The Dinosaur Club

by William Heffernan

  Samantha looked down at her pad, tapped her pen against it, then raised her eyes to Bennett’s still smiling face. She momentarily thought of raising the question of corporate responsibility, but immediately knew it was pointless. “One could argue about the effect it will have on the younger employees who remain, and those we bring in,” she said. “If we act too harshly there won’t be much question of trust or company loyalty when they see long-tenured people jettisoned simply to increase profits.” She paused. He was staring at her with disapproval now. “There’s also the matter of the company’s public image,” she added. “The chief economist at Morgan Stanley has been predicting for years that corporate America will face a serious public backlash over this downsizing trend. I’m just suggesting caution.”

  Bennett held her gaze. “And I can name another economist who refers to downsizing as a gale of creative destruction. Creative being the operative word.” He paused, readjusted some papers on his desk. “Besides, people worry too much about public image.” He inclined his head as if indicating the obvious. “No one wants to stir things up unnecessarily, but we all know the public’s memory span is quite short. What they really want—what they want to see each morning when they read their newspapers—is U.S. companies beating the hell out of the Germans and the Japanese. That’s what gives them confidence in their future. Because deep down they recognize that what we’re doing is right, that only in-your-face capitalism will keep this country great.” He offered up another regretful smile. “And as far as employee loyalty goes, I’m afraid that simply doesn’t exist anymore. People don’t come to work these days with the idea of tying their tails down for thirty years. They come with the idea of moving with the currents. Moving up. From one company to the next. They’re not fools. They understand the new corporate thinking. Nothing is forever. And when change is needed, more often than not, companies look to the outside.” Bennett smiled faintly as he prepared another metaphor. “It’s like the wife and the mistress,” he said. “To the corporate mind, the guy on the outside always looks better than the drone you have working for you in-house. Especially when top positions need to be filled.”

  Samantha looked away. His argument repulsed her, but she knew Carter was simply acknowledging today’s reality. Still, she could feel a tightness in her lips as she spoke. “It could be argued that the absence of loyalty is directly related to management’s attitude,” she said.

  Bennett laughed. “So what? Why waste time with moot arguments?” He dropped his palms to the desktop and stood. “What I need right now is for you to draw up a draft buyout offer that will cover our backsides if it comes to litigation.” He made a generous wave with one hand. “Offer psychological counseling, outplacement, whatever it takes. If we can avoid litigation, all the better. If we can’t…” He shrugged. “Then we just want to minimize costs and their impact on the bottom line.” He smiled at her again. “There are other bottom-line steps we can take as well, but I won’t burden you with those now.”

  It was a dismissal. She was deputy general counsel and she was being told to do her job. And since the company’s general counsel, her boss, was rumored to be on Bennett’s hit list, the behind-the-scenes dirty work had been left to her. But that, after all, was what lawyers did.

  “It will take me a week or so to work up a rough draft,” she said. “Will that be satisfactory?”

  Bennett caught the edge in her voice, and forced back another smile. The woman was beautiful and competent, but she had a great deal of bleeding-heart naïveté to overcome. “No problem,” he said. “It will be a couple of months before we’re ready to move, and when we do we want every i dotted.”

  He walked around his desk and came up beside her. His movements were quite graceful, she thought. There was a wisp of sandy hair on his forehead, and it made him seem boyish. She had caught a glimpse of the little boy during their brief affair and initially had been attracted to it. It had been something he had not wanted her to see and she soon realized that it was born of desperation. He desperately needed the love of a woman—any woman—but was determined never to show that vulnerability. He simply didn’t know how to love; yet he wanted to be loved, to take. And that need was infinite, and his accompanying narcissism, and inability to have real feelings for others, had soon killed any attraction she had felt. But here, in his realm of power, there was nothing boyish about him. Here the contrived public personality was king. The blue eyes were hard—even cold, at times—and his handsome, patrician face always reflected the self-satisfaction of someone who knew the answers and harbored no doubts. Here, Samantha thought, Carter Bennett was dangerous.

  She decided to take one parting shot. “Have you looked at the personnel records of the people you’re considering for termination?”

  “What for? Why would that factor in?” He seemed honestly taken aback, she realized.

  “I thought it might help if you knew time of service; the number of instances an individual had relocated at the company’s request; whether there were children in college; things of that sort.”

  “Help in what way?” Bennett had folded his arms across his chest and was staring at her, genuinely nonplussed.

  “They’re issues that could be raised in litigation,” she said.

  He let out a soft laugh. “Somewhat specious arguments, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. It would depend on the judge.”

  He shook his head. “Look, as I said, I truly feel for these people. These are hard decisions, but I’m not a social worker. Nor am I paid to worry about personnel matters. This is a purely business consideration. A financial one. And I’m the chief financial officer of this company. I’m not about to get involved in any hand-wringing.” Bennett unfolded his arms and placed a hand on each hip. “Look, you’re the lawyer. If you think it could be a problem, you look into it. But only as a way of deciding how to combat it.” He thought a moment, then added, “Although, as long as you’re doing that, you might as well take on one other assignment.” He hesitated, as if trying to decide how to say it. He began with a slight shrug. “Ideally, we’d like to get rid of everyone near or past fifty. Of course we realize that’s not possible. But assuming we’ll be getting rid of most of them, I’d like you to give me a figure on how much destaffing we’ll have to do among our twenty-, thirty-, and forty-year-olds, so we can avoid the appearance of age discrimination.” He considered that for a moment, then added, “And give me a separate memo on it. But mark it attorney-client privileged. I don’t want some opposition lawyer to stumble across it six months from now and be able to use it to embarrass us.”

  Samantha nodded. “I’ll look into it.” Now it was her turn to pause. “Just how many people are we talking about, overall?”

  Bennett looked at her coldly, as if deciding on her need to know. “We intend to downsize the company by one third,” he finally said. “That’s highly confidential, of course.”

  Samantha held back a gasp. It was the first time she had heard the actual figure. Company rumors had gone as high as a thousand. But one third of the workforce? That was nearly three thousand people. “I’ll get on it right away,” she said.

  Bennett’s smile returned. “Are you stopping off at the gym tonight?” he asked.

  “Probably,” she said.

  “I’ll see you there, then. Perhaps we can have a drink afterward.” He grinned at her, but his eyes were cold. “It’s been a long time since we socialized.”

  Samantha nodded. A bit tightly, he thought. “All right, but it will have to be a quick drink.” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to do.”

  When she had gone, Bennett returned to his desk and stared at the pension figures he had just been given. It was coming together perfectly, he told himself. It was going to work just as he had planned it.

  His intercom buzzed and he picked up the phone.

  “I have your cousin Eunice on line one,” his assistant said.

  Bennett squeezed his eyes shut. Christ
, the woman is like a pit bull. She never lets go, he thought. His cousin flashed through his mind. Tall and angular, and until recently—until they had gone into this very private business arrangement—content with being a charter member of the horsey set. He let out a breath. “I’ll take it. Thank you,” he said.

  Bennett punched line one and leaned back in his chair. “Hello, Eunice. What can I do for you?”

  He listened to his cousin’s plaintive query; his lips tightened; a silent, inner groan emerged. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said softly. “Everything’s going just as planned.” He let out a breath. “In fact, by next week I should be ready to make a final presentation to Charlie Waters himself. Then it will just be a question of selling the board.”

  He listened again, squeezed his eyes shut a second time. “No. No. Not to worry. I don’t anticipate any problems. None at all. The figures are all there, and they speak for themselves. Waters Cable stock will take an immediate jump when we announce it, and I can’t imagine any opposition. It’s what they’ve all wanted. Every board member. They’ve been pleading for it for a year and a half. It’s why they put me in this job.”

  He listened to his cousin prattle on, heard the nervousness in her voice. “Listen, why don’t we get together for a drink tonight? I can show you the figures, and then I’m sure you’ll see it more clearly. There’s just no need for concern.”

  Cousin Eunice babbled again. “That would be great. I’ll see you at the club at eight.” He lowered his voice and added an intimate tone, “It’s been far too long, anyway.”

  Bennett leaned forward and replaced the phone. Christ, he thought. The woman would drive him insane before it was over. He shook his head, cautioning himself to look to the future. Just hang in there, he told himself. Keep her happy. The payoff will be worth it. Worth every maddening minute.

  He spun his chair around and stared at a framed photograph on his credenza. It was a family portrait, taken at his parents’ home in Glen Cove. His brother, Edwin, stared back with his perennially smug smile. His father stood next to Edwin, one arm draped about his shoulder. The favorite son, the eldest, who even bore his father’s name—the son who had been brought into his father’s bank, and who now had an earned income five times Bennett’s own.

  And what did your loving father do for you? he asked himself. Nothing. Even less than nothing. An almost insignificant trust fund that actually came from your mother. He drew a breath. Insignificant. In the photograph even his mother appeared to dismiss him. He sat there at her feet; her eyes were staring at something beyond him. She seemed unaware even of his presence. He fought off pain he had learned to hide many years earlier. You’ll show them, he thought. Very soon you’ll show them all.

  Jack Fallon jogged in place as the treadmill rumbled slowly beneath him. He had been at it for five minutes and his gray T-shirt was stained with sweat, the matching gym shorts riding up into his crotch. He hit the stop button on the machine, lowered his head, and leaned against its handhold as he struggled to catch his breath. He felt as though his lungs might burst through his chest.

  When he raised his eyes, he saw the woman enter the gym, and instinctively righted himself and sucked in his stomach. She was striking, about thirty-five, he guessed, and she made what little breath he had catch in his throat. He stared at her clothing. The fitness craze, he decided, had spawned an entire subdivision in the fashion industry, and he mentally compared this ensemble to others he had seen advertised in magazines. The woman was dressed in a one-piece Lycra that went to mid-thigh; solid black—something he thought they now called a unitard. It fit her like a second skin, something she had been poured into; accented by an overfitting pink thong that served no other purpose than to set off an incredibly well-shaped bottom. The clothing was similar to that worn by the other women scattered about the gym. Only on this woman it was far more effective. Had she walked into the room naked, she could not have appeared more erotic, and Fallon found himself gawking like a schoolboy.

  He turned away and moved to an elevated incline board where he began a set of sit-ups. By the tenth repetition his underused stomach muscles screamed protest, but he forced himself to complete five more before pulling himself upright, again gasping for breath.

  Again his eyes were drawn to the woman. She was positioned over a narrow, padded bench, one knee on the bench itself, the other resting on the floor. She was wearing slouch socks that seemed to flaunt the perfect shape of her leg, but Fallon found his eyes drawn elsewhere. Her body was hunched forward, and with one hand she repeatedly pumped a ten-pound weight from floor to shoulder. Fallon found he also had no interest in the exercise itself—some foolishness for the upper arm, he decided. It was the woman’s position that intrigued him. Her back was to him, and bent forward as she was, her well-shaped, pink-and-black-clad bottom was the most beautiful and arousing sight he had glimpsed in a long time.

  He suddenly felt ridiculous. He was on the verge of making a middle-aged spectacle of himself. He shook his head; tried to excuse himself; tried to recall how long it had been since he had last slept with Trisha. Not long enough to be walking around like a teenager in perpetual heat.

  Fallon agonized through two more sets of sit-ups, rested to regain his wind, then moved to the area that held the free weights—the same area where the woman was still exercising. He told himself he had planned to go there next anyway—which was true. At least he thought it was. Anyway, it was somewhere in his plan for a first workout.

  He selected a pair of twenty-five-pound dumbbells and began a set of standing arm curls. By the tenth repetition his biceps had started to burn, and he found himself gritting his teeth by the time he reached twenty. He lowered the weights and sat on an exercise bench to rest his arms before the next set. The woman was a mere six feet away, having moved to a machine for lateral arm raises.

  There was a sudden crash as the weights she was lifting fell back into place. A bolt from the machine rolled across the floor, coming to rest at his feet.

  “Damn it,” she said.

  Fallon picked up the bolt and approached her. “Problem?”

  “The machine broke,” she said. She smiled. “And I forgot my tool kit.”

  Fallon looked at the machine, inclined his head to one side. “I have mine,” he said. “Be right back.”

  Fallon returned from the locker room with the oversized Swiss Army knife he always carried in his briefcase. He studied the damage, refitted the bolt, and tightened it with a small pair of pliers. “That should hold long enough for you to finish,” he said.

  She gave him another smile, a dazzling one, mixed with open curiosity. “Do you always carry a miniature set of tools?” she asked.

  “Always,” Fallon said. “In this company, you never know when something’s going to fall apart.”

  She laughed, and Fallon felt a rush of pleasure and awkwardness. “I’ve noticed that,” she said. “You’re Jack Fallon, aren’t you? Vice president for sales?”

  Fallon was momentarily surprised; struggled to identify the woman, but failed. He nodded. “I’m sorry. I can’t place you. Have we met?”

  The woman shook her head. “Someone pointed you out to me at that company golf outing last month. I met your wife, though. She’s lovely. I’m Samantha Moore. I’m one of the lawyers up in legal. I do contracts, mostly.”

  Fallon extended his hand. “Then I’m surprised we haven’t met.”

  “I’ve only been with the company a little over a year.”

  Fallon studied her more closely. She was probably one of Bennett’s people, he thought. The man had brought in a small boatload since coming on board almost two years ago. He looked at her again and dismissed the idea. Paranoia seemed to surround him these days.

  “Then I’m not surprised. We haven’t had a lot of new contracts lately.” He raised his eyebrows regretfully. “But maybe I should hire you outside the company. My wife’s about to file for divorce.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Samanth
a said. Her words sounded genuine.

  “It only happened this past weekend,” he said. “I haven’t figured out yet whether I am or not.” He immediately wondered why he was even talking about it. If this woman asked why Trish had left, how could he ever admit she had abandoned him for another man? Especially Howard Nowicki.

  “Well, you should get a lawyer,” Samantha said. “The sooner the better.”

  “Why does he need a lawyer?”

  Fallon turned to the sound of the voice, and found Carter Bennett grinning at him. Bennett turned to Samantha and the grin faded, and Fallon realized that his apparent amusement had never carried to his eyes.

  Samantha seemed embarrassed. “Mr. Fallon has a personal problem we were just discussing,” she said. She seemed to be warning Carter off, telling him to mind his own business in as gentle a way as she could.

  “My wife’s filing for divorce,” Fallon said. For some reason he felt he had to get the woman off the hook. He didn’t quite understand why.

  Bennett pursed his lips, and his eyebrows rose with fraudulent concern. “Sorry to hear it, Fallon,” he said. But there was no regret in his words or tone, and Fallon felt like a fool. He should never have opened this can of worms in this of all places.

  He pulled himself together and stared at Bennett. He was dressed in a blue Princeton T-shirt over matching shorts with a small tiger emblazoned on one leg. The man was handsome and even charming, when he chose to be—but he was really a killer. A professional WASP with all the right corporate moves, nurtured from birth to become exactly what he was. And right now, what he was, was the suspected mastermind behind a rumored downsizing plan, which, Fallon thought, also gave him the moral sentiments of a pit viper.

  “Thanks for the condolence, Carter,” Fallon said. He had layered the words with mild sarcasm, then had turned abruptly and gone back to his weights. But as he did, he caught a slight look of pain in Samantha Moore’s eyes. She, too, had picked up an undertone of indifference and contempt in Bennett’s voice, Fallon thought. And she hadn’t liked it.