The Anything Goes Girl (A Brenda Contay Novel Of Suspense Book 1)

by Barry Knister

  “We want you to do the story,” she said. “After all, it’s yours. You lived it and almost died from it. Otherwise, there’d be some all-wrong absence of poetic justice. We’d like you to study these documents over the next several days, and work out a format. We’ll contact the Times, the Washington Post, all the networks. Whatever you want. Every time something like this happens, industry sends out flak-catchers like me to guide the spin and insulate upper management. We propose doing otherwise. We’re going with a full root canal on this. You can have access to anyone, for as long as you want. All on the record.”

  To gain time, Brenda reached down and buttered some toast. “Is there any juice?”

  McIntosh stood and went to the cart. Dressed in an off-white linen suit, she looked like a well-groomed attendant. What had she said? What was the real purpose behind her flight from Arizona? Brenda watched her pour orange juice.

  “How’s the poison pill operation going?”

  McIntosh stopped pouring to look at her, surprised.

  “The takeover play? Pure coincidence.” She finished pouring the juice. “Unrelated. The grab for Neff necessitates sale of resources. Our new discovery makes GENE 2 valuable, with or without bad publicity. Two other holdings are being sold as well. By no means is it a done deal. The takeover group’s very powerful and determined. Our GENE 2 investors know I’m here and what I’m doing. To be honest, that’s part of the reason for this full-disclosure plan. We have enough problems without the SEC charging we lied to investors.”

  She handed over the juice before seating herself again. She crossed shapely legs. “Hard to believe, I’m sure. But if you looked at Neff’s balance sheet, it’d make good financial sense. GENE 2 will never be worth more, and isn’t really suited to our mix. We’d probably have sold it off eventually.”

  “You found a cancer cure, but would probably have sold off the company,” Brenda said. “Eventually.”

  “If you want to suggest ulterior motives, go ahead. Personally, I think it would weaken your story. Sale of GENE 2 has been in the works for three weeks.”

  The juice’s color reminded Brenda of yellow jackets.

  “We’ve made some ridiculous mistakes,” McIntosh said. “In Hawaii, for starters. Someone there accidentally allowed a case of pre-treatment syrup to end up in a storeroom at our research site. They were serving it up in the cafeteria for eight months. The locals thought the sickness came from outer space.”

  The woman shook her head again, and downed the last of her coffee.

  “That’s really about it,” she said. “We want you to do the story, but we want it done right. With all the information. If you want to know the spin we’ll put on it, our stance will be this. It’s time for Corporate America to be proactive when a mistake is made. We propose to benchmark the process. It won’t neutralize what we’ve done, but full disclosure, everyone up front and no excuses—well, that’s our hope. Without a choice, that’s how we hope to upside what we can.”

  McIntosh reached down to her handbag and snapped it open. She took out an audio cassette and placed it on the coffee table next to her empty cup.

  “That’s the tape of you we bought,” she said. “Obviously, we’d rather you didn’t mention it. We could say we bought it to protect you, but we won’t. We could also claim we had Vince Soublik’s cooperation. That he knew the syrup he took out to Pirim contained the pre-treatment. We won’t do that, either. In other words, Brenda, full disclosure means just that. The story’s yours to develop as you see fit.” She got her purse and attaché case and stood.

  “What’s the window?” Brenda asked, using McIntosh’s PR jargon.

  “We figure it’ll take time to work out a format. You’ll want satellite transmission, that’ll need time setting up. You’ll want to conduct interviews with our people in Phoenix. Assuming you want to fly back to Pohnpei, you can tell your affiliate that’s on us. I have an open-ended budget, so go full bore, Brenda. When I say ‘benchmark’ that’s what I mean. The most complete, self-actualized corporate confession of bungling likely to come down the pike for some time.”

  Betsy McIntosh ran her hand triumphantly through her hair, just as she had in her Euro-efficient Phoenix office.

  “What if I say no?” Brenda asked. “What’s the downside, Betsy?”

  “Well,” she said, flapping the expensive case against trim knees, “if you give an honest account of what I’ve said, and show all this information to your station director, I doubt that can happen. If it does, what choice have we got? We’ll find someone else. You’d probably end up being interviewed by a competitor. Pretty pointless, I’d say. We’re going ahead, we’re committed. You went through something awful and should get something out of it besides rehab. You decide. Call me in a few days, I hope we’ll work together.”

  She walked to the door, opened it and turned. “Brenda?”

  “Betsy?”

  “I like you. I genuinely do. You may not care for the idea right now, but I think we’re much the same. Even down to being left-handed.” McIntosh smiled broadly, stepped out and closed the door.

  Brenda sat back in the couch. McIntosh had meant it. She thought she had won, she wanted to shake hands and gloat.

  The only way to explain it was to assume she knew nothing of what Lindbergh had said on the plane to Detroit. Because he’s not a team player, Brenda thought. He’s working on his own. He had talked about protecting his investment, then casually referred to three murders. He had done it to scare her, for his own reasons.

  She took up the plate of now-cold poached eggs and bacon. McIntosh had made several references to a long prep time before the story went public. So that it was done right, professionally. Interviews, production values, on-site visits.

  That’s it, Brenda thought as she ate. Time. That’s what she cares about. After something happens, McIntosh won’t give a damn what gets told.

  At ten she showered, then got the manila folder with McIntosh’s business card. It would now be after eight Mountain Time in Phoenix, and McIntosh would not be back in Phoenix for several hours. Brenda called the number, and the secretary answered.

  “Oh, Miss Contay, I hear you’re much better,” she said. “Has Betsy seen you yet? She’s got big news.”

  “This morning. I’m very impressed. She promised access to anything we need.”

  “Everyone here has been told that. Complete cooperation.”

  “Since we’ll be treating this in depth, I’d like everything you’ve got on those involved. By the way, any news on Bob Ehrlich?”

  “I wish it were better,” the secretary said. “Mr. Ehrlich is still in intensive care.”

  “I’d like you to send along his personnel file. I assume you keep clippings, house-organ stories.”

  “We have all that, anything you want.”

  “And the scientist I met in the islands, he’s important. Calvin Moser.”

  “M-o-s-e-r. Got it. I’ll send by courier service. You’ll have everything this afternoon.”

  “Also Betsy McIntosh.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your boss. I think she’s been crucial to GENE 2’s change of policy, don’t you?”

  “You know, you put your finger on it, Miss Contay. Betsy argued for this from the beginning. I think she’s a hero.”

  “It’s a surprise, so don’t tell her,” Brenda said. “I’m planning a separate story on her. The-woman-behind-the-truth kind of thing.”

  “That’s wonderful. She really can be…she can be a very generous person. Sure, I’ll make copies of those three files. Anything else?”

  “For now, just those three. As I say, I’d like my piece on Betsy to be a surprise.”

  “Okay, mum’s the word. I can’t wait to see the story.”

  Brenda hung up, then turned off the room’s lamps. Her father had enjoyed no success in setting an example, but he had never stopped trying. That, she now realized, had been his own hidden agenda.

  ◆◆◆◆◆


  At eleven she called Renee at the Marriott.

  “Are you crazy?” Renee sounded more relieved than angry. “I called Mercygrove, they said you were missing. I tried to reach Ned. I called your apartment, the station—”

  “I’m sorry, Ren. Ned drove me back to Southfield last night. I knew Haffner wouldn’t give me another pass. I needed to see someone.”

  “Your doctor’s very upset.”

  “Call him, would you? Tell him I’m all right. I’ll explain when I get back.”

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  “He reminds me of my father.”

  “Coward.”

  “You’re right, I am.”

  As she hung up, an ugly thought occurred to her. What if Calvin Moser had known his phone patch would be monitored? She saw him on the edge of the taro garden—smiling, filled with pride. In his lab, he had pulled down his research logs and shown her his discovery. Can you keep a secret?

  She mustn’t let feelings get in the way. He could still be working with GENE 2. We lied to you, Cal, they would say. That was wrong, but you’re covered. We’ll showcase your own research, make it up to you. Think of all those kids who need a role model besides someone with a great jump shot.

  At one, Ned called from Metro Airport. He had gotten lucky with traffic in New York, and had caught the last morning flight back to Detroit.

  “Is Morris with you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  It surprised her. “You showed him the tape?”

  “I’ll explain when I get there.”

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  An hour later, Ned pulled up before the Radisson entrance. Brenda stepped from the lobby, got in and slammed the door. “I’m running you pretty hard,” she said.

  “This is true.” Still in last night’s clothes, he looked tired. Ned swung down onto the service drive that would get them on the Reuther Expressway.

  “What about Morris?” she asked.

  “Very pissed.”

  “I knew he would be, but I was sure he’d come back with you.”

  “He had one of those neck braces on, for whiplash.”

  She looked at him. “Morris doesn’t drive,” she said. “He was faking. Stalling.”

  “Brenda, he didn’t know I was coming. It happened yesterday, in a cab. He was on his way to play squash. He had a morning appointment with an orthopedist, I went with him. They had a VCR in the waiting room, actually it was embarrassing. All these patients watching. He’s coming this afternoon. What is it with your mother, anyway? He was scared shitless.”

  “Do you remember those old ads for Memorex audio tape?” she asked. “Someone sings, and a glass breaks? Think of that in terms of the power to cause guilt.”

  Morris would come. Because of his rebellious older sister, their mother had raised him on a short leash, and he still feared her. Her cruise would end in a few days. She wouldn’t have dropped her bags before a neighbor would be banging on her door, holding the Times article.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  “It’s not acceptable.”

  Hands folded in front of her, Brenda stood before Haffner’s desk. She was sweating again, and felt foolish. Gordon Poole had produced the same feeling at Davison, calling her into his office, asking why she was leaving school. The effect of a father.

  “You’re our patient,” Haffner said. “I was there last night, so I know something of what you’re involved with. But it doesn’t matter. Not here.”

  “I know.”

  “If you leave again without permission, I’ll discharge you. Believe me, you aren’t ready, but I’ll have to do it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Fine. Go get some rest.”

  She fought down an urge to salute, turned and left his office. Patterson was not at her desk. Minutes after she reached her room, an elderly dietitian came with a tray. Brenda ate, then stretched out on her bed. It was like being home. She fell asleep.

  At four, she woke facing the second twin bed. Renee was again propped up, reading a journal of some kind. “Good, you’re awake,” her friend said. “You got a package.” She handed over a thick mailer with a courier-service logo.

  Brenda broke open the package. Inside were the three personnel files. She handed Ehrlich’s to Renee and quickly leafed through Calvin Moser’s. Nothing caught her eye.

  She was just starting on McIntosh’s file when Morris came through the entry. He was wearing his whiplash brace and looked angry.

  “Sorry about your neck,” Brenda said.

  For perhaps three beats, Morris’s indignation gave way to alarm. She saw he had a speech ready, but wouldn’t be able to use it. His preppy seersucker suit made him look like an upscale convict.

  “Come on, Morris. Say hello to Renee.”

  Renee waved from the second bed. He nodded from the waist and pivoted back. “I’ll be fired, of course,” he said, trying for matter-of-fact and wounded at the same time. “Shit-canned. I hope it makes you happy.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is that right? What don’t you think? It’ll make you happy, or I’ll be shit-canned?”

  Brenda reached into McIntosh’s file and drew out a still photo of McIntosh standing next to her desk, looking corporate. She held it up for Morris to see. “Do you recognize her?”

  He glared at her for several seconds before looking at the glossy. Morris frowned. “Yeah. So what?”

  “How?”

  “In the office. I’ve seen her, that’s all. She’s been there.”

  “A client?”

  “I’ve seen her, that’s all.”

  “She’s the PR director for GENE 2.”

  “Good for her.” Morris was back on track now, being Morris. “So I’m here,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “Tell me about the group buying GENE 2.”

  “It’s several board members from Neff,” he said. “After the deal, GENE 2 will be a separate entity. No longer affiliated with Neff. Just before the papers are signed, those directors will resign from Neff’s board. They’ll own GENE 2 and no longer be connected with the parent company. Happy now?”

  She followed it, sort of. “Isn’t the sale meant to raise cash to fight the takeover?” Her brother seemed to think about it. “Come on, Morris. What else?”

  “Jeff Hotchkiss,” he said. “His shop’s working with them. The takeover group.”

  “And?”

  “All these investors, the consortium doing the buyout. Jeff says the composition’s weird. People from Texas, Arizona. Most of them have cut deals with Minot’s companies. Business is business, but Jeff doesn’t see these people making a play for Neff. It doesn’t figure. He says the group is just going through the motions. Getting loans, liquidating assets. Buying blocks of stock. But they aren’t moving on it, it’s half-hearted. Neff sells assets, declares a special dividend to make their stock less valuable. If you really wanted to take Neff over, you’d move on it.”

  Time. There it was again. Morris looked at her now, curious. “She’s been there, too,” he said.

  “McIntosh?”

  Morris nodded stiffly. “Hotchkiss mentioned her, said she was good-looking. She’s been at his shop. She’s at ours, seeing to the sale of GENE 2, then across the street as part of the buyout team.”

  “Here’s something.” Renee reached over with a pamphlet from Robert Ehrlich’s file.

  An in-house GENE 2 newsletter, from the previous year. On the cover was a photo of Robert Ehrlich, standing at a lectern. Next to him on an easel rested a poster blowup of Russ Minot, the standard picture of him on horseback. The article was titled “Our Next Senator?”

  Renee got up and brought the straight chair from between the dressers to the foot of Brenda’s bed. She took Morris by the arm and helped him sit.

  “Your friend Hotchkiss doesn’t think this takeover’s very aggressive,” Brenda said. “Could it be faked?”

  “People bluff if they want to inflate a stock’s value,
” he said. “That’s not happening.”

  She looked at the newsletter photo and skimmed the article. The Neff “family” was starting a “Draft Russ” campaign, gearing up to seek his nomination as an independent candidate. Minot had insisted he was just a businessman, but the article described a groundswell of support aimed at urging him to run. It was time for new blood, fresh ideas.

  She looked at her brother and could tell he was in pain. “What do you know about Minot’s politics?”

  “Mister Clean,” he said. “Your basic billionaire Everyman. Loves animals, loves the ‘little guy.’ Hates Big Government. Hates regulation. His favorite word is integrity. Every other sentence, he’s talking level playing fields. A fair shake for people who play by the rules. You’re in news, you tell me.”

  If Morris was going to get shit-canned, he should have a reason. Brenda held up the newsletter. “The article describes how Minot’s loyal Neff family is pleading with him to go into politics,” she said. “The guy at the lectern is Robert Ehrlich. The man on the tuna boat with me. I think Minot’s using people like Ehrlich to run interference. He wants to be Senator Minot, then President Minot. Not just another billionaire CEO. He must have lots of loyal people like this Ehrlich. Not to mention high-roller sunbelt supporters. He wants to be president, but it has to come from the people. He can’t go after it like a real politician, that’s not how a little-guy billionaire operates. He has to be drafted.”

  Morris’s eyes shunted back and forth, reading. “What do you think?” Brenda asked.

  He stopped reading and stared over her shoulder. “If you had that kind of money…”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s this woman, McIntosh,” he said. “Running up and down the block. Our shop, Jeff’s. You say GENE 2 is looking at some bad publicity.”

  “If I get my way.”

  “Like what?”

  “Selling out island people, getting them to sign contracts. Making it legal to use them for medical research.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Feeding them soda pop laced with drugs that make some of them crazy. Causing the death of a Peace Corps Volunteer. Seeing to it everyone on the island got stung by wasps infected with a breast cancer virus. All legal.”