Career Girls (51 page)

‘Numbers. Financing. Secrecy,’ Rowena interrupted, her green eyes alight. ‘How can we do this and contain it in the time?’

‘Maughan Macaskill are our investmerit bankers -‘ ‘Goddamn it, I’ve been trying to hire them.’

‘I know,’ said Topaz, with a slight smile. ‘They have a specialist analyst who’s been following Mansion for years. He thinks he can put together a proposal for breaking it down and selling it offthat would make all the buyers rich. If we banded together to buy it and provided cash and .

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equity, a number of buyout firms would come in with bonds ‘

‘Junk bonds?’

‘It’s not like it used to be, OK,’ Topaz said. ‘They’d be providing debt. But we’d obviously need to work out the numbers very, very carefully.’

Td have to sell it to Joshua Oberman, our CEO. And you’d need to sell it to your board.’

Topaz shook her head. ‘Our chairman Matthew Gowers

has absolute control, but I would need to sell it to him.’

The two women held each other’s eyes for a long moment.

‘Are you in?’ Topaz demanded.

Rowena nodded. Tm in,’ she said.

‘… and now we have the fourth top ten smash from Zenith, another Atomic album that just can’t be stopped! This is “Sweet Savage”, right here on K ‘

John Metcalf flicked off the radio and spun his Maserati

up Sunset. Jesus, he thought. I can’t stand to hear that fucking band.

He was as mad as hell. He couldn’t believe it. His fiancre had woken him up this morning to tell him she’d be stuck in New York for the next three weeks. Three weeks!

‘Rowena, this is getting ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘We had

an agreement and it involved you coming down here on Friday nights.’

‘I know, I know,’ she pleaded. ‘But this is the last time. Either it works or it doesn’t, but I’ll need this time-‘

‘For what? For what? Mansion’s damn takeover? Can’t you see it’s a lost cause? Ask a fucking banker, for Christ’s sake!’

‘John. You can come up here ‘

‘You run the company on your own, Supergirl? Uh? What about your division heads and your board and your boss? Can’t they help? Music has you Monday through Friday day and night! Since when does it need your weekends too?’ he yelled, pushing his hand through his hair.

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She hung up on him.

She fucking hung up on me! Metcalf thought, incensed. My own wife! Or at least about to be my own wife. I don’t need this shit. | don’t need to be fighting about work every damn day of the week!

Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life?

Unlike just about any other man in LA in his position, John Metcalfwas a feminist. He always had been; it was no big deal, it seemed natural to him. He believed in the free market and that meant giving everyone a fair break… there was no racism or sexism at Metropolis, because top management thought it was bad business.

He’d found Rowena Gordon totally attractive from the first moment he saw her and a big part of that was due to her hunger, her ambition. She was himself reflected. Metcalf saw himself in a skirt - whizz-kid, kick-ass little maverick carving out an empire in a tiny outpost of a big company. Hadn’t he done the same thing? When he’d been assigned to Metropolis, it was making thirty second commercials for dog foods. He’d started with one shoestring picture and built the first movie studio to qualify as a major since Orion. No wonder Cage Entertainment had been pleased with him. No wonder he was the youngest baby mogul to hit town.

But ambition was one thing. Obsession was another. What kind of workaholic put her life on hold?

Metcalf pressed his foot on the gas. He was getting frustrated. He couldn’t stop,thinking about her. About that lithe, naked body leaping in his arms. About her long, feathery hair brushing his cock. About the way she moaned deep in the back of her throat when-she was getting close to orgasm.

Jesus Christ!

There had been that new girl at Jack’s party last week. The compliant little brunette, stacked, tanned and stupid. A Playboy fantasy in the flesh.

The kind of girl he’d always steered clear of.

He wondered if he still had her number.

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‘Really?’ asked Matt Gowers.

‘Yes,’ said Topaz, intently.

She was sitting in the chairman’s office and it was nine at night; the only time he’d had available all day. Normal defence work had started at 7 a.m. with a review of their legal position, broken at lunch for half an hour, and carried right through till half-eight. Topaz had been hunched over her computer till her eyes ached and she hated it. Maths was never her strong suit.

she couldn’t complain. As the hours wore on, the

Still,

facts became clearer. Costs had been squeezed as tight as possible without hurting the papers; after her own revamp of the East Coast, Harvey had followed suit in LA.

‘I can’t get one extra dime out of these, and Mansion couldn’t either,’ Damian Hart asserted, and the bankers seemed to agree.

Topaz had also managed to talk a little more to Gerald Quin about their own idea. ‘Are we totally leftfield with this?’ she’d asked quietly.

The young man shook his head. ‘Nothing’s leftfield if it

can be done.’

So she’d summoned up her courage and asked to speak to Gowers alone after work; ill can ring up Rowena Gordon I can go pitch my own supervisor, she told herself.

Outside his thick glass walls Manhattan was a carpet of electric light, sparkling and moving; the cars seemed to race faster, the skyscrapers to jab higher, pounding along with her heartbeat. What if he thought she was way off-base? What if he thought she was blinded by personal ambition? That she was a hysterical pregnant woman?

But Gowers hadn’t thrown her out. He was listening. ‘Gerald Quin has been analysing this company for years and he swears the deal finances itself,’ Topaz insisted. ‘Look, boss. If Connor Miles gets hold of this company we’re all history.’

‘We’ve got a duty to the stockholders,’ the older man warned her.

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‘I realize that,’ Topaz replied, trying to cool her impatience. ‘But our duty is long-term, right? For all the stock might rise fifteen per cent from a takeover bid it’ll have fallen thirty per cent when he publishes his first set of results.’

She leant forward, the edge of her stomach resting against Gowers’ mahogany desk. ‘Matt, you wanna retire?’ she asked softly. ‘Because there aren’t that many spots open for unemployed CEOs at the other big magazine houses.’

Matthew Gowers looked down at the breakdown of Mansion Industries she’d put on his desk.

‘All right, let’s do it,’ he said. ‘And Rossi - keep it quiet.’

Rowena Gordon spent a couple of hours wondering how to broach the subject, then called Josh Oberman at home.

‘Gordon, know what the time is?’ Oberman snapped. ‘This better he good. Found me an investment bank?’

‘Topaz Rossi at American Magazines called me,’ Rowena said. ‘She wants to form a consortium with us, get some debt backing and take over Mansion Industries. They already hired Maughan Macaskill and there’s a guy there, a specialist in conglomerates, who knows Mansion back

wards. He reckons we’d have a good chance of doing it.’ There was a pause.

‘Let me get this right,’ Oberman repeated. ‘Musica Records and American Magazines team up and buy out

Connor Miles. In a hostile deal.’

‘You got it,’ said Rowena.

Oberman cackled, a great rasping laugh sputtering across the Atlantic.

‘Gordon, you are one insane girl. But why the fuck not?’ I’ve got nothing better to do.’

‘Are you serious?’ Rowena demanded.

‘If you are,’ he said, his tone suddenly changing. ‘And you are serious, Rowena, right?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s difficult but not impossible and it’s the only chance we have.’

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‘Then we’ll try it. I’m old, but I’m not dead,’ Oberman said. ‘And Rowena-I don’t want the executive committee involved.’

Gerry Quin was running on high octane.

He wanted this deal so bad he could taste it. A win fee would net millions for Maughan Macaskill.

More to the point, it would make his reputation. Forget Kravis. Forget Wasserstein. He, Quin, would be Wall Street’s new boy wonder - David slaying the mighty. Goliath of Mansion Industries. It was the and owing to one stupid, overconfident he could have American and Musica at the same time Connor Miles had set him up for it.

Practically an engraved invitation.

American and Musica. Big corporations, but not big enough to stand up to the conglomerate. Companies who’d only recently reshuffled their boards. Executives ready to

try anything to hang on to their first taste of real power. They were cornered. They were desperate. They would fight.

Nick Edward and he drew up a quick fee agreement and advised on the deal team. it had to be kept from as many people as possible; surprise was going to be key. Topaz Rossi offered the use of her house on Beekman Place, and they arranged to meet there on Friday morning at 7 a.m.

From American Magazines, Gowers took Rossi, Harvey Smith, Damian Hart and Eli Leber. From Musica, Joshua Oberman took Rowena Gordon and James Harton, the company lawyer. He also invited, at Gerry’s suggestion, the producer Michael Krebs, who worked on most of Musica’s star acts, and finally Barbara Lincoln, the manager of Atomic Mass.

Both these last two would be needed for public relations purposes-if he could threaten the stockholders with a talent walkout if Mansion got hold of Musica, that would be effective. Anyway, Oberman told the bankers that Barbara

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Lincoln was a trained entertainment lawyer and had run his Business Affairs and Legal Department for years.

‘Woman’s forgotten more about our contracts that I ever knew,’ he said gruffly.

They’d start work tomorrow morning.

Gerry Quin could hardly wait.

It was only seven in the morning, and limos were piling up along the tree-lined street. If anybody noticed anything, though, they weren’t about to say. In this part of town, most of the neighbours would die rather than admit to curiosity about a thing like that.

Topaz was ready for them.

‘We have to do this, right?’ Joe had asked weakly the night before, lugging in armfuls of frozen pizzas and a case of mixed HagenDazs.

‘Right,’ Topaz answered, hardly looking up from her figures. ‘You’re not going to try and stop me, baby, are you? Because that would be bad for my blood pressure.’ She patted her stomach gently.

‘No, no, you do what you want,’ said Goldstein hastily, recoiling from the threat.

Topaz smiled to herself. Who’d ever believe she’d resort to feminine wiles?

Joe had the last laugh, though. When their alarm rang at six on Friday he got up, showered as normal, and wandered offto dress.

‘What are you wearing?’ his wife asked, propping herself up on one elbow and sleepily pushing away a mass of crimson curls.

Her htsband was pulling a Mets T-shir’t over black Levi’s and his favourite pair of beat-up sneakers. ‘What does it

look like?’ he asked.

‘|t’s Friday.’

‘It is, ‘Joe agreed amiably, ‘and I’m staying here with you. I’ve taken the day off.’

‘You’ve done what! You can’t do that!’ Topaz protested.

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‘Everyone’ll be here in forty minutes.’

‘Try and stop me. There’s no way I’m letting you run this one on your own,’ he said, grinning. ‘Anyway, you seem to

forget that I do know a little about American Magazines.’ ‘No outsiders,’ Topaz objected feebly.

Tm not an outsider. I’m your husband,’Joe said, coming back to the bed and pressing her head to him in a leisurely kiss.

Matt Gowers was the first to arrive and Barbara Lincoln. resplendent in the smoothest cream cashmere by Nicole Farhi - the last, but by seven fifteen everyone had bled. Introductions were brisk and unsociable, Joe out coffee, and they started right in.

‘Partners,’ Joshua Oberman began. ‘What are. the sibilities?’

Instant pandemonium. The bankers and the lawyers started talking at once. Topaz started flicking on various computers brought over from the office, and

Gowers and Josh Oberman veered off on a tangent, discussing debt ratios between themselves.

Michael glanced over at Rowena. It was Josh Oberman who’d insisted he be here, and Krebs had sensed her effort not to look at him as soon as he’d walked through the door. Her handshake and her greeting had been as dry as dust. She’d been about that cordial to Topaz Rossi.

What a weird atmosphere, Michael thought, scoping the room. All these people with nothing in common, excepl; this deal. The lawyers - and Barbara, holy shit, I never saw that girl as a lawyer-sniping at each other. The merchant bankers doing figures with the finance guys. The CEOs

obviously at the start of a beautiful friendship. And Rowena with Ms Rossi.. ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’

Krebs looked up to see Joe Goldstein standing in front of him with a mug of black coffee.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m Michael Krebs. I produce records for Josh Oberman. ‘

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Joe nodded. ‘Atomic Mass, Roxana, Black Ice. And you did The Salute by Three Legions. Right?’

‘That’s right,’ said Michael, surprised. The Salute had been his first really big hit, out on CBS more than fifteen

years ago. ‘You’re well informed.’

‘It pays, ‘Joe said, shrugging.

Both men watched Rowena and Topaz. They were deep in discussion with Harvey Smith about something, but their body language ignored Smith completely. Rowena’s eyes kept sliding across to Topaz while her colleague was talking. When Rowena turned to Harvey, they saw Topaz

shift on her seat, watching the other woman intently. ‘Yeah, it is interesting,’ Krebs agreed.

‘You know Rowena Gordon well?’ Joe asked.

He couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘For years.’

‘What’s she like?’ Goldstein asked, surprised at his own curiosity. After he’d met Rowena at Liz Martin’s party he’d hated her.guts. Stuck-up English bitch! No wonder she’d given his baby a rejection complex, she was as cold as liquid hydrogen. But Topaz had torpedoed her career in retaliation and when she told him she’d called Rowena about Mansion, Goldstein had been stunned that the woman even agreed to a meeting.