Dick nodded and Fairchild turned to Emily, his tone conciliatory. "Don't look so upset, Miss McDaniels. Even though your father lost $4 million of your money in Austin's company, we'll be able to take that as a tax loss against profits from your other investments. The tax benefits from doing that will reduce your loss to less than $3 million."
"I don't understand finances or taxes," Emily told them both. "My father's always handled all that for me."
"Then you ought to discuss the TA stock with him. He made almost twenty separate purchases over the last five years, and he must have had some profit motive in mind that we don't know about. Perhaps he'll be able to give you some reason why it would be wise to hold the stock a little longer."
Reaching out, Emily shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Fairchild, I'll do that."
"Before you go," Fairchild said as Emily tucked her hand in her husband's arm, "I want to make it clear that in every other respect, your father's trusteeship over your funds has been above reproach. He's invested your money wisely and accounted for every penny that was spent for the last fifteen years, including the money invested in TA Productions."
Emily's face stiffened. "I don't need you or anyone else to tell me that my father has acted in my best interests. He always has."
In the car, Emily watched her husband maneuver the shiny BMW through rush hour traffic. "I was rude to him, wasn't I?" she asked.
Dick shot her a wry look as they stopped for a red light. "You were defensive, not rude. But then you're always a little defensive where your father's concerned."
"I know," she sighed, "but there's a reason."
"You love him and he devoted his life to you," Dick recited.
Emily lifted her gaze from his hand on the gear shift. "There's another reason, too. It's been a well-known scandal that, in the old days, a lot of the parents of child stars squandered, and even stole, every dime the child earned. My father was just the opposite. Even though there are laws to prevent all parents from doing that now, a lot of people have still treated my father as if he lives off of me and very grandly."
"Obviously, they haven't seen his condo, or they'd know better," Dick said, shifting from second into third gear as traffic began to move again. "He hasn't painted a wall in ten years, and he needs new furniture. The neighborhood is on the downslide, and in a few years it's not going to be safe to live there."
"I know all that, but he hates to spend money." Reverting to the earlier topic, she continued, "You can't imagine how humiliating it's been for him at times to be my father. I can still remember when he went to buy a car five years ago. The salesman was happy to sell him a Chevrolet until I got there to help Dad pick out a color. As soon as the guy realized who I was, ergo who Daddy was, he said in this nauseating, presumptuous voice, 'This changes everything, Mr. McDaniels! I'm sure your daughter would rather you have that sharp Seville you liked, wouldn't you, honey?""
"If what people thought of him bothered your father," Dick said, forgetting for the moment to hide his distaste for the man, "he could have gotten a nice, respectable job doing something besides looking out for his little Emily. Then maybe he'd have something to do besides get drunk and wallow in self-pity because little Emily grew up and got married." From the corner of his eye, he watched her face fall and he stretched his arm across the seat, curving his hand around her stiff shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I am obviously a jealous jerk who gets bent out of shape over my wife's unusually close relationship with her father. Forgive me?"
Nodding, she rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand, but her pretty face remained pensive and he saw it.
"No, you haven't," he said, trying to tease her out of her unusually somber mood. "An apology wasn't enough. I deserve a kick in the ass. I deserve"—he hesitated, thinking—"to have to take you to Anthony's tonight and buy you the most expensive dinner in Los Angeles and sit there while everybody gapes at my wife!"
She smiled at him, her famous dimples peeking out, and he touched his hand to the side of her face and said quietly. "I love you, Emily." Jokingly, he added, "Even though you've got those funny dents in your face, I love you anyway. Not every guy would be able to overlook a manufacturing defect like that, but I can."
Her laughter bubbled out and he grinned at her, but his grin faded as she challenged, "Do you love me enough to take me by my father's place before we go to dinner?"
"Why?" he said irritably.
"Because I have to talk to him about the money he invested with Tony. I can't figure it out, and it's driving me crazy."
"I guess," Dick said, flipping on his turn indicators and changing lanes so he could make the turn toward her father's neighborhood, "I even love you that much."
* * *
Emily pressed the buzzer beside the door of her father's condominium, and after a lengthy pause he opened it, a glass of whiskey in his hand. "Emily, baby?" he slurred, looking at her with bloodshot eyes in an unshaven face bearing a three-day growth of beard. "I didn't know you were coming by tonight." Completely ignoring the presence of her husband, he looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her inside.
He was drunk, Emily realized with a pang of frustration and sorrow as she looked around at the gloomy interior of his place, not dead drunk but stumbling drunk. Once, he'd been a virtual teetotaler, but during the past several years, his bouts of drunkenness had been occurring with increasing frequency. "Why don't you turn on some lights," she suggested gently, reaching out and turning a single lamp on in the living room.
"I like the dark," he said, reaching behind her and turning the lamp off. "It's safe and sweet."
"I prefer a little light so Emily doesn't fall over something and kill herself," Dick said firmly, reaching out and switching the lamp back on.
"What made you decide to come by?" he asked Emily as if Dick hadn't spoken. "You never come to see me anymore," he complained.
"I was here twice last week," Emily reminded him. "But to answer your question, I came to talk about business if you're up to it. Dick's accountant has some questions he needs answered before be can prepare tax estimates or something."
"Sure, sure. No problem, honey. Come on into my study where I keep all your files."
"I have several phone calls to make," Dick told Emily. "You talk to your father and I'll use the phone in the—" He looked around for a phone and couldn't see one in the living room.
"I don't understand finances or taxes," Emily told them both. "My father's always handled all that for me."
"Then you ought to discuss the TA stock with him. He made almost twenty separate purchases over the last five years, and he must have had some profit motive in mind that we don't know about. Perhaps he'll be able to give you some reason why it would be wise to hold the stock a little longer."
Reaching out, Emily shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Fairchild, I'll do that."
"Before you go," Fairchild said as Emily tucked her hand in her husband's arm, "I want to make it clear that in every other respect, your father's trusteeship over your funds has been above reproach. He's invested your money wisely and accounted for every penny that was spent for the last fifteen years, including the money invested in TA Productions."
Emily's face stiffened. "I don't need you or anyone else to tell me that my father has acted in my best interests. He always has."
In the car, Emily watched her husband maneuver the shiny BMW through rush hour traffic. "I was rude to him, wasn't I?" she asked.
Dick shot her a wry look as they stopped for a red light. "You were defensive, not rude. But then you're always a little defensive where your father's concerned."
"I know," she sighed, "but there's a reason."
"You love him and he devoted his life to you," Dick recited.
Emily lifted her gaze from his hand on the gear shift. "There's another reason, too. It's been a well-known scandal that, in the old days, a lot of the parents of child stars squandered, and even stole, every dime the child earned. My father was just the opposite. Even though there are laws to prevent all parents from doing that now, a lot of people have still treated my father as if he lives off of me and very grandly."
"Obviously, they haven't seen his condo, or they'd know better," Dick said, shifting from second into third gear as traffic began to move again. "He hasn't painted a wall in ten years, and he needs new furniture. The neighborhood is on the downslide, and in a few years it's not going to be safe to live there."
"I know all that, but he hates to spend money." Reverting to the earlier topic, she continued, "You can't imagine how humiliating it's been for him at times to be my father. I can still remember when he went to buy a car five years ago. The salesman was happy to sell him a Chevrolet until I got there to help Dad pick out a color. As soon as the guy realized who I was, ergo who Daddy was, he said in this nauseating, presumptuous voice, 'This changes everything, Mr. McDaniels! I'm sure your daughter would rather you have that sharp Seville you liked, wouldn't you, honey?""
"If what people thought of him bothered your father," Dick said, forgetting for the moment to hide his distaste for the man, "he could have gotten a nice, respectable job doing something besides looking out for his little Emily. Then maybe he'd have something to do besides get drunk and wallow in self-pity because little Emily grew up and got married." From the corner of his eye, he watched her face fall and he stretched his arm across the seat, curving his hand around her stiff shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I am obviously a jealous jerk who gets bent out of shape over my wife's unusually close relationship with her father. Forgive me?"
Nodding, she rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand, but her pretty face remained pensive and he saw it.
"No, you haven't," he said, trying to tease her out of her unusually somber mood. "An apology wasn't enough. I deserve a kick in the ass. I deserve"—he hesitated, thinking—"to have to take you to Anthony's tonight and buy you the most expensive dinner in Los Angeles and sit there while everybody gapes at my wife!"
She smiled at him, her famous dimples peeking out, and he touched his hand to the side of her face and said quietly. "I love you, Emily." Jokingly, he added, "Even though you've got those funny dents in your face, I love you anyway. Not every guy would be able to overlook a manufacturing defect like that, but I can."
Her laughter bubbled out and he grinned at her, but his grin faded as she challenged, "Do you love me enough to take me by my father's place before we go to dinner?"
"Why?" he said irritably.
"Because I have to talk to him about the money he invested with Tony. I can't figure it out, and it's driving me crazy."
"I guess," Dick said, flipping on his turn indicators and changing lanes so he could make the turn toward her father's neighborhood, "I even love you that much."
* * *
Emily pressed the buzzer beside the door of her father's condominium, and after a lengthy pause he opened it, a glass of whiskey in his hand. "Emily, baby?" he slurred, looking at her with bloodshot eyes in an unshaven face bearing a three-day growth of beard. "I didn't know you were coming by tonight." Completely ignoring the presence of her husband, he looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her inside.
He was drunk, Emily realized with a pang of frustration and sorrow as she looked around at the gloomy interior of his place, not dead drunk but stumbling drunk. Once, he'd been a virtual teetotaler, but during the past several years, his bouts of drunkenness had been occurring with increasing frequency. "Why don't you turn on some lights," she suggested gently, reaching out and turning a single lamp on in the living room.
"I like the dark," he said, reaching behind her and turning the lamp off. "It's safe and sweet."
"I prefer a little light so Emily doesn't fall over something and kill herself," Dick said firmly, reaching out and switching the lamp back on.
"What made you decide to come by?" he asked Emily as if Dick hadn't spoken. "You never come to see me anymore," he complained.
"I was here twice last week," Emily reminded him. "But to answer your question, I came to talk about business if you're up to it. Dick's accountant has some questions he needs answered before be can prepare tax estimates or something."
"Sure, sure. No problem, honey. Come on into my study where I keep all your files."
"I have several phone calls to make," Dick told Emily. "You talk to your father and I'll use the phone in the—" He looked around for a phone and couldn't see one in the living room.
