Powerstone (2 page)

‘You managed a small shop, coped
with a kindergarten school, which you found easy given your two children,’
again the men exchanged empathetic smiles, ‘promoted a newly published book, organised
a visit to the Manning Corporation from a foreign diplomat and finally created
a new security system for the Manning Museum here in New York City.’

Irene hated the smug look that
crept over Kendrick’s face as he nodded to acknowledge each success.

‘Indeed, you only have to
successfully complete only one last task, Kendrick, and you will have proved
yourself the perfect neophyte.’ Peter closed the file and glanced toward Ms
Manning.

‘And now you, Irene.’ Ms Manning
nodded encouragement across the table. She raised an eyebrow to the older man
on her right. ‘Proceed, Charles.’

‘Irene Armstrong, you have also
proved yourself,’ Charles spoke with an attractive
Tennessee
drawl. ‘After a difficult
childhood, you financed yourself into
North Carolina
State
University
, from where you successfully graduated. You entered the
business world, rising to become head of department in a
New York
financial house. Since entering
for
The Neophyte
you have taken charge of a busy travel agency, created
a new web site for the Manning Corporation’s Youth Programme, welcomed a French
trade delegation to Houston’s Manning Shopping Mall and tested the fire and
security system in the Boston Manning Hotel.’

Far more aware of Ms Manning’s
scrutiny than of the cameras, Irene kept her face expressionless, acknowledging
the applause with a nod.

‘And you also have to prove
yourself in our final task, Irene, before you can take your place as Ms
Manning’s neophyte,’ Charles paused for a significant moment, ‘or take a walk
on the streets.’

‘On the streets,’ somebody from
the unseen audience shouted, and others joined in, chanting the three-word
mantra that would signify failure to one of the two remaining candidates.

Ms Manning waited until the noise
faded before she spoke in her habitual low, soft voice, clearly enunciating
each syllable. ‘The last task we set was slightly different. It was also the
most controversial of them all.’ She raised the tension with a long pause.
Unlike each previous episode of the show, no details of the hopeful neophyte’s
assignment had been released and everybody present waited to hear what would be
said next.

‘The task seemed quite simple,’ Ms
Manning said, ‘you were to find out all that you could about your opponent, and
tell me why that person should not be given the position as neophyte.’

There was a gasp from the audience
as Irene and Kendrick looked at each other. Kendrick raised his eyebrows, but
the smugness was back. Irene knew that Ms Manning had been fostering
competition, setting the contenders against each other in a mini duplication of
corporate life. Now she felt the hammering of her heart as she wondered what
skeletons Kendrick had discovered. She saw Peter and Charles each produce a
file from their respective brief case and hand it to Ms Manning. Both files
were identical, with the white Manning Corporation logo embossed on a dark
green background, except that one was thicker than the other.

To the brief rolling of a drum, Ms
Manning opened the thinner file, lifted a printed sheet of paper from the top
and scanned it briefly. ‘This is a summary of Irene’s investigation into
Kendrick,’ she explained. ‘But before I begin, is there anything in your past
that you wish to keep hidden, Kendrick?’ The smile was deceitfully benign.

‘Absolutely nothing,’ Kendrick
said. He glanced at Irene. ‘Anybody is free to investigate my life.’

Ms Manning nodded. ‘Let us see,
Kendrick.’ She scanned the summary with one flick of her eyes. ‘Straight A
grades at school, top of your year at Harvard and a prime performer at the
Stock Exchange.’

That smug look was back on
Kendrick’s face as he nodded. Irene began to hate him anew, for the Ivy League
Club was strong in the corporate world. Despite spending an entire two weeks
probing Kendrick’s life, she had found nothing untoward. She had hired a
private investigator, had Kendrick followed, questioned his work colleagues and
fellow students all the way back to infancy, with no success. The man seemed
impenetrable, a veritable saint.

‘You married Selia three years ago,
Kendrick, and have two children, a boy named John and a girl named Ruth.’ Ms
Manning put down the paper and closed the file. ‘You have never transgressed
the laws of the United States in any particular, with not even a parking fine
against you, and your teachers, lecturers, family and neighbours all acclaim
you with great praise.’ She smiled, ‘Kendrick, you are a pillar of the
community.’

Kendrick ducked his head modestly
as Ms Manning lifted the second, thicker, file and turned her attention to
Irene.

‘A mixed bag at school, Irene, and
a slight blemish when you took some unofficial time off, which is not
surprising given your impoverished family background. You recovered commendably
well, and attended
North
Carolina
State
University
, which you financed by working long hours at Wal-Mart,
among other places.’

Irene nodded. She felt the colour
rise to her cheeks as there was a slight stir in the audience. She knew that it
was part of the American Dream for a poor girl to work her way to success, but
also knew that the United States could be as elite-conscious as any other
nation in the world. She hoped that Kendrick had not been over efficient in
checking all her previous work places.

‘After an initial rocky period,
you hit a run of top grades, and have worked in a number of positions since,
usually rising to the top of whatever tree you chose to climb. Latterly you
were head of department in a leading financial business. You are single, but
have a partner named Patrick McKim. He is a fascinating man, but not the
subject of this competition.’ Miss Manning let the words hang as she shuffled
the papers a little before she selected a single yellow sheet.

Irene leaned forward. She could
nearly feel the triumph radiating from the man sitting next to her.

‘Kendrick has unearthed some
interesting facts about you, Irene. For instance, there was a job in
Raleigh
when you accumulated a number of
parking fines.’ Miss Manning raised both eyebrows as she stared into the
camera, playing to the audience. ‘And there was the night you seem to have
spent in a police cell?’

Irene could hear the audible sigh
from the audience as they sensed her chances slipping away. Kendrick shifted in
his seat, not sure whether to be proud of his investigative success or
embarrassed at this public denouncement of his rival. He looked across to her,
as if to apologise. Aware that Ms Manning appreciated a fighter, Irene hit
back.

‘I was certainly in a police cell,
Ms Manning, but only for shelter. I was returning home from the University and
had run out of money. The police offered to help.’

Ms Manning allowed her eyebrows to
drop. ‘So I understand.’ She replaced the yellow sheet of paper and closed the
file. ‘So now I have to make a decision. Now I have to choose one neophyte and
order the unsuccessful candidate to go on the streets.’

The audience had been waiting
expectantly for those words. ‘On the streets!’ they echoed, chanting in
choreographed enjoyment.

Kendrick straightened in his seat.
His glance at Irene might have included sympathy.

Ms Manning continued. ‘I have
watched you both over the last few months, I have viewed hundreds of hours of
video tape, read your files and interviewed you personally, but now I must
pronounce the final decision.’ When she leaned back, Ms Manning’s immaculately
styled hair barely touched the carved logo on the headrest. She looked from one
candidate to the other, pressed the tips of her fingers together and smiled.

‘It’s a big decision, choosing a
successor. Who do I want?
What
do I want?’ She sighed. ‘I want somebody
who is expert at business, so my Corporation does not go down the pan.

Somebody who will fight for what
he
,’
Ms Manning’s eyes focussed on Kendrick, and then slid across to Irene, ‘or
she
,
believes. I want somebody who can identify a failing but potentially successful
company, buy it and turn it around. I want somebody honest and incredibly hard
working. I want a fighter.’ She shook her head solemnly, ‘I want somebody
similar to me.’

The audience cheered, as Ms
Manning had certainly intended. Irene felt herself smiling and knew that
Kendrick was doing exactly the same. Ms Manning had that effect on people.

She had the power of manipulation.

Ms Manning sat up straight and
nodded into the nearest camera. There was a hush as the great screens rolled
slowly back so that the appearance of a boardroom altered into the television
studio that it in fact was. Now only a few yards of space and coils of
television cable separated the contestants from the audience. Irene was
suddenly conscious that hundreds of pairs of eyes were fixed on her back. The
cameras had been intrusive but impersonal, machines rather than people, but now
she fancied that she could hear the breathing of each individual among the
crowd, she could nearly smell the cologne and after shave with which they had
doused themselves.

‘I have come to a decision.’ Ms
Manning leaned back in her chair, allowing her head to rest just beneath the
Manning logo. Even then, Irene could admire the perfect set of her hair and the
manicured nails that lay in line with the arm rests. The overhead lights
gleamed on the ruby that was central to the single ring encircling her
forefinger. There was a matching ruby on the antique necklace around her neck.

Irene could not look at Kendrick,
although she was very aware of his suddenly shallow breathing. The audience had
receded to unimportance.

‘Within the next two minutes,’
Miss Manning addressed the contestants, ‘one of you will be my neophyte and the
other will be on the streets.’ This time the audience did not chant the
programme slogan. ‘How do you feel, Kendrick?’

There was a moment’s hesitation
before Kendrick replied. ‘I feel good,’ he said. ‘I feel real good.’

Ms Manning nodded. ‘And you,
Irene?’

‘Confident,’ Irene lied. She
nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. I will be your neophyte.’

The hush deepened as Ms Manning
stood, as she always did before imparting momentous decisions. Three cameras
focussed on her, while one concentrated on each of the contestants.

‘This contest has been close,’ Ms
Manning’s accent became more pronounced as she came to the climax of the
programme. ‘And I am left with two excellent candidates. One has sailed through
life on the crest of a wave of constant success; the other has struggled
through adversity to achieve her present position. Both are examples of the
American Dream, and the two are hard to separate.’

Irene heard the drums begin their
insistent roll as Ms Manning stepped back, preparatory to sweeping her hand
round in her trademark gesture that would destroy the dreams of one contestant
and recreate the life of the other. The person Ms Manning selected would be
virtually guaranteed wealth, power and success; the person she rejected would
have to accept very public failure. Ms Manning was the human oxymoron between
two extremes; her pronouncement was incontestable.

‘So I have come to a provisional
decision. In business it is sometimes better to hedge one’s bets, to allow
things to take their own course until muddied waters clear.’ Her arm swung in a
complete half circle until her forefinger pointed directly at Kendrick. The
ruby gleamed like blood. ‘In this instance I have decided that Kendrick shall
be my neophyte, for an interim period of one year. If he makes a success of
things in that time, which I have no doubt that he will, then he shall retain
the position.’

The arm retracted then thrust out
toward Irene. ‘In the meantime, Irene, you must go
on the streets
!’

The finger dominated Irene’s
conscious vision. She could see the immaculate nail with the arc of the
cuticle, and each individual crease around the knuckles. For one moment her
entire life centred on that single digit, and then the audience began the chant
that had become a catchphrase throughout
America
.

‘On the streets! On the streets!’

Irene sat in disbelief, swamped by
the baying. She could feel Kendrick standing beside her, could sense the
triumph in his smile as he accepted the congratulations of Ms Manning and her
senior managers before he turned to her, hand extended.

‘On the streets! On the streets!’

Tears prickled in her eyes as
Irene faced Ms Manning. She shook her head. She had planned and striven and had
dedicated her entire life to winning this competition. Now she was a failure;
the world would remember her not as the contestant who had nearly succeeded,
but as the woman who had failed in front of millions.

‘You fought well, Irene,’
Kendrick’s soft voice caressed her and his deep brown eyes held only sympathy.
‘Shake now; show the world that you can lose as graciously as you win.’ When
she hesitated, he leaned closer, whispering ‘if you don’t, you’ll regret it
later.’