“O, my God, I love Thee above all things, with my whole heart and soul, because Thou art all good and worthy of all love. I love my neighbor as myself for the love of Thee—”
I stop myself as I think of the next line of the prayer, “I forgive all who have injured me.” Forgiveness is not a virtue I can embrace at the moment, so I leave it out of my casket-side vigil and go in search of something to help me compose myself and contemplate an appropriate revenge for my employer who regards my godson as nothing more than a number on a spreadsheet.
The line for the bar is mercifully short, and I have a glass of white wine in hand within minutes and survey the room. The wine feels good on my throat, raw from all the crying. I am surprised to see so many young people, but then I realize these must have been college and high school friends of the boys. Some of the faces seem familiar. Kids I’d seen at Alice’s over the years. I am afraid of rekindling my emotional meltdown so I steer clear of Matt’s friends.
As I snake through conversation circles, I see a group of ladies from the club and wander over to join in. Hugs and air kisses give way to more somber moments as we talk about how awful the explosion was and how sad it is that the whole family has been killed. I decide not to mention that I work for Bishop, and I manage any of my answers to questions related to Tulsa so as not to reveal that particular piece of information. I will let them hear it through the grapevine after I am long gone. As comforting as it is to see these women, I desperately want to get out of there and do more exploring of the Bishop files. It has been such a long time since anything has awakened my intellect, and I can tell I’m becoming obsessed with it. I wish I had driven my own car rather than be trapped at the funeral home.
Then I hear him: “Can I get you another drink, Cookie?” It is Winston from somewhere behind me, using his pet name for me.
My drink is almost empty; it is thoughtful of him, if inappropriate. I close my eyes and am just about to turn around to face him when I hear Caroline respond, “No, I’m just fine.”
I take a deep breath and finally turn around. I am surprised by Winston’s appearance. He is fit and tan and not at all like the potbellied, triple-chinned ape I had last seen at my lawyer’s office. Caroline doesn’t look pregnant at all. She is the same young, pretty thing who has replaced me in every aspect of my life, even Winston’s pet name. Neither of them had seen me at all.
I have to get it over with; I walk over to greet them.
I catch Winston’s eye and he nudges Caroline to exit from her current conversation with the wife of one of Ken’s law partners. They smile at me the way winners often do when extending a consolation prize to the third runner-up.
“Glad you could come down,” Winston says, and he introduces me to the new Mrs. Lewis.
After the divorce, I thought long and hard about changing my name back to O’Leary and had my attorney, Stu, put together the paperwork. I hated Winston and the thought of being confused with Caroline. Still, Tanzie Lewis had been the Ravenswood club champion; she had been the person who got a premier table at Houston’s better restaurants and could get a call returned with a single message. People know who Tanzie Lewis is. I know who Tanzie Lewis is. I wasn’t going to let Winston take one more thing from me. I sent the paperwork back to Stu unsigned.
I extend my hand and Caroline gives it a firm shake. I have seen pictures but have never met her before in person. She worked at Winston’s company, but we had never attended events together.
Winston was fairly careful in managing this sort of situation. Caroline was not his first fling during our marriage. Winston was a legendary womanizer, and I had learned long ago just to look the other way. I had thought him far too fiscally practical to divide our assets over something as frivolous as another woman. I have often wondered if things would have been different if he had just waited a little longer before going public with this affair. Winston filed for divorce just months before the 2008 stock market crash and financial crisis wreaked havoc on our accumulated wealth.
“You’re looking fit, Winston.”
“CrossFit! It’s amazing. Caroline got me hooked.” There are no comments about my appearance, and I am happy to move the perfunctory conversation along.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” I say with a smile. Years of country club socializing have made me a master of hiding true emotions. So instead of throwing the rest of my wine at the hussy, I make small talk and feign excitement over their expectant bundle of joy.
“Having a baby is saying ‘yes’ to the future,” New Cookie says and grins at Winston.
“I’m sure it is. How wonderful for you,” I say, suppressing a gag.
“Can you believe Caroline has only gained five pounds and she’s already at twenty weeks?” Winston gives her an endearing squeeze.
Ouch. Pretty sad when at five months pregnant, the new girl has a better waistline than the old girl.
“I’m at the gym every day!” she brags. “I’ve started playing golf, too, although I don’t know how much longer I can keep that up.”
“She has a fantastic swing,” Winston adds. “A real natural. Shot an eighty-two last week, and she’s only been playing a few months. We’re thinking of going to Scotland in May with some other couples.”
Ouch again. “Wow, that is really great. Good for you,” I say. I hope you get smacked in the head by one of Winston’s slices, I think. I decide to change the subject to something I actually care about. “How’s Rocky doing?”
“Oh, we had to give him away,” Caroline says brightly, and I see Winston give her arm a pinch. “I read in my book that dogs can become very jealous of a new baby, and we didn’t want to take a chance. You know what I mean. God, can you imagine?” She leans toward me like we are sorority sisters.
“Why didn’t you ask me to take him, Winston?” I ask, backing away. “For crying out loud!” I have to stop myself because other people are turning to look in my direction.
“Bill Matheson took him,” Winston stammers quickly. “Rocky still gets to go hunting, just like the old days. Relax, Tanzie! Jeez.” I see Winston give Caroline a “see what I’m talking about?” look, so I collect myself to keep from reinforcing any bitch references Winston may have fed her over the past couple of years. I don’t want my bad behavior to make it easier for her to justify ruining my life.
“Lulu got into NYU, Winston. Isn’t that terrific? She’ll be in the theater program,” I say, changing my tone. Maybe he will ask about financing. It’s a long shot, but worth bringing up, I think. Caroline looks confused.
“I’ll tell you what’s terrific.” Winston laughs. “Not having to put every single O’Leary through college. The forward curve of that cost savings is fairly steep!” Caroline joins Winston in the laugh and I smile politely although inside I’m longing to slap his smiling face. “Will you be joining us for dinner?” Winston asks.
It occurs to me that Winston and Caroline are being included in the after-visitation dinner festivities with Beth, Grant, and the rest of the club folk. I really want out now. I am not sure I can keep up my good manners any longer.
“You know, I came here with Grant and Beth,” I begin, “but I am so overcome from the sadness of this tragedy that I think I’ll pass and take a cab home.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Winston says.
“It is good to see you again, Winston, and best of luck to both of you.”
The club ladies are gone. I look around to find Beth, but instead run into Leanne and Mason near one of the food stations next the fire exit.
“Oh Lord, is that you Tanzie?” Mason shouts. “I hardly recognized you, darling. You’ve plumped up just like a Ball Park frank!”
“Yes I have, Mason. It’s all that gourmet food in Tulsa.” I smile at a horrified Leanne.
“Have you seen your ex, Tanzie? Turned into quite a specimen with all that working out. And wow, that babe he’s married to—”
“Mason, honey, will you please get me a refill
?” Leanne interrupts.
“God, I’m so sorry, Tanzie,” Leanne whispers as she watches Mason amble toward the bar. “He really is in another world these days. He doesn’t know what he’s saying most of the time.”
“No problem, Leanne. It’s really okay.”
I couldn’t fault poor Mason for stating what probably everyone else and even I was thinking.
“Oh my God, Tanzie, Mason’s talking with Alice’s sister; I need to get over there.” And she’s off, leaving me frowning at the paunch below the waistband of my black dress. I suck in my stomach, noticing only a slight improvement. I exhale in defeat and continue my search for Beth.
“I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll take a pass on dinner and get a cab back to your place. Do you mind?” I ask when I finally find her.
“It’s not because Grant asked Winston and Caroline to come along, is it? I told him not to.”
“No,” I lie. “I’m really tired and sad. I just don’t think I would be good company for anyone.”
“We’ll miss you,” she says. But I can tell Beth is relieved that I’m not going.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Take me to the Internet café in the Heights,” I tell the driver when I get into the cab. “Do you know where that is?”
“Of course,” he says in a thick accent.
“Great. But stop at Beck’s first.” I am really starving. Eating Beth-food all day yesterday and then nothing today has really left me dying for something delicious, and a hamburger will be just the thing to sober me up and sustain me for a night of hacking into Baldwin Bishop’s files. What are another couple thousand calories, after all?
I text Beth and tell her I’ve had a change of plans and not to wait up for me.
She texts back almost immediately. “OK. I’ll leave the back patio door open and the alarm off.”
It is 7:30 p.m. when the cab drops me off, and I ask him to return at 10:00. I had only heard about this particular place from others. In my lovely black dress, I look a bit formal for the place. It isn’t really a café but an Internet bar where you can order a drink and sit at a terminal, paying for services with a credit card or a code from the cashier, if you prefer the anonymity of cash, as is the custom of most Nigerian princes. I choose the cash option; anonymity is going to be important for what I am doing. I skip the bar and enter my code into the access page.
The first thing I do is check my e-mail account since I have been out of the office a couple of days. I am not important enough to have been issued a company phone or Blackberry, and I had refused to have my private iPhone configured to get email. Thus the only way to access my work e-mail is to actually be at my desk or access it remotely. Clearly my role at Bishop is expendable, and there is nothing particularly urgent about any of my assignments.
I sift through the ten or so e-mails before reading one from Moe. He asks if I can attempt another security review over the weekend, only this time “use better judgment and stay off the executive floors.” I am to look for unprotected passwords, confidential stuff in the trash cans, or unlocked office doors. There is another e-mail from Frank. He is sorry I am under the weather but wants to see if I can complete some testing by Monday. I write back that I am still quite ill and don’t think I can make it in tomorrow, but tell him that if I feel better I will come in over the weekend to do it. There is no reason anything needs to be completed by Monday; it is purely a power trip on his part.
I turn my attention away from Frank and his nonsense, and within a minute or two I am logging in to Baldwin’s account. I am fairly certain he is gone from the office by now, or if not, he is unlikely to be behind a computer. I click on the webmail icon and go immediately to his Outlook account.
I scroll through the inbox looking for the juiciest stuff but decide it will be better to adopt a more methodical approach. I read each e-mail, one by one, so as not to overlook anything. It is amazing what you can glean from reading a person’s daily e-mail. The most current correspondence has to do with the Houston explosion, and I can also see from his calendar that there have been almost nonstop meetings with attorneys, insurance companies, and the environmental team since the explosion on Tuesday. I can also tell that Baldwin works from his iPhone starting around 6:00 each evening, so it is clear to me that I can roam around his desktop without detection after that time.
From his e-mail, it seems Baldwin is concerned about the families that perished in the disaster, but he is much more concerned with the impact on Bishop Group’s bottom line. Several e-mails deal with revised estimates for damages and what will be covered and what will not. There is other correspondence asking if construction or sewer crews in the area could have caused the rupture. One e-mail from the attorneys suggests that Bishop quickly offer money to victims and thus contain civil damages. If the victims take initial cash, it may be considered a settlement, and they then would not be able to sue for additional damages if Bishop is subsequently found negligent. There are no solid decisions since it has only been days since the crisis. This sort of thing will most likely go on for years before liability is established, settlements with families are agreed to, and fines are levied by government agencies.
I have not seen any reference to LEAR_2008_17_Houston_Gas, and Wagner Jones is no longer the Vice President of EH&S.
There is a new fellow with that job, Sullivan Kimball. I have never met him, because I haven’t done any work around the EH&S departments. I see an e-mail from Baldwin to Sullivan asking him to go through the files and check for anything that should be “sanitized.” It is dated yesterday and so far there has been no reply.
The biggest trophy of the session is the conference call information contained in the meeting invitations on Baldwin’s Outlook calendar. It has a dial-in number and participant code that allows someone on the other end of a telephone to participate in meetings. Such codes are issued to individuals, so all of Baldwin’s teleconferences will have the same access information, including his weekly Monday calls with the executive team. It is so Bishop-like to use conference codes that don’t change.
Companies that are more tech-savvy use WebEx meetings that have unique codes for each meeting and each participant, but once again, Bishop has elected the least costly alternative at the expense of security. With this information, I will be able to call in anonymously and listen each Monday to the confidential discussions among the highest rankers in the Bishop organization. I can also listen in on any other telephonic meetings that Baldwin originates. Now that I have access to his Outlook calendar, I know exactly when they are, whom they are with, and what they are about.
I’m not done, but my access time is just about up. I look at my watch and it is almost 10:00, and from the window by my terminal I can see my cab waiting across the street. I think about telling him to come back later and continuing my hacking, but I decide that might be rude to Beth. Besides, I am getting tired, and tomorrow will be a long day.
I leave the café, get in the cab, and thirty minutes later I’m pouring a glass of white wine from Beth’s refrigerator. I am still out of cigarettes, but I know from previous visits that Beth keeps a carton in her pantry. I help myself and walk out to the patio for my evening tradition. It is dark but I can see Grant on the other side of the pool and walk over to him.
“Hi, Tanzie. We missed you at dinner. Where did you go?” Grant gets up and scoots one of the patio chairs closer to where he has been sitting.
“Nowhere, really,” I lie. I sit down and take a sip of wine. “Took a cab and rode around for a while. Ended up going to Beck’s for dinner.”
“Wow. Better than ours, I’m sure.” He laughs and leans toward me. “Sometimes I get so tired of this Paleo shit that Beth has me on.”
“You two look fabulous, Grant. And what about Winston? Talk about a transformation,” I say. “Who’da thunk it?”
“Yeah, he’s shed a few pounds,” Grant says, nodding.
I light my cigarette, take a long drag, and blow the smoke out of
the corner of my mouth.
“Tanzie, did you hang on to any ownership interest in Winston’s company?”
“No, I took the cash equivalent,” I say, staring at the pool. “I thought about holding on to it but I really wanted to put as much distance between the two of us as possible. It was getting pretty ugly. Why?”
“That Bakken shale position has been going gangbusters,” he says. “Word on the street is that he’s selling out to one of the big players up there for a tidy sum.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I groan. “His life is great and mine has gone to shit. He’ll probably end up with some board seat and I’ll be making Xerox copies of expense reports. Did you know he gave Rocky to Bill Matheson?”
“I hadn’t heard that. But hang in there, Tanzie—things will get better.”
“Thanks,” I say. I hesitate. “I have an insurance question, Grant.”
“Sure.”
“Will Bishop’s costs all be covered if it turns out they are responsible for the explosion?”
He looks at me. “That depends on a lot of things, like their coverage. Insurance can be complicated. I would imagine a company the size of Bishop has plenty of insurance, but everyone has a ceiling. If the costs exceed that ceiling, then they are on their own.”
“Would there be any reason for the insurance not to pay?” I ask.
“Well, if the company didn’t keep up their scheduled maintenance, perhaps. But that’s fairly well controlled by the Department of Transportation. I’m not an expert, but I am pretty sure that Bishop would be required to file routinely with the agency and also have regular audits. Now of course if fraud is involved, that will be something else entirely. Why do you ask? Are you aware of something implicating them?”
“No,” I react without thinking. “Actually, I’m not sure. I don’t know what I think at this point, Grant. Those two boys. You saw them growing up. Every Fourth of July, every Easter egg hunt, every Halloween. I just find it horrible that their lives could be extinguished like that. And why? And who’s to blame? Surely not the poor people who bought property not knowing they were sleeping over a powder keg. It’s so unfair, Grant. It’s unfair that our friends are gone.”
Revenge of the Cube Dweller Page 9
