Food Fight (13 page)

So why were feelings of guilt intruding now? Oh yes! John was married. Just like Rod. But that was different. What had just happened at the Merchant was probably exactly what she needed, and for the first time in two years, a real man, not one of those losers on the Internet, had told her she was lovely. And with that satisfying thought, she fell asleep.

Ellen was the first person she ran into the next morning.

“Sorry I had to rush off last night, Susie.”

“Oh don’t worry. You’ll never guess what happened to me, though.”

Ellen’s eyes widened when she learned about John. “What, he’s married? And are you going to see him again?”

Susan told her that John was supposed to work with her husband. She looked even more surprised, and promised to check with Jed, although Susan was starting to have her doubts about whether her date was really called John after all. In fact the more she thought about it, and the way she had sneaked out of the Merchant like a prize whore, the more ashamed she felt. Maybe she shouldn’t have confided in Ellen after all.

But she had more pressing concerns. As soon as she was home from work, she searched the Internet for all the Tony and Anthony Stellas in DC. Less than a dozen work pages or personal profiles popped up. She then widened her search to include the wider metropolitan area, casting her net across Maryland, Virginia and even West Virginia.

Sitting on the sofa with a box of Guilty Secrets beside her, she quickly collected about 15 names, along with several emails and telephone numbers. Of the 15, three calls went to voicemail, two emails bounced and the other Tony Stellas denied all knowledge of DeKripps. It was discouraging. Of course, he’s a geek!

The Tony Stella she was looking for probably didn’t even have a landline. If he even lived in the area. He might be in geek paradise in Seattle for all she knew.

She considered the alternatives. Could she sneak into R and D and see if she recognised anyone? Then what would she do, invite them out for coffee? It would only raise suspicions if she asked for Tony’s contact details. What about confronting Barney? If he were innocent, he’d think she was ridiculous, making such a fuss about a little weight gain.

Damn. She had no hard evidence of anything. She plunged her hand into the box once more.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The first sign that something was really amiss at DeKripps was when Barney called a strategy meeting without her. Ellen and Judy were talking in lowered voices by the drinks dispenser, and Susan heard the communications officer say “see you at eleven,” as she went off with a bottle of water. Susan had no such meeting on her agenda.

On a couple of occasions over coffee with Ellen, she had been on the point of revealing Barney’s sexual assault in the office, but each time decided against it. Meanwhile, Ellen had told her that Jed had no idea who ‘John’ was. She thanked her, and said she wasn’t surprised. But she now knew for sure she’d been played.

She continued to email Tony Stellas. As the evenings lengthened, she began keeping a diary of profiles and numbers of interest, and in the margins she noted her diet in more detail than before. That should keep Doctor Osborn happy.

But her jottings only seemed to confirm her suspicions about Guilty Secrets. It had become so automatic to return from work in the evening, and open the fridge door to pick up a golden box, that she hardly noticed any more that she was lifting the lid several times an evening. When she checked her diary, there was no denying it. One evening, as she unwrapped a Guilty Secret absent-mindedly, while watching an episode of Mad Men, the truth finally hit.

She threw the chocolate against the wall where it popped and left a raspberry dribble on the beige paint. She tipped the box upside down and the remaining chocolates fell onto the carpet.

“I don’t believe this,” she said out loud. “Bastards! I’m addicted to this stuff!”

She stood up and picked up one of the chocolates from the floor. She hurled it at the Modigliani woman who looked down at her disdainfully.

“Take that!” she said. The chocolate smacked the swan-necked figure right between the eyes before bouncing off the picture.

She remembered the countless empty boxes of discarded Guilty Secrets, her obsession now recorded in incriminating detail in her diary. But why would DeKripps wilfully deceive her? Not only her but the rest of the department, the whole company. Was it conceivable that someone in the corporation would have deliberately developed an addictive product, concealed it from the FDA and had her market it? By the time she went to bed, she’d half convinced herself that she must be deluded and soon she’d find the rational explanation.

She spent a restless night with work-related dreams in which Barney played a major role. She awoke anxious and tense, one pillow kicked to the bottom of the bed. But she remained determined to confront him with her suspicions. She constructed her line of attack over a bowl of Crunchaloosa and a banana, switching off the radio for better concentration. Arriving at the office, she marched straight past the receptionist and into Barney’s office.

He was stretched out behind his desk on the phone, but beckoned her inside.

“Look, like I said, you’ve got to get those French faggots in line.” She feared he was talking to Frank. “You’ve seen the sales, there’s only one way to go, and that’s up.” It was definitely Frank. “Gotta go. Talk later.”

He hung up loudly, shaking his head. “Goddamned French,” he said.

“Barney,” she began. Her careful plan was already unravelling. “Look, I’m starting to feel I’m being left out of the loop.”

“How so?” He seemed distracted.

“Well, I wasn’t invited to the last strategy meeting, for example.”

He screwed up his face. “Ah poor baby. Didn’t get invited to a meeting and comes crying to Daddy.”

Not a good start. Unconsciously smoothing her pencil skirt, which was straining at the waist, she took the plunge.

“Look, could you tell me please what exactly is in these Guilty Secrets? Letters and emails of praise are falling like snow in my department.”

“Why do you want to know, Susie? Eating too many of them, like everyone else?”

“Judging by the mail down in customer services, there are quite a few out there reporting a weight gain which they explicitly link to Guilty Secrets.” She was bluffing but it was worth the risk.

“I’m dealing with that.” His eyes narrowed. “And I would remind you that customer services come under my jurisdiction.”

“It’s more that I’ve been thinking that everything might not be above board. For example, why did you say that the
scientists
couldn’t keep up? What’s it got to do with the scientists?”

First, he adopted innocent misunderstanding. He trotted out the company line about DeKripps products being developed ‘in partnership’ with the FDA.

“Barney,” she repeated, in a voice that meant ‘don’t give me that shit’, “I’m asking you for an explanation.”

“And that’s what I’m giving you, if you’ll just listen.”

He began speaking very slowly as though addressing a particularly obtuse child.

“Guilty Secrets were developed by the DeKripps R and D. They are involved in all new products, as you know perfectly well. So on that score I’m afraid I don’t see what you’re driving at. On the other hand if you are insinuating that something underhand or
illegal
has been going on, I would ask you to leave my office.”

Susan said nothing, and folded her arms. Seeing that she wasn’t going to let the issue drop, he took another tack. Loosening his yellow silk tie, he stood up, gaining the further advantage of height as well as status, and cleared his throat.

“Actually Susie, I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve been meaning to call you in for a chat. The fact is that there are going to be some changes round here anyway. We’ve found your presence extremely … stimulating, but all good things must come to an end. And I would remind you of your role in the success of Guilty Secrets, for which we are all extremely grateful.” He smiled.

Had she heard him correctly? “You mean you want me to go back to London?”

Her arms dropped limply to her side. She’d been out-maneuvered. So much for being the company strategy queen.

“As you said yourself, DeKripps can’t keep up with demand for Guilty Secrets. That’s going to hit profits.” She fixed him with a hostile stare. “And if profits are down—,” she started to say.

“You understand me perfectly. Like I said, we’re going to have to make some changes.”

She was dumbstruck. He hadn’t invited her to sit down, so she remained standing in front of his desk. “So what happens now? I’d be happy to go back to London. Shall I call Frank?”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Or at least HR will. How long have you been here now? It’s more than a year, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Just give me some time and I’ll see what I can fix up.”

Barney sat down, as though to signal the end of their exchange. He was picking up the phone as she closed the door behind her.

*

She couldn’t face a whole evening alone in the apartment but needed to sort things out in her mind. On impulse, she walked down to Pennsylvania Avenue as it grew dark and caught a bus straight to Eastern Market, where she treated herself to dinner at Montmartre.

She was shown to a corner table and got out her diary to marshal her theories. She already regretted confronting Barney, who was obviously ready for her: Guilty Secrets and the dip in profits must be a smoke screen, an excuse for getting rid of her. Of course there was his clumsy grab but was that the real reason? She’d noticed the change in the way she’d been treated at work since the incident with Mimi in Congress.

“
Bonsoir
Madame
.” For a moment she was back in France. The waiter handed her the menu. She chose an omelette, instructing the waiter to hold the French fries, and ordered a large Merlot.

What else had she done wrong? She couldn’t think of a single thing. She had an unblemished record as a trusted corporate worker, had made untold millions for the company over the past 13 years. If they wanted to fire her now she could sue for unfair dismissal and walk away with a packet. But she also knew she’d have to say goodbye to a job in Big Food for ever. That’s what had happened to a banker friend from London who’d sued her employer for discrimination. Lucy might be a millionaire today, but it had cost her health, her husband and her reputation. And she was only 43, Susan’s age. She looked down at her diary. She had written only one word: Mimi.

Where could she find a lawyer? There was no shortage of them in town. She needed a proper corporate attorney. There was the one from Smithson and Hopkins who had helped Mimi after her arrest. Maybe he was specialised in immigration. She scanned the contacts on her phone. How could she have forgotten his name? Mark Palin, like Sarah Palin. She resolved to try him the next day.

She hopped on a bus home, where she opened the fridge door, took out the gilded box lying there, and rested it on her knee. She had consumed half of the twelve chocolates inside in the time it took her to switch on her computer and open Facebook. Somebody wanted to friend her.

She gasped when she saw who it was. Looking straight at her from the screen was Rod, the father of her child.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

She was pacing round the apartment and decided that she had to ring Lily despite the late hour in London.

“Guess what? It looks like I’m being fired from DeKripps!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would they?”

“Let’s just say that apparently I’m no longer flavour of the month.” She recounted every detail of her exchange with Barney.

“So why don’t you go to HR before he does?”

“What for? I don’t see what difference it would make.”

“Don’t you see that what you know about Project Candy could be your meal ticket?”

“What do you mean?”

“What would it be worth to DeKripps if you went public with that?”

“God, Lily, you can’t be suggesting that I turn whistle-blower? I’m a senior corporate executive. Are you mad?”

“You love your job, but your job doesn’t love you. How many people do you know who’ve been made redundant at a moment’s notice? Why would you be any different? It’s up to you to get the best deal you can. You need to think of yourself.”

“But what if they end up transferring me back to London after all? I was thinking about complaining to HR to get a sweetheart deal, not break the law.”

“Whistleblowing isn’t breaking the law. It’s doing good. If you are seriously telling me that DeKripps has invented a secret food ingredient they know to be addictive,
that’s
breaking the law,” Lily said.

“I still don’t have any proof of that. That’s the whole point. I have suspicions, and a bloody weight problem.”

“Get some proof then.”

“Come on, you know that’s easier said than done.”

“Well, sleep on it anyway. Did you get a lawyer yet? If not, get one, pronto.”

“Funny you should say that.” She told her about Mark Palin. Lily approved. “Was he the one who got Mimi off?”

“Yes, it cost me a cool $5,000, mind. This is going to be astronomical if I end up fighting DeKripps. David and Goliath springs to mind.”

“You don’t know where things are going yet. But wow.”

They were about to hang up when Susan said, as casually as she could manage: “Actually, Rod has just got in touch with me on Facebook.”

She sensed a chill drift across the Atlantic.

“And did you answer?” She walked to the fridge and took out the Chardonnay, closing the door with a foot.

“Not yet. I’m curious, of course, but I’m not sure how I feel about him.”

“How can you not be sure? He’s a bastard, that’s what he is. And a married one at that. Have you forgotten what he did to you?”

“That’s a lifetime ago. I need to check with Mimi. She might want to be in touch with her biological father. Particularly now that she’s going to be a mother herself.”

*

Mimi had replied to her message. Yes, of course she was curious to meet Rod. But, equally predictably, she didn’t want her to be present.

Susan considered carefully how to respond to his Facebook invitation. She examined his profile: He’d aged quite well, slightly heavier, just a few grey hairs. But she certainly didn’t want him snooping around hers so she decided to send him her email address in response to his friend request. That way, the ball would be back in his court if he wanted to pursue things. But she had to keep cool; the last thing she wanted was to reopen old wounds.

His response came that weekend. The email said:

“Dear Susie,

“It’s been a long time but I’ve often thought about you over the years. How’s life treating you? You look as lovely as ever. I realise I was a bit of a prick all those years ago, but it would be good to catch up if you have the time and the inclination. I’m still doing import-export stuff and am based in Chiswick.

“Best regards,

“Rod”

She parsed the email carefully. She was surprised by her anger. Of course, he’d seen her photos on social media which were there for any casual observer. He might have seen a photo of her with Mimi. Why hadn’t she been more careful about her privacy settings? As for ‘a bit of a prick’, that’s the understatement of the century. She supposed it was only natural that he would tell her what he was doing now. He was obviously running his own company, near Heathrow, for a quick getaway. And he wants to meet up. That’s obvious too.

She immediately forwarded the message to Lily for comment.

Then she started typing.

“Dear Rod,

“I’m well, thanks. I noticed that you don’t mention our daughter, Mimi in your email. She is now 22, and working for an NGO in London.”

Should she mention the baby? No, that was sufficient for an introduction.

“As for me, I’m with DeKripps Foods Inc.” She signed off saying “Yours, Susie,” and hit send.

There were no smoke signals from work. Barney continued to maintain a professional distance, and was civil when they met by the coffee machine. Christmas was approaching and Susan knew she would soon have to decide about travel again. But she was aware that the pre-Christmas period was always the time when corporate pink slips came flying and suspected that she might not see out the season of goodwill at DeKripps.

She waited for Mark Palin at Caribou Coffee in central DC. He showed up five minutes late, apologetically tapping his watch. For a split second she was transported back to the moment she’d met Serge, when he had tapped on his watch before demanding ‘damage’. She stood to shake his hand and offered him a cup of coffee.

“So are you related to Sarah?” she asked. “I suppose everyone must ask you that.”

“As far as I know there’s no connection. My family is from Indiana, not Alaska,” he said, taking off his overcoat. He was casually dressed again. But she liked his informality.

She took a moment to study him. He was tall and athletic, with the slim build of a basketball player. He had big ears, a long face and the slicked-back hair favoured by the young professionals of DC. She noticed with appreciation that he switched off his Blackberry as he sat down in the brown leather chair.

“So what can I do for you, Ms Perkins? How’s Mimi?”

“Please call me Susie. And thanks again for all you did for her. She’s still causing trouble, of course, but she’s back in London. This time I’m the troublemaker.”

Susan briefed him on her predicament. He didn’t need to be told that there seemed to be a connection to the incident with Mimi and her boss’s loss of trust in her.

“But so far you may be over-reacting, right? After all, DeKripps hasn’t done anything yet.”

Susan went on to explain about her suspicions about Project Candy and Guilty Secrets. His long face darkened.

“You mean they’re deliberately putting an addictive substance into the food we eat for the sake of increased sales? Without the FDA knowing?”

“I know it sounds incredible. And can’t prove it yet,” she said. “I’ve tried to track down one of the scientists, but that’s not worked out so far. I can hardly point to a weight gain as the proof in the pudding, as it were. And that’s me in the starring role of pudding.”

He examined his fingernails, which she noticed were bitten down to the quick. Do all lawyers in Washington bite their nails?

“The sales stats have been amazing,” she went on. “The boxes of Guilty Secrets are flying off the shelves. They can’t meet the demand. But the thing that got me thinking is that Barney said the scientists couldn’t keep up. It was like a Freudian slip.”

“Listen Susie, this could be big,” he said, leaning forward. “If what you’re suggesting is true,
if
it’s true, I’d put it on a par with tobacco and nicotine.”

“You don’t mean we could put Big Food on trial, like they did Big Tobacco?”

“Why not? But we must have a smoking gun.”

“Or a smoking chocolate. I know.”

“I can’t believe they called it Guilty Secrets,” he said. He looked at his watch again.

“So what happens now?”

“Let me think about it. Tell me if there are any more developments.”

She took his proffered business card. She watched him leave with the loping gait of a sportsman and sat back in her chair with a smile.

She studied the embossed lettering on the thick white card. She’d been about to give him hers before deciding that would be pointless. He had her number anyway. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel alone.

*

Susan and Rod had agreed to meet for coffee after Christmas in Hammersmith. She was looking forward to going home for the holidays.

Jessica invited her to a performance of The Messiah. It wasn’t Susan’s first choice but provided an opportunity to recount her story about ‘John from New York’ with a few embellishments for effect. Jessica referred to him for the rest of the evening as ‘American Gigolo’.

Three days before her departure for London, she received the email she dreaded. It was from HR, inviting her to a meeting.

She had only met the head of HR, Lynn Proctor, once before when she’d just arrived in Washington.

“How are you, Susie? Please sit down.”

Lynn had a spacious office on the seventh floor. Susan sat obediently in front of her desk, feeling like a junior employee.

“Barney asked me to look into transferring you back to London at the end of your time here. I’ve spoken to Frank, of course, and others about how best to use you. Your job in London has of course been filled while you’ve been here. Let me see.” Lynn pulled up a file on her computer. “Your immigration status.”

Susan knew that DeKripps had renewed her visa for another year so it was valid until the following September.

“So,” said Lynn to herself. She turned back to Susan, who was waiting for the verdict.

“Regrettably,” – the word was heavy with doom – “it’s proved impossible to find you something commensurate with your pay level, despite our efforts and all the best will in the world.”

She smiled complicitly before adding, “As you know, DeKripps execs aren’t exactly underpaid.”

“So we’re talking about redundancy?”

Lynn smiled again but her glossed pink lips had tautened.

“You do know that I’m about to leave for England on holiday? It seems very unfair if you expect me to leave Washington and never come back.”

“Oh there’s no suggestion of that, Susie. No rush. We’ll just get the paperwork done and then let’s say you’ll be on gardening leave for a while.”

Susan understood there was no more to be said. She got up, wanting to throw out a devastating one-liner, and longing to say “My lawyer will be in touch,” but that was Hollywood. Here, DeKripps was king, and she wasn’t even sure she
had
a lawyer.

“Happy holidays,” said Lynn, opening the door.

Susan’s legs were trembling as she took the stairs down to her office. She called Mark Palin but was put through to a secretary who said she would pass on the message.

She couldn’t face ringing her mother to tell her about her humiliation. She shut the door and rang Lily, who was at home.

“This is how they treat me after 13 years’ loyal service!” She could hear music in the background. “What am I going to do? DeKripps has been my whole career.”

“What does the lawyer say?”

“I don’t know. I’m waiting for him to ring me back.”

“Sit tight. You’ll be fine. You’ve had a shock. Even though you knew it was coming, it must be a shock.”

As she was walking back to the apartment after work that evening, carrying a heavy bag of shopping and trying not to slip on a dusting of snow, her mobile rang. She put down the bag carefully on the pavement and stood under a streetlight. It was Mark, who said he was sorry to hear her news but wouldn’t be able to meet before she flew home for the holidays.

“In any case, we need to wait until DeKripps makes you an offer. You’ve only had a preliminary conversation so far.”

Swallowing disappointment, pretending to be caught up in the bustle of Christmas and work, she promised to email as soon as she had some news.

“See you next year,” he said, and rang off.

She picked up her bags and walked slowly back to her apartment.