“The conference table will go there,” Mark said, pointing, “and each seat will have a workstation so that all the people in a meeting can view the same screen.”
As they left the room, Mark stopped them. “Herb, Mike, I’m very impressed with everything you’ve done to help us get this thing up and running, and I want to invite both of you to join the High Cotton Ideas board of directors. Marshall Brennan is joining, and he’ll be our financial guru.”
“I’d be delighted,” Herbie said.
“So would I, Mark,” Mike said.
Mark rode down to the street with them. “The next time you see this place, it’s going to look like an important place of work.” He shook their hands and went back upstairs.
Herbie and Mike thanked James for the tour and rode uptown together.
30
Herbie got back to his office and had a message to return a call to Parker Mosely, Dink Brennan’s roommate at Yale. He dialed the number.
“Hi, Mr. Fisher,” Parker said. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“How can I help you, Parker?”
“I just wanted to relay a message from Dink. He wants you to know how grateful he is to you for getting him into rehab. I saw him yesterday, and he’s doing really well.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Parker.”
“He asked me to tell you that if you’re anywhere near there, to please visit him. He’d like to see you and thank you personally.”
“If I get up that way I’ll stop in for a visit,” Herbie said. “Thanks for calling, Parker, and give Dink my best.” He hung up and tried to imagine Dink Brennan as a reformed character. He failed.
Parker put away his cell phone and turned to Carson Cullers, on whose parents’ living room sofa they were sitting, smoking a joint. “Okay,” he said, “that should prime the pump.” He handed Carson a small package wrapped in brown paper. “Now, here’s what Dink wants you to do,” he said. When he had finished he waved away a puff of her smoke. “Now, have you got that? He wants it done exactly that way.”
“Got it,” Carson said. “You know, this could be fun.”
“Okay, I gotta run,” Parker said. “There’s a car waiting, and I’ve got a shipment to get back to New Haven.” He said goodbye and left.
Carson went into her mother’s dressing room and pressed the button that started the moving closet, which resembled the sort of long, electric rack in dry-cleaning establishments. She let it run for a few seconds, then stopped it and removed a sheer, silk minidress. “Perfect,” she said. “He’ll never know what hit him.”
Herbie waited at the bar of the Park Avenue Cafe, since he knew Allison would be a little late; she was always a little late. She hurried in after a ten-minute wait, gave him a peck on the cheek, and they were seated in the dining room. He ordered her a drink, and they took a look at the menus.
“I’m not staying for dinner,” she said. “You order.”
Herbie closed the menu. “All right,” he said, “tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong,” she replied. “I just have to talk to you.”
She took a swig of her drink, as if she needed it.
“I’m listening,” Herbie said.
“I don’t think we should go on seeing each other,” she said.
“Do you want to tell me why?”
“You’ve been promoted at the firm, and I want to be promoted. I don’t think it would help my chances if we became an item of office gossip.”
“I don’t think anyone knows,” he said.
“Joan knows, and that means Stone knows, and that may mean that Eggers knows.”
“Stone wouldn’t mention it to Eggers.”
“I hope you’re right. I just don’t think it does either of us any good for anyone at the firm to know we’re seeing each other.”
Herbie shrugged. “Well, as far as I know, there’s no rule against it.”
“Still,” she said, “you must see that it’s not good for either of us.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Herbie said gently. “Now, let’s order some dinner.”
“There’s probably somebody from the firm in this restaurant right now,” she said, tossing off the rest of her drink and standing up. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Herbie,” she said.
“Please don’t be concerned,” he said, and then he watched her leave.
He waved at a waiter and ordered the veal chop. He didn’t have a girlfriend anymore, but it didn’t seem to have hurt his appetite.
Herbie got a cab home, and as he walked into his apartment, the phone was ringing. He sat down in the living room and picked up. “Hello?”
“Is this Herbert Fisher?” a low female voice said.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Carson Cullers,” she said. “I don’t know if that means anything to you.”
Herbie thought for a moment; the name sounded familiar. “Dink Brennan’s friend,” he said. “Washington, Connecticut.”
“That’s right. New York, really, Washington is just a weekend place. I live at Park and Seventy-first.”
“Then we’re neighbors. I’m just a couple blocks away.”
“I wonder if we could have a drink sometime?” she said. “I’d like to talk to you about Dink.”
“Sure,” Herbie said. “Would you like to come here now?”
“That would be great,” she said.
He gave her the address. “It’s the penthouse,” he said.
“I’ll be there shortly,” she replied, and hung up.
This was interesting, Herbie thought. Why would Dink Brennan’s girlfriend be calling him? He’d already had a call from Parker Mosely, Dink’s roommate, and now this? Was this some sort of campaign to persuade him that Dink should be released?
He got up and walked around the living room, straightening up a bit. Ten minutes later, the doorman rang, and Herbie asked that she be sent up. He answered the door to find a tall, slender, elegantly dressed young woman standing in the foyer, in a nearly sheer dress, looking a little nervous. “Come in, Carson,” he said, and showed her into the living room. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”
“Can you make a vodka martini?” she asked.
“Of course.” Herbie went to the bar and began to put that together. Since Allison had opted out of his life earlier in the evening, he felt glad to have someone there.
Then he brought himself up short. Hang on, this was his client’s son’s girlfriend, he thought. Better be careful.
He returned to the sofa with her martini and his cognac on a tray and started to take a chair.
“Please,” she said, patting the sofa next to her. “Sit here.”
Herbie had already had a drink and half a bottle of wine, and the girl was looking very good. What the hell, he thought. “Give me a minute, will you? I have to go to the powder room.”
“Of course,” she said.
Herbie got up and left.
Carson opened her purse, took out a prescription bottle, and shook two small pills into her hand. She put them on the glass coffee table, took a razor blade from her purse, and chopped them into powder, then held Herbie’s brandy snifter at the edge of the table and raked the powder into his glass. She stirred it with a finger, watching it dissolve, then licked her finger and put the glass back on the table.
Herbie came back from the powder room, sat down beside her, and raised his glass. “Cheers,” he said.
Carson smiled. “Cheers, indeed!” She took a gulp of her martini and rested her hand on his thigh.
“So, tell me about Dink,” Herbie said, taking a sip of brandy.
“As far as I’m concerned, Dink is history,” Carson said. “I’m sick of his behavior. I’m here because he told me about you, and I thought you sounded interesting.” She moved her hand up his thigh a bit.
“Well, that’s flattering,” Herbie replied, taking another sip. He rested his head on the back of the sofa cushion and felt her hand move up farther.
“What are you looking for there?” he asked, sipping more brandy.
She moved her hand up to his crotch. “This,” she said.
“Well, now that you’ve found it, what’s next?”