"Russian," Vale explains. "The actual name is Daziatnik Valeshin, but who wants to sign all those checks that way?"
"Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Mr. Vale."
"Nicky," Vale says. "Call me Nicky."
"Nicky," Jack says. "Here's Leo."
"Leonid!" Nicky yells.
The little dog goes nuts, starts twirling around and stuff. Jack opens the door and Leo jumps out and leaps into Nicky's outstretched arms.
"Again," Jack says, "I'm sorry about Mrs. Vale."
"Pamela was young and very beautiful," Nicky says.
Which is definitely what you want to be, Jack thinks, if you're going to be married to a rich guy and live in a house overlooking the ocean. "Young and beautiful" is the baseline qualification. You aren't young and beautiful, you don't even get to fill out the application.
Still, it's a weird thing to say at a time like this.
Jack says, "I know she did a lot of work for Save the Strands. I know you both did."
Nicky nods. "We believed in it. Pamela spent a lot of time in the Strands – painting, walking with the children. We'd hate to see it ruined."
"How are the children doing?" Jack asks.
"I believe the expression is 'As well as can be expected.'"
One odd fucking dude, Jack thinks.
He must see it on my face, Jack thinks, because Nicky says, "Let's cut through the pretense, Jack. Obviously you know that Pamela and I were separated. I loved her, the children loved her, but Pamela couldn't decide which she loved more – her family or the bottle. Still, I had every hope of a reconciliation. We were working toward one. And she was young, and very beautiful, and under these circumstances that is what I seem to bring to mind. A protective reflex of the mind, I suppose."
"Mr. Vale… Nicky-"
"In all honesty, I don't know exactly what I am supposed to be feeling right now, or even what I do feel. All I know is that I need to put my children's lives in order, because they have been in chaos for quite some time, all the more so this morning."
"I wasn't-"
Nicky smiles and says, "You weren't saying anything, Jack, you are too polite. But inside you are offended by my apparent lack of grief. I grew up as a Jew in what your news readers like to call 'the former Soviet Union.' I learned to watch men's eyes more than their mouths. I'll bet that in your world, Jack, people lie to you all the time, don't they?"
"I hear some lies."
"More than some," Nicky says. "People can get money from you and so they lie to get it. Even otherwise honest people will exaggerate their loss just to cover the deductible, am I right?"
Jack nods.
"And I will probably try to do the same," Nicky laughs. "Big deal – I'll come up with a number, then you'll come up with a number, and we'll negotiate. We'll make a deal."
"I don't make deals," Jack says. "I just carry out the policy."
"Everyone makes deals, Jack."
"Not everyone."
Nicky puts his arm around Jack's shoulders.
"I think we can work together, Jack Wade," he says. "I think we can do business."
Nicky invites him in.
"I don't want to intrude," Jack says.
"I'm afraid you'll have to," Nicky says. He gives Jack a smile that makes him a co-conspirator. "Mother made tea."
Well, Jack thinks, if Mother made tea…
19
Mother is beautiful.
A small, perfect gem.
Sable hair pulled back tight against the whitest skin Jack's ever seen. She has Nicky's blue eyes, only darker. The color of deeper water.
Head up, spine sergeant major straight.
No, not sergeant major, Jack corrects himself, ballet instructor.
She's wearing August-appropriate white. A midlength summer dress edged in gold. She doesn't shop in Laguna, Jack thinks – too funky and too many gays – but in Newport Beach. Come Labor Day, no matter how hot, she'll lose the whites and go to beige and khaki. The first of November she'll switch to black.
Jack starts, "Mrs. Vale-"
"Valeshin."
"Mrs. Valeshin" Jack says. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"I understand that she was smoking in bed," Mother says. She has more of an accent and there's this slight edge, like Pamela deserved to choke to death in the dark, Jack thinks. Like she had it coming.
"That's the preliminary finding," Jack says.
" And drinking?" Mother adds.
"There's some indication that she might have been drinking," Jack says.
"Won't you come in?" she asks.
Now that I've paid admission, Jack thinks.
The inside of the house is a museum.
No DO NOT TOUCH signs, Jack thinks, but they're not needed. You just know, like, DO NOT TOUCH. The place is immaculate. The floors and furniture shine. No dust would dare settle.
Dark, too, like a museum.
Dark-stained hardwood floors with Persian carpets. Oak doors, moldings, and window frames.
Big old dark fireplace.
In contrast, the living room furniture is white.
White sofa, white wingback chairs.
White like a challenge white. White like nobody spills here, or dribbles, or drops. White, like a statement that life can be clean if everyone just maintains discipline and pays attention and tries.
Furniture, Jack thinks, as ethic.
Nicky motions for Jack to sit down on the sofa.
Jack tries to sit without leaving an indentation.
"You have a beautiful home," Jack says.
"My son bought it for me," she says.
"You've been to the house?" Nicky says.
"Just for a preliminary look."
"Is it a total loss?" Nicky asks.
"Most of the structure is still there," Jack says, "although there's a lot of smoke and water damage. I'm afraid the west wing is going to have to be torn down."
"Since the coroner called," Nicky says, "I've been trying to steel my nerves to go over there and see… And of course the children are terribly upset."
"Sure."
Nicky waits for what he feels is a decent interval, then asks, "How do we proceed with the claim?"
Like, we've done our sensitive moment, let's get down to business.
Jack runs it down for him.
The life insurance claim is simple. Jack requests a death certificate from the county and once he gets it, bang, he writes a draft for $250,000. The fire claim is a little more complicated because you're looking at three different "coverages" under the policy.
Coverage A is for the structure itself. Jack needs to examine the house in detail and come up with an estimate of what it's going to cost to rebuild. Coverage B is for personal property – furniture, appliances, clothing – and Nicky will need to fill out a Personal Property Inventory Form, to tell the company what he lost in the fire.
"I see you also have a bunch of special endorsements added to your Coverage B," Jack says.
Which is a humongo understatement, Jack thinks. Special endorsements to the tune of three-quarters of a million bucks.
And nice fat premiums for California Fire and Life.
The perpetual circle jerk, Jack thinks.
"My furniture," Nicky says. "I collect eighteenth-century English. Mostly George II and III. I collect, I sell, I buy. I'm afraid the bulk of my collection was in the west wing. Is there…?"
Jack shakes his head.
Nicky winces.
Jack says, "I'll need to have you complete a PPIF- Personal Property Inventory Form – so we can sort out what's destroyed and what isn't. There's no hurry on that, of course."
"I have a videotape," Nicky says.
"You do?"
"Just a couple of months before the fire," Nicky says, "Pamela and I decided we should finally follow our agent's advice and videotape the house and our belongings. Would that be helpful?"
Yeah, that would be helpful, Jack thinks.
"Sure," Jack says. "Where is the tape?"