by Bill Eidson
Geoff admired her fight. And now that her wig was knocked off, he noticed she had beautiful auburn hair, far richer than that ridiculous wig. “You want me to go with you?” she asked.
He was tempted. But he couldn’t exactly see her fitting into his lifestyle. “Sorry.”
“What am I going to do?” she cried.
He shrugged. “Make an adventure of it.”
“But he’ll kill me!”
Indeed, the pimp lowered his hands and glared at the sword in Geoff’s hands and then at the hooker. Her spine straightened when she saw him looking, and Geoff liked that about her.
So he slashed Jammer across the forehead. Blood gushed into the pimp’s eyes. “There,” Geoff said to the girl. “That’ll give you a start.” He slid the sword back into the cane and walked away.
She took off her heels and started to run. She spun once, looking back at Geoff, and yelled, “Hey, mister! Thanks.”
He found the right kind of woman an hour later at Daisy Buchanan’s. He pursued her with his characteristic drive and skill. Regaining his lost millions was now firmly compartmentalized in his head, regulated to an important task to be accomplished no more. Not a serious obstacle for a man who could hold his own on the street as well as the boardroom.
The woman was a beauty, about twenty-five, with long black hair. Graduate degree in French studies. It took him most of the night to bed her, but he enjoyed himself, reveling in his strength, reveling in every element of the summer night in the city, from the scent of her perfume to the Chateaubriand they had for dinner at a Newbury Street café.
But he was amused to find, even as he moved inside her that night, the walking cane propped up against the wall beside him, that he was thinking of the hooker with green eyes and hoping that she had run, but not too far.
Chapter 5
I think I can hear snare drums playing,” Lisa said. “Big exec, waiting for the limo.”
“If I were such a big exec, I wouldn’t be waiting up here with a travel mug of coffee and my wife kissing me off.” They were sitting on the rail overlooking the marina, the morning sun low on the horizon.
“Sending you off, not kissing you off,” she said.
He watched her as she stretched and yawned. She was wearing faded jeans and another one of his old shirts. “Don’t I make enough for you to buy your own shirts?” he said.
“I’ll be oiling the teak today,” she said. “Paying you back for the style in which you keep me.”
“Has the glamour worn off?” Until their move north from Charleston, Lisa had managed a successful real estate office and was accustomed to bringing in her own income. Steve had promised himself to make sure their new arrangement continued to work for her. Their plan was that she was to see them through both the refitting of the boat and the building of their new home. All preparation for their master plan in the suburbs, including at least two children.
“You know me, I love sawdust in my hair,” she said. “Besides, I ran the numbers again yesterday. We can’t afford to pay for any jobs I can do myself.”
The limo turned into the marina lot.
“Here goes,” he said.
She leaned over and adjusted his tie, which he knew it didn’t need. “You be careful. Jansten’s a tricky old bastard.”
“I know that.” He drew her close. “All he’s got on me is thirty or so years and a hundred or so million.”
“But he doesn’t have me,” she said.
“True,” Steve said. “I win.” …
You brought your own coffee, sir.” The driver held the door open and said to Lisa, “You’re going to put me out of business.”
She laughed.
“I’ll hide it before we reach Jansten’s,” Steve said as he climbed into the back of the limo. Indeed, there was a carafe of coffee and a bowl of pastries and fruit on the small table in front of him. “Kurt, you must want something.”
The driver looked back into the mirror. “I’m waiting until your career really takes off before I spring it on you.”
Steve grinned. “What’s it going to take for me to have a big job in your book?”
“Well, I should be picking you up in front of a house, to start.”
“We’re working on it. So what’s up today?”
“We’re to pick up Mr. Mann. Did you know?”
Steve cocked his head. “I didn’t. When did he get to town?”
“Yesterday.”
“You pick him up yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know Geoff, other than by his reputation.”
Kurt smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Steve pulled out the newspaper Kurt had left for him, knowing that to ask any more would constitute pumping.
They drove in comfortable silence until they reached Geoff’s brownstone. The driver left the car idling and went into the foyer to call up for him. Steve enjoyed the silence, looking at the long hood stretching out in front of him. He couldn’t help but feel a little foolish, as if he were playing a role: big executive, sitting in the back of the limousine.
It still surprised him, his rapid ascension. Even though he knew, objectively, that he had fought each step of the way to earn his position—starting with going back to school after Ray’s death and earning an MBA from Northeastern. He had bounced around the country after that in several different manufacturing and design management positions until he saw the potential of the Blue Water line, the floundering marine division of Jansten’s huge conglomerate. Alone in his kitchen, Steve had penciled out a new line of boats that combined performance, utility, and a classic grace that he felt had been lost in the market in general—and certainly lost on Blue Water’s existing line of poorly built “feature-rich” boats. The harder challenge had been turning himself into the combination salesman, manufacturer, financial analyst, and troop leader that it took to rally support from the company and dealers.
Luckily, the customers had been easier. They had recognized what a sweet line of boats the Blue Waters were. Steve was able to convince the dealers to offer a “no-haggle” pricing strategy. While the rest of the boating industry muddled through cutbacks and layoffs, Blue Water gained dramatic market share—and Steve found himself on the cover of BusinessWeek.
That article and the others that followed were hardly luck. Once Jansten saw the success of the Blue Water line, he had the corporate public relations agency swing into action. But what was even more important was that Jansten allowed Steve to keep his division autonomous from the rest of the company and supplied enough marketing dollars to keep the momentum up. Jansten publicly praised Steve and had remained a solid supporter, if not a friend, ever since.
Steve turned away from his reverie to see Geoff Mann striding toward the limo, the driver two steps behind. Geoff’s expression was unreadable, and Steve realized that perhaps the driver hadn’t told him to expect Steve in the same limo. But when Geoff climbed in, he gave a dazzling grin and put out his hand. “Mr. Blue Water, I presume?”
“The Wild Man of the West?” Geoff’s grip telegraphed hidden steel. Steve was immediately struck by Geoff’s energy. It radiated off the man and made Steve feel tired, goddamn it.
Steve asked Geoff if he enjoyed his first night in Boston.
“Absolutely,” Geoff said. “I got the driver here to drop me off at a dive where I met some of the locals. I think I’m going to like it here.”
They settled into a few minutes of the outwardly friendly, but cautious conversation of two people who realize they may soon be adversaries. “I’ve been admiring your line of boats,” said Geoff. “Chartered one in Tortola for some diving. That’s your field, right? Ex-navy diver?”
Steve was flattered, as he knew he should be. It also made him feel flatfooted, as he knew it was intended. Mann had done his homework, and he had not.
“You’ve got the advantage on me,” Steve said. “All I know about you is that you’re a terror in the real estate world, plus I hear that you’re qui
te an athlete.”
Geoff waved that away. “They don’t call them rumors for nothing, believe me …” He paused and then looked Steve in the eye. “So what do you think Jansten has up for us this morning?”
Steve returned the frank, sincere bit, although he wanted to laugh. “I’d say anything from a casual welcome to Boston to full marching orders.”
“Oh, it’ll be marching orders,” Geoff said, opening his newspaper. “I expect you’ve heard the rumors about Rudden and Lerner.”
Steve nodded. Phil Rudden announced an unexpected vacation. Lerner had been sulking quietly for days, making no decisions, attending no meetings.
“Jansten doesn’t waste time on being nice to the help,” Geoff said. “The way I see it, one of us is going the distance. The other is hitting the sidelines sometime this morning.”
Kurt looked in the mirror.
Steve said, “And here I am trying to build a house.”
Kurt looked away, suppressing a smile. The three rode along in silence the rest of the way, although it was no longer companionable.
Jansten met them at the door himself.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Sorry to drag you out here so early, but I assumed you two are early risers.” Jansten waved to the limo driver and called, “Why don’t you try out that new diner, Kurt. Great hash and eggs. Give us an hour and a half.” Jansten was dressed casually, in chinos and a blue oxford shirt. His face was ruddied by the sun, and his hair was a shock of white. To Steve, it looked as if he were striving for the image of a kindly old grandfather.
Not that Steve believed it for a minute. Jansten had a long line of hostile takeovers under his belt. He was a modern-day robber baron by anyone’s definition, and Steve had seen him in action too many times to confuse him with a nice old guy.
Still, the house surprised Steve. He knew Jansten had bought it recently. But instead of the palace he expected, it was a relatively small colonial home, quite old. There had been a plaque outside the door with the date 1776. But the house wasn’t a Revolutionary War showpiece. It had been updated here and there, with new windows, French doors leading out to a deck that overlooked a spectacular cove. A blue sailboat bobbed alongside a pier that had room for a far larger boat. The sailboat piqued Steve’s attention immediately, not only because it was the same make as his own, but it was surprisingly small given Jansten’s wealth. “A Hinckley thirty-five is it?”
“It is,” said Jansten approvingly.
“I thought you had a Swan,” Steve said. “Even down in Charleston we heard stories about you winning race after race.”
“Things change,” Jansten said, dryly. “Did I hear that you and Lisa are living on a Hinckley forty-two right now?”
“That’s right. Until the house is finished.”
Jansten chuckled. “Better get it finished before winter comes. Boston is not Charleston.”
He moved them along slowly through the house.
In the office, Jansten was constantly surrounded by people and seemed to enjoy all the perks of his position, from the limo drivers to the barbers and tailors that would come to his office. Steve had expected to see a substantial staff at his home. Yet it became apparent, as Jansten walked them about the house, showing Geoff and Steve his place, that the three of them were alone.
He led them into the kitchen, which also offered beautiful views of the cove. “We’re having omelets, gentlemen, unless you have some objections.” He smiled. “Geoff, I know you’re some kind of health nut, can you stand it?”
“I’m not that kind of health nut.”
“Good. Then the two of you take the plates out onto the deck, and I’ll get us going here. Coffee is in the pot, help yourself.”
Geoff turned to Steve with a what-is-this? look. Steve smiled, bemused. He didn’t mind schlepping dishes, but he too wondered what the old man was about.
Jansten lit the burners on a big, industrial-sized stove, and poured beaten eggs into a large pan. Cheese, mushrooms, peppers, tomatoes, and bacon were already prepared alongside. Steve and Geoff came back to watch the old man finish making their breakfast. He went about it slowly, whistling tunelessly as he checked and rechecked to see that the eggs weren’t sticking. It struck Steve that Jansten didn’t really know what he was doing, but he seemed to be enjoying himself nonetheless.
“Steve, make some toast, will you? And Geoff, I guess we’ll need those plates back after all.”
“Guess you better stick to your day job.”
“Wait ‘til you eat.” To Steve, he said, “Did I hear you salvaged that boat of yours?”
“That’s right. A friend who’s still in the salvage business brought it up from fifty feet, and we’ve been pouring money into it ever since.”
Geoff hesitated on the way outside. “Why didn’t you buy a new one? I’m sure you’re paid pretty well running that little division.”
“Pretty well,” Steve said, dryly.
“I love the thirty-five,” Jansten said, as if Geoff hadn’t spoken. “Got her set up with a clubfooted jib and self-tailing winches, and I can handle her all by myself.”
Geoff brought the plates in and Jansten divided the omelet into three portions. “Let’s go out onto the deck.”
After they settled down, Geoff said, “Did I hear we have one of those team-building outings of yours coming up?”
“Hiking and rock climbing in the White Mountains around the end of the week. I hear that you both are quite experienced climbers. Something you’ve got in common, maybe you two should go off together sometime, get to know each other better. This thing, it’ll be senior staff, about a dozen of us, with the wives who can make it. I’m counting on the two of you being there.”
Both of them nodded.
Geoff said, “So, what’s up this morning?”
“Breakfast,” Jansten said, curtly, and began to eat.
Geoff and Steve followed suit. Steve noticed the old man glanced their way from time to time, apparently to see if they were enjoying the meal. Otherwise, he kept up the friendly but innocuous dialogue of before, talking about the Red Sox, asking about Lisa.
About her he listened intently. “She’s a special one. Guess you know that.”
“Certainly do.”
He turned his attention to Geoff. “Did you ever marry that girl, Kelly?”
Geoff shook his head. “We’ve gone separate ways.”
“Big mistake.” Jansten looked over at Steve. “Absolutely breathtaking woman, this Kelly. Flirted with me once when I came into San Francisco. Did it just to help Geoff’s cause, but who was I to object?”
Geoff smiled politely, but there was something behind his expression that Steve couldn’t catch.
Jansten shoved his plate away. He winced as he adjusted himself in the chair to look at the two of them. “Okay, that’s done. I always hated small talk and socializing. But now that I’m seventy-one, I find I’m beginning to like it. Just like I now like making breakfasts, sailing a boat not much bigger than the lifeboat on my last yacht, and confusing the serious, ambitious young men who come to my home.”
He grimaced. “The fact is, I’ve got this thing inside my gut. Malignant. Started in the colon. And so I’ll be starting the song and dance with doctors and hospitals that people in my position start.”
Steve felt a quiet stab inside himself. He realized he knew something like this was coming. “I’m sorry to hear this,” he said, hating how inadequate the words sounded. He hesitated. “I really don’t know what else to say.”
“Course you don’t.” Jansten shrugged. “I’ve done my share of swearing and stamping around, but I don’t know what to say either.” He glanced over at Geoff and cocked his thumb at him. “Geoff here doesn’t know what to say, so he’s not saying it. He’s thinking, ‘What does this mean for me?’ ”
“And how would you know what I’m thinking?” Geoff said quietly.
“Because that’s what I would’ve been thinking if I was your age and the old man told
me he was about to cork off.”
Geoff made a dismissive gesture. “That’s what anyone would think. You and I just admit it. So tell me why I’m sitting here.”
“Partly what I told you on the phone. I wanted you two to come back and help me put together a plan that will keep Jansten Enterprises thriving for the next decade—whether I’m here or not. What I didn’t tell you is that when it comes to executive level management, you two are it. You two represent the future of this company. Rudden and Lerner have done some amazing things for me in the past twenty years. And they’ve done it just the way I wanted. They’ve ripped into other companies, gutted them, and drained every drop of financial blood out of them—at my request. Made both of them rich men in their own right, not to mention what they’ve done for me.”
He looked at Geoff with an expression close to fondness … but not quite. “And Geoff, you represent the best example of that line of thought. You are the youngest, toughest Turk I’ve got. A year ago, you would have been my automatic choice to succeed me as president … if I ever became willing to let it go under normal circumstances. Who knows, maybe I would have in the course of the next five to ten years. But now they tell me I’ve got less than a year, if I can figure out everything I’m hearing in all that gobbledygook from the doctors.”
“I’m ready now,” Geoff said.
“I know you think you are. And maybe you are.”
He shifted his attention to Steve. “And Steve, I’ve always admired you and your work. We’ve never been friends, not only because I’m in my goddamn exalted position—but because you and I are two very different members of the human race.” He smiled. “Hell, I’m ex-marine, and you’re ex-navy. It was hard for me to respect you right there. But really, it’s a matter of personality. When I was Geoff’s age, I would have tried to weaken your role and smash you because I would have been nauseated by this sincere form of business you try to promote. I would’ve seen it as a Boy Scout approach to a storm trooper’s job. Yet, your business is thriving. Now that I’ve gotten to this advanced age, I’ve been not only publicly, but privately quite proud of having you and your clean little enterprise in place within Jansten Enterprises. And now that I’m dying, I tend to give it even more weight.”