Anderson laughs and sits back down, while I weigh my chances for an acquittal. The one I’ll need after I strangle Kate Brooks.
An hour later, we’re waiting for coffee and dessert. Kate has left the table. I’m thinking her bladder must have been seconds from rupturing for her to actually leave me alone with Anderson.
He observes me for a moment and then says, “I like what I’ve seen here tonight, Drew. Very impressive.”
“Thanks, Saul.”
In business, always use first names. It’s not disrespectful. It shows that you’re an equal-in the same league. That’s huge.
“And based on what you’ve shown me, I’m ready to give Evans, Reinhart and Fisher my business.”
Yes! Break out the champagne, baby.
“I’m pleased to hear that. I think this deal is going to be very profitable for both-that is, all of us.” Can’t forget Kate, right? As if she would let me. “You can put your complete confidence in Kate and me. We won’t let you down.”
He fingers his crystal glass. “Right. About that. Before I sign, I have only one contingency.”
This kind of thing happens all the time. Not a big deal.
“Go ahead, Saul. I’m sure we can provide whatever you need.”
“I’m happy to hear that. So, why don’t you have that darling girl of yours-Kate-bring the contracts by my place tonight, around midnight.” He hands me a business card, and I feel like there’s a boulder in my stomach.
Can you feel it too?
“Here’s where I’m staying. You have her bring the papers…alone.”
You know on TV when there’s one of those awkward, shocking moments and all you hear are the crickets in the background?
Well chirp-fucking-chirp. This is one of those moments.
“I’m not sure I…”
“Oh, sure you do, Drew. You know how it is. When a man’s working late and needs a little…comfort. A distraction.”
How about my foot up your ass, Saul? How’d that be for distraction?
“And that girl of yours is one prime piece. My business will bring your firm millions in revenue. And that’s not including the additional clients you’ll get once word gets around that I’m with you. I’d say a little after-hours servicing is a small price to pay, wouldn’t you?”
He makes sense-in a sick, perverted, registered-sex-offender kind of way. But do you think that matters? Hell no. I stand up. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I have to look at his smug, shit-eating grin another minute.
I throw a dozen bills on the table and tell him, “That’s not the kind of business we’re in. If that’s the sort of deal you’re looking for, Forty-Second Street is about ten blocks that way. I’m no pimp, and Katherine Brooks is certainly not a whore. This meeting is over.”
Aren’t you proud of me? I am. Though what I just said was in no way satisfying, it was professional-dignified. I kept it together. I didn’t even call him the ass-licking, dick-bag piece of steaming dog shit that I think he is. Go me.
I walk toward the bar area in the next room, and I’m fuming. Can you see the steam coming out of my ears? No? Well, obviously you’re not looking hard enough. That guy’s got some set of balls. To fucking suggest that Kate…Kate is more than just a pretty face. She’s brilliant. And funny. And-okay, maybe she’s not nice, but I’m sure she could be if she didn’t hate my guts. In any case, she deserves better-more respect-than what she just got. So much more.
That’s when I see her, walking past the bar on her way back from the restroom. She spots me and walks over, a smile spread across her face.
“So? How’d it go? He’s with us, isn’t he? I knew it, Drew! I knew the minute we showed him our projections he was done. And I know working together hasn’t been the easiest thing, but I think your father was right. We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”
I swallow hard. I look down at her hand on my arm and then back up into those sweet, innocent eyes, and…I just can’t do it. I can’t tell her.
“I blew it, Kate. Anderson’s not interested.”
“What? What do you mean? What happened?”
I stare at my nine-hundred-dollar shoes. “I screwed up. Can we just get out of here?”
When I look back up, her face is a mask of confused sympathy. Here I just told her that I blew the account-our account-and there’s not a trace of anger in her expression. God, I’m such an asshole.
“Well, let me talk to him. Maybe I can fix this.”
I shake my head, “No, you can’t.”
“Let me at least try.”
“Kate, wait…” But she’s already walking away, toward the table where Anderson still sits.
You ever been on the freeway, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic? And when you finally get to the head of the line, you realize the backup is because of an accident? Maybe not a bad one-maybe just a fender bender that’s already been moved to the side of the road. And all that traffic-all that wasted time-is because every driver who passes the scene has to slow down and take a look.
It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? And you swear that when you pass by, you’re not going to look-just on principle alone. But when you get there, and you’re driving past the dented doors and flashing lights and smashed bumpers, what do you do?
You slow down and look. You didn’t want to, but you can’t help it. It’s morbid. Absurd. But that’s human nature for you. Watching Kate walk up to Anderson feels just like looking at the aftermath of an accident. And no matter how much I want to-I just can’t look away.
She stands next to his chair, a perfect, professional smile on her lips. If you look closely, you’ll see the moment when what he’s asking for registers in her mind. See how her smile freezes? Her brow wrinkles slightly because she can’t actually believe he’s suggesting what he is. And then she’s stiff and unsure. Should she tell him to go fuck a duck? Should she laugh it off or politely refuse? While the wheels are turning in Kate’s head, Anderson takes his finger-can you see the slime dripping off it?-and trails it slowly down her bare arm.
And that’s it. I snap out of my stupor. And I see red. Bright, neon, Technicolor red.
You ever see A Christmas Story? You know toward the end when Ralphie beats the ever-loving shit out of the bully? I hope to God you’ve seen it. Because then you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say I’m about to go real fucking Ralphie on this son of a bitch.
I walk over and put myself in front of Kate. “Touch her again and I’m going to throw you through that windowpane. They’ll be picking pieces of you up off Fifty-Forth for days.”
He chuckles. Sounds like the Crypt Keeper, doesn’t he?
“Calm down, Son.”
Son? Is this dipshit for real?
“You know something, Drew. I like you.”
Now there is a concept that scares the piss out of me.
“I need a man like you around,” he continues. “Someone who’s not afraid to speak his mind. To tell me what he really thinks. It seems as though my…contingency isn’t going to be met. But I’m going to sign with you and your firm anyway. What do you think of that?” He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine. Completely confident in the fact that I will disregard anything he’s said or done for the chance to get my hands on his money.
“I’m going to say a great big no to that, Saul. See, we have this company policy: we don’t deal with limp-dick, Viagra-popping, dirtbag motherfuckers who try to use their position to coerce women-young enough to be their daughters-into bed. Go peddle your shit somewhere else. We aren’t buying.”
Our stares are locked on one another like two wolves on the Discovery Channel when he says, “Think carefully, Son. You’re making a mistake.”
“I think the only mistake I’ve made is wasting our time here with you. That’s something I don’t plan on doing a second longer. We’re done here.”
And then I turn to Kate and tell her softly, “We’re leaving.”
With my hand on her lower back, we walk to the coat-check room. I hold her coat for her and help her into it. With my hands on her shoulders, I ask, “You okay?”
She doesn’t look back at me, “I’m fine.”
Right. And we all know what that means, don’t we?
For many men, their car is equivalent to the perfect woman. We can build her to look exactly how we want, we can ride her hard and she won’t complain, and we can easily trade her in when a newer, younger model comes along. It’s pretty much the ideal relationship.
I drive an Aston Martin V12. There’s not many things in this world that I love, but my car is one of them. I got her after I closed my first deal. She’s a beauty. She’s my baby. Not that you would know that by the way I’m driving at the moment. It’s the typical pissed-off guy mode of driving. A death grip on the steering wheel, hard turns, fast stops, a smack on the horn at the slightest provocation. I don’t think about how my attitude might be interpreted by Kate, until her small voice comes from the passenger seat.
“I’m sorry.”
I glance quickly at her, “You’re sorry for what?”
“I never meant to send out those kinds of signals, Drew. I would never come on to a client. I didn’t realize that…”
Christ.
Why do women always do this? Why are they so eager to blame themselves when someone treats them like shit? A guy would take a cheese grater to his tongue before admitting he screwed up.
When we were sixteen, Matthew was dating Melissa Sayber. One day while he was in the shower, Melissa went through his sock drawer and found notes from the two other girls he was banging at the same time. She went apeshit. But you know what? By the time Matthew was done talking to her-after he flushed the evidence-not only did he convince her that she had read the notes wrong, but she was apologizing to him for going through his stuff. Unbelievable, right?
I pull over to the side of the road and turn to face her. “Listen to me, Kate-you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But you said, about my blouse…and his face…”
Great. She thinks she was asking for it because that’s what I fucking told her. Perfect.
“No, I was being an asshole. I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to get a rise out of you. Look, in this business some guys are just power-high pricks. They’re used to getting whatever they ask for, women included.”
I don’t want to see the similarities between Saul Anderson and myself. But they’re kind of hard to miss. Listening to him tonight made me feel…shitty…about how I’ve treated Kate the last few weeks. My father wanted me to help her, mentor her. Instead I let my cock and my overactive sense of competition lead the way.
“And you’re a gorgeous woman. This won’t be the last time something like this happens. You have to have a thick skin. You can’t let anyone rattle your confidence. You were perfect at that meeting. Really. Should’ve been a home run.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.