The Ego Makers

by Donald Everett Axinn

  Yes, but it wasn’t only that. I couldn’t get my mind off my freefall. Off the collapse of TMC. When I tried to invoke various sexual fantasies, my mind kept drifting back to business. And, yes, I was also thinking about Karen and her other boyfriend.

  I sat up. “The vultures were just waiting for this opportunity. Now they have it. In spades. And I suppose I’m also beginning to wonder about my so-called powers. It’s really a laugh, I talk you into having sex, then I can’t perform.”

  “Henry, I told you not to worry. Stop thinking in terms of performance.”

  “Plus you're seeing someone else. That really does bother me, I have to admit. How come I’m not enough for you?” I jumped out of bed and walked over to the window.

  Karen sat up in bed, the sheet tucked under her arms. “You’ve got it slightly screwed up,” she began. ‘You’re the one who’s a bit of a hypocrite. It’s okay for you, but not me. Let me ask you a question. Are you really committed to me? No one else you haven’t or wouldn’t sleep with?”

  “Look, Karen, I —”

  “Look, nothing,” she said. “We both live by the same standard. I care about you, Henry. Very much. I’d like to help you, but I don’t think I can.”

  ‘Why not?” I said.

  “Do you really want to know?” I nodded. “Because we’re too much alike. I’m as driven as you are. Well, almost. And we’re not that involved in each other’s interests, or lives. To help you, I’d have to wait around a lot,” she said. “Not my style, Henry. Do you understand?”

  I suppose I did. I doubted we could change, or that we wanted to.

  “It’s late,” Karen said, “I have an early flight.” She dashed into the bathroom. Before closing the door she said, “I’m not saying I don’t want to see you anymore, Henry. But you need time to work things out.”

  I walked her downstairs. As we waited for a cab, she said, “A man doesn’t have to be powerful all the time, but a woman does want her man to need her. In a very particular way.” She kissed me as a cab pulled over to the curb. “That doesn’t fit you, Henry. Not now, anyway.”

  I watched until the cab turned the corner, then looked up and down East End Avenue. It was a rain-infested night. A shitty night. What the hell: What did I expect, sunshine and roses?

  24

  IN the months after my father died, my mother came to New York more frequently, and always stayed with Steve and Joyce. The closer Joyce’s due date, the more my mother fawned over her. My mother told me that if the baby was a boy she wanted him to be named Joseph, after my uncle.

  Seeing my mother again made me think about how screwed up our family relationships were. I don’t know why it had taken me so long to figure it out. All the women I'd encountered in my life — was taking them to bed all I wanted? I seemed to need to keep proving that women wanted me. Because my mother didn’t?

  The simple truth was that I was not going to let any woman ever hurt me again. I kept control, but it cost me plenty. Intimacy, for example. Acknowledging this truth was one thing; making permanent changes was quite another matter.

  I viewed women as physical objects, never as individuals. Splendid qualities and values, or not, they were objects nonetheless. I had never permitted myself to get emotionally involved. Never permitted myself to make the kind of commitment that would result in the full bloom of what can exist between a man and a woman.

  My manner of relating to women was entirely different from Steve’s. Talk about hypocrisy! My brother basically clung to my mother’s religion, Catholicism, but when it suited him, he could be Jewish, or Lutheran, Joyce’s religion. Or agnostic or atheist. A master chameleon. Well, at least Brother Chameleon had made a commitment to get married.

  The weather inside my office was like a tropical depression, gathering force and heading straight for me. Cal telephoned one morning later that week. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say,” I said. “Every call I get these days is a real bummer.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry. It’s been a long couple of months. Any progress with your banks or mortgagees?”

  “Couldn’t get even one to recast terms and payments. It’s as if they’ve all been huddling together.”

  “I don’t know if this helps, Henry, but you have to keep in mind you’ve also had some terrific years.” I heard the cliché; at least he sounded as if he cared. “The Federated situation hasn’t been resolved,” he continued. “According to Cunningham the bank is willing to take the deed in lieu of the foreclosure, but they haven’t given up the possibility of an action.”

  I cleared my throat, a nervous gesture when I was tense and under pressure. “Won’t they have a tough time proving it? We could subpoena Steve. He couldn’t lie under oath.”

  “The bank understands they don’t have a real case,” Cal said.

  “Then why, Cal?”

  “Because they’re still angry. They convinced themselves you are a bad guy. Malenti likes nothing more than to be on the attack when right seems to be on his side. Makes him into a white knight.” He paused for a minute, to have a word with someone in his office, then came back on. “I’m sure in their discussions they included the ‘Cain and Abel’ stuff, you and your brother. Steve the good guy; Henry the villain. Revenge. A morality play. Except they have it backward. Anyway, all they have is a large building loan on which nobody is paying interest. We know that sits badly with bank examiners.”

  I cleared my throat again. “Cal, they have an appraisal. It should make their loan look quite comfortable.”

  “That’s one of the reasons they’re so willing to take the deed,” Cal replied. “In a protracted case, delays build up months and months of lost interest, which reduces their comfort level.”

  “Cal, the bottom line is that if I dump money from assets outside my real estate holdings, there’s a small chance of surviving. But TMC would be smaller. Much smaller.” I heard a deep sigh. It wasn’t Cal's.

  “How much could you raise?”

  “Ken and Ari are working up three different scenarios. This may surprise you, but there’s always been a part of me that has viewed real estate development as very volatile. I pulled some money out from remortgages and sales of some of the old industrials. Dad and Steve liked that idea. I didn’t decide it alone. I also plan to sell stocks and bonds. And my helicopter. Put a mortgage on my townhouse. Or better, sell it. Whatever has to be done.” I didn’t like having to enumerate further. What I said should convince him I was serious. “The market did seem ready for another classy office building. We had the Standard General lease fully negotiated. And other prospects in the wings.” I needed to hear my rationalizations.

  “Yes, I know,” Cal said. “We get the Federated situation behind us, pick up the pieces, and go on from there. As you said, there’s plenty of money to be made in recessions.”

  “Except,” I interjected, “it takes capital. Who the hell will want to be involved with me after this?”

  “Hey, you were always Mr. Positive. So, you’re getting kicked around, Henry, but that old ego of yours, the old ambitious streak will definitely rear its beautiful head again.”

  “Now look who’s mixing metaphors. Anyway, Cal, let me know what develops from your end. By the way, I need to talk to you about several of the other mortgages.”

  “Tel Ari to send me a synopsis on each so I can do some planning.”

  Dianne waddled in and gave me my messages. I reviewed the mail, and gave her dictation. I must have tuned out at one point, my mind several million miles away.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes. Thanks,” I said, coming back to earth with a resounding thud. “After we hit the important calls and letters, please set up a meeting with Ken and Ari. For eleven A.M. Here in my office. No, make it eleven-thirty,’

  The three of us sat down at the coffee table in my office. “All right,’ I opened, “what have we got?”

  Ari nodded to Ken. “Our studies,” Ken said, “whether they follow A, B,
or C, all point to the same conclusion. In a nutshell, Henry, significantly downsizing of TMC is a given. Taking the worst case, C, you'll be about a quarter of the size we are now. Here, have a look at the ‘Assumptions' You'll notice we’ve projected the loss of two-thirds of both the industrial and office buildings, either through defaults or sales. Any sales will in most cases be used to eliminate the mortgages and pay the capital gains taxes. No liquidity from any of them.”

  “That bad?” I asked.

  He reminded me “C” was the worst case, but that “A” and “B” were only slightly better. We spent an hour going through the other — better — scenarios, and I saw they were right. If C was the rock, A and B were still pretty hard places.

  I got up and went over to the whiteboard. We had listed the properties by number, their size, and degree of solvency. I stood in front of it for a long time, figuring in my head what it all meant, then turned and said, “Do you think you can manage things without me for a while?” Their eyes widened. “I don’t think I can be of any further help right now. Ill give you power-of-attorney, whatever you need. Give it to Cal as well. The point is, I really have to get away.”

  Ari spoke first. “Doesn’t sound like you, Henry. Frankly, it’s always been you in control.” Ken nodded.

  “But you’re probably right,” Ken said. “We could manage things from this point on. You’re aware that the decisions we would make will not necessarily be the ones you would have made.” I nodded. “I assume you’ll want Cal, Ari, and I to consult, and then proceed with whatever course of action we think appropriate?”

  “Yes,” I responded. “I trust you guys implicitly. I’m not sure where I'll go, but it won’t resemble Manhattan or Garden City, Long Island. I'd like to leave as soon as possible. Ill advise Cal. Let me know exactly what you’ll need from me before I go.” I walked over to them and shook hands. After they left, I sat down and turned off the light, as if darkness would help me see more clearly. About why my life was falling apart. About who I really was. I needed to find out.

  25

  THE entire spectacle, the whole glorious pageant, gone. Poof My creation destroyed. Well, almost. Between my banks, their gun-slingers, and vengeful wardens — plus assorted creditors — I felt like some fat dude forced into the Pritikin Center for three months of drastic weight reduction. Or better, that my flesh was being stripped by those grotesque vultures out on the African plains. My pride was being cut out of me.

  They all grabbed a piece over that fall and winter. What I was left with was a fragile shell of my former empire, a few properties. The bulk had to be sold at fire sale prices and the deeds simply given back to the mortgage lenders. A few offered to accrue the payments of interest and amortization for the vacant buildings, but I decided that holding on under those circumstances would only increase the total debt, especially since I didn’t have enough tenants left to pay sufficient rents. It was a huge burden to stay afloat, and unrealistic that I would be able to cope with even more vacancies later on.

  I met Cal and Ari at Glen Pointe for lunch toward the end of that week for a last round of talks. “Ken, you and Ari tell those bloodsuckers what they’re offering isn’t any help. If they want to reduce the size of the mortgages, yes, that would make a difference.” I glanced at one and then back to the other. “Otherwise, tell them to shove it.”

  “What about the vacant land? We might —”

  ‘What do I want to struggle with land for? No way in hell anyone’s going to want me to build them a building/.

  “Henry, don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?” Ari added. “The baby with the bathwater?”

  “God, I hate that cliché,’ I said, shaking my head. But it made me reflect for a moment about the last scene at Steve’s house, when I watched Joyce with her infant son. For reasons I couldn’t figure out he had a bris for his son, I went because my mother asked me to take her. She knew nothing about the reasons Steve and I were not getting along. And as far as she was concerned, ignorance was indeed bliss,

  I was transfixed by Joyce’s devotion, her complete absorption with the creature she had made. She was hardly aware of my presence, I was overcome by sadness. That kicking, giggling child could have been mine. If I regretted anything, it was not being a father. No. Something else, too: not having someone to really love.

  “And, guys, the closing on the sale of the helicopter should take place on April ninth. I’ve put my townhouse up with Meredith and Leslie. Take what you can get for the other assets. We’re not dumping, but don’t hold out if you get decent offers.”

  ‘What about a place to live?” Ari asked.

  “I have a place down in the village. From a long time ago. Nancy used it as a studio.” Not true, I thought, but what difference did it make?

  After the waiter cleared the dishes, Ken said, “How do you want us to handle the brokers and all the others?” He was trying to cover all the contingencies. “Do what we think we need to?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Look, you’re a great team.”

  “Do you know how long you’ll be away?” Ari asked hesitantly. “In case we need you?”

  I turned slightly to observe the two women rising from a table in front of where I was sitting. One, Joan Fingold, was unusually attractive. She was aware I found her interesting. I think she also understood the way she looked in her tennis outfits drove me a little crazy. Short, pleated skirts. A polo shirt revealing just enough. Joan was married to an immature jerk who worked for his father, a member of the club because his father paid for it. In her late thirties, she had two cute daughters whom I played with once in a while.

  I had vaguely courted her, but lately it didn’t seem worth the effort. She had been careful not to encourage anything, but when the occasion permitted, we did tease each other. Persiflage. I wasn’t sure whether she was available or not. With a husband like hers, life couldn’t have been very exciting.

  Joan gave me a half smile as she passed our table. That was all I needed. After she had left the dining room, I got to my feet. “Be back in a minute,’ I said to Ken and Ari. “Have to powder my nose.” I saw her walking out into the parking lot, and I caught up with her.

  “Hi, there.” She smiled and waited. ‘You know, Joan, I was thinking. I know this may sound bold” — I know from experience that anticipation can often be a turn-on — “but I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch one day. Maybe go to a museum or concert in the city. Or just get together. Maybe add a little color to our lives?”

  She opened the door to her car, then looked back at me, “1 suppose it might,” she said. “But, then again, it might not be such a good idea. I am married, you know, even if you’re not.”

  “Look,” I said, “did anyone ever tell you that we regret the sins of omission, not the ones of commission”?

  “I’ve heard that.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are an attractive man, Henry, and if I didn’t know any better I’d be very tempted. Too bad, because my life does leave something to be desired.”

  “Well,” I said, “it so happens mine does too. So …”

  “So,” she said slowly, “I’ll be okay, thanks.” She sat down, closed the door, and without a gaze or a gesture, started her convertible, drove rapidly through the parking lot and down the driveway. I took a deep breath and returned to the dining room, feeling worse than when I had left on my mission.

  “Look, Henry, we were talking while you were gone,” Ken began. “I think Cal shares this with us — it’s the wrong time for you to be away. It says something to the market. You still do have properties. You’re not bankrupt? I examined his face. “It’s not fun duking it out, but the industry will respect you for it.”

  “He’s right, Henry.” Ari chimed in. “If you’re away for an extended period, there'll be rumors you’re gone for good. It'll be hard for us to counteract that. Perhaps you should stay here for a few months, help us try to reestablish ourselves. Then after the winter, take off if you want to." His look was almo
st imploring.

  They were right, of course, but my mind was made up. “Let me think about it. I appreciate your suggestion. I know those bastards would love to start rumors of my premature demise.”

  As I drove out to the airport in Islip, I mused about getting out of business altogether. Like those guys from Goldman Sachs, a few of whom I knew, who had left for different lives. More time with families. Giving something back to society. An end to their ratraces. For them, maybe, but not for me. I wasn’t ready for that. Probably never would be. Not to mention that I had no family to spend more time with. And I'll bet most of those guys were miserable because they probably couldn’t go back again. Like former top-ranked tennis pros who try to make a comeback. Kerplunk!

  A year earlier I had traded in my twin Baron for the much larger twin-engine Cessna Chancellor. I bought it from RAM Aviation down in Waco, Texas. They offered a new package, and for promotional purposes, made me a terrific deal. Not only would they completely overhaul the engines on the 1978 plane, but they would repaint the outside, provide a completely new interior as well as a new panel of instruments and avionics. The finished aircraft was gorgeous, with winglets and vortex generators for lift and faster speed; also color radar, a stormscope, a GPS that was the ultimate in navigational equipment, and many other amenities, including de-icing equipment. The engines were turbo-charged, which meant the plane had a service ceiling of 30,000 feet. Its airspeed averaged about 200 knots; it was pressurized and air-conditioned. Everyone said it was one of a kind.

  I checked it out down in Texas on a test flight. I had flown aircraft like this one before. In some ways, because of the turbo-chargers, there was more to do flying this one than a jet. Most large twins had two pilots up front. This one could be flown by a single pilot, and most of the time I liked it that way.

  I requested and received a special number for her, 355 HM. She was like a mistress to me. Making love with her was nice. We roamed around in the sky, our playground, floating, swaying gently to music only we would hear. When I was with her I could turn off the world out over the Atlantic or over the north and south forks of Long Island, past Montauk to Block Island, around Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, and Cape Cod. Most of all I loved flying over Vermont, where the fall and winter can be — and usually are — so tranquil and pristine, when the Green and Adirondack Mountains and Lake Champlain offer their wound-healing balm.