by Holly Rayner
“And what is your opinion?” Chip Griffin asked with a small, crooked smile.
“I think that everyone has done their best to outdo themselves,” replied Karim cryptically.
“Huh. Interesting.” The magnate paused for a glance around, taking in the servers making their discreet rounds, and the orchestra quietly changing pitch and tone of their musical selections. “Well, the food is good, anyway.”
“The food is excellent. I could ask for no more.”
Just then, the muted tinkle of a cellphone’s ring caught Chip’s attention, and he excused himself to turn slightly sideways, pull the device from inside his jacket’s breast pocket, and answer. Meanwhile, his wife, Annemarie, looking lovely in a floor-length navy dress that floated around her like a cloud, engaged Karim in conversation.
His home life, his family members, his current situation—she covered every personal topic, as a good hostess does. Busy with work, he reported to her, and staying right here in Philadelphia for the time, in a very nice hotel. And he thanked her for her interest.
By now, Chip had finished with his phone call and returned to the conversation with his apologies.
“That was one of our sons,” he explained, with a smile.
“John Tobias,” cooed Annemarie. “He’s been traveling, on business.”
“In San Francisco, doing a little sightseeing at Fisherman’s Wharf,” Chip continued. “He called to wish me an early Happy Father’s Day.”
“How very thoughtful of him.” Karim’s easy comment was echoed by several others at the table, with nods of approval.
“Father’s Day and Mother’s Day,” someone said, with a chuckle. “When all the collective guilt comes out from the kids, and they try to make up for the rest of the year.”
“It is a pleasant tradition you have. To at least remind children of the gratitude they owe their parents,” Karim offered.
“All spurred on by the greeting card companies,” scoffed someone else, who was probably being neglected by his own offspring. “And the florists and chocolatiers.”
“Ah, you mustn’t be so cynical,” Annemarie urged. “I agree with Karim; the sentiment is wonderful, and I appreciate every minute of it.”
“Me, too,” agreed Chip. “Now, we’ll just see if the other rascally son decides to give me a call.”
With main course plates and silver having been cleared away, coffee and dessert were now being offered. Chip Griffin was already digging into his dish of rich fudge cake, topped by equally rich fudge icing and glaze, with disregard for the danger of too many calories.
“This is damn tasty,” he mumbled around a forkful. “Yes, JT is a good son to us, isn’t he, Annie? Got a level head on his shoulders, and his feet on the ground. He’ll do well for himself. Did I hear you say you’re not married, Karim?”
Although his guest’s breathing accelerated just a little, at the somewhat accusatory tone of the question, Karim was well-versed in the art of holding emotion hidden behind an impassive expression.
“Actually, sir, I did not say.”
“Huh. I don’t consider a man to be a man unless he’s settled down with a family. Here, bring me another serving of that cake, will you, son?” Chip signaled a passing waiter. “Makes me a little concerned about any potential business deal.”
“Does it?”
“Well, sure. Griffin Oceanic has been my life’s blood for a long time. I don’t wanna just sell it to any old passerby, no matter how much money he has. Gotta get a fellow of good morals and stability at the helm.”
They might have been the only two people at the table, this seller and this buyer, with each intent upon his own agenda for the future of a company. During the negotiations thus far, details had been listed cut-and-dried, with no personal aspects involved. Now, Karim was being informed of specifications that had never before been mentioned.
Chip Griffin was what newspapers were fond of labeling as a self-made man. Rough around the edges, yet full of business savvy, he exuded confidence and capability. He could easily cancel all arrangements, were they not to his taste, and either seek another purchaser or cancel the sale altogether.
Completion—including all the necessary signatures, on all the dotted lines—might depend on a mere whim. Did Sheikh Karim Al Ahsan uphold the standards upon which the old man had built his empire?
It all came down to personal liking. And a handshake.
“You question whether I shall carry on the way you have proceeded thus far?” asked Karim, after a delaying sip of ice water.
Over his own glass of choice red wine, the magnate studied his guest.
“Yes, I reckon I am. Probably shoulda done it sooner, but that’s the way with these things; they get rushed through. And, then, sometimes there’s a houseful of regrets, afterward.”
“I sincerely hope there would be no regrets, Mr. Griffin. We are both men of integrity. If you do not know that of me yet, at this point, perhaps we are wrong to continue.”
Bluff, bluff. Who in business has not done his share of bluffing, during a sticky moment? One as astute as Chip Griffin—who also happened to be quite the successful poker player—could certainly recognize a good bluff. Again, the shrewd look, from under bushy, greying brows.
“Well, now, that may be, Karim. It certainly isn’t too late for either of us to back out. I’d just like a little more information, that’s all. If you’re not a family man—”
“Ah, but I am,” Karim smoothly interrupted.
“Are you?”
“Oh, that’s nice to hear.”
This was Annemarie, interjecting in the hope that she might dispel the air of tension that had built during this conversation.
“I wasn’t sure…” Chip began, eyebrows raised.
“Indeed. It is not customary, in my culture, to share details of one’s private life in business, because, well…it is private.” An inhale, and then a rash confession, blurted out: “I have a child. A small child, a son. And a wonderful wife, whom I would be lost without.”
Where on earth had that come from?
Karim’s eyes widened for the fib he had just uttered. Fib? More like an outright lie! His gulp of remorse was covered by several hearty comments about children and their blessings, mostly from the family-obsessed head of Griffin Oceanic.
Thinking fast (and grateful that his hands had been in his lap during this little outburst) Karim subtly swapped the platinum band his parents had given him upon university graduation from his right hand to his left. At close inspection, it might not pass for a wedding ring, but he knew Annemarie would look, if only for a second, to see if he was wearing one. Chip wasn’t just married to her because she was pretty; she was sharp, too, and Karim knew she played an important role in all of Griffin’s business decisions.
“Holdin’ out on us, eh?” Chip laughed. “You guys who keep their cards close to their chests…hard to get you to admit to anything, if it isn’t business-related.”
“This is true.”
Another hasty sip of water did nothing to relieve the sudden sandpaper dryness of Karim’s throat. He noticed that Annemarie and Chip both clocked the ring on his finger as he lifted the glass with his left hand.
What had he gotten himself into? And how would he get out of it? He had lied. He, a sheikh of Al Mediznah, an honest and upright man, had just lied through his teeth when put on the spot. What imp of mischief had possessed him?
Chip Griffin would never forgive this outrage, once he knew the truth. And, for that matter, why should he? Karim could hardly forgive such stupidity, and it was he who had initiated it!
Were Karim a religious man, he would be praying to all his gods right now for a resolution to this dilemma, for which he and he alone was responsible. As it was, he barely managed to muffle an anguished groan when his host, hearty and ebullient as ever, insisted that Karim attend another party.
“Another party?”
“Sure thing. Annie and I are celebratin’ our thirtieth wedd
ing anniversary next weekend, at our farm in upstate New York. You gotta come, and bring your wife and that little boy of yours.”
Never let them see you sweat.
Some maxim by a famous philosopher? Or just an ad campaign? Whichever, the words were certainly appropriate right now.
Responding graciously, in the manner used by any great mogul of commerce, Karim inclined his handsome head in acceptance.
“I would be delighted, Mr. Griffin, and I thank you for your invitation. My congratulations to both you and your wife on this milestone of your marriage.”
“I’ll have my people call your people for the particulars.” Griffin let out a bark of laughter at the hackneyed phrase. “Hey, service here, please. I could use some more coffee.”
Much later, when Karim, having offered a round of farewells, strolled outside to slide onto the seat of his matte black sports car, his mind was still working furiously. Whatever idiocy he had gotten involved in, for whatever reason, the damage was complete. He would just have to pull his chestnuts out of the fire before they were utterly scorched.
It could be done. He’d pulled off worse situations before.
One must simply believe six impossible things before breakfast.
And set out to accomplish them.
Chapter 3
“Oh, he’s such a little love,” cooed Maggie. “Look at him, just glancing around at the lights and the people like he’s ten years old instead of—what’s his age now, Hallie?”
“Nine months.”
“Yes, instead of nine months. So alert, and interested in everything!”
Hallie’s burble of laughter came out half-amused, half-wry.
“I warned him that he would have to be on his best behavior today. You know how they are when they’re out in public.”
“Well, no, sweetie, I don’t know. But I’d sure like to find out.”
The two women had met three years ago when Maggie Roskum, head of HR at a local small grocery chain, had ended up at Cranston Memorial ER, after a car accident had left her with a broken leg and multiple cuts and bruises. Some hours of care later, a transfer for Maggie to be treated more extensively upstairs, and a follow-up visit by Hallie had initiated and sealed their friendship.
They visited with each other as time allowed, which wasn’t often. Single and childless, Maggie seemed to be on call and in demand about as much as a presidential aide, or a surgeon, with her cellphone always within arm’s reach and few hours to call her own. As for Hallie, when she wasn’t working her regular shifts (and occasional overtime), she was busy taking care of Aaron or the usual household chores.
Today was that rarity of rarities: part of an afternoon stolen out of impersonal schedules that allowed so seldom for the personal.
They had decided to meet at Café Mud. Maggie, because she hadn’t yet visited the place, despite it being located a mere five blocks from her office; and Hallie, in the hope that a pleasant experience here might negate the disappointing one of just a few days ago.
Into the trunk of her car she had loaded the stroller, diaper bag, bottles, toys, an extra onesie, and every sort of paraphernalia that a baby requires. She’d even been able to park in a city lot adjacent to the building.
Aaron, like so many small children, possessed two personalities: his public face, and his private one. For the moment, beguiled by so many new sights and sounds, turning this way and that in the stroller, he was simply being his sweet and lovable self. That, however, might change at any minute, depending upon mood, condition of diaper, intensity of hunger, or boredom.
“Do you ever see…y’know…his father?” asked Maggie.
She had lowered her voice, even though the café wasn’t crowded, and they had deliberately chosen a corner table out of the way.
“Eduardo?” With a sigh, Hallie picked up part of the date roll she had decided was just a little piece of heaven on earth. “Ha. Catch him being seen anywhere near his son. No, the day after I let him know I was pregnant, he was gone.”
“Wasn’t he in college here?”
“He was making a stab at it. He quit there, quit his job at the bar where we met, and disappeared.”
“What a jerk,” said Maggie with feeling. “And never a penny of support, either.”
“Nope. It’s hard to get money from someone when you can’t track him down. And you know the financial circumstances of the whole Jameson family—neither I, nor my folks, could afford to hire a detective to find him.” Hallie sighed again.
Maggie took a sip of her coffee. Excellent brew. Just what she needed.
“And there’s poor Aaron, growing up without means and without a father, too.”
A squawking command from the stroller informed Hallie that attention was needed. She rose, bent over the baby, and not only shifted his position but rearranged the zoo animal mobile hanging above his head. His dark, wavy head of hair, along with the smooth olive complexion and soulful brown eyes reminded Hallie of his deadbeat father, but still, she loved him with all her heart.
“There, all better now, sweetheart? I think he was scared,” Hallie added, resuming her conversation with Maggie.
“Who, Aaron?”
“No, no. Eduardo. I think the idea of so much responsibility, coming out of the blue, just scared him to death. Eduardo himself grew up in a fatherless household; he’d had no role model. So, he ran.”
“And dumped everything on you.”
“Yes. But I don’t wish him ill, Maggie. Not now, anyway.” Hallie managed a short laugh, laced by bitterness. “For a while, I was so mad, I would have said and done some pretty nasty things, if I could have gotten hold of him. Then, I realized so much hatred wasn’t good for me. Or the baby. And, of course, once Aaron was born”—she smiled at the baby, who smiled back with a set of dimples as stunning as her own—“he brought his own welcome.”
Her friend looked from one to the other with sympathy and understanding.
“Of course he did. I can’t believe how much he’s grown, and what a prince he is!”
“Oh, yes…for the moment. Give him time, though; his devilish side will shine through. So, tell me, Maggie, what’s new in the corporate world?”
“Lots of crap,” said Maggie frankly. “Let me get another one of those thingies with all the frosting and jelly, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
It seemed that the Shop-Rite grocery chain was in a state of flux. A couple of stores would have to be closed within the next few months, and another conglomerate was already sniffing around to see which and what might be up for sale. While Maggie had not been involved in any preliminary negotiations, she was trying to put out fires and calm down anxious employees even as rumors were flying.
“Things have been stressful,” she confessed, using her napkin on sticky fingers. “I’ve had to do a lot of traveling—just to other towns in our marketing area, thank goodness, and not out of state. But there’s so much going on, and everybody and his brother seems to have a problem of some kind.”
Hallie frowned. “Is your job in jeopardy?”
“I don’t think so. But, you know, with corporate fever spreading, and in today’s economy, anything can happen. It’s best to be prepared for any contingency.”
“And are you?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, honey, as much as I can be,” Maggie sighed. “I’ve been working at Shop-Rite since I was a kid, so I’ve got some pension money built up, but not much else. Living expenses alone are so darned high, as it is. I don’t know how you manage it, on your own, with a baby.”
“Well, it helps that my mom does what she can for childcare. And I pay her what I’m able to afford, although she hates to take any money. But with my dad…”
She paused for a moment to stir her coffee, while little Aaron, who had been lying still and angelic for far too long, suddenly began a series of rocketing kicks that set his toys and stroller bouncing.
Hallie’s father was afflicted with a debilitating case of rheumatoid arthriti
s, with painful, weakened joints and a crippled gait. Unable to work, he and his wife subsisted on a small monthly disability payment and a deteriorating savings account. The senior Jamesons had remortgaged their modest home twice, with the proceeds acquired only to pay mounting bills.
Hallie was well aware that the cash she gave her mother weekly for childcare provided only a buffer, mainly to put food on the table. She also knew that, were her mother not watching Aaron for so many hours, she might have been able to work outside the home to earn a more substantial paycheck. Her parents were sacrificing so much, just to help their daughter and grandson get through life. Hallie was afflicted by mixed feelings of gratitude and guilt.
It wasn’t fair.
There was that evil star again, leering down at her.
“Do you want to hear about my exciting date, right in this very coffeehouse?” Hallie asked then, deciding it was necessary to change the subject.
“You met a guy here? Do tell.” Maggie’s eyes widened excitedly. “My love life is as empty as the desert sands; it would be nice to hear something good about somebody else’s. What was he like?”
“Oh, not bad. Not bad at all. Cousin of one of the girls I work with at Cranston.”
Maggie was finishing off the last few crumbs of her pastry in anticipation.
“No, no, those deals never work out right. Family can never choose blind dates.”
“That’s for sure. We were having a nice conversation until I mentioned something about childcare.”
“Whoops.”
“Uh-huh. He just about broke a leg getting out of here.” Hallie brushed a lock of hair behind one ear and began to chuckle. Enough time had passed since the incident that she could now look back on it with just a glimmer of humor. “The poor man turned white as a sheet; I was afraid I’d have to use CPR just to get his heart started again.”
“Definitely not a guy interested in being a stepfather, huh?”
Just then, Maggie’s cellphone rang. Letting out a groan, she glanced at the number, shook her head in resignation, and answered. It was a stilted, one-way, unenlightening conversation, comprised mostly of, “Yeah.” and “Rats.” and “Oh, fudge.”
