The First Wives Club (45 page)

Gil’s contempt for these tail-riders put a sour taste in the back of his throat. He continued, ‘Because I told the executive committee that we were going after Mitsui for a takeover, there was a leak and eery asshole on the street jumped on the bandwagon. So, no one noticed when I started to quietly go after my real target.”

“Wait a minute,” Dwight said. “You lied to the executive committee when you said Mitsui?” He was near panic in his disbelief.

Gil smiled his best little-boy smile. “Yeah, well, I lied. Just goes to show you, Dwight—can’t trust anyone. I knew there was a leak, so I made it work for me instead of against me,” he said proudly. If he had been alone, he would have exhaled onto his fingernails and buffed them briskly on his lapels. ‘Now, this afternoon’s special meeting will announce that. Oh, and you are invited to attend.”

Dwight got it, the corners of his mouth flickering up. Gil continued to smile and finished, “Stick with me, kid. We’re about to pull off the biggest takeover in the history of Wall Street.”

Gil mentally slapped himself on his back for having had the foresight of getting the go-ahead from the very special executive committee— the four largest shareholders in the partnership corporation plus himself.

The Gang of Four as he thought of them, the Central Committee. You want something done, you go to the doers. He got their permission to go after Maibeibi after telling them about the “disinformation” on Mitsui. And these guys don’t talk, he knew. They understood their bottom line.

That’s one of the reasons he had been so hard on Mary today. He knew he had the executive committee in his pocket. But he could only keep them there by having accurate numbers and a plus sign on the bottom line.

Leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial voice, he said, “More money than even you could imagine in your wildest dreams of avarice,” and winked.

Dwight clapped his hands, then grabbed for Gil’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Gil, you’re brilliant. A genius. I knew the minute I first set eyes on you.”’ Gil watched him dance out the door, where he pirouetted and said, “Great work, Gil.”

As the door closed behind Dwight, the intercom buzzed again.

“Mr. Griffin, you have the SEC compliance meeting at three P.M. after the executive committee. Where do you want it set up?”

He had forgotten about the regulatory review. It was routine to the securities industry but not to be taken too lightly. And if there’s a problem, stuart is the company’s compliance officer.

“Right in here, Mrs. Rodgers. Make sure they have something and keep them occupied—coffee, drinks, whatever. I might be late. Keep them happy. And let Mr. Swann handle it.”

“But Mr. De Los Santos asked specifically to meet with you.”’ “Don’t worry about it.”

As he rang off, he swiveled his chair to face the great expanse of the Manhattan harbor visible through his picture window.

Today, more than usual, he tingled with the sensation of anticipated victory. McCracken and Steinberg had jumped on the Mitsui bandwagon, he had learned, and now they were going to take a fall while making him the richest, most powerful takeover king in the world. Cover of Time.

Man of the Year, for chrissakes.

It was only fitting. Look what I’ve accomplished in a few years. I brought the oldest family private bank in the country public and merged it With an international financial conglomerate. Me! I did it. If the Swanns had manipulated their holdings the way I did, they, too, could have made millions.

But they fucked up, he thought. They didn’t know how to play, so they should have gotten off the court. But Mary knows how to play. She’d better not lose her focus. He remembered Annie’s attack on him the other day.

Who was she to come in here and accuse me of underhanded tactics? If Aaron Paradise had made a bundle instead of losing a bundle. she’d be kissing my ass. She doesn’t understand the game. Another housewife-bitch with too much time on her hands. Well, he had too many other things to think about. Two big reviews today, the executive committee and the SEC. Piece of cake, he thought.

The executive committee meeting would be short. They always were.

First, start out by giving them the bottom line—how much profit we could make if we go for Maibeibi. After that, there was little else to say. They’d buy it.

And the SEC? Today’s meeting was just the opener. They’ll be here about a week, usual crap. I can stroke them for about an hour, get them off on the right foot. Fifty-thousand-dollar-a-year bureaucrats, he thought. Fifty thousand and a pension. My guys at a million plus a year can run circles around them. Even Swann. Get a couple of broads to wine and dine them at night. No problem.

And of course—he smiled to himself—I had the foresight to have Stuart Swann sign off on all the compliance crap to the SEC, so if worse comes to worse, I’ll toss them Stuart to keep them off my back.

I got it all covered, he thought. Got a wife who knows how to do business, got my partners in my hip pocket, and a virgin to sacrifice if the SEC digs too deep. And the biggest takeover coup just around the corner.

He got up and stretched. then continued to stand with his arms outstretched as if embracing the scene beyond the window. There were times, bad times, when he believed he won not because of his own greatness but because of the weakness of others.

But this was not one of those times. He ran through the succession of names in his mind once again, Swanns, Milken, Mary Birmingham, yeah, even the SEC. He thought of his afternoon squash game, one of the Young Turks had challenged him in a meeting yesterday and would be crushed on the court this afternoon. Then he and Mary were going to a party. It was a good day.

He spoke out loud through clenched teeth. “Nothing can stop me now.”’ B O O K T H R E E The wives Getting Even Gil Goes to Japan.

The apartment was a shambles. Gil strode through the marblefloored gallery, flinging open the immense mahogany doors. Library, study, some other goddamned room, all in various states of chaos, furniture covered in wrapping, sealed cartons, rolled-up rugs, fabric tacked to walls, paint cans littering the floor. The only room finished was their bedroom, which functioned also as a home office. And nowhere a suitcase.

They were leaving for Japan tomorrow and not a suitcase to be found, much less the packing done.

Gil had been more satisfied living in Greenwich. Despite her flaws, Cynthia had given him a perfectly run house. And Gil was entitled to that. Then he had the commute, his quiet time every day, to drive his beloved E and think. And there he had a proper garage, not a cramped space in a basement. Here there was nowhere to tinker comfortably with his car, nowhere to commune with it.

Missing that, and deploring this half-finished apartment, he felt worse than irritated.

He felt murderous. What in Christ’s name was Mary thinking of? He’d let her move him out of Greenwich and then out of their perfectly comfortable pied-a-terre on Park so that they could wallow in this sty?

Where did she come off assuring him that it would be comfortable in no time? It had been weeks, and things still were in tumult. Couldn’t he trust her? Couldn’t she manage one damn thing’?

He continued down the gallery to their bedroom wing. Here, at least, there was some order, but not nearly enough. He had suggested that they stay at the Waldorf for a few more weeks, but oo, Mary had all but guaranteed him the spic queer she had hired was nearly finished with this faggot decorating shit.

Well, by the time they returned from Japan, he had better be.

Gil crossed the huge bedroom and approached the walnut butler’s tray that held several crystal decanters and a half dozen cut-glass tumblers. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch and opened the ice bucket. He couldn’t believe his eyes. No ice, only some lukewarm water. A household staff of four, not counting their butler, and they couldn’t even manage to keep ice in the ice bucket! He rang for Prince.

As he turned from the bellpull, he couldn’t help but survey the view.

Dizzy for a moment, he automatically stepped back from the bay window, then hated himself for the weakness. Christ, you’d think he could conquer that foolishness by now. And the upcoming eighteen hours enclosed in an aluminum tube hurtling through space at six hundred miles an hour, thirty thousand feet up in the ain-that was another weakness he worked very hard at concealing. He couldn’t let himself think about that one now. Anyway, on the plane Mary would distract him. Sex on the plane—silent, always in danger of discovery—both excited him and calmed his fear of flying. He took a long breath and looked out the window.

He had to admit that the view was spectacular just now. As the sun set behind the Central Park West skyline, he could see the entire park spread out before him. It was a marvelous skyline with the distinctive silhouettes of the San Remo, the Beresford, the Majestic, all backlit by the setting sun.

Well, attractive yes, but there was no one over on that side of the city but Democrats, parvenus, and Jews. He would never live there.

Gil paused for a moment. It had been strange that this building’s board had seemed reluctant to approve him. Their reluctance had made him all the more determined. Ironic, since he had actually preferred the Park Avenue pied-a-terre, and its lack of views. Yes, that place had suited him just fine.

He heard a noise at his back and turned to see Mary enter the room, with Prince close behind her carrying a Bergdorf bag. More new fripperies. His anger came back, and he looked coldly at both of them.

‘ Ice .

”Sorry, sir,” Prince apologized.

“Hello.” Mary smiled.

It was clear that she was cheerful, and this only irritated him further.

“Where is the luggage?” he asked. His voice was calm, as always, though she should be able to hear the edge in it.

“Who knows?”’ she said, shrugging. “I’m not Cynthia, Gil. Ask Prince.”

He let that pass. Now was not the time, although he could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Mary paused. He could see she was bursting with something.

“I’ve got some good news,” she said. Gil sighed.

Prince returned with the ice and a tray of the Norwegian flatbread that Gil favored, as well as a small wheel of Explorateur cheese. He placed them on the low table in front of the sofa, a sort of peace offering.

Gil sat down, his drink still uniced, his anger undiminished.

“Gil, I’m going to co-chair the Fantasie FunFaire.”

Gil shook his head but restrained a groan. More of this completely useless social nonsense. He felt himself losing his patience.

Somehow, she’d gotten onto this kick of committee work, charities, and volunteering. Didn’t Mary realize that she’d never be the real article, that she’d be suffered by those women only because of the contributions she’d bring in? Gil had a horror of looking foolish, of letting her look foolish. He got up to put ice into his glass.

“Well, that’s what you wanted, I suppose.”

“It’s going to be the new event of the season. And Bette Bloogee, Lally Snow, Gunilla Goldberg, and Elise Atchison are all on the committee with me. It will be such fun and great for business, too.”

That was a lot of bullshit as far as Gil was concerned. He had yet to do a deal as the result of one of those affairs. Business was what was great for business. and he wished Mary would get her head back into “Well, good,” he managed.

“Is that all you can say? Gil, this is the board to be on. All of the women who count are on this committee. I’ll get to work with them all.”

His back turned, he winced. For God’s sake, she didn’t even begin to see the distinctions between the others and that Bloogee woman, prostitute or call girl or whatever she’d been. Mary just didn’t know the ropes, and it was embarrassing. Well, they could talk about it on the flight to Tokyo.

“Have you started packing?” He added another finger of Scotch and, at her silence, turned to look at her. She was standing beside their bed, her dress off, her pink silk slip shimmering against her creamy skin.

Despite his irritation with her, he felt a stirring.

“Well?” he asked.

“Gil, I’ll have your bags packed in an hour. But I’m not going to pack mine.”

He stood silent, absolutely still, staring at her. What the hell was she talking about?

She dropped her eyes. “The committee meets next week and I need to be here. It took so long, Gil, to break into this. I can’t not appear.”

She looked directly at him for the first time. “I’m not going to go to Japan, Gil.”

He felt the anger rising in him, but he made himself continue to stand utterly still.

”You have everything under control on Maibeibi. All the research is complete. And over there women in business are more of a liability than an asset. I’ve asked Kingston to go instead. You don’t need me, and we do need this.”

She was talking faster and faster, he noticed. Almost babbling. But for him everything seemed to go in slow motion. The anger, the absolute rage at her insolence flooded. Was she mad or completely stupid? How had she dared to decide all on her own to replace herself with Kingston? That jabbering smart-ass, what good was he to Gil? He couldn’t fuck Kingston. Mary stood there, looking at him, blinking, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“I’m not going,” she said.

And then he was on her, his left hand gripping her slender throat, his right pulling on her hair, propelling her across the bed, forcing her down, his hand tightening on her neck. Straddling her, his legs pinning her across her chest, he watched as her expression changed from one of surprise to disbelief to horror. It was almost comic, and he couldn’t help but smile. Then, raising his left hand and clenching it into a fist, he hit her.

Is You Is Maibeibi?

Brenda was still breathless as she hurriedly paid the cabbie and rushed across the broad sidewalk and into the Rockefeller Center building that housed Elise’s office. Elise’s call this morning had brought the worst possible news.

As she hustled past the security desk, the elevator doors were just closing. She clutched her bag tightly under her arm and ran for it.