by King Key
Sidney headed for the door and opened it. “This will be the most exciting photo shoot I’ve ever done!”
Gretel chuckled. “I planned to let Rich into my backdoor. But I want to stick it to him again. Which would you prefer?”
“As long as you look like a man, I’ll get off watching you.” He stepped into the doorway.
“Who do you want to be in your fantasy? Greg or Rich?”
“Easy,” Sidney grinned. “Both of you!” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “All I can say is: I’m glad you’re on my side!”
Not forever, Gretel thought.
Chapter Eight
Harsh Advice
When Kurt Merchant emerged from Dr. Lila Krafft’s office, sunset began to fill Baltimore’s western sky. He saw a figure lurking near his ostentatious red Corvette, and his heart raced. Vandalism? He rationalized that if he showed off a wealthy possession, such as an extravagant car, he could expect less-fortunate people to vent their hostility on it. Besides, this vandal was wearing a dress under her leather coat.
“May I ask what you’re doing near my car?” he asked reasonably.
“Admiring it.” Her voice was calm, too. She turned to face him. The pretty brunette’s warm brown eyes expressed a sorrowful, dreamy mood.
“Jessica Noble,” he said. “Our new marketing director. I’m Kurt Merchant.”
She averted her eyes from his. “Please excuse me. I have an appointment.” She rushed past him.
“With Dr. Krafft?”
Jessica nodded Yes without turning to face him and continued up the walkway.
“She’ll relax you and make you feel good about yourself.”
Reaching the doorway, Jessica finally turned to face him. “Thanks.” Even though she smiled, her face conveyed an undercurrent of hurt. The door opened, and Jessica hurried inside. Dr. Krafft appeared for a fleeting moment, with a beatific smile on her face, as if to signify all was right with the world.
“It’s my fault if she’s late,” Kurt said.
“Blame it on biology,” Dr. Krafft winked. “Jessica is beautiful.” She closed the door.
Kurt felt vaguely uneasy when he got into his Corvette. He understood Dr. Krafft’s request for him to leave by the backdoor: She preferred that he didn’t encounter Jessica. But wasn’t Dr. Krafft overdoing her goody-two-shoes routine? For Dr. Krafft to call Jessica “beautiful” and not just “attractive” seemed over the top—if not suspicious. And why did Jessica have an appointment? Had she been fired, too?
Kurt turned the ignition key and pulled away from the curb. At the first intersection, he made a U-turn around the median and sped back toward the Inner Harbor. He doubted he’d reach anyone by phone, but he’d try, anyway. And he preferred to call from his office, where he could access all of his business folders. Besides, his mind simply worked better in the friendly surroundings of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Kurt parked in the nearly deserted deck next to the office building. In the lobby the security guard greeted him with a big smile and a ritualistic comment about burning the midnight oil.
BizMart occupied the seventh floor, which was dark and quiet. Just the way Kurt liked it. He did his best work during peaceful hours. Unlocking the door to his office, he strode to the windows, leaving the lights off. He raised the blinds to wait for nightfall. All tinges of pink and red disappeared, leaving the skies dark gray. When they turned inky black, Kurt would enjoy the spectacle of the Inner Harbor lit up in all of its glory.
He dialed the number of his favorite BizMart board member, Judd Workman, from memory. Judd wasn’t the chairman. He wasn’t even well-respected among many BizMart executives and board members. Rich’s snobbish description of Judd as “the car repair guy” purposely understated Judd’s importance as the owner of a string of auto repair shops in Baltimore and the surrounding suburbs. And Rich’s attitude typified the feelings of many of the other board members. Judd didn’t carry the clout or cast the glamorous sheen of his peers at BizMart. But he was honest to the point of rudeness. And Kurt treasured that quality.
Judd didn’t answer his cell phone. At the sound of the beep, Kurt left his name and number on Judd’s answer machine.
Kurt consulted his contact sheet for the other calls. He bypassed the chairman and vice chairman of the board, calculating that their input would be useless, and methodically moved down the list. On his fifth call, he got an answer.
“George,” he began, “I hate to call you after work hours…”
“I heard you’re no longer with BizMart. I’m sorry, but I have no comment.”
“That was fast. Where did you hear that?”
“As I said, I don’t want to talk about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for the Vanguard Society Awards. Goodbye.”
Kurt felt paralyzed.
His phone rang. Noting the name on his caller ID, Kurt picked up the receiver. “Thanks for returning my call, Judd.”
“Sorry to hear the news, kid. Have you called the chairman or vice chairman?”
“How’d you know I’ve been fired?” Out of habit, he grabbed a notepad and began jotting down notes.
“Good old Sidney, Mr. Sunshine himself, phoned me this afternoon. You’d have thought he had a sure bet at Pimlico. He gets his jollies by passing out bad news, and this was a twofer.” Judd wheezed.
“That’s a nasty cough,” Kurt noted. “Seen a doctor?”
“Got an appointment Monday morning.”
“So,” Kurt picked up the thread of conversation, “you think Schisslinger got a two-for-one on his phone call.”
“Yeah, he loved telling the directors you got canned. And firing you makes Casper look like a complete idiot. BizMart’s best damned worker! So, Sidney’s real payoff for calling was to say, in so many words, ‘Sorry you put your chips on black. The ball stopped on red.’”
“Thanks for that remark about ‘best worker,’ but don’t come down so hard on Casper. Somebody has him in a bind, forcing him to make bad decisions.”
“Well, you are the best worker. Ever. Even if you did include that sorry auto shop in the merger package you put together for me.”
Kurt laughed. He walked over to his file cabinet and pulled Judd Workman’s folder. “Yeah, anybody else would have thanked me. You bitched about that one sorry company. How they’d drain your profits. I respect your honesty. You say what’s on your mind.”
“Mergers are a crapshoot anyway. You have to hedge your bets.”
“You were right to complain. That clunker was a financial black hole. Wonder why we don’t have red holes? That guy would’ve spilled red ink all over your accounting books. Glad I could convince him to stay independent. His place imploded in a year.”
“That guy was a red hole, all right. Starts with an ‘a.’ Anyway, my business boomed,” he wheezed, “because you took the time to listen.”
“That’s why I called you tonight. Even if I dislike what you say, I know your advice is good. Unlike the top guys on the board. They’re yes-men.”
“Yeah, that’s the new Casper,” Judd noted. “And I hate it. Mind you, I don’t hate him. He used to be so shrewd. Now, it’s like he’s drawing to inside straights. Hell, his decisions make even less sense than that. Casper used to put guys on the board who’d argue with him.”
“The loyal opposition,” Kurt corroborated the idea in different words. “Board members to play Devil’s advocate. Now Casper handpicks board member who rubberstamp his proposals.”
“Like hiring Rich Leckie as vice president,” Judd rasped. “The old board would have raised a ruckus. You should’ve had that job.”
“Didn’t want it. Honest. Still don’t.”
“The poop sheet says Honey Bates came down from New York and leaned on Casper to hire Rich.”
“Favoritism is as old as business.”
“I can see why Casper caved in to Honey. What I wouldn’t give for a piece of her! But why’d she come to Baltimore to get Rich a plum job? It doesn’t figure.”
>
Kurt rubbed his chin. “Honey told me she has two daughters in Baltimore. Maybe one of them likes Rich. So Mommy helped her daughter’s main squeeze get a good job.”
“Hope somebody benefited. Rich is as useless as tits on a boar. BizMart is like a great hand in poker. Instead of holding ’em, Casper’s trying to fold ’em. Or somebody’s forcing him to. He discarded an ace when he fired you.”
“So what do I do?” Kurt sat with his pen poised to write frantically.
Judd sighed heavily. “In a perfect world, Bud, the board would quit in disgust. They’d make Casper hire you back. But this ain’t a perfect world. They’re a bunch of sheep.” Judd stopped to catch his breath. “They try to blend in, not stand out. They take their checks for serving on the board and tread water during the meetings without making waves.”
“How about you?”
“I’ll give Casper a piece of my mind. You can bet your ass on that. But I’ll be like a voice in the wilderness. And Casper will probably kick me off the board.”
“So, don’t say anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. BizMart ain’t the same company it was when I joined the board. You’re supposed to play the hand you’re dealt and don’t complain. But this hand is full of jokers. The board’s useless.”
“Maybe you could persuade the other board members to follow your lead.”
“What are the odds of that, kid? Slim and none. We’re not a real board of directors. More like an advisory board. BizMart isn’t publicly traded. Casper owns sixty percent of the company. The odds always favor the house, and Sidney’s the house. He’ll do what he damned well pleases.”
Kurt scribbled on his notepad. “Except he acts like he doesn’t have any choice. Back up a minute, though. You mean Casper owns sixty percent?” he repeated. “That’s all? I thought it was all his, except for my five percent.”
“Sounds like Casper gave you a phony tip sheet. Lots of owners give up pieces of their company to get more cash.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve done it myself.”
“I mean, how do you know how much of BizMart Casper owns?”
“Look, I’m talking out of school here,” Judd confessed. “If anybody asks, you didn’t hear this from me. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And I know you’re writing this down. That’s how your mind works. Only, here’s a tip: Sometimes you gotta be like a card counter at Vegas. Keep the facts in your head. They’d kick your ass out of a casino if you took notes! For now, just make sure you don’t mention my name.”
“OK.” Kurt flipped through his notebook. The first page was headed, “Conversation with Judd Workman” and the date. Kurt would make sure to tear off the sheet that contained the information about BizMart ownership before he left the office.
“Here’s the breakdown,” Judd said. “Casper owns sixty percent of BizMart. You own five percent. Brace yourself. Rich Leckie got fifteen percent when he joined the company.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Honey Bates rigged the game and high-tailed it back to New York. Now that she’s visiting again, she’s up to something. But Rich is probably Sidney’s puppet, not Honey’s. Sidney’ll yank away that fifteen percent when the time comes. Sidney probably got you fired so you’ll cash in your chips with him—at a discount, because you need money.”
“No sale. Anyway, that would only give him twenty percent.”
“He’s probably got some aces up his sleeve to get more equity in BizMart.”
Kurt added the figures on his pad. “Sixty, five, and fifteen. That’s only eighty percent. What about the other twenty?”
“She’s the wild card.”
“She? You mean Gretel Fox?”
“No, if it was Gretel, I’d say the deck is stacked. Rumor has it that Casper’s wife has twenty percent of BizMart.”
“Wanna know something odd? In ten years at BizMart, I’ve never met Casper’s wife. Do you know her?”
Judd coughed. “For some reason, she’s the best-kept secret in Baltimore. People say she has her own career. Hates for BizMart to eclipse her importance. Or she tries not to cast a shadow over Casper. I forget which it is.”
Kurt looked out the window, but the magic of the Inner Harbor lights failed this time. They reminded him of his first Christmas after college. He hadn’t worked long enough to save money for gifts, and his estranged parents wouldn’t help financially. Emptiness and isolation washed over him again while he sat in his office.
Judd’s voice protruded into his stream of thoughts. “You there, Kurt?”
“Feeling sorry for myself,” he admitted. He tried levity to break out of his pessimism. “Maybe Casper’s wife is a super heroine who must maintain her secret identity. She draws her strength from twenty percent equity in BizMart. That’s as much equity as Rich’s and mine put together.”
“You and Rich aren’t married to the boss,” Judd reminded him. “Must be nice to play with house money. Nice cushion for her own business. One more thing before I let you go.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“Not mine. Yours. Get your ass over here to the Vanguard Society Awards. Twenty to one says you’re in for a big night.”
“How do you know so damned much?”
“When people bring their cars in, they wanna feel important. So they talk. And I listen. They talk some more. And I nod a lot. I cross reference different gossip from different people. Kind of like weighing all the factors and setting odds. And I diagnose what I hear, just like I diagnose engine problems. You know what? I learn a lot.”
“Ever consider being a business broker? Or a blackjack dealer?”
“Same thing!” Judd laughed and then wheezed again. “Bub, let’s summarize. The board’s not gonna ask Casper to take you back. Or give you any job leads. They don’t wanna get involved. And Casper doesn’t ‘control his own destiny,’ as the sports announcers like to say about playoff teams. So, he’s no help.”
“What’s the good news?”
“There ain’t any! You mentioned Gretel Fox. Do you know her?”
“Just by reputation. I think she seduced Casper into firing me.”
“Hot tamale!”
“More like a hot strudel, based on how Rich described her.”
“Word is she’s dangerous. Vindictive. Don’t ever cross her. Or Sidney.”
“Too late.”
“You crossed Gretel?”
“No, Schisslinger. I told him hell would freeze over before Chimera could have BizMart’s PR account.”
“Get yourself a pair of ice skates, Bub. I’ll bet Casper gives the PR account to Chimera. Hell will freeze over. And you’ll be there, because Gretel will put you through hell.”
“Should I be flattered by such personal attention?” Kurt’s ears perked up. He heard someone in the hall.
“No, just stick your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Doesn’t it bother you that Gretel fucked Casper to get you fired? Like she took personal pleasure out of it?”
“I think somebody else just came into our offices, Judd. Before I go, let me clear up a point. Gretel wasn’t around when I told Schisslinger his presentation sucked.”
“Who do you think wrote Sidney’s remarks? Gretel! Who else was there?”
“Just me and Schisslinger and a bunch of mirrors around a long table.”
“Aw, Kurt,” Judd groaned. “Ever hear of two-way mirrors? Chimera uses them for focus groups.”
“Oh, yeah. They videotape groups discussing different products or issues.”
“You can bet the house that Gretel was on the other side, watching and listening. You think she likes you ragging on her work? I’ll tell you how she feels. She wants to nail your ass!”
“Yeah? Maybe I’d like to nail her ass! Better yet, her pussy.”
“If you fuck Gretel,” Judd advised, “you can kiss your assets—and your ass—goodbye. You can—I started to say, you can take that to the bank. But G
retel will take you for all you’re worth and put it in her bank account. She’ll take your ass to the cleaners. You can make book on that. CYA, Kurt. Cover Your Ass. That’s all I can tell you.”
“So, are you headed to Atlantic City this weekend?”
“Who told you that?” Judd sounded guarded.
“You make all of these gambling references.”
“Oh, that,” Judd sighed. “Just figures of speech.” He coughed again and hung up.
The door to Kurt’s office opened. The fluorescent tubes in the hall provided backlighting and silhouetted Kurt’s visitor in his doorway. “I’ve come to get you,” a decidedly female voice said. “Are you ready?”
“Depends on who you are.” Kurt stood up, torn between fear and lust.
Chapter Nine
Crushing and Consoling
After Sidney left the Chimera offices, Gretel opened the suitcase on the sofa and took out her patent catsuit. Not patent leather; she couldn’t identify the material. But she knew the glistening finish would mesmerize Rich and other men who turned on to women in shiny clothing. She preferred to wear the tight, shiny gold dress in her suitcase.
She stripped from her leather pants and blazer and slithered into the patent catsuit with the zip-open top. The tight fit stimulated her skin, and she indulged herself by visiting the focus group room to admire herself from multiple angles in the mirrors. She put her leather pants and blazer into the suitcase for future reference and took it with her. On her way out, she slipped into black flats—she’d switch to high-heeled boots at the hotel—and donned a long, black cloth overcoat. She felt warm enough without a coat, but she looked so hot she had to cover her wicked outfit. Gretel put on the sunglasses from her bag lady disguise and a nondescript gray hat. She liked to ambush Rich.
Entering the lobby of the hotel, a historic Baltimore landmark built in 1928, she enlisted a bellman to take her suitcase to her room. She looked for Rich. What if he didn’t show? If not, she’d destroy his career and his marriage, if he ever remarried. But Gretel demanded instant gratification. When she spotted Rich loitering aimlessly and nervously, Gretel felt a flicker of warm reassurance and a surge of anticipation. She became a vampire stalking Rich. She’d bleed him nearly to death, and they’d both get a huge erotic rush while she drained away his vitality.