A Small Matter Read Online Free PDF Page A

substance, each seeking to discover the
mystery of the other, yet they found themselves still polite, like
houseguests inspecting their new lodgings, moving forward and
drawing back at the same time.
    “Wow,” she said. “Soon we will be married, so
I think we better cool it for now.”
    His tears coursed the lines of his face, and
the softening of his features revealed him to be more kind than
savage, a trace of the leprechaun replacing the warlike grimace
inherited from some ancient lineage of Irish Kings.
    “I hate to bring this up,” Vickie said, “but
in spite of our newfound delirium at having finally connected, if
we’re going to be married, we both have our respective individual
estates to consider--I have to warn you, I’ve got a ton salted
away.”
    “There’s probably a hotbed of tax issues if
we marry our estates together,” Mulroney said. “I, too, have a ton.
I recently sold three rentals I owned free and clear, which left me
over five-hundred grand in the bank after taxes, and I have over
five-hundred grand in my retirement account. I own my place in
Santa Monica free and clear and despite the real estate collapse
and all, it’s worth over six-hundred grand easy. The Lamplighter’s
only a hobby with me, but it’s worth about a hundred and a half,
with no note against it. Income-wise, I get a tidy sum from
retirement, plus whatever I want to draw from the bar, which nets
about sixty-thousand a year. Most months, I draw nothing, putting
the profits against the note. So I guess I’m worth somewhere around
a million-and-a-half, give or take, and it’s mostly liquid
assets.”
    “You did all that on a policeman’s salary?”
she said.
    “My dad taught me I’d get rich if I
squirreled my money away,” he said. “So every month, I put
everything I could into real estate and savings.”
    “Who would ever guess you had such a pile?”
she said.
    “It wasn’t all real estate,” he said. “Being
a cop helped some. I admit I ate lunch free every day while I was
on the force. But I only ate where I was welcome, and it was mostly
just taco joints or stir-fry places, nothing fancy, not like a
Chicago politician or anything.”
    “Okay, Mulroney,” she said. “You showed me
yours, now I’ll show you mine. I’ve got a lot of money. When Jack
died, he left me set for life. All the years we were married, we
both worked. We lived off what he earned and put my paychecks in
the market. Jack loved the technology stocks. We’ve quadrupled that
money. When he died, there was an insurance policy that paid off
our house, and a huge death benefit. I have to admit, I’ve spent
some of the money to satisfy my two major vices--keeping my Z-28
alive, and nice clothes.”
    “Nobody looks nicer than you, Vickie,”
Mulroney said.
    “I’ve spent way too much on my wardrobe,” she
said, “but what can I say? I like the way I feel when I shop in an
elegant store. While Jack was alive, we found most of our clothing
at Ross, but since Jack died, I guess shopping for expensive
outfits was my way of keeping sane--it was something I could do
without having a man along. The truth is, shopping in the best
shops gives me a feeling of being cared about--but now that I’m
dying, I guess I can admit to a new perspective--I see all that
shopping as a phony way I had to mask the loneliness I felt--to
pretend I had friends. All those salespeople were nothing more than
professional fawners. Anyway, to make a long story short--I’m rich.
My accountant keeps wanting me to diversify, but I keep letting it
roll over in the high yield sector. If I cashed out today, I’d
probably come in likewise at around a couple of million or
three.”
    “Good grief,” Mulroney said. “I always
figured you were barely making it. I was looking forward to
showering you with my riches, and even showing off a little. I’m so
cash-heavy right now, if I don’t do some tax-hedge-type investing,
my exclusive Santa Monica accountant is