy would watch as Cassandra, me, and Will got it on. Cassandra couldn’t believe how terrific he was in bed, although not as good as Eventually, Troy would give him the thrill of his life with Will’s first and last same-sex blow job. But it wasn’t all about sex. Will told me he was inspired to write again because of his new feelings and his new friends. He had already written the treatment for the book. It was another Rick Masters book, and he asked the son of his first editor to read it for free. He was going to shop it to another publisher when everything changed…
Kendra snapped out of it. She took a deep breath and walked down the hall to the waiting room where the Powers, Claudia, and Steve were sitting. She adjusted the top part of her dreads as the lower part cascaded down the back of her neck. She checked her phone one more time. There was a text from her dad asking how she was doing. Troy also texted. But she was way too nervous to return them.
Deb still stared at her. She nearly lost her job when the stories came out about the creative writing class. The scandal became huge news in Toledo and beyond. All the news agencies reported it. But it wasn’t a typical teacher/student relationship. Kendra was 21, but the look of it made the situation seem more perverse than it was. Will was asked to leave, Deb’s reputation was ruined, and forced to resign as head of the department. But something else still stirred in Deb’s head:
It wasn’t my fault Will was lonely. I know this. It was years before Ellen’s illness. Our son, Jack, was away at school. We had just flown in from New York to celebrate Will’s sixth consecutive New York Times Number One Best Seller “Spy Life”. There had been talk of a third sequel to the successful movie series. We celebrated. The chianti overflowed and everyone was two shaken to the wind. Ellen and John have passed out on the couch. Will and I began to talk. I told him I missed his quirky literary works before he decided to make good money on the Rick Masters book series. He nodded, but he had to write them. He wanted the books to be successful, but he confessed he had help. He told me he couldn’t write these actions stories without Ellen’s help. I thought he meant Ellen typed the stories with his Olivetti typewriter. No, ELLEN WROTE RICK MASTERS! SHE CREATED RICK MASTERS! I nearly dropped my wine glass, but before it fell to the ground, Will had caught it with me at the same time. His hand was around my waist. He took the class out of my hand, put it on the table, and brought me into his office, a huge room where his library of books, both written by him (or Ellen) or not. Plus, his literary awards were either hung on the wall or on a shelf. Besides the desk, which had the Olivetti typewriter were photos of Will and Ellen on their wedding day and several trips they took together. And there was a brown leather couch with a UToledo throw blanket.
“How can I help you?”
“Just don’t say anything at all!”
I leaned over and kissed him. What shocked me was he reciprocated. It went from a peck to open mouth, to Will taking me by the hand upstairs to the guest room. After it happened, there was no guilt and no regrets from either of us. John and Ellen woke up as if nothing had happened. “Coffee?” Ellen exulted. After breakfast, we kissed Ellen on the cheek as we said goodbye. As John and Will were talking by the car, Ellen pulled me over and whispered in my ear, “John and I spent the night together in the city when you went for that conference in L.A., and I came to visit.” I was stunned in silence in the car on our way to the airport. “Is everything O.K.?” John asked me. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
* * *
Deb was brought out of her self-imposed trance when the receptionist told everyone in the lawyer asked everyone to follow her to his office and he would be joining them in 10 minutes. John and Deb arose and went in first, followed by Kendra, then Steve. Claudia was looking over her files on her phone and would join them. But as she was about to put her phone away, she looked at her phone’s wallpaper, saw the picture of Will and her together, and remember their final conversation:
I wanted a baby. He knew this. I knew Ellen was ill, fighting Stage IV breast cancer. But Ellen couldn’t get pregnant. She never could. I loved him. I did. I loved him through six of his 10 books. I took over after the death of Estelle Schermerhorn, his first editor. I loved editing his books. He liked to write longhand and he hated word processors and PCs. I told him it takes longer to write these days. I took him from being a critic’s darling to a writing superstar. I made his books soar. Then there were the movie adaptations. I convinced him to come up with an action hero to write about. I begged him to move to Manhattan where we could be together, but he still considered TOLEDO, OHIO his home. He said it may not have been a cosmopolitan city, but this was Ellen’s home. Ellen was Toledo and Toledo was Ellen. The Ottawa Hills home was theirs. I told him my doctor said I’m still fertile, even though I was 42. His reaction was shocking, but it didn’t surprise me. After that, all work-related things — including his writing — were discussed on a professional basis. But I still received birthday and Christmas cards with his and Ellen’s names. When Ellen died, I received a very cold announcement. I couldn’t attend her memorial service since she wanted to be cremated. But Will had stopped writing when Ellen got sick, and his publishing contract was up. He had to tend to her. He was done with writing and me.
Claudia walked hastily and bumped into Steve. “I’m sorry!” she apologized. “No, problem!” he said as he smelled her perfume on the lapel of his jacket. “No wonder he got action!” he thought to himself. Steve always thought about Will and when he was alive Will did the same. Steve remembered Will telling him about his heart issues, which were hereditary. Steve’s father and paternal grandfather all had heart issues. Steve, like many men, was too proud to go to a doctor for a check-up, and he had been putting it off for quite some time. Although saddened, he wasn’t surprised when he found out Will collapsed and died outside of a medical building. He didn’t know if he went to a cardiologist or another doctor. Regardless, he was gone. Will had always felt fondly for Steve’s family, especially Steve’s son Sean.
“Hey!”
“Hi!”
“You handled everything, right?”
“Yes, I did!”
“I didn’t want Karen to know.”
“She won’t!”
“I thought it could be settled.”
“Shit happens.”
“You’re lucky! You don’t have any kids!”
“True, but you needed the money.”
“He didn’t mean to do it…”
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
“As long as the cops don’t find out.”
“It won’t be an issue, but why should the police care?”
“It was a bad deal. I didn’t know it would turn into drug trafficking.”
“But Sean didn’t know any better. It’s this generation.”
“Sean’s your son. I don’t want to get him into any more trouble.”
“He’s going by another name down there.”
“It’s probably better this way.”
“Thank you, Will!”
Steve’s thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of the doorknob. In walked the lawyer. The way Claudia saw it, he epitomized an estate attorney: horn-rimmed glasses, greying hair, thin face, conservative grey suit, striped tie, Oxford lace-ups, crisp white shirt, and striped tie.
“Hello, everyone,” he said. “My name is Martin Holmes, I am Mr. Staton’s attorney. It’s a pleasure to meet everyone.” A comely thin man of medium build, he shook everyone’s hands before he sat down at his desk. “It’s a nice day.”
Why does he have to make small talk? John muttered to himself.
“I’m sorry?” said Holmes.
“Nothing,” said John as Deb gave him a stern motherly look.
“How long will this take?” Kendra asked.
“Yes, I have a 3:15 flight to New York I have to catch,” said Claudia. “So, it’s imperative we get this over with.”
“Calm down, everyone!” said Holmes. “Usually, the reading of a won’t take long; however, this one is extremely interesting. In all my years of estate planning, never have I seen several requests by the deceased that was this eye-opening.”
As he opened the portfolio, John and Deb sat still, holding hands, Kendra looked calm, although no one could tell. Her insides were churning. Seeing the Powers in the same room after all that happened. Steve adjusted his tie, and Claudia looked bored as usual.
Holmes adjusted his glasses one last time, cleared his throat, and began to read:
Last Will and Testament of William Barnes Staton
I, William Barnes Staton, resident in the City of Toledo, Ohio, County of Lucas, State of Ohio, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, do hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me.
The first beneficiary read was that Holmes will continue to be his personal legal representation in regard to matters of his property, along with all financial arrangements. Will was to be cremated with his ashes spread throughout Lake Erie along with Ellen’s cremated remains, much to the quiet giggles of John and Deb.
Holmes then read the beneficiaries. Steve would receive Will’s refurbished 1970 Plymouth Duster, the Powers received his beloved Olivetti. Claudia was to head a scholarship program in his honor for prospective writers in Ellen’s name at UToledo. While he read each of the dispositions, he didn’t see their faces. How could he? He was so engrossed in the reading to see the reactions: the kissing of teeth, some groans, gasps, and sighs. He heard the fists pound on the arms of chairs. As he heard raised voices, he stopped reading to try to calm everyone down.
The reason for the reactions was a late codicil to the will. Will suffered a fatal heart attack outside of the Toledo Fertility Center in nearby Sylvania. He was there to donate sperm. “I know Ellen and I were unable to have children of our own, I decided my legacy should continue if possible, and the main beneficiary to my estate shall be…
* * *
The clouds went from white to a darkened sky. The light patter of rain came down. It hit the pavement like fingers tapping on a table. It hit her just as she left the law office. She lifted her face to the sky as she let the rain fall on her. She stretched her out in triumph. The rain fell harder, and it felt like a baptism. There was no mention of rain in any weather report, but for her, the rain was from Will. He was telling her rain made crops and plants fruitful in his own way. She dialed the number on her cell phone. After two rings, there was an answer.
“Hello?”
“It’s me!”
“Well?”
There was a pause.
“Tell me!”
“He named me his prime beneficiary. I get to keep his house and I am his lone heir.”
“What the fuck! Really?”
“Yeah, and there’s something else!”
“Tell me!”
“Are you ready to be a future godmother, Cassandra?”
Also published in Vocal.Media.com
