One Tuesday Morning & Beyond Tuesday Morning Compilation (10 page)

Koppel and Grant's New York office was located on the sixty-fourth floor of the World Trade Center south tower. The company leased space from an insurance company and kept a staff of just fifty-six people. The smaller the overhead, the more profits at the top. That was R. Allen Koppel's attitude. And Allen ran the company, no question about it. Robert Grant III had passed away two years earlier. His name stayed on the company stationery, and no one had taken his place.

Eric hoped someday the position would be his. Koppel, Grant, and Michaels. Or even Koppel and Michaels. Either way it had a certain ring to it, a ring that kept Eric up at nights even when he had to be back at the office in a scant five or six hours. Yes, Koppel ran the show. But since Grant's death, Eric had become increasingly important to the firm. The decisions they would make that week had more money riding on them than any they'd made in so short a time. That's why Eric was in New York: Koppel needed him.

And the knowledge of that felt better than anything Eric could imagine.

At eight o'clock sharp he stepped off the elevator at the sixty-fourth floor, turned right down one hallway and then another, until he came to a heavy walnut door with a brass plate that read “Koppel and Grant.” Eric stared at it for a moment and caught his reflection in the polished metal.
There I am … right where I belong. It's my company … and one day the sign will say so
.

He breezed inside and walked past the secretary.

She looked up briefly. “Mr. Koppel's in his office.”

“Thanks.” The secretary was new, but Eric never broke stride. Secretaries at Koppel and Grant were paid modestly and expected to keep busy. Overtime hours were part of the job. Secretaries who didn't like the work conditions were replaced. Eric visited the New York office at least once every six months, and he rarely walked past the same secretary twice.

He spent the rest of the day with Allen, crunching numbers and making decisions about the portfolios of a dozen top clients. Sometime after eight o'clock that evening, Allen pushed back from his desk.

“That'll do it for today.” A grin spanned the short distance from one side of Allen's face to the other. “Lets go meet some women.”

Allen was thin and wiry, a diminutive man who ate little and drank less. He was fifty-three, and Eric figured the man weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds with his designer suit, dress shoes, and leather portfolio. He was so thin his shoulders and elbows looked knobby even through his clothes. The three wives he'd married and divorced had been nothing more than short-term mistresses, because his first love was without question Koppel and Grant.

But each of the wives had cost him, and Allen didn't intend to make the same mistake a fourth time. Allen and Eric spoke on the phone several times each week, and apparently Allen had become quite the player in the Manhattan nightclub scene. Allen was aware that generally speaking, women dated him for his millions. When they realized he wasn't interested in sharing his last name, most moved on. Allen had already complained that he hadn't had a date since August.

“You with me on this, Michaels?” Allen stood up and slid several folders into his briefcase.

“You're serious?” Eric studied his boss for a moment. “We have another hour at least.”

“Nah.” Allen waved his hand at the paperwork spread out across the desk between them. “We got further than I thought.” He smiled again. “Besides, the work'll still be here tomorrow.”

Every now and then, Allen did something like this. Surprised Eric and showed a side of himself less machinelike than usual. A side that was almost human. Eric shrugged. “I'll go.” He raised one eyebrow. “But no women, Allen. I'm married, remember?”

Allen made a brushing motion with his hand and frowned. “Marriage never lasts. Besides, with a face like yours, women'll line up.”

“No women, sir.” Eric gave his boss a crooked grin. “But I'll take dinner.”

Allen thought about that for a moment. “Okay.” He sighed. “I'll change your mind while we eat. Where to?”

“Your choice.”

“Well, then … Windows on the World, my boy. What else is there when you work in the World Trade Center?”

The restaurant was at the top of the World Trade Center's north tower, more than a hundred floors off the ground. The two men made a point of having at least one power lunch or client dinner there every time Eric was in town. This would be somewhat different, since no clients were involved.

An elevator led them to the ground level, where they walked next door and took another elevator up to the restaurant. The maître d' led them to a table against a wall of windows, and Eric slid his chair as close to the glass as he could. Darkness had settled over the city, and a sea of twinkling lights spread out before him. The view couldn't have been any better from an airplane.

“Amazing, isn't it?” Eric looked out and realized once more the incredible height of the Twin Towers. The two buildings stood like a couple of giants. Redwoods among a forest of saplings.

Allen ordered sautéed mushrooms and a two-hundred-dollar bottle of Chardonnay. He waited until the waitress had served them each a glass before speaking again. “You're looking good, Eric. Taking care of yourself.”

“I try.” Eric settled back in his chair and sipped the wine. He drank only for appearances, at times like these. Never for any other reason. He couldn't afford for his mind to be anything less than sharp. Eric set his glass down. “Still running and lifting.”

“Good.” Allen leaned forward. “You need to stay fit, Eric. You'll be head of the company one day.”

A burst of adrenaline raced through Eric's veins. “Yes, sir … I hope so.” It was all Eric could do to stay in his seat. He'd always believed that one day the position would be his, but Allen had never come out and said so. Not until now. Eric took a slow, deliberate swallow of wine and managed an appropriate smile. “I'd like that.”

Allen winked at him. “Don't get me wrong. I still have a dozen good years left.” He leaned his forearms on the table. “But you'll take over one day. No one else is close.”

Eric didn't know what to say. The waitress appeared with their mushrooms and gave them each a small plate. Her demure smile conveyed more than an interest in their dining pleasure, and Eric noticed she lingered near him a little longer than necessary. They made small talk for a minute or so, then she took their order and turned back to the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, Allen raised an eyebrow. “She's crazy about you.” He whispered the words. “Give her your hotel number when we're done.”

“Now …” Eric chuckled and shook his head. His many years of marriage to Laura actually baffled his boss. Eric helped himself to three mushrooms and flashed his gold wedding band at Allen. “Laura wouldn't like that too much.”

“Ahh, Laura would never know.” Allen pushed his chair back and crossed one leg over the other. “Besides, look at you. Handsome, fit. Women fall all over you every time we're out together.”

Eric raised a single eyebrow. “The same way they've done for you.”

“They want my money. Nothing more.”

“And they got it—at least a fair amount of it if I'm not mistaken, sir. Isn't that right?”

It was Allen's turn to laugh. “You have me there.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “But women like that would be happy with a single night's entertainment, Eric. You're thousands of miles from home.” He took two mushrooms and cut into one of them. “Who would know?”

Eric was trying to think up an answer when something caught his eye.

At the table adjacent to theirs along the window, a family was being seated. A businessman, a woman who must've been his wife, and two children. A boy and girl about the same age as Josh. The woman helped them get seated and then tied a bouquet of red and white helium balloons on the back of the girl's chair.

A birthday party. Like the one he'd missed a week ago for Josh.

Allen was saying something about the oil companies and the impact an embargo could make on a host of reports the next quarter, but Eric wasn't listening. He was caught up in the drama unfolding just behind Allen at the next table.

The couple sat side by side, their elbows on the linen tablecloth, hands linked in a way that showed off the woman's wedding ring. The children were busy with their menus, and the man whispered something to the woman. Whatever he said, his wife giggled and kissed him full on the lips.

Just then the young girl looked up and clucked her tongue. Eric could barely make out her words. “Mom, you guys act like teenagers.” But instead of looking bothered, the woman kissed her husband again and said something Eric couldn't hear.

“Eric? You listening to me?” Allen finished his first glass of wine and poured a second.

If it was like other meals they'd shared, Eric doubted he'd finish it. One and a half glasses was his usual stopping point on the rare occasion when he drank.

“Absolutely, sir.” Eric snapped to attention. “Every word.”

“As I was saying, the prospects of an embargo may be slim, but those Arab nations are a finicky group. Back in the eighties when …”

Again Eric tuned out. The family at the next table was holding hands now, their eyes closed, heads bowed. The birthday girl did the praying. Eric strained to listen. “Lord, we're thankful for all we have. For Mom and Dad and for each other. I pray we have as much fun together this year as we did last.” She paused. “Oh, and thank You for the food.”

Eric averted his eyes so they wouldn't see him staring. He nodded his agreement to Allen and focused once more on the family. Distractions didn't usually affect his business conversations. But the family's interactions were spellbinding, as though Eric were seeing them unfold on a movie screen.

The man reached across the table and took hold of the girl's fingers. “Happy birthday, honey.” He patted her hand and grinned at the boy beside her. The boy puffed out his chest, his voice a little louder than the others. “Don't worry, Dad. I might be younger but I'll look out for her. When the boys come calling … I'll be ready.”

“Here you are.” The waitress was back, and Eric jumped a little in his seat. She set a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables in front of him, and shrimp for Allen. Then she stepped back, made direct eye contact with Eric and held it. “If there's anything else I can do for you, let me know.”

When she was gone, Allen pointed his fork at Eric. “See … I told you. Whatever you want, she'll do it. She's yours, Eric. Did you take a look at her legs? You're crazy if you pass this one up.”

Eric picked up his knife and fork, and for the first time in years, he thought about praying. Not out loud the way the family beside them had done. But quietly, in his heart out of thanks for all God had done, all Eric hadn't thanked Him for in the years since the death of their unborn daughter.

But the moment passed quickly.

It was too late for casual conversation with God—even words of thanks. He and God had parted ways long ago, and Eric doubted they'd ever make amends again. Besides, he was doing pretty well without God. Second in command for one of the most powerful financial groups in Manhattan, with the presidency looming just a few years away. A better house, car, and savings account than anyone his age had a right to.

And all of it a direct reflection of his own hard work. If anyone deserved a vote of thanks it was him, not God.

The family at the table beside them finished eating and left, while the meal Eric and Allen shared lingered another half hour. When it was finally over, Allen paid the bill, and Eric finished his third glass of wine. More than he'd had in months, years even. His head buzzed, and a warm feeling crept over him as they left the table.

Eric was careful not to look at the waitress as he left the restaurant. He didn't want to give her the wrong idea, because the truth was, he hadn't the slightest interest in her. Laura was his wife, and he wouldn't go out with other women behind her back. He might not have had the best relationship with Laura, but he wasn't about to complicate his life with an affair. Nothing about the idea appealed to him. He'd talked about it with Murphy at the Los Angeles office once a few months ago.

“Ever notice how the things you lust after change in a job like this?” They'd been waiting for the elevator late one night.

“Yeah.” Murphy huffed. “You got that right.”

“Used to be love and sex.” Eric had narrowed his eyes. “Now it's power and money. Success. And you know what?”

“You like it better?”

“I do.” Eric had been incredulous about the fact. “The things that make life exciting are within my control, no one else's. I like it that way.”

The conversation played again in Eric's mind as he and Allen rode the elevators down a hundred floors to ground level. Outside, Allen hailed a cab and grinned at Eric. “How 'bout some nightlife?”

It was after ten o'clock and Eric was tired. Maybe it was the wine, but he couldn't stop thinking about the family he'd watched earlier. “No, sir. I'm turning in.” A cab pulled up, and Eric flagged down another driver ten yards down the street.

“Okay, then. Two cabs it is.” Allen stepped into the backseat. “See you tomorrow. Eight o'clock.”

“Yes, sir.” Eric's cab pulled up as Allen shut the door of his.

Back at his hotel, Eric thought about turning on the television but decided against it. He hated TV, hated the way it wasted his time. And tonight he couldn't have focused if he'd wanted to. Not because of the wine. But because images of the family at the restaurant kept running through his head. The way the woman's eyes sparkled as she kissed her husband, the gentle way he touched his daughter's hand. The humor and closeness and determination to pray even in a public place.

Had he and Laura and Josh ever been that way? The picture of a loving, well-adjusted family? Had Laura ever kissed him like that, her eyes aglow with the joy of simply being with him? Eric racked his brain trying to remember. Certainly they'd loved like that at some point.

He hung his suit coat up in the mirrored closet and ran his hand over it so it wouldn't wrinkle during the night. Fifteen minutes later he turned the lights off and propped himself up in bed. He wasn't tired enough to lie down, and a glow from the city filtered through a crack in the drapes. His vision blurred some, and he felt his eyes close. As they did, a memory drifted in. Laura and him in their early days, back when they were still in college. They'd both been vocal about their faith, committed to God, determined to stay pure until they were married.