Michael grinned and gave him the A-OK sign.
“You’ll have young Vinny in place before the week is over?”
“If he wants the job, sure. Then stories about my being sick because I go off to Florida for golf lessons from my wife won’t make any difference.”
Come to think of it, it did sound a little weird.
“Something else we can do,” Joe took up the conversation, “is announce that we’re going to make that miniseries. Solemn high announcement. Finance it internally. It’s an absolute sure winner—a mix of Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope in modern dress and without the sex taboos. Just enough of the occult and nostalgia. That we’re taking a risk like that should send a signal.”
“It’s that good?” Neenan asked.
“It’s that good,” McMahon said, his enthusiasm rising. “We announce it at a press conference with this woman who wrote the novels—what’s her name?”
“Susan Howatch.”
“And the scriptwriter, this Marianne Swift, who’s she anyway?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We tell the world that we’re going to have a contest for the principal roles and that the two authors will choose them.”
I’d better be dead when that happens, Neenan thought. There are some advantages, are there not, in slipping out of sight permanently? Damn good thing these guys don’t know any Italian.
“Do we have the rights to the novel or the script as far as that goes?” Stein inquired.
“I think we might,” Neenan replied.
This Marianne Swift person would hardly have written a script for a miniseries without getting the rights and, probably, without charming the author. Wonder what she would have done with it, if I hadn’t … well, done whatever I’ve been doing.
Michael confirmed that hunch with a broad grin.
“I’ll give it to Vincent at lunch and get his reaction. Then I’ll see what I can find out about the rights.”
“You’ve got an exclusive on this, R. A.?” Stein wondered with a worried frown.
“Next best thing.”
Michael grinned again.
Might Marianne Swift have gone elsewhere with her script? Might she still? She did have some obligation to the author. Count on it, if Marianne Swift didn’t have a scheme, then there was no football at the toe of Italy. He would have to obtain closure on this whole thing before the week was out.
“I’ll give it to Vincent to read at lunch today,” Neenan continued. “We should have him on board before we make the decision definitively.”
“Vinny will love it!” McMahon insisted.
“What about the pension suit?”
“Walsh is still dragging his feet,” Norm Stein said with a note of contempt in his voice. “Says that some of his people still want a pound of your flesh.”
“Tell him for me that he has till Wednesday or we will announce our settlement offer and say it is on the table for two weeks and then we will withdraw it. Most of his clients will be all over him to accept it.”
“That threat should do it,” Stein agreed.
“He’ll want to save face, so when he comes back on Wednesday and says that he needs more time, give till Friday and not one day more. He’ll cave in. Pension stuff was foolishness to begin with. And you don’t have to tell me it was my idea. I know it was. I must have been sick in the head then and not when I went off to play golf.”
“Annie’s a good teacher?” Stein inquired.
Michael nodded his head.
“The best, knocked eight, nine strokes off my game, eliminated my slice. Now if she’ll teach me how to putt, I’ll be as good at the game as she is.”
Michael applauded.
McMahon and Stein left the office, wondering if Neenan had indeed lost his mind. Did he really go to Florida with Anna Maria just for golf? Let them wonder.
Ms. Jardine put a copy of Light in the Tunnel on his desk.
“Thank you, Amy.”
“You’re welcome.”
Neenan glanced at it and then picked up the phone again. He dialed his wife’s private number again, not without some trepidation. Michael watched blandly.
“Anne Allegro.”
“Your husband.”
“I’m so glad you called, Raymond. I’ve been sitting here all morning feeling guilty about brushing you off. Don’t go looking for another wife, will you?”
“Not hardly … . I’m sorry for bothering you again. Do you like to be called Annie?”
She giggled. “It’s my name, dear. All through school. The only ones who use the Sicilian version—which is very lovely by the way—are my parents and grandparents. And you. Either one is fine with me, especially on your warm, wonderful lips.”
The conversation lifted his spirits. What would he do if he lost her? Dear God, don’t let that happen.
He turned to the script.
“Are you reading that,” Michael demanded, “because you think you made a mistake when you vetoed it or because you want to find out what awaits you?”
“I didn’t veto it,” Neenan insisted.
“Yes, you did. You said that no one would believe that the woman gave up the happiness of heaven to go back to earth to take care of her stupid husband and ungrateful children. In fact, thoughts of heaven, as you humans call it, scared you.”
“I can’t quite remember that reaction.”
“I suppose not. Nonetheless, you were wrong. It would have been a huge success. The good Annie was right, as always. It still would be.”
“I thought you didn’t know the future.”
“We don’t, but we’re pretty good at guessing the market. Your wife’s script, by the way, will become the most successful miniseries ever and a classic in the form which, as you doubtless know, has produced very few classics. If you don’t blow it.”
“Do you want a job?”
“I have one already, as you may have noticed.”
“True.”
“As for the depiction of what happens at the end of human life, the woman’s story is based on the testimony of those who return for one reason or another. I have had some experience in such matters, and I can testify to the general accuracy of the literature, which by the way, goes back at least to the Middle Ages as Professor Carol Zaleski has wisely observed in her excellent volume Otherworld Journeys.”
“Those people weren’t really dead.”
“Yes, they were, Raymond Anthony, yes, they were. Quite dead.”
“They did not, however, get beyond the figure in light.”
“That is true. We surmise that in certain extraordinary cases for reasons of Her own the Other gives people the option of returning for a time. My kind have charge of this process.”
“I see.”
“So they don’t really know what life after death is like.”
“That does not seem probable. Why would the Other fool them or us or anyone? Still, uncertainty remains. Necessarily. No cheap grace, you see.”
“I wasn’t asking for any—though I’d take some if it came.”
Later in the grillroom of the Chicago Club, Raymond Neenan began his crucial conversation with his firstborn, as the Irish always do, by talking about other matters.
Michael, still dressed as a banker and still with the fresh flower in his lapel, made himself comfortable at the table.
“I had a phone call from Jenny down at Captiva on Saturday.”
“Really?”
“I wondered who gave her my phone number.”
“Megan,” Vinny replied promptly. “Who else? … Did it go well?”
“I don’t know. We both wept. In effect she asked me whether, if she decided on a reconciliation, I would be prepared to accept it.”
“That was a matter of great concern to her,” his son said guardedly. “You must remember, Dad, how Mom tried to fill us with the image of you as a cruel and inhuman man. Which of course you aren’t and never were. Overinvolved maybe, but never deliberately cruel.”
> “I was out buying suntan oil when she called the first time, so she talked to Annie. I guess they hit it off pretty well.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“I did what I could, at least I think I did.”
“Annie thought so too?” his son asked, a bit too casually.
“Yeah, she approved.”
“I think it will work out, Dad. It will take time. She still feels great loyalty to Mom. She’s unwilling to say you’re basically a good guy without Mom agreeing. As you know well, that will never happen this side of paradise.”
I don’t have time. “We’ll have to see what happens … . Should Annie stay in touch with her?”
“I’ll have to see what Megan thinks. My guess is that she will think it’s a great idea.”
Would he and Donna be together in paradise—if there was such a place? That would not be easy.
“On another subject, this is a script for a miniseries. It’s based on the novels of an English writer who apparently has done a series about a mythical place called Starbridge.”
“Actually it’s Winchester. Meg has read them all. I’ve read a couple. They’re very good. It would be difficult to do a good miniseries, but if someone wrote it right, it would be a huge success. There are millions of dedicated readers.”
“Let me know what you think.”
“Sure will … . Has Annie read it?”
“Naturally.”
“She likes it, if that’s a fair question?”
“She does, but if I were you, I’d read it before you talked to her.”
“I get it,” Vinny said with a grin.
“No, kid, you don’t get it at all,” Michael interjected. “It’s a good thing your old man warned you or there would be chaos tonight if you started talking about the script.”
“Now to get down to the real business, Vinny.” Neenan took a deep breath and plunged into the unknown. “I’ve made some changes in my personal and professional position in the last week or so. First of all, I am stepping down as president of NE. I will retain my position as chairman and CEO. With your permission, I will recommend you to the board to succeed me. I have talked informally with most of them, and I’m sure the votes are there … if you want the job. Secondly, I am making some modifications in my will. I’m going to establish five chairs at Loyola in honor of Annie. We will call them the Anna Maria Allegro chairs of humanistic studies.”
“Hey, Dad, great idea. Does she know?”
“Indeed she does and accepts it as her due.”
“She would,” his son said with a merry grin. “Great idea.”
“There will be other charitable gifts, to Old St. Patrick’s Church where I attend Mass every morning, to the Lyric, that sort of thing.”
“Every morning?”
“I told you that the flight from Washington scared me. I’m going to establish a large trust fund for Annie, whether she remarries or not.”
“Dad!”
“Come on, Vinny, I’m seventeen years older than she is. I’ll make bequests in trust funds for your mother and for Jenny and Leonard. I intend through various mechanisms to leave NE in effect to you.”
His son turned pale. “I don’t know that I’m ready for that kind of responsibility yet, Dad.”
Michael raised his seraphic eyebrows, as if to say, “You didn’t expect that, did you?”
“For which?”
“For both, for all of them. I’m not sure I can do CEO at my age or that I could take over the company if I had to.”
“That’s up to you, Vincent. It’s a free choice. The directors agree on your promotion. I don’t know who else I could leave control of the company to. As you know, I’ve been skeptical about your abilities for some time. I now realize that I was mistaken. I don’t know whether it makes any difference to you, but you’ve convinced me. I’m sorry it took so long.”
Vincent nodded thoughtfully, perhaps weighing the arguments pro and con that tore at his soul and fighting with his demons. Michael watched him intently.
“Who are the other candidates?” Vincent finally asked.
“There aren’t any. The board couldn’t think of anyone as new president of the firm. I can’t think of anyone else to turn the business over to if I should die.”
“What are you going to do with your time?”
Actually what I’m going to do is die, but don’t tell anyone that.
“Hang around the office. Answer questions. Offer advice. Stick my nose in, perhaps when it isn’t wanted. Fight with you sometimes, which we both should learn how to do. Travel a lot. Become involved in pro bono stuff. Spend a lot of time with Anna Maria.”
“It took you a long time to really fall for her, didn’t it, Dad, but you’re as bad now as a teenager in his first love. Your eyes glow when you mention her name.”
Neenan felt his face grow warm and his body suddenly pulse with passion. “I won’t deny that.”
“Megan says we should enjoy our spouses while we still have them.”
“Megan, as usual, is right.”
“I can fight constructively with her.”
“And she always wins.”
Vinny laughed. “Let’s say we clarify matters. I’d like to be able to fight with you. It’d be a hell of a lot of fun.”
“When you get good at it, I’ll probably lose most of the arguments.”
“Majority, like I do to Megan … .I’ve always wanted the job, Dad. Now that I can have it, I’m afraid of it.”
“I can understand that. Take your time. I’m in no rush.”
In fact I am. I am rushing against death.
The seraph was shifting his eyes back and forth between father and son, enjoying the interchange.
“No way! If I take time, you’ll change your mind. Dad, you’ve got a deal!”
Vincent grinned broadly, stuck out his hand, and shook Neenan’s vigorously.
Michael smiled broadly in approval.
“We can celebrate it at your house tonight.”
“Megan loves celebrations,” Vincent said, his eyes wide and filled with stars.
They walked back to the Sears Tower almost unaware of the vigorous rainstorm that was beating against their faces, chatting about the enterprise that they were about to share as partners. Michael prudently disappeared. The angel choir had weighed in again and were softly humming Christmas carols, a little ahead of the season.
Exhausted and for some reason shaken, Neenan returned to his office and took up the script for Light in the Tunnel.
“You surprise me sometimes,” Michael said as he materialized in the office, with what looked like a new flower in his lapel.
“I scare myself,” Neenan said, conscious that his fingers were trembling. “It as though someone else is operating within me. You’re not whispering in my ear, are you?”
The seraph shook his head. “We’re capable of it, but we haven’t had to do it. You seem to know what to say before there’s any need for us to whisper.”
“Ten days ago I would have made a mess out of that lunch with Vinny.”
“Ten days ago you wouldn’t have had lunch with Vinny.”
“I feel like I’m possessed.”
“We’re not into that,” Michael said, perhaps a little defensively. “Those people are all mentally ill.”
“How do you account for what’s happening then? I feel like I’m out of control, a runaway car careening through heavy traffic.”
“Bad metaphor. You’re not banging anyone up. Most likely the previously repressed goodness and skill in dealing with human beings is bursting out on you. I suspect your passion for your wife is partially responsible.”
“Couldn’t that become dangerous? I don’t mean the way I feel about Annie, I mean this repressed goodness stuff.”
“Everything could be potentially dangerous,” Michael said enigmatically. “We don’t know how this scenario is going to end, and we don’t know what you are going to do next.”
“I don
’t find that reassuring.”
“I suppose you don’t. Incidentally, the only thing you didn’t tell Vinny this afternoon that he ought to hear was that the employees want him to take the job.”
“I think I did.”
“Nope. You said the directors.”
“Does it make a difference?”
“It might.”
“I’ll tell him tonight.”
“Might be a good idea.”
Then Michael dematerialized.
Big help he is.
Neenan returned to the script. He’d been an idiot to turn it down, especially since everyone else liked it. Life after death had always been marketable in the human condition and always would be.
The film even had a skeptical scientist who explained the near-death experiences as a function of brain chemistry. Perhaps it was, but that was an explanation that would convince few people, especially since it was speculation.
Do I believe that it’s like this immediately after death? Neenan asked himself as he finished the script. Maybe. I’ll know for sure soon enough anyway.
He sighed. Maybe the trick for the next couple of weeks was not to be cautious. The angels were no longer reminding him that he had to change his life. If anything they seemed a little uneasy about the pace of change. It would be ironic if he blew it all toward the end by some sudden burst of goodness.
He laughed to himself. How could R. A. Neenan ever do that?
He penciled a note at the top of the script:
“Whoever decided not to do this film was a jerk. Let’s get it out for next Xmas. R.A.N.”
Was there really a God? Was He really like the figure in light in the story? If there were, there was no possibility of being too good, was there?
His phone buzzed.
“Mr. Higgins from Lerner and Locke, Mr. Neenan.”
Neenan picked up the phone. “We got it?”
“We did. Immediately we entered a plea that they show cause why the injunction shouldn’t be made permanent. WorldCorp lawyers asked for a delay in the temporary injunction so they could appeal. The judge laughed at them and told them to respond to the plea to show cause first. They’re still going to appeal, which is a waste of their time and money.”
“Ours too,” Neenan said thoughtfully. “Can they continue to try to raid us till the injunction becomes permanent?”
Contract with an Angel Page 25
