The Best People, page 9
Livingston’s expression was pure distaste. “Fools and incompetents,” he said. “Never wanted an outside management company to begin with. Only accepted them because the tenants thought they would lighten some of the work load for me. Nonsense. All they do is come around once a month, take a look at the building and charge us six thousand a year for the privilege. Outsiders. Understand nothing about our kind of building. Have to instruct them myself about everything. No, I can’t look to Ridgely & Ryan, nor to that idiot Carl Paterman who’s supposed to be their representative for our house. The man’s completely insensitive. My boy, 617 Park has flourished since before you were born. It’s like a family business. Does better under family control. And that,” André said, “is precisely why I want the board to remain firmly within the control of people who understand our ‘family.’ You are the next generation of it. I think you have an obligation to participate in the continuity of its direction.”
Jim had to admit that Livingston was articulate and convincing. Even that he made a certain amount of sense. Jim could imagine that André would, indeed, need all the level-headed help he could get if the changes he indicated really had to be made. And without knowing much about it, Jim could see the handwriting on the wall. The building had not levied a maintenance increase in years. With rising costs they must by this time be running dangerously close to the red. Oh, what the hell, he thought, how much time can it take. Maybe I’d better get in there and keep an eye on my investment before that bunch of well-bred ding-a-lings runs the house into bankruptcy. He smiled admiringly at André Livingston.
“I understand why you are such a successful attorney,” Jim said. “If you’re this persuasive in front of a jury, I’d sure want you for my lawyer.”
Livingston acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “Used to have a good time at that kind of thing. Don’t do it much any more. Let the young partners do battle in the courtroom now. But I still enjoy it.”
“Well,” Jim said, “I guess you’ve gotten the verdict you wanted in this case. If you need me on the board, sir, I’ll do my best.”
“You’ve made a wise decision,” André said. “I’m delighted. Truly delighted. And I’m sure the board will be, once they get to know you.”
Jim smiled at the somewhat left-handed compliment. André seemed unaware of the slightly condescending remark.
“There’s a special board meeting on the eleventh. Six o’clock. My apartment. Can you make it?”
Jim consulted his pocket calendar. “Looks okay from here,” he said. “Although I’m sure my secretary will go into shock. It will be one of the few times I’ve ever left the office that early.”
Livingston couldn’t resist making a final point. “See? Your new duties do have a personal benefit. They’ll let you get home at a respectable hour now and then. Never could understand why people can’t get their work done by four-thirty or five o’clock anyway. All these late hours you young men put in seem ridiculous. Makes me suspect you’re wasting a lot of time during the day. Or else you’re not very well organized. Nine-thirty to five should be more than enough time to accommodate the work of any executive, it seems to me.”
“No disrespect, Mr. Livingston, but you obviously have never worked for an advertising agency. We spend all day with our clients. Then we do our own work after those same nine-thirty-to-five guys have gone home.”
“Silly business, I’d say.”
Jim laughed. “Believe me, I agree with you.”
“Good philosophy,” André said. “Keep agreeing with me and we’ll get along just fine. Now how about a spot of lunch?”
They took the elevator up to the dining room. It was a typical club lunch: heavy, inexpensive and nearly inedible.
That evening Jim returned home to a snappish, nervous wife. Instead of her usual warm welcome, she gave him a quick almost reluctant little kiss and immediately busied herself making him a pre-dinner drink. Jim accepted it with thanks.
“Tough day?” he asked.
“You and your Godamn clients.”
“And just what does that mean?”
Casey sighed. “What that means, my love, is that I’ve spent this whole bloody day arranging your precious dinner party for the Weinbergs. Including, I might add, calling a couple of complete strangers and inviting them to the festivities. I never felt so silly in my life.”
“Well, how did you make out?”
“To my complete and utter surprise, I seem to have batted a thousand. Mrs. Simpson didn’t even have to look at her date book. She accepted straight off. And Louise Basil said she’d have to check with the doctor, but as far as she knew it was fine with them.”
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jim asked. “By the way, was our resident alcoholic sober when she accepted?”
“I presume so. But it was only ten o’clock in the morning when I called. I still won’t vouch for her at eight o’clock at night.”
“It’ll be okay,” Jim reassured her. “As long as Basil is with her, I’m sure she’ll stay under control. What about the Gordons?”
“Mary said they’d be glad to be sacrificial lambs. Did you check with Tony?”
Jim nodded. “Yep. He sent you his love and his thanks. He was tickled that we’re doing it.”
“I’m glad somebody was pleased,” Casey said.
“It’s important, Casey, or I wouldn’t ask you.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m being a real drag. Sorry. I seem to be making everything a crisis these days. Maybe I’m just tired. Between moving and the holidays and the Christmas party, I guess I’m bushed. My basic nasty disposition is showing. I seem to be a walking bundle of nerve ends. So consider that an apology, okay?”
“Sure. By the way, I have a piece of news that might please you more. In spite of my big speeches this morning, I did an about-face at lunch and told Livingston I’d go on the board here.”
“You didn’t! What brought that on?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. Partly his persuasiveness. Partly the realization that you were very ESP. Seems he does want younger tenants taking a more active part in the building management, and he doesn’t have a hell of a lot of them to choose from. But mostly I said yes because it’s pretty clear that this house is going to have to make a lot of changes, and I don’t feel entirely comfortable having them decided by a bunch of old crocks like Mrs. Murphy. Livingston is Methuselah’s grandpa himself, but he knows there needs to be a lot of tightening up around here and he can use all the support he can get. That’s really why he wants me: To help him sell the old folks on the New American Way of Life.”
“He must have been very convincing,” Casey marveled. “When you left here I’d have given a million to one that you were going to say no.”
“And your odds would have been right. But when I listened carefully to the old boy it came out like a plea for help. Anyway, I don’t think it’ll be all that much trouble. Might be interesting, in fact. And it wouldn’t make me mad to have a voice in some of the things that are going to affect the value of our property. To say nothing of the amount of money it will cost us to live here.”
“It’s going to get more expensive?”
“Probably. They’ve got to cut expenses and increase revenue, all at the same time. Neat trick. It won’t help Livingston win any popularity contests in this building, I’ll tell you that. And he knows it. But he also knows it’s necessary. So I’ll do what I can to help. We go into action at the next board meeting on the eleventh.”
“Assuming you survive our dinner party on the tenth,” Casey said.
“Hey, right. That’s good timing. We’ll have two of the board members here the night before the meeting. Give me a chance to get to know them a little.”
“When they meet your friends the Weinbergs you might be off the board before you’re on it.”
Jim spread his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. “What can I tell you?” he said. “Nobody’s perfect.”
That evening, Livingston dutifully rang up each of the board members and gave them the same report. “I thought I would let you know that Mr. Cromwell has accepted our invitation to join the board,” he said. “He will attend the meeting on the eleventh. I’m sure you’re as pleased as I.” The reaction to his announcement ranged from enthusiasm to chilly acceptance. Elinor Simpson was clearly delighted.
“Lovely,” she said. “They sound like such a nice, warm young couple. Why, do you know, Mr. Livingston, that Mrs. Cromwell invited me to dinner on the tenth? Such a friendly attitude for new tenants.”
Richard Basil was quietly pleased. “Glad to hear it,” he told André. “He should be very helpful when we put the bad news to the board. And I daresay he can make quite a strong contribution at the tenants’ meeting as well. Seems a sensible fellow. Louise tells me we’re asked there for dinner next week. I’ll have a chance to look him over before the meeting.”
Eileene Murphy was already in bed when Livingston called, but Constance and Rosemary simultaneously picked up the extension phones. “I hope you’re making the right choice,” Constance said coldly. “All we’ve seen of our neighbors is a raucous group of friends going to their Christmas Eve party. The noise went on until three in the morning. So far they don’t give the impression of solid, mature people. But hopefully Mr. Cromwell has a more serious side to his nature.”
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine, Mr. Livingston,” Rosemary chimed in. “His wife is a delightful girl. I don’t think my sister means to give the impression that we are disapproving. After all, we really can’t judge people by one holiday party.”
“Speak for yourself, Rosemary,” her sister snapped. “I can judge by any standards I choose.”
Antoinette Lawrence Stone’s well-trained voice did not completely disguise her distress. She had been hoping that James Cromwell would refuse. “Thank you for letting us know right away,” she said. “I am afraid that we may be making a rather impulsive decision, but I shall, of course, be open-minded about Mr. Cromwell’s abilities.”
André’s final call, to the Baroness, soothed his mounting irritation. “I am sure, as always, that you have led us to the proper conclusion, dear Mr. Livingston,” she said. “No doubt we will all find it stimulating to have this young man in our midst. I feel so sorry that the presidency keeps you so hard at work, even in the evenings. But whatever would we do without you? Bless you for taking the trouble to call. You are a gentleman of great consideration.”
Charming woman, the Baroness, he thought as he hung up the phone. Not prickly like Antoinette. Nor defensive like Constance Murphy. Not even vacuous like Elinor Simpson, agreeable as that lady always was. He was content with his choice and somewhat gratified by his performance at lunch. Cromwell had arrived at the Club determined to refuse the appointment and he, André Livingston, had skillfully maneuvered him into accepting it. I may have passed my three score and ten, André thought, but I haven’t forgotten the tricks of my trade. For the first time in the history of the house, Livingston anticipated dissension in the ranks. He was comforted to have captured what he believed would be a strong and vigorous ally.
The ally spent the next few days worrying about his business. He gave no more than a passing thought to his new role as a board member. The up-coming difficulties of the building, which had intrigued him into becoming a part of its policy-making body, were low on his priority list of problems. They had no relationship to the struggle to get the Weinberg Shoe business safely into the competent and needy hands of Stewart, Sutton & Atherton.
He made it a point to see Lester Weinberg nearly every day. If the chairman was unavailable for lunch, Jim managed to squeeze himself onto the man’s calendar for a few minutes chat, twice arriving at Lester’s office at 8:30 with coffee and Danish, like some high-priced office boy. He also made it a point to be on very friendly terms with Weinberg’s secretary, Becky Rothman. And through her, he kept tabs on the pursuit of Gertrude Weinberg by the rival agencies.
“Mrs. W. is now having her hair done by Mr. Kenneth himself,” Becky told him one morning. “How do you like that? Mere mortals are occasionally allowed into that salon, but only the Jackie Onassises and Barbara Paleys of this world get their hair bent by the great man in person. Mrs. W. sure is making it into the big time.”
Every scrap of information about Gertrude, no matter how seemingly trivial, was of interest to Jim these days.
“No kidding.” He gave a low whistle. “How’d she manage to work that?”
“Mrs. Crawford got her on the preferred list,” Becky said. “You know. Her husband owns Crawford-Thompson. They’re pitching the account, too.” Becky pretended innocence. She knew damn well the game that was being played. And while she was rooting for Jim, she couldn’t help getting a kick out of dropping these little, unnerving pieces of news that she knew added to his anxiety.
Lousy dame, Jim thought, meaning Becky rather than Mrs. Crawford. She’s like all the rest. Gets her kicks out of watching the advertising big shots squirm. Gives her a feeling of power. Probably compensates for her $7,500-a-year salary. Still, Becky could be as helpful as she was irritating. The more SS&A knew about the tactics of the enemies, the better position they were in to counterattack. He hid his irritation under his professional cool.
“Mr. Kenneth turning Mrs. W. into a Gloria Guiness type?”
Becky smiled. “Well, she seems to think so. She goes to the salon every morning, even if it’s only for a comb-out.” The secretary paused. “And Mrs. Crawford usually goes with her.”
Jim pretended indifference. “Nothing like a great hair-burner to keep a woman happy,” he said casually. “Those guys have replaced dress designers as the new status symbol — socially and professionally. They seem to turn up in all the name-dropping columns these days.”
“Yeah,” Becky needled. “And so does Mrs. Weinberg.” The buzzer on her desk rang. “You can go in now, Jim,” she said. “And don’t spill the coffee.”
Lester greeted him with his usual phony joviality. “Jim, boy! Good to see you! Hey, what’s that? Coffee and Danish? Now that’s what I call friendship. Humility, even. How many guys would come by with breakfast for a hard-working pal? Particularly guys who make forty, fifty thousand dollars a year, right? You’re the best, old buddy. What’s new?”
Jim watched with disgust as Lester wolfed down the prune Danish (his favorite) and took long, loud pulls at the coffee. Christ, what am I doing here pandering to this terrible old bastard? You’re trying to lock up eight million dollars, he told himself. That’s what you’re doing here. He managed a casual smile.
“What’s new is that you still haven’t looked at the new campaign Paul Gordon has put together,” Jim said. “Listen, Lester, the guys at the agency have been burning the midnight oil to come up with some new stuff to show you. It’s great. When can we make a presentation?”
Lester looked surprised. “New campaign? Who asked for a new campaign? I told you I thought the other one was the best advertising I’ve ever seen. What the hell are they working on more stuff for?”
“They’d be glad to stop,” Jim said quietly, “the minute you indicate that we’re the new agency of record. But until you give us the word, we have to assume that you’re not entirely happy with the work.”
Lester looked hurt. “Now, Jim, what do you want from me? I’ve told you it’s practically a firm decision.”
“What I’d like from you, Lester, is a firm decision.” Jim tried not to press. Force was not the strategy to use on Weinberg, but this cat-and-mouse game was getting under his skin. “I don’t know why you’re keeping us dangling like this if you really have made up your mind. Trouble is, I don’t think you have.”
The chairman leaned back in his oversized swivel chair and assumed the closest thing to a boyish look that his dark, fleshy face could manage. He gave a little laugh.
“Listen, pal, I’ll level with you. You’re a married man. You know the score. Life is beautiful at home while Gertrude is getting more attention from high-toned people than she’s ever had in her whole life. Okay. I admit it. I’m buying as much of this peace on earth as sound business judgment will allow. So hate me. But while those jokers are kissing Gertrude’s behind and thinking they’re getting to me by doing it, I’m using them to enjoy the first pleasant moments I’ve had since my honeymoon. For the first time in her life, Gertrude feels important. Powerful. Like one of those Beautiful People I keep reading about. It’s a pile of crap. I know it and you know it. But what the hell, Jim. If I can use these clowns, and they’re suckers enough to go along with it, why not? Believe me, when I come up to the deadline, I’ll put my money where the talent is. Not where Gertrude thinks it is.”
Jim wanted desperately to believe him. He had no choice but to believe him. Still he knew he was not hearing the straight truth.
“Okay, Lester,” he said. “I understand. You don’t really have to make an official announcement for another couple of months. Gertrude can keep on being the darling of Madison Avenue if that’s what makes her — and you — happy. But if that’s really the way it lays out, why don’t we sign the contract today and keep the whole thing hush-hush? I swear to you, nobody will know we’ve got the account except you, Tony, Paul and me. But we’ll feel a helluva lot better knowing it’s settled.”
Lester appeared to be considering that. “You know I’d do that in a minute, Jim, except for one thing. When more than one person knows a secret, it stops being a secret. I know you believe that there wouldn’t be leaks, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking that chance. Why don’t you and your guys just relax? It would take an act of God to knock you out of this ball game. Play along for your old pal Lester. Have a little trust. We’re gentlemen, aren’t we?”
“I’ve always gone on that assumption. But honest to God, you’re giving us a hard time.”
Weinberg laughed easily. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll probably never have such a break again. You can’t really blame me for taking advantage of it, can you? I don’t change agencies every day, you know.”
