Guess What She Did

“I believe that I am the one who came up with that financing strategy,” Mark told Georgina pointedly. “I trust that you will make it clear to Rios that, when we close this deal, I will handle the money side of the transaction.”

  “I’ll emphasize that to him, of course,” Georgina said, mentally kicking herself for her careless misstep in referring to her financing plan. Mark proceeded to give Georgina the rundown on some reports about ZIFIX that his analysts had posted on the firm’s secure Web site. He told her that she needed to review them before she met with Dr. Carmichael the next day.

  “But why don’t you have a nice little dinner before you tackle such heavy reading?” he said. “There’s a wonderful restaurant right near the Inn, just off the main street, in a little courtyard. It’s called Martin’s. Great French food, as good as anything that you can get in Manhattan.”

  “Here?” Georgina asked. She belonged to that class of New Yorkers who thought that people who lived anywhere else were unsophisticated in culinary matters. More to the point, Georgina assumed that people who lived anywhere but Manhattan were unsophisticated, period.

  “Check it out,” Mark said. “Treat yourself to something special, on the firm.”

  “Thanks,” Georgina said, barely disguising her astonishment at Mark's largess with the firm's expense account. “I’ll take you up on that.” Mark’s recent benevolence towards her was mystifying. First he gave her the deal, then he arranged for her to stay at a luxury hotel, and now he was suggesting dinner at a fine restaurant instead of ordering room service while she worked. What was up with him anyway?

  After Mark hung up Georgina called Dr. Carmichael. She introduced herself as one of the Rios Capital bankers, and asked when it would be convenient for her to come by to see his company’s physical assets. “You could come by tonight after seven,” Nate said. “I’ll be there past midnight.”

  Georgina’s antennae went up. She was not interested in a nocturnal visit to the startup. “That’s very kind of you, Dr. Carmichael,” she said, “but tomorrow morning would work better for me. How about around eight?”

  “You got it. Need directions?”

  “No, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Georgina said. She shook her head in disbelief at what she had just heard. She dialed Millie who was at work but eager to talk.

  “So, tell me about Alejandro Rios,” Millie said expectantly. “Did he live up to his billing?”

  “Meeting with him was completely uneventful,” Georgina replied. “He was clear about what he wanted with the deal, but no fireworks. He took me on a tour of his property and even gave me a rose from his garden.”

  “That’s not what I was expecting to hear.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “No, I’m glad that it went well for you,” Millie assured her. “I just thought that Rios would be rather unpleasant in person.”

  “Not the case, at least not yet,” Georgina said. “But just before I called you, I had the strangest conversation with the doctor that I’m going to be negotiating with. He seemed overeager to meet with me. He actually invited me to go to see his company tonight.”

  “He sounds desperate," Millie said. "That’s good for you, isn’t it? If he’s desperate enough, he’ll grab the first offer that you make. So go ahead and lowball him.”

  “I don’t know whether he’s desperate or not. He may just be clueless about how business is done. But I’ll lowball him anyway, you can be sure of that. And another weird thing, Mark had me put up in a really nice hotel, and he told me to have an expensive dinner on the firm. I’d say I was feeling the love, but I know that he’s not capable of it.”

  “It’s not like Mark to think about another person’s creature comforts,” Millie said. “But he knows how to pile it on with clients when he wants something, doesn’t he? Maybe he’s setting you up for some reason.”

  “How Mark acts with clients is so scripted,” Georgina said. “No, it’s not like that. The way he’s behaving towards me right now doesn’t fit his M.O.”

  “If he doesn’t want something from you, then it’s probably just an aberration. Even Mark can slip up and appear to be human,” Millie said. She turned to a subject that interested her more. “What’s new with Nick? Any word on the job in D.C.?”

  “He expects to hear something tomorrow. I’m on pins and needles,” Georgina acknowledged.

  “What will you say to him, if he gets it?” Millie asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Georgina replied. “One minute I think that I should tell him to do whatever he thinks is best for him. You know, I could say something about how we’ll work out a distance relationship, if we have to. Then the next minute I’m thinking that I don’t want to deal with it—that’s it’s too complicated as it is, with both of us working such crazy hours. If he wants to be with me, then he should stay in New York and be with me, right? But what if this is a great opportunity, and he always regrets it if he turns it down? He might blame me forever. I wish there was something for me work-wise in D.C. but there isn’t. Honestly, Millie, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Maybe he won’t get an offer,” Millie said.

  “I don’t want that either. I don’t want him to be disappointed,” Georgina said. “So this whole affair is shaping up to be the mother of all lose-lose situations.”

  “Not necessarily,” Millie reassured her friend. “You’ve figured out tough things before. You’ll figure out this one too.”

  Later, Georgina stretched out on the comfy Inn bed and closed her eyes. She let her mind empty out; as she lay still, the adrenalin fueled by the day’s events gradually subsided. Her thoughts turned to Nick. She wanted to talk to him, but at this hour he would be about to go on the air. She propped herself up on two overstuffed pillows and turned on the television, changing channels until she found FNBS, the financial news channel where Nick worked.

  Most days Nick reported from the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, but today he was to appear on a show that aired after the markets closed. He had developed a niche for himself assessing the impact of federal regulation on the economy, and because of that, the show's anchor, Melanie Orr, had invited him on as a guest, to discuss a piece of legislation that was going to be voted on in Congress that evening. Melanie began the broadcast with her regular panelists in a roundtable discussion of the day’s trading action. After the first commercial break she introduced Nick and asked him how the legislation could affect the markets in the morning. Georgina watched as Nick engaged Melanie and the panelists in a lively debate. Georgina felt pride as she watched her man perform. Nick could match wits with the best of them, she thought, and he looked really good on camera.

  Christopher Wahl knew to avoid his father Philip Wahl when he came home agitated. Christopher assessed his father’s mood by the way he drove the Maserati into the garage—by how firmly he applied the car’s brake and shut the car's door. There was no screeching of brakes or slamming of doors when his father was upset; he just took both actions with slightly too much energy. Christopher’s concern for his father’s mood was not the result of fear of his temper. Philip Wahl was placid by nature, almost to a fault. He never showed belligerence towards Christopher or his younger brother Brett. In fact, he was keenly involved in his sons’ lives; he attended as many of their sports events as he could and he kept abreast of their progress in school. He encouraged his sons at every turn.

  Christopher’s sensitivity towards his father’s frame of mind was not due to his father’s behavior, but instead, his mother’s. At her best, Lauren Wahl was a difficult woman. At her worst, she was spiteful and silly, a particularly malignant combination of character traits. When Lauren got what she wanted, peace reigned in the Wahl household, but when she was thwarted, even in a minor way, the quality of domestic life rapidly deteriorated.

  The list of what was required for Lauren to be happy was a lengthy one. The home that they were building had to be sumptuously grand. Her person had to be appointe
d with only the trendiest—even if garishly flashy—apparel, all purchased from exclusive boutiques. Her social calendar had to be crammed with invitations to local A-list society events. Lauren had no doubt that she deserved her extravagant lifestyle, although the basis for her conviction on this point escaped her husband.

  Until recently Philip Wahl had maintained the status quo in his marriage by slavishly appeasing his wife. But, as the expenses for the new house spun wildly out of control, he had become less generous of spirit towards her. For the first time in their married life he had begun to question her expenditures. He had also come to be concerned that his wife’s preoccupation with her gilded lifestyle was taking precedence over her caring for their sons. He attempted to bring this apparent abdication of maternal responsibilities to Lauren's attention on several occasions. Each time his criticism prompted heated denials on her part, denials that were soon backed up by bouts of extreme shopping.

  Sensing that his father was indisposed this evening Christopher stayed in his upstairs bedroom. His discretion proved prescient. His parents’ angry voices soon filled the house. Brett, who had been doing homework in his bedroom next door, joined Christopher and together the boys listened as their parents rehashed their familiar litany of complaints against one another.

  Then, something new happened. Wahl shouted at his wife that unless she stopped spending, he was going to quit his job. He had just about had it at Rios Capital, he told her, and how would she like it if they had to move somewhere else and downsize? She would never get to live in that monster house, he said, and she would never get to throw parties there to show it off to her ridiculous friends. And, he added, his voice rising to full volume, he would be just fine with that. Silence fell, followed by the sound of Lauren’s rapid footsteps on the stairs, and then of her violent sobbing all the way to the master bedroom.

  Christopher put his hand on his brother’s slumping shoulders. “It’ll be all right,” he said. “It always blows over.” His reassuring words smoothed over the awkward moment and Brett returned to his room. But Christopher was not telling Brett what he really felt. Christopher was not at all confident that it would blow over. Something in his father’s intensely angry voice told him that this time, it was different.

 

  Sam Mori's obsession had begun innocently enough. When they were growing up, Sam and her brothers had been the only Asian children at school. Families living in Rancho Secreto in those days were typically white, a legacy from the 1920’s when the original restrictive covenant that defined the community specified who could buy property there. When the restrictions were lifted, after the California courts declared the practice illegal, a curious self-selection along ethnic lines continued for decades, resulting in a homogeneous character to the Ranch that persisted into Sam’s childhood years.

  Her parents had encouraged Sam and her brothers to embrace their Japanese heritage; they told their children to emphasize their individuality. Ignoring this parental advice, her brothers had assimilated as completely as they could but Sam, an obedient daughter, had endeavored to honor her parents’ wishes. Although neither Sam nor her mother recognized it at the time, the turning point in Sam’s cultural education was the doll. Her mother had presented it to her on her ninth birthday. Painted with the traditional white make-up and red bowed lips of the Geisha, the tall porcelain figure was dressed in a red kimono and obi and carried a red silk parasol. The doll’s stylized beauty had greatly intrigued Sam.

  Her mother had told her many stories about the “flower and willow world” of the Geisha. It was, she said, a magical world, dictated by ancient tradition, in which girls left home at an early age to be trained as entertainers by adult Geisha to whom they would remain apprenticed for years. The girls learned to sing, dance and play musical instruments. Most importantly they learned the art of conversation with men because, her mother told her, Geisha entertained men only. The girl apprentices, called Maiko, were taught the secrets to capturing a man’s attention. They learned how to make a man feel that he was the center of their universe—at least for the period of time that he was paying them—all the while maintaining complete control of the situation. To accomplish this, Geisha used an elaborate costume and a set of verbal and non-verbal skills handed down over the generations.

  At first Sam’s interest in Geisha lay only in their adornment and sense of refinement. As she entered puberty, however, she became more curious about their relationships with men. Her research into Geisha life revealed that the flower and willow world stood apart from Japanese society and was completely dominated by women. Geisha did not typically trade in sexual favors as some supposed, although some Geisha, once established, might take a patron on a long-term basis. If a Geisha married she would be expelled from the community. Typically a woman made a life long commitment to the lifestyle, moving from Maiko to working Geisha, and then on to teacher or manager and finally into retirement, living out her days in the Geisha house.

  Sam came to understand Geisha as early feminists, finding a measure of freedom in an otherwise male-dominated society. What most fascinated Sam was how these women, who appeared submissive in their outward demeanor, came to have so much power over men. Sam marveled at how men were willing to pay large sums of money for the temporary companionship of a Geisha, while paying much less for actual sex with prostitutes.

  As a teenager Sam discovered that she, too, could attract and hold boys' attention by using the techniques of the Geisha. As she perfected her skills, she was soon able to have almost any hormone-laced boy well in hand. This led to distressing complications with the son of a local pastor, prompting her parents to remove her from Rancho High and send her to an all-girls boarding school on the East Coast. But it was already too late. What had begun as a harmless exercise in self-esteem had turned into an all-consuming passion.

  Once at boarding school and away from parental restraints, Sam had had the V-shaped tattoo applied to the nape of her neck. The tattoo was inspired by the style of the Maiko, who wore the back of their kimonos low to expose a W-shaped sliver of skin artfully left bare in the white make-up coating the nape of the neck. Sam had almost chosen a W for the tattoo, but she feared that the device would be recognized. No one, not even her mother, had ever made the connection between the V-shaped tattoo on her neck and the W of the Maiko.

  When she got her first earnings as a patrol officer Sam had visited Little Tokyo in Los Angeles to buy white rice powder makeup and a Geisha-style wig. She had studied photos of Geisha to learn how to apply the traditional makeup and spent hours in front of her mirror until she mastered the technique. As time went on she had made more visits to Little Tokyo, ostensibly to take part in Japanese cultural activities, but in reality to shop for kimonos and obis that emulated the elaborate Geisha style. On her return from these visits to Little Tokyo, she had kept her purchases hidden in the trunk of her car until no one was at home. Then she would bring the items into the teahouse and conceal them in her dresser drawers.

  Sometimes, late at night when everyone in the main house was asleep, Sam would lock the door and close the shoji screens. She would take items from the drawers one by one and examine them. At first only rarely, but with time more frequently, Sam dressed in the full Geisha costume. In Japan Geisha had makeup artists and dressers to help them create the effect but, with practice, Sam learned how to make a good approximation on her own.

  Tonight was one of those nights when Sam became a Geisha. She carefully applied the white rice powder makeup and put the wig in place. She selected a purple silk kimono from bottom drawer of the dresser. After wrapping herself in the kimono and tying a silver-colored obi around it, she stepped into black wooden shoes. She stood in front of the mirror over the dresser for a very long time, looking intently at herself. Then she waved a fan at an imaginary patron and pretended to talk.

  “I miss you,” Nick said. “Please tell me you’re coming back to New York tomorrow.”

  “I miss you
too, but what if I get back to New York and you’re in D.C.?” Georgina said good-naturedly.

  “Would it help if I promised that if I move to Washington, I’ll spend every weekend with you in New York?” Nick countered.

  “I don’t know how that would help, since I plan to spend every weekend with you in D.C.,” Georgina said. “Oh, wait, on second thought, I can’t go to D.C. on weekends. I work weekends. And you can’t come to New York either, because you work weekends too.”

  “OK, truce,” Nick said. “We’ll figure it out if it happens, trust me. Just give me a chance. And neither of us works every weekend.”

  “We each work enough weekends to make living in two different cities a logistical nightmare,” Georgina said. “And you are the one thinking of moving.”

  “Which one of us is not in New York right now?” Nick teased.

  “OK, I travel on business more than you do,” Georgina conceded. “I’ll give you that one.”

  Chapter Six