Free The Auerbach Will by Stephen; Birmingham

Joan, which Essie has chosen not to take. Though nearly a week has passed, she has not yet forgiven Joan for her performance at the tree-trimming, and Mary had offered Joan various excuses—that Mrs. Auerbach was out shopping, that Mrs. Auerbach was at lunch, that Mrs. Auerbach was taking a nap, and so on. And, needless to say, in the meantime these unsuccessful telephone attempts and unreturned calls have not created an atmosphere of serenity at the South Street offices of the publisher of the New York Express , Joan Auerbach McAllister, or, as she calls herself professionally, Mrs. Joan Auerbach.
    â€œI know that that bitch is lying,” Joan says to her secretary after the latest failed try to reach her mother. “I know that Mother’s right there in the apartment.”
    It is at this moment that Richard McAllister steps into her office. “Can I talk to you about South Africa?” he asks her.
    Joan presses her fingertips against her temples and says, “ Please , Richard, not now. I’ve got to talk to Mother first, before we make any decisions. It’s important.”
    â€œJoan,” he says, “I love you very much, and I admire you even more, for your spunk and determination to keep this paper going. But you know as well as everyone else that the handwriting’s on the wall. I’ve got to think of my own career now.”
    â€œRichard, I’ve told you before—give me six months. Just six months. That’s all I ask.”
    â€œIn six months, there won’t be any more New York Express . You know that as well as I—”
    â€œ Please! ” Joan cries. “I’ve got a plan , I tell you—a plan!”
    And, while all this is going on, Josh Auerbach is with Essie in the large sitting room of the Park Avenue apartment, pressing on her a plan of his own for which Essie really has no enthusiasm. It is five o’clock, and Essie knows she is in a cranky mood. Her meeting with Henry Coker that morning has left her feeling irritable and out of sorts.
    â€œOh, no, no,” she is saying. “I don’t want to go back to Chicago. I always hated Chicago, you know that.”
    â€œNow, Mother, I don’t know that at all. I remember wonderful times growing up in Chicago.”
    â€œIf I went, I know I’d want to go back to see The Bluff, and I really don’t want to see it now—all developed and built up with whatchamacallit—middle-income housing? No, Josh.”
    â€œEveryone’s coming—Mayor Byrne, the Governor of Illinois, Chuck Percy. It’ll be a party—like the old days.”
    â€œNo, no. I’m too old for that sort of thing.” The occasion is to be the dedication, in the upcoming year, of the new Eaton & Cromwell Tower in Chicago.
    â€œJust think of it, Mother. The tallest building in the world.”
    â€œYes, and I don’t like the whole idea of it. Too showy. Your father would have hated it.”
    â€œNonsense. Dad was a real glory boy, you know that. He loved to throw it around.”
    â€œYou should invite some prominent black people, too, you know, for your father’s sake,” she reminded him.
    â€œAll been taken care of. Jesse Jackson, Benjamin Hooks—they’ve all accepted. But we need you there, Mother.”
    â€œBut why? Why? I never had anything to do with the business.”
    â€œDon’t you see? You’re the living link. You’re the last living link to Dad and his work. You’re Mrs. Jacob Auerbach.”
    â€œI’m not sure I fancy being thought of as a link,” Essie says. “When I think of links I think of chains and prisons.”
    â€œIt could be thought of as Dad’s crowning achievement. I think you owe it to his memory to be there.”
    â€œNow we’re invoking the dead,” she says. “What do we owe the dead?”
    â€œIn this case, quite a lot, Mother,” Josh says.
    At this point, Mary