Her Man Friday

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  "But she never received any money," Kimball threw in. "No more than was required for her to live on." He smiled at her in a way that said he would never, in a million years, understand her, but would always, always respect her decision. "She's an odd duck, is our Lily," he continued.

  "Always wanting to do for others, never letting anyone do for her."

  "What's so odd about wanting to help other people?" she asked.

  "It's odd because so few people share your opinion," Schuyler said.

  "Oh, you might think so, Schuyler," she responded, "but you haven't met the people I have working with different charities. You'd be surprised how many people do care."

  Kimball sipped his martini, feigning—somehow Leo knew he was faking it—boredom. "Yes, I think I would be surprised," he said.

  "I'm not going to get into this with you tonight," Lily said. But there was something akin to amusement mixed with the bemusement in her voice. "You already know my stand on this. Whether you believe it or not, there really are some things in life that are more important than money."

  Kimball rolled his eyes, and Leo got the feeling that this was an old argument with the two of them. "Very easy for you to say, Lily. You grew up with every comfort a person could have. Mondo houses, private academies, convertibles on your sixteenth birthday, cotillions, yachts, and Chateaubriand for dinner every night."

  This time Lily was the one to roll her eyes, something that only reinforced Leo's conviction that they were playing out an old scene. "Convertible," she corrected the billionaire. "Singular. I only got one convertible for my sixteenth birthday. Which, I'll remind you, got repossessed three months later. Along with everything else we owned. And we did not have Chateaubriand every night."

  "Oh no?" Kimball asked.

  She shook her head, but smiled devilishly. "Only Wednesday was Chateaubriand night."

  "And I suppose you're going to tell me you ordered pizza from Domino's every Friday night."

  "Of course not," she retorted with a haughty sniff. "We had Cook whip us up a prosciutto-and-shitaake pizza from scratch, just like any other self-respecting Main Line family would."

  "We couldn't even afford Domino's in my family."

  "Yes, yes, yes. So you've said a million times. And you couldn't afford ice cream, or new shoes, or a basketball, or a dog, either. Tell me, did you also have to hike barefoot for ten miles through five feet of snow to get to school everyday?"

  Kimball shook his head before enjoying a thoughtful sip of his martini. Then he replied, "No. We couldn't afford snow."

  "Poorboy," she said with a warm smile.

  "Debutante," he retorted just as fondly.

  The two of them exchanged a look that held a wealth of affection and understanding behind it, a look that made Leo wish he'd known Lily for as long as Kimball had. But he was beginning to realize that, although she shared a bond with the billionaire that was different from the kind of relationship she would ever have with anyone else, the one she shared with Leo was—and would always be—no less important.

  "Besides, I've never needed anyone to do anything for me," she added imperiously, lifting her chin. "I've managed very well on my own."

  "So you have," Kimball agreed. "But, Lily. Darling. You really are going to have to do something about your solitary status. And Mr. Friday here does seem to be a decent sort." He turned to throw Leo a meaningful look. "You are a decent sort, aren't you, Leo? Do assure me that I haven't misjudged you most profoundly."

  "Depends on what you mean by 'decent,' " Leo said, his brain still buzzing from everything he'd learned here in the last several minutes.

  "You won't take your findings to my—our—board of directors just yet, will you? You'll let me and Lily have a word with them first, yes? They do, after all, require a certain… handling. Surely you noticed that about them."

  Leo didn't answer. Frankly, he had no idea what to say. He still couldn't quite believe that Lily Rigby had been instrumental in building Kimball Technologies into a multi-national, multi-billion dollar industry. He still couldn't quite believe that she had given all that money away—given it all away—to people and charities and organizations who might see their lives and situations improved as a result.

  Could he?

  "Just tell me this," he said.

  "Anything," Lily assured him, and he knew that whatever it took to straighten all this out, she was willing to do it.

  "Everything the two of you have done—the structuring of the business, the appropriation of the money, the donations to all the charities…"

  "Yes?" she spurred him further.

  "Has it been legal? Ethical? Moral?"

  "It has most assuredly been legal," Lily told him. "We have all the documentation and records to prove that. And it's all moral, too," she continued. "We never lied to anyone, Leo. We just let them assume what they wanted to assume. Schuyler and I were a team from the beginning. We just never told anyone for sure that I would be the one making the final decisions and that I would be the one running things. They all drew their own erroneous—and sexist, I might add—conclusions. So none of it was illegal or immoral."

  "How about ethical?" he asked.

  She and Kimball exchanged glances that were none too casual.

  "No, I don't suppose it was ethical," she conceded. "But it was necessary."

  "Why?" Leo asked. "I mean, you've told me why it was necessary to put yourself in charge and keep that part a secret, but what about all the charitable donations? Why did you have to keep all that a secret? What was the big deal with giving away millions of dollars annually? I would have thought that would just make Kimball look better in the eyes of the public."

  "Well, it was quite a lot of millions," Lily reminded him. "Considerably more than the average corporate philanthropy."

  "So?" Leo asked, thinking it a very good, if very succinct, question.

  Kimball was the one to supply the explanation this time. "So I didn't want to look better, that's why. I didn't want it getting out that I was a bleeding heart philanthropist. Especially since it's Lily, and not me, who's the bleeding heart philanthropist here."

  Okay, so as explanations went, that one left a lot to be desired, Leo thought. "Why wouldn't you want to be viewed as a blee… as a philanthropist?" he asked.

  Kimball exhaled a long, impatient breath, then, as if that hadn't been enough to dispel his restlessness, he rose and paced to the fireplace, setting his empty glass on the mantle. For a moment, he only stared into the dance of flame that leapt and crackled and shifted from gold to orange, from blue to red.

  And then, without warning, he spun around, his eyes livid with discontent. "I absolutely detest poverty and anything even remotely associated with it," he fairly spat at Leo.

  "Well, gee, color me idealistic," Leo said, struggling to mask his surprise at the other man's vehemence. "But I don't think you're alone in that view."

  "No, you don't understand," the billionaire said. "I abhor it. I find it revolting. It sickens me."

  "Again," Leo muttered, still mystified, "that's not unusual, Kimball, trust me. A lot of people feel that way."

  "Yes, but few of them lived it the way I did."

  "Still…"

  "Still," Kimball interrupted him, "you can't possibly appreciate what it means to be needy unless you have truly experienced it first hand. Needy," he repeated in a voice that punctuated his revulsion. "It's such a nice little word, isn't it? Needy. It's almost cute. I won't subject you to a gratuitous, maudlin description of what my life was like growing up. Just know that all the Mother Teresas and op-ed pieces in the world could never do justice to what poverty really is. And once I rose above it, I never wanted to be associated with it—tainted by it—again. Not even to help alleviate it. I don't want to go back there, Friday. Ever. I don't want to look at it, I don't want to hear about it, I don't want to know it exists. I paid my dues in the poverty department. Trust me on that. I am done with it."

  The venom in his w
ords was almost scorching, Leo thought. He had no idea how to reply. His family had never been rich by any stretch of the imagination, but they'd never really been poor, either. So since he had nothing to offer by way of understanding, Leo only remained silent and waited for the billionaire to answer the question he'd asked.

  "When Lily and I launched Kimball Technologies, we struck a bargain. Actually, Lily gave me an ultimatum. She demanded that a specific percentage of our earnings each year go to charitable organizations and to people who needed help. Frankly, I wanted no part of that. But because I needed Lily, I agreed to her demand, so long as no one—no one—ever found out where the money was coming from. Even that first year, when we ran the business from our apartment and were barely able to turn a profit, she took the allotted percentage and gave it to the SPCA.

  "It was easy then for her to hide the origins of the money she extracted, because it was just the two of us. Even when we added a few more people to the fold, there was never any indication to alert anyone to the fact that Lily had skimmed money from anywhere. But for the last several years, I know it's been difficult for her. Still, because she'd promised she would always keep me out of it, she managed it."

  He smiled then, a genuine smile of warmth and good humor, and the fury that had been present a moment ago all but faded. And when he turned his attention to Lily, even that little bit of leftover anger disappeared completely. "We had no idea then that we would be able to take the company as far as we did," he said softly. "We hoped for it, certainly, but I don't think either of us ever even imagined we would go as far as we've gone. Had we given more thought to it, we probably wouldn't have organized things the way we did, and I probably wouldn't have demanded the secrecy that I demanded. But we were young and full of dreams. I suppose I should be grateful we've gone as long as we have without being found out. We've had a good run, but still… It's not going to be the same now."

  "Why not?" Leo asked.

  "Because darling Lily, in her infinite wisdom, has arrived at the conclusion that the business will suffer with her taking the helm in public, not just because she happens to be a woman, but because she is so prone to giving away the profits. I've tried to talk her out of abdicating, but she won't listen to me."

  "The board of directors, Schuyler," she said softly. "They'd never go for having your social secretary take charge, and they'd certainly never allow for the… distribution of funds… that I prefer. And with the bickering that would ensue, the company would suffer significantly and, probably, irrevocably."

  Leo had to concede that she could very well be right. In spite of that, and although he had no idea what possessed him to do it, he heard himself say, "Maybe if you let me talk to the board of directors first?"

  Lily and Kimball both turned their attention fully upon him, their faces bearing identical expressions of, well… befuddlement. Leo heartened considerably at the realization that he wasn't alone. Then he remembered that he had Lily. Darling Lily. And he would never be alone again.

  At least, he was pretty sure he had Lily. Probably, he had her, anyway. He was sure she'd forgive him for being such a sneaky little fink. Eventually. She'd come around… once he'd groveled and begged and prostrated himself before her and promised to do anything—anything—to make up for being such a jerk. Of course, that was assuming she still wanted him, too, an assumption that was, at this point, more than a little iffy.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "Well," he began, focusing on his connection to the board of directors for now, instead of his tenuous position with Lily. He tried not to be too smug as he continued, "I've sort of established a rapport with the guys on the board, and—"

  "A rapport?" she repeated. "With the board of directors? Oh, now there's a dubious distinction if ever there was one."

  "Needless to say," Leo continued, ignoring the comment, "I think I… you know… bonded with a couple of the guys, and—"

  "Oh, my," Lily interrupted him again. "You bonded? Truly? This just keeps getting better and better."

  "And, anyway," he plodded on, "I think maybe, between the three of us, with a little time and effort, we might be able to work this thing out, that's all. If you want to give it a shot, I mean. As long as you guys haven't done anything illegal, and as long as you've got all the proper documentation to uphold everything you've done, and as long as you could make the formal transition of power from Kimball to you fairly painless for the big boys…"

  He scrunched up his shoulders and let them drop. "Well, they might come around to your—our—way of thinking. Hey, your record speaks for itself. I don't know a lot about boards of directors, but status quo seems to hold a lot of appeal for them. And if you removed Lily from her position, it could mess with that status quo. Big time."

  No one said a word for a moment after that. They all simply regarded each other with varying degrees of skepticism, and speculation, and… hope.

  Kimball was the one to finally break the silence. Without moving from his position by the fireplace, he said, very softly, "Lily. Darling. What do you think?"

  She hesitated a moment longer before replying, "I think you're both being overly optimistic."

  "Well, it wouldn't be the first time that's happened, would it?" Kimball said.

  "No, that's true," she agreed. But still, she didn't concede either victory or defeat.

  "C'mon, Lily," Leo said, throwing his weight into the ring. "You know you don't want to step down from your position. I can see it in your eyes. You love being the man in charge. And think of all the good you could do once you're recognized as the driving force behind the business. If you leave the running of Kimball Technologies to someone else—someone with a Y chromosome—you know the first thing to go, in favor of the bottom line, will be the charitable donations."

  She nodded slowly, sadly. "Yes. I do know that."

  "Then you can't let the big boys win."

  She inhaled a deep breath, clearly anxious about deciding one way or the other. "I don't know…" she began.

  "At least try, Lily," Leo said. "You can't give it all up without even trying."

  "Well," she finally said, "it would be awfully difficult for me to watch someone else undo the network I've worked so hard to put together. And I really would hate to see all that excess money going to pad the pockets of a bunch of greedy, rich businessmen when it could be putting food into the mouths of families who are infinitely more deserving."

  She brightened some as she turned her attention to Leo completely. "And seeing as how you've got such a good rapport with the board," she added meaningfully, "I'd hate not to take advantage of it. But, Leo, perhaps it would be beneficial, too, to ask your friend, Mr. Dolan to come along when we address the board. And ask him to wear one of his double-breasted suits of Italian manufacture, would you?"

  Leo smiled. "Hey, I'll even have him eat some garlic and pesto before the meeting."

  Lily smiled back. "I think that would be an excellent idea. Schuyler," she added, turning toward her cohort, "what do you think?"

  He glanced down at his watch. "I think, Lily, darling, that it is now seven o'clock, and therefore a very opportune time to break for dinner." He lifted his glass from the mantelpiece and strode toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called out a question that really required no answer. "Shall we continue this conversation afterward?"

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Schuyler left the library feeling only marginally better about the state of things in his universe. Certainly the business area was much improved over what it had been less than an hour ago, even though they still had a ways to go there. But things weren't so ideal on the personal front.

  He had telephoned Caroline that afternoon, both at the Van Meter Academy and at home, hoping to catch her and talk to her and try to explain what he himself still didn't quite understand. It was just as well he hadn't reached her, he supposed. Because he really had no idea what to say to her. That hadn't stopped him, however, fr
om leaving a message on her home answering machine, asking her—no, begging her—to come to dinner at the house tonight.

  And now he couldn't quite slow his embarrassingly rapid pace as he covered the distance between the library and the dining room. When he arrived, however, it was to find himself awash in his family, with no sign of Caroline Beecham to be had. He deflated some at the realization that she hadn't come, but for some reason, his attention remained fixed on the collection of women who populated the dining room.

  His family.

  How extraordinary.

  Funny that he had never really considered them such in more than a denotative sense, not even when he'd been a child growing up. He'd never felt as if he had one iota of anything in common with his mother or his sister, and he'd never really known—or cared to know—his father. And now he had a daughter with whom he was discovering some semblance of camaraderie. Family. Strange, that. Stranger still was the odd little trickle of warmth that wound through him at the knowledge that he did indeed have such a thing to claim as his own.

  Really, he thought, he was going to have to try harder to understand the comings and goings of his life, if he ever hoped to make sense of anything.

  "Schuyler."

  And speaking of things that made no sense…

  He turned slowly at the sound of his name uttered in a voice he had feared he would never hear again. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood rushed through his veins, his breath caught in his lungs. Because Caroline strode down the gallery… albeit at a speed that would have put her in third place behind a glacier melting and a sloth awakening. It seemed to take forever for her to reach him, and when she finally did, she still halted with a good five feet of space separating them.

  That was okay, though, Schuyler thought, for now. Because standing as she was, he could drink his fill of her visually, and visually, she was a magnum of Perrier-Jouet just waiting to be savored.

  Her hair was once again swept up behind her, but not in the severe, pinching fashion she normally wore. No, in fact, several breezy little tendrils cascaded around her face, nearly to her shoulders, and the rest looked as if someone had just carelessly piled it atop her head. It was almost as if the removal of one little pin would send the whole arrangement tumbling down.