"Two lies in one sentence," she replied. "You're not half Irish and you never feel guilty about anything."
Victoria felt like a referee.
In one corner, six feet tall and 180 pounds, the base stealer from the University of Miami and the unaccredited Key West School of Law, the Mouth of the South (Beach, that is), Steve Sue-the-Bastards Solomon.
In the other corner, five feet ten in her Prada heels, 130 pounds (net, after liposuction subtractions and silicone additions), the woman known both for haute couture and her own hauteur, Irene The Queen.
Here was Steve, spouting his dogma for the underdog, railing against the Establishment, materialism, and Republicans. And there was her mother, who once remarked: "Diamonds aren't a girl's best friend, darling. A diversified portfolio, including both growth and value stocks, is much friendlier."
Her mother's economic fortunes hadn't been as bright as the remark indicated. After the suicide of Victoria's father, Irene had been left to fend for herself. She fended fine for a while, attaching herself-like a remora to a shark-to a number of exceedingly wealthy men. There were rides on private jets, tips on stocks, and quite a few diamonds, too. But The Queen never attained the status she both desired and believed herself entitled to. These days, Victoria knew, her mother felt the sand was running out of the glass. Wealthy men cast their nets for younger, perkier fish. Maybe that was why Carl Drake seemed so important to her.
The platters of shelled claws had been removed from the table. The mountains of cole slaw topped with tomato slices had disappeared, the bowls of creamed spinach were empty, and the spears of sweet potato fries had been consumed. Waiting for dessert, The Queen daintily dabbed her lips with a napkin, then turned her crystalline blue eyes on Drake.
"Carl, darling, why don't you tell Victoria our little secret?"
"While you're at it, tell me, too," Steve instructed.
Victoria stiffened. She'd already had enough surprises for today.
The waiter delivered three slices of Key lime pie- mother and daughter would split theirs-and Drake straightened in his chair. "Well, Victoria, it seems your mother and I are related. Distant cousins, you might say."
"Not quite kissing cousins," Irene chirped. "See, dear, my grandmother's maiden name was Drake and if you go back far enough, our Drakes were related to Carl's family."
"Fascinating." Steve was using his fork to spread the whipped cream over the pie filling.
"I haven't gotten to the best part," Irene prattled. "If you go back four hundred years to England, both Carl and I are descended from Sir Francis Drake."
"The pirate?" Steve asked. "That explains a lot, Irene."
"Privateer," Carl Drake corrected. "Queen Elizabeth issued official papers that allowed Drake to plunder Spanish ships."
"Like the Bush administration and Halliburton," Steve said, agreeably.
"Isn't it exciting, Victoria?" Irene said. "We're descended from a famous sea captain."
"My old man thinks we're descended from King Solomon," Steve said. "Of course, he's off his rocker."
"Captain Drake enjoyed an especially close relationship with Her Majesty," Carl said. "So close that the name Virgin Queen might have been a misnomer."
Irene chuckled and Steve burped at the risque little joke.
"Drake amassed millions in gold and jewels. When he died in 1596, the Crown confiscated his fortune. Now, you might think all that loot went to the royal family. But it didn't. Elizabeth still carried the torch for that handsome rascal. She created the Drake Trust, later administered by the Royal Bank. Well, the money was never spent and never disbursed. It was invested and just kept growing and growing for four centuries. It's now worth north of thirty billion dollars."
"You're quite the expert on the subject," Victoria observed.
"It started as a hobby," Carl confessed. "Once I learned I was related to Captain Drake, I started constructing the family tree. It's quite a task, mind you. All those generations. I didn't even know about the money until the trustees contacted me and offered quite a tidy sum for my research."
"A tidy sum," Steve repeated. "I always wondered what an untidy sum might be."
"My work could save them years of going through musty documents in libraries and museums."
"Why do they want the family tree?" Victoria asked.
"To locate the heirs," Irene answered. "Isn't that right, Carl?"
"Precisely. By a secret ballot, the trustees recently voted to disburse the monies to all known blood relatives of Captain Drake. They want to close the estate."
"I know probate takes a long time, but four hundred years?" Steve questioned.
"It's quite unprecedented; but then, there's never been a case like this," Drake said. "I've located two thousand nine hundred and twelve descendants. The trustees estimate there are another six hundred or so. Thirty billion dollars going to thirty-five hundred heirs. As the kids say, do the math."
"I don't know, Drake. You tell me." Steve's eyes were closed as he savored a huge bite of the tart pie.
"About eight and a half million for each heir," Drake said.
Steve's eyes popped open. "You're saying Irene is going to get eight million bucks?"
"Give or take, once she's a certified descendant."
"Irene, have I told you how exceptionally lovely you look tonight?" Steve said.
The Queen rolled her eyes.
"And how much I've always admired you for your. ." He seemed stumped. "Poise and porpoise," he finished triumphantly.
"Stop being so silly, Stephen," Irene said. "What do you think of my good fortune?"
Steve turned back to Drake. "What's it gonna cost her?"
"Cost?" Drake seemed bewildered. "What do you mean?"
"All these heirs. They've gotta fill out forms, right? Affidavits. Birth certificates. Lots of clerical work before you get your slice of the pie."
"Of course there's paperwork."
"So what are you charging these lucky souls? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand apiece? That's the scam, isn't it? People will gladly pay that if they think they're getting millions. Because I gotta tell you, Carl, this is what my old man would call a bubbe meise, a grandmother's story. And it's what I would call a load of crap."
"Ste-phen!" The Queen hissed his name.
"Steve, that's very insulting," Victoria said. "Apologize this instant."
Drake smiled and waved off their protests. "No problem. A savvy attorney should be skeptical. There are no fees, Steve. No charges. I'll help Irene fill out the forms, and if it is her desire, I hope to be by her side the day the trustees disburse the money to all of us."
Three sets of eyes bored into Steve, who was licking the last of the graham cracker crust from his fork. "Perhaps I misspoke."
"That's not much of an apology, Stephen," Irene said.
He gave his lopsided grin, and Victoria tensed; Steve was preparing to misspeak again.
"So, if it's not a big con," he said, "there must be public records in England that'll back up your story."
Drake shook his head as he stirred his coffee. "It's a private trust and is quite confidential. You see, there is no lawful requirement that the trustees disburse these monies to the descendants. They could have just as easily escheated the money to the government or conveyed it to charity. And to prevent phony claimants from climbing out of the woodwork, there's to be no public announcement at all. It's to be all extremely hush-hush."
"If I were you, Irene," Steve advised, "I wouldn't spend that money yet."
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport," The Queen snapped.
They were waiting for the check when a voice sounded: "What a surprise. Hello, Solomon!"
Steve didn't have to turn around. He recognized the resonant tones at once. Now, what the hell was he doing here?