Zapwired, page 11
“So, I was right about the reason for your visit?”
I could see the disappointment in his eyes.
*
Jeremy drained his Coke. “How many years have I known you?”
I shrugged. “Seven? Eight?”
“Nine years this October. In all that time, all you and I ever talk about is business. Little else. Oh—sorry—and girls. That, too.”
“On your part, maybe. Not mine.”
“It doesn’t matter whose part. I talk, you listen.”
“So?”
“It’s time to broaden your horizons, get a little more personal. For some reason, you’re fixated on an agenda and I’m bound and determined to find out why that is. I can tell when something’s bothering you. You haven’t been yourself for a while.”
I didn’t comment, and Jeremy let it go. For now. But sure as I was sitting there, he’d bring it up again later.
I finished my drink and we headed to the main dining room, where the buffet spread was extensive, from a variety of fresh fish, to hummus, couscous, as well as roast beef a chef was carving.
I was too nervous to eat anything substantial and ended up choosing a small green salad. Jeremy, on the other hand, heaped more onto his plate than the plate seemed able to hold.
“I see you’re not very hungry, either,” I joked.
He let out a surprised laugh. “That’s the spirit, Blair. Lighten up. And go get some real food, will ya?”
“You eat, I’ll talk,” I said, getting dead serious again. “I need you to make the switch to SI.”
“You do?”
“What’s the grin for?”
“Because you have this bug up your ass that I still can’t figure out.”
“I’m just asking you, as my friend, for a favor.”
“I still don’t get why it’s so important to you.”
“I explained it all on my last trip. My bank—”
“Fuck your bank!” He slammed his fist on the table, narrowly missing his plate.
I caught the curious looks from people dining next to us.
“Your bank can’t tell you how to run your business!” he continued. “I happen to know there’s more than one bank in New York. So, screw them if they don’t like it!”
My spirits sank. “I have to make this happen. Okay? There’s something at stake I can’t talk about or explain. It’s personal. Please, Jeremy! We’re friends. Your faith in me will have to carry the day.”
38
I decided to make it an early night, hoping Jeremy would feel differently in the morning. We arranged to meet for breakfast at eight and said goodnight.
Once in my room it dawned on me that Jeremy was right. After nine years of being in business together, I knew only bits and pieces of his personal life. The parts I did know were that he was an only child, born in Los Angeles to parents who emigrated from Israel. His father died right after he turned ten. His mother, a breast cancer survivor, worked long hours as a bookkeeper so Jeremy could get a college education.
After graduation, he found work as a salesman in the toy industry and soon became a Price-Co specialist, concentrating on that one account, learning everything there was to know about their business. Eventually Price-Co became one of the few major retailers still headquartered on the West Coast, so his decision had been fortuitous.
Commission checks multiplied. He insisted on purchasing a cruise for his mother to the Middle East, including a stop in Israel. Her ship departed from Athens. She called after she set sail and promised to send a text or email from each port of call.
And she did ... for the first week. Then she went silent.
Jeremy received a phone call from the cruise line notifying him that his mother had taken ill. She was examined by the ship’s doctor and transported to hospital the minute they reached Tel Aviv.
The news couldn’t have been worse. His mother’s cancer had come back with a vengeance and had metastasized to her lungs. Jeremy dropped everything and flew to Israel. His mother had sacrificed so much for him, he refused to allow her to fight this battle on her own.
She told him about her secret desire to remain in the country of her birth, to be buried there. Jeremy returned to California and transitioned his sales agency to a friend. When he came back to Israel, he opened a toy distributorship, representing many of the lines he was selling to Price-Co back in the States.
Six months later, his mother passed. But returning to America no longer appealed to him. Jeremy found that living in Israel was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Most people he met had a strength, a determined approach to life, to which he was overwhelmingly attracted.
Yet there was something else, an important point Jeremy had made to me a while ago that stood out. But why couldn’t I remember what it was?
39
A Continental breakfast was waiting for me when I joined Jeremy in the coffee shop in the morning.
My friend looked at me as if reading my mind. “Do you recall me mentioning my Israeli military service?” he asked.
And it all came back to me—the discussion that had eluded me. How his army experience had afforded him a unique opportunity. I’d intended to ask him to remind me about it. Now, I didn’t have to.
“Well, I’m still active,” Jeremy said. “Not in the army, per se. Rather, it’s a secret branch. And I’m in a position to help you. If you want my help, that is.”
What? I recoiled inwardly, but kept a straight face. First Dalton, now Jeremy, in a secret branch of their governments? This is getting ridiculous.
The waitress, as if on cue, came over to refresh our coffees. After she left, there was an awkward moment of silence between us. Jeremy’s revelation lingered. I didn’t know what he’d meant by it, so I asked him to explain further.
“Uh-uh,” he said. “If you want details, you’ll have to commit. I want you to tell me what’s going on with you.”
I excused myself and said I had to use the bathroom.
Dalton had been very specific. The situation with my daughter was not to be revealed. Though now, after hearing Jeremy’s disclosure, I didn’t know what to think, or who to put my trust in.
At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, dried off with a paper towel, then stood in front of the mirror.
Last night Jeremy said that in all the years we knew each other, we mostly talked business, rarely about his personal life. And he was right. But what if he’d orchestrated it that way? While Jeremy was forthcoming with certain parts of his background, with others he talked in generalities. In some cases, when I tried to delve further, I now realized, he’d cleverly changed the subject.
So, what was the real deal with him? Was it possible he really didn’t have a clue that SDC has terrorist ties, as Dalton said? Or what if there were no terrorist ties, and there was a totally different reason BIS wanted me to get the production switched to SI?
I paused, staring at the mirror as if it could give me the answer.
What if, I continued to reason, same as Dalton was manipulating me to achieve his ends, whatever they truly were, terrorists were putting pressure on Jeremy to achieve their ends, which undoubtedly were no good?
Where does this leave me? Fact: I can’t trust Dalton or Jeremy until I have more information. And in the meantime, I have to walk a fine line with both of them. If I agree to accept Jeremy’s help in this matter, will it ultimately be in the service of terrorists? I’d be bound to secrecy with him, same as I am with Dalton.
What should a person in my position do?
Ah-ha! Screw both their agendas. I’ll stick to MY agenda. Because who do I know for sure I can trust right now? I can only trust ME.
*
When I returned to the table, Jeremy said, “You’re keeping a secret from me, and I don’t like it.”
I felt my pulse quicken. “Huh?”
“Mr. Innocent.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“No, of course, you’re not.”
“Jeremy—”
He stood. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To my office. I have a couple of new products I want to show you. And then I’ll make sure you catch your flight.”
*
I checked out of my room and joined him in the lobby. We worked for the balance of the afternoon, until it was time to leave for the airport. The product presentation went over my head and had been a waste of time. But I couldn’t tell him that. Now, I was reluctant to get into his car, and he recognized the reason why.
“We’ll talk on the drive,” he promised.
Traffic was heavy; stop-and-go, for the most part. Jeremy asked what sales were like with Zapwired. “Got Arrow locked up yet?” he wanted to know.
“Working on it.”
“How much longer?”
“I don’t know—as long as it takes.” I paused. “Look, Jeremy, this is a very nice try, but I won’t be diverted.”
“Oh, you won’t, huh?” He chuckled.
“It’s not funny.”
“Yeah. I can see that. Well, hold on. Okay? Wait until we get to the airport and I can concentrate a little better.”
*
We pulled up to the terminal building. Jeremy parked in the allotted area and shut the motor. He took out his wallet. “Here,” he said, handing me a doubled-up piece of paper.
I went to unfold it, but he stopped me. “Put it away. Somewhere safe. It’s a contact in New York. I don’t know what kind of a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but should your situation worsen, and I’m too far away to help, I want you to call the number I’ve just given you.” He put his hand out to shake. “Goodbye, Blair. Have a good flight.”
“Wait a minute...”
Time to play my ace in the hole? I asked myself. Our launch was planned for one night in August, with a few of the key retailers in New York agreeing to open their doors at midnight to introduce Zapwired.
I said to Jeremy, “How about this—your main objection was that SI was too small to handle a nationwide rollout. But we both know they wouldn’t have a problem with the 100,000 units for the launch we’re doing in one State. Correct?” I paused to let that sink in.
Jeremy glanced at me and sighed. I could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. “Hmm,” he said, thinking aloud, “Maybe there is an upside? I could tell SI I’ll try them out, but only if they give me a sweeter deal than SDC. Then, after the launch, I could tell SDC I need a deep-deep discount if they want to handle the worldwide rollout.”
I kept quiet, wanting for him to decide.
He looked at his watch. “Time for you to go…”
“Jeremy—”
“Goddamnit!” His voice flared. “There’s still something you’re not telling me, Blair. But I feel I know you well enough. You must have a perfectly good reason not to confide in me—your friend and partner. So, I’m going to let it go. For now.”
“You’re killing me with suspense.”
He laughed. “Yes.”
“No shit? You’ll do it?”
“SI for the launch only. That’ll give you time to work things out with your, uh … bank,” he said with a wink. “Now, get your ass out of my car.”
40
The plane back to New York was only half full. Service was exceptional, though I remained uptight. I’d gotten Jeremy to cooperate, but the battle was far from over. My daughter was still under Dalton’s control. I wouldn’t be able to relax until she was back with me, safe and sound.
There was a delay in getting my luggage at Kennedy, and I was fit to be tied when I saw the long lineup for a cab.
It was 1:30 in the morning by the time I arrived home, undressed, and changed into pajamas. I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, clicked through a few channels, then turned it off.
I’d spent many restless nights of late; none was as intense as this one. I didn’t physically toss and turn when I got into bed, but my head went through frustrating hijinks, weighing all the possible scenarios.
If I told Dalton the production switch was only going to be for the first 100,000 pieces, he might not give my daughter back. But what would he do when he found out, down the road, after Jeremy switched back to SDC?
I kept looking at my watch. Jetlag didn’t help. I finally gave up on sleep, showered and shaved, and took a seat on the couch in the den. Once again, I turned on the television, this time leaving it on, watching mindless drivel until 7:30.
I grabbed the house phone, wondered if it was too early to call, when it rang.
UNKNOWN NAME, UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I answered it.
“How was your trip?” John Dalton asked, pleasantly enough.
“Wonderful,” I said.
“Were you successful?”
“When can I be reunited with my daughter?”
“Blair, what happened in Israel?”
“I expect Sandra to be dropped off in the next hour. My home or office—take your pick.”
He laughed sarcastically. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
“How do I know I can trust you to deliver Sandra after I tell you?”
Dalton was silent for a few seconds, then said, “Okay. Meet me tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. Take a taxi to Tenth Avenue and Twenty-Seventh. Then walk west to Eleventh Avenue. I’ll be waiting on the southeast corner. My team and I will be in the same SUV with your daughter. You give me good news—I’ll release her from the vehicle.”
41
At my office before Nora arrived, I began checking emails. One of the first I opened was from Lisa, inviting me to dinner as soon as I was back. I called her.
“My sweetie must be home,” she said. “Welcome!”
“Wow—hello to you, too.”
“Dinner tonight? Your place? I’ll cook.”
“Uh, I don’t know. Can we hold off for a day or two?”
“Can’t. I miss you too much.”
I wanted to give in, but the pressure over my daughter was really getting to me. “Is twenty-four hours a lot to ask for?”
My secretary walked in, bubbling with obvious good news.
“I can’t wait even one hour,” Lisa was cooing.
I motioned for Nora to have a seat.
“Blair—”
Distracted, I said into the phone, “Okay. Tonight.”
“That’s my honey-bun,” her voice sang. “I’ll see you at six.”
*
Nora was wearing a tight lime-green dress that somehow made her look even thinner than she actually was. “I did it,” she said. “I met with the Arrow buyer, Marianne Lattanzi.”
“And?”
“Well, she was disappointed you weren’t there.”
I tensed up. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I did exactly as you suggested. I just placed the sample of Zapwired in front of her and waited for her to try it. Marianne is certainly an expert at electronic games, with lots of practice. When she took out a pair of bad guys and got the joy-zing, her eyes lit up like Times Square at Christmas. She said it was the best darn toy she’d seen in a long while. She wanted to know the maximum number of units she could have and when.”
“And you said?”
“What you told me to say. A total order was required for the year, with a separate quantity for the midnight launch. No exceptions.”
“In those words?”
She laughed. “Not exactly. I’m paraphrasing. I know how to talk to buyers. You taught me well.”
“Good girl. Were you nervous?”
“Scared to death, if you want to know the truth.”
“Well—I’m proud of you. You did a great job, Nora.”
*
I left work early, not knowing if the bad mojo in my life was over or still in effect. I spent a few minutes setting the dining room table, while considering all that could go wrong tomorrow. Then, I relinquished it all to the back of my mind so as not to raise a red flag when Lisa arrived.
She showed up precisely on time with a bag of groceries. She was wearing a white blouse with a tease of cleavage and a dark-brown miniskirt with a slit up the side so high it hinted at no panties.
“I missed you, Blair,” she said, then pulled me in for a soul kiss.
*
While Lisa prepared dinner, I poured a Chianti Classico Riserva.
Her breaded veal was cooked to perfection, with two kinds of pasta—a tortellini in oil and garlic and fettuccini in a tomato sauce—all preceded by a Caesar salad.
I found I was hungry despite what was going on in my life and concentrated on the food.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Lisa said.
I took her hand in mine. “I’m just glad that I met you.”
“Why, thank you, sir.”
*
I asked Lisa if she’d like coffee; she said no. She stood from the table and indicated for me to do the same. I gestured to indicate, What about the dishes? She shook her head and led me to the bedroom, where she slowly and methodically removed my shoes and socks, then my shirt, pants, and underwear. She locked eyes with mine and began undressing herself, being deliberate and playful. Her blouse and bra, then her skirt. I was right—no panties; which got me rock hard.
“Come here.” I reached for her.
She brushed my hands away, then pushed the bedspread to one side. I made another attempt to take hold of her. She wouldn’t allow it; told me to get into bed. I lay down, folded my arms behind my head and closed my eyes. The first thing I felt was the delicate touch of Lisa’s fingers, massaging my toes, one by one, followed by the soles of my feet. I shivered with waves of pleasure.
Lisa gently kneaded my flesh—from my ankles to my calves, front and back of my knees. It felt like a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings.
Despite my resolve, images of what I’d face tomorrow popped into my head. Lisa and I joined together, but I climaxed in what felt like mere seconds.
“Sorry,” I apologized as we were cooling down, lying in each other’s arms. I was tempted to tell her about Sandra’s predicament. But I remembered Dalton’s admonishment to tell no one. A part of me felt Lisa could be trusted. But what if she did something stupid that she thought was valiant and showed up to help? Nope. Too big a risk. Mum’s the word.
