The First Wives Club (21 page)

Aaron sighed. All the new blood made him feel tired.

He thought of his father. The tight-ass. He had once called Aaron lazy. Too lazy to work. Well, he’d told his father to shove it, and look what he’d done.

He’d built his own business and was on his way to building a fucking empire.

And now his own son was watching him do it.

It was nice having Chris working with him. Aaron’s dad and Annie had both been upset when Chris dropped out of Princeton to work for Aaron at the agency.

Aaron pretended to be upset, too, but secretly he was proud. Chris wasn’t like his brother, Alex—he wouldn’t set the world on fire—but it was nice he had chosen to work with Aaron, to learn the business.

It would be nice to have someone at his back, someone whom he was building the firm for, someone who could take it over one day. Aaron slowed his steps for a moment. Aging, slowing down, bowing out—all of those ideas upset him deeply. Christ, what was he thinking of? He was young, in the prime of his life. He would soon have a new, younger wife, a whole life ahead of him. Chris was a baby, hardly dry behind the ears. There was no way the kid could take over. Not now, probably not ever. He had no real flash, no pizzazz. No guts.

Aaron arrived at the loft and pressed Anton’s buzzer. The grim hallway, just a vestibule really, was littered, graffiti scrawled on the wall beside the ugly, caged elevator. Particularly prominent was “Eat Pussy or Die.” Aaron wondered how Herb Brubaker had liked that.

Herb was not a man whom Aaron could imagine eating pussy. He was one of those Midwestern, middleaged middle managers whom Aaron despised, but totally typical for United Foods. Amazing that they had bought Aaron’s concept, but after all, it had been brilliant.

They had purchased Sandrine cosmetics and then hadn’t known what the hell to do with a line of moderately priced makeup aimed at the young, hip market.

United Foods knew nothing of young, hip, exciting. Aaron had proposed a stunning visual—a slender nude with makeup scribbled, powdered, smeared, on various parts of her body by various hands—one of them obviously male. The commercials would have to avoid a full frontal, of course, but the print ads, which were being shot today, could go pretty far.

And then, they’d convinced La Doll, the new young singer with typical acting aspirations, to pose. What a coup. United fell hook, line, and large checkbook.

So what the fuck had gone wrong? Aaron wondered as he pushed back the clanking gate and entered the self-service elevator. Apparently Herb had watched them play around with La Doll’s body and decided to give it a try himself. Didn’t Jerry and the gang have enough sense to keep the moron busy? Clients on a shoot were as annoying as herpes in a whorehouse. They always had to be baby-sat.

At last the elevator groaned to a stop on the fifth floor. The loft was huge and white, with enormous windows down two long sides. Large white umbrellas were poised to catch and reflect the light on the set, a gray roll of horizonless paper and a plain wooden chair, now deserted. Instead of the usual noisy chaos of a shoot, there were silent knots of people, his staff, over in one corner, Herb Brubaker and his in another. Christ, Aaron thought. This was perfect!

He looked over at Paul Block, who shrugged. It was his hand, his masculine hand, that was to legitimately touch La Doll, he and Pat Tilley, Jon Carthay, and a few other hand models earned over half a million a year at jobs like this one. Now Paul sat, uninvolved in all the flap going on around him, his hands absolutely still in his lap.

They were insured with Lloyd’s, but Aaron knew how careful these guys were.

It was Herb’s hands that had gotten them into trouble. Jerry, his baggy corduroy trousers bunched at his waist, his sweater all wrong, immediately ran up to Aaron, his face that of a concerned, morally correct beagle. Here was a guy, a Jew no less, who dressed Yiddish and thought British, Aaron told himself, exasperated. Christ, he was impossible!

“Where’s La Doll?” Aaron snapped.

“In the rear dressing room.”

“Great. What’s she doing, calling her lawyer?”

Jerry shrugged. “I think she’s crying. Aaron, we gotta call United and get Herb thrown off the set.”

Julie, the account rep, joined them. “He’s right, Aaron. The guy’s a pig.”

“Yes, but he’s the client pig,” Aaron reminded them. Jesus, he had no intention of letting word of this leak back to Macready at United. It would look bad for everyone and make an enemy out of Herb. Aaron didn’t need someone running a vendetta back in Milwaukee. If he could turn it around, on the other hand, and cover it up for Herb, then Herb would owe him. Big time.

“I’m sure it was misunderstood. Taken out of context,” he began.

“Christ, Aaron, he pinched her nipple!” Julie retorted. “What context should that be taken in?”

Chris came up behind him. ‘He did, Dad. It was unbelievable.”

Oh, perfect ! Aaron thought. Now his son was lining up on the wrong side.

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” he snapped, turning his back on his son’s wince.

“Jerry, could I speak to you privately for a minute?” he asked mildly

.

Jerry nodded and followed him to a window in the corner. Aaron kept the smile on his face—he knew they were being watched, but his voice sank to a bitter whisper.

“Now listen to me and listen good. I didn’t break my ass getting the United account only to lose it because of some silly incident with a client who’s had a three-martini lunch. Christ knows, this little bitch isn’t a virgin, and it’s probably not the first time her nipple’s been tweaked for money.” He stopped, rubbed his chin, and freshened his smile. ‘Now, I’ll go into her dressing room and promise her anything. Meanwhile, you go make nice to Brubaker.”’ ”Aaron, she won’t continue, and I won’t work with Brubaker under any circumstances.”

”She will and yo will, Jerry. Do you hear me? I bailed you out of all that trouble with your father-in-law, and I guaranteed your mortgage and I got your daughter into Princeton. Now, do what I tell you, goddamnit. I will not have you lose me this account!”

He was breathing hard but the smile hadn’t left his face for a moment.

“And Jerry,” he added, “make it look easy.”

He turned and strode across the loft, past the hairdresser, past the makeup man, past the prop bench with the products all spread out, ready to be artistically scribbled onto La Doll’s perfect body.

It would be an innovative series. Lipstick scrawled across the girl’s back, blusher sponged onto her thighs, eyeliner drawn all down a leg, around an ankle. All photographed in beautiful colors, in lush light.

It would break ground, it would sell, it would be new. Let those kids at the new agencies try to keep up with him. He could still lead the way.

Yes, he was ready to ring out the old and bring in the new. No more old guilts and burdens. He was still young. He was at the top of his form. He and Leslie would enter a brave new world together. For a moment, inexplicably, as he walked to La Doll in her dressing room, he thought of Annie. It had been a bad scene at the Carlyle. Christ, he was sorry. He shouldn’t have had that little slip with her in Boston.

He shook his head. It had been difficult getting Leslie to overlook that one. Leslie was a tigress in bed and in life. She, like him, got out there and got what she wanted. And she’d gotten him. Annie . .

.

well, Annie simply tried to be good. Eternally sorting garbage for recycling, volunteering, being conscientious. But she was no tigress.

And certainly not in bed. Sex felt like an accommodation with Annie.

It had to be love, not sex! And she still didn’t come. It was as if, no matter what he did, his performance wasn’t good enough.

He could never compete with her relentless goodness. He sighed.

Also, he admitted to himself, Leslie should have terminated Annie as a patient sooner, so the thing between them would have been cleaner. But Leslie had felt Annie needed the help with Sylvie. And maybe she was right. Now he’d have to deal with Sylvie. Soon he’d have to visit that place. He winced at the thought. He’d deal with that later.

Now, if he could just cajole La Doll into a forgiving mood. Perhaps a small gift. Jesus, perhaps a big gift. Well, whatever it took, he’d get her to come around.

His hand was on her dressing room door when he saw a girl at the phone waving to him anxiously. Good Christ, it was endless! An endless chipping away at him.

”Mr. Paradise, an urgent call …”

They were always urgent. The office with some more childish bullshit that only he could handle. ‘Take a message,” Aaron called over his shoulder.

“But the man says to tell you he’s Mr. Cushman and that it’s an emergency !”

Aaron turned from the dressing room door and began moving swiftly toward the kid. Norma, his secretary, knew better than to give a location number direct to a client. Why wasn’t she screening this? He thought of La Doll. Well, a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, he guessed.

“Morty, how the hell did you track me down?”

“With radar, kiddo, with radar,” Morty said, laughing at his own little joke.

“Don’t blame your girl. She did her best to keep the secret. But this had to go direct from me to you. No goddamn middlemen. Listen up, Aaron. As soon as we hang up, I want you to call your stockbroker and buy as much Morty the Madman stock as you possibly can, and then buy some more.”

Interesting, Aaron thought. But was it legal? He’d already helped Morty Cushman realize his dreams. What next? ‘What are you asking me to do, Morty?”’ “Not asking, telling. You’re buying for you and you’re buying for me, so bet the farm, pal, and we’re both going to make a lot of money. I never would have gotten the Wall Street crowd interested without your help. Now it’s payback time, baby. Morty doesn’t forget his friends.” Aaron had introduced Morty to Gil Grifffin, and Aaron’s ads had made Morty king of the retailers. Well, maybe this was a favor. “Is this illegal?”’ “Only if we’re caught. Anyway, it’s small time. Just a little inside edge, you know. Hold the shit for a month, make a million dollars. That kind of thing.”

Christ, he could use the money. Buy out Jerry. Eliminate problems like the one he was dealing with now. “So what kind of figures are you talking, Morty?”’ ”I want a million. Can you do that on margin?”

Jesus. A million. No way. ‘What’s going on, Morty?”’ ” Let’s just say that it’s going to make a move.” Aaron thought quickly. He appreciated a stock tip, who wouldn’t, but didn’t like the idea of being a beard for Morty’s purchase. And then there was the issue of not having anywhere near that kind of money. The divorce had not come cheap.

“How safe is this?”’ ”Aaron, it might as well be FDIC insured. I swear it. But have you got an account in another name, or one that you can use? A friend, or an old aunt or something?”’ Sylvie. His daughter’s trust fund was the only answer. “Not one that I could easily get a million from, Mort. Nowhere near it.”’ ”Shit. You know what they say, it takes money to make money. Well, I won’t be a chozzer. Can you do me four hundred thou?”

”Yes. I think so.”

“And have enough left so you can do a little something for yourself.”’ ‘ Yeah.

”Good. Then do it.”’ Morty clicked off. Aaron stood there for a moment while visions of sugar plums danced through his head. It had taken years and a lot of sweat to build the trust fund that insured Sylvie’s future. It was a waste when you thought how limited her future would be. But it guaranteed that the poor girl would never be in a state home. Now, perhaps he could double that money. And make some for himself all the while doing a favor for Morty. That would cement the Madman account forever. Still, it was dangerous. But he was a risk taker. He depressed the plunger and began to dial his stockbroker.

Then he remembered. Goddamn it. The trust had joint supervision.

Since Annie had added the capital from the trust that her father had left, she, too, had to authorize any purchases or sales within the port folio. And she would never gamble. Not Annie. Not with Sylvie’s money. Aaron sighed. If he could pull this off, Sylvie would be taken care of, and he’d be set. He deserved this chance. He’d been kissing Cushman’s ass for years. and now it was about to pay off big. Why should Annie stand in his way now? Why should he be punished? She’d gotten hers in the divorce settlement, and now it was his turn. If he hadn’t had to pay off Annie, he would have used that money to ax Jerry long ago.

He thought for just a moment, about the weekend in Boston. He should never have slept with her. It had been a mistake. But she’d looked so sweet and the movie for Alex had been so great, and it had seemed so pleasant, so easy. Too bad Annie had misunderstood. Since that day at the Carlyle he’d been out of touch with Annie. He certainly couldn’t call her about this.

He stood by the phone and thought for a moment, the pressure of the confrontation with La Doll building up. There had to be a way. He could call Gil Griffin. He was certain that Gil could put through a trade. Federated Funds handled their accounts, and though he normally traded through his small-time broker there, he knew John Reamer was a stickler with this sort of thing. But if the trade came down through Gil .

Aaron shrugged. He knew Gil well enough. It was a favor, but just a small one.

And it would humiliate him to have to call back Morty to tell him that he couldn’t do it because his ex-wife said no. After the trade he’d explain it to Annie and leave extra in the fund. It was a oneshot deal.

He lifted the phone and dialed 411. “Operator, get me the number of Federated Funds Douglas Witter. Executive Offices, please.”’ Masters of the Universe.

The few rays of late-afternoon sun that managed to penetrate the two-hundred-year-old glass of the boardroom windows fell across Gil Griffin’s face as he sat alone at the head of the huge table. He was not a handsome man, he knew, his neck was too long and his head was too small. With his hair slicked back in the approved Wall Street shark coif and his patrician but beaklike nose, he had something of the sleek look of an egret. Yet he also knew he was undeniably attractive. And to those who found power erotic, he was irresistible.