Sex, thought-provoking conversations, debates, and engagement in each other’s work had filled their first years of marriage. In hindsight, the day they moved to Central Park West was the day they lost their synchronicity.
“Dan, he’s so big and strong. You can see his muscles from across the room. He trains me hard, and I feel the difference.” This had been Ginny’s non-stop refrain for weeks.
“That’s great,” Dan said as if it were nothing. Teenage angst returned. Is this oversized man seducing my wife? Is he the football captain incarnate that takes the cheerleader from me, like last time?
“I’m training late, so eat without me,” became another commonplace refrain.
Dan complained. “Ginny, ‘eat’ will become ‘live,’ and soon you’ll never be here.” Dan held back his other thoughts: home after nine… ten-minute quickies, if at all. He imagined Ginny doing it with her freakish muscle-bound trainer.
“Vinnie, how do you know if someone is unfaithful?” He regretted using the old ruse, “Doctor, I have a friend with a problem. No, not me…” He hoped Vinnie didn’t know he was talking about himself.
But Vinnie did. Ginny had relayed Dan’s complaints to her sister Rachel with the touch of a speed dial. There were no secrets among sisters, according to Swinburne family tradition. And Rachel had phoned Vinnie, which was Rachel’s tradition.
Now Dan pressed his palm flat against the glass of the thirty-fifth-floor window and peered between his fanned fingers at the street below. Polka dots scurrying to and fro. He remembered Ginny bursting out that she’d been offered Bloomingdale’s Paris chief of bureau. And that she had wangled responsibility for organizing this year’s annual November Paris extravaganza, the Spring Collection show.
Paris was going to change everything for them.
Dan drifted to the handcrafted filing cabinet across the room, his index finger running across the wood. We had fantastic sex for a week. After Ginny’s big news, she had reduced her training, needing more time at home to organize her Paris show.
He had helped her plan, and she had given him sex in return.
“I’ll transfer to DV&N’s Paris office,” Dan had said. He had intended to take a lower position, doing mundane analysis; he didn’t tell her that it was because he’d do anything to get Ginny away from her muscle-bound trainer. And then, out of the blue, DV&N announced a new Europe division, Paris-based, with an executive director position open. Everything was finally falling into place.
“Ginny, it’s too good to be true.”
Dan drummed the filing cabinet with a cadence of defeat: It was too good, wasn’t it? By mid-June, Ginny had resumed full-time training, which Dan blamed on his working long hours on his economic model to win Paris.
Oh well. Doesn’t matter now.
And just like that, they went from marital bliss to a near sexless marriage. Dan’s hand slid across his forehead. What happened last night? Returning to his desk chair, Dan swiveled and faced the outside window. What did happen?
****
The Night Before
Meandering to the bedroom, Dan mumbled his exhaustion and Ginny grunted. He’d had a grueling day: rising at six a.m., twenty-five pool laps, working until seven-thirty p.m., dead tired by ten. For no reason, he hissed, “A dumb jerk going across lanes collided into me on my tenth lap.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I threw him across three lanes. My bottled-up energy I guess, so I tossed him like a piece of paper.”
Ginny’s words rolled out. “Really! So strong. You must be working out to be able to lift and throw a man.”
“Not really. We were in water.”
“Yeah, but once he was out. Let me feel those muscles.”
Three steps on long legs and taut calves brought Ginny next to Dan. “Make them bulge, the way you did when you tossed that nitwit.”
Dan raised his arm, Ginny’s fingers cruising the surface. Her other hand pulled the fabric taut, melding shirt to skin. “How hard. The guy must have been scared.”
“And he complained, too. Management wasn’t happy, but DV&N’s corporate membership saved me from being barred. The jerk received a warning about pool etiquette, which was fair.”
“Or you’d have crushed him, right?”
“Uh, no, I wouldn’t. Why would you say that?”
“But you could if you wanted to, right?”
“I suppose. I certainly have bottled-up energy. I could probably crush a dozen guys at once.”
A sorcerer’s words to Ginny.
Minutes later, on the bed’s edge, his shirt and socks removed, Dan watched Ginny sally over to him in clinging sheer lingerie unseen for months. Beneath were matching silk bra and panties.
“Are you wearing high heels?”
Breasts advanced on Dan. She saw his desire and anticipated her own by embellishing the pool toss narrative: Dan’s brute strength had destroyed the puny speck of a man.
Whether that narrative was real or imaginary, the advance of Ginny’s crème Chantilly-filled breasts plunged Dan’s face into Purgatory Chasm. He accepted Ginny’s invitation to explore, both above and below. His tongue felt her firm nipples. Eternity passed as Ginny’s freshly painted Andy Warhol mouth pressed against his lips. She endorsed the rise in his pants.
“Take them off. Make your cock rise as high as you can.” Ginny’s sex talk had never excited Dan, but he accepted her banter. Her hips raised and her squeeze tightened. “These big muscles are so strong. Make them harder. Show me the strength you used to toss that wimp.”
Dan’s body arched, his chest tensed, and he flexed. Ginny’s breasts pressed into him, her grip tensing as Dan’s pelvis jerked.
With each jolt his testicles ached, Ginny’s fingers pushing them up. He watched her wide smile as he ejaculated. Harmony had been restored.
Completely spent, Dan barely heard Ginny’s whisper. “I love you.”
She meant it, and Dan said the same with glee, a truth he had never abandoned.
“We’ll be happy in Paris, won’t we? Do you promise, Dan?”
****
Less than twelve hours later, Dan sensed his broken hallelujah. His office chair creaked, loaded down by his thoughts. What did Ginny really want? Didn’t she realize he wanted to take her away from her trainer?
With the promise he’d made the night before now broken, Dan rose and half-sat on the desk, anticipating heavier thoughts. Twelve hours ago Paris had been a certainty; now it was certainly gone. Worse: the original idea he’d had—to take a lower-level position—had now become untenable, too. I’ll never work under Linda. I won’t be humiliated.
Dan imagined Ginny in Paris without him—and their eventual breakup.
He had needed that data in order for his proposal to win. His only hope now lay in his desperation to defeat Linda, his missing data notwithstanding.
Dan’s thoughts turned to Bill. Bill never comes to my office; he always asks me to his. Something’s wrong. Something with Linda, and it’s not good.
It’s not about Northrop, but what?
Chapter 3
Meeting of Crows
Sandwiched between Dan’s office at one corner of the hallway and Linda’s temporary office at the other was the executive suite, a dual-purpose room that doubled as a mini conference room for small gatherings and a private dining facility for executive staff. The top four administrative assistants also gathered here for lunch sometimes, when the room was free and time permitted.
Vinnie had made sure that the others would come. Blanca arrived early with Vinnie, and Shareen and Maria arrived ten minutes later. When everyone was seated, Vinnie began. “It doesn’t make sense to me. How do you change something that’s been set in stone for three months?”
“Things happen, Vinnie,” Maria answered, the others deferring to her higher rank.
“Sure, but I don’t see what could be so important in California that they’d allow all hell to break loose.”
Blanca put down
her sandwich. “I knew nothing about this California crisis before Vinnie told me, and that in itself is weird. I should’ve been in the loop. Am I chopped liver?”
“See, it stinks,” Vinnie said. “I told Dan that Blanca hadn’t been informed, and he was surprised about that, too.”
“Just because something’s out of the ordinary doesn’t make it nefarious.” Maria paused to drink her coffee before continuing, and she gave Vinnie a disapproving glance. She didn’t condone office gossip. “There have been many… well, not many, but a few times when Gary has failed to inform me of his agenda. These men don’t always take us into consideration. They need us, they depend on us, and unfortunately, they also ignore us.”
Shareen lifted her head and chimed in, “Amen to that, sister. Most men, Vinnie excepted, don’t give a shit about us women. I’ve seen it too many times. But still, something’s not right about this. I’m Linda’s temporary assistant here in New York, and I should’ve been told, but I wasn’t. One assistant out of the loop is understandable, but two seems fishy.”
“Fucked up is more like it,” said Vinnie.
Maria scowled.
“Sorry, Maria. This change is tough for Dan. He still hasn’t received the European data that he requested months ago. What the fu—er, hell. Can I say hell, Maria?”
Shareen leaned in to Maria. “And that’s the other thing: Linda didn’t seem upset about it at all. Is she just that much better prepared? What frozen food market did she crawl out of?”
Mimicking Shareen, Blanca leaned forward. “Same for Bill. He was matter-of-fact, even cavalier about updating his calendar. Tells me he’ll contact the travel agent—but I always do all the travel. He gave me a story about a planned family vacation in San Diego next week, which his wife had organized. Then he has the nerve to say he prefers to keep family activities separate from business. Yeah, right! Like how many birthday gifts have I bought for his wife and kids? Gilipolleces! I’m with Vinnie on this.”
The three junior members of the group stared into their lunches, waiting for Maria.
She apparently wasn’t convinced.
“None of this is enough to accuse anyone—and what would be the accusation? What’s the motive? I don’t see where we take this.”
Maria’s pronouncement was the administrative equivalent of a firewall. Vinnie slumped.
“Start with what seems odd.” Shareen’s baritone bounced across the room. “Let’s go with the calendar dates.”
Blanca agreed, adding, “I’ll go through Bill’s calendar on my computer and compare it to the one on his computer. He doesn’t like me to look at his computer, but if he questions me I’ll say Maria requested all executive calendars be coordinated because of the changes needed for the Northrop crisis.” Blanca gave Vinnie her conspiratorial smile; she had just co-opted Maria into her scheme.
For solidarity, Shareen said, “I’ll do the same with Linda’s calendar, here and California.”
Maria pressed her lips together and nodded agreement. “Okay. It makes sense and follows protocol. I’ll send a memo to make it official.”
Maria had thrown Vinnie a bone.
Vinnie turned to her. “Thanks, hon, you’re the best.”
“Don’t ‘honey’ me. And Vinnie, you do nothing. Understand? Nothing! Let Shareen and Blanca take the first steps. We’ll talk when we learn more. And this goes offline. No more discussion at the office. Can everyone meet tomorrow after work at Café Momo?”
“That’s too late,” said Vinnie. “The presentations are tomorrow morning. We need to act before then.”
“Vinnie, I’m sorry, but nothing can be done about the presentations. Go help Dan prepare and leave the rest to Shareen and Blanca.”
“Then why bother?” Vinnie said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I don’t care if you don’t like me saying it, Maria, but fuck!”
Maria ignored the outburst. “Tomorrow after work, Café Momo.” She rubbed Vinnie’s shoulder as she left the room.
Vinnie motioned agreement, not with Maria, but with himself. He knew what needed to be done, and he would do it.
Chapter 4
Office Lamb
Inside DV&N’s Spec Room—shorthand for the pretentious Spectacular Room, named because of its panoramic view of New York—the two candidates faced each other across the long table, waiting for the others. Linda came dressed in her power suit, and she’d chosen it well: professionalism without the appearance of a man hidden inside a woman. Dan’s suit had been chosen by Ginny and approved by Vinnie. Dan had complained—“I’m selling my ideas, not a suit”—but Ginny had made sure he looked his best.
The two candidates smiled and uttered perfunctory greetings before taking their assigned seats at the midpoint of the ellipsoid table, which was rumored to have replicated Gary Del Vecchio’s surfboard. Linda faced the outer window, while Dan faced the corridor through a glass wall that ran from floor to ceiling so that anyone passing could enjoy the view. Gary Del Vecchio had designed this room to counter high-rise claustrophobia among DV&N employees nestled in interior offices. And he had succeeded. He also intended the open-environment plan to minimize office politics. At that, he failed.
Yet Gary’s main focus was the bottom line—and that meant the expanding European Union markets that rivaled those of the US. By the end of 2013, the EU had grown to twenty-eight countries and over five hundred million people—nearly twice the United States population—and a GDP ten percent larger. So DV&N needed a better position in Europe, which the board felt was achievable with better coordination among DV&N offices across London, Paris, Milan, Vienna, and Frankfurt, among others. Today they would be picking their first-ever European chief executive director.
And now, Dan and Linda, the final candidates for the position, presented a battle of two VPs with completely different management structures in mind for addressing the European challenge. Bucking current management trends, Dan favored an arrangement that would encourage direct and reciprocal communication at the individual country level, whereas Linda favored a traditional chain hierarchy. She ran the San Francisco office like a kingdom, and she felt that approach would be even more appropriate in Europe.
As the board members filed into the Spec Room, most of them made a beeline to the back wall buffet where fresh fruit, yogurt, and juices were served. There was not a single donut or bagel in sight, in keeping with DV&N’s health-conscious corporate culture. The DV&N board had more diversity than most: one male African-American, one male Latino, two Caucasian women, and one disabled, male veteran, along with four other members of the standard-issue white male variety. The board generally met twice a year, yet the members knew each other well. They met frequently on the “circuit board,” which was not an electronic reference but a modern-day variant on old-school nepotism: I’ll invite you to join my board, and you invite me to join your board. Guffaws echoed from the rear buffet—commiserating over golf handicaps, no doubt. But when they took their seats around the table, the men and women of the board donned serious faces, matching those of the two stone-faced candidates.
The four partners completed the board. Bill Barrington was at the buffet first, followed by Brian Neale, Chief Financial Officer, co-founder, and senior partner. Neither said a word as they took their seats near the head of the table. At the head of the table sat CEO Gary Del Vecchio, the other co-founder and senior partner, his power drink in hand, nodding like a dashboard hula figurine to no one in particular. Last to enter was Maria Benfatto, Gary’s executive assistant and a junior partner. Maria grabbed a glass of sparkling water before sitting next to Gary. The two presenters had brought their personal assistants: Vinnie Briggs for Dan and Shareen Cooper for Linda; Shareen had been temporarily assigned to Linda in lieu of her usual assistant, who had remained in California. The only other person in the room was a recording secretary who sat at a small table behind Gary.
A coin toss placed Dan first in the lineup. He was nervous, which was unusual for him. He stooped behind the front room
dais, farthest from the four clustered partners, and his backbone curved. He vacillated between speaking and clicking his laptop mouse for the next slide, and his presentation was filled with caveats and hypotheticals: “… and if I had the data I could show the rebound in the second quarter… you’ll have to accept my hypothetical result based on similar, published data… I wish the data was here to show how my model accuracy improves with each quarter after a downturn…”
For forty-five minutes Dan rambled, making errors that would embarrass a first-year business student. He even spilled juice on his paper handouts, which were the best substitute he could manage for the data not in his PowerPoint slideshow. Vinnie quickly soaked up the liquid, but he couldn’t salvage Dan’s dignity.
Dan’s apologetic closing hardly sounded like that of a potential director. He fumbled his analogy to Feynman’s Challenger disaster analysis. He stuttered. He heard himself substituting tautology for analysis. Like a US presidential candidate who blows a debate with rookie blunders that leave pundits incredulous and voters stunned, Dan had his Obama second-term debate moment, complete with his lame “trust me” conclusion.
Finally, it was over.
Linda ambled to the dais as Dan collected his notes. She tilted her head to him and spoke quietly, but her words were audible throughout the room: “Very good, Dan. You’re a hard act to follow.” Later in the day, Vinnie would relay to Blanca his translation of Linda’s words. “She gave him a slap on the back and the old nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah. ‘You were bad, really bad. Ha ha. You’re a fucking schoolboy.’”
Dan passed the screen pointer to Linda. Her demeanor contrasted with Dan’s in every way. She stood tall, her arm outstretched, pointer held like a baton as she bellowed: “Europe needs strong direction. Markets are not subject to votes. Europe is in chaos and my plan does not need twenty-eight diverse opinions. Let me show you what real data means to a model.”
How is it possible? Each of Linda’s flashing tables of data stabbed at Dan. Linda highlighted first-quarter growth followed by a decline in the second. Her model would have anticipated the second-quarter decline and created buy/sell opportunities. In Paris, she’d avoid the delay of a flood of independent counsel from each European capital. Her data analysis cried for decisive action, a profit-making guarantee. Dan watched the presentation stoically, but on the inside he cringed: Linda was a European Director.
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