Hidden Agenda

by Laurie Larsen

  Reaching for the phone, he typed in a passcode to retrieve his messages. He’d been out of sorts all day, unable to concentrate. And he knew why. If at least one of these messages was the one he was waiting for, maybe he’d get some satisfaction.

  With the fourth message, he hit the jackpot. “This is Tom. Give me a call on my private line.”

  Getting up to shut the door, he returned to his desk and typed in Tom’s private number. He’d memorized it years ago. He scowled when he got the pre-recorded message, pressed “0” and barked at the beep, “I’m free now. Give me a call at the office. It’s …” he checked his watch … “4:23.”

  He hung up and waited, drumming his fingers on the desktop, however, staring at the phone didn’t make it ring. Pushing his chair back, he stood and wandered over to the bookcase on the adjoining wall. A photo album caught his interest and he flipped to about halfway through and stilled. A photo beckoned him: a little girl, blonde hair like her mother’s, light brown eyes like his own. They had both contributed to create the beautiful creature in the photo. It had been her first day at a new school almost two years ago. Her plaid skirt and white blouse indicated a private school. And today his girl started classes at another school. In another city. He ached with wondering. How had it gone? Had she made it safely? Who were her teachers? Would she like it there?

  The shrill ring interrupted his thoughts. He circled back to his desk and snatched up the phone. “Fontaine.” The digital read out of his clock winked at him: 4:27.

  “It’s Tom.”

  Grant let a small smile escape. Four minutes. Well within their agreement. “Whatcha got?”

  “The move was successful. She left Chicago on Friday, flew out here and stayed at the Belmont on 42nd Street till the moving van arrived late Saturday afternoon. I have the apartment address, you want it?”

  “Email it to me – encrypted, as usual.”

  “Sure. She and the girl spent the day Sunday unpacking. They left the apartment about 3 to walk around the neighborhood – got a bite to eat, returned about 6. Stayed in all night. This morning, they rode the subway to the Sheridan Street stop and walked to the Kensington Day School.”

  “That’s Caroline’s new school?” Grant jotted the name down. He’d need to check into its background, credentials, and look into their donation policies. He preferred his gifts to stay anonymous, and none of the previous schools had given him a problem with that.

  “Yes, it’s in Manhattan, south side, near the south edge of Central Park.”

  “Is it a good school?”

  Tom snorted. “If you had to guess, what would you think?”

  Grant smiled. Of course it was a good school. Alyssa was impeccable with her research of schools, neighborhoods and employers. Although he’d never met her in person, she was as careful with her parenting as he’d be.

  If he were a real father.

  A fist of pain squeezed his heart and he pushed it away. He cleared his throat. “Okay. What else?”

  “Caroline starts school at 8 AM, then Alyssa gets back on the subway and rides to Penn Station. Her new job is at McDunn and Early, a high-brow advertising agency on the corner of Madison and 31st. This looks like a good step from where she was in Chicago.”

  Grant nodded, allowed a small swelling of pride before he squelched it, as well. Alyssa’s successful climb up the career ladder had absolutely nothing to do with him. Then a thought dawned on him. “Thirty first? That’s only a few blocks from our call center.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’m there on a monthly basis at least, checking on things. In fact, I’m scheduled to go later this week.”

  “You’ll have to be careful with those visits. New York’s a big city, but it wouldn’t be impossible to run into her if you’re within the same two city blocks. I recommend sending someone else, or doing them over the phone.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, I’ve obtained her new work cell number, desk phone number and email address. I’ll include those in the email.”

  Grant sat in silence, studying the notes he’d jotted. It was enough, for now. “Tom, good job. Thanks, buddy.”

  “All in a day’s work.”

  “But you’re one of the best, you know that?”

  Tom chuckled. “The bill’s in the mail. And Grant…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Congratulations. Your little girl’s in your backyard finally.”

  His handwritten marks blurred on the paper. Grant sniffed. “I know. Time to celebrate.”

  “Have one on me tonight, pal.”

  Nothing further would be accomplished today. Grant waved to Miranda and headed out. He sped home and parked his car in the garage occupying the top two floors of his Soho high rise. He stepped onto the elevator and descended to the 14th floor – his apartment took up the southeast corner of the building, and boasted floor-to-ceiling picture windows on both corners. His view of the skyline from his vantage point on Canal Street was breathtaking. But tonight he barely gave it a glance as he drew the blinds and powered up his desktop computer.

  He accessed his private email account, and just as promised, Tom had sent him all the details about Alyssa Stark and her daughter, Caroline. Her new home address right here in Manhattan. Her work email and phone numbers. If he wanted to contact her he’d have his choice of method.

  But of course, he wouldn’t contact her. He must never contact her. She must never know about him. At least, not until Caroline was an adult and she could make up her own mind about him. Meanwhile, Tom would keep a close, yet anonymous watch on Caroline and Alyssa – snap candid pictures and videos, occasional coveted voice recordings, and send them to him electronically. And he’d have to be happy with that.

  Happy? Not by a long shot. Still, Grant had a good feeling about this. She was close by.

  After a quick dinner and a beer – after all, he’d told Tom he’d be celebrating – he changed into his running clothes, locked the apartment behind him, descended the fourteen flights to the first floor and let the night swallow him.

  Chapter Two

  “And how would you like your steak cooked, ma’am?”

  The waiter looked like he’d walked off the pages of a ritzy uniform catalogue. Black pants and bowtie with a crisp white dress shirt. Black cummerbund and patent leather shoes, so shiny you’d swear they sparkled with rhinestones.

  “Medium is fine. Thank you.” Alyssa Stark snapped her menu closed and winked at her work buddy.

  Tony rolled his eyes and groaned audibly. “I can’t believe you took me up on my extremely generous lunch offer, made safely when I thought you had a snowball’s chance in hell of landing 25 appointments in a couple days.”

  Alyssa gave him a wicked grin. She pushed the napkin covering the roll basket aside and pulled out an especially yummy looking yeast roll. “Nobody likes a sore loser, Tony. The longer you work with me the more you’ll realize that was a sucker bet.”

  Tony smirked. “Meaning?”

  Alyssa took a bite of her buttered roll and shrugged. “Piece of cake.”

  Tony froze, his eyes slowly widening. “Maybe I should’ve recorded those phone conversations of yours. What the heck did you promise them?”

  Alyssa laughed.

  “Anything you’ll have trouble delivering?”

  She grabbed a long breadstick and slapped him with it. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. Can I help it if our clients recognize an intelligent, hard-working, talented professional when they hear one?”

  Tony shook his head. “Unbelievable. Some of those inactives have been off the client list for five years or more. Some were assigned to me, back in the day. I just don’t get it.”

  Alyssa smiled. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll share some of my trade secrets with you.”

  Tony eyed her. “I have half a mind to take you up on that.”

  When the salads came, Tony said, “By the way, do you have attire for a black tie affair?”
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  Alyssa took a bite. The crisp vegetables were topped with a delicious creamy ranch dressing. “Probably. Why?”

  “The agency is hosting a formal event in a couple weeks. It’s at the Waldorf and it’s an annual thing. Only clients spending half a mill or more in billables get invited.”

  Alyssa gave a low whistle. “Do all employees come?”

  Tony chuckled. “Nope. Just the Account Execs assigned to those clients, then of course the partners and all management.”

  “Then I don’t need to worry about scaring up something to wear, do I? I won’t be on the guest list.”

  Tony shook his head. “The partners want all new Account Execs to attend their first year with the firm. They think it sets the proper incentive to work hard for it every year following.”

  Alyssa pushed her empty salad bowl away. “Hmm. So we all get one free shot, huh? How about you? Did you earn an invitation this year?”

  Tony’s smile beamed. “Yes. In fact, twice over. I wish I could put the extra in reserve so I’m guaranteed a spot in a lean year.”

  Alyssa laughed. “Congratulations. Great work.”

  The steaks arrived and Alyssa took an appreciative sniff. She moaned. “I’m going to enjoy every bite of this thing. It smells heavenly.”

  They dug into their steaks and ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you one thing about the Client Appreciation party. You need to bring a date.”

  Alyssa dropped her fork. “What?”

  “A date. You know, a member of the opposite sex, also dressed to the nines, attends with you, sees to your every need, gazes adoringly into your eyes and makes everyone in the room believe they’re head over heels in love with you.”

  Alyssa retrieved her fork and looked down at her plate. Suddenly, the steak didn’t seem so aromatic anymore. “Why?”

  “Quirk of the owners. They’re delusional if they think we can have lives with the kind of hours we work. It’s a ruse they present to the clients every year – make them think their employees are well-balanced, fulfilled human beings, and not just one-sided workaholics with no time or energy left for relationships.”

  Alyssa blinked.

  Tony let his eyes flutter to his plate. “Shit. I’m sorry, Alyssa.” He let out a long breath.

  Alyssa reached over and patted his hand. “No problem.”

  “Yes, it is. For God’s sake, you just moved across the country, uprooted your daughter and your life for this new job. Here I am scaring you half to death, making you wonder if you made the biggest mistake of your life.”

  Alyssa put her hand in her lap. “Not at all. I didn’t come here without a clue. Remember, I’ve been around the block a few times. I know exactly what I’m getting into.” He didn’t look convinced. “Believe me.”

  A few minutes passed in silence. Alyssa took a last bite of her steak and pushed the plate away. Wiping her napkin across her lips, she said, “About that blacktie... want to go as each other’s dates? Save us both the hassle of rustling up someone else.”

  “Sorry, champ. Already asked someone. And she said yes.”

  Alyssa gave him an appraising look. “So all that moaning and groaning about not having a life?”

  Tony shrugged. “Sometimes I even amaze myself.”

  Alyssa laughed. Five days in a new city, new job, getting her daughter settled, and now she needed to find a date to a company event. Like she needed more stress.

  * * * *

  Grant Fontaine rode in the backseat of his black sedan, his driver worth his weight in gold for dealing with the stress and frustration of Manhattan traffic. He finished his review of the latest sales figures and stuffed them in his satchel. Through the darkened window, a green street sign sauntered by: 29th Street.

  They were on their way to the Calibrite Electronics Call Center. He generally enjoyed the monthly excursion. It was good to get out of the Ivory Tower, closer to his customers, even if separated by a phone line and customer service rep. But now there was an added complication. It was close – a little too close. Two blocks from Alyssa Stark’s new office building.

  “Tuck,” he said abruptly.

  The driver jerked out of his concentration.

  “Stop here. I’ll call you when I want you to pick me up.”

  Tuck pulled over to the curb and Grant got out onto the sidewalk. “Here? You walking, boss?”

  “Yeah.” Grant patted the car and waved. He merged into the line of intent pedestrians on the crowded sidewalk, his mind wandering to a building a few blocks away. The dynamics of his carefully managed situation were changing. She was here now – in his neighborhood, so to speak.

  What would it be like to see her in person for once, instead of a periodic digital photo sent encrypted by a private eye on retainer?

  As he passed McDunn and Early, he found himself veering out of the mass of humanity, reaching the door and lingering out front. His heart raced and his hands felt a little shaky. What was he doing? He should be avoiding this building like the plague, and yet he’d planted himself right here. Tempting fate. But why?

  The handle to the building’s big front door jabbed him in the elbow as he got jostled by a passerby. He grabbed it and opened it, ducking inside to seek refuge from the idiocy of the streets. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he wandered over to a bench and sat. Rubbing his temples with his fingers helped alleviate the ache that had set there.

  He chided himself for so carelessly aborting the mission he and Tom had nurtured for several years. A change of this magnitude should not be made without analysis. A brief interlude of sentimentality, that was all. He’d allowed himself to get emotional and he’d gotten lackadaisical. Now, he’d put an end to it.

  He stood and strode to the door. As he opened it, a couple walked in. He stood back to allow them to pass and his gaze swept over the woman’s familiar face. Meticulous blond hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, full lips painted an attention-grabbing red, flawless rosy complexion. Alyssa.

  A dart of adrenaline hit his heart, his pulse rate doubling. Get a hold of yourself. Don’t show anything. She’ll pass by and not even know. He forced a mask of ambivalence and stepped through the doorway.

  “Mr. Fontaine?”

  He froze.

  The man accompanying Alyssa stepped back outside and approached him, hand outstretched. Grant fought to remain calm, not allowing his expression to betray his warring emotions. “Yes?”

  He gripped Grant’s hand in an enthusiastic shake. “Tony White. McDunn and Early? We met a few years ago at the St. Luke’s fundraiser.”

  Grant only realized he was squeezing the man’s hand too tightly when White winced. Grant released it. “Of course,” he said, although he was having trouble remembering the meeting. “Mr. White. Good to see you again.”

  “May I introduce our newest Account Executive, Alyssa Stark?”

  Alyssa stepped up to him, a foot away. The enormity of the moment rushed to Grant’s head and made him sway on his feet.

  “Hi, I’m pleased to meet you.” Alyssa held her hand out and he forced his own to reach out and grab it.

  A sweet scent reached him on the slight breeze -- Alyssa’s perfume? Despite all the research, the pictures, the reports, even videos, he’d never known (or thought to care) what scent she wore. Why was he intrigued with it now?

  He was vaguely aware of words spoken by Alyssa and White, but he had trouble concentrating on anything other than Alyssa’s face, so familiar to him after seeing it captured on film so many times over the last four years.

  He thought of the call he’d need to make to Tom and how badly he’d botched their mission. If he got away quickly, maybe it was salvageable. “I have to go,” he blurted.

  Alyssa and White quieted, looking curiously at him.

  “Sorry. I’m late for a meeting.”

  They both nodded – of course they assumed he had an important meeting. He was President of Calibrite Electronics, after
all. They murmured their good-byes, Grant darted onto the sidewalk, and grabbed his cell phone from his pocket to call Tuck for a pick-up.

  When he arrived at his office a half hour later, Grant closed the door, ensuring the privacy he’d need to talk to Tom. Damn it. After leaving a voicemail, the minutes were ticking away without a return call from him. Tom knew that when he called, he needed to drop whatever he was doing. Grant’s retainer to Tom’s firm ensured that he got primary consideration.

  When his desk phone rang he snatched it up, his emotions at a point of boil. “Fontaine.”

  “Hi, it’s Tom.”

  “Damn it, Tom. You know our agreement. You’re not to keep me waiting when I call and leave a message.”

  There was a slight pause on the other end. “Calm down. I’m within our fifteen minute guideline.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. We have a crisis on our hands.”

  Grant pictured Tom taking a deep breath to prevent a response formed in the heat of the moment. Their relationship was an odd one – often friendly, sometimes volatile, faceless voices connecting over a phone line. But Tom knew when to joke around and when to get down to business.

  “What’s going on? How can I help?”

  “I met Alyssa today.”

  “What?” The word exploded in his ear and Grant controlled an impulse to wince.

  “You heard me.”

  Tom stuttered over his reluctance to believe what Grant had just told him. “You met her? How?”

  “I was out and passed by her building. My curiosity overcame me. I had no intention of coming face to face with her until her colleague recognized me and introduced me to her.”

  Tom’s silence spoke volumes, making Grant speak again to fill it. “The question now is do I just drop it?” He stammered at the intensity of the thoughts that had been reeling around in his head since their meeting.

  “Are you kidding me? That’s not the question. The question is, why did you put yourself in this position? We’ve been monitoring her for years and complete anonymity was always Priority One. We’ve managed to stay in her background. Now suddenly things have changed.”