Miranda (9 page)

“What? Why?” My tone was inquisitive… very inquisitive… too inquisitive. What reason would the usurper have to remove those paintings on his first day of work?

“Believe me. I tried to bring him to reason so that he would understand what those paintings meant to Norman. He didn’t care.” She shrugged her shoulders as a sign of impotence.

In that case, the least that I could do was to assure myself that they were stored properly.

“Where are they?”

“In the spare accounting office.”

“Can you do me a favor?” I paused to think. She waited for instructions: “Have them hung… all of them… in my office.”

Margaret smiled a smile of confusion.

“You want the paintings to be stored in your office?”

“No. I want them to be hung on the walls,” I said as I drew out the outline of a wall in the air with my hands.

“Let’s see if I understand, Miranda. You want… all of the paintings… hanging in your office. All ten?” She verified the instructions with an incredulous tone.

“Yes, all ten.” I confirmed.

Margaret said no more. She turned her back to me and walked toward the spare accounting office. I said her name and she turned around. I could read on her face that she was waiting for me to change my mind. She never was a woman for conflict or rebellion.

“Yes?”

She shot that look of consternation at me that conveyed how unfortunate the consequences of my insolence would be.

“Thank you.”

Eliezer didn’t have the faintest idea of what those paintings meant to his father. To tell the truth, nor did I. One of the many times that I asked Norman about the paintings’ origin and significance, he told me that they were a sort of compass that kept him going in the right direction, not by indicating the way he had to go, but by showing him the way not to go.

The paintings also had a certain value for me. If I had been born with the ability to express my emotions on a canvas, I would have painted those very ones. The dark colors, the whirlwind strokes, and the abstract forms frequently reflected my sentiments and moods. Every painting translated a specific sentiment, including even similar events that were encompassed in one sentiment: deception, passion, fury, sadness, loneliness, melancholy, and defeat.

The panorama of my professional life looked more difficult every time. Contrary to what I had first thought, when Norman decided to appoint him, I thought that Eliezer’s path through Medika would be temporary and irrelevant. That was another one of my mistakes. From the first day, he made it very clear that he was the new Clausell in charge, that things would change, and that they would be done his way.

At eight o’clock in the morning, the conference room was almost ready. Margaret peeked through the window and gestured to let me know that the great Eliezer had arrived. I prepared myself mentally and asked God for the meeting to flow casually. I owed this to Norman, and it was my intention to be able to pay back my debt, or put more subtly, fulfill my promise.

I was concentrating on an e-mail on my computer screen when suddenly the hairs on my arms stood up. Something told me that Eliezer was in front of the door. I didn’t look up until I felt that he was already in the room with the door closed behind him. He had his jacket on, and that told me that he had not lingered in his office. His face shined with more confidence–he felt at home again.

“International.”

For the second time, our encounter didn’t start on the right foot. I could sense the condescension in his voice.

“Good morning, son of… Norman.” There was very little difference between what I said and what I could have said in that last part of my greeting. He would never hurt me again. I would pay my debt to Norman, yes, but in my way and under my rules.

Eliezer didn’t expect for me to respond that way. The half smile that accompanied his greeting had dissipated. He sat in the chair in front of mine.

“I heard that you were indisposed yesterday evening. Too much coffee?” he asked, pointing at my cup. “I see that you don’t learn quickly.”

“Nothing important,” I answered, trying to veer off the direction in which he wanted to take me.

“For having left the office without answering calls, it must have been something important.” He resisted leaving the topic.

I exhaled. I had no other weapons to use against him.

“In fact, yes. It was something important, for me.” I put a period on the conversation, making it clear that I didn’t have the slightest intention to give him explanations. “May I begin the presentation?”

“You have all of my attention,” he looked at his watch, “for now.”

I began giving him the background on the international market, and the roles that I had assumed at Medika. For some ten minutes, he listened without interrupting. Notwithstanding, he didn’t seem impressed. Rather, he analyzed my words, like a predator that stalks its prey, committing every movement to memory, and waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to attack.

“How long have you known Norman?” he asked unexpectedly, taking me by surprise. I stuttered and I couldn’t regain my train of thought. Surely it was a trick so that I would lose my concentration and make a misstep. I responded as well as I could.

“It has been twenty-two or twenty-three years.” I looked at his eyes, and I was quickly confused. It seemed like I was looking at Norman and not at his son. Eliezer didn’t take his eyes off of me. Neither of us would succumb to the other’s mercy. Someone had to give in. I did.

“Did you have any questions related to what I’ve presented to you up to now?”

“Yes. I have several. Let’s see, where shall I start?” He scratched his jaw in a pensive and calculating gesture. “Why do we invest more in the international market than we do in the domestic market if the domestic market is more profitable?”

It surprised me that I considered his question to be a valid one.

“Because we work on projects that, from a long term perspective, bring sustainability to other countries and the firm.”

“And why should I be betting my money on that strategy, since, beyond any doubt, the domestic market still has a lot of room for growth, is less complex, and is more profitable for me?” His eyes returned to being fixed on mine without any sign of retreat.

“Because we have social commitments to less developed countries.”

“Social commitments don’t generate profits for me.” The green of his eyes intensified just like Norman’s would when we would argue.

“Social commitments define who we are.”

“And who are we, Wise?”

The conversation took a personal turn. I must have seen it coming. One more time he succeeded in taking me off topic.

“Answer me, Wise! What in the devil are you?”

Should I answer? Why do I allow him to address me in such a rude manner?

“I am Miranda Wise, director of the international division. If that’s not enough for you, go ask the first person who crosses your path. Certainly, anyone could tell you who I am. Who are you Eliezer?”

He bit the inside of his cheeks. The retort unsettled him.

“I am asking the questions.”

A knot squeezed my throat. A void formed in my stomach. My breathing became labored. I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t show him any weakness because he would annihilate me.

“So, Eliezer, tell me who I am.” I put the ball in his court without knowing that it wasn’t the best move.

“Do you really want me to tell you who you are? Do you really have the balls to hear what I think you are?”

I didn’t lower my guard, but the damning violence in his words stunned me. He interpreted my silence as a ‘yes.’

“You are no more than Norman’s slut.”

“What?!”

“You are Norman’s stupid slut that he picked up and has used this whole time to serve his self imposed sentence.”

The knot in my throat got tighter each time. The insults came without remorse. My eyes watered. What sentence?

It was time to put Eliezer in his place.

“I see that they have told you a lot about me. I confess that it flattered me. It made me feel important. Even so, no one has ever told me about you. Do you really think that I care about what you think of me? Yes, if it makes you happy to think that I am your father’s whore, go ahead and think that I’m your father’s whore. It doesn’t matter much to me.” I breathed as little as I could. The air felt hot in my mouth. “You think that I don’t feel like slapping you so hard right now that it would make your head spin? Do you think I have any reason to tolerate your insults? You’re mistaken, Eliezer Clausell, I am not going to play your stupid game.”

He let loose a brief cackle that was dark and cold.

“If you’re here, Miranda Wise, you have to play; otherwise, you go. Only, in this game, there are some rules… mine.” He got up out of his chair and closed in on me. “Hear me, slut. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here. I would have fired you even before stepping into this office.”

He stopped a few inches from my face. I felt the heat that his body radiated and the anger and rage that possessed him. I lifted my head up to continue looking at him in the eye and seeing how the green of his irises seemed to darken with every word that he seemed to spit at me.

“And if you’re such a ringmaster, why don’t you fire me?”

He wiped his forehead with his hands.

“You must be very good at what you must do to Norman. You know? The old man gave me the liberty to do what I want with the company, except for one thing: to get rid of you. That’s the one rule that I cannot control… for the moment.”

He thought so, but he didn’t intimidate me.

“Your vulgarities don’t insult me, Eliezer. It’s evident that you really don’t know anything about me. If stay here listening to you speak your strings of idiocies, it would only be for one reason: your father. So we can do this in one of two ways: my way, or yours. My way is civilized and respectful, without taking the low road; or your way, the way of the troglodyte: arrogant and pretentious. If want to, I can be a real bitch. Believe me, it wouldn’t take much effort, but that would make me the same as you. And if there is one thing I could be sure of after the few hours that I’ve known you, it’s that I’m not at all like you. The only thing we have in common is your father, or on second thought, not even that. I forget that I indeed have had the privilege of being close to him the last twenty-something years, because I respect, admire, and appreciate him.” I paused. “And you, what do you have in common with your father? What do you feel for him?”

I told several lies. I could never be like him. Some of the words that I externalized hurt me down in my soul. His eyes continued to be fixed on mine, but it wasn’t me they were observing. They had been lost in an internal trip.

The sound of the cell phone brought him back to life. He took it out of his pants pocket and looked at the screen. He definitely used it as an excuse.

Coward
, I was tempted to call him, but I didn’t.

“This conversation isn’t over, Wise.” He looked me over–he didn’t do it like a predator, but the way a warrior looks at an enemy when challenging them. I don’t know if that fleeting sign made me feel good or bad.

“With pleasure, we’ll pick up exactly where we left off, Eliezer.”

As soon as he left the room, my legs collapsed and I fell seated in my chair. What the hell just happened? How did we get to this? Should I tell Norman or try to manage the situation. The last thing Norman needed was problems, but who else would open his eyes and admit to him what his imbecile of a son was doing?

***

A half hour later, Eliezer’s insults continued grinding away in my mind. With Norman’s paintings on the four walls around me, I felt immersed in each one of the sentiments that they expressed, drowning in that sea of torments. I, who was molded to tolerate anything in the business world, quickly felt… different. That protective layer that allowed me to not take things personally had weakened in a matter of less than five minutes. Eliezer really thought that I was his father’s lover. He had treated me worse than if I had been, and that, that was personal, and it hurt.

My heart jumped in my chest with the abrupt sound of the opening door. I had my head on my desk, buried in my arms.

“What the hell are these paintings doing here.”

Oh, not so fast… no. I lifted my head.

“Decorating, Eliezer, that’s what they’re doing.” A better answer didn’t occur to me. “Why are you interrupting me like this in my office? Wherever you’re from, didn’t anyone teach you any manners?”

I stood up, in my war stance.

He ignored my answer, and continued shouting.

“What are these paintings doing here? Margaret! Margaret!”

I heard the sound of her heels against the floor. She showed up in the doorway. Her face was pale. She, who always showed color in her cheeks, had the face of a corpse.

“Yes, Eliezer?”

He spoke to her amiably and calmly, with a tone of harmony.

“Margaret, excuse me for bothering you, but what are these paintings doing here?”

I would not allow Margaret to take the blame for my instructions. I walked toward them and interrupted their conversation.

“Margaret, you may go. I’ll take care of this.” I made a gesture for here to leave and close the door. We two enemies were left alone.

Eliezer’s face was red with fury.

I spoke in a pleasant tone. Someone had to make peace.

“I ordered Margaret to hang the paintings.”

“I want you to get them out of here!” He got too close, waving his hands in the air. I felt threatened.

“Why?” I asked.

He was so angry, he had trouble answering.

“I want these damned paintings out of here.”

I crossed my arms.

“Why?”

“Because I’m giving an order!” he screamed. The imbecile screamed at me!

“You know what those paintings mean to Norman?” Now I was the one who got close to him, invading his space and security.

“I don’t care what those shitty paintings mean. I don’t want them here.” He started waving his arms again. I felt like at any moment, he would lose his reason and hit me. I tried to reach his humanity.