The Jinx

Thirteen

M y cell phone rang as I pushed through the revolving door into the hotel lobby. I managed to drop my bag and spill its contents as I was digging for the device, but I caught the call just before it could go into voice mail.

“Rachel Benjamin,” I answered, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder as I knelt to collect the items that had scattered on the rug.

“Rachel. It’s Jonathan Beasley.”

I’d somehow pushed all thoughts about Jonathan and the quasikiss incident aside for the past two hours, but the warm, deep timbre of his voice made the imaginary scarlet A begin pulsing on my forehead all over again. “Hi,” I said lamely. The phone promptly slipped off my shoulder and fell to the floor. “Drat.” I grabbed the phone back up, trying to politely wave away the bellman who’d come to my aid.

“You still there?” he was asking.

“Yes, sorry about that. Dropped the phone.” Just in case Jonathan hadn’t already realized I was a total klutz. I felt my cheeks turning red, the better to match my scarlet A.

“Slippery little devils, aren’t they.”

“Absolutely.”

“Anyhow, I wanted to thank you again for dinner last night. I had a great time.”

“No, I should be thanking you. It was fun to catch up on the last decade.” And sleazy of me to leave out salient facts. Like the one about my boyfriend. Assuming he was still my boyfriend instead of Abigail’s.

“We’ll have to do it again soon.” I was struggling to answer that when he continued, “but I’m actually calling on business.”

“Oh?” My refilled bag was back on my shoulder and, with the help of the persistent bellman, I’d returned to a standing position, brushing off the knees of my pantsuit with my free hand.

“I told the police what you told me about Grenthaler Media, and they would like to talk to you.”

“Sure. I can’t imagine that it will be of much help, but I’m happy to do it.”

“Well, between the two of us, I think some pressure’s being brought to bear from some important people, and the police want to be able to show they’re covering every base.” I wondered if the pressure was related to the calls Edward Porter had been making. I had the feeling he knew the home phone numbers of some very important people.

“Whatever I can do.”

“They’ve set up temporary operations in a conference room down the hall from my office. Could you come by this afternoon?”

I did some mental calculations. “I think so. Maybe a little after four?” The interviewing was scheduled to finish at one, followed by a final roundup session. With any luck, we’d be done by three. I could run up to UHS to see Sara and then head over to the business school. If all went well, I’d be back in plenty of time to clean up e-mail and voice mails before the cocktail party Winslow, Brown was hosting that evening.

“That should be fine. I’ll see you then.”

I got to the elevator without dropping anything else and even pushed the correct button for where I was going. I reached the Winslow, Brown suite just in time for Cecelia to pair me up with another banker and send me off to actually do some interviews. I was glad to squeeze a few in-at least I wasn’t completely neglecting my job.

We wrapped up the last set of interviews nearly on schedule, and my colleagues and I gathered in the suite for a buffet lunch and to complete the list of candidates to be asked to New York for the final round. The meeting went smoothly enough, probably because everybody was so impatient to be finished that they’d lost their appetite for debate. Scott Epson was unusually well-behaved, for once. Rather than nitpicking obscure line items on students’ résumés, he was silent for the most part and even excused himself a couple of times to take calls that seemed to be genuinely important. I wanted to ask him if he’d been at the Ritz that morning, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without betraying that I’d been playing hooky from recruiting. Nor did I trust my eyesight sufficiently to think it really had been him with the Caped Avenger.

We finished before three, and Cecelia reminded us that we were expected to stick around for the cocktail party that evening. She met the chorus of groans with assurances that she’d have them all on the eight o’clock shuttle back to New York with plenty of time to spare. I thanked her yet again and hurried off to UHS, making a quick stop at a florist to pick up some flowers.

Sara looked much better this afternoon than she had the previous day. Her head was still wrapped up in white bandages, and there was a tube dripping clear liquid into her arm, but she was sitting up in bed and some color had returned to her face. Her friend Edie Michaels was with her, and they were in animated discussion when I arrived. Sara thanked me effusively for the flowers, which really didn’t merit such gratitude, especially when a quick glance around the room showed me that she was already well stocked on the floral front.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I should have brought magazines or something.”

“No, these are beautiful,” she assured me as I settled into one of the guest chairs. “Besides, I have plenty of reading material. Edie brought me all of my class work for next week.” She gestured to a pile on the bedside table and grimaced.

“Hey, you asked me to,” protested Edie. She turned to me. “I told her that if there was ever an excuse to be unprepared for class, she had it, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s such a workaholic. It makes everyone else look bad.”

I laughed, but the word workaholic reminded me of something. “Have either of you spoken to Gabrielle?”

Sara shook her head.

“Not since yesterday morning,” said Edie. “I got her on her cell and told her what had happened to Sara. But we haven’t heard from her since. We’re not sure where she is. There’s been no sign of her in the dorm. I don’t think she came back last night.”

“Really? I saw her yesterday afternoon.” I explained about Gabrielle’s visit to the recruiting suite the previous day, leaving out the details of our conversation.

“It’s weird,” said Sara. “I mean, for Gabrielle of all people, who’s so gung ho on the recruiting thing, to just disappear during the middle of Hell Week.”

“She’s been so stressed-out,” added Edie. “I’m hoping she didn’t just completely lose it.”

“Is she really that tightly wound?” I asked. That had been my impression, but Sara and Edie lived with her, and they knew her better.

Sara and Edie looked at each other for a moment. “She’s fairly-” began Sara diplomatically.

“Neurotic,” interjected Edie. “I mean, you went to HBS, Rachel. You know the type. She studies maniacally, networks frantically, and she’s jealous of anyone who seems to be doing well. As if other people’s successes detract from hers. She’s just completely out for herself. Frankly, I’m sort of pissed that she hasn’t at least called, much less come to see Sara. Although, she’s so competitive with Sara that she probably wouldn’t be much of a help right now. Sometimes I wonder if maybe she’s a little unstable.”

“She means well,” said Sara. “She’s just had a rough time of it.” Edie shrugged in response.

Judging from their comments, neither of them were overly fond of their roommate, but neither seemed suspicious of her, either. I was probably overreacting. I’d seen Gabrielle at a particularly bad moment. But Gabrielle knew Sara’s schedule. She had the opportunity. And yesterday, when I’d come into the room and Gabrielle had her back to me, I almost thought she was a man at first. The homeless man who’d witnessed the attack could have thought the same thing. And there’d been a hood on her long dark coat.

No, I was being stupid. There’d been plenty of high-strung, intensely competitive women in my business school class, but I was hard-pressed to imagine any of them actually physically attacking anyone else. Dreaming about it, yes. But actually doing it?

Edie interrupted my train of thought, looking at her watch and jumping up. “I need to go,” she said. “I’ve got a team meeting to get to.” She turned to me. “Did they make you do all of these annoying group projects when you were in business school?”

I smiled. “You mean the ones that are supposed to teach teamwork?”

“Uh-huh. They’re a total drag, and everyone always thinks he could do a better job on his own. Too many Type A personalities in one room.”

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s not that much better in the corporate world.”

“That’s depressing. Listen, Sara, I’ll stop by later, okay?”

“There’s no need, really,” protested Sara. “You’ve done enough already.”

“I’ll come by, anyhow. I’ll pick up some food and we can have a picnic dinner?”

“Well, I wouldn’t object to Pinnochio’s,” suggested Sara hopefully, referring to the small storefront a couple of blocks from UHS that was widely considered to make the best pizza in the Square.

“They haven’t turned it into a Starbucks yet?” I asked.

Edie laughed. “No, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.” She gathered up her coat and bag, gave Sara a hug and was out the door.

When I turned back to Sara, she was looking at me intently. “My grandparents told me about their conversation with you. Do you think Barbara’s really going to try to get Adam named CEO?”

“I hope not. Although, it would be good news in a way. If Barbara’s intent on getting Adam more involved with the company, she’s unlikely to sell her shares. But it does look like tomorrow morning’s board meeting is going to be a bit of a battle.”

Sara laughed. “I know. My grandparents are already gearing up for combat. I think they’re looking forward to it. Especially Gran.”

Combat with Helene Porter was not something I’d want to face. Mrs. Porter may have had the entire frail, ladylike image down pat, but our conversation that morning had made it clear that you wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.

“There might be some debate, but Barbara doesn’t own enough stock to wield as much power as it would take to get Adam appointed CEO. I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front.”

“Were you able to find out anything about the movements in the stock price?”

“Are you sure you want to be worrying about any of this right now?”

“Well, it’s either worrying about this or worrying about why somebody wanted to hit me over the head with an oar.”

“Not much of a choice, is it?”

She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I looked into it,” I said, giving her a quick debrief on the research I’d done the previous afternoon but leaving out my visit to the Yahoo! message board. “There are definitely signs that somebody’s been buying up stock. Nobody’s reached the five-percent mark as yet, or he would have had to file a statement with the Securities and Exchange Commission. I put in a request to get the names of the institutions and individuals who have been buying and selling. I should have it by the end of the day or first thing Monday.”

“Good.”

“And, as you well know, it would be hard for anybody to launch a real takeover without some assurance that they could obtain stock from you or Barbara. And we’ll figure out if any outsiders are accumulating stock and what their intentions are.”

“I’m looking forward to getting this resolved. I just wish I could be at the board meeting tomorrow. The doctors are being ridiculous about my staying here.”

“I’m sure they would rather be safe than sorry. You should relax. Rest. Focus on getting better.”

“Right, like I can do that with everything that’s going on,” she replied, with a rare show of sarcasm that I interpreted as a sign of returning strength.

I sighed. “Give it a try. I’m keeping an eye on things, and so are your grandparents and Brian Mulcahey. We’ll figure it out.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she turned to me, a gleam in her eye, and changed the subject. “Tell me about dinner with Professor Beasley. He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

“What?” I felt my cheeks burst into flames. I wondered if blushing burned calories. At the rate I was going, I’d be down a dress size in no time.

“I’ve had a lot of phone calls today. One was from Professor Beasley, and he told me he had dinner with you last night.”

“Oh?” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. The way my cheeks felt, the chances of pulling off a poker face were remote.

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other from college.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted. “Not until I ran into him. When Edie sent me off to see Professor Beasley, he wasn’t what I expected to find.”

Sara smiled. “You were probably imagining the old guy from The Paper Chase.”

“Wouldn’t you? With a name like Professor Beasley?”

“Half the women on campus have a crush on him.”

“That’s not hard to imagine. They did in college, too.”

“He seemed very curious about you.”

“Really?” I asked before I could think better of it.

She nodded her confirmation. “Don’t worry. I sang your praises.”

I hesitated. “Did you mention anything about-”

“Your boyfriend? No. It didn’t really seem like any of my business. However, if things with Peter go belly-up, I think you have someone else waiting in line.”

“Good to know,” I said, feeling flattered, skanky and anxious all at once. Sara couldn’t be aware just how precarious things with Peter seemed to be right now. Belly-up was hardly out of the question.