“It’s a coincidence all right,” Michelle said, not looking at Connie, who was seated three people away on her left. “But then I run into people often who have the same last name and aren’t related.”
“Go to Los Angeles and you’ll see a Garcia or a Hernandez on every corner,” Tina Young said. She was in her twenties and would have been pretty if she’d not been so severe-looking.
Michelle had stayed close to Gary and Sam’s side while they talked in Bruce’s office. When introduced around she’d shaken hands with everybody and nodded politely, noting the same empty expressions, a common trait with everybody she saw at Corporate Financial. When she was introduced to Connie she kept up her front. “Nice to meet you,” she’d said. Connie nodded back politely with the same false look as the others. She noticed in the few seconds she was able to see her mother that mom hadn’t aged much; she still had the same conservative hairstyle, cut short and close to her face, still favored the same bland suits. Michelle couldn’t tell if her mother recognized her. If she did, she gave no indication.
Staying by Sam and Gary’s side was the only way she knew how to stay sane.
She kept up her business-like front as they talked about Project Reign, how everything went today, and Michelle paid attention and tried not to look at her mother. The few times she did, she stole quick glances, always making sure her eyes scanned the room and didn’t settle on any one individual. Every glimpse she caught of her mother, she was more absorbed in the discussion.
Things surely haven’t changed that much, Michelle thought. She even looks the same as she did the last time I saw her. And on the heels of that: I wonder where dad is?
Before she knew it she was in the backseat of the Lexus again as they headed to Brannigan’s for dinner. At some point before they left for the restaurant, she mentioned to Sam that she wanted to check her email and Bruce directed her to a spare desk in his suite with a network connection nearby. She set up her laptop and, while pretending to check her mail, made a visible effort to appear still interested in the discussion. She quickly opened all of her new email in her account, then opened a web browser. Her home page settings were automatically configured to hit the Corporate Financial Intranet site and, once there, she quickly scanned the links. She quickly found a section on Headquarters and kept browsing until she found what she wanted: a file that detailed the diagram of the building for potential visitors. Michelle saved the file onto her hard drive and quickly looked for other information that might be useful. She didn’t see anything, so she disconnected from the network, shut down her laptop, and rejoined the group.
Her cell phone vibrated twice; once while she was in the meeting, a second time while appetizers were being served at Brannigan’s. She hoped it wasn’t Donald; she didn’t want to worry him. She couldn’t think about Donald now. If she did she’d go crazy, so she pushed him out of her mind and concentrated on the group and bullshitting them as best as she could.
She tried not to think of her mother as well.
Does she know who I am? Michelle thought as she faked interest in the topic of discussion—Project Reign and the sales projections for today, which Connie was rattling off in a flat, toneless voice. I don’t think she does but then she used to look like that all the time… maybe she did recognize me, maybe she’ll tell Sam and Gary, I wonder if she and dad live out here now, maybe…
“…productivity rose sharply by forty percent,” Connie said, reading the numbers off her Blackberry. “Our sales were up sixty percent and we expect that to go higher tomorrow.”
“And the buyouts?” Bruce asked. He hadn’t touched his appetizers.
“All going as planned,” Connie reported. She regarded everybody with that flat look. “Wall Street noticed and the Dow rose through the roof. A story will be running in tomorrow’s Journal. The financial news outlets are already reporting the activity. Most of it’s positive, especially Fox’s coverage. MSNBC has been overwhelming negative.”
“They aren’t clients, are they?” Bruce asked.
“No, they’re not,” Sam answered. “We’re hoping they respond favorably to our marketing efforts this week. Dennis Harrington is paying them a visit tomorrow with an offer.”
“Have him extend a seventy percent discount for two weeks,” Reginald said. “If they bite, Dennis can bring in Alma and Joyce Caruthers Wednesday. Joyce can get to work immediately and we can start seeing a change by Friday if we act quickly.”
Michelle wondered how they could influence news coverage, but she didn’t want to ask. The thought that they had control over the news networks terrified her. It made sense; if the big guns—CNN, Fox—were owned by large conglomerates, Corporate Financial did business with them and had sunk their tentacles deep into their other operations. Bad news about Project Reign would not go well with viewers. Remaining silent on it or skewing the news heavily in favor of it, would make people think it was a good thing. Of course not everybody believed what they read or saw on the news, and Michelle was one of them.
When the main courses came, Michelle dug in. She was ravenous and she didn’t know when she’d get a chance to eat again. She’d ordered the seafood platter with rice pilaf, and as she ate she paid attention to the conversation and joined in where appropriate. She wasn’t faking it anymore—she wanted to know as much as possible about what was going on, what their business agenda was, so she’d have sufficient ammunition to go to Alan with. Her seeming enthusiasm must have been evident because at one point during the meal Sam nudged her and whispered. “I think you’re casting a nice impression on the group. You ready for tomorrow?”
Michelle nodded. “Yes,” she said.
The dinner lasted till nine-thirty. After the main meal was finished, drinks were served. Discussion continued to flourish and Michelle took part in it with great success. She took it easy with the drinks, limiting herself to two glasses of wine. Dessert was offered and Michelle passed. When the party broke up and ventured outside, Michelle was grateful for the diversion. She stood by as Sam parted with Bruce and Connie. “We’ll be in at eight o’clock sharp,” he said.
“Wonderful.” Bruce turned to Michelle. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Ms. Dowling.”
“I’m looking forward to being part of the team,” Michelle said.
Sam and Gary drove her back to her hotel, which was two miles up the road and was part of the Marriot chain. “We’ll meet you in the lobby at seven-thirty sharp,” Sam told her as they helped her with her bags.
“Sounds fine,” Michelle said.
“We’ll probably have breakfast tomorrow in the executive dining room,” Gary said as they ventured into the lobby. Michelle was trailing her suitcase, briefcase, and laptop. “So bring your appetite.”
Once Michelle was in her room—Gary and Sam were staying in separate rooms two floors above her—Michelle collapsed on the king-sized bed and tried to control her emotions. Seeing her mother this afternoon had pushed her over the edge. She hadn’t expected that and she was certain mother hadn’t recognized her. Seeing mom had picked at the scab holding the unpleasant memories of her past that had built up over the years, and she’d done a good job at staunching the flow of emotion that wanted to pour out of those old wounds. Now they seeped out and Michelle allowed herself to let them out: the abandonment she’d felt as a child, the feeling that her parents never cared for her as they worked long hours and finally, her mother’s callous attitude toward Michelle’s pregnancy. She refused to allow the loss of Alanis to get the best of her. She sat up, took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She had to get through this, had to do what she was brought here to do. She knew that everything Alan and Rachel told her now was the truth. She’d seen the vapid expressions displayed en masse at Corporate Financial headquarters, felt the overpowering miasma of the unholy vibe, of some noxious evil that permeated the building she could see how it could infiltrate into the body and persona of somebody who was vulnerable for acceptance. The vibe in the entire executive suite had been even stronger—Michelle could tell the minute she’d stepped off the elevator to the fourth floor, but she’d blocked its influence and how she really felt about it out of her stance. Had she allowed herself to react naturally to it she would have screamed and run like hell out of the building. Instead, she reacted as an undercover narcotic agent would have reacted at the scene of criminal activity and it wasn’t yet time to make an arrest: she’d pretended like she was one of them and they had bought it completely.