Adam had separated Allie and himself from both ends of the table, but had selected a place that was definitely closer to the “power” end. He was in a good position to negotiate, with Allie next to him, like a protected commodity, between himself and the head of the committee. The four men at the other end were going to have only a secondary role. Adam knew who would be making the decisions in this group.
“Good morning, Mr. Talmadge.” The older man began the meeting. “You have met my associates, I believe. And this”—he nodded toward Allie—“must be the very talented Ms. Randall. I am most pleased to meet you, Ms. Randall.”
And so pleasantries were exchanged all around, and then they got down to the business at hand. The first matter before them was to examine the portfolio of new work that Allie had brought with her. The sketches of the Cape Cod townspeople and the new seascapes were spread out on the big table, and it was clear that the selection committee was pleased and impressed. “Ah, yes. Ah, yes,” they were saying, all of them agreeing that the pictures might fit in very nicely with their planned promotional materials.
“If you’ll just leave these with us, Ms. Randall,” one of the associates said, “we’ll examine them over the next day or two. Perhaps Mr. Talmadge would be so kind to return them to you afterwards.”
“Of course, of course,” Adam said. “I’ll see that they get back safely to my client. Please take as much time as you need to review them.”
The discussions continued and Allie followed Adam’s advice, saying as little as possible, pleased that all seemed to be going well with no salesmanship necessary on her part. The only point that she was not happy about was their insistence that the chairman’s portrait would have to be done from sketches made in his office. Mr. Nakamura simply had no time, they said, to go to her studio for the necessary sittings. He would allow her to come in for one hour on each of three days next week before he left for the international trade talks in Paris, and she could make whatever sketches she needed during those three hours.
While they went on with their negotiations, Allie’s mind was racing, mentally working out the problem of how to carry out the commission on these difficult terms. There was no way she was going to mess it up, and Adam had signaled her to go along with the restrictions. While the talk buzzed around her, she made her plans.
I’ll bring in the Nikon to get some still shots, she was thinking, and get the lighting and background details worked out that way. Davey Rubens is free next week. I’ll hire him to assist with the tungsten lamps and all the other gear.
The men in the room consulted with her about time schedules and deadlines for completion of the work. Other than that, she let Adam take the lead on everything, and she had plenty of opportunity to admire his cool skill. She’d have been a bundle of nerves if she’d had to do this herself, but Adam was as smooth as a hot knife slicing through butter. She sat quietly and watched him do his stuff.
Fees for the chairman’s portrait and the watercolors were settled quickly. Everyone in the room knew the current market prices and the current value of Allie’s work. Fortunately for Allie, they were in a spending mood and were prepared to pay top dollar. But Adam had his own agenda, and he wasn’t about to accept those prices without certain specific provisions. He got down to the more difficult terms.
“Gentlemen,” Adam said, “all of us here know that the investment expertise of Matsuhara is unparalleled anywhere in the world. We all understand the reasons you’ve selected my client to do this work.” He held up a hand and ticked off the reasons. “Number one, of course, she’s tremendously talented, and you’re getting an absolutely first-rate, top-quality product.” Allie didn’t like hearing her work called a “product,” but she understood that Adam was talking their language. “Second, she’s young, and for that reason alone can’t yet command the prices you have to pay to older artists. So you’re getting a bargain.” Allie didn’t like being called a “bargain” either, but was wise enough to smile demurely at the head of the committee as Adam spoke those words. “Third, you’ve seen her portfolio and you’re already considering Ms. Randall’s work in connection with promotional materials for your Mayflower project. If you sign her on for the portrait work and the office pieces, there will be an easy lead-in to possible other work. Good for you and good for my client.” And good for Adam Talmadge, Allie thought. So did everyone else in the room.
“But fourth, and most important,” Adam went on, “we all understand that you were at that show at the Whiscombe, you heard the critics, and you’ve checked my client’s reviews. You know that in ten years, anyone who’s holding an Allie Randall painting is going to be sitting on some really valuable property. You have the opportunity right now to buy, at bargain prices, some investment-grade art.” They were all silent, and Adam knew he’d gauged their thinking correctly. “Now, gentlemen, I am prepared to advise my client to go along with these bargain prices,”—bargain prices? Allie thought the prices were pretty steep—“if we can incorporate into the agreement certain terms concerning the eventual resale by the corporation, or by its successor organization, if there is one.” The four younger men at the far end of the table leaned forward, intent on hearing Adam’s proposed terms. The three older men sat immobile, but Allie caught the tiniest flicker of a smile in the corner of the note-taker’s mouth.
Allie was amazed. Adam’s trying for a share on resale, she thought. He’ll never get them to agree! She tried to keep her hands steady, forcing herself to rest them casually on the table in front of her. These negotiations were fraying her nerves and she wished it were all over, but Adam was as cool as a polar bear and seemed ready to go on forever.
Adam was actually arguing for a percentage override for Allie if Matsuhara ever sold any of her pictures. “My client has a busy summer ahead of her and I don’t have to tell you gentlemen, there are many people seeking to have a portrait done by Allie Randall. Now we think, and I’m sure you’d agree, it would be unconscionable if she were to devote her time and her talent to this work, and then, some years down the road you should sell the work at a huge profit—as we believe you will—and she received no benefit from that sale.”
It was an innovative notion, still fairly new in the art world. It had been tried successfully by several artists in the last few years, though not by any as young as Allie. But again, Adam had been right; they were in a generous mood, and though there was considerable argument, they finally agreed to let Allie take a percentage share in any profit they might eventually make from a sale of her paintings. Allie, who had sat silently through the discussion, feeling like a prize horse at an auction, was astonished by what Adam had just won for her.
Adam was on cruise control now. He led them through negotiations requiring Matsuhara to publicize Allie’s work and allowing Allie rights to borrow the works for showings and retrospectives and other kinds of displays. They agreed to provide certificates of insurance to guarantee the protection of the paintings while Matsuhara had possession of them, and they agreed to make any resale of her work subject to the major conditions of this current agreement with her. In short, except for the chairman’s refusal to come to Allie’s studio, Adam had his way on just about every point.
And finally, when everyone stood up and shook hands, Adam had made a cool hundred and ninety-eight thousand dollars for her. To say nothing of potential future proceeds. Before his fifteen percent fee plus expenses, of course. Not bad for a couple of hours of his morning.
So everyone was happy as the meeting concluded, and they all left the conference room. Adam and the older man were absorbed in their own discussion as they passed through the anteroom and disappeared through the doors that let out to the reception area and the elevators, leaving Allie alone with the associates. The man with the yellow pad was talking to Allie, holding the door for her as they left the conference room. “We’ll fax the contract to Mr. Talmadge by tomorrow evening,” he was saying. He was screwing up his fountain pen and slipping it back into the
breast pocket of his jacket. “If it’s all in order, we can have a final copy in the mail to you by Monday.” The other men clustered around her, making notes about meeting times, checking each other’s schedules.
“Ms. Randall? Will that be all right?”
Allie hadn’t heard him. She was staring at the lightly draped window of the anteroom, where a tall man was silhouetted against the bright light. His back was to the room and he was talking on his phone, his free hand thrust into his pants pocket of his dark gray business suit. Her lips parted slightly in astonishment. Allie would know that back anywhere, even in pinstripes.
My God! she thought. It’s Zach! What is he doing here?
“Ms. Randall?” The man with the yellow pad raised his voice slightly, and at that, Zach turned away from the window and saw Allie. One eyebrow lifted slightly, and a trace of a smile appeared on his face as he looked her squarely in the eyes, but he went right on talking into the telephone, and by the barest shake of his head, he signaled her not to acknowledge him. He made no other sign of recognition, and she might have been a stranger for all the attention he paid to her.
She caught his signal and, though she didn’t understand it, she followed his lead. She tried to pay attention to the man next to her and to his questions.
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’m sure that’ll be just fine.” Allie was too surprised by Zach’s totally unexpected appearance here in these offices, this morning, to be able to focus on what was being said to her. In her confusion, she looked right back into Zach’s eyes, letting nothing more than the quizzical rise of her own eyebrows acknowledge his existence, and she continued walking through the room with the entourage of associates surrounding her, making no sign to them that she knew the tall man at the window.
She kept her eyes away from Zach, but in that fleeting moment she had caught a wealth of details, highlighted against the filmy drapery at the window. A conservative dark tie against the gleaming white shirt, the dark business suit, beautifully tailored, a perfect fit at the shoulders, across the back; the trim pants, just reaching the tops of the expensive black shoes; the black silk socks reaching, she was sure, well up those muscled legs. Oh, she knew those wonderful legs, that marvelous, powerful back, lean and supple, and the compelling, strong arms, all covered now by the anonymous uniform of his business clothes. She couldn’t help smiling to herself. Was it only twelve hours ago, in her bedroom, that same man had been pulling on his jeans over his naked body, racing with her to catch a plane? Now he appeared in full business regalia, which he wore as comfortably as he did his jeans and denim shirt.
He is such a handsome man, she thought, as easy and graceful here in this cold glass tower, with the bright window behind him, as he is at the helm of Sea Smoke, with the wind blowing through his thick black hair. The hot passion of last night stirred through her now as she tried to maintain a cool appearance, wondering why they were pretending not to know each other. With difficulty, she acknowledged the men walking, bowing, at her side. She was barely able to hear their questions.
“Please, just discuss all the details with Mr. Talmadge,” she said. A hundred unasked questions of her own were racing through her mind. Why is Zach here? Why didn’t he tell me he was coming? Why did he not want to speak to me? What is he hiding from me?
As they held the door for her and she left the room, she heard Zach conclude his call, and Ms. Richman was saying, “If you’re ready, Mr. Eliot, the chairman will see you now.”
* * *
Marcus had the car waiting at the curb, and it wasn’t until they were settled inside that Adam sat back and let a big, happy smile spread over his satisfied face. He lit a cigarette and beamed at Allie.
“Don’t look so distressed, my dear. You were quite a hit.” He looked her over quizzically, but did not comment further on her preoccupied expression. “It was the watercolors that pulled them in. Their selection people saw the show at the Whiscombe. They liked the all-American feel of the seascapes and decided that’s the image they want to project in their corporate offices. When they found out about your portrait work, they were hooked!”
“I’m not distressed, Adam. Not at all. It’s just all very new for me, and kind of scary, and I need a chance to get used to it.” It was awfully hard to keep anything from Adam, who seemed always to see everything—but he hadn’t seen Zach. “I guess it was a good thing that you sent me to Cape Cod.”
A very good thing.
But the same questions kept nagging at her.
Why was Zach there at the Matsuhara offices? What was he doing there? And why didn’t he tell me? He knew I was meeting there this morning.
The unanswered questions continued to preoccupy her.
What is he hiding from me? And why?
After last night, after such intense intimacy, it was painful to realize how little she knew him.
Do I really know anything about this man?
“You see, Allie,” Adam was saying, “you should always trust me.” He couldn’t resist preening a little bit. Maybe a lot. “I am absolutely the best! Did you see, Allie? They went for just about everything. And that override clause. You’re going to thank me for that one in the years to come!”
“I know, Adam, but there is one thing you could do a little better in the future. You could give me a little more than a minute’s notice when you order me onto a flight. They told me last night at the airport in Provincetown that you called them and convinced them to hold the plane a few minutes for me. If you hadn’t, I’d never have made it.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well,” Adam said. “I’m sure that whatever you were doing when I called, it couldn’t have been as important or as productive as our meeting this morning.”
“Of course not,” Allie said, looking out of her window, keeping her face away from Adam. “So apparently I’m not going to get back to the Cape right away, am I?”
“Not for a week, at least. As soon as the contract details are finalized, you’ll have to begin the preliminary sketches for the chairman’s portrait.”
“I know. I’ll do the three sittings next week. But then I’ll go back to the Cape to start on the watercolors. We promised completion by the end of the summer.” She still didn’t dare to look Adam squarely in the eye. “And I guess I’d like to complete work on some unfinished projects.” Definitely unfinished. She would never forget the expression on Zach’s face when that phone rang last night!
“That’s fine, my dear. Just fine. But be sure to stay in touch with me, so I’ll know if you’re up there or here in town.” Adam looked at his watch. “I have a meeting in my office in ten minutes. Marcus will leave me off. Can he drop you somewhere?”
Allie forced herself to pay attention. She leaned toward the front seat. “Marcus, just take me to the park.” Then she sat back in her seat and said to Adam, “I’m going to buy a pretzel and walk through the zoo. After this fast track morning, I’d like to commune with nature for a little while. Talk with the animals, if you know what I mean.”
“I do indeed, Allie. And you deserve it.” As Marcus pulled up in front of Adam’s office building, Adam put a light kiss on Allie’s cheek and waved cheerfully at her as he got out. “Gotta run, sweetie. Got a meeting.”
“Have fun,” she called after him. “And don’t take any prisoners!” She closed the door, and the car continued on west, crosstown.
Prisoners, indeed, she thought, as Marcus drove her toward the zoo. She remembered Zach, naked in her bed last night, passionate, yet patient, and totally in control of himself. And totally in control of her as well. Zach had reached inside her, body and soul, and taken command of her, removing her resistance, removing any need for resistance, bringing her such sweet and subtle pleasures, she was happy to be locked in his arms.
Has Zach Eliot put his arms around me and made me his prisoner? And how can I feel so wonderfully free if I’ve been taken prisoner?
Chapter Fifteen
“Can I get you a cup of coffee,
Ms. Randall?” Ms. Richman stood off to one side, trying to stay out of Allie’s way as the tungsten lights and the stands and the diffusion umbrellas were being rigged. Wires were running in all directions over the rich carpeting of the chairman’s office, and Allie’s assistant, Davey Rubens, hired for the day to lug all the heavy stuff around, was unpacking the camera and affixing a wide-angle lens so that Allie would be sure to get good overall shots of the room.
“No, thanks.” Allie was barely aware of Ms. Richman’s question. She was preoccupied with balancing the natural light filtering through the half-opened Levolor blinds at the huge windows of this massive corner office with the artificial light being added by the lamps. “Maybe Davey would like some coffee. Davey?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” He looked up from the camera case. “We’re all set up over here, Allie.”
Davey’s services weren‘t really needed, of course. Allie could have carried all the gear she needed for these prep shots by herself in a backpack and easel carrier. But corporate big shots didn’t react well to being painted by an artist who carried her own equipment. Didn’t think it looked professional. So Allie dressed the part in easy-to-wash black denim, a snazzy multicolored shirt, and piled her hair on top of her head. She brought along young Davey, who had hauled in all her painting, lighting and camera things, set everything up according to her instructions, and later would get it all out of there quietly and cleanly, so the office would be clear for the chairman’s next conference, scheduled for right after this first sitting.
They’d arrived early, well before her subject was due to get to the office, and Ms. Richman was ready for them as arranged. “I’ll let you into the office,” she said, “so you can get set up. The chairman will be here at eight. His first meeting’s scheduled for nine.” She pressed a button on the control panel, and Allie heard the lock on the door snap open. “You can go in now,” Ms. Richman said.
Summer on the Cape Page 17
