by Don Potter
I shrugged. “I guess all that comes to mind right now is: ‘Apart from that, Missus Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?’”
I heard Vince snort as he tried to control what I guess was a mixture of laughter and outright shock. And while they were all stunned, it was time to lay all the cards on the table and let them decide if they wanted to play.
“Here’s the scoop. Mike Hunter at Burger King was arrested for sexual offences with a minor. It appears he was involved in some kind of country-wide pedophile porno ring. Burger King has it wrapped up tight right now, but everyone associated with Mike Hunter, even if it’s just a name in his address book or on his calendar, is considered tainted and is being cleansed. We didn’t lose Burger King, some guy with a predilection for humping young girls took it away from us.”
“What about Acura?” Jerry demanded.
“To use one of the most tired phrases in the business, they went in a different direction. This was seemingly sparked by financial considerations. It’s a bit like a pioneer wagon train unwittingly heading into hostile Indian country; they need to find a safe haven. So the higher-ups in Japan went for safety: the long-time relationship of the Honda agency. They look at this move as cutting costs through consolidation.”
“Goddamn Japs,” Jerry grumbled. “They pulled another Pearl Harbor sneak attack on us.”
“Arnold Binder at Acura promised to withhold the news until Monday. So we have a little time.”
“To do what?”
I’ll give Jerry credit, he was relentless, a major pain in the ass, but relentless. I pulled a sheet of folded paper from my pocket, opened it flat and slid it across the table. “My apologies for not having a copy for each of you, but there wasn’t time. I scribbled down some numbers while I was away from the meeting.”
Jerry snatched at the paper, read it and passed it on. He was bursting to say something but waited until everyone had read the paper.
“And, just what is this?”
“An offer to buy out Carlson Communications.”
“Who wants to buy us?”
“Trip Wilson of ConCom, and it’s a very generous offer.”
“It is, is it? What’s the angle?” Jerry asked.
“The deal I made is simple. Everything has to be finalized by end of business today, before news gets out to the trade that we lost Acura and that there will be no Burger King.”
“I hope Trip Wilson doesn’t know about Burger King and Acura. That could sully the deal,” Jerry screamed.
“Had to disclose it,” I said. “No one else officially knows. The deal would have blown up otherwise. That’s all factored into the selling price. He still wants the network of US offices and the foothold in Europe that his close friend and confidant, Nancy Gates, is responsible for. I would suggest you get an agreement typed up and each of you put your John Hancock on it and fax a copy over to Wilson without delay.”
I thought Jerry Madsen had risked cracking a smile, but it might have been gas. “That’s some pretty wild wheeling and dealing, Rob.”
I was back to being Rob rather than Fleming again. “There are two other things I would like to bring up before we end this meeting. The first one is I, Robert Fleming, as of today, in fact this very minute, hereby resign from my position as chairman and CEO of Carlson Communications.”
That really shut them up.
“I’ll have my attorney talk to Carlson’s general counsel. They’ll bicker, dicker and haggle, and everybody make money, especially the attorneys. Thank you folks, it’s been swell.”
I closed my briefcase and turned to leave.
“Wait a minute,” the indefatigable Jerry Madsen called out. “Two things. You said you had two things.”
“Apologies, I got caught up in my own drama,” I answered. “The second point is, you will need someone to replace me and I have the perfect candidate in mind.”
I paused to let Jerry ask the question and he obliged. “Who?”
“That’s easy, Jerry. I nominate Nancy Gates.”
I gave them all a half-hearted salute and left Carlson Communications for the last time.
55
Eighty-three women and seven men are assaulted at a Las Vegas Tailhook Symposium. Serial killer Ted Bundy is executed in Florida’s electric chair. Garth Brooks releases Ropin’ the Wind. And Rob starts a new life, soon.
* * *
Vince phoned me at my hotel suite. It was late and he was drunk. I was a bit buzzed myself. “Compadre, you sure as hell know how to put on a show,” he said.
“I pride myself on my timing,” I said.
“You should have been there after you left. It was chaos, everyone talking and shouting and yelling for attorneys.”
“Did they manage to pull it all together?”
“Finally, and Trip Wilson was on the phone, shouting orders and letting everyone know that Carlson Communications now belongs to him. I’m not sure this fact sunk in with the Board members. They were too worried about how much money they would make on the deal. That’s sad.”
“Is it really? Carlson had a good run for a long time.”
“We never cracked the big leagues, though, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
“Don’t get maudlin, Vince. We had a great time, did fine work, made some good money, dumped a mess into Trip Wilson’s lap and now it’s time to move on. My only concern is for the people who are going to lose their jobs, not the Board members. They’ll be just fine. I feel bad about the situation for the workers in each office, particularly in Pittsburgh. For their efforts and loyalty, they deserve more than a couple of weeks’ severance pay and a hasty goodbye.”
“It’s not going to happen overnight.”
“No but the writing’s on the wall. Most of them won’t be around this time next year.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stay in bed late, eat cookies, watch sports and mindless movies on TV and, most important, spend time with my wife. You?”
“Order another martini. We’re way too young to retire.”
“Who knows, maybe I’ll start my own agency one day.”
“Let me know when you do and I’ll be there.”
“You’re a New Yorker, Vince. To you, the sun rises over the Hudson and sets over the East River. But if I do decide to start my own shop, it’ll be in Los Angeles so I can be there for Ginger. My primary responsibility is to be her advocate and be present so I can be sure she’s safe and comfortable while trying to bring some joy to her life.”
“I appreciate your commitment to Ginger, but you and I are adman, Rob. If you want to start up a new agency, call me and I’ll be on your doorstep the next morning.”
“Thanks, Vince. Let’s have breakfast tomorrow before I fly home.”
“Look forward to it. Good night.” I hung up and checked the time. It was a few minutes before midnight. I was exhausted, drained, and the bed looked so inviting. I unbuttoned my shirt and was heading for the bathroom when there was a tap on the door. At this time of night in a hotel I would usually have peeked through the security peep-hole to see who it was. But I didn’t because I knew who it was. I opened the door.
Nancy Gates stood in the doorway beaming a professional smile. And she looked perfect. Her hair was lustrous, her lips an unfair glistening scarlet and her dress, a deep emerald green, graced an athlete’s tensile body. She held a bottle of champagne in her hand, Armand de Brignac Ace of Spades Brut. Expensive, you wouldn’t waste it on a wedding or a ship launch.
“I thought you were in Europe. It’s late, Nancy. Nearly midnight.”
“I’m not wearing glass slippers and I won’t turn into a pumpkin carriage with six white mice.” She beamed her smile again. “You’re supposed to be a gentleman and invite me in.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’m getting cold, Rob, and the champagne’s getting warm. To answer your question as to my whereabouts, I was on my way back to the States
when you held that rip-roaring Board meeting. If I had known how exciting it would be, I would have taken an earlier flight.”
I stepped to one side and she glided past. If I hadn’t moved she would have gone right through me. I heard the cork pop as I closed the door and when I turned to face her, the champagne was spilling from the bottle. Most women would have gotten flustered and shrieked for a glass. Not Nancy. She raised the bottle, put it to her lips and let the champagne foam into her mouth. And her eyes stayed locked on mine.
“I hope you wipe your cooties off the rim before you pour me a glass,” I said.
She didn’t, instead she offered me the bottle and said, “Dear me, I can’t find a glass anywhere.”
I drank. It was very good champagne, too good to drink out of the bottle. She moved to the sofa, settled in slow motion and patted the cushion next to her. “We have things to say to each other.”
I found a couple of glasses, poured champagne into them, gave her one and sat next to her, at a discretionary distance.
“My little boy’s had a busy day.”
“I’m not your little boy; and, yes, it was eventful.”
“But I’m a little disappointed.”
“At being made chairman?”
“Woman, chairwoman. And CEO.”
“Spare me the tedious gender hair-splitting.” Her scent caught me. It was musky, primitive. Something that loosened laws and dismissed morals. “Call yourself queen, if you like. I don’t care.”
“My disappointment is that it came so easily.”
“Oh.”
“Every dog has its day, even the bitches?”
“Nancy, stop it. You always wanted the job.”
“I always wanted you but decided to settle for your job instead.”
She had moved closer. It was almost an imperceptible movement and I felt her warmth, a close, primitive heat. And the scent was stronger. “Why did you quit?”
“It was time.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
She sipped her champagne in a delicate motion that showed her even white teeth. All the better to bite you with. And she was closer still. “It was not how I imagined it. I saw more of a fight. You and I locked together until one of us surrendered.”
“Can’t have everything.”
I had forgotten my shirt was unbuttoned until her hand brushed my chest. “Why not, Rob? I want everything, and I usually get what I want.”
She kissed me and I responded. There was such wicked promise in those lips, and I kissed her again. Then stopped and pushed her away.
“You don’t want to make love to me?” she asked.
“Whatever you and I did together, Nancy, it would never be called making love.”
“All right. You don’t want me?”
“I’m not interested in gladiator combat. Besides the cost is too high.” I stood and moved toward the door.
She stood and came to me. “What’s wrong with that? To the victor go the spoils. One left standing, the other on their knees.”
“From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.”
“My goodness,” she feigned astonishment. “A veritable man of letters.”
“A plagiarist. Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce said it when he knew things weren’t working out well. My whole life I’ve wanted to find a time to use phrase.”
I opened the door. “There’s something far more important in my life than a fight with you.”
“Carlson Communications?” she asked. “That belongs to me now, remember?”
“Nothing’s more important than my wife,” I said. “My wife and my family come first from now on.”
I ushered her out and closed the door, but her perfume and presence lingered, the air vibrated with Nancy Gates. A close and dangerous heat was now gone.
It was nearly one AM, but I was unable to sleep. The overwhelming events of the day, topped off by the late night visit from Nancy, shot me full of adrenalin. I tried sleeping but just tossed and turned. Maybe a walk around Gateway Center for the last time would settle me down enough to fall into the arms of Morpheus and get some much needed sleep before catching a noon flight back to Los Angeles.
I quickly dressed and headed down to the now deserted lobby. The night air sent a chill through me, so I hastened my pace as I walked around the perimeter of the complex. A car screeched to a stop next to the sidewalk and two men jumped out, both Black. One pointed a gun at me while the other quickly searched me.
“I don’t have any cash with me,” I said holding my hands in the air.
The man searching me said, “He’s right. He ain’t got nothin’ on him.”
“How ‘bout a watch?” the one with the gun asked.
“Yeah, he got one.”
“Take it.”
“Please don’t,” I pleaded. “My father gave me that as a graduation present.”
“Shut up,” the man said and hit me on the head with the barrel of his gun.
That was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in a bed at Allegheny General Hospital, just across the river from Gateway center, with tubes in my arm and a monitor blinking and beeping as my head ached and the room spun. I pushed the call button and a nurse arrived a few minutes later.
“How did I get here?”
“Someone brought you to the ER. They said you were mugged.”
“Oh yeah. I was robbed and I think the guy with the gun hit me with it. Where’s my watch?”
“The robbers must have taken it. The only things on you were a room card and a packet of business cards, which were found in your coat pocket, Mister Fleming.”
“When can I get out of here? I have a plane to catch.”
“You’re here until the Neurologist signs the release papers.”
“Today?”
“I have no idea. That blow on the head left you with a concussion. So just lie still and don’t get yourself worked up.”
On the second day I was released. I wanted to thank the man who may have saved my life. It wasn’t easy to garner the information. But I had served on a committee with the current chief of police and he got me what I wanted. I called the number and talked to my Good Samaritan.
He agreed to meet me at the Hilton before going to work as a bartender at a downtown restaurant. He was Black as were my attackers. I didn’t care what color he was, this man was a Godsend. I tried to give him a hundred dollars for his efforts, but he refused saying, “I’m glad I came along when I did. It was my pleasure to help you in your time of need.”
On the trip to LA, I had plenty of time to think about how I tended to lump people into groups rather than consider them as individuals. This was especially true with my feelings about Blacks. Clearly I was prejudiced towards them. Did it begin back in my childhood when I heard adults make derogatory racial comments, even though I never had personal contact with Blacks growing up? Or was it when Shelly devoted so much time to her Black cause, to the exclusion of my needs? Then she took up with a Black guy. I hated both of them for doing that to me. A flood of feelings surfaced after the two Black thugs robbed and beat me a couple of nights ago. But then there was the man who came to my rescue as I lay unconscious on the sidewalk. He was Black. This one simple act of kindness prompted me to reconsider my thinking.
After all, I got over my fear of homosexuals, even though Jeff Newmar’s pass at me in Ocean City caused the process to be slow. Thinking about my anger following the mugging made me realize I had to let go of the underlying resentments that distorted my perception of people. What a profound awakening!
56
The Dow surpasses 3,000 for the first time. Freddie Mercury, lead singer of the band Queen, dies of AIDS at forty-five. Tupac Shakur releases 2Pacalypse Now. And Rob considers his new life.
* * *
My mother died the way she lived, quietly and without fuss. The caregiver said she was reading, sto
pped, handed her the book and said she wouldn’t need it anymore. An hour later she died in her bed while taking a nap. She and Dad were childhood sweethearts and they had rarely been separated. He went to work at Westinghouse, the only employer he ever had, and came home every day to his wife. They preferred each other’s company, although they were eager participants in church and community affairs. She told me once that if Dad died first she would follow him soon after. Mom did and now they were together forever, and I had lost my parents.
When I was a young man there were times when I thought them boring and unimaginative. Now I see they had a great love for each other. It was a devotion I had not encountered in my own life, and now might never experience. I envied them. I shed tears at her funeral, and more than a few of them were for me. One of the hymns they played was a favorite of hers and I remembered singing it in church when I was a kid. “Now the day is over, Night is drawing nigh; Shadows of the evening, Steal across the sky.”
With a kid’s simple logic I had always imagined it to be just a song about the day ending. But it wasn’t, at least not at this point of my life. God willing, I had a long way to go yet, but the shadows of the evening were stealing across my sky. I couldn’t see them clearly, but I knew they were there.
Two weeks later, Doctor Scanlon’s poker face stared at me across his desk. “We were lucky,” he said.
We? Was that the royal we or the collective one? “I wouldn’t call Ginger falling in the shower and bouncing her head off the tiles lucky.”
“Ginger was lucky that you were there to help her and there was no serious harm done.”
“If you exclude the black eye.”
“That will heal. What was also lucky, or at least fortunate, is that MRI showed a small non-calcified mass in her brain. It seems to be benign but we would not have known about in the regular course of things. Odd luck.”