“You’re supposed to be guiding Brad Hanley to a settlement, George. But you guys are bogged down in the mud. The Union makes two big moves in a row, dropping from a buck down to a quarter, and Ocean State pisses all over them. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Ryder tried to stay calm, but he could see that Fiore was loaded for bear. “I explained in the notes that I had a talk with Hanley afterwards. I let him know he’s being unrealistic at this stage of the negotiations. As I just told you …”
Fiore cut him off. Ryder gave him just the opening he was looking for, the chance to act as if he was incensed by the lack of progress in the negotiations. He took full advantage of it. “Are we going to watch this company go on strike just because Hanley says he doesn’t give a shit? Strikes cost money, for Chrissake. You know that. What if the Platts decide they don’t need the aggravation or the rotten publicity and shut it down? Where does that leave us? It leaves us without a client that pays its big bills on time, that’s where. And I’m not about to let that happen because Brad Hanley wants to act like an asshole. Maybe you’re ready to just sit by his side and watch him steer the damn boat onto the rocks, but I’m not. Someone else is going to handle the tiller.”
Ryder didn’t immediately grasp what Fiore was telling him. “I’m meeting with him tomorrow, Doug. I’ve gone over all his numbers again, every which way. I’m pretty sure I can convince him to put some money on the table for the Union.”
Fiore returned to his chair. He leaned back in it and stared hard at Ryder as he plunged the verbal sword into the older lawyer’s chest. “We’re not giving Hanley any more time to show us he can be reasonable. The Platts and the Tarantinos have both expressed concern that the negotiations seem to be going nowhere, that there hasn’t already been a settlement. They’re coming up with the numbers they can live with and they want us to guide Hanley into a settlement on that basis as soon as possible, whether he likes it or not.”
Fiore lowered his voice, speaking almost conspiratorially as he continued. “I think he’s been walking all over you, George, right from the beginning. He’s ready to keep holding out to the last minute, hoping the Union will crack, no matter what you advise. That kind of brinksmanship could screw up everything. So we’re going to shake him up right away by taking you out of the negotiations. Paul Castillo’s going to handle it from here on in and he’ll give Hanley the message from the owners.”
Ryder was stunned, and almost at a loss for words. His first thought was how losing Ocean State would affect his billable hours. A rumble had already begun in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to defend himself, but knew Fiore well enough to understand it was futile to argue with him. Maybe he played right into his hands, he thought. He should have realized there was some danger on the horizon when Doug first told him he wanted to see the notes of all the meetings. There was no sense arguing at this point that the decision was unfair or that he was a far more experienced negotiator than Castillo.
“I wish you told me how the owners felt before switching to Paul. I would have liked one more crack at it on that basis. My feeling was that if the Platts weren’t complaining to me about the progress, they understood what Hanley was trying to do. I was sure they knew he’d back off before he got into trouble. And I didn’t know the Tarantinos were even involved.” Ryder spoke softly. He told himself that he was going to hold onto his dignity while the conversation lasted.
“You had plenty of time to get it done,” Fiore said. “The Platts probably don’t know the first thing about negotiating a contract. If I was around the last two weeks, maybe we could have tried it another way and put more pressure on Hanley to reach an agreement. But I wasn’t, and now we’ve got to do what’s best for everyone.”
“Ocean State was one of the few things keeping me busy,” Ryder said. “I hope there’s some other work Paul can let me have as long as he’s going to be putting in the time on this. Is that something you should talk to him about?” Hearing Ryder beg for work was music to Fiore’s ears. He was so pleased at what a great client Ocean State Wire turned out to be. It brought him Pat Hanley and soon it would let him get rid of George Ryder.
“I told him before to try and give you work whenever he was pretty full. Has he been doing it?”
“Some, yes. Nothing very big.”
He ignored the negative part of the answer. “Then there’s no reason he should stop now.”
Fiore got up again, but stayed behind his desk. “Leave the file here, George. I’ll see that Paul gets it. And don’t bother calling Hanley about this. I’ll take care of it myself.”
43
FIORE WAS GETTING INCREASINGLY uptight as the week moved along. He was waiting for that first telephone call from the Providence Herald or some other newspaper in the State inquiring about the rumor that he’d be a Republican candidate for governor.
“Screen all my calls,” he told Briggs. “Don’t put anything through to me from the Herald or anyone else in the media unless I’m alone in my office.” Her look told him that she wondered what was going on. “Be patient,” was all he said.
On Friday morning Dana buzzed and let him know that Carol Singer called while he was talking to a client. Doug had spoken to her only once since returning to work that week. Standing in the doorway of her office, he asked several questions about the loan she obtained from Spalding Bank for his client, Twentieth Century Windfarm. He wanted to close the door and arrange a time they could get together, but it was still touch and go with his sexual apparatus. He could see the humor in that phrase, remembering that until recently it took only a female touch and he was ready to go.
Fiore was sure that Carol’s phone call meant she wanted to pin him down to a date. They hadn’t made love in over three weeks, and from what she told him, the nights of passion at home were few and far between. He would agree to meet her, he decided, during the following week. He counted on being confident by then about his ability to perform, especially once word got out concerning his possible political ambitions. If things didn’t improve, he could always cancel it that day. And there was also the possibility that his on-again, off-again impotency—he saw the comic twist in those words also—was only with Grace, not anyone else.
Fiore checked his calendar for the following week before dialing the four numbers of Carol’s direct line. When she answered, he said, “It’s the managing partner, Mrs. Singer, but don’t let that make you nervous.”
“Doug, you have to tell me it’s not true.” The words seemed to burst from her mouth. They caught him off guard.
“What do you mean?” he asked
“Bruce said last night that there’s talk about your entering the Republican primary for governor. I told him I couldn’t believe it.” He waited for a question to follow, but she stopped there, saying nothing else.
He was too flustered to ad-lib. Without thinking, he fell back on the answer he rehearsed all week for the press. “I’m not in a position to say that I will or won’t be a candidate. A number of people in the State have spoken to me about running for office. Right now I’m in the process of making other contacts and considering my decision. I’ll probably have an answer very shortly.”
This time there was a long pause before Carol answered him. Her disappointment was evident in her voice. “I’m married to a politician, Doug. I know exactly what that pap means. Don’t expect me to wish you good luck, now or when you make your formal announcement later on. I’m sure you’ll regret what you’re doing. Good-bye.”
He put the receiver down and exhaled a long breath. Carol’s words meant that he wouldn’t be seeing her soon—which didn’t bother him that much in his present circumstances—but he didn’t want to lose her on account of this. No woman ever made him look forward to an hour of sex as much as she did. No one else could stimulate him the same way. She’s too good to let get away, he thought to himself, at least until this race gets started.
A half hour later, Dana informed him that a John Robbins was on
the line, a reporter from the Pawtucket Evening Times. “Here we go,” he said out loud as he picked up the receiver and spoke his name.
“This is John Robbins, Mr. Fiore. Just checking out a story. We heard something about the possibility of your law firm merging with a firm in Boston. Can you tell me if there’s anything to that?”
Fiore was getting agitated. It was as if some unknown force was trying to rattle him this morning, sneaking up on him in unexpected ways. Expect “A” and you get “B” was the message. It reminded him of playing three card monte and having the ace of spades turn up everywhere but where you were certain you saw the dealer put it. It was true that a committee from the firm was doing some preliminary investigation in Boston. Walters, Cassidy & Breen was considering some form of expansion into Massachusetts. It didn’t want to risk losing the business of several clients who already announced plans to build new facilities near Route 128, the Bay State’s technology highway. The committee was assigned the task of checking out potential Boston law firms for a merger. But it began its work only within the past month, and any possible action was at least a year away.
“I don’t know where you heard that, but there’s no truth to it at all, Mr. Robbins.”
He waited, as if expecting Robbins to now ask the question he anticipated. But the reporter merely thanked him and hung up.
44
“TERRY, DOES THE HERALD use Walters, Cassidy & Breen for any legal work?” Jenna asked, as soon as he picked up the phone and said “Hello.”
“Hey, where are your manners? You’re supposed to say ‘Good morning’ before you start in with the questions.”
“Come on, this is rush, rush … but for you, good morning.”
“And you should really let a guy know how terrific he was the night before. By the way, did your engine ever shut off after I left?”
“Stop asking embarrassing questions.” He could envision the smile on her face as she said it. “You were very very good. Now tell me the answer.”
“Yes, my love. The answer is that we use one of their litigators whenever we get sued on First Amendment stuff. That’s all I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”
“Do you know a Douglas Fiore over there?”
“I’ve heard the name,” he said, “but that’s it. I never met the guy. I think he’s the managing partner or the CEO or whatever they have. Oh, oh, what’s he been charged with?”
“A couple of sources tell me he may run against Richie Cardella. I’m going to try and contact Fiore at work right now. If I get him, I’ll let you know what he says. You may want to tell Richie. But don’t say anything to Dan McMurphy. If the rumor’s true, I want to break his heart with the news myself. That man really hates to lose a bet.”
“Listen, Jenna, if you do speak to him, ask him if he knows why the sharks didn’t bother that lawyer who fell off the boat into Narragansett Bay.”
Jenna knew what was coming. “Okay, I give up,” she said quickly. “Let’s have it.”
“Professional courtesy.”
She laughed. “Not bad, Superman. Have a good weekend.”
“You too. Good luck.”
45
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS passed very quickly for Fiore.
The feisty reporter for the Providence Herald was the first one to ask him if he was running against Cardella for the Republican nomination for governor. After he read her the prepared answer, she fired off several questions. Among other things, she asked what special qualities he thought he’d bring to the race. But he gave her a “no comment at this time” on all of them. To end the conversation, he finally told her there was a call from a client waiting for him. By the time he gave the same boilerplate response to press, radio and TV reporters from all over the State during the ensuing days, he knew it by heart. Several national magazines contacted him also, along with USA Today, The New York Times and The Boston Globe. After that, he told Dana to say he was unavailable and to read the prepared statement in response to any other inquiries about his candidacy.
As soon as the news about him became public, Fiore called a meeting of the firm’s partners in the large conference room. He confirmed what they read in the papers and told them he was having a difficult time reaching a decision. He was honored by the fact that so many important people in Rhode Island saw fit to ask him to run, he said.
“This same kind of opportunity might never be there again. Still,” he continued, “I have to take into consideration the strong feeling I have for WC&B and my responsibility as managing partner. I’d be here about half the time through July and could keep an eye on most things,” he explained. “After that, I’m confident there’s nothing the Executive Committee wouldn’t be able to handle in my absence. Frankie would do all the numbers, as usual, and make sure that copies of everything get delivered to me, wherever I am. I’d have enough time between campaigning to review his printouts and anything else that was important for me to see. Running doesn’t mean that I’d necessarily win, even in the primary, so I might be back here full time by mid-September. I’d work as hard as I could to get the votes, but if it’s not in the cards for me to be the next governor, I’d want everyone to say I ran a clean campaign all the way through. Still, win or lose, we all know that the publicity can only help the firm. Anyway, as soon as I decide whether or not it’s a ‘go,’ I’ll let you know first.”
When Fiore finished, everyone applauded politely and then quickly dispersed. He noticed that Carol did not attend the meeting.
The following day he met with the associates at noon and told them pretty much the same thing. Afterwards, Dana Briggs asked him whether she’d be assigned to work for someone else since there would be so much less to do for him. Fiore said that he wanted her to stay where she was and pay attention to everything going on in the office during that time.
“Keep your eyes and ears open while I’m gone,” he told her. “Earn your salary that way, and there’ll be a bonus there too.” Listening to him, there was no doubt in Dana’s mind that his decision was already made.
“By the way, how would you feel about being the office manager?” he asked. Fiore knew Briggs well enough to be certain of her response before she gave it. He also realized that it was the politically correct thing for him to do. If she ever had reason to turn against him or the firm in the future, he didn’t want her to be able to claim she was bypassed for a promotion.
Dana reacted as if on cue, not hesitating for a moment. “Not me, Doug. I don’t like telling people what to do, and I’d have a terrible time letting someone go if I had to. But why did you ask? Is Helen leaving?”
He decided to play “Mickey the Dunce” for now. There was no sense getting into an argument about it before Scardino cut Barone loose. “Not that I know of,” he answered, figuring that his intention to find Barone another job in the firm kept his denial from being a lie. “But you can never be sure what will happen next. Two weeks ago I had no idea I might be going into politics. The only thing I’d bet on right now is that I’m going to lunch.” He gave her a mock salute. “See you in an hour,” he said, and headed toward the elevators.
Dana watched him walk down the corridor. The only thing I’d bet on right now is that Helen Barone is in big trouble, she told herself. But we haven’t advertised for anyone and there’s no one else in the office who can replace her … unless … Dana closed her eyes for several seconds. “Oh, no,” she muttered, “not her!” She went back to her word processor and resumed work on a report she started earlier. She didn’t want to think about the change in personnel.
46
PAUL CASTILLO CAME TO see Fiore the day after Ocean State’s most recent negotiating session with the Union. Using the numbers Ryder worked up just before the matter was taken away from him, Castillo persuaded Brad Hanley to give up the idea of getting a freeze in wages beyond the first year of the contract. Still, he was having difficulty convincing him to make a more reasonable offer for increases in the second and third years.
“At least you’ve made some progress,” Fiore said. “It’s a beginning.”
“Yeah, but the bad news is on the medical. Hanley is dug in at having the employees contribute five percent more of the cost. The Union says the ten percent they’re already paying is too much. Morelli told us they’ll walk before they agree to anything higher. He blew his cool on this one a couple of times during the meeting. The guys on the committee say that if they agreed to a higher contribution and tried to sell it to the membership at the ratification meeting, they’d get thrown out of the room. I believe them, and I think they’re probably right. But Hanley just doesn’t want to hear it. Anyhow, that’s where it stands. There are still a few small items, but they’ll all settle or go away. We’ve got meetings scheduled this Thursday and the last two days of the contract next week.”
“It sounds like you’ve got a good handle on the situation, Paul,” Fiore told him. “You got Hanley to do more on economics in one session than Ryder could do in all the time he was there. I did the right thing in getting him out of the picture.”
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