Wild Card

46

Rance Damien went to his desk, found the throwaway cell phone he used for these purposes, and called a number. All he got was a single beep. “You know who this is,” he said. “All the picnics we discussed are canceled, because of rain. Confirm at once.” He sent a text to the same effect.

Elise Grant was asleep after a fitful night when her mother, Elena, shook her awake.

“Wake up, baby!” she shouted. “We’re off the hook.”

The telephone rang, and Elise picked it up. “What?”

“It’s Stone. The story has hit the New York Times, and as a result, we’re all safe again. They wouldn’t dare make a move against any of us now.”

“Thank you, Stone,” she said, then hung up. “Mother, why did you wake me up?”

“We’re off the hook!” Elena repeated, holding up the front page of the Times and pointing at the story.

Elise read the whole story before responding. “We’re off the hook,” she said finally.

“I just told you that!” her mother yelled. “Now get up and get some clothes on. I want to have breakfast at the Plaza Hotel, then go to Bloomingdale’s!”

Elise sat up on the edge of the bed. Something about that sentence didn’t work. “We can’t go to the Plaza or to Bloomingdale’s,” she said.

“Why not?” her mother demanded.

“Because I don’t have a job anymore. I can’t afford it.”

“Well, I can afford it,” Elena said. “It’s autumn. You need some new clothes. Shake your ass!”

Elise shook her ass.

Joan knocked at Stone’s door.

Something was wrong, Stone thought. Joan never bothered to knock unless she was about to try something on. “Come in,” he said.

“I want to talk to you,” Joan said.

“Oh, God. What is it now?”

“Just a little talk.”

“A stand-up talk or a sit-down talk?”

“That depends on how hard you are to deal with.”

“Didn’t I just give you a raise?”

“Yes, and a very generous one.”

“Well, what else would I be hard to deal with about?”

“I want to hire an assistant,” Joan said.

“Have a seat.” He looked at her closely to see if this was a joke. “Now, what are you talking about?”

“I want to hire an assistant.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“Then my message is clear?”

“All right, give me the whole spiel,” Stone said. “I know you’ve been rehearsing it.”

“I want to hire Elise Grant. She’s as smart as a whip and nice to be around. I’m getting on, and it’s going to take years to train somebody to replace me, so we’d better start now. We have two empty offices next to mine; we can put the files in the small office and give her the larger one. We can get her for ten percent more than the Thomases were paying her, and that’s a bargain. This way I can take a vacation without you going nuts. That’s it. Oh, and in a way, you got her fired from H. Thomas, so you owe her a job.”

“You just turned fifty last year,” Stone said.

“Two years ago.”

“Are you contemplating early retirement?”

“No.”

“Do you have an incurable disease?”

“No.”

“Have you come to hate me?”

“No more than usual. Did I mention that she speaks Sicilian?”

“No, and I was grateful for that. Hire her. She can have the apartment next door that got vacated when Fred and Helene got into bed together.”

“Good idea. You’re thinking unusually clearly,” Joan said.

“Have you hired her yet?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Joan jumped up and ran.

Elise and her mother had just sat down in the Plaza dining room when her cell phone rang — not the throwaway, her regular phone. It suddenly occurred to her that she could answer it.

“Yes? Hi. I’m listening.” She sat back and listened for another two minutes. “Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow. I have to let my mother shop herself out today. Goodbye.” She put away the phone. “Mother?”

“Yes?”

“Breakfast is on me — so is Bloomie’s.”

“Did you get a job?”

“Yes, that was Stone’s secretary. I’m to be her number two, and the money is even better than at H. Thomas, and I get a free apartment.”

“Can I have your apartment? I want to be closer to Bloomingdale’s, now that you’re working again.”

“Yes.”

They each ordered the eggs Benedict and a glass of champagne.

Rance was at his desk when Henry called. “Get in here.” He hung up.

Rance walked into Henry’s office. Hank was already there. “I talked to Harman Wills,” Henry said. “He had already read the piece, and he thought it was hilarious. The deal is still on.”

Rance and Hank both shook his hand.

“Rance, did you cancel the arrangements you made earlier?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you get an actual confirmation?”

“Not yet, but I’ll hear from him soon.”

“What were your instructions, if you canceled?”

Rance thought about that.

“It’s my recollection,” Henry said, “that such arrangements could not be canceled, except in person and upon payment in full for the work. Has that changed?”

“No, it hasn’t,” Rance said, and a film of sweat appeared on his upper lip. He checked his phone for messages. “Nothing yet.”

“Go back to your office and call him again,” Henry said. “And keep calling until you speak to him. Draw the cash, and be ready to pay him.”

“Yes, sir,” Rance said, rising.

“You understand, don’t you, that if any one of those people mentioned in the Times is harmed, the deal will be blown, and we’ll all be facing murder charges?”

“I understand,” Rance said. He went back to his office and threw up into his wastebasket, then he made the call. No answer; just a beep. He threw up again.