Chapter Two
1841 Words
Chapter Two
Kurt’s Big Day
At one-thirty, when Casper Waverly returned from lunch to taste the bittersweet dessert Gretel Fox dished out to him, Kurt Merchant was finishing a phone conversation with a business client. Although Kurt produced more revenue for BizMart than anyone else, Casper relegated him to a small office at the far end of the hall from Casper’s palatial quarters. Rich Leckie, the company vice president, had his name on the door of the spacious office suite next to Casper’s, although Rich seldom stayed at his desk.
While Kurt spoke to his client, Rich lurked outside, ready to pounce.
Kurt felt relaxed. His transaction was virtually completed—the clichéd “done deal.” He had convinced Percy Meeks, the bright, but inexperienced, entrepreneur that selling his business to a mature investor and working for her was the right strategy. Percy produced instructional DVDs for everything from SAT preparation to professional certifications in several fields.
Now Kurt was talking to the fiftyish woman, Honey Bates, in New York. Because she enjoyed risqué comments, he stroked her over the phone. “Percy’s been eager to merge with you since he met you.”
“He already has.” Her earthy laugh gripped Kurt in the groin. “Why do you think he sold out so cheaply! But you were indispensable.”
“Actually, Judd Workman, a board member, alerted me to your situation. One of Mr. Workman’s repair shops worked on Percy’s car. He talked about his DVDs. You took your daughter’s car to Mr. Workman when you visited Baltimore. Remember mentioning that you had cash to invest? Mr. Workman connected the dots. Do you plan to move to Baltimore?”
“No, I’m setting my daughter up in business.”
“Does she live here?”
“Both of my daughters live in Baltimore. Pardon me, Kurt. One of my clients just arrived. Thanks, again, for pulling everything together and handling the messy details.”
“My role was like a stud bull,” Kurt smiled. “Quick but extremely vital.”
“Oh, really?” she asked provocatively. “Sometime you’ll have to show me your technique. I’ll see you at the Vanguard Awards Ceremony tonight.” She hung up.
Kurt chuckled as he cradled the receiver. He basked in the glow of bringing Percy and Honey together in a perfect fit. And he knew a tidbit he couldn’t tell Honey on the phone: The Vanguard Society would name him Pacesetter of the Year that night. That Friday would be a day to remember.
Rich entered Kurt’s office as soon as the call ended. “And so our hero satisfies another client,” Rich proclaimed with typical extravagance. “Bravo.”
“Two of them, actually.”
“And tonight you’ll take home your Vanguard Society trophy. Congratulations.” Rich’s monotone and neutral facial expression betrayed his reluctance to recognize Kurt’s accomplishments. Jealousy flickered beneath the surface when he added, “In three years at BizMart, I’ve never even been nominated. I’d give anything to win that award.”
“How about your share of BizMart?”
“That and more,” Rich swore.
Kurt’s probe worked. So, Rich had a piece of the company. Casper waited seven years before doling out five percent of the ownership to Kurt. “Careful what you wish for,” Kurt advised. “You’ll win the award. Probably soon.”
“Pacesetter of the Year would be worth my stake in BizMart. I can always acquire more equity in the company.” Rich looked thoughtful. “So, you think I’ll get the award?”
“The Vanguard Society normally recognizes company executives, not managers who do the work. But Casper let me have the award this year. Maybe next year’s Vanguard president will be a class act instead of a scuzzball like Sidney Schisslinger.”
“What’s the difference? The award is what counts.”
“No, you don’t get it. Schisslinger will be thoroughly pissed off when he has to hand me the trophy. I can’t wait to see his expression!”
“You two dislike each other?”
“Something like that.” Kurt looked at Rich and couldn’t visualize an executive. Rich’s petulance and youth robbed his face of character. Kurt stood up. “Look, you’re not here to socialize.”
“Don’t act paranoid.” Rich’s brown moustache almost gave him a mature look. Almost. “Some BizMart employees think you’re after my job.” He looked Kurt squarely in the eye. Rich’s under-thirty face lacked guile, as well as character.
Kurt, who learned the art of eye contact from Judd Workman to compensate for his average looks, made Rich blink first. Kurt’s days in the sun and excessive smoking, before he quit, aged him beyond his thirty-five years. But Rich’s low energy level made him look like a stiff beside Kurt’s lively manner. Kurt put his hands up, palms out. “You can have your job! Give me the trenches. Where the action is. Where the fun is.”
“Gretel Fox says you’re a workhorse,” Rich said, studying Kurt’s reaction.
“Where’d that come from?” Kurt looked at the plant on his credenza. Dead.
“She says she’d like to hitch you up. Has a furrow she’d like for you to plough.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Kurt pitched the plant, pot and all, into his trashcan. “Have a seat if you’re staying.”
Rich plopped into the chair next to Kurt’s desk. “Those words came straight from Gretel, at her raunchy best.”
Kurt frowned. “Sounds enticing. But she works for Schisslinger.”
“I know he’s not your type. I was talking about Gretel.”
“Schisslinger’s a slimeball. Gretel works for him. So, she must be a slimeball, too.”
“Deductive logic doesn’t always work. Anyway, she thinks you’re a hunk.”
“Know what they call Schisslinger? I mean, besides ‘s**t Slinger’—that’s too obvious for a PR guy. Or when he overstays his welcome, people snicker, ‘Shits linger.’ Sidney’s ‘The Spoiler.’” Kurt spat out the epithet. “He doesn’t build up his clients. He smears his rivals.” Kurt glanced around his office at the grip and grin photos of him receiving congratulatory handshakes from various dignitaries.
“That’s business,” Rich said philosophically.
“Not the way Schisslinger does it,” Kurt turned to face Rich. “You know why I despise him? He’s a sneaky coward. I love to battle competitors face to face. Not Schisslinger. For the past three years, he’s been planting spies and saboteurs in other PR firms. And in his clients’ rival companies.”
“Whatever it takes.”
“I’d rather roll around in the fish bins all day than do business with Schisslinger. I’d come out smelling better after hanging out with dead fish.”
“So, what’s your equally thorough, impartial analysis of Gretel?”
“Never met her.”
“Really? Gretel’s been with Chimera for three years.”
“Our paths never cross. I almost met her once. Soon after Gretel joined Schisslinger, they tried to pitch us on handling BizMart’s PR. Right after they changed names from Polished Image to Chimera.”
Rich squinted, as if trying to see the past. “I don’t remember that.”
“It was a month or so before you joined us as vice president. Schisslinger insisted on doing their dog and pony show at Chimera. He usually visits prospects. In retaliation, I guess, Casper sent me to hear their spiel, instead of going himself. Casper gave me the authority to accept or reject their offer.”
“So, Casper considered you second in command. Were you jealous when he named me vice president instead of you?”
“No, I love wheeling and dealing. Hate administration.” Kurt sat down at his desk. “Anyway, when I went to Chimera, the receptionist took me to this room like a hall of mirrors. Like Versailles. Schisslinger stood there with his computer and his little Power Point presentation. No sign of Gretel.”
“Did the receptionist have light brown hair? Wear it in a bun? Wear thick glasses?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Rich smiled smugly. “What did you think of Sidney’s presentation?”
“Unadulterated bullshit,” Kurt waved his hand in dismissal. “And I told him so.”
“You should have been tactful. Maybe he didn’t write the presentation.”
“Doesn’t matter. I had no respect for Schisslinger. Still don’t,” Kurt said. “He acts like a weasel and looks like a troll.” He held up his hands to ward off Rich’s protest. “His nose tells the story. Not that it’s big or shaped funny, but you can see red and purple veins all over his schnoz. Looks like the beak of some exotic bird.”
“Sidney can’t help the way he looks.”
Kurt interlaced his fingers. “His veins are bloodshot because he’s an alcoholic. Probably drinks more than I do. That’s a lot. How can he run a business?”
“Maybe Gretel runs the show.” Rich looked serious.
Kurt weighed that possibility but didn’t comment. “What’s she like?”
“What’s that silly expression? A hottie. Her body is so sinewy you forget her face. She’s under thirty but acts extremely mature. Old school sexy. Lots of curves.”
“Plump?”
“Not at all. Flaring hips, narrow waist. Her breasts look beautiful but petite. Gretel’s shrewd. Knows how to spin a web with her words.”
“Wonder if that’s why she’s in public relations?” Kurt deadpanned.
“When you look at her in the cold light of day, she’s very cute. But not a stunning beauty,” Rich said, “By then, she’s already got you. Physically addicted to her. Or ensnared in the subtle lure of her promises.”
“Geez!” Kurt threw his arms up. “What are you, her pimp? Or do you just have a thing for mature-looking women?”
Rich’s lips stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Wasn’t your ex- about five years older than you? Does Gretel remind you of her?”
“No way!” Rich paused. “Well, they’re about the same height. Their pelvises curve out wide. But Gretel’s a blonde now. She weighs more. All in the right places.”
“And your former wife?”
“None of your business.”
Kurt recoiled from the sting. “Just curious. You never talk about her.”
“No,” Rich said with finality.
“You know a lot about Gretel. Speaking from experience?”
“Nobody discusses their experiences with Gretel.” A mischievous smile crossed Rich’s lips. “She’s a backstreet girl.”
“Backstreet or backdoor?” Kurt prodded.
“She likes to hook guys by wearing kinky outfits,” Rich continued.
“Such as?”
“You name it. Wet look. Leather. Somebody said she wore a latex dress to a party. And a PVC catsuit another time. PVC is a type of shiny vinyl.”
“Thank you for the invaluable vocabulary lesson.”
“Don’t mention it,” Rich smiled, missing the double meaning of “invaluable.”
“Shiny works for me,” Kurt said. He stood and paced behind his desk. “Especially shiny dresses. Pants are OK. But a woman in a tight, shiny dress is sexier than a nude. I don’t know why.”
“Women in leather pants or PVC always give me an erection.”
“Not me.” Kurt stopped pacing and faced Rich squarely. “A dress is open at the bottom. Pants aren’t. Symbolically, a dress makes a woman seem more accessible. Or a garterbelt and stockings.”
Rich laughed. “Gretel will wear anything to get her way.”
“My kind of woman,” Kurt said. “I’m divorced. She’s promiscuous. Quick, cheap thrills.” He frowned. “But even if I liked Gretel, I’d have to put up with Schisslinger.”
“Maybe not. If you joined Chimera, you’d work directly under Gretel.”
“Nice visual.” Kurt smiled wryly. “Judd used that phrase for the merger I just arranged. ‘That uptight dude needs to be directly under the woman who craves him.’”
“Who’s Judd?”
“Judd Workman. He’s on our board.”
“Oh, yeah. The car repair guy,” Rich said dismissively. “Every time the board meets, I ask myself, ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’”
“Maybe what’s wrong is that Judd is the only guy in the room who’s ever worked up a sweat on the job. Health spas don’t count. And Judd gets dirty on the outside, where you can see it and touch it and deal with it. Schisslinger is filthy inside, so you never know what’s coming out of that polluted mind.”
“Touchy, aren’t we?” Rich stood up. “Look, Sidney runs Chimera. But you’d answer to Gretel. She’s six or seven years younger than you. Got a problem with that?”
“Talent counts more than age. Working for Gretel would be better…” Kurt stopped.
“Go ahead and say it,” Rich said. “Better than working for me.”
“You said it. Not me.” Between the two of them, Kurt decided, Rich would fit in with a PR firm better than he would. “And when did you become a recruiter for Chimera?” he asked.
“I’m just looking after your best interest,” Rich oozed fake concern. “I like what you said on the phone. You could be Gretel’s stud bull.”
“So, now she’s a cow?”
“Don’t be a smart ass.”
“Wonder what you’d get if you mated an ass with a cow?” The wisecrack sailed over Rich’s head. Kurt pressed on. “Why are you so obsessed with Gretel Fox?”
Rich stroked his moustache. “Not me. Thought you might be. Let’s put it this way: Would you rather work for Gretel Fox or for me?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“You decide.” Rich turned and left, closing the door on his way out.
Kurt sat down at his desk. His next call could wait. Rich didn’t paint a flattering picture of Kurt, but he revealed his true colors: green with envy. What did Judd always say? “If your superior thinks you’re a threat to him, may God have mercy on your soul.”
Rich clearly felt threatened. And now, so did Kurt.
- Writer
