Chapter 17

Chloe's office intercom buzzed. "Chloe, I have Stanley Roberts on line one." Chloe smiled. "Put him through."

On the second ring, she picked up. "Stanley, I'm surprised to hear from you," she said in her most professional voice.

"Not disappointed, I hope."

"No, not at all. I have the tour all scheduled for Tuesday. Where should I send the car?" she asked.

"Oh, I can drive myself," he said.

"No, Stanley, not this time. I'm not getting in that truck. Do you want to meet me here at the office?" she asked.

"What's wrong with my truck?" he asked, chuckling.

"Nothing. I'm not getting in," she said.

"Okay, I'll meet you. What time?"

"Let's meet at 10 am."

"Very good. 10 am, it is. I look forward to seeing you again, Chloe."

Chloe felt herself get a little flushed. "I'm sure this charity is just the thing for you. See you Tuesday."

She quickly went through her purse and found Marc's card. She dialed.

"King and Queen," the voice said.

"Yes, I'm looking for Marc," she said.

"You found him. What can I do for you?" he said.

"Marc, hi, it's Chloe, Tallulah's friend. We met the other night."

"Oh yes, the subject matter expert. What can I do for you?" he said.

"I need to hire a car for Tuesday. I'll have a very important client with me."

���Mr. Roberts?" he said.

"The one and only. Now, he isn't the fancy type, but I'd like to keep it professional," she said.

"Of course," Marc said.

"Great, I'll have my assistant reach out to you with details. Thanks, Marc," Chloe said. "No, thank you. I appreciate the business."

Chloe hung up the phone.

Michael sat at the small kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal while flipping through a copy of You & Me.

"Fashion," he said out loud.

He heard a buzzing noise coming from the sofa and walked over and started digging through the cushions until he found the cell phone.

"David! What's up, man," he said as he walked back to the table.

"I wanna know who the lady is I've been investigating for you. She's got a strange background," David said.

"What do you mean?" asked Michael.

"Well, first of all, it's like she just disappeared without a trace. I could find some information on her family. Her mother passed away some years ago, and I already told you about the brother. She rented a small apartment for a while years ago, then nothing. I even called the apartment building. The landlord said she was quiet and distant. One day he went to collect the rent, and she was gone. She left everything in the apartment," David said.

"That's strange," Michael said.

"I also found out she, at one time, had a shit ton of money, over $250,000. It was held in an account. There was one for her, and one for her brother. Now, the brother's account has been

closed for years. All the money's gone. But here's…well, this is the strange thing: The money

was never touched. I actually reached out to the bank, who pointed me to an attorney. I called

the dude. He's retired, and his memory's not very good. He said he was told to put the money in

a trust and it would be donated at a later time."

"Donated?" Michael echoed.

"Yes, now this is where it gets even stranger. Someone contacted the bank about 2 years ago and told them to donate it to charity. But the money was never given to the charity. Instead, the account was emptied out and closed. The bank wouldn't provide me with any information. I'm thinking highly irregular banking practices. So, are you gonna tell me who this lady is or what?" David asked.

Michael paused. "Well, I don't know her. A reporter of mine is doing a story on the homeless shelter. She met this lady, Lily, and wanted to include her in the story. I guess she was a singer or something."

"Hmmm…so, you mean to tell me this lady I've been investigating is homeless?" David asked.

"It would seem so," Michael said.

"Okay, so don't you find it funny that all this money was going to be donated to a shelter and then the money disappears?" David asked.

"Yeah, that is strange. But I don't think she had any money. She's homeless." "Good point," David said.

They both sat in silence for a moment, then Michael said, "Hey, can you do me another favor?��� "Shoot," David said.

"Okay, same lady. Now, my reporter found out she recorded a record back in the sixties, and she even found the record. The studio burned to the ground way, way back, but can you see if the producer is still alive?" Michael asked.

David laughed. "Sure, but if I have to get on a plane or drive somewhere –" "I know," Michael said, "it's gonna cost me." "Okay, give me the info," David said.

"I'll take a picture of the album and send it," Michael said.

"Even better. I'll be in touch," David said, then hung up.

Michael looked around the apartment and found the record sitting on top of the old record player. He snapped a photo of the front and back and sent it to David.

Praises of Hope is a small nursing home. The outside of the building is in bad need of paint, and the grass could use a little water. The windows are covered in dust and look as if they haven't been cleaned for years. The halls are cold, and the white walls, now turning an off-yellow color, are bare. It's a somber place to be.

Owen Katz was sitting in his wheelchair, looking out the window. The small room consisted of a bed, small end table, sink, small bathroom, two chairs, and TV mounted on the wall. He watched the cars drive by and every so often would mumble to himself. When the day nurse walked in, he didn't turn around; rather, he just kept staring out the window. She was a pudgy lady, with long black hair and long fingernails.

"Owen," she said, "it's time for your pills."

He looked up at her and snarled. "I don't want to take any more fucking pills. Just let me die already! Didn't I tell you to stay the fuck out of my goddamn room?!"

The nurse shook her head. "Now Owen, what have I said about your language?"

"I don't give two shits about what you think, you overweight pile of shit. Get the hell out of my room!"

The nurse set the pills on a small table next to the bed. "Owen, if you don't take your pills, I'll have to call the doctor," she said.

"Do whatever you want, you old bitch. Get out of here!"

She stood for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room. He waited a moment, making sure she didn't come back. When he felt she was gone for good, he wheeled himself over to the small dresser. He turned his chair sideways, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a large photo album. He put the album on his lap, closed the drawer, and wheeled himself back to the window. He slowly opened the album and stared at the first picture. It was a picture of a building, with 4 people standing in front, smiling. He slowly took his hand and moved it over the picture and smiled. The words on the building read Twilight Studios. He looked at the next picture. It was of a young Black girl holding a microphone. She was sitting on a piano. Her dress was white, and she had a single white lily in her hair.

As he stared at the picture, he didn't hear the footsteps enter his room.

"Owen?" the voice said softly. He looked up to see an older woman with white hair. It was placed in a bun that stood high on top of her head. She wore horn-rimmed glasses, her face was kind, and she smiled warmly at him. She pulled a chair next to him and sat down.

"Owen, I've heard you cussed out the nurse. Is that true?"

He looked at her, then back toward the window. "What if I did? Ya gonna kick me out? Put an old man out on the street? I just want to be left alone. And she smells funny. I don't like her," he grumbled.

The woman laughed. "Why would I kick out my best patient? But you do need to be nicer to the staff. They're here to help you." She placed her hand over his and looked out the window. "See anything good out there today?"

He turned his head toward her and grinned. "I like you, Doc. You're the only one in this godforsaken place. But where's an old man to go when he gets old? My daughter has a family of her own, my wife is gone, my business is gone, my dreams are gone…" He stopped talking. The doctor squeezed his hand and noticed the photo album on his lap. "You're looking at pictures today, Owen?"

He looked down at the photo album. "This was the happiest time in my life. You know, I was going to be a famous record producer. I had a studio and the singers and musicians to make it happen. I had one singer; she was special."

"Lily?" the doctor asked.

His eyes widened. "Yes, Lily. She had a set of pipes on her that would put Lena Horne to shame. She was soulful and sultry. Her voice was like velvet. It was smooth…" He drifted off.

"She sounds wonderful, Owen. What happened?" the doctor asked.

He frowned. "Well Doc, back in those days, white folks and Black folks were knee-deep in segregation. It was a horrible time. The majority of my singers were Black, musicians, too. I was the only place they could go and record. So much talent not heard or recognized because of color. Lily, well…she was a victim of circumstances. Things that weren't in her control. Her career ended overnight. Poof. Gone That goddamn Amanda. She just had it out for Lily and her brother. I did what I could to help, but well, when you have money, you make things happen. People disappear. Erased from the world." His eyes saddened, and he looked down at the photo album.

The doctor patted Owen's hand. "What do you mean, 'erased'?" she asked.

"I mean take all the money in the world and use it to destroy someone. Lily was innocent. Oh, back in those days, interracial relations weren't welcome. Well, Lily was the product of just such a union. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was, her mama and daddy weren't married to one another, but her daddy was married to a white woman. So, scandal erupts, and Lily goes away."

The doctor shook her head. "I'm very sorry, Owen. I wish I could have heard her sing, this Lily." He half-smiled. "We did one record. I sank every penny into that recording. Then I was blackballed from the industry. No one would work with me or have anything to do with me. I couldn't give the records away. One night, I got a call that my studio was on fire. I lost everything. All the records, too. And Lily, well, she was strong for a little while, but after Clyde died, she just checked out. I haven't seen her for over 20 years. She'd be in her 50s or 60s by now. I don't know if she's even alive. She would call or write, but then one day it just stopped."

The doctor gently rubbed his arm. "Owen, I need you to take the pills. They're for your heart. I want to see you stick around a while. What would I do without my best patient?" she said softly. He looked at her and nodded his head. She handed him a small cup with pills inside and a glass of water. He popped the pills in his mouth and drank the water.

The doctor smiled at him and checked her watch. "I have some time. Will you show me the pictures in your album?"

He looked at her and smiled. No one ever asked him about his life. His voice brightened. "I can tell you stories, too, Doc. I got some of the best goddamn stories you've ever heard. I knew the jazz greats!" He smiled at her and turned the page in the photo album.

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