Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Read online

  "Who called?" The lilt in his voice was replaced with a crack and a shot of adrenaline.

  "A reporter from the Martha's Vineyard Times, Dad. You are not allowed to misrepresent a property, not clean it, have no appliances working when they get there, broken screen doors, and a cellar that you try to pass off as a bungalow. Are you out of your mind?"

  "How did they get the letter?"

  "I'm assuming Mrs. Danziger sent it to them in her state of fury. If she doesn't receive her refund by this Friday, they are going to print it in Sunday's edition. You'll never be able to rent again, and you're now dragging my name through the mud with yours." Ted was looking at me while he opened the L.A. Times.

  "The woman is an extortionist. I told her my daughter was a best-selling author and a movie star. She obviously watched your show and saw an opportunity."

  "No, Dad. Staying at your house is not an opportunity. It's the opposite of an opportunity. It is a sentence. You screwed this woman over, and she is pissed, as she should be. And furthermore, why did you even mention my name? Why would you do that? And by the way, I'm not a movie star. I'm on cable."

  "Because you are my daughter and your daddy is very proud of you."

  "That's nice, Dad, but I'm not proud of you. You treat people like garbage, and this woman probably saved up all year to go on what she thought was going to be a beautiful vacation, and she shows up to melted fish on the floor and a filthy house filled with stained furniture, mosquitoes, and dirty underwear?"

  "I did not leave behind any underwear."

  "That's what you have a problem with in that whole list, Dad? Underwear?"

  "Chelsea, this woman is mental, and she is exaggerating. She's a loose lemon, and she is trying to get money from me. You can tell wealth on a man based on his stomach, and I, my dear, have a very wealthy stomach."

  "This is the tenth letter we've had in the past three years asking for a refund. Do you even have any renters that don't ask for a refund?"

  "What kind of question is that, Chelsea? I've been renting in the Vineyard for years, and anyone with any experience abroad knows that that piece of property is worth millions for the view alone."

  "Dad, it's great that there's a nice view, but eventually people need to go inside and take a fucking shower."

  "Chelsea..."

  "You have more to think about than yourself now, because I do not want my name in the paper with a story about you being a crook. You need to refund her the money."

  "Well, what are they going to write, exactly?"

  "I don't know, and I don't want to know. I want you to refund the money ASAP. You need to FedEx it tomorrow, so she gets it Thursday at the latest."

  "All right, all right, already." He took a bite out of something, which sounded like a dog trying to chew a bone. "Chelsea, this celebrity thing isn't easy on me either, you know. A lot of people are going to try and use it against us."

  My head jutted forward like a giraffe that was about to neck-wrestle another giraffe. "Come again?"

  "A lot of people stop me at the grocery store. They want to know about me, where I grew up, how I created such a successful comedian. They want to take me to dinner. Women, especially. Very flirtatious. Women see something in me, Chelsea."

  I moved the phone away from my ear and snapped my fingers to get Ted's attention. My eyes were still rolling when it was my turn to interrupt.

  "I'm sure that your celebrity status has been a real impediment to your lifestyle. Maybe if you stop opening your conversations with the fact that you're my father, people would stop harassing you about it. Or maybe you could just stop going to the grocery store five times a day. Maybe you should just stay indoors, like an inmate."

  "Chelsea, that is not how you talk to your daddy."

  "I told you to stop referring to yourself as Daddy, to me or anyone else for that matter. When will you be able to get to FedEx to mail the payment?"

  "I'll get it out tomorrow. I'm not sending the whole refund. I'll send her two thousand dollars. She didn't ask for the whole refund."

  "Send her five thousand dollars, and I would really appreciate you thinking twice before screwing anyone else over. I don't want you renting the house in that condition. Someone is going to sue you for a lot more than five thousand dollars, and you're going to be sorry. I'm sure the Martha's Vineyard Times is going to be keeping an eye on the situation, because the reporter said this isn't the first time he's heard your name mentioned in conjunction with unhappy renters."

  "Really?" he asked, alarmed. "Well, the house is already rented for the next two weeks, so there's nothing I can do about that."

  "Give me the cleaning lady's number from the Vineyard, and I'll make sure she gets everything taken care of before anyone else has to live in that filth."

  "Cleaning lady is no good. She's not speaking to me right now. She insists on getting paid before the work gets done, and that's not how I operate."

  "You don't know how to operate, that's the problem. She wants to get paid beforehand because you owe her and every other service person on that island money. You need an operation."

  "I do not need an operation. I have a clean bill of health. Those Angus burgers at McDonald's are something else. Doctor said I'm in tip-top shape."

  My father had had a quintuple bypass seven years prior and took that to mean that all his pipes were brand new and he had the ability to start fresh, like an infant. There was no way he was in good health, and there was certainly no way he had seen his doctor other than to get that prescription for Cialis.

  "Call me after you send the money to Mrs. Danziger. She wants five thousand dollars. Are you clear?"

  "Yeah, I'll send the money, but make sure she knows she is not welcome back."

  "Okay, I'm hanging up now."

  "Chelsea, hold the wire. So you haven't heard anything from the Boston Globe? I'm surprised this isn't something they'd be interested in picking up. Martha's Vineyard Times is pretty small potatoes."

  I stared at the plane outside that was taking off from LAX, wondering why it couldn't just fly right into the living room my father was sitting in. "No, nothing from the Boston Globe. I'll call tomorrow to make sure you sent the check. No fucking around."

  "Chelsea, there's no reason to use that kind of language."

  Ted had taken off his reading glasses and was staring at me when I hung up the phone. "Please don't tell me he said what I think I just heard."

  I sent an e-mail to my brothers and sisters informing them of the phone call and asking them to confirm the execution of the FedExing of the reimbursement. My brother Greg responded to all of us with the suggestion of our having our father euthanized, but after the New Year so that the inheritance tax we'd owe for the properties he owned wouldn't put us all in debt.

  "I don't know any euthanizers personally, and I'm not sure if that's a service that is publicly advertised, but I'll ask around," I replied.

  The next e-mail we received was from my oldest sister, Sidney. "As an attorney, I am advising you all to cease and desist any and all discussion of the euthanization of our father via e-mail. I am available by phone at your earliest convenience."

  Chapter Nine

  The Suspect

  A week after my father reimbursed only one of the hundreds of dissatisfied renters he's had, my brother Greg sat him down for a grave intervention. Once Melvin realized that we were all serious about not providing him with any more financial dispensation, he became amenable to selling his main residence in Livingston, New Jersey. Greg took it upon himself to spearhead this debacle, mostly I believe because he has three small children and was looking to get out of his house. After his visit he sent a detailed account of the day to my brothers, sisters, and me.

  September 17, 2008

  4:30-6:45 P.M.

  35 Morningside Drive

  Dad--the suspect-is sitting out front on the porch basking in the warmth of a sunny and beautiful September afternoon.

  Mariana Wallingford,