Promise Broken

STATE OF THE ESTATE

 

J. R. Curoso, Esquire, Attorney at Law-Estates, advertises on t.v. much too often and I am sick to my stomach seeing his outlandish ads nightly on the four channels I watch most often. My mute button is my salvation.

 

Memories of my dad, a riotous, honorable M.D., cling tightly to my heart and spine. Stored in boxes of his early beginnings  are carbon copies of the letters he wrote to defend or condemn attitudes, actions people took or didn't take. In all caps, hunt and peck on his clanky Remington typewriter, he challenged doctors, lawyers, of any kind, who managed to get ads published in the Raleigh Daily, when it was illegal to advertise them.  My father, an M.D., would never do such a thing. He was so proud that his patients remained loyal to him. Not one ever left to get a 'special' job at a lower cost than his. He stayed with us as long as he could and left only a week ago. I cry a lot but have my family, my memories.

 

Maury and I have three grown children, who have four children who have two children. Most of us still live in or near Raleigh. Only our middle daughter moved to NY. None of us can be called rich but we are comfortable, manage nicely, meet as a group for Christmas and Fourth of July. I bring some of Dad's letters and we laugh together. It's warm outside, warm enough for the AC to be running and I am in our basement going thru browning papers looking for things I've missed over the years.

 

Ralphie, our precious miniature black poodle, goes wild, yips and yips, when he hears the mailman drop our delivery in the white metal box Marty attached to our brick outside wall. I have learned not to scream at Raphie to be quiet because that makes him yip more. It's easier on my mind and spirits if I just give Ralphie half a treat and take in the mail. There are my magazines, statements from Macy and Bloomingdale, a letter from NY that I open first and see a bunch of scribbling done by Felicite', aged three. I hang that on the fridge door and feel warm every time I see it.

 

Our mail consists of a large brown business envelope, addressed to me. It is in red ink, old English style. The sender's name is familiar but I can't place it. The envelope alone presents an air of great importance. It looks serious. It won't be easy but I lay my curiosity, with the letter,  on Maury's desk and  wait until he finishes dinner. By the time I am ready to serve an apple dumpling with green tea, I'm sweating bullets.

 

He comes into the kitchen where I am rinsing the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher and hands me the brown envelope. 'This is for you, Joan. How come you didn't see your name on it? Lordy, that red ink should have caught your attention.' I tell him the truth. 'It scared me. Wait 'til I dry my hands and we can see what the man is trying to sell us.'

 

The letter head in embossed gold tells me he has some importance somewhere and I should not discard this communication with me. It begins:

 

Dear Mrs. Binder: Please accept my condolences on the passing of your father, Wilbur T. Yates on July 3 2007. Your father and I go back 30 years and I have known about you since you were a tot. He made me Executor of his will and I would appreciate it if you contact me at 326-4949, Ex. 200, at your earliest convenience. Your Dad was a careful man, updated it frequently and you should know where it and you stand.
Thank you. (Signed in a flourishing script) J.R. Curoso, Esq.

 

First thing in the morning, I call Mr. Curoso. He won't be in until noon. I leave a message for him to call me and at 12:05 he calls. In a most business-like manner, he thanks me for my quick attention to his letter and asks me if Maury and I can be at his office Friday, July 12th for a meeting that will take no less than an hour, more if necessary. I ask if there is any chance we can meet on Saturday as taking time off from work may be difficult for Maury. My suggestion is not practical for Mr. Curoso so I agree to his arrangement.

 

I tell Maury about my having been upset with all the t.v. ads Curoso runs that are legal and recall my dad's anger, disgust of the few professional men who scammed the newspapers back in the 20's and got their ads published. My attitude is foolish, I know as that does not apply now yet but I have some hesitation meeting Mr. Curoso. 

 

His office looks as if royalty resides there. Every item is carefully hung, placed where light will reach it. The heavy walnut desk has piles, very neat piles, of many folders stacked precisely on each side of his red blotter, several pens in marble bases at the ready. He does not rush us but does glance at his watch often. There is some small talk about my father before  Mr. Curoso gets down to business, removes documents from a large folder, quickly (too quickly) tells us what each packet is about.

 

'Mrs. Binder, you, your husband, you children and their children are beneficiaries of your father's will.' My eyes and mouth pop open. 'Will? My dad was a frugal man, took good care of his needs, has never been much of a gift giver to my children but always sent a birthday card with a five dollar bill included. What kind of will are you talking about?'

 

Time stands still, as does my heart and my brain waves. 'My dear Mrs. Binder, your dad owns business properties, real estate all over Raleigh. I have not yet taken a financial count of the will's value, but I estimate twelve million dollars.' Maury blinks his eyes, hunches up his back and asks, How much did you say, Mr. Coruso?' 'Ten million, Sir,' he replies.

 

'There are many legal papers that must be filed, several already put into action. Have you taken care of his funeral expenses? I cannot go into details yet but want you to know you, your children and grand children will have a large inheritance. Of course, I, as Executor, get a yearly fee which I will explain in detail within the next week or two. Of course, you are free to tell your immediate family, but advise you tell as few people as possible or you will be inundated by others wanting some of your good fortune. Salespeople, insurance men will call you, write to you, knock on your door day after day. Give nothing. Say nothing and I can assure you, I will handle your estate just the way your dad and I decided will be best for all. Check with my secretary as you leave and set up our next appointment. It will be best if you are here, too, Mr. Binder.'

 

Maury and I don't need the elevator. We walk on air. I don't even speak until we are home. Both of us are dumbstruck. My nerves are a wreck. My nose twitches. My mouth is dry.

 

'Maury, let's have a cocktail and relax.' In less than five minutes we are toasting each other. One sip of my vodka opens tear ducts that let out Niagara Falls. 'My dear, dear Daddy never mentioned money, gave us none, took none from us. I don't understand.

 

 Don't get up, Darling. I have calls to make and then I will change clothes and we are going out to dinner at the Paradiso. Be sure you have your Visa card with you because I just may order two desserts.'