by David Harder
“What is wrong with you people?” fumed Pendergrass. The CFO was getting frustrated with the communication impasse.
In the reflection of the window, Nate watched Jonathan snatch up his glass and drain its contents. Nate smiled. He knew he had Jonathan. He remained fixed, staring out the window.
“Do me a favor, Mr. Martin. Keep me in the loop. I don’t trust you or your testosterone-filled jocks, which you place far too much loyalty in. I only need the smallest excuse to cut your expense budget.”
Nate knew he was reaching and thought to himself that he had nothing. Like a statue, Nate stood his ground until Jonathan felt uncomfortable. It was time for Pendergrass to leave.
Jonathan cleared his throat, slowly tapping a finger on the stack of European folders as if he was making one more attempt to create influence over a department vice president. He failed miserably and finally walked toward the office door. Pausing briefly, he lobbed his last volley. “I’m sure we’ll discuss this matter at a later time.” Jonathan then slipped out the door.
Unmoved, Nate grinned, never casting his eyes upon Pendergrass. “One battle at a time, Jonathan, and one victory at a time.”
Walking back to his desk, Nate looked down and saw that Jonathan had also deposited the requested answers to last night’s email. Smiling again, Nate sat down and quickly read through the material. Nothing alarming showed up, which troubled Nate. His instincts were honed, and he knew something didn’t add up, but the report didn’t shed any further light. Nate dismissed his thoughts on the subject for the moment. Walking across the room, Nate continued sorting the folders covering the conference table.
* * *
A soft knock on Tony’s office door interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes, come in.”
“Here is the list you wanted, Mr. Toncetti.”
“Did you have any difficulties, Shelly?”
“Robert was short and gruff; Stephanie was the ice-queen and asked me too many questions I couldn’t answer; and Staci was the nicest of the bunch. I could hear her softly crying.”
“That about sums it up. Thank you. I assure you, Shelly, when you meet these three kids, the visual won’t match their responses.”
She gave Tony a sideways glance.
“You’ll see. Thanks again, Shelly. This is excellent work.”
Tony scanned the calendar dates on his computer screen and jotted some notes on paper. He then picked up the phone and dialed a number.
A woman answered, “Good afternoon. Tynedex Corporation. Mr. Martin’s office. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Katherine. Tony Toncetti for Nate, please.”
“Well, hello Mr. Toncetti. I’m surprised you remembered my name. We only spoke one time.”
“A voice as sweet as yours, I could never forget.”
He could imagine Katherine blushing on the other end of the line. “Why, thank you, Mr. Toncetti. And what shall I tell Mr. Martin is the purpose of your call?”
“This is regarding the travel arrangements for Jim Kreider’s children.”
“I see. Mr. Martin is busy at the moment. Perhaps I could handle this matter for you?”
“That would be terrific, Katherine. Nate indicated your company would cover the travel and hotel costs for Jim Kreider’s children. All three of the kids are in college, so we’re planning Mr. Kreider’s services during their Thanksgiving break. I figure if we have them here for the week, we could meet with them before the funeral service and give them some time to decompress afterward.”
“That sounds fantastic. I know a lot of employees have been asking about Mr. Kreider’s service. I’m ready for the information, whenever you are.”
“Excellent. I’ll have my secretary send over their contact information and the dates for their travel. Do you have a private fax number we could use?”
“Yes, one moment.” Katherine located the number and supplied it to Tony.
Tony scribbled the number down. “Thank you, Katherine. We’ll send the fax in just a few minutes. Goodbye.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Toncetti.”
* * *
When Michelle and Katherine joined Nate later that afternoon, he had already sorted through nearly all the folders. Both women were impressed. Neatly stacked folders of even height had the name card of the various sales staff resting on top.
“You’ve accomplished a tremendous amount, Mr. Martin.”
“Thanks, Katherine, but the recognition goes to Michelle. Her efforts to manage Jim’s clients made my job much easier.” Nate made eye contact with Michelle and smiled.
Michelle actually blushed over the attention and praise.
“I’m serious, Michelle. Losing Jim Kreider was devastating to my department, but your ability to step up has opened my eyes to your talents. I’d like you to consider joining my team as a sales manager.”
Michelle was speechless. “I, ah, well . . . I’m not sure, Mr. Martin.”
“Just think about it, Michelle. You have in-depth knowledge of the department and Jim’s clients. I’d like to bring you onboard as a team player by first briefing the other sales staff concerning Jim’s customers, and then I’m giving you a share of his workload to manage.”
Nate placed his hand on top of a stack of folders, which did not contain a name card.
“In fact, Michelle, this is yours, if you want it.”
Nate was beaming and pulled a name card out from under the folder stack and placed it on top of the folders. Michelle’s name was boldly written across the card. Michelle faced Katherine.
“Did you know about this?”
Katherine shrugged.
Nate grabbed Michelle by the shoulders and seriously looked into her eyes.
“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, Michelle. Make me and this department proud.”
“What about the other men in this department? I’m older, and a woman.”
Nate grinned. “I know. That’s one of the reasons why this is going to work. It’s called competition, and I’m hoping they’ll go crazy trying to out-perform you. But I also think you’re going to teach them a thing or two.”
Michelle was surprised. “Mr. Martin, I don’t know what to say.”
Katherine gave her colleague a hug. “Congratulations, Michelle.”
“But I haven’t said yes!”
Nate handed the name card to Michelle. “You will. If you two could arrange a departmental meeting on Monday evening, we’ll make the announcements and divvy up Jim’s accounts. It will be your last secretarial function, Michelle.”
“Mr. Martin, if I’m no longer assisting a sales manager, who—” Michelle’s voice trailed off.
Nate’s expression was serious. “Oh, take Bob Hendricks and make him your assistant. He’s underperformed from day one.”
Both women exclaimed in unison. “Seriously?”
Nate smiled. “No, I’m just kidding. We’ll cross that bridge later. But I take it, by your question, that you have accepted my offer?”
Michelle beamed. “Absolutely, Mr. Martin.”
“Well, for starters, you can start by calling me Nate. If you’re one of my team, I go by first names, except in company meetings.”
“You got it, sir. And thank you.”
Katherine handed Nate a manila folder.
“What’s this?”
“Mr. Toncetti called and forwarded the contact information for Mr. Kreider’s children. He provided dates for the service. He also indicated our company would be covering these expenses. Based on his information, I took the liberty of ordering airline tickets and rooms at the Grand Marquis for his children. A limo will collect them at the airport. The tickets and their itinerary will be mailed with your approval.”
Nate handed the folder back. “I approve, and I’m sure you’ve done an excellent job. Thank you, Katherine. You’re a peach. Oh, make sure I get copies of their itinerary to take with me for our next meeting.”
“Mr. Toncetti said he would handle the distributi
on. I’ll put the dates on your calendar and have a copy ready for you.”
“Thank you again, Katherine. You two have a good evening.”
Nate watched the two women walk out of his office, noting that Michelle had a certain lightness in her step. Once outside the confines of Nate’s office, Katherine and Michelle discussed the current situation.
“Katherine, tell me the truth. Did you know about this?”
“I was as surprised as you. But did you glance at the folders?”
“Yes. The colors made sense for the sales team and how they were broken down.”
“No, I’m referencing the European folders.”
“Okay, that all looked normal, too. Did you see something out of the ordinary?”
Katherine pursed her lips. “The Chanel S.A. folder was absent from the conference table.”
Michelle looked back at Nate’s closed office door. “Are you certain?”
“I am. It was very thick and impossible to miss. I didn’t see it anywhere near the other folders. Do you know anything special about that account?”
“Not really, but then Jim guarded his European accounts and rarely shared specifics.”
“Do you remember the name of Jim’s contact?”
“A woman, I think—give me a minute. I’m sure I’ll remember. Wait! Chin something—that’s it. Chenair. Now I remember, Arleen Chenair. Jim was rather fond of this client.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Jim’s face always lit up whenever he discussed this individual. I knew the man was married, but there was a twinkle in his eye when discussing Chanel S.A.”
The two women mulled over their discussion in silence. They also experienced a natural instinct moment, indicating they knew there would be more to this story.
* * *
Nate re-read the response from Finance and compared this information with the Chanel S.A. folder. Jim Kreider’s expenses weren’t out of the ordinary, but something about how they were being reported bothered Nate. Having extensive experience in sales and marketing, Nate was familiar with doctoring one’s expense report to hide certain items.
Nate remembered being sent to Boston one summer to assist with a new client. When he arrived, it was pouring down rain, and Nate forgot to bring any rain protection. A gift shop in the airport sold mediocre, collapsible umbrellas that cost ten dollars each. By the end of the visit, between the wind and constant use over the four-day trip, the umbrella was a disaster. One rib was severely bent, preventing complete closure, and the thin fabric had ripped on an overhanging tree branch. At the airport for the return trip, Nate tossed the defective umbrella into the nearest trash receptacle.
Upon returning to work, a battle ensued between Finance and Nate over claiming the temporary purchase as an expense. His report, although approved by his manager, was tersely rejected with a discordant note attached by someone in Finance: “We do not pay for umbrellas!” Nate spent unnecessary, precious hours writing a lengthy memo, explaining the reasons behind the umbrella purchase and the fate of the item once his client visit was over. This was to no avail, and again the report was rejected with the same nasty note attached from Finance.
Upon a third attempt to submit his expense report, Nate attached his own note to the submission, which stated: “The umbrella is in here—find it!” By fudging the numbers for meals, tips, mileage, and phone calls, Nate had managed to disguise the ten-dollar purchase without directly disclosing it. Oddly, the expense report was approved, and a reimbursement check arrived the next week. Whereupon, Nate’s infamous quote developed—“one victory at a time.”
Frustrated, Nate scooped up the reports, his notes, and all the material for Chanel S.A. and shoved them into his desk drawer. He knew he would have to wait until the funeral group met again before he would be able to ask Arleen Chenair about it.
* * *
Joe was half-asleep in his easy chair when he heard the front doorbell. He glanced at the clock and noted it was just before seven. Struggling to extract his hefty frame from the over-stuffed chair, Joe shuffled to the door and glanced in the peephole. It was an unfamiliar face. Joe yanked the door open.
“Can I help you?”
A pleasant young man with a suit and tie smiled and handed Joe his business card. Joe read the printing.
“Sorry to drop by so late, Mr. Langley, but my name is Frederick Wells. I work for Mr. Toncetti, and he has asked me to stop by.”
Joe scrutinized the lad. He looked to be about twenty-five and was professionally dressed.
“Come on in.”
Joe stepped back and ushered the man in. He then walked to the living room and indicated the young man could sit on the sofa. Joe stood with his arms folded.
“What’s this about?”
“Mr. Toncetti has asked me to—”
They were interrupted by the telephone.
“Hold on a sec. I’ll be right back.”
Joe dashed for the kitchen phone and kept an eye on his guest. At the same time, Mr. Wells spotted the smashed cordless receiver by the wall and raised his eyebrows.
“Hello?”
“Good evening Joe, this is Tony Toncetti. Are you busy?”
“Well, Tony, yes and no. Your man Fred just arrived, and we were about to have a discussion. He said you sent him.”
“Excellent. I was hoping to call you before Frederick arrived, but, apparently, he was faster than I thought.”
“Why is he here, Tony?”
“Do you remember our earlier discussions about Jim Kreider’s paintings?”
“I do.”
“Well, I’ve been busy and couldn’t come myself, but I’ve asked Frederick to swing by and collect Jim’s paintings for me.”
“I see.” Joe’s voice sounded cautious.
“With your permission, of course, Joe, I’ve asked Frederick to inventory the paintings and bring them to our office. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure, Tony. And those of us who asked for Jim’s paintings—will we be able to get one?”
“Joe, if you remember, I said it would be up to Jim’s children. When I meet with them, I will mention your desire to own a painting. Can you assist Frederick?”
Joe was feeling a twinge of jealousy and regretted his disclosure about Jim’s artwork in the first place. It felt as if the last vestige of Jim’s memory was about to be taken away, and Joe hated to see that happen.
“Are you still with me, Joe?”
Processing his feelings, Joe quickly realized he was acting foolish, and he couldn’t keep Jim’s paintings. “Yeah sure, Tony. I’ll help him out.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Joe. We’ll see you next week.”
After hanging up the phone, Joe slowly walked back to the living room where Frederick Wells sat patiently waiting. He looked up at Joe with expectation.
Pointing his thumb over a shoulder toward the kitchen, Joe said, “It was your boss on the phone.” Joe struggled with his words and felt at odds with the decision to let the paintings go somewhere else. “Follow me. Jim’s artwork is in here.”
Inside the private studio Joe made for his friend and neighbor, Frederick Wells snapped copies of each painting with a digital camera he carried inside his jacket pocket. The camera was rather small, so Joe commented on that fact.
“It looks like a toy. Do the images actually come out okay?”
Frederick stopped and showed Joe the back display. Pressing a button, he flashed the painting images, which indicated he had captured exact copies.
“Wow, they look even better in the camera.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll print them out for Mr. Toncetti once I get back to the office.”
Joe’s thoughts faded away as he watched Frederick methodically set up each painting and painstakingly capture the image. Each picture represented a particular time and moment when he and Jim Kreider were together as friends. The memories flashed by as Frederick snapped pictures, and Joe’s emotions tugged at his throat. Joe walked to the ki
tchen and poured a glass of Scotch Whiskey. He was about to drain the contents but suddenly remembered Frederick. Grabbing another tumbler, Joe filled it half-full with scotch and walked back to the art studio.
“Fred, would you care to join me?” Joe held the glass out.
Mr. Wells stared at the glass with discernment.
“It’s just one glass, and I won’t tell Tony.”
Frederick took the glass. “Thanks. What’s the occasion?”
Joe held his glass with two hands and stared into the amber liquid. “This is hard, what you’re doing here. Harder than I imagined.”
“Mr. Kreider was your friend, wasn’t he?”
“I purchased all the painting supplies, so Jim could experience the art medium. I even converted my study into an art studio for him. Yeah, he was like a brother to me.”
Frederick touched his glass to Joe’s. “Well, then, let’s toast Mr. Kreider. May your fond memories of him help you get through your period of grief. I do mean that, Mr. Langley.”
Still looking down into his glass, Joe paused, and then muttered, “Thanks, and please call me Joe.” After a few long seconds of silence, Joe lifted the glass to his lips and emptied its contents.
Once all the paintings were loaded into Frederick’s vehicle, he shook hands with Joe.
“Thanks for your assistance, Joe. I will treat these paintings with deep respect and ensure their safety. Have a good evening.”
Joe was devoid of any emotions by this point, so he slowly nodded to the young man and then unhurriedly walked back to his house. Just before closing the door, Joe watched Frederick drive away, making Joe feel anxious. His emotions were mixed—the same as a parent sending their child off to college or the military. The uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach left Joe with the thought that he would never capture these moments with Jim Kreider again. As Frederick’s vehicle disappeared, Joe knew the memories of his friend were fading as well.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“EVERYONE EXCEPT THE MINISTER IS now in the conference room waiting, Mr. Toncetti.”
