The Capitol Game

10

The three men inched forward in their chairs, straining to catch every word. Walters and Bellweather, as well as Samuel Parner, the cutthroat head of CG’s LBO section, were crowded in the small room in the basement to hear Jack’s pitch.

The moment they heard the door close, they relaxed and exchanged smiles. As Jack had entered the Princeton Inn, one of the TFAC boys, dressed in loud orange slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, had bumped against him and pinned a state-of-the-art miniature listening device to the back of his suit coat.

The conversation in the private dining room was easily picked up by a van parked in a nearby lot, then relayed in real time to the security room in CG’s basement.

Not that they had trust issues with Jack.

No issues at all. They didn’t trust him, not one bit.

“Well?” Bellweather turned and asked Parner.

“He’s great. Every bit as good as you claimed.” Parner could barely keep the broad grin off his face. He’d heard stories about how this guy had creamed two of his best boys but never actually witnessed him in action.

“Yes, brutal, wasn’t he?” Bellweather asked, proud of their new catch.

“It was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” Walters grinned like a proud Little League dad who had just seen his son belt one over the bleachers. “I particularly liked the nice-guy act before the wolf came out.”

“Wouldn’t you have loved to see their faces?” Bellweather observed, pushing back from the console. “Stupid yokels, never knew what hit them.”

“Did he actually contact their banks?” Parner asked. “Or was that a bluff?”

“If he says so, probably yeah. He knew all the numbers. He’s thought through every detail. Our boy is full of surprises.”

“I’ve never thought of doing that,” Parner admitted, shaking his head; the envy was loud and clear.

“But they didn’t say yes,” Bellweather noted.

“Just a matter of time,” Walters opined. “It’s a squeeze play, a perfect one. Take our money or watch the banks take it all away, and you’ll walk away with nothing. Really, it’s not a choice.” He turned and faced Parner. “How long do you guess?”

“Let’s see.” He paused and did the math. Unfriendly takeovers were his specialty, and, all humility aside, he considered himself among the best at gauging the pressure points. He could smell corporate collapses from a mile away. “We’re three days from the end of the month. Arvan’s got payroll and a bank payment due. Probably owes some money to his suppliers, too. Plus he’s got electricity, water, the usual overhead.”

“Then maybe tomorrow?”

Parner nodded and grinned, the doctor about to give his verdict. “Tomorrow’s a good guess. Two, maybe three days after, at the latest.”

Bellweather thought about it a moment. “Should we let Wiley finish it?” he asked.

“Sure, why not?” Parner suggested, actually quite pleased at that prospect. If the deal somehow went south, it was Wiley’s fault, and by extension, Bellweather and Walters would be blamed for relying on him to handle the heavy lifting. If it worked, he would stoke rumors about how he taught Wiley the art of the deal. He couldn’t lose, really.

Walters toyed with his glasses. “He’s done a fine job so far. I’ll tell TFAC to keep a close eye on him.”

At seven o’clock, Eva Green arrived at Jack’s door, wearing tight, faded jeans and a baggy white sweater that bunched and hung gloriously in all the right places and all the right ways. She arrived unannounced in a late-model red Toyota Camry with a bright smile and a lame excuse. “Hi, I’m on my way for a weekend in New York,” she said, pumping a few megawatts into the smile. “I hope it’s not inconvenient, but I decided to break up the trip.”

They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. Rumson was a forty-minute diversion off 95. As excuses go, it was so flimsy that she made little effort to sound convincing.

“Have you had dinner?” Jack eventually asked.

“No, and I’m famished. Let me take you out.”

“You like Italian?”

“Sure.”

“I’m in the middle of making spaghetti and I’d hate to waste it. Would you care to join me?”

“I’m impressed. A man who can cook.”

“Don’t be hasty.” Jack smiled, taking her elbow and escorting her inside.

Her hair was up in a ponytail, which bounced cutely when she walked. No makeup, and she really didn’t need any. She looked somehow, remarkably, even more alluring in bulky fall clothes than done up for the White House gala. She would be stunning in rags.

“Care for a drink?” Jack asked as they entered the kitchen.

“About a hundred miles ago. White wine if you have it.”

Jack retrieved a bottle and a glass, and while he pried off the cork and poured her a drink, Eva leaned against the counter and eyed the kitchen. It was large, spacious, and amazingly well-equipped for a bachelor, or for that matter, even a master chef, with all the latest gadgetry and culinary accoutrements. “I’ve been in kitchen display stores that have less hardware.”

“If you see anything I’m missing, let me know.”

“You like to cook?”

“No, I like to eat.”

Eva allowed a moment to pass, then said in a very forthright way, “I had a wonderful time with you at the White House.”

“I had a great time, too.”

“Did you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Maybe I meant to.”

“But maybe you’ve been too busy?” she suggested, smiling coyly.

“Maybe I’ve been trying to work up the nerve.”

“Come on, Jack. Shyness doesn’t seem to be one of your attributes.”

He smiled and handed her the wine with one hand and with the other stirred the spaghetti noodles. “What are your plans in New York?”

“Just a weekend fling. I have tickets to a Broadway play.”

“More than one?”

“Yes, a girlfriend from college who lives in Manhattan is joining me. Last week, she was dumped by her fiancé. A month before the wedding, the cad found someone else. I’m consoling her.”

“That’s nice of you. And the play?”

“A musical, actually. Grey Gardens.”

Jack shrugged. “Is it new?”

“It is, only the first week. Two old maids live in a decrepit old mansion amid tons of garbage and a hundred cats, looking back and singing about the crumbled relationships that ruined their lives.”

Jack laughed.

“I know.” She shook her head. “What was I thinking.”

Jack pulled a clump of soggy spaghetti out of the pot and pushed the noodles in her direction. “I need a judgment.”

Eva carefully tugged a strand off the spoon, pursed her lips, studied it briefly, then flung it against the wall: it stuck. “Perfect.” She crossed her long legs, sipped her wine, and watched him pour the noodles into a strainer.

“Tell me about yourself,” Jack said.

“You first.”

“You already know everything worth knowing about me.”

“Do I?”

“CG’s snoops have been digging through my background with a huge shovel. I’ve gotten calls from a dozen friends about some outfit claiming to be the FBI doing a background check. Don’t tell me you didn’t read a thick file on me before we went to the White House.”

She looked ready to deny it but quickly decided otherwise and instead laughed.

Jack said, grinning, “You’ve seen mine, now show me yours.”

“All right, you win. Not much to tell. Twenty-eight, single, no entanglements, no prospects.”

“That’s enough, you’re boring me.”

“Two brothers, me in the middle, lots of moving, plenty of sports, good grades, scholarship to Harvard. One of my brothers plays pro football. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“Mike Green?”

“Yep.”

“Left defensive tackle? The Jets, right?”

A quick nod.

“Led the league in sacks last year. And penalties. Mean Mike.”

“That’s Mike, but don’t believe what you hear. He’s a real sweetie.”

“Crippled one quarterback, put two more in the hospital. What’s your definition of a badass?”

“The older one, Dan. He’s bigger and much meaner.”

“And what’s he do?”

“Pretty much whatever he wants,” she said, straight-faced.

Jack chuckled.

“Dad retired ten years ago. He and Mom live in Myrtle Beach. He runs a used car lot, the Army way. Every car washed and spitshined daily. Salesmen double-time around the lot. If you don’t buy a car he shoots you.”

“Good technique.” Jack loaded two plates with spaghetti, handed one to Eva, and then led her by the arm to the dining room. They sat at the near end of the long table. Jack placed two wine bottles between them, one white, one red.

Eva took a long sip, then looked him in the eye. “I’d like to start over.”

“At least take a bite first. It’s not as bad as it looks, promise.”

“I mean us, you and me.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Well, you must admit the way we met, it was awkward… well, complicated.”

“Was it?” he asked, forcing her to spell it out.

“I was working. I was supposed to encourage you to choose us over the competition. You figured that out, obviously.”

Jack sat back and took a sip of wine. “Go on.”

“So being an ambitious junior executive, I signed on.”

“Shame on you,” Jack said, but he was smiling. “How far were you supposed to go?”

“You’re not that lucky, pal. Pleasant company was all I was asked to provide.”

“I should’ve told them the deal was worth thirty billion.”

“Thing is, you’re not what I expected, Jack. Far from it.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Cold, distant, and ruthless. A smiling shark, according to the dossier. The exact words were ‘handsome kneecapper with a ledger.’ You castrated several of our most vicious LBO boys. You were the talk of the headquarters.”

“And what makes you think I’m different?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“They never hurt.”

She smiled and toyed with her fork for a moment. “So what do you think? Can I have a do-over?”

After a moment Jack said, “How’s your spaghetti?”

They talked throughout dinner, watched a movie, and at eleven, Eva pecked him on the cheek, slipped a business card into his hand, climbed in her car, and sped off in the direction of New York City.

Before she left, they agreed they would get together the next time Jack was in Washington.