The Ego Makers

by Donald Everett Axinn

  “You, Henry, have many years before they turn you out to pasture.” We were entering the Cross-Bronx Expressway heading west. “My last piece of advice is, don’t take yourself too seriously. A man’s ego can do him in when he loses perspective and believes his own PR. Your enemies want you to fail, sometimes even your friends and relatives. Now, I don’t want you to become a cynic. Failure is simpler than success,” Phelan said. Then slowly, with a wry smile, “Well see if I can handle it.”

  “You’re one helluva model, Jack,” I said. “If the time comes, I hope I do half as well.”

  Phelan laid his hand paternally on mine. “I tell you, Henry, having humble beginnings doesn’t hurt.” He laughed. “Maybe I can get O’Hallahan to restore my twenty bucks a week.”

  17

  I SPOKE with Hollick the following Monday morning. “Can’t help you, Henry. I know you want to sell those parcels, but Fm just too busy to take them on. Maybe another time. Have to go,” Hollick said, abruptly ending the conversation. Since when does a first-rate broker not have the time to try to sell something? Not even curious to find out what my asking prices were.

  Something’s very rotten. Why the hell would Jerry Hollick, whom I've paid over a million bucks in commissions for past deals, be so cold? So snide? Then I remembered how angry he had been a few years earlier when the commission we negotiated was far lower than he wanted. As a matter of fact, he had been rip-roaring mad.

  And what Ari had said about losing those renewals that we assumed would be signed. We should have been able to keep those tenants. We had good relationships with them. If the rents were the problem, they would have made us counteroffers. Steve was handling those leases. Not the best negotiator, granted, but even a rank amateur couldn’t lose those deals. He never discussed them with me. Not that he had to, but in the past he always did at our weekly review meetings.

  Lunch with Joyce in Greenwich Village. Wonder why she suggested it. Just a friendly get-together? Perhaps. I've missed her.

  I was waiting for her. As she stepped from the cab, I took her hand and said firmly, “Come with me.” A few doors down, I pulled her inside an entrance. “I’ve missed you.” We kissed. We looked at each other and smiled. The spark was still there. “A much nicer way to say hello than as casual acquaintances,’ I said.

  “Yes, Henry.” She looked away, her eyes a little sad. “But we’re no longer …” She turned and walked to the restaurant.

  After we were seated, Joyce excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. I thought about our years together, those special moments, how close we’d been. I did love her. Never was wiling to acknowledge it. My mistake was taking her for granted.

  “Joyce, this is supposed to be the new in place. What’s-her-name said so in the Times last week. Had a little trouble getting a reservation, but…”

  The waiter flew over, smiling and cordial. We gave him our orders. I ordered two glasses of white wine, the Montrachet, the best in the house.

  After the waiter left, she locked her eyes on mine. God, they were pretty! She waited for a moment, then: “Henry, I’m pregnant.” She sat back and waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, she added, “Aren’t you happy for me?” She paused. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not happy for me,” she said firmly. “Most of all" — her voice broke — “‘I’m happy for me because I’m pregnant. And I’m happy for my child.”

  I must have looked astonished. I also managed to knock over my water glass. People at nearby tables looked over, but my eyes were focused on Joyce’s.

  “I can’t believe it!”

  She stared at me, then rose, turned, and walked rapidly across the room. I looked for the waiter, didn’t see him, threw two twenties on the table, and raced outside. She was standing in the same place where I had kissed her, facing the building, her hands over her face. Sobbing.

  She noticed me next to her, wiped her tears, and said, ‘You never understand, do you? Your reaction is typical Henry. I had hoped you’d be happy for me. I should have known better.”

  “You married Steve on the rebound,” I said. “That was obvious. The baby should have been mine. Maybe you can get an abortion.”

  Her face turned crimson. “Goddamn you, Henry! Steve’s my husband, not you!” She looked desperately toward the street.

  “Steve has something that was always lacking in you. You know what that is? Commitment? Joyce was in high gear. “And he loves me. Guess what? I found that I’m beginning to love him, too.

  “I did the best for you I knew how. It’s just that… your being pregnant surprises the hell out of me, that’s all,’ I said almost in a whisper. “Let me give you a lift,’ I added. “Please. I am happy for you.

  She glared at me and moved forward. For a moment I began to think she might accept my offer. She stepped into a cab, slammed the door, and motioned the cabbie to drive away.

  I stood there and watched the car until it turned the corner. The doorman asked me if I wanted a cab. I shook my head and walked east toward the Bowery. I was oblivious to where I was heading. Oblivious to everything else for that matter.

  Sometime around 4:30 the next morning, I gave up the notion of sleeping. Tired, yet restless. It was important to focus on what to say to MacDougall, to keep Federated from commencing foreclosure proceedings. I had had a few discussions with Steve and our primary attorney, Calvin Howard Ostreicher, who was unusually talented and very adept at strategic and tactical planning.

  I was drawn to Cal for several reasons. He was personable, strong-minded, soft in manner, and knew how to compromise to get results. But he could be tough when necessary and fiercely loyal to his clients. He possessed a rare ability to cut through the nonsense, focus on the essence of an issue. At sixty-six, Cal was a cross between a rabbi and a judge. He was extremely trustworthy and a real mensch. He was anything but attractive physically, balding and wore thick glasses. He had been an excellent left-handed first baseman in his younger days, but broke his hand during the Second World War, when he was a Ranger and paratrooper. Most of all, I admired his capacity to enjoy himself and turn what most people find difficult or tedious into fun and pleasure.

  Cal had considerable experience negotiating bank workouts. His skill could make it difficult for a bank; I knew that we could at least impede or delay their actions.

  I phoned him at seven. I remembered Cal was an early riser from the weekend Nancy and I had spent some years ago at his country home in Hawley, Pennsylvania. Cal and Eva loved fishing and had a house on a fifty-acre lake in a 1,600-acre compound owned by twelve families. Their combined properties encompassed the hills, streams, and dams around the lake. It reminded me a little of the Adirondack League Club near Old Forge in upstate New York, both because of the setting and the owner’s rules. No powerboats on the lake; tight, self-imposed laws restricted hunting for both members and their guests. It was a nature preserve, containing an abundance offish and game. The lake brimmed with large pickerel, pike, and bass. The fields and woods seemed to be teeming with deer and bear, muskrat, fox, rabbit, and even a few mink and weasel.

  “Sorry to call you so early, Cal, but I’m getting close to the moment of truth with Federated. When I see MacDougall Thursday, I've have to have my act together. I need to anticipate what to expect.”

  “Okay,” he said, laughing. “Just a minute, Henry. Have to go to the bathroom.” He came back on the phone several moments later. “I've reviewed our options. Your options, Henry. What I’m going to tell you we've discussed, but I want to make sure you fully understand the dynamics.

  “Banks will try to do anything they can to avoid a mess, such as a long, drawn-out foreclosure proceeding. Except, of course, if the examiners force them to bring a formal action. They’d much prefer not to take title to a problem property, because it makes them responsible for it. Tenants can always be difficult, plus all the environmental issues that accrue to ownership. I mean, owning can be like the bloody plague.”

  “So?”

  “
So,” Cal went on, “you get into this game with them. Sure, they've got you personally on the note for the building loan and theoretically can attack all your other assets. First we either say or intimate that the partnership is considering filing a Chapter Eleven bankruptcy. We might threaten that because we believe with a cram-down of their mortgage to a lower amount or a reduction in the rate of both, we’ll be in a better position to rent the vacant space at competitive numbers. And we’re better at it than they are. They know that. We’d present that in the bankruptcy plan we offer the court. Of course, they’ll have one, too. Defensively they have to.

  “That’s all for show, Henry. What they’re really concerned about is appearance and responsibility. All aspects. They just can’t end up looking like total schmucks. The guys on this, MacDougall and the others, don’t want to and can’t take the responsibility to cram down the mortgage. They’d really prefer their superiors to order them to do so. Or some judge, if it went to court.”

  It was enormously helpful to hear Cal laying this out for me step by step.

  ‘What the court really wants in this type of action,” he went on, “is for plaintiff and defendant to come to a settlement. Now, let’s assume both of you — eventually — want an agreement, although in this situation that may not happen. So the court is like a facilitator. A broker. Everything you and the bank do, it’s a kind of dance. Pirouettes in a Stravinsky ballet.”

  “Don’t start getting artistic, Cal,” I said. “As you were talking, I was thinking what the legal fees could amount to. I want a flat fee. No endless hours at $325, plus juniors at $225.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” he replied. “Brennan, Dolman never does that. But remember, if we accomplish what you need, our fees are dirt cheap,” he said. I could hear some smugness in his voice. But unfortunately he was right.

  “Something I can’t figure out,” he said. “I’ve got good friends at Federated. House counsel was a classmate of mine at Cornell. They won’t represent themselves in this action. Never do. Anyway, I had lunch the other day with my friend. Concerning other matters I have with the bank. The conversation turned to you and your loan.

  “My friend Gilbert looks up from his mushroom omelette and says, ‘Cal, this client of yours, Henry Martin. I’ve never seen the bank acting like this.’ I asked Gilbert what he meant. "Well," Gilbert says, "and this is not something you can ever attribute to me, they’re pissed off, as if they feel they’ve been duped in some way. MacDougall has been told not to give any ground at all. No compromises. They’re out for Martin’s scalp.’ “

  Why? I thought to myself. Why? “Great, Cal, that’s sure to help matters, I really don’t understand. I've always been straight with them. A year ago I was their Wunderkind. They were kissing my ass all over the place.”

  “Henry, should I be there when you meet with MacDougall?”

  “I was hoping to work something out with them without a blowup,’ I replied, “I hope we are not at the point of attorneys. Then they’ll bring in their top gunslinger. Most of those guys get their jollies by kicking ass. Real bastards.”

  “We can handle whatever they come up with,” Cal said. “That’s why you use me, Jesus, I didn’t realize how late it was, I’ve got to get to the office.”

  “It’s scheduled for Thursday morning,” I answered.

  “I have a meeting scheduled, but I’ll be there,” Cal said.

  Thanks, Cal. Talk to you later.”

  I turned off the speakerphone, got dressed, had a quick breakfast, and walked the two flights down to East End. My limo was waiting in front of my house, looking more and more like a hearse. “Ill walk to the heliport,” I said to Charles. “Drive out to the Garden City office and wait for me there. I’m not sure yet what my plans are. Oh, first please pick up my dry cleaning. And when Charmagne comes in, see what she needs in the way of food.” He tipped his hat, his face a mask. I wondered. Did chauffeurs ever smile?

  It was just before eight. The temperature-dew point spread was close, making air difficult to see through. A cold front was due later, along with a dip in the Jetstream. But for now, York Avenue appeared tired even before the heat would bake the street.

  It was only a five-minute walk. Sampson would have the helicopter pre-flighted and ready for the trip to Long Island.

  When we landed, I telephoned MacDougall from the waiting room. He always arrived in his office early, and I wanted to catch him before he became involved. “Good morning, John. Henry Martin. Look, I’d like to change tomorrow’s meeting. I plan to bring my attorney along. He believes he can help the situation.”

  “If you bring him, I'll have to bring mine,” John said harshly. “This could get out of hand very quickly, Henry. I was going to try to settle this with just you and me.” He sounded angry. “You might as well know that we learned quite a bit about some of your liquid assets. Exactly what you have and where. Apparently there are assets you didn’t put on your statement. As far as we’re concerned, they’re the best source of reducing this loan.”

  I didn’t respond, but wondered to myself how the hell he had gathered that kind of information. What assets was he referring to? I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like being on a flight in a winter storm with fuel leaking rapidly from the tanks and my hands paralyzed by the cold.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, John, I really don’t,” I said finally. “You know I don’t play games. But please understand that we don’t use cash and equivalents to replace mortgages. We can’t do that. They’re needed as a basis for overall credit. With Federated, for example. Besides, nobody can develop and build for all cash. Yes, there’s a real problem with the building loan mortgage. But the bank will have to be patient. I plan to liquidate other properties to provide monies to reduce the loan.” Don’t be so goddamn intransigent, I thought.

  “Ill call you later about the meeting,” MacDougall said. “If you change your mind about having attorneys, let me know before ten. In any event, I will speak to you later.” He hung up without even so much as a good-bye.

  Where have all the good old-fashioned amenities gone? I thought.

  18

  GOING to the meeting with MacDougall two days later was a little like being dragged handcuffed into court by a sadistic sheriff and hearing the judge hand down a sentence of ten years at hard labor. Maybe I exaggerate a whit. Let’s say it was no fun.

  Steve wanted to join Cal Ostreicher and me. I couldn’t think of any reason why not. Cal met us in Garden City, and we drove together to Federated’s Long Island office in Melville. I wore my bank outfit, a double-breasted, midnight blue pinstriped suit, an azure blue monogrammed shirt with pure white French cuffs and collar, a crimson solid silk tie, and a white H.S.M. handkerchief in my breast pocket. Charles held the doors of the limousine as we stepped in. Steve and I sat in the backseat, with Cal facing us.

  “I would strongly suggest,” Cal began, “that you listen to what they have to say first. Then, let me do the talking.” He glanced at me for a reaction.

  “Fine with me," I said. “Keep me from losing my temper and saying something I'll regret.”

  “Won’t be the first time, little brother,” Steve threw in. “I remember several times when you —”

  “All right, Steve,” I shook my head. “Not now. I said I was going to keep quiet.”

  “I’ve heard that one before,” Steve mumbled.

  “Knock it off,” I said, ‘We’re trying to deal with the bank, save your ‘get Henry’ tirade for some other time.”

  “Remember,” Cal said, “what their gunslinger, as you called him, Henry, is there for. He’s their workout person. His role is to create the perception that you’re the bad guys and have to pay the penalty for all the evil you’ve done.”

  “Wait just a minute,” I said, “We haven’t defaulted on the building loan. Not yet, anyway. Even if they don’t extend it, they’re better off working it out with us.”

  “True,” Cal said. �
�But they’ll press for collateral and a big reduction. They know from your statements you have other assets.”

  “I’m not letting them get their little hands on those,” I swore. “We set up our real estate so a loss there wouldn’t domino the rest. Plus we need whatever liquid assets we have to protect our other properties.”

  “I can see you getting into one big fight with them, Henry,” Steve whined. “Our whole portfolio could be endangered.” He was beginning to go into high gear. “You had to stick your spire up onto the New York skyline for the whole world to see. Henry Martin, the biggest dick of them all.”

  “Steve! I’ve had about enough of your fucking sniping.”

  “Look, you two,” Cal cut in. “Play sibling rivalry when I’m not around. Okay?”

  We managed to remain silent until we arrived at the Federated building. We had been told the meeting was scheduled in their largest conference room, on the third floor. We cooled our heels in the entrance foyer for twenty minutes.

  When we were finally ushered in, MacDougall was seated. He rose to greet us. He was cordial but formal. “This is J. Robert Malenti, the bank’s chief asset manager. Ah, no,” he corrected himself, “he heads the workout section. And this is Mr. Cunningham, our counsel.” Their attorney was tall, thin, and had bad skin.

  We shook hands perfunctorily before sitting down. Malenti took off his jacket, revealing red suspenders over a pink shirt. He was squarely built, about five ten, and looked as if he spent two hours a day lifting weights. Maybe three. He remained at one end of the table, with MacDougall on his right and Cunningham on his left, yellow pad in front of him, prepared to take notes. Cal sat at the other end, Steve on one side, me on the other. I tried to size up their gunslinger. Probably runs four times a week, jumps out of airplanes, scuba-dives, and thinks Outward Bound is child’s play. Otherwise an absolute pussycat.