The Deal (8 page)

Just feet from us the two kissed hello. I smiled slightly, surprising myself, as I remembered our fun times together. Then I jumped back into my hang out time with L.

Imagine my astonishment when her mystery man turned my way and addressed me.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke that in here. That’s why they have a limo parked out front. It’s the smoking section.”

Astounded and admittedly a bit impressed by the size of the guy’s balls, I didn’t answer. I just looked at him, then Elizabeth, who was more in anticipation of what I was about to say than any of us. I looked back at her guy.

“I’ll tell you what,” I responded, pointing to some vacant space behind me, “Since it’s late and the place is clearing out, I’ll stand all the way over here and—”

“They don’t want you smoking in here,” he interrupted. “Like I said, they have a limo out front. It’s the smoking section. I know because I come here, like, all the time.”

It was a draw for what bothered me more about the guy. The fact he had cut me off or the reality he was the prototype poser.

“Is that so?” I taunted. “You mean, like, all the time?”

L couldn’t keep from laughing.

“I said the establishment doesn’t—”

“If the establishment wants the cigar out, then someone who works for the establishment can tell me so.”

“Honey, let’s just—” Elizabeth tried to interject.

“Actually,” he continued, “I’m telling you so.”

Now I was pissed. Not just because this guy was killing my high but because Elizabeth’s happiness had only seconds earlier mattered to me.

He took a step toward me. Enjoying the free fall of being both drunk and wired, and threatened just enough to want to teach this yutz a lesson, I drew a large mouthful of smoke and blew it toward him.

“And who the fuck are you?” I asked.

I actually used to look forward to moments like this. Instantly everything about me intensified. My posture, my vision, my purpose. I could feel everyone’s eyes reaching out for me, grabbing at me as if they were hands. This mattered to me, it invigorated me. This type of attention helped remind me I was alive, it helped me feel like more than just another pawn on the chessboard of life. It made me feel like the mighty king that stands head and shoulders above all the other pieces.

Only now do I realize that’s what everyone, everything is. Just pieces.

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t hear or something?” I went on. “I asked who you are. Because if by chance you were actually someone, I’d maybe consider putting it out.”

“Fuck you,” he said as he took another step toward me.

“Sheldon!” Elizabeth tried again, this time reaching for him.

I looked past my adversary’s left shoulder. Once he noticed my attention had shifted he turned to see why. My boys were now standing in the bar, and they were staring directly at him.

He turned back to me, squinted, and spoke in a quiet, direct tone.

“Who do you think you are?”

In my little episode of narcissistic immaturity the answer to the question was an easy one. You see, a restaurant like davidburke and donatella loves a presence like mine. They love having people see me there, some guy who’s in articles for the deals he puts together. Some young hotshot who can eat wherever he wants but chooses to eat their salmon, tip their waiters, and drink their booze. Again, I didn’t respond. I had become so jaded, lost, that I simply felt no need to explain myself. I understand now that had I been sober, standing there with L in some kind of out-of-body experience, I would have been embarrassed to even know me.

At that moment the manager, Luis, came over and immediately asked the other guy if perhaps he’d be more comfortable in another part of the restaurant. But at the same time the bartender let me know my ride home had arrived.

“Don’t worry about it, Luis,” I said. “My car’s out front.”

“Mr. Gray, I am sure it is no trouble at all for the gentleman.
He—”

“Trouble for me?” a bewildered Sheldon blurted out.

I cut him off.

“Seriously, it’s no bother. It’s time for me to get out of here anyway.”

I removed my wallet from my pants pocket. I pulled out my Amex Centurion Card, the quintessential symbol of a true money-man, then handed it to Luis along with a fifty and my business card.

“I don’t feel like waiting. Messenger the card to my office tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir. Very good.”

I turned to L—

“Tell everyone dinner’s on me.”

— and then back to Sheldon.

“You know, Shelly, I’ve got a little secret for you.”

I moved my eyes to Elizabeth thinking that with one simple phrase I could ruin both their nights. Perhaps I could tell him about the time I met her parents. Or maybe he’d find it interesting, if he didn’t already know, that she feels sexiest in nothing but black lace lingerie. Either way, it didn’t matter. A little sharpening of the tongue was all it would take to satisfy me and make the two of them feel like shit.

“Oh yeah, asshole? And what’s that?”

Elizabeth, behind him, was quietly pleading with bulging eyes. I couldn’t help thinking how pretty she was when she smiled or that I had already hurt her in the past.

“The next round’s on me. Have a good night.”

I left the restaurant, jumped into the Town Car waiting for me, and headed home.

I always loved nights like this with my friends. Nights to let loose and rage a little bit in order to purge the excess energy I wasn’t able to get rid of destroying opponents in the conference room—my version of the battlefield. My boys have always been very important to me. I had no idea this was to be my last night spent with any of them.

As I stumbled into my apartment I was greeted by my favorite little soul in the world, Neo. My six-pound, white, long-haired Chihuahua named after Keanu Reeves’s all too cool character from The Matrix trilogy. Neo lives for going crazy as I come through the door. I threw my Purple Label suit jacket on the old-fashioned, free-standing coatrack in the front foyer, and immediately sprawled myself out on the hardwood floor so Neo could stand on my chest and lick my face. Something we both always looked forward to.

After more than a few swipes of Neo’s sandpapery tongue across my skin, I stood up and carried my little partner into the kitchen. I placed him on the black marble countertop next to the sink as he began to shudder with excitement, tapping his two little front paws against the cold rock excitedly. Although late, as often was the case, it was Neo’s dinner time.

I put Neo on the floor with his bowl of food, a combination of wet, canned dog food and some grilled chicken my maid prepared for him. I grabbed a Corona from the refrigerator and headed back out of the kitchen past the dining and living rooms, down the corridor past my guest bedroom, second bathroom, and study. When I got to my bedroom I stripped off my shirt and socks and went straight for the glass doors in the corner of the room, doors that led to my eight hundred square foot terrace overlooking Midtown’s east side. On the deck table there was a glass ashtray from Tiffany, a gift from my grandmother that I imagined she would be ecstatic to know I used strictly for marijuana since I don’t, and never have, smoked cigarettes. There was a half-smoked joint in the little glass bowl’s mouth, and since I wasn’t fucked-up enough already I reached for it and lit it with a book of matches from Ben Benson’s.

I struck a match, and as I got past the inevitable nanosecond of having to smell sulfur, I took a long pull of the dense weed cigarette as I leaned back in one of the deck lounge chairs. I then exhaled as slowly as I had inhaled, immediately taking another serious puff before placing the joint back on the ashtray’s edge and again grabbing my beer. I leaned back into position as Neo came charging outside and jumped right up on my lap. He was trying to climb up me in order to give me another kiss, so I leaned forward and met him halfway as he licked my nose. Then, since a slight midnight breeze had taken hold of the city that night, Neo curled himself up into a ball in my lap as he drifted into sleep, his tired eyes falling against his will within seconds. I didn’t want to wake him, so I remained still for the next half hour as I enjoyed the rest of my beer and surveyed the glowing topography of the city, a vast mountain range of concrete, glass, and steel that had afforded me every aspect of my surroundings.

At one twenty, after a good game of challenging myself to properly identify numerous randomly selected properties from the horizon, I reentered my bedroom, placing a slumbering Neo underneath the blanket on my bed. I headed back down my main corridor all the way to the front foyer, where I retrieved my briefcase before heading to the study. Wearing nothing more than the suit pants I had been in all day, I settled in to the room, a warm, sophisticated study I had modeled after my father’s. The walls, all comprised of dark, stained wood bookshelves lined with everything from classics to beach reads, surrounded me comfortably as I settled in to the oversized, dark leather chair behind my desk. My feet welcomed the plush, black carpet as I turned on my desktop computer and pulled all of my necessary documents from my briefcase. I turned on the desk lamp, which created just enough illumination for my workspace while simultaneously reminding me of what time it in fact was. The apartment was dead quiet, the only faint sounds coming from the streets down below just past the windows behind me.

I began to work furiously.

Chapter 9

7:30 a.m.

Thursday morning. Exactly forty-eight hours after Andreu Zhamovsky had become the focal point of our lives, we were in Tommy’s office ready to each lay our brilliant idea on the table. As always each of us was secretly hoping to outshine the others. Tommy was behind his desk and the three of us were each in our usual spots around his office. Much like any family when in a common gathering place, we were no different. We had our set places, places that made us feel safe, places that reminded us we belonged no matter what. Like my buddy L’s family growing up, each family member, all six of them, would take the same place around the dinner table every night. This never changed, because none of them were willing to let it. That’s family.

All four of us were drinking our morning Starbucks. My night had run right into my morning, so even though I looked as sharp as I did every day, I hadn’t yet had any downtime to wash the prior evening out of my system. For all I cared my Starbucks may as well have been another glass of Sapphire. It didn’t matter. I was pumped. Even more so by the fact that I could tell they were too.

“Let’s get to it straight away, guys,” Tommy began. “I have a breakfast with Jon Robard in an hour.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” Jake said.

Jon Robard was the lead broker on the other side of a deal Jake had been putting together for six months. Jon was representing the owner of a class A building at 55th and Park. Jake was representing Chenowith Publishing that was seeking fifty thousand square feet. They were about to close on two full, contiguous floors, and the window of opportunity was closing for us to lock in our desired numbers. The deal couldn’t be put off. Tommy was sitting in for Jake.

“Now he’s all set with fifty-two dollars per square foot in years one, two, and three. Is that right? Or are they still trying to bump you up starting year three as opposed to four?” continued Tommy.

“We’re airtight at fifty-two, year one through, and including, year three.” Jake responded.

“Fine.”

Tommy then ran his eyes over page sixteen of the lease once again, the page outlining the base rental prices for the space over the term of the lease. These numbers are given as an annual figure for each year of the term, that when divided by the number of square feet being rented gives you the rental cost per square foot.

“Fine,” Tommy said again, as he quickly thumbed through the rest of the document. “Electric, the option to take the floor above in two thousand seven. Everything else seems in place.”

Tommy put the lease, and Jake’s deal, aside.

“Let’s go. Perry, you start.”

Perry was ready to go, I could see it in every aspect of her that morning. Her dark brown Armani pantsuit matched the crisp look in her eye. Her hair was shapely yet full and her make-up was slight but just enough to give her that extra little oomph. She looked like she was about to stand up and litigate the biggest case of her life in front of a packed courtroom. She was excited. She was so Perry.

“Cantrol Petroleum,” she began.

“Twelve sixty-eight Sixth Avenue,” I added.

Tommy, a hint of fatherly advice injected into his upcoming remark, was concerned.

“Public corporation with a tough board. Be careful here, Perry.”

“I spoke to their broker about a week ago, and the word is their financial situation is far worse than even The Street knows. They may have no choice but to alter their office space situation.”

“Doug Welsh has been handling their real estate affairs for years. Why would he be opening up about this so easily?” asked Jake.

“Did I say broker? I meant to say new broker. Does the name Auerbach mean anything to any of you?”

James Auerbach is a hotshot broker on a top team at a rival firm. Not only is he a respected adversary, he is someone we often exchange sensitive information with. A relationship founded on the basis that he is, coincidentally, one of Perry’s closest friends from college.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” exclaimed Tommy.

“Kidding I am not, Captain.”

“Why are they switching?”

“Because they are as arrogant as every other large fucking corporation out there who wants to blame every little thing on someone else. All of the sudden, while watching their stock price plunge, some old, crusty executive sat back and took notice of the monstrosity of a building they reside in. Then he realized they were laying off people and half of the entire property is empty and they are bleeding because of it. When he realized he was running out of people to point his finger at, he decided it was time to hold Doug Welsh accountable for the fact they were stuck with so much space. They hadn’t planned well enough for a downturn in the economy. Between the fact that they’re having a hard time recovering and the world’s current oil situation.”