Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 04

Platinsky quietly launched his counterattack. First, the autopsy had already delayed Harvey's burial, and Jews are supposed to be buried as soon as possible. He realized this was not the fault of McFadden or anyone else, but it was a great sin, and it didn't need to be compounded by other departures from Jewish law and custom. It was forbidden to delay a burial, he said, for it is a disgrace to the deceased, and it may cause pain to the soul of the departed. But since there was already an unfortunate delay, flying the body back to New York didn't represent any new departure, it was merely an extension of the existing one caused by the coroner's office. So McFadden's argument about a quick burial at Forest Lawn was irrelevant; the harm had already been done. As for fancy shmancy mausoleums, they weren't interested. Funerals were supposed to be simple, and modest. The Jews, they don't flaunt, he said. Maybe in California, who knows. But New York Jews, no. No mausoleum. McFadden and Sapersatein were secretly happy to concede this one; it gave the Platinskys a win, and a big fancy mausoleum was never on their agenda in the first place.

Next, it was important, Platinsky said, that during the funeral procession, men and women did not mingle.

"Poppa," Leah sighed, "for God's sake, it's 1999." Platinsky looked at his daughter, frowning, but left it alone after that.

It was important that at the funeral service that Tehillim 91be recited. Saperstein saw the blank look on McFadden's face and jumped in. "Mr. Platinsky, we have rabbis out here, very learned rabbis. Of coursePsalm 91 will be recited. In Hebrew."

Did they know about the shovels? Mr. Platinsky asked. Yes, Saperstein said, we know about shovels. Each mourner would be asked to shovel a bit of dirt down into the grave on top of the coffin. But one shouldn't hand the shovel to the next person in line; the shovel had to be laid down upon the ground to show that we do not hand our grief and sadness on to other people.

When the mourners leave the cemetery, each mourner should lift some dirt, to remind them that they are compared to earth, dust to dust, and that the end of each person is to lie in the earth, he said. Also, each person should lift some grass, to signify that the dead are resurrected, and that they should then throw the grass behind them.

Saperstein smiled at him sadly. "Mr. Platinsky," she said. "Do you really think we are goyim out here?" He grumbled but took the point.

McFadden and Saperstein knew they were winning. The old patriarch's arguments were perfunctory, procedural -- and half-hearted. It seemed to them he simply wanted to establish his presence and authority. He had only one sticking point, a deal-breaker.

"No cremation," he said. "No scattering ashes. Forest Lawn I'll go along with. We'll bury him here. I want to meet the rabbi, I want approval. Otherwise we get an injunction."

McFadden sighed, and looked at Saperstein. She shrugged. She was getting what she wanted, a local service with a full Hollywood turn-out. She didn't care what form Harvey's corpse took, ashes to ashes or dust to dust.

"Okay," McFadden said, yielding another point he didn't care about. "No cremation."

When they went back into the kitchen to brief everyone, it was Shane who became the problem.

"But that's not what Harvey wanted," she said. She was on the verge of tears. "He wanted to be with Jack."

"Shane, I'm sorry," McFadden said. "It was the best I think I could get from them. They do have a point: Jews don't get cremated, they get buried."

"Shane," Carol interrupted, "can I say something? I know how much this bothers you, but honey, funerals aren't for the dead person, they are for the living, the survivors. It's how they cope. The funeral isn't for Harvey, it's for the people who loved Harvey."

Tears ran down Shane's face. "Well, then," she said, "what about Jack? He loved Harvey. And if it's for the survivors, what about me? What about all of us, in this room?" And then she lost it. Carol went to her and wrapped her arms around her as she sobbed.

After a minute Barbara Cranshaw went to the counter and got herself a cup of coffee. "You know," she said, "Shane has a point. What about Jack? And what about Shane? And what about Harvey's wishes? What about us? Shane's right. We loved Harvey, too. Carol did, I know I did. Jack did, no matter what may have happened at the school. Bernie? Vicki?"

McFadden and Saperstein looked at the floor uncomfortably.

"Let's tell the truth," Barbara said. "Harvey was estranged from his family. They hadn't seen each other in I don't know how long. Decades, at least. They were ashamed of him because he was gay. So since when does their love outweigh ours?"

Shane had collected herself, and sat at the kitchen table with them. She put her folded arms on the table and laid her head down. Carol brushed some hair away from Shane's forehead.

"I'm not sure what we can do," McFadden said. "If we go to court, we might win. But it'd be a bitter fight, with a lot of hard feelings all around. It would take time, even expedited and fast-tracked. And who knows, maybe we'd lose. Either way, it'd be expensive. I don't know how bad you guys want to win under those circumstances. I don't know how badly I want to win. Because I don't think it is really about winning."

"You guys keep saying the funeral is for the living. Well, why can't everybody get what they want?" Shane asked, her head still down on her arms. "The Platinskys want a rabbi and all that praying and stuff. Well, they can have that at the funeral home. Vicki and the classical music community, they want a big turn-out and send-off at Forest Lawn. Well, let them have it. Let's give them somebody else's body and let them bury him, whoever it is. Then we can get Harvey cremated and scatter his ashes like he wanted, and like the bunch of us want."

Everybody smiled or chuckled. ""Shane, Shane, Shane," Barbara Cranshaw said, fondly.

"Shane," McFadden said quietly, "even you know how illegal that would be, substituting a body, and forging all the paperwork and stuff. We'd all go to jail."

"Well, then," Shane said. "Don't forge anything."

Everybody laughed again.

From the corner of the room, Mattie Shepherd spoke up for the first time.

"Wait a minute," she said. "Bernie ...?"

McFadden looked at Shepherd. "It's a closed casket," McFadden said.

"You're the executor, you're the one who signs all the paperwork," Mattie said. "They never see it. They show up at the funeral home for the visitation, and then they just show up at the cemetery. But Bernie, what if the body in the casket at the visitation is really Harvey. And then that night Harvey gets cremated. And what if, meanwhile, there's some other person who has just died, somebody very poor, who can't afford a fancy funeral."

"Somebody with AIDS," Shane said. "Some street person with no money who can't afford a funeral."

"Sure," Mattie said. "There's this man or woman who just died of AIDS or something. And Harvey's estate pays for his embalming and casket, and then Harvey's estate pays for this person to be buried at Forest Lawn. And that's the service we tell everyone to go to. Hundreds of people show up, as Vicki says will happen, and they all gather around this grave site, and the rabbi says whatever he says, and everyone honors Harvey, and they all go home having laid Harvey to his final rest. And a few days later when they put up the headstone or the plaque, or whatever it is, Harvey's family will all be back in New York, and no one will ever know that the headstone they put up says John J. Doe, 1958-1999, or whatever. It's not like any of them are going to come back out to California to visit his grave."

"And after they've gone back to New York," Barbara Cranshaw said, "we take Harvey's ashes and we go down to Malibu and Shane scatters Harvey's ashes in the Pacific, where Jack ... where Jack ... you know."

"It's unethical as all hell," McFadden said.

"Unethical?" Saperstein replied. "Bernie, this is fucking Hollywood."

***

Shane had already lost several days of attendance interning at John James, and Carol insisted she resume work so she didn't get too far behind or risk not graduating. So reluctantly Shane went back the next morning. Her third customer her second day back was a regular who'd been in three or four times before, because she didn't have the money for a fancy, full-blown beauty salon, and used the hairdresser school's referral to its students. The customer was some sort of musician, and she and her boyfriend had a small garage band. And when they weren't playing and scuffling for gigs, she did some kind of freelance journalism thing. Her name was Alice. Shane couldn't remember her last name -- something Polish and hard to spell.

"Shane!" Alice said, when it was her turn and she came to Shane's stall from the waiting room. "I've been trying to get an appointment with you for two days! They told me you were out due to a death in the family, so please accept my condolences."

"Thank you, Alice," Shane said. "What would you like today?"

"Oh, just a wash and a blow-dry," Alice said. "And I have to be honest with you, Shane. I'm writing an article for LA Music Scenemagazine, and I know you have a connection to this Harvey Platt, according to the obituary in the papers. So after you do my hair, I wonder if we could talk about him? For my article? And I need to go to his funeral on Sunday."

"Uh, I don't know, Alice. This ... uh ... ."

Alice looked into the mirror at Shane standing behind her chair. Shane had a hand over her face, and was tearing up. Alice jumped out of the chair and went to her and hugged her.

"Gee, Shane, I'm so sorry! I didn't think ... you were really close, weren't you? The police report I read said you were just a tenant."

Shane pulled herself together. "Sit down, Alice, I'll wash your hair."

Alice stayed quiet all through her wash and dry. When they were done she turned to Shane. "Look, I'm really sorry. But I'm a journalist, and they assigned me to do this story about Mr. Platt. Would it be all right if I came to your house tonight to get some biographical information about his life? And maybe borrow a photograph, which I promise promise promise to return. Like I told you, I'm going to the funeral, too, because there's going to be this huge turnout."

Shane sighed. "Okay, yeah. Sure. What time?"

"Seven?"

"Want to come at six? I'll make us dinner. There will be a friend of mine, there, too. She knew Harvey much better and longer than I did."

"Oh, that'd be cool! Thanks!"

Shane gave Alice the address out in Topanga Canyon.

"Okay! Wow, ritzy address, girlfriend. See you at six!"

***

Shane and Carol were in the kitchen preparing dinner when Alice arrived. Shane introduced them to each other, explaining only that Carol was a long-time friend of Harvey's, and leaving out her profession as Harvey's one-time therapist and Shane's current one. Carol understood that Shane was not much of a talker, and wasn't comfortable discussing Harvey's life with a casual acquaintance such as Alice, much less an Alice wearing a journalist's hat. While they ate and Alice scribbled notes, Carol gave her a pretty thorough history of Harvey's life and musical career. They were just about finished at quarter to eight, when Bernie McFadden and Vicki Saperstein arrived for the evening's briefing and review session. Shane introduced them to Alice, and Vicki immediately took over responsibility for dealing with the media, making sure Alice got whatever she needed.

"Could I stay for the briefing?" Alice asked.

McFadden, Saperstein, Carol and Shane looked at each other warily, just as Mattie Shepherd and Barbara Cranshaw arrived.

"Tell you what," McFadden said. "How about you can stay a few minutes while we go over the funeral service planning, but then we have some financial things to discuss that I don't think would be appropriate. How's that sound?"

"Great!" Alice said.

Everyone got their coffee and tea and took their seats around the big kitchen table, with Alice perched on the counter, taking notes. McFadden led them through a summary of where they stood with regard to the autopsy, which had just been conducted and the remains turned over to the funeral home. Saperstein delivered a report on how things stood with the rabbi they'd located to officiate, the family approval of same, and the arrangements at Forest Lawn. The funeral couldn't be held on the Jewish Sabbath, which ended at sundown Saturday evening, so the burial would be at the very first available time immediately thereafter, Sunday afternoon at 1 p.m. Saperstein described her talks with representatives from the SoCal Pops Orchestra, which wanted to have a group of fifteen to twenty musicians on hand to perform; most were from Harvey's string section. This would have to be negotiated and approved by the family, but Saperstein was confident they could swing it. She had been out to Forest Lawn and met with the requisite people; there would be staff to help with parking, with handicapped attendees, with police escort presence helping with the funeral procession from the funeral home to the cemetery, and so on. It was clear this was by no means Saperstein's first big celebrity funeral, and she handled everything with calm efficiency and smoothness.

"Okay, Vicki, thanks, that was excellent," McFadden said. "I think now we need to discuss some of the estate finances. Miss Pieszecki, I hope you got all your information?"

Alice hopped down from the countertop, thanked McFadden and everyone, went to Shane and gave her an unexpected hug and repeated condolences, and left.

Shane, Carol and Mattie Shepherd had appointed themselves a subcommittee to investigate what they all called Plan B. They had compiled a list of the hospices and shelters in the city, especially those dealing with AIDS victims. There weren't many, and each had three such organizations assigned to them for discreet visits. Their objective was to locate someone recently deceased, or on the verge of dying, who was indigent or close to it, and either had little or no family, or if there was family, a family that was willing to have strangers give them a free burial service and interment at Forest Lawn. If the person happened to be Jewish, that would be best, but if not, that was okay, too. Mattie had visited all three of her locations, and had struck out, she said. Carol had only had time to visit two, and was going to visit her third and final site in the morning. Shane had also only had time to visit two, but she thought she might have something.

"There's a gay man named Hector Manuel Lopez," she reported, reading from her notes. "He's 44, dying of AIDS. He went into a coma Tuesday, and as of this morning they didn't think he was going to last out today. There's something they call a 'DNR' --"

"Do not resuscitate," McFadden said.

"--right. There's this DNR, so when he goes, that's it. One of the nurses told me he does have a family, but they are all illegal aliens, so is Hector. The family visited him a few times, but they are very afraid of the immigration people, and they are very afraid of how they are going to bury him when he goes. They don't want to fill out forms and so on, and anyway they don't have any money."

There was silence around the room. Finally McFadden broke it.

"Okay, anyone object to giving dirt-poor, gay, AIDS-infected, illegal immigrant Hector Manuel Lopez a lavish, glittering, Hollywood-style send-off at Forest Lawn?"

"America! What a country!" Saperstein exclaimed

For the first time in a week, there was laughter in Harvey Platt's house.

"We'll just have to be pretty discrete about how we handle it." McFadden noticed a look on Shane's face. "Shane, have you got a question?"

"Sort of," Shane said. "I mean, I don't know diddly about taxes and all that stuff, but it seems to me that if Harvey was alive and he heard about some poor indigent AIDS victim who couldn't afford a burial, Harvey might just have paid for the funeral himself." There were nods around the room. "So instead of keeping it quiet, how about we do the opposite? Announce that Harvey's estate has agreed to pay for Hector Lopez's funeral as a memorial to Harvey. And then there's this tax thing. If we do bury Hector Lopez, isn't that, like, a charitable donation? Wouldn't we be able to deduct it from Harvey's estate taxes?"

They all looked at each other.

***

Ways and Means: How to pull it off? It was all deceptively simple. "I know how," Shane said. "On the street there are these sleight-of-hand guys who do this card game, where they move three cards around. But they cheat, right? Well, that's what we do. We switch bodies. Harvey and Mr. Lopez."

"But who is going to do that?" Saperstein asked.

"I'll do it," Shane said. "Let me arrange it. I know how, too. All you guys have careers and reputations and you'd get in big trouble if anybody got caught. Me, I'm just a dumb 20-year-old hairdressing student. What's the worst they can do to me if I get caught? Revoke my shampoo permit?"

"Well, they can do more than that, maybe put you in jail," McFadden said.

"Yeah, but you'd bail me out, right? But anyway, this started out as my idea, and if anybody needs to be the sacrificial lamb, let it be me. Anyway, I've always wanted to bribe somebody. I mean, what girl hasn't always wanted to do that, once in her young life?"

"How are you going to do it?" Carol asked.

"Um ... how about I don't tell you, that way none of you will get in trouble if anything goes wrong. All I need is an envelope with three thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills."

McFadden and Mattie Shepherd looked at each other and nodded. "That's doable," McFadden said.

"Oh, Shane," Carol sighed. She looked around the room, pretending to wipe away a tear. "That's my little girl!" she said, proudly. "Her very first upper-middle-class, white-collar felony offense!"

Barbara Cranshaw played along, patting Carol fondly on the shoulder. "You must be so proud," she said.

***

Shane only had half a day of school the next day, and had the afternoon free. She dressed in the new formal black pantsuit outfit she'd bought to wear to Harvey's funeral, and drove to the funeral home. There was a funeral in progress, and Shane went in, mingling with all the people during the visitation. She signed the guest register book as Consuelo Lopez. At the end of the visitation she carefully studied the faces of the funeral homes attendants and staff so she would remember their faces. When everyone left the building to go out to the assembling caravan, she made careful note of who the funeral home's drivers were. After the procession left, she went back inside and went to the main office area. She introduced herself as Consuelo Lopez, and told the funeral director, an affable man named Mr. Wilkinson, that her father had died just that morning after a long illness, and she wanted the funeral home to retrieve the body and do the funeral services. They were a very poor family, she said, and couldn't afford anything fancy. She even specified the model of casket they wanted, the absolute bottom-line least expensive one they had. By no coincidence, this was also the very same style of casket planned for Harvey Platt since, by Jewish law many centuries old, caskets and other funeral items are to be as plain and unadorned as possible. The funeral home had a ready supply of just such caskets for their many Jewish funerals. Consuelo Lopez said she wanted her father's body cremated, and specified that his body be ready for transfer to the crematorium on Sunday afternoon about 12:30, because the family was going to meet the body there, and receive the ashes a short time later. She gave them the perfectly real and honest death certificate issued at the Sutton Hills Hospice where Hector Lopez had died.