Like to Die

by David Housewright

  “Anyway, I don’t think Bobby likes me,” she said. “Shelby’s a sweetheart, though. So are her girls, Victoria and—what’s the other one’s name? Karen?”

  “Katie. Well, Katherine, but everyone calls her Katie.”

  Erin’s phone rang. She let it ring three times before she answered.

  “Yes.”

  I leaned close enough to hear both sides of the conversation.

  “Bruce Bignell to see you,” Alice said.

  “Tell him I’ll be out in a moment. Alice? I’m going to wait exactly seven minutes. It will seem longer. Bruce will become impatient. If he says anything, and he will, tell him that I’m very busy and remind him that he didn’t make an appointment. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Erin hung up the phone and leaned back again. She glanced at her watch.

  “Are we having fun yet?” she asked.

  “I think we were discussing naïveté.”

  “You know how many men have done this to me over the years? Kept me waiting and waiting and waiting because they were too busy to see me, even though they’re the ones who scheduled the meeting? Including Bignell. Especially Bignell.” She glanced at her watch again. “It’s not that they’re all misogynists, although there’s a lot of that. They need to make sure you know who’s important, who’s in charge. They need you to know that they have the power. Well, now I do.”

  “You do?”

  Erin glanced at her watch yet again.

  “Yes,” she said. “For the first time in a long time.”

  What exactly did the security cameras catch, anyway? my inner voice asked.

  After exactly seven minutes passed, Erin stood up.

  “Wait here,” she said.

  I loitered near the open doorway so I could hear what was going on in the foyer.

  “Mr. Bignell, a pleasure to see you,” Erin said. “Randy. Mrs Bignell-Sax.”

  “Never mind them,” Bignell said. “No one keeps me waiting, young lady.”

  “I appreciate that it can be very annoying, sir, especially if you had scheduled an appointment. Oh, wait. You didn’t. You just barged in and expected me to drop everything to accommodate you.”

  “Erin,” Randy said. His voice sounded nervous. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do. If you care to follow me to my office…”

  I was leaning against the wall and hugging my damaged arm against my body when they trooped in, Erin first. She circled her desk and sat down while Bignell moved to a chair in front of the desk. He seemed offended that Erin sat before he did.

  “Have a seat, Bruce,” she said. She gestured at the chairs. There were only two of them. Bignell took one and Randy took the other, leaving Marilyn to stand next to me in the suddenly cramped office. “You all remember McKenzie.”

  Bignell and Randy both glanced at me but said nothing. Marilyn said, “Good afternoon,” followed by, “McKenzie, your arm.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “Were you hurt—” Her eyes grew wide. “The bomb?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Bignell tapped his cane vigorously against the floor. Because it was carpeted, all he could generate was a dull thud-thud-thud.

  “The bomb,” he said. He tapped some more. “The bomb.”

  “What about it?” Erin said.

  “Certainly you must be aware of the ramifications.”

  “Ramifications?”

  “I was afraid of this. I told you that the company had become too big for a young woman to control. I told you that—”

  “How dare you?”

  From the expression on his face, I got the impression that no one had ever asked Bignell that question before.

  “Salsa Girl belongs to me”—she pointed her finger at her partner across the desk—“and Randy. You have no standing here whatsoever, yet you come into our place of business and presume to dictate to us? You can cease distribution of our product anytime you like. You have that option. If you wish to exercise that option, then by all means do so. But don’t tell us what to do. Don’t tell us how to run our business unless you wish to make an offer. Let’s say sixty-five percent of Salsa Girl. We retain thirty-five percent and management responsibilities for three years. After that time, you may have the option to buy us out entirely, payments spread out over three years. Yes? No? Maybe?”

  I was surprised by Bignell’s reaction. He had been in business a long time, built his empire from scratch, and from what I saw of his guests at the party the other day, he had imposed his will on a lot of people. Yet he seemed both confused and disconcerted by what Erin had to say, as well as the eerily calm manner in which she said it. It made me wonder how much of himself he had lost as he’d grown old.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, young lady,” he said.

  “I’m not a young lady and I’m not playing. McKenzie.” Erin looked up at me. “Perhaps you will be kind enough to escort Mrs. Bignell-Sax to the employee lounge while my partner and I discuss business with Mr. Bignell.”

  No, no, no, my inner voice chanted. I felt like a child told to leave the room because the film his parents were watching was rated R. I wanted to stay to see what happened.

  “Please,” Erin said.

  I nodded at her and then at Marilyn. She stepped out of the office, and I followed her.

  “Close the door,” Erin said.

  * * *

  Marilyn and I followed the corridor to a large room with plenty of tables and chairs, vending machines, cabinets, a refrigerator, several coffeepots, and three microwave ovens. I knew there was a camera and microphone in there, too, but I couldn’t find them.

  “Do you get the impression that the adults don’t want the children to see them arguing?” I asked.

  “Actually, I thought you planned it to separate me from the others so we could speak privately.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  Marilyn went to a hot plate where a half-filled pot of coffee stood warming and poured herself a mug. She took a sip.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “That’s awful.”

  “It’s probably been sitting there since this morning. Let’s brew a fresh pot.”

  I went about making that happen while Marilyn found a chair at a nearby table.

  “I received a call from Schroeder Private Investigations early this morning,” she said. “Mr. Schroeder told me what had transpired the evening before. He was very apologetic.”

  “I’m sure he was, but only about getting caught following Salsa Girl, not about his man whacking me on the back of the head with a .38.”

  “He didn’t mention that, the whacking. I believed he called only because he feared you would confront me.”

  “Would I do a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know. You’re a bit of a mystery to me, McKenzie.”

  By then I had put all the pieces together and hit the START button. Water was heated and began pouring through the grounds into the glass pot. Voilà, coffee. I managed to fill two mugs without spilling much and handed one to Marilyn. She took a sip.

  “It’s still pretty bad,” she said.

  “You’re spoiled.”

  “That’s very true.”

  “Why did you have Erin followed?”

  “The usual reasons.”

  “Why not have Schroeder follow your husband, then? It seems to me your issues are with him, not her.”

  “I did. Should I tell you what he found out?”

  “What’s between you and your husband is none of my business.”

  “I’m not talking about Brian. I’m talking about Erin Peterson.”

  “What about her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Schroeder couldn’t find out anything more about her past than I did. Don’t you think that’s strange, McKenzie?”

  Yes, my inner voice said.

>   “Not necessarily,” I said aloud.

  “She’s left a very tiny footprint. That’s what Schroeder told me.”

  How tiny?

  “Erin’s a very private person,” I said. “She lives for her company. If you investigated my girlfriend, Nina, I bet you wouldn’t learn much more about her.”

  I bet we would.

  “Why do you care, anyway?” I asked aloud.

  “I’m jealous, though not for the reasons people think. Yes, Erin’s pretty, but I was pretty once, too. She’s young, but so was I. I’m jealous because she’s doing what I wanted to do. Did you know that I went to the Carlson School of Management at the University of Minnesota? Graduated summa cum laude. Do you know how many students earned that honor the year I graduated? Six. Yet when I took the degree to my father and told him I wanted to become involved in the family business, he told me that business is no place for a woman. He even quoted Bible verses at me. My mother agreed with him. So did my two sisters. Because that’s what they were taught. If that’s what you truly believe, I asked him, then why did you allow me to attend Carlson in the first place? My father said he thought the school would do more to discourage women from entering the business world so he wouldn’t have to; he was disappointed that it hadn’t. That’s when I did a stupid, stupid thing, McKenzie. I did nothing. What I should have done was leave home and find a job working for someone else, prove myself that way. I don’t know why I didn’t. Was I a coward or too conventional?” Marilyn held up her coffee mug and stared at it for a moment. “Or too spoiled?”

  She drank the coffee without complaining about it.

  “I was encouraged to marry,” Marilyn said. “I was encouraged to bring forth male heirs because dear old Dad was loath to leave his businesses to his daughters. I chose Brian Sax. He was one of my father’s up-and-comers at the time.”

  “Why him?”

  “Because I loved him. Unfortunately, all he loves is Minnesota Foods.”

  “You signed a prenup,” I said.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Now you’re looking to challenge it. That’s why you hired Greg Schroeder.”

  “My father hates divorce, thinks it’s an affront to God. Do you know what he hates worse? Adultery. That, after all, is a violation of one of the Ten Commandments. Number six, if I remember correctly.”

  “Do you think that your husband is sleeping with Erin?”

  “No. I wish he were. Instead, he’s been sleeping with one of our reps in Chicago. That’s where he is now.”

  “Your father actually hired a female to represent his company?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “I don’t—oh.”

  “Apparently Brian likes to play for both teams.” Marilyn chuckled at the reference. “I heard a comedian say that once—both teams. I don’t know why I thought it was funny.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I decided on the what a long time ago. Now it’s just a matter of when and how. My father’s not only a misogynist, he’s a raging homophobe. With Brian out—and he will be out—I’m hoping I can convince my father. McKenzie, Bignell Bakeries and Minnesota Foods is a privately held company, one of the biggest in the state. I think we’re only a couple of billion dollars behind Cargill.” Marilyn laughed at her own joke. “We have no debt and no outside investors. Even so, my father assembled a diverse independent board of directors many years ago. He wanted objective input into the direction of his company as well as other corporate matters. Whatever you think of Bruce Bignell, he’s a good businessman. What I need to do is convince him to make me chairwoman of the board when he steps down. My mother passed ten years ago, and my sisters have all escaped to domestic bliss with husbands who are decidedly not businessmen. That leaves me. Dad will need to make a decision soon. He’s still very robust and very active, but for only about four hours a day.”

  “What if he taps Randy for the job?”

  “What if? McKenzie, you’re Salsa Girl’s friend. I need you to know that I’m not interested in hurting her or her business. Truth is, I love her salsa, especially the new fire-roasted tomato flavor. All I’m trying to do is protect my son, my family’s business, and me.”

  Not necessarily in that order, my inner voice said.

  “I think you can help,” Marilyn said.

  “How?”

  “Are Erin and my son … intimate?”

  I tried not to laugh. “No,” I said.

  “But they could be.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Are you?

  “She seems to have some kind of hold on him,” Marilyn said.

  “She seems to have some kind of hold on most men. She’s good at that.”

  “Including you?”

  I wagged my hand.

  “Randy doesn’t listen to me the way he used to,” Marilyn said. “He does listen to Erin, though. He seems devoted to her.”

  I wagged my hand some more.

  “There are many things that Minnesota Foods can do to promote Salsa Girl Salsa that it’s not necessarily doing now. Provide funds to develop sales and marketing campaigns. Establish more favorable terms with customers such as discounts, stock levels, selling prices. Expand distribution to include smaller outlets and not just the larger chains. A lot of things.”

  “What would Erin need to do in exchange for this favorable treatment?”

  “All I ask is that she remember who her friends are.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’ll deliver your message.”

  “Can I rely on your discretion?”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  * * *

  Bruce Bignell’s words rolled down the corridor to the employee lounge where Marilyn and I were sitting. “Marilyn,” he said. “Where are you, woman?” There was distress in his voice that caused her to jump up from her chair and move quickly toward it.

  “Dad?” she said.

  I followed her down the corridor. Bignell was standing outside Erin’s office. He was looking right and left as if he didn’t know where he was. He seemed smaller than before, as if someone had removed all the padded linings from his clothes. Randy reached for his arm.

  “Grandfather,” he said.

  Bignell pulled his arm away. He waved his cane; the tip struck both walls.

  “Don’t ever talk to me again,” he said.

  “Grandfather,” Randy repeated.

  Bignell tried to hit Randy with the cane and missed. The momentum propelled him forward. Marilyn caught him before he fell.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Marilyn?” Bignell said.

  “What is it?”

  “Take me away from here. Take me home.”

  “What happened?”

  “Did you not hear me? Take me home.”

  “Grandfather,” Randy repeated.

  “You, you…”

  Bignell looked as if he wanted to strike at Randy with his cane again. The younger man backed away. Marilyn took Bignell’s arm and spun him until he was facing the correct direction.

  “This way,” she said.

  Marilyn led Bignell down the corridor and into the foyer. Alice Pfeifer watched as if it were the most amazing television show she had ever seen. Marilyn held open the front door and helped Bruce pass through it. Randy followed behind.

  “Will you at least let me explain?” he said.

  “No, you, you bastard,” Bignell said.

  They stepped outside and moved to the Buick.

  I went into Erin’s office. She was still seated behind her desk. Her Woodford Reserve was out and she was pouring a glass.

  “Want some?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  She filled a second glass while I watched the scene unfolding outside her window. Marilyn helped Bignell into the back seat on the driver’s side and closed the door. Randy was on the other side of the Buick.
Marilyn said something to him. He shook his head. She pounded the roof with the flat of her hand and shouted. I couldn’t hear her words, but I was enough of a lip-reader to know what she said—“Get in the goddamn car.”

  He did. Marilyn opened the driver’s door, slipped behind the steering wheel, and closed the door. It took longer for them to drive off than you would have supposed.

  “What just happened?” I said.

  Erin held up her glass up to the light and examined the rich brown liquid inside as if she had never seen it before.

  “We have reached a mutually satisfying conclusion to our negotiations,” she said.

  “Bruce didn’t seem to think so.”

  “After being top dog for how many years, to suddenly lose that position seems degrading to him.”

  “Does that mean you’re the top dog now?”

  “Hardly. In any case, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “What have I done for you, Salsa Girl? I’m not entirely sure.”

  “I asked you not to call me that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Tell me about your conversation with Mrs. Bignell-Sax.”

  “She’s trolling for allies. She thinks you’re just the girl she needs.”

  “Allies?”

  Erin stared at my face as if it were an equation written on a chalkboard in a physics lab. It took her about ten seconds to figure it out.

  “Marilyn’s going to make a move on Minnesota Foods,” she said. “She thinks I can help by asserting my influence on Randy.”

  “You never cease to impress me.”

  “Bignell will never cede control of his company to a woman. But Randy … No, Brian Sax is the designated successor.”

  “Brian is on his way out. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Huh. That’s an angle I hadn’t considered.”

  This girl has so many angles they should name a new branch of geometry after her, my inner voice said. Like Euclid and Pythagoras.

  “Well, that’s somebody else’s problem,” Erin said.

  “You’re not interested?”

  “I’m not that greedy, McKenzie. I’m going to sell Salsa Girl and poof, I’ll be gone.”

  “I like a girl who keeps her eyes on the prize.”