The Job (43 page)

“He hopped a cruise boat from Miami, if I remember correctly. And came ashore with five duffel bags, stuffed with money. It took four of my staff an entire day to count it all. Six million is a lot of cash.”

“Did he make any further deposits to the account afterward?”

“No. The account received no additional funds until yesterday, when you showed up-which, I suppose, makes you Mr. Peterson’s successor.” He glanced at his watch.

“You must now excuse me. I’m due to play tennis with our finance minister in less than half an hour.”

“One final matter.”

” Mr. MacGuire stood up.

“You must be brief. If I’m late, the minister may raise our base rate of interest.”

“Why did you tell me to be careful?”

He shrugged his shoulders, then said, “Because couriers are always expendable, that’s why.”

All the way back to New York, I kept thinking, So Peterson was my predecessor as the fund’s bag man-which meant that he had been in cahoots with Jerry and Ballantine for longer than three weeks. Which, in turn, also meant…

My brain switched into rewind mode. I suddenly remembered the telephone conversation I had had with Peterson right after he capitulated on the CompuWorld advertising spread. When I said that I knew all about the Joan Glaston incident, he actually sounded relieved-as if that was a penny-ante misdemeanor compared to … What? My mind reeled backward to that morning I drove north to Old Greenwich and confronted Peterson in his driveway. He had frozen when I mentioned Grand Cayman, then turned back toward me, his eyes filled with apprehension.

Grand Cayman. Something had gone down during that visit to Grand Cayman, which had set in motion…

Hang on. Maybe it was in Grand Cayman that he found out… what?

Found out something that made his encounter with that Metro-North express an inevitability?

Peterson had looked so jittery and high-strung when talking to Jerry at the SOFT US reception. Had Jerry been threatening him the way he subsequently threatened me? Maybe he’d been trying to turn Peterson into his stooge-and having failed, decided I was the perfect candidate. Jerry had cleverly stage-managed my “accidental” encounter with Peterson at the SOFT US reception. And then he pulled off a master stroke when he insisted that I meet Peterson at the Hyatt Regency..

..

Talk about a perfectly executed double play. Peterson silenced, me trapped-and all it took was a little devious planning. And I would now remain permanently trapped. Unless…

Here’s where I drew a blank. Because I still couldn’t figure a way out of this situation. All I could think was, Couriers are always expendable.

And I was the new courier.

I was back in New York by five that afternoon. I headed home to the loft, checked my messages (none), threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and decided to take myself out for an early dinner in the Village. But as I approached Bleecker Street, my cellular phone rang.

“Ned?”

It took a moment for the voice to register.

“Lizzie?”

“Hi, there.” Her tone was pleasant, polite.

“This is a surprise,” I said, then quickly added, “a nice surprise.”

“I called your office, but your voice mail told me to try your cellphone.”

“Yeah-I was out of town on business this morning. Just got back. Where’re you calling from?”

“My office.”

“In L.A.?”

“No-here in New York.”

“You’re in town?” I asked, trying not to sound excited.

“I’ve been here since Thursday on business. Staying with la nand Geena-the apartment’s still sublet.”

Maintain a casual tone.

“And when are you heading back to the Coast?”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” she said.

“I see,” I said quietly.

“Listen … uh … my schedule’s been really jammed… and I’ve got this dinner thing tonight….”

Her nervousness was palpable. She hadn’t wanted to make this phone call.

“I understand, Lizzie,” I said.

“It’s just really nice to-” “Look,” she said, “could you meet me somewhere in midtown in about a half hour? I won’t have much time, but…”

“Name the place. I’ll be there.”

“The Oak Bar at the Plaza.”

“I’m not really dressed…”

“Don’t worry about that. Listen, I’ve got to take another call. A half hour, okay?”

I ran to the subway-and actually managed to arrive at the Plaza on time.

Lizzie had already found us a corner table in the Oak Bar.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” I said, leaning across the table to kiss her. She pivoted her face and let my lips land on her cheek. Not a good start.

“I just arrived a minute before you.” She gave her watch the fastest of glances.

“I’m afraid I’ve only got twenty minutes.”

“You look great,” I said.

Actually, she looked wonderful. Her face was tanned. She was sleek. She looked like she slept eight hours a night and ate her greens. She had evidently adapted well to southern California.

“You look good, too, Ned.”

I tugged on the T-shirt.

“If there’d been more time, I would have dressed for the occasion.”

She shrugged.

“My fault. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you at the last minute.”

“I’m glad you did.”

We fell silent for a moment. She gave me a tight, nervous smile, then drummed her fingers on the table and said, “Shall we order?”

“Sure.” I raised my hand. A waiter was on the scene immediately. I pointed to Lizzie.

“A martini,” she said.

“Straight up, with a twist. And you?”

“A mineral water,” I said.

The waiter nodded and left.

“Just mineral water?” she said.

“It’s become my staple drink these days. Haven’t touched anything alcoholic in … well, since just after you left.”

“I’m surprised. You loved your booze.”

“I loved a lot of things.” I looked her straight in the eyes.

“I still do.”

She stared down at the table. I quickly changed the subject.

“What brings you back to the city?”

“A couple of big meetings. The company offered me two choices: either become the full-time head of the L.A. office or return to New York as a junior vice president.”

“Nice options. What’s it going to be?”

“I’m coming back. L.A. was fun for a couple of months, but there’s too much sun.”

“Yeah, that would get on my nerves, too. When do you move back?”

“Monday morning. I’d rather not head back to L.A. right now, but I’ve got a few last-minute pieces of business to finish up.”

“Why do they need you here so fast?”

“Because we’ve just landed a big new account. Ballantine Industries.”

I gulped.

“That is a big account,” I said.

“Yeah-and a handful, I imagine. According to his much flaunted reputation, Jack Ballantine is a total piece of work. Still, it’s an incredibly lucrative account, and quite a challenge-especially since the first piece of business I’ve got to handle is his new self-empowerment book.”

“You mean, The Best Defense Is Offense?” I blurted out.

“Very impressive.”

“Well, uh, you know my connection with Jerry Schubert….”

“Yeah, I was actually speaking with Jerry on the phone today. We’re going to be doing a lot of liaising together on the book project. I didn’t realize you’d been living with him.”

“Yeah, he offered me his guest room after we …,” I said, trying to sound cool.

“Right,” she said.

“Anyway, I finally get to meet the great man tonight. We have a dinner date. At Le Cirque, his choice of venue-which is why I’ve only got a few minutes to spare.”

“Is Jerry going to be there?”

“No, he’s been called out of town.”

Well, that was a small mercy.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I think Ballantine wanted to make it dinner a deux. I gather he’s a major ladies’ man.”

“I’m sure you can handle yourself.”

“Believe me, I can.”

“Anyway, congratulations on landing the account,” I said.

“It’s great news.”

“I’m not hat sure. From what I’ve heard Ballantine doesn’t have nervous breakdowns-he gives them. Still, it’ll keep me busy-which is the main thing these days.”

I didn’t meet her cheerless gaze.

“You working?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“For whom?”

I had to be cautious here. I had to lie.

“Well, after I lost the tele sales job …”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Every day there was taking a year off my life. Anyway, once that ended, I got desperate, walked into an employment agency, and asked them to find me anything going. And they placed me in a job with a financial services company. They’re Seattle-based, and I’m essentially running their New York office. It’s sort of a ‘communications’ job. Tracking the movement of funds, arranging courier services for clients, that kind of thing. Funny thing is, my office is in the same building as Ballantine Industries.”

“Do you like the work?”

“It isn’t really my kind of thing.”

“Then quit.”

“I need the job. I owe money.”

“To whom?”

“AMEX, Visa, Barneys-the usual suspects. I think I’m still on their “Ten Most Wanted’ list.”

“If you need money, I can help.”

“That’s really sweet, but…”

“You’re still paying off our week in Nevis, aren’t you? And my watch. And …”

“It’s my problem. Anyway, you gave me that loan, remember?”

“It wasn’t a loan. It was a gift.”

“Whatever it was, I’m slowly beginning to sort things out on the money front.”

“You’re still making me feel guilty.”

“Why? My debt is not your fault, Lizzie.”

“I was seeing someone else.”

The sentence landed in front of me like a lobbed hand grenade. I tried not to wince. I looked down. Her index finger was etching circles inside the empty ashtray on our table. I said nothing.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked softly.

“Yes. I heard. And?”

“He was serious. I decided I wasn’t.”

“TJ.” *v It s over.“I She nodded.

“Yeah. Just. He was nice. Solid. Dependable. Dull.”

“A lawyer?”

“How did you guess?”

“I didn’t. It was just a shot in the dark.”

“You met him once, a few years ago. Peter Buckley.”

“Isn’t he Mosman’s in-house counsel?”

She nodded.

“He’s based here, right?” I asked.

“He does a lot of business on the Coast. So he was back and forth a lot….”

“And you? Were you back and forth a lot?”

Inadvertently, she covered her mouth with her hand.

“A bit,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

The drinks arrived. We did not raise glasses. She took a large gulp of her martini, her eyes blinking rapidly as the alcohol hit. I envied her that jolt.

“I want you to know something,” she said, “and you must believe me: This didn’t start until after we separated.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I was so fucking angry with you.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know.”

“I miss you. I cannot tell you how much I miss ” “I’d rather not hear this.”

“It was a dumb, drunken mistake.”

“It doesn’t excuse it….”

“I’m not trying to make excuses.” , “It wasn’t just the fact that you cheated on me. You pushed me away. I wanted to help you. You hated me for trying.”

“I have never hated you.”

“You didn’t want a child with me.”

This stopped me short.

“I was scared, that’s all. I” “Why didn’t you say that?”

“I…”

“You could never really talk to me, could you? Especially when it came to ‘the big stuff.” Never show any weakness, any fear.”

“No, I couldn’t. And I now know I should have said a lot of things.”

“Me, too. We dodged …”

“Everything,” I said.

“And I really regret…”

“I regret how things turned out, too.”

She took a long sip of her martini, draining half the glass.

“Anyway… ,” she said.

I covered her hand with mine.

“Come back,” I said.

She withdrew her hand.

“I saw a lawyer yesterday,” she said.

“I see.”

“It’ll all be pretty straightforward, if you don’t contest the divorce.”

I stared into my glass.

“Do you really want to end it?”

“I think so.”

“Think?”

“Yeah, think.”

“If you’re not sure …”

She glanced at her watch.

“Ned, not now.”

“It’s just… I find this really hard, Lizzie. I just wish …”

“I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Can I see you when you’re back?”

She stood up.

“I don’t know. I find this hard, too.”

She quickly squeezed my hand and dashed off before anything else could be said. I wanted to go after her, but knew better. So I forced myself to remain seated, staring at Lizzie’s half-finished martini. I reached for it, pulled it close to my lips, but then set it back down. I didn’t feel virtuous. Just depressed. I asked for the check. Eighteen bucks for a martini and a mineral water. Jesus. Reluctantly, I dropped a twenty on the table. I headed off.

Suddenly a waiter came out of the bar holding my $20 bill.

“Sir,” he said, thrusting the money back into my hand, “your guest took care of the bill on her way out.”

My throat tightened. I blinked and felt tears.

“Thanks,” I said.

I headed back to the loft. I didn’t know what to do, so I watched television. But I couldn’t concentrate on the screen. Lizzie and Ballantine. Lizzie and Peter Buckley. Lizzie and fucking Jerry Schubert. Without question, it was his brainstorm to get Mosman & Keating to take over Ballantine’s public relations. And I’m certain he requested that Lizzie Howard handle the account personally. Having snared me, now he was going to pull her into his ever-spreading web-to really make sure that I wasn’t going anywhere.

I tried to sleep. I failed. Around 4:00 A.M.” after hours of ceiling-gazing, I decided what I was going to do. It was a “bet-the-farm” gamble-but one that had to be made. I got out of bed. I showered, I left the loft and walked uptown to Twentieth Street, then headed west to Eighth Avenue. It was now 4:45 A.M. With just over a half hour to kill, I sat in an all-night coffee shop, drinking around three pints of fully caffeinated black Java. I kept thinking that now was, without question, the moment to re-embrace cigarettes-yet I somehow managed to resist that temptation.