The Takeover (1995), page 9
The President disregarded Filipelli's comment. "Make nice, Carter.
It's time for your metamorphosis from a pit bull into a diplomat.
There could be other jobs for you in my administration, but you've got to tone down your act. I don't need an enforcer anymore-I need a politician. Do you understand?"
Filipelli cringed at the thought of becoming a politician. "Yes, sir."
"And by the way, in the next six weeks you will be taking each and every other member of that committee to a special luncheon or dinner in his and her honor too. Individually."
Filipelli began to object, but the President held up his hand. There would be no further objections. "Is that all, Mr. President?"
Filipelli rose.
"No. I want your opinion on something."
Filipelli sank back into the captain's chair in front of the great desk. "What?" "I'd like to think I'm a fairly modest man." Both men grinned at the thought of the President having any measure of modesty.
"As egomaniacs go." They chuckled. "Pragmatically, I'd say I'm a pretty good bet to win another term this fall." "With the kind of approval rating you've got, I'd say you're a lock." "Right. So, why in the hell are the Republicans serving up one of their rising young stars for me to slaughter in November? This guy Bob Whitman is the best thing to happen to the Republican party in quite some time. He was governor of Connecticut at thirty-four and has served one term in the House and one in the Senate. He served in the military. He comes from a self-made family. He has a truly magnetic personality. He is wise beyond his years, and he's squeaky clean. There's nothing in his closet. No women, no drugs, no payoffs, nothing. My people have been all over him for months. They can't find a thing. I've met him a couple of times. Try as I might, I couldn't dislike him. He's going to win the GOP nomination in a cakewalk. Hands down." The President paused. "But he doesn't have a chance against me. Why would the Republicans allow him to run and be defeated? They're not stupid over there." "They want him to gain experience." Filipelli lamely attempted to solve the riddle. "That's why you aren't my campaign manager, Carter." The President laughed quickly at his own joke and then continued. "If I'm a Republican guru, I keep Whitman in the Senate for another few years. I keep him in Triple-A ball, where he's striking out everybody he faces, building confidence, and making a bigger and bigger name for himself each day. I don't bring him in to face Babe Ruth in the ninth with the team already way behind and Babe swinging for the fences just to pad his statistics for next spring's contract negotiations. I don't let him run in 1996. I wait to see what's happening in 2000. Whitman certainly isn't going to have a problem winning another Senate term in 1998. The long and short of it is that running against me this year is political suicide. He doesn't have a chance. The only thing people will remember about him, if they remember anything at all, is that he's a loser."
Filipelli shrugged. "All I know is that we've stuck it to the Establishment where it hurts them the most-in the brokerage account.
And we're going to do it again when we win in November. I can't wait to see Wendell's face the day after the election. I've already scheduled a meeting for that morning."
The President beamed. "We have pissed them off, haven't we?" "Yes, Mr. President, and I love it. I grew up poor, and I don't mind admitting that I enjoy seeing how worried Wendell and his cronies are about their money. He sees that we're going to win again, and he knows we're going to take a serious amount of his net worth away from him when he dies."
A silence hung over the room. Finally the President spoke. "So, Carter, you are going on vacation next week." "Yes. I'm going fishing. Fly-fishing in Montana." "How did a guy like you learn to fly-fish?" "I'm a well-rounded sophisticate, Mr. President."
Filipelli smiled again.
The President chuckled. "That's a good one. You've got more rough edges than a sheet of sandpaper. Of course that's why I need you." He bit his lip. "Well, leave a number. And make certain you take Wendell to lunch before you go." s was his custom, Falcon arrived promptly at 7:15. It was riA diculous to come to his office at NASO this early because there wasn't even enough work to keep him busy from nine to five. Corporate banking was even easier than he had imagined. But he couldn't sleep past six o'clock in the morning. He never had been able to do that.
As he draped his suit coat over the back of one of the visitors' chairs in front of his desk, Falcon glanced out the window of his fortieth-floor office. Humidity hung over the buildings of midtown Manhattan like a circus tent. It was going to be a long, hot summer in New York City. The subways were already stifling. And it was only May.
jenny moved into the office carrying several papers. She too arrived early, not to impress Andrew Falcon anymore, but other people at the bank. The fling with Andrew was over, she kept telling herself. She shook her head. She should have been smarter, because she wasn't the type of girl who had flings. She should have known the tryst at the Four Seasons after dinner that evening would mean nothing to him. She should have been more suspicious of why they hadn't gone to his apartment.
Falcon glanced at the copy of the r6sum6 he had been putting together and covered it quickly with a folder as jenny walked into the office.
He did not want her to see that he was still trying to F11", get back into investment banking and out of this boring corporate banking career. And at this point she would probably be only too happy to mention it to the human-resources department. "Hello, Miss Cagle!"
His voice boomed through the office unnaturally as he tried to be overtly friendly. "How are you this raorning?" "Fine, Andrew." She put the papers down onto his desk. "I need your signature on these."
Her voice was flat and indifferent. "Hey, let's go to lunch today.
Just you and me. I think we need to do that." "Can't, busy." She flashed a quick, cool smile. "Tomorrow then." "Busy tomorrow too."
"Jenny ... "Could you just sign the papers please?" "We need to talk."
"No, we don't!" Her voice rose sharply.
Falcon stared at her for a few moments. He wanted to tell her how bad he felt about taking her to the hotel after dinner. How he wished it hadn't happened, because now, just as he had anticipated, their relationship was strained. He wanted to tell her that he truly cared about her. That he found her terribly attractive. And that in another situation perhaps they could have had a meaningful relationship. But he didn't tell her. It wasn't his nature to be so direct in personal relationships. In business, yes. But not with friends or lovers.
Perhaps it was a good thing shehad declined the lunch invitation.
He removed the Cross pen from his shirt pocket and signed the papers.
She scooped them up from the desk and stalked out. He watched her go until, without asking him, she closed the office door behind her.
Jenny would have been able to see him from her workstation, and she didn't want that.
Falcon gazed at the closed door for a few minutes. They had been so good together at dinner-and in the hotel bed.
He breathed deeply, then reached across his desk to switch on the Bloomberg terminal. Immediately the screen flickered to life, and as it did, he smiled. It was an amazing machine. It relayed every tidbit of information available to humankind in milliseconds-at least to an experienced user. It gave up-to-the-minute stock, bond, and currency quotes from exchanges around the world. It gave brokerage reports, general corporate information, airline schedules-hell, it could tell you the latest exhibit at the Louvre if you asked it nicely. It was his most reliable asset in the office. NASO personnel, at least the ones he had come into contact with so far, were morons compared to this machine.
Falcon eased into the comfortable leather chair he had brought with him from MD Link and spread out a copy of the Financial Chronicle on top of his desk. The Chronicle focused primarily on business news, as did the Wall Street Journal. However, it differed from the Journal in two important ways. First, the Chronicle also included an expanded sports section. This meant that businessmen did not have to purchase two papers from which to obtain their most critical news. Second, the newsstand price of the Chronicle was only two-thirds that of the Journal. These differences had enabled the Chronicle to grab a healthy portion of the Journal's daily circulation in just two years of publication.
Falcon knew a bit about publishing after working with several media companies at Winthrop, Hawkins, and he did not understand how the Chronicle could operate profitably at its current newsstand price, but somehow it had become tremendously successful. It didn't make sense, but then you couldn't analyze everything in life because if you did, you would end up in the mental ward at Bellevue. He had learned that early in his career.
The phone buzzed, and he punched the speaker button. "Andrew Falcon."
"Mr. Falcon, this is Eddie Martinez in the Funds Transfer Group."
Eddie's Brooklyn accent was thick so that every "er" sounded like an "uh."
"Hi, Eddie." Funds Transfer was a back-office area of the bank, responsible for making certain that the billions of dollars a day that flowed through the institution ended up in the proper accounts. The back office was staffed by lower-middle-class stiffs from Brooklyn and Queens. The positions didn't pay much, and there was little hope for significant advancement within the organization. Falcon felt somewhat sorry for Martinez, but there wasn't much he could do. "Please don't call me Mr. Falcon. Just Andrew." "Oh, okay. Hey, I'm just calling to thank you for the case of beer."
Last week Falcon had delivered a case of beer to Martinez for being particularly helpful with a wire transfer of one of Falcon's accounts.
The wire had become lost in the system, and Martinez had quickly located it. The transfer amount was large, and the client's chief financial officer had gone ballistic at the news that the money was unaccounted for. "My pleasure. You came through." It was important to let people know they had done well. "Anytime you need help, let me know." "I will, Eddie."
Falcon ended the call by pressing the speaker button again. Almost immediately the line buzzed a second time. "Andrew Falcon."
"It's me." "Alexis? " "Yes." Her gentle laugh flowed pleasantly to his ears. "You are too stiff sometimes, Falcon. You need to relax."
"I'll try to do better." "Please do."
Falcon smiled. He could not get enough of that distinctive Italian accent.
Alexis had overwhelmed him as no other woman ever had. They had danced until five in the morning that night at the club. He had been too embarrassed to take her back to his studio apartment in Queens and had rented a room at the Waldorf instead. A room he could not then afford.
From that point on, they had become almost inseparable.
His mind drifted back to last evening. Like every other night since he had met Alexis, it had been filled with lovemaking. It wasn't the best he had ever had-she wasn't passionate like Jenny. But so what?
She was exciting, played very well with the people he needed to impress, and seemed totally devoted to him. Plus, she was awfully nice to be seen with. Besides, sex wasn't everything, he told himself.
Alexis had helped him find the new apartment on the Upper West Side, helped him decorate it, and then announced that she too would be living at the same address. Falcon had no objections. She loved to dance and drink. And she was more than willing to help defray the costs of a Manhattan lifestyle with earnings from her modeling jobs. It was, in a word, bliss.
And she was the perfect business partner. At NASO social functions she moved easily among the corporate executives he was trying to woo, impressing them with her beauty, charm, and intelligence. In only a few weeks he had picked up several important deals because of her, though he would never admit it to her. "What are you doing?" Falcon asked. "I'm lying naked in your bed, and I'm bored. Why didn't you wake me before you left?"
Falcon picked up the receiver quickly. There was no telling what Alexis might say through the speaker. She was gentle and ladylike.
But she was also direct. European, she would say. "I thought you would be tired. You put in a long night last night."
Alexis stretched and Falcon could hear her moan. He pressed the receiver tightly against his ear.
"I'm just your little toy, aren't I? You don't really care about me, do you, Falcon?" "Not at all." t4come back home to me now," she said insistently. "Alexis, I . .
."
"Come home, Andrew. I need your body next to mine. Come home."
"Don't you have a shoot in Central Park?" "It's not until two this afternoon."
Falcon hesitated. Her offer was tempting, and these days he could be tempted. He had no client appointments today, no meetings at all until after lunch, and he had missed their normal prework interlude this morning. "Maybe." "Do I have to beg? You like it when I beg, don't you? I'll let you do anything you want to me if you come home right now."
"Anything?" "Anything."
Falcon glanced at his watch: 7:3 5. If he left now, he could be back to NASO by eleven. Jenny would cover for him. Or maybe she wouldn't.
But no one would miss him anyway. That was the worst thing about this job. No one ever missed him. Malley rarely called because he was too intimidated, and the very senior people never came down from the ivory tower in a huge commercial bank. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
Falcon put down the phone, stood, pulled his wallet from the inside of his suit coat but left the coat hanging over the back of the chair, and headed toward the closed office door. As he opened it, he nearly ran into Jenny. "What the ... ?" "I have one more thing for you to sign."
Her voice was stone cold.
He wondered if she had been listening to the conversation on her extension. "I'll sign it when I get back. Listen, I forgot something back at the apartment. It may take a while to find it when I get there." He stared at her. "Be a sport and cover for me."
And he was gone, trotting down the corridor toward the elevator bank.
jenny watched him leave. She knew exactly why Falcon was going home.
And she hated him for it. She should quit, she told herself There was no reason to put herself through this every day. She sighed. But where in the world was she going to find another job that paid the kind of money she was earning now? Nowhere else. It was that simple.
The ceiling fan rotated slowly above the brass bed. Falcon watched it spin for a few moments, then glanced at his watch. Ten forty-five.
Time to go. "Don't you ever take that watch off, Falcon?" Alexis stood at the bathroom door, naked.
Falcon moved both hands behind his head and stared at her dark nipples, partly covered by the straight hair cascading down from her shoulders.
"Only for sex."
Alexis looked at him strangely. "Isn't that what we just had?" "Oh, that's what you call that." He said the words as if he had just made a great discovery.
She rolled her eyes. "Falcon, give me a break. I'm sorry if I'm not as good as some of your past conquests. Maybe someday I'll measure up." "Just kidding." But he wasn't.
Alexis moved seductively from the doorway to the bed. When she reached it, she pulled back the sheets, knelt down on the mattress, and kissed him just above the dark line of his pubic hair. She moved up his body and slid her tongue into his navel, then lay down, rested her head on his lower chest, and looked up at him. She smiled, defining her exquisite cheekbones. "I'm trying to be sexy."
Falcon stared into her eyes. They were soft and feminine like Jenny's, but there was something steely to them too. Jenny's eyes betrayed her vulnerability even when she was at her coldest. There was no vulnerability to betray in Alexis's eyes. "I see that." He wanted to know more about her, but as yet she had been unwilling to open up except for some hazy comments about an unhappy childhood in Milan. And of course if he did push, she would expect him to be more forthcoming about his own background, which he did not want to be. "Do you like it?" Alexis asked. "Yes. How about another round?" Perhaps he did not need to go back to the office quite so soon.
Alexis shook her head and rolled away. "I've got to get ready for that shoot in Central Park." "Come on. We could experiment."
She rose from the bed and moved to the window overlooking 82nd Street.
"No." Her voice was firm.
That was the problem, he thought. She didn't like to experiment.
She simply wanted him to move on top of her and have it over with.
During foreplay she could be sensual and, somewhat imaginative, though she was not particularly knowledgeable as to the trigger points of the male body. But once intercourse began, she became indifferent, almost frigid. It was strange. "What time do you have to be at the shoot?"
"One o'clock. It starts at two, but I have to be there early." She ran her fingers through her hair and leaned back. The black tresses fell almost to the small of her back. "Falcon, why don't you get rid of that secretary of yours? I don't like her attitude when I call your office."
Falcon sat up in the bed immediately. "What do you mean?" She turned from the window and stalked to the bathroom, slamIning the door behind her.
He gazed openmouthed at the door. Where the hell had that come from?
"How is Falcon?" "Not challenged." "Is he still sending out resumes?"
"Of course, but no one will hire him." "Obviously.
Granville has seen to that. Falcon must suspect something." "I don't think so. We would be aware of it." "Is he working diligently or simply putting in his time?" "Working hard. In fact, he's actually generated some attractive business for NASO. He's using contacts from his days at Winthrop, Hawkins. I believe he was able to win the agency role away from Chemical Bank on a new syndicated revolver for the Black and Decker Corporation. But overall, he hates what he's doing. He doesn't like the slow pace or the lack of compensation."
"So he's ready for this project, Bill?" "More than ready, Turner.
Hell drop everything else immediately, with NASO's blessing, of course.
And he's so starved for something he considers mentally stimulating that he won't question NASO's seeming overindulgence in the transaction. More important, we will make it worth his while not to question NASO's huge commitment." "I still don't like this. I think it is a big risk to have Falcon involved just because Granville holds a grudge. And I think we should have anticipated the fact that the other young man, um, what was his name?" "Bernstein." "Yes, Bernstein. We should have anticipated that Bernstein would commit suicide after our people tampered with the software. It was everything to him." "There was no way to anticipate that. It was simply an unfortunate side effect." "Side effect? Jesus Christ, Rutherford! Do you think his family considered it simply an unfortunate side effect? First West, then Jeremy Case, now Bernstein. It's not what we're supposed to be about. Where does it stop? This is getting out of hand, don't you think? " "Not at all. Sometimes things have to be done that may seem distasteful. Sometimes people have to be sacrificed. It's part of the deal. Everything is under control." "And what if Bernstein had killed Falcon during his little tirade? " "Then we would have simply used someone else. According to Boreman, there are others out there who could legitimize our project." "We should have used someone else other than Falcon from the beginning. In the end we may pay for Granville's indulgence. One should never allow feelings to influence business.
