I sobbed. “Nobody ever had a better friend, Buddy…”
“Not so good as you think. That’s what I gotta tell ya.”
“Buddy…”
“Your father and mother were killed on the Jersey Pike,” he whispered hoarsely. He shook his head faintly. “No accident. They were forced off the road by a truck. It was a hit.”
“You mean they were murdered?” I asked, shocked.
“Yeah … They were murdered. By me. I was drivin’ the truck. I’d been paid good. I rammed that truck against their back bumper and made your father drive faster. Then I pulled out and nudged him off the road, through the guardrail and into the water. I’d picked the spot.”
“Buddy!”
“Then I heard about you and came to meet you, and saw what I’d done. You were … so goddamned innocent. And bein’ fucked every which way. That’s why I tried to be your friend—to save you from that son of a bitch!”
“You mean the man who hired you to kill my parents was—”
“Right. He lied, he cheated, he stole. Hell, he even married your girl, Kitty, after he knew she’d got her claws on all your money.”
“Uncle Harry?!”
Buddy nodded weakly. “Uncle Harry.… Well … A long time later … Uncle Harry hated you and was still plotting to have your ass. I fixed it so Harry wouldn’t have anybody’s ass anymore. That move I made you learn.”
“Buddy! My God, Buddy!”
He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jerry. About your father and mother. I’m so goddamned sorry! I’m even sorry I kept the secret all these years. I should have told you. The secret has been a brick in my stomach for fifty years.”
I sat with him until the end, thinking of all the days and all the years. He said nothing more. In an hour he was gone.
55
LEN
We acquired controlling interest in Sphere, Incorporated. Zhang Feng put up $25 million in the form of a loan to Gazelle, Incorporated. Gazelle bought up Sphere’s debt and took its hypothecated stock for a total of $75 million—meaning of course, that we put in $50 million. Though Gazelle owed Zhang $25 million, he acquired none of the Sphere stock. Gazelle had total control of Sphere.
Zhang asked for two seats on the board of directors, so his representatives would be present at meetings and could keep him fully informed. This presented no problem. There were nine directors: Tom Malloy, Jerry Cooper, Len Cooper, Vicky Cooper, Roger Middleton, Hugh Scheck, and … My father surprised me. He suggested Liz McAllister be elected to the board. I agreed, and she was elected. Zhang’s two directors were Vincent Lowe, a vice president at Marine Midland Bank, and Professor Du Jin of Columbia University.
My father was elected the chairman of the board. I was elected the chief executive officer. Malloy was elected president and chief operating officer.
All of this meant, of course, that Tom Malloy lost control of Sphere, absolutely. He would run it as we prescribed.
On the other hand, it meant Sphere’s entire debt was retired, and it was in a position to borrow again to finance the new things it was going to do. Texas banks were happy to lend money to the newly and surprisingly solvent Sphere, Incorporated, and we let the Texas banks do the financing. Except that one significant loan came from the Bank of Hong Kong and Shanghai.
Professor William Cable became a permanent consultant to Sphere. With Liz McAllister, he examined every element of the designs Malloy came up with.
I found myself affected by Tom Malloy’s enthusiasm about Sphere IV. We would earn more revenue from our microprocessors, at least initially, but Sphere IV might in time become another Cheeks. If for no other reason, it would be a handsome stylishly ultra-sleek computer, not a beige box.
* * *
I was thirty-six years old. My father was seventy-four. Vicky was fifty-four. We had a seven-year-old daughter, Catherine, and a five-year-old son, J. J. Anthony Lucchese was twenty-six, had his MBA, and was installed as heir apparent at Interboro Fruit.
Anthony was an intelligent businessman and began to suggest to Vicky that Interboro should begin to diversify. Diversification was a buzz word in business now. He wondered if Interboro should not buy into Sphere. Vicky said no, for the moment anyway.
My children were a joy. With Maria’s assistance and Vicky’s encouragement, both of them could say simple things in Chinese. That made it easier for us to contemplate returning to Hong Kong. On the other hand, it was difficult to contemplate a peripatetic life, living in New York eight months of the year and Hong Kong four. Catherine had to go to school.
Our options were limited. I would go out to Hong Kong and stay as long as I needed to, leaving my family behind, or we would all go to Hong Kong and would have to stay there long enough for Catherine to complete a school year.
The Handover had occurred by now. Charlie Han and others assured me that life in Hong Kong was little changed, that the Beijing government had not imposed tyranny and showed no sign of intending to.
The decision was business-driven. We needed someone on the ground in the Far East if we were to do there the things to which we were committed and which we planned.
So we decided. We would move into our apartments in Hong Kong and stay there nine or ten months.
* * *
Charlie was right. The place had not changed much. The principal change I noted at first was that the new airport was open and was as efficient as any airport in the world. Downtown, we noted chiefly the absence of the Union Jack. The flags of China and Hong Kong flew. The police were the same men and women who had been police before. The difference was that they no longer wore crowns for insignia but badges of red, with stars.
Hong Kong remained one of the best-run cities in the world, with quiet, expeditious subways, fast-running traffic, a telephone system par excellence, modern new buildings dominating everything, air-conditioning overcoming the subtropical heat … I had come to like the place, in spite of the fact that I could speak only a few words of Chinese.
We enrolled Catherine in a school in Kowloon that was run by Jesuits. They quietly accepted the fact that she was of Jewish heritage and said they would not try to influence her to become Christian. At her age she could not travel on the subway alone, so I leased a Toyota and hired a driver.
So … the first problem was to deal with Bai Fuyuan.
* * *
He asked me to come to Shenzhen this time. I went, with Charlie Han. The train trip from Kowloon Station was easier this time—easier in that we made a much quicker exit from Shenzhen Station. I had to wonder if the Chinese government had not made the passport ordeal at Shenzhen more difficult when Hong Kong was a British colony than it was now that Hong Kong was a province of China.
We met Bai Fuyuan in an exclusive club. Once again he was wearing a white suit, as he had the first time I met him. We were served champagne and slices of fruit by stark-naked little girls. I began to suspect that he had been in touch with Zhang Feng and knew that I had succumbed to the charms of Chang Li.
But now he wanted to talk business. We moved slowly toward an agreement. I wanted to start with the merchandise that would go to America.
“I must ask you, Mr. Bai, hasn’t the new relationship between China and Hong Kong made our arrangements more difficult?”
“To the contrary, Mr. Cooper. And, incidentally, there is no longer any reason to speak about differences between Hong Kong and China. It is all China now. The Brits could be stiff-necked. We Chinese know how to do business.”
“Guanxi,” I suggested.
“Guanxi,” he agreed with a modest smile. “In the States there used to be a cliché, I believe. ‘One hand washes the other.’ So … the whole point is, how can we make a mutually satisfactory profit?”
“You spoke once of selling us microchips,” I said.
Bai turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged. “I can do better business selling you sewn merchandise. I know that business better, as do you.”
I wondered if this di
dn’t mean he knew Zhang Feng had gotten the microchip contracts. I wondered if the two of them did not work together. I also had to wonder if we were in the grip of two Chinese bandits.
“Have you considered the suit made with the aluminum links?” he asked.
He pointed a finger, said something in Chinese, and one of the girls trotted off toward another room. I knew she would return momentarily wearing the teddy made of aluminum chain mail.
“I think it would have a limited market, owing to the fact that it has to be uncomfortable to wear.”
“But, Mr. Cooper. Is it not uncomfortable to wear the handcuffs, leg irons, and other restraint articles that you sell?”
“You have a point,” I admitted.
When the girl returned she was wearing the aluminum-ring teddy. I had to admit it was erotic.
“I gave you a price of twelve dollars,” said Bai. “On reflection, I think I would have to ask fourteen. I believe you can sell it for thirty or forty dollars, maybe more. You might invest in, say, a hundred dozen. I wager you will sell them in four months.”
“Sell me a hundred dozen at your original price of twelve dollars, and if I sell them in four months or so and re-order, I will take them at fourteen.”
Bai smiled broadly. “You might be … Chinese,” he said. “You might be … Chinese.”
“That raises another point,” I said. “If I am going to do business in China, I must learn something of the language. Shall I learn Cantonese or Mandarin? My children are learning Mandarin.”
“Let me urge you to learn Cantonese,” he said. “It is not the language of government. It is much the language of business. Then … in time you can learn Putonghua as well.”
Putonghua was the official name of Mandarin Chinese, the official language of China.
He smiled again. “Do you like our little Xin there? I can offer her to you as an instructor in Cantonese. She can instruct in the Glorious Positions as well.”
“My wife, who is with me in Hong Kong now and will be in Hong Kong as long as I will, might object to little Xin.”
He nodded. “Then, sir, can we talk about your father and you appearing in China to endorse our merchandise?”
* * *
The first show for the endorsement of merchandise was held in Guangzhou, in what was called the Friendship Store.
My father did not come out to the Far East for that show. I went, accompanied by Vicky.
Vicky and I were treated as royalty. We were delivered to the store in a Mercedes limousine and escorted immediately to a lounge, where we were treated to champagne and caviar.
We went with a high degree of skepticism. Although I had seen Guangzhou and stayed there in a luxury hotel, I could not imagine the opulence of the Friendship Store. Though a great many of its customers were obviously foreign, the great majority were Chinese. To all appearances, anyone could enter and shop there.
Floors that were not marble were parquet. People moved up and down on quiet, slow-moving escalators. The lighting was subdued and colored to display merchandise at its best advantage. The merchandise was mostly western—Gucci, Bruno Magli, Hèrmes, Versace, Rolex.… Girls in blue blazers and gray skirts hovered over customers and offered service. Each girl spoke perfect English, more often American-accented than British English. Others—sometimes the same ones—spoke Japanese. The only suggestion that this was China was in the photo identification badges they all wore.
Bai, obviously, was proud of the Friendship Store. He was like a child with a good report card.
“This kind of merchandising is growing in China,” he said. “We have stores like this in Beijing, Shanghai, Shenzhen, Chongquing, and many other cities. The young people shop here. They have money to spend and are good customers.”
He took us to a large room furnished chiefly with couches and low tables. A cast-bronze sign by the door said:
CHEEKS
Intimate apparel
It said the same in Chinese characters, also.
On the side of the room opposite the door stood a platform some two feet above the floor, carpeted and brilliantly lighted by spots in a track overhead. It was the stage for the models.
Two television cameras in the far corners of the room were ready to tape the show.
Men and women sat on the couches, sipped champagne or tea, and nibbled on slices of fruit. Most of them were Chinese, though a few looked Japanese, and there were half a dozen westerners in the room, one or two of them American.
Bai escorted Vicky and me and Charlie Han to a couch near the stage. He handed Vicky and me two sets of small earphones, which were attached to boxes small enough for me to stick mine in my outside jacket pocket. We would hear a translation of what would be said in Chinese, Bai explained. He pointed to what he called a projector high above the stage and explained that it would transmit sound to our receiver boxes by means of infrared light. He told me to take the box out of my pocket and let it lie on my lap, where its sensor would receive the signal.
Bai Fuyuan opened the style show. He introduced the deputy governor of Guangdong province, then the mayor of Guangzhou, then Vicky, then Charlie Han, and finally me.
The lights in the room dimmed to brownish-yellow, leaving only the stage brightly lighted.
The first model to appear wore one of our international-orange swimsuits: a Cheeks signature item. Bai so described it. He said it was seen on beaches and at pools everywhere in America and Europe.
The next model showed a sheer black catsuit stitched with floral lace. After that came a teddy of similar material, to which garters were attached to hold up the model’s dark stockings. Then a series of bra-and-panty sets.
I was curious to know how far Bai would go. During an initial show at home we did not show everything we sold.
Bai Fuyuan did. He showed bras with holes to display the nipples. He showed panties with slit crotches. Two of his models were shaved and showed their inner parts when they modeled slit panties.
Then he had his models show items we never showed but only sold in private rooms in our shops—fetishist items: handcuffs, leg irons, leather collars fastened with padlocks, rubber-ball gags …
The people on the couches nodded solemnly, whispered comments to each other, and tittered.
Bai’s commentary came through my headphones in English, loud and clear. I heard him say, “Before we show you our final item, I want to introduce an honored guest to say a few words. We are able to sell Cheeks merchandise in China by the courtesy of the officers and directors of Gazelle, Incorporated, which owns the Cheeks line. May I present Mr. Len Cooper, the president of Gazelle.”
Bai had earlier presented me a text and suggested I use it. I didn’t. I simply acknowledged the presence of the two dignitaries, thanked the audience for coming, and said how very glad we were to be able to offer our merchandise to Chinese customers. I said I hoped they would always be pleased with anything they bought from us and invited them to return anything they found defective, for a full refund.
Bai winced at that last. He had anticipated no such thing.
And now the finale of his style show. “You all remember pretty little Ling,” he said. “She modeled several items for you. As did Lufeng. They will now demonstrate the value of one more item we will make available.”
Ling, a tiny Chinese girl who could not have been older than seventeen, stark naked, blindfolded and gagged, was led to the stage by Lufeng, herself naked but for a tiny white G-string and a white nippleless bra. She carried a cat-o’-nine-tails. A heavy black leather collar was padlocked around Ling’s neck. A strap from that collar ran down her back to leather cuffs that were locked around her wrists, pinning her hands together and behind her. Her nipples were pinched by clamps, with a chain running between them. Lufeng wore the nipple clamps, too.
Lufeng gave Ling a firm slap on the rear, and the little girl bent forward. Lufeng swung the cat. It swished audibly through the air and smacked Ling’s hinder cheeks with a sickening jolt. The l
ittle girl grunted through the rubber ball of her gag.
Lufeng swung again. Ling moaned.
“It is sufficient,” said Bai. “You see the point. Some love to receive the blows. Ling does, believe it or not. Some would rather give them. Lufeng would. This kind of merchandise will be available to our more adventurous customers.”
The six models all came out then and showed themselves to the assembly, all of them absolutely naked. Little Ling received a round of applause.
* * *
Vicky allowed herself to be escorted through a round of dinners and cocktail parties and a second show, this one in Shenzhen. She smiled on cue, said nothing, and accepted gifts that included earrings of the finest dark green jade. She accepted and wore a cheongsam: an exquisite dress made of emerald-green silk embroidered with gold and silver thread. It fit like water poured over her body. Its collar reached her ears. The skirt reached below her knees, but it was slit almost to her hip. She was spectacular in it.
After one of these events, when we had been home ten minutes, Vicky spoke.
“I haven’t said a fuckin’ word. Every word we spoke in those hotel rooms was recorded. But I don’t think they’ve got this place bugged, so I can tell you what I think.”
“What do you think, honey?” I asked.
“I think you can’t do business with those people. I think sooner or later the shit’s gonna hit the fan.”
“Like…? Meaning…?”
“You ever bang one of those models?” she asked.
I shook my head emphatically.
“I can live with that. I’m your wife, I’m the mother of your kids, and so long as you don’t get it in your head to leave home for some Chinese whore I can understand your fucking one now and then. But I’ll bet you something. If you ever did, you’re on videotape. Those guys are not stupid. Nothing happens without a purpose. ‘Let’s go to the videotape!’”
“Maybe I’m naive,” I conceded.
“I doubt that,” said Vicky grimly. “But they don’t supply you with whores for nothing. These Chinese bastards don’t do anything for nothing. But they’ve got a big surprise coming when they show a tape like that to me.”
The Secret Page 30
