Excerpt of Dying To Teach by Pearl Wolf

Chapter One

San Francisco: Monday morning

"I, Christine Newall, a resident of, and domiciled in, the State of New York, make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, revoking all wills and codicils at any time heretofore made by me."

Charles Gordon read the document in a deep, lawyerly voice while Gigi studied his rugged face.  He had blue eyes, blond hair and a trim body.  He wore a navy suit, white shirt and red and navy striped tie. Proper uniform for a prosperous attorney, she supposed. She wondered what he was like in bed.  Nasty habit of hers, thinking about sex at the most inappropriate moments.  She wondered what every man who appealed to her was like in bed. Guy's handsome Latin face raced through her thoughts, shredding her heart yet again. Damn!  He managed to torture her even here, three thousand miles away.

Gordon paused and looked directly at her.  "Any questions?"

Questions?  She had a raging river of questions, an avalanche of questions, a holocaust of questions.  But a discreet glance from Christine Newall's New York attorney, Brian Daniels, warned her to keep her mouth shut, though he was far too much a gentleman to put it in such vulgar terms.

Gigi sat stone-faced, eyes on the hands in her lap, bits of tissue clinging to her damp palms.

Her New York City paranoiac instincts sent warning signals to her brain.  Should she have turned Brian Daniels down when he phoned?  Was that even an option?  The white haired gentleman had urged her to attend the somber meeting being conducted this morning in the luxurious wood-paneled boardroom of the prestigious law firm of Newall, Williams and Gordon.  An ancient Japanese saying popped into her head.  The things that are free in life are the most expensive.

Was there a catch—a price to pay for this free trip to San Francisco?  She hadn't considered that when she pounced on the chance to escape from New York City.  She flew to San Francisco on New Year's Day, after having spent a skin-crawling New Year's Eve alone, her first without Guy.  She'd celebrated—if it could be called that—her sorry single status by sobbing, by littering her apartment with wet tissues, by drinking a full bottle of champagne at midnight, by puking her guts out and by falling asleep dead drunk, fully clothed.

Gloria Goldstein Giovanni, known to her friends as Gigi, was twenty-nine years old. At five feet tall, she added inches to her height with sexy stiletto heels, regrettably not Manolo Blahnik, which she couldn't afford on a teacher's salary, but reasonable copies.  Deep-set brown eyes peered out of an oval face framed in a halo of dark short natural curls which cascaded gracefully to her neckline.  She knew she was not a raving beauty, but she succeeded in looking hot with make-up and dress.  She adopted a quirky, defining New York attitude as if it were a second skin.  Her best feature was her perky ass.  Her worst feature?  She had to struggle to keep five pesky extra pounds off, which on a short person can seem like twenty.

She wore her most conservative black suit, the one she reserved for occasions like funerals and appearances at law offices.  She'd left the kinkier stuff at home, the kind of clothing dedicated native New Yorkers wear to uphold their sassy image.  In spite of her sober appearance, she felt like a fish swimming upstream in waters infested with deadly piranhas.

CEO Harrison Williams and his wife Belinda were also present.  Gordon and Mr. And Mrs. Williams were the three senior partners.  Williams, a ramrod tall, patrician gentleman in his sixties was stern-faced. He exuded an air of disapproval when Gigi was introduced as though meeting her were a painful, but unavoidable duty.  His terse manner was clearly designed to intimidate her.  Was that the effect he intended?   

His much younger wife might have been ten years older than Gigi, but she certainly didn't look it.  Slim as a reed, she wore her pale blond hair in a short, mannish bob parted on one side. Little wisps fell casually over her forehead.  She was five eight or nine, give or take an inch. She had sharply defined cheekbones, shapely lips and pale blue eyes.  She radiated glowing good health, although she appeared to wear little or no make-up.  Gigi wondered about the power couple's sex life, given the difference in their ages.  She didn't need to wonder why Mrs. Williams chose to marry a man so much older than her.  The answer seemed obvious—money. Well, you can never be too rich or too thin, someone famous once said.

Her first words to Gigi were, "Call me Lin. I'm so sorry about Christine.  How awful for you to lose such a close friend."

Gigi responded with an innocuous nod of her head.  Christine, a close friend?  Is that what she thought?  Is that what they all thought?  Well, let them.  Gigi wasn't about to enlighten them, at least not yet.

The truth was that although she and Christine Newall had taught in the same elementary school for the past five years, Gigi knew nothing about her personal life.  What did she do after school?  No one knew.  She was a loner who spent most of her time in her classroom even to the point of eating lunch by herself instead of in the teachers' lunchroom, or going out to eat as Gigi did every day.  And though Christine was unfailingly polite, she never socialized beyond greetings and farewells. Her vibes warned her colleagues away from any intimate contact.  Why then Gigi wondered, not for the first time, was she here listening to the reading of Christine Newall's will? 

She recalled the most compelling reason. It was Daniels' intriguing phone call mere days ago during Christmas recess.

"Ms. Giovanni?  Brian Daniels here. I am the attorney who drew up Christine Newall's new will just days before her unfortunate death. You have been named in her Last Will and Testament. I must alert you to the fact that I've been cautioned by her San Francisco attorneys not to reveal the terms of this Will until we meet with them at their office. An obstacle, but not insurmountable. Since they currently manage her assets, I had no choice but to agree. They have the power to delay proceedings by challenging the new terms of her Will, you see.  Might leave you open to all sorts of costly legal maneuvers.

"I've taken the liberty of making an appointment for us in San Francisco for Monday morning at nine on January third, subject to your approval, of course. I have a professional obligation to see to it that her wishes are followed.  Please understand that I did urge Christine to inform you of her decision to name you in her Will as soon as possible, and she promised to do so, but she died before she could carry this out.  Ms. Newall's estate will handle all your expenses, which is your right under the terms of her Will. Call this number and ask for Mr. Gordon's secretary. He's a senior partner in the law office of Newall, Williams and Gordon. His secretary will make all travel arrangements for you."

Christine had telephoned Gigi the night before the final day of classes before Christmas recess. "Sorry to ask you to begin your day so early, Gloria, but it's really urgent that I meet with you tomorrow morning," she had said. Gigi called her back that night and left a message that she'd meet her at seven the next morning, which was Thursday, two days before Christmas.

Although Gigi was mildly curious when she received such an enigmatic request from the most isolated teacher in the building, she wasn't surprised.  She merely assumed that Christine wanted to discuss some contractual issue.  Gigi was the school's chapter leader for the Teachers' Union and as such, it was her obligation to represent and inform the staff of their rights.

Unexpectedly, Christine Newall died under the wheels of a speeding van the next morning.   She had been crossing the street to catch the First Avenue bus to meet Gigi for breakfast at Terrific, the luncheonette on Pleasant Avenue near their school. The van's driver didn't even bother to stop and the police ruled it a hit-and-run accident. They found the stolen van that struck Christine abandoned in a derelict neighborhood in the Bronx several days later, but they never found the driver.

In light of her self-imposed aloofness, Christine Newall would have been surprised at the large staff turnout for her memorial service at Campbell's Funeral Home on Madison Avenue.  Odd, Gigi thought at the time.   

Gordon interrupted the reading to allow time to order lunch.  He nodded to the secretary who presented menus from the penthouse dining room, the words Newall, Williams and Gordon, Esq. embossed in gold across the bottom of the dark green leather folder.

Lin Williams ordered grilled shrimp, a salad with no dressing, a bottle of fancy mineral water Gigi had never heard of, and half a grapefruit.  No wonder she was so thin, Gigi thought with envy.  She ordered the same, hoping there'd be some bread to eat because hunger, or more likely anxiety, was gnawing away at her gut like a starving mouse that yearned for a morsel of cheese.

While the others were giving their orders, Lin Williams said, "I'm off to the ladies room. Care to join me?" Gigi nodded and followed her out, grateful for the short hiatus and the chance to move her legs.

"Let's take a detour," Lin said afterwards.  "I'd like to show off our company exercise facilities. Took me years to convince our Board to build one." Lin opened the door to a well-equipped gym complete with swimming pool, sauna, steam room and the latest exercise machinery.

"Hi, everybody.  Meet Ms. Giovanni."

 "Hi, Lin," answered a pretty young woman.

"This is Loretta Smith, one of our best paralegals.  And this is John Werner, a hard-working associate attorney, who I'm sure will become a partner some day soon.  The gentleman with all the muscles is Harvey Denton, one of our senior accountants.  Harvey?  Say hello to Mrs. Giovanni."

Harvey grunted a word that sounded like "hello" while he continued to lift an impressively heavy bar loaded with fifty pound weights balanced on each end.  His face was bathed in sweat as his muscles strained with the effort.

"Your facilities are better equipped than my New York club." Gigi turned toward the door.

"Relax, dear."  Lin Williams said, "I know you're anxious to hear the details of Christine's Will, but there's no need to hurry. We can afford to be a few minutes late."

When Gordon resumed the reading, Gigi listened in poker-faced astonishment.  Christine Newall's assets included acreage near Newport Bay, as well as a shopping center in exclusive Palm Springs that produced an annual rental income in the millions.  Her portfolio held considerable stocks and bonds and a major holding in the Oakland Savings Bank.  She had also been president of a charitable trust designed to do good works.

The list made Gigi's mind spin like a toy top.  She concentrated on hiding her emotions as if she were as used to hearing stuff like this every day as much the others in the room.

As if.

Christine Newall a multi-millionaire?  Drab, colorless Ms. Newall who had taught the same kindergarten grade for ten years? The same Ms. Newall who dressed in dark pleated skirts and white tailored shirts every day?  Who wore no make-up?  Why?  Why had she chosen to teach in East Harlem?

Gigi smiled to herself at the uproar this news would create downtown at union headquarters when they learned about the first multi-millionaire elementary school teacher in the history of New York City.  Would they exploit it as total teacher dedication or would they hush it up in order not to louse up current salary negotiations?

Her mind drifted as she struggled to puzzle out her dead co-worker, which caused her to miss some of the more intricate financial details.  It wasn't hard to drift while Gordon droned on with the whereases and wherefores. The boring lawyer talk impeded her hearing apparatus, like static on a car radio when driving through a tunnel.  Gigi emerged from the tunnel at the mention of her name.

"...Being of sound mind and body and after careful deliberation, I bequeath my entire estate to my sister, Elizabeth Sullivan. I name Gloria Goldstein Giovanni executor as well as legal guardian of Elizabeth.  I am confident she will act in her best interests in the event of my death..."

Executor?  Guardian?  What could Christine have been thinking?  She hardly knew me, Gigi thought, her heart pumping at a furious rate.  She felt helpless, as though she were slipping through the spinning cogs of some weird machine invented by Charlie Chaplin.

A sister?  That was news.  Why wasn't her sister here?  How old was the child?  Why did she need a guardian?  Her eye caught the stern, critical glare of Harrison Williams.  His glare made her wonder if he meant to expose her as an ignorant fraud.  Gigi returned his angry gaze with steady eyes to show him she wasn't afraid of him.  She would have to wait to learn more about Elizabeth later from Brian Daniels after the meeting.  

The group stopped for lunch at noon and trooped onto the private elevator to the penthouse dining room. The floor to ceiling windows held a breathtaking view of San Francisco Bay just as the boardroom did one floor below, but the blinds there had been partially shuttered to avoid the glare.  The sun lit the Golden Gate Bridge in a blaze of red on this cloudless day and danced on the water as the colorful traffic on the bay—sailboats, motor boats, ferries—dotted the water.  From the height of the penthouse, they looked like so many toys frolicking on a tiny pond.

Gigi accepted good wishes from everyone—except Harrison Williams.  From him she suffered a reluctant handshake, as if he suspected she had a communicable disease he didn't want to catch.  As if he were angry with her.  As if she'd deprived him of something.  But what?

In an aggrieved tone, Williams said, "I fail to understand Christine's reasoning in rewriting her Will after all I had done for her.  I was a father to that girl when her own father died.  She came to me for advice and support.  I can't comprehend why she chose to name you the guardian of that poor unfortunate soul.  Elizabeth is a chronically ill young woman.  Have you met her?"  His eyes threw daggers at Gigi.

"I plan to visit Elizabeth this week," she answered, as if she actually knew her.  Thanks for your vote of confidence in me, she wanted to crack like the street-wise New Yorker she was, but she held her tongue.

To Gigi's surprise, no one seemed more pleased at what she must have thought of as her good fortune than his wife.  Lin congratulated her and promised to help in any way she could. 

"Sonny and I aren't free to meet for the reading again until Thursday.  Have you made plans for tomorrow?"

"A free day?  In that case I'd like to visit Fisherman's Wharf."

"You'll love it.  And Wednesday?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Do you like saunas and massages?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why not join me? Sonny's playing golf with some Japanese clients on Wednesday, and I'm going to drive up to Calistoga to a great Hot Springs Spa for the full treatment.  Mud bath, whirlpool, massage, facial—the works.  Please.  Be my guest.  I promise you it'll be a real treat."  When Gigi said yes, she added, "Pick you up at your hotel at…seven in the morning?"

Her husband, Sonny, frowned with displeasure as she spoke.

After lunch, Gigi listened to dry lawyer language that flew over her head like invisible paper airplanes. Gordon concluded at half past four, to her relief.  As Gigi gathered her papers and prepared to leave, he found a moment to invite her to dinner that night.  She was sure it was merely a business courtesy, but since she knew no one else in San Francisco, she agreed.

Brian Daniels offered his arm graciously as they left the building together.  He was staying at the Hilton on Union Square, but he hailed a cab and accompanied her to the Fairmont Hotel on Nob Hill, one of the most expensive in the city, where the law firm had arranged for her stay and where the bills would be paid by Christine's estate, of course.

Williams began to speak after their drinks were served, a scotch for him and Pellegrino for Gigi so she could concentrate on what he had to say with a clear head.  They sat in the Fairmont Hotel's opulent lounge, in comfortable club chairs opposite one another, a coffee table in between.  "I'm sorry I couldn't enlighten you any further when I phoned you in New York, but my hands were tied.  My major concern is to carry out Christine's wishes. I consider it a moral obligation, in fact.

"Christine was referred to me by Greg Harden.  He's the son of an old friend.  I'm a specialist in Wills and Trusts, especially of large estates.  When I met Ms. Newall, she sounded desperate."  He paused as if to gather his thoughts.

"Desperate?  Did she say why?"

"She was concerned about irregularities in the Oakland Savings Bank."

"What did she mean by ‘irregularities'?"

"She showed me a letter of complaint a group of dissident bank shareholders had circulated.  She'd been a board member and a major stockholder, as you heard at this morning's meeting."

"I might have heard it, but like so many other things I heard at today's meeting, it didn't register.  Besides, my eyes tend to glaze over when it comes to hearing the details of her enormous wealth." 

"There appear to be substantial bank assets unaccounted for.  My advice to you is to request a financial description from Newall, Williams and Gordon, but I'm afraid that won't be easy."

"Why?"

"They're playing hard ball."

"I don't mean to sound dense, Mr. Daniels.  It's just...I've had no experience at all in matters like this.  What do you mean?"

"The firm's been chief advisor to the deceased ever since the death of her father.  You oughtn't to ruffle their feathers at this point.  They can pull all sorts of strings to delay the transfer of funds—ancillary letters questioning the validity of the new Will, testamentary delaying tactics, family tree affidavits—the usual legal maneuvers.  In view of this, I strongly advise you to employ legal representation.  Do you have an attorney?"

She ignored his question for the moment. "Why won't they cooperate?  What's your best guess?"

He paused to wipe his glasses and shrugged.  "It's clear that they don't want to lose such a large account.  Be wary of attempts to convince you to stay with the firm. It seems apparent that they intend to use every means possible to delay proceedings, just short of challenging the legality of Christine's new Will."

Gigi made a face.  "Now I feel stupid.  I've agreed to have dinner with Charles Gordon tonight and Lin Williams has invited me to join her on Wednesday at a spa in Calistoga."

He smiled in understanding.  "They're sending their biggest guns to woo you.  A bit self-serving, but I'm not surprised. Be careful, Mrs. Giovanni.  You're dealing with the biggest law firm in San Francisco and they wield a lot of clout.  Don't commit yourself to a course of action until you've had time to hire expert counsel to review Christine's finances."

A queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach nagged at her, but she fought it down and changed the subject. "What can you tell me about Christine's sister?  How old is the child?  I have to confess that I didn't even know she had a sister."

Daniels adjusted his glasses. "Christine's half sister," he corrected. "Christine's mother remarried, you see.  Elizabeth Sullivan is not a child.  She is twenty-three and lives in a mental health facility near Big Sur. She is an incurable schizophrenic.  Apparently, Elizabeth never recovered after her parents died in a tragic automobile accident."  He paused as if searching for the right words.

"The Newall estate pays all her bills. Christine was accustomed to visiting her sister at least twice a year, sometimes more often, she told me."

"But what does being Elizabeth's legal guardian entail," Gigi persisted, trying to weigh anchor in this unfamiliar sea.

Daniels proceeded to describe Gigi's legal obligation to Christine's half sister, which didn't seem to involve much more than continuing to pay her hospital bills.

"The real problem is not Christine's half sister."

"What, then?"

"Harrison Williams was disturbed by the new Will. I suspect he plans to contest it.  His firm is insisting upon your formal notarized authorization for an audit from an outside source. They've also requested the original death certificate, a family tree affidavit, and similar legal documents. You ought to have your own lawyer representing you.  I must ask you again.  Have you an attorney?"

"I'm in the middle of a divorce."

"Sorry.  Perhaps your attorney…"

"No.  She specializes in divorce cases. Didn't you say you are experienced in handling large estates like Christine's? I'd rather you continue to handle Christine's estate just as you would have if she were alive."

He nodded his agreement and smiled a kind, fatherly smile. "I'll admit that I was hoping you'd ask.  I'd like to see it through to satisfactory completion for you, just as Christine wished."

"Let me make something clear to you, Mr. Daniels.  I didn't know Christine Newall at all well.  I knew nothing of her private life outside of school. Most teachers talk about their boyfriends, husbands, children, families and the like, but she never did.  I didn't know she was wealthy.  I didn't know she had a sister.  I didn't know why she went to San Francisco on school holidays.  None of us knew.  She was a loner, Mr. Daniels."

Gigi took a sip of her Pellegrino to ease her dry mouth. "I assumed she had some union business to discuss when she called me and requested a meeting before school began.  I represent the union, you see.  When a teacher asks to see me, it usually concerns some contractual issue. My only other contact with Christine was when she brought her kindergarten class to my library once a week just like all the other classroom teachers.  Forty-five minutes later she picked them up.  It's a teacher's professional preparation period.  Most teachers go to the teachers' lounge to drink coffee and work on lesson plans or to just unwind, but Christine never did.  She'd return to her classroom during that time to fix the bulletin boards or do her lesson plans. Why on earth did she choose someone she barely knew? The question plagues me. Why me?"

"I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't.  She did say she respected you.  I simply assumed you and she were the closest of friends."

"So did the senior partners of Newall Williams and Gordon." Gigi leaned forward and took his hand. "I resented Harrison Williams' unconcealed anger toward me today.  He doesn't know me at all. For Christine's sake, I'll fight to carry out her wishes to the best of my ability.  I'm glad you're with me on this."

"Good for you, Mrs. Giovanni. I like your spirit. And by the way, it isn't necessary for the law firm to know the extent of your relationship with Christine.  Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Gigi returned to her room desperate for a nap, but there were four phone messages waiting for her.  One was from Val Prince, an interior decorator whose day job was as superintendent of her cooperative apartment.  He was also a good friend.  He wanted her to call him back ASAP.  One was from Guy—her almost ex—pleading with her to call him back. A third was from her best friend Billie Sender, and the last was from Mr. Porter, her principal at school who said it was urgent.

She'd wait a few days to call Porter back, she decided, not wanting to deal with some life and death issue such as where she had left lesson plans for the substitute teacher. School had been closed for the holidays, so she hadn't prepared any.  Porter had a legitimate beef that he'd be sure to want to share with her.

"Hi, Val.  What's doing?"

"Hello, sweetie. Having fun? I keep having this fantasy that you'll bring me back a gorgeous boy toy. San Francisco's full of them, I hear." To point out that Val is gay would be redundant. "What's the scoop? Have you found out why you've been invited to the reading of the will?"

"Yes, but I'd rather explain it all to you when I get back."

"Oh, a mystery."  He sounded disappointed.  "When are you coming home?"

"I don't actually know. Some time next week, I guess." Gigi hesitated.  Val wouldn't pry, but she owed him.  "Christine's named me executor of her estate."

"He-ea-avy!  What exactly does that mean?"

"I'll learn all the details at our next meeting.  What's on your mind?"

"Two things.  Guy wants to stay at the apartment while you're gone because he landed that new job he was after."

"All by his little old self?"

"Don'tbe a bitch.  Of course, by himself."

"All right, but he has to move out before I come home.  Deal?"

"Deal."

"What else?  You said two things."

"All Souls Nursing Home called me. Your mother tried to run away again.  They had to put a monitor around her ankle so they could keep track of her.  It beeps if she tries to leave the building."

Gigi groaned in genuine despair.  She'd left Val's number with the home in case of an emergency.  Mom's wanderlust qualified.

"I can run out there tomorrow to see her, if you like.  I'll call you and give you a report."

"What would I do without you, my darling?  Take the Camaro.  I'll call the garage right now and tell them it's okay for you to use it.  God, I love you!"

"Love you back.  Why can't I find some hunk to feel the way you do about me?"

Gigi called the garage as soon as she hung up.  Then she called Guy, but he wasn't home.  She was so relieved that she didn't have to talk to him; she just left a message telling him he could stay. How could she say no to him under the circumstances?  Especially since half of their cooperative apartment still belonged to him? He hated having to move back to his grandparents' home in Williamsburg when she threw him out. But to his credit, he went.

Billie wasn't home or at her office, either, so Gigi left word that all was well, and that she'd been named executor of Christine Newall's estate.  She met her best friend Billie at Brooklyn College when they were undergraduates.

She took a shower, left a wake-up call for seven thirty and dove into bed for a quick nap.