Olivia's Legacy

By Sandra Toro

Olivia’s Legacy is the story of her eight enormously talented grandchildren who achieve world-renowned success in performing arts, fashion design, commercial and residential real estate, despite death threats resulting from Uncle Gilbert’s illicit drug operation. Aunt Emily Dunay inherits a massive fortune from her estranged father and creates a foundation focused on new drug development, feminist causes, and China-American relations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Toro
• Release date: Nov 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310970399

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OLIVIA’S LEGACY

A NOVEL BY

SANDRA TORO

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Sandra Toro

Copyright 2015 by Sandra Toro

Smashwords Edition

"We are destined to live together, on the same soil in the same land. We, the soldiers who have returned from battle stained with blood…say to you today, in a loud and clear voice: Enough of blood and tears. Enough!...We, like you, are people—people who want to build a home, to plant a tree, to love, to live side by side with you in dignity, in affinity as human beings, as free men….’To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to kill and a time to heal,…a time of war and a time of peace.’

The time for peace has come."

Yitzhak Rabin, Prime Minister of Israel, speaking to Yasser Arafat of Palestine, on the South Lawn of the White House, September 13, 1993.

CHAPTER ONE

April 25, 2005

Shanghai, China

45th Floor, The Dunay Palace Hotel

It’s time I finished this project, Sonia told herself as she opened her laptop. Dad wants to get it to his publisher in two months, so it can be published in conjunction with the 100th Anniversary of Olivia’s birth.

Shanghai Mission is finally in the can. She had seen the final film with all the cuts and additions on Saturday, and was satisfied to send it out for translation to a dozen different languages for distribution all over the world. It was by far the most difficult film she’d written and produced; she’d spent six months interviewing Mei-Ling Chen, the former executive assistant to Victor Sasoon--the hero of the film--and Mei-Ling’s few remaining acquaintances from before the Cultural Revolution. Mei-Ling had been married to Hua Chen, comprador to Victor Sasoon, before he was murdered by Mao’s henchmen in 1942. After her husband’s death, she become general manager of Sasoon’s enterprises until after the war when he moved his businesses to England, the United States, and Latin America in 1947.

No longer protected by Sasoon’s enormous wealth, Mei-Ling was imprisoned from1949 to 1976. And many years later, miracle of miracles, she became advisor to Sonia’s older brother, Elliot Dunay, in 1992.

Elliot, fascinated by the tales of how Shanghai and Sasoon had saved thousands of Jewish refugees from Hitler when no other nation would admit them, had sought out Mei-Ling, and though she was a very old woman, he encouraged her to write a memoir about the Jewish colony in Shanghai during the war. He had also hired her son Henry as his chief architect in China, and her granddaughter Mary Lou Chen as his own executive assistant.

May-Ling’s memoir had challenged Sonia’s imagination; she had succeeded, with the help of the tiny Ohel Moshe Synagogue, in finding the descendants of six of those families who had remained in Shanghai after the war. They had opened their hearts, homes and scrapbooks for her and before long she had the makings of a major motion picture, one that could compete with Shindler’s List.

A great deal of the credit goes to Sam, Sonia thought as she glanced at her handsome husband’s portrait on her desk. Mei-Ling had counseled Elliot that he needed a Chinese partner for his planned real estate ventures. "If you have a Chinese partner with controlling interest, at least 51%, you will find it much easier to get permits, licenses, financing, and preferred treatment from the government.

Sam Xao and Elliot had become fast friends at Yale when Elliot was getting a degree in Asian studies; he helped Elliot become proficient in Mandarin and Cantonese. Sam had also introduced him to leading businessmen, bankers, and politicians in Hong Kong and Beijing as well as Shanghai. For thirteen years the two men had been partners in every deal Elliot made in China.

And best of all, Sonia smiled and her eyes misted over, Elliot brought Sam home for Larissa’s wedding, we met, and the chemistry was overwhelming. I’ve never regretted it for a moment. He’s probably the only man in the world who could stand to be married to me!

What exactly is Olivia’s legacy, Sonia asked herself for the hundreth time. There’s the financial legacy, that’s easy enough to write about. But more importantly, the ethical legacy she’s left us. It’s a mixed bag, and her giant misstep if one can call it that (Mother and Daddy surely don’t) reverberates down through the generations. I do believe that Dad re;signed the chairmanship of Dunay years ahead of time because he was so frustrated by Uncle Gilbert, ever after they spirited him out of the country with the vow he’d never come back. Brad, my kid brother, was forced to grow up0 fast, to take the reins of a multi-national conglomerate before his thirtieth birthday. Of course, he had lots of seasoned help, all those executives Olivia had trained.

CHAPTER TWO

Brad Dunay parked his silver Ferrari half a block away from his Aunt Sasha’s spacious home in Rock Creek Park Estates, got out of the car, buttoned his suit coat and breathed deeply of the cool evening air. The mustiness of decaying leaves mixed with fireplace smoke, a not unpleasant smell. He took the flagstone steps two at a time, opened the door and made his way through the crowd of cousins, aunts and uncles. He kissed the women, patted the men on the back and returned wishes for a Happy New Year, as he strode toward the bar in the family room. He poured himself a Glenlivit on the rocks, dunked a piece of pita in a spicy humus dip, swallowed it then walked back through the noisy crowd.

He was famished, hadn’t eaten since last night about this same time. The Scotch tickled his throat and warmed his empty stomach. I needed this drink, he thought as he spied his favorite older cousin Sidney who was chatting up a stunning young woman he’d never seen before.

He buzzed Sidney on the cheek, while at the same time playfully pinching her ribs. Lookin’ good, babe. Who’s this gorgeous creature you haven’t introduced me to?

She batted his hand away. Stop being so fresh! This young lady is our brilliant cousin from Israel, Dr. Deborah Aronowitz She turned to Deborah. And this young scalawag, handsome as the devil, is not to be trusted for a moment. Our cousin, Brad Dunay.

Thanks a bunch, babe. Consider your relationship with Dunay Enterprises herewith terminated! Grinning broadly, he turned to the doctor. My mother told me about you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Tell me, how is it that we are related?

Aunt Sasha figured it out. Your great grandfather, Jacob Arnold, had an Uncle Morrie Aronowitz back in Pinsk. Sometime after Jacob immigrated to America in 1909, Uncle Morrie immigrated along with Chaim Weitzman and his group to Israel. Uncle Morrie is my great grandfather. So that makes us very distant cousins.

As she spoke, Brad sized her up. An attractive package indeed. Animated and clearly very intelligent. Tall, must be at least five ten. Slim with good boobs, great legs, lustrous dark hair, a complexion like rich vanilla ice cream. Eyes like velvet dark chocolate. And you’re working at NIH?

Yes, I’m thrilled to be here. The National Institutes of Health has the most progressive scientific research program in the world. I’m still pinching myself to be sure this is not a dream. I’ve got a three year appointment to the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development which includes research on reproductive health for both men and women.

No wonder my mom was raving about you. Family planning and reproductive health have always been her causes. But she’s focusing on AIDS research these days.

Right. That’s the scientific challenge of our generation, to find new treatments and possibly a cure for AIDS. As well as a vaccine to prevent it. That’s what motivates me.

You’ll have a great friend in my Mom. Wow! She’s motivated to the point of being driven, idealistic, up-to-date. A woman with substance and gorgeous too!

He wanted to keep her attention, and was not above a bit of name-dropping. We were privileged to be invited to the White House this week for the signing of the Declaration of Principles. What’s your take on the famous handshake between Arafat and Rabin?

I heard that many of you were there to witness it. I wish I were as hopeful as you Americans. I don’t believe the hard-liners in Israel will cooperate with Rabin. Some madman will assassinate him.

I sure hope you’re wrong, Brad said as he took her elbow and guided her toward the dining room. Let’s get some food, I’m starving.

Aunt Sasha, and his mother, Emily Dunay, had prepared a huge buffet of traditional Break-the-Fast delicacies: several noodle kugels, a huge platter of Asian-style glazed salmon with a roasted wild mushroom salad, sweet and sour red cabbage, roasted carrots and parsnips with shallot and herb butter, and for desert, a glorious white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.

After filling their plates and picking up a glass of wine, the trio found seats on the sofa in the spacious living room. Deborah raved on and on about how the Arnold family—especially Sasha and Sidney—had helped her get settled in Washington. Aunt Sasha met me at the airport, and she’d already leased an apartment for me on New Mexico Avenue. Sidney furnished it with pieces I selected from her showroom, and it’s far more luxurious than I’d ever hoped for. Uncle Louis leased a car for me, and I’ve got my trusty street map. Slowly, I’m learning my way around.

Have you done any sightseeing? Brad asked.

Yes. Every weekend I make it my business to go down to the mall area. I’ve done the Smithsonian Institution, the Mellon gallery, the Phillips gallery, and I’ve toured the White House and the Capitol. I’ve deliberately skipped the Holocaust Museum, I got enough of that in Israel.

I can’t say that I blame you for that. If you’ve spent your life in Israel, what with the suicide bombings every other week, you don’t need to see the Holocaust Museum.

Right. Have you visited Israel?

No. Brad paused, wiped his lips with his napkin, sipped his wine. Then, because it seemed that Deborah was waiting for an explanation, he added, My older brother, Doug, was killed in a suicide bombing several years ago. My grandmother Olivia sternly forbid me to go there, she was so traumatized by his death. I’ve honored her wishes.

I’m sorry. I’d forgotten that. Your mother told me about Doug’s death, a horrible thing.

Yes. It must be hard to live there with that kind of danger every time you leave your house. Do you feel safer here in Washington?

As a matter of fact, I do. If I stick with Bethesda and Northwest Washington, I feel much safer.

At that moment, Charles Dunay, Brad’s father who was the famous Senator Olivia Dunay Landow Addison’s oldest son, stepped into the living room, stood in front of the grand piano and tapped his crystal glass for attention. Though his once chestnut-colored wavy hair was now white, he looked trim and impeccably dressed in a dark suit with a paisley silk handkerchief in his breast pocket.

"Emily and I are going to San Francisco next Friday to see Jennifer in Madame Butterfly. We’ve four seats left on the plane and four seats in our box at the opera. I’ve made hotel reservations at the Fairmont Hotel. We also have reserved a table for ten at the Opening Night Gala following the performance. It will be black tie for the men, long gowns for the women. Would any of you like to come with us? We’ll leave from Washington National at ten Friday morning, and return by six in the evening on Monday. It will mean missing two days of work, but I know you’ll love watching Jennifer, and she’ll be so thrilled to have you in the audience."

Sidney’s hand shot up. I’d like to go for sure.

Scot will want to go, Brad said, always on the lookout for his cousin and best friend.

But you need to stay here and mind the store, his father replied. Brad nodded in agreement. Charles added, Sonia will be joining us from Los Angeles.

How about you, Debbie? Emily asked, looking directly at her.

Her face reddened, but she calmly answered, I don’t think I can ask for two days off so soon after beginning at NIH.

We understand, Charles said. Jen will be singing again in Philadelphia later in the spring, we’ll make sure you get to that performance.

Meanwhile, I’ll check with Larissa and Scot tomorrow, Emily added.

That’s Gilbert’s family, right? Deborah asked Brad.

Yes.

Why aren’t they here tonight?

Gilbert and Winslow—that was his wife—converted to the Episcopal religion twenty years ago. So our cousins don’t observe Yom Kippur, don’t come to this dinner. Though, I don’t know, maybe now that Winslow’s gone, Gilbert may decide he’s a Jew after all. I hate discussing this with a near-stranger, but what the hell, she’s going to hear it someday if she hangs out with us.

Sidney returned their dinner plates to the kitchen and came back with three servings of cheesecake. After finishing his dessert, Brad felt it his obligation to make the rounds of his other relatives, wishing them well and catching up on family gossip. He’d spent entirely too much time monopolizing the newest member of the clan!

But he found, after twenty minutes of socializing, he couldn’t stay away from her. Has anyone shown you Annapolis and the Chesapeake Bay? he asked as he rejoined her in the family room.

No, but I’ve heard about it. A quaint little city full of antique shops and the famous naval academy.

Yes. My grandfather, Admiral Kurt Addison, who was Chief of Naval Operations, is buried in the chapel there. And I’ve a wonderful sail boat waiting in the harbor, ready to take us out to the Bay this coming weekend. We’ve only got about four more weekends before it’ll be too cold. How about it, are you game?

When would we go?

I’ll pick you up at your apartment at eight on Saturday morning, and I’ll return you no later than midnight. How’s that?

Sounds wonderful. I’ll be ready.

Bad idea, Sidney exclaimed as she rejoined them and heard the tale end of their plans. With a big grin, she added, "You spend time with this rascal at your own risk. He has a bad reputation as a lady killer. Love ‘em and leave ‘em is his modus operandi."

You’re fired! Brad exclaimed, stern faced and not at all pleased.

I’ll take that up with Uncle Charles, Sidney impudently shot back.

I’m outta here! Brad answered, and buzzed his new found cousin on the cheek. Til Saturday morning!

Debbie drove slowly back to her apartment, thinking about the day and evening. She’dbeen unusually quiet all day, almost withdrawn, not like her usual vivacious self. Intimidated a bit, perhaps, by the multi-talented, extraordinarily wealthy Dunay family. It was hard not to like them, they were so outgoing and warm and generous.

And then there was Brad Dunay. Sleek, sexy, exuding male muscle, power and charm. He literally took her breath away, rendered her tongue-tied and unable to think clearly. She could barely respond to his attempts at conversation, let alone initiate any new subject. From the moment his eyes had locked with hers, as Sidney introduced them, she’d had a visceral reaction in the pit of her stomach. His infectious smile and laughing eyes caught hers and held them. As the evening wore on, she wanted nothing more than to be with him, alone with him, to get to know him better.

In spite of Sidney’s innuendos about his sexual promiscuity, she’d sensed a man of character, a man with a great depth of feeling and sensitivity. His six-foot-four height and broad shoulders conveyed instant assurance of strength and courage: one would be safe with him as protector, as lover.

In the ten years since she had left her parents’ home there had been several suitable men who professed an interest in her and she had dated them, each for a short period of time until the pressure to go to bed with them had become overwhelming. At that point she had broken off the relationship, unwilling to open herself up to that kind of emotional and physical vulnerability.

But she had never felt the kind of overwhelming sexual attraction she felt tonight, never felt compelled to touch a man, to invite him to touch her. She was shocked by her physical and mental feelings and had a desperate need to get her emotions under control. Surely, when she got to know him better on Saturday, these unwanted impulses would dissolve.

* * *

Charles watched with pride as his relatives seated themselves in the Lear Jet. Sasha, his mother’s younger sister, invited Rachel Arnold, her sister-in-law, to sit with her. Sasha’s husband, Louis Bernstein, followed suit by asking Samuel Arnold to join him. Though neither Sasha nor Louis had ever worked for Dunay Enterprises, their three children had all become multi-millionaires under Olivia’s direction. Their only daughter Sidney continued as the interior decorator for all their homes, and more importantly, for all their hotels, resorts, and offices worldwide. Their son Joel, and later Mark, joined Olivia in the early stages of the company and continued to manage large departments. Olivia believed in nepotism.

As he watched them seat themselves and stow their carry-on bags, he remembered the very first board meetings Olivia had insisted he participate in, even though at the time he was only a freshman in Harvard’s business school. Olivia had pulled her brother Samuel and eldest brother Albert into the company on day one. Al had started the travel agency in San Francisco and Samuel had created a very successful business in Chicago. Al was now deceased, but Samuel, though retired, continued to serve on the board of directors.

Joel, his wife Miriam, and Sidney chose to sit across from one-another at a table.

Charles invited his brother Gilbert’s son, Scot, to join him.

Emily, meanwhile, conferred with the caterer about the food which she’d ordered for the cross-country trip. She had dressed in a black St. John knit pantsuit, trimmed with white braid. Her dark hair, styled in a short bob, framed an unlined, soft sixty-year-old-face, untouched by a surgeon’s knife. Her hazel eyes, always her best feature, twinkled with joy and excitement as she greeted her family.

She set a fresh fruit and cheese tray on the table before the plane took off. The steward served drinks: fruit juice, soft drinks or Bloody Marys. Lunch would be served mid-way, Emily’s own fantastic lasagna with a green salad, followed by her lemon blueberry tiramisu.

The pilot made several announcements about weather, estimated time of arrival, and cruising altitude. Then, without further ado, he chimed: Wheels up!

Charles sat back in his seat and followed Scot’s example. He put on his earphones and turned to the channel which played operatic arias sung by—who else—his gorgeous daughter Jennifer. What a dream come true tomorrow evening would be! Little five-foot-two, dazzlingly beautiful Jen, would debut as Madame Butterfly at the famed San Francisco opera house. If only Olivia were here to see her…

An amazingly precocious child, she had decided at age eight, after seeing her first opera with Olivia, that she would be an opera star. Never for one minute did her determination or her confidence waver. She disciplined herself with intensive study of music and languages; drama and dance lessons rounded out her skills. She began winning regional and national competitions when she was still in high school. At age eighteen she’d won the right to sing a lead in three minor opera houses: Tulsa, Omaha, and Mobile. By the time she was nineteen, she’d signed a contract to appear with the Santa Fe opera. And now opening night in San Francisco!

His nephew Scot, who’d distinguished himself in business school, and then studied music composition at Julliard, was a classically trained concert pianist. He and Jennifer had always enjoyed a special bond, had always gravitated to one another at family parties. They might even have turned their relationship into a romance if their parents—and their religious training –hadn’t frowned on the idea of first cousins marrying. One hundred years ago we would have blessed the idea, but not today, not with what we now know about genetics, Charles thought as he looked at Scott in profile. A handsome young man who looked like his mother Winslow with his blond coloring, he’d inherited his musical genius from his grandfather, Claude Dunay. Claude had gone away to war in 1941 and turned up missing in action in 1945. Musical talent appears to be genetic, Charles thought. I wonder who Jen inherited her talent from?

He turned off the music, removed his earphones, and signaled Scot that he wanted to talk. What’s been going on with Brad this week? He seemed upset about something; he’s been abrupt and moody all week. I know you guys are close as thieves, do you know what was bothering him?

Scot’s face colored slightly, but he shrugged and answered, He’s all excited about his hot date tomorrow. He’s taking that distant cousin from Israel, the doctor, sailing on the Chesapeake.

Charles chuckled. His reach exceeds his grasp with that lady. I’m afraid she’s way out of his league!

On the contrary, Uncle Charles. He’s picking her up at eight and I’ll bet he’ll have her in bed by two!

Charles laughed again. No way! She’s much too bright for him!

Uncle Charles, you underestimate your son. He does ‘bright’ very well!

Changing the subject, Charles asked, Have you talked to your father lately? What’s he up to these days? It was no secret that the two brothers could barely stand to be in the same room together.

Yeah. He called several weeks ago to brag that he’d just won more than eleven thousand dollars at the track. Seems he was one of three patrons to pick a trifecta. To hear him talk, you would’ve thought he won eleven million!

So he’s still hooked on gambling…

Yeah. Though he loves his job at El Dorado, loves being the big man doing the meeting and greeting. And I’ve seen him in action; he’s good at it. He knows everyone who’s anyone in Santa Fe. He focuses on the Hollywood and Broadway crowd, all those folks Mom introduced him to.

Good. The profits from our Santa Fe operation are up thirty percent from last year, so he must be doing something right. He’s got a real knack for public relations when he concentrates on it. Charles sipped his Bloody Mary. Who runs the numbers for us on Santa Fe? You or Sally?

Sally audits that operation, I prefer not to audit my father.

Understood.

* * *

Satisfied that everyone was comfortable in the cabin, Emily Dunay took her briefcase and slipped quietly into the bedroom. She removed her shoes, sat down at the desk and pulled out a thick briefing book her secretary had prepared for her. She needed to do her homework in preparation for meetings next week of the Council of Foundations, of which she was the newly elected president, and the Bellagio Group. This was the name given to the informally-constituted group of organizations which funded worldwide health and scientific research. The Bellagio Group included representatives from foundations, non-governmental organizations, the World Health Organization, the Organization of American States, the World Bank, the United Nations, and, most important of all with its annual budget in excess of twenty five billion dollars, the National Institutes of Health. The combined scientific research funded by these groups exceeded a hundred billion dollars annually. Their representatives met twice a year to hear about promising new molecules, new delivery systems, study the result of preclinical trials, and to decide which new drugs warranted human clinical studies. They prioritized their findings, then sat around a huge conference table and essentially played God, deciding which drugs would go to the next phase of development and which ones would be discarded.

Emily sighed as she read the tragic results of a clinical study conducted in Thailand with commercial sex workers, otherwise known as prostitutes. It was commonly understood that AIDS was spread to a great extent by prostitutes in Asia and Africa. It was impossible in those countries for a prostitute to negotiate the use of a condom by her clients, to even suggest it could mean a beating or worse, death. What these women needed was a product they could use vaginally which would be undetectable. Such a cream had been developed using an old chemical with a long history of safety, a common ingredient of over-the-counter contraceptives. Unfortunately when this same chemical was applied several times a day—and prostitutes used it from five to ten times a day—it caused lesions in the vagina which allowed the AIDS virus to enter the body and blood stream. The clinical trial resulted in increased deaths