The Deal (27 page)

“I came to you, as a friend and told you what I needed. I told you that timing was my main concern and something I was willing to pay a price for. You messed with that, lied to me, looked to juice me and, in the process, have now put me behind schedule. All I can say, James, is how fucking dare you call me and scold me as if I’m the guilty party here.”

“Perry, you have no idea what it takes to deal with a board like this.”

“Save it, James. You stand to make a huge commission here, not to mention the fact that your wife has already probably started decorating as we speak. You’d better watch your ass now. You fuck this deal up in any way whatsoever, in fact, you do anything that isn’t in the best interest of seeing to it this deal closes, and I’ll make sure you swing.”

“Perry, Jesus! Now let’s just talk about this —”

“I’m done talking for now, James. I have been instructed by the board that all real estate dealings are to go through you. They told me there would be a board consensus in the near-term, and that it would be coming from you. If I find out you waited one second more than you needed before calling me, I spill the details of what happened. Got it?”

“Perry—”

“Got it?”

Auerbach sighed, defeated.

“Got it.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to disappoint the wife now, James.”

Perry hung up. Still standing, she folded her arms.

“Whoa!” I said.

“He never came home last night, Jonah.”

“Who?”

Annoyed, she didn’t respond. She just tilted her head to the left as though it were obvious.

“Did he at least call to tell you where he was?”

“Uh-huh, sure he did. At five o’clock this morning! He said he slept in the office. He said that he was working on some article and he’s coming up on the publication deadline.”

“You know, that doesn’t necessarily—”

“He wouldn’t e-mail it to me Jonah. I asked him to send me a copy, you know, for peace of mind, and he couldn’t even do that.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Per.”

It didn’t sound good. As much as I wanted to forget everything else and help her I couldn’t. I had become so consumed with the deal, and my own one million and one dramas, I only wanted her to remain focused, solid. She would have time, I told myself selfishly, to deal with her crumbling world later.

“What’s the difference anymore?” she asked, bitterly. “All the conclusions point to the same fact. I married a complete asshole.”

I wanted to forge ahead, into my own shit, into our deals, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Perry, dejected, began sifting through the neat piles on her desk as she searched for something.

“Damn!”

“What are you looking for?”

“Electricity survey for the Cantrol property.”

A red flag that I couldn’t ignore went soaring into the air. Perry never misplaced anything, let alone a crucial document from a live deal.

“You want to talk about it?”

“It’s just fucking electricity, Jonah.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Perry.”

She stopped and fell into her chair. I closed the door. Perry went on for a half hour about how it wasn’t right, about how she deserved better. She went through peaks and valleys of rage, then disappointment, hatred, then faith. I simply sat and listened, realizing that I owed this to her.

“I just want the best for Max. You know that. He deserves to be protected.”

“If you’re that sure, then there’s nothing that says you have to remain married. People every day are—”

“You know this isn’t that easy, Jonah!” she exclaimed, leaning forward in her seat. “You know who his father’s best friend is. They will all make this beyond difficult for me. Maybe even dangerous.”

“You don’t know that, Perry.”

“No, I don’t,” she went on, wilting back in her chair again. “But when I think of Max, and what he needs from me, I’m not even sure any of that even matters any more.”

Mascara-tainted tears welled in Perry’s eyes before one rolled down her cheek. She told me she was thinking, once and for all, of leaving him. For the first time I believed her.

When I returned to my office, to my mayhem, the day instantly got even worse. My other clients were seemingly all calling about their own respective deals. They were getting antsy by the fact they weren’t hearing from me and they were curious why I had turned so much over to Tommy. I explained to them that Tommy’s expertise was the most appropriate for the current stage of their deal, whatever stage this happened to be. I also told them that I’d be back on top of the situation again upon the current stage’s completion.

Sprinkled in between these calls were fleeting moments of trying to decide about the egg. But just as my mind would get started I would again be interrupted. If not by clients or partners, then by other thoughts. Thoughts of the girl pretending to be Angie. Thoughts of the conversation I just had with Perry. Thoughts of if we were really going to be able to pull this deal off. Thoughts concerning my safety.

After getting back from the bathroom, where I inhaled a quick bump, my phone rang.

“Jonah Gray.”

“Klyman tonight, punk.”

“Oh Fuck,” I sighed.

“Don’t even pretend to tell me you forgot!”

Jake was calling from his cell. And, yes, I had forgotten.

“Of course not,” I said. “I just have a lot going on this morning.”

Dan Klyman was a rowdy guy around Jake’s age and the son of Ken Klyman, one of our larger clients. The Klymans own a chain of eyewear stores across the country. Dan runs the West Coast operation. He comes into Manhattan once a year and always expects Jake and I to show him a good time. I wanted so much to get out of it, but the red flag this would have waved for Jake felt like too great a risk. I couldn’t think. My mind was spinning too fast because of the coke.

“I...uh...”

“What’s that?” asked Jake.

“What time again?” I said.

“Eight. Dinner at The Palm on the West Side then sandbox time at that new Penthouse Club. What’s the matter with you? You set the night up.”

Jake and I eventually hung up, which ultimately led my mind somewhere else. This was the moment I realized perhaps my drug use was starting to get away from me. My friends and I had always used all types of shit for fun, for avoidance. But now I was doing it to keep myself awake, to even my nerves, to pump my veins, to heighten and soften my senses. Now I was using them to literally help me function. Life during the previous ten days had changed drastically. My life had taken on a potentially life-threatening texture, but even though the times when I would party had vanished, my cravings had only gotten stronger. It had just cost me the opportunity to think on my feet, something I had always taken pride in, and get myself out of the situation. I had completely choked. I needed it to function, to make it through. I realized that it was all starting to get away from me.

By the early afternoon I was feeling uncomfortably confined in my office as well as in my head. I hated that outside circumstances were starting to dictate my life. As out of whack as everything had become, the calm surrounding me was eerie. The waiting for something to give or any sign of imminent resolution was becoming unbearable. I needed to get out. I needed to get away.

Chapter 29

I decided to head to the Madisons and check up on the progress of my deal. Once outside, I checked for the gun, which was in place. The sun was strong, so I put on my sunglasses, identified the shaded side of the street, which was another trick I learned from Pop when I was a kid, and headed uptown.

Park Avenue was bustling. The air outside was perfectly balanced and felt invigorating as it filled my lungs. Sharply dressed men and women were coming and going in all directions. Every important designer known to man was represented in some manner within eyeshot. Buildings that house the corporate headquarters for some of the world’s most vital, significant firms lined both sides of the street. Men with perfect haircuts barked into cell phones as women dressed in perfectly contoured, feature-enhancing business suits that showed just enough skin to keep the imagination churning gave eyes as they walked past. It was a needling tease, a harsh reminder of my usual Friday afternoons in the summer that consisted of deal making, “beautiful people” watching, and powerful commercial properties.

I made my way past the corner of 50th and Madison, only a few blocks from my destination. The smell of hot dogs from a vendor’s cart overwhelmed me as it hovered in the intersection like a mushroom cloud. I heard the growing rumbling of cars charge up behind me as the lights, in unison, turned green. I looked to my right. Half of the vehicles were assorted colors, half were the familiar yellow of a New York City cab. Then I almost slammed into one of my favorite types of tourists, the ones who, out of nowhere, decide to completely stop in the middle of a flowing sidewalk so they can wondrously look up at the surroundings. Part of me hated them while part of me envied their sense of wonder.

I walked into the classy, simple lobby of one of my deal’s two buildings. Just inside the revolving door I stopped, my shoes’ soles resting on the same gray, shiny marble that made up the rest of the three-story foyer. The calming, sturdy rock was laced with slight, faint white streaks. Two appropriately dressed men wearing blue suits—one a starter, or concierge, the other security—stood behind the centrally located concierge desk. Behind them on the wall was a huge oil painting of muted overlapping, black-and-white circles of all sizes over a gray background that matched the lobby’s hue. On the wall to my left, only feet past the entrance, was a flat, touch-screen building directory.

My needed senses, the ones I had put in my pocket for a few minutes, returned in a rush. Behind my glasses I took inventory of the lobby. Once I was comfortable, I took them off and headed for the elevators. My first order of business was to see how they were doing on the roof. I knew I would be able to find Ron, the chief building engineer, in the building office on floor twelve.

Just as I was about to step into the elevator my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I stepped to the side and let the small group of awaiting passengers go ahead of me. It could be Angie, I thought. Or it could be business related. I let it ring. If it was Angie, I could simply hang up.

“Jonah Gray.”

“I don’t like being played the fool, Jonah.”

It was a man’s voice. I couldn’t place it, but I definitely recognized it.

“Who is this?”

“My ties at Gallo are very strong, Jonah. I’ve spent many years cultivating them.”

It was Murdoch.

“Perhaps in case such a day as this was to arise.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Think for a second about how many mutual acquaintances we must have.”

He was right. The number could have been in the hundreds.

“Look Lloyd, I really don’t have the time for chitchat today. What part of our conversation last night was unclear?”

“You’re a real fucking wiseass, kid.”

“And you’re very original. Are we finished?”

“The bank’s going to want to keep the buildings with me, Jonah. You can bet on that.”

People coming and going from the elevators kept filing past me. Murdoch was throwing out another feeble attempt at intimidation. It was almost pathetic.

“What I’m betting on is the fact that my inspection team is already swarming the building,” I said. “Gallo is a bank, Lloyd. And economics speak for themselves.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they’d rather deal with a class A buyer stepping to the plate with a bat made of cash than some debt infested has-been treading water.”

“Don’t even think—”

“Listen, Murdoch, you’re keeping me from speaking with —well — anyone I actually deem important. You want the building, come and fucking get it. You got Gallo in your palm then call them. Not me.”

“I already have, Jonah. So don’t be surprised if you fall just short.”

I felt a jab to the stomach. The boys of Gallo were players, and they were still talking to Murdoch even though we had the parameters of a deal in place. The rule of thumb is that when earnest money is paid, and a firm begins due diligence, it is the same as a handshake meaning the deal is the buyer’s to lose. Merrill felt just as threatened by me as this asshole so I wasn’t all that surprised.

“You fucking scumbag!”

“Real Estate is all about relationships, Jonah. You must realize that by now.”

“I have an earnest money contract with signatures, Murdoch. You fuck with that, and I’ll nail you and Gallo to the wall!”

“I have no idea what you’re speaking of. I simply called to wish you good luck in your endeavors and remind you that failure is always a part of success.”

The smug fuck had been around the block, so I knew I needed to be careful. We both knew he was short on funds, the reason he lost the buildings in the first place. I took a deep breath.

“Speaking of relationships, who’d you go groveling to for a bailout? Must have been pretty embarrassing, you know, since you work so hard to present yourself around town as such a big shot.”

I was onto his game. I figured he’d found a money partner and was speaking quietly with Merrill and the boys at Gallo. Whether he knew the parameters of my deal or not. I couldn’t be sure. Had Murdoch’s group also proposed an all-cash deal as opposed to one involving other financial instruments? I couldn’t be sure of this either. What I did know was that the guy was grossly underestimating me, which is the only reason he could have possibly called to rub his ongoing talks in my face. He should have just kept quiet.

He chuckled. “You churn ahead in such a brash, yet obviously naïve manner.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, you want to see just how naïve I am why don’t you have a look at my bank account.”

“Exactly my point,” he continued.

“Here’s my point. I castrate all comers young and old who underestimate me, and I’m a busy man. Don’t call me again.”

“Such words of wisdom. Is that all the advice you have for me?”

“It is. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll bring you along to the closing. This way you can actually watch as the buildings officially transfer to an owner who can afford them.”