deep breath. He slowly removed his glasses, folded them and placed them in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and then Murray Carson told the very first lie of his political career. “Actually, all of you might as well know,” he said, a weak smile timidly tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I did smoke pot when I was younger . . . in my youth.” He paused for a moment, ignoring a yelping noise that seemed to emanate from behind him. “Quite a bit actually.”
Velanni
“Franklin, how was that concert last night?” the young partner asked the old partner.
Franklin Bekkart finished hanging up his beautiful camel hair overcoat, straightened his silk tie and then turned to his younger colleague. He slowly moved his gaze from Ronan Craig’s face down his body to his shoes and then back up again. He pursed his lips ever so slightly as he often did, his intention to make a subtle statement about his own attire relative to Ronan’s. “Bartoli was magnificent, truly magnificent. Best I’ve seen. Really.”
“Ah, Bartoli,” Ronan Craig said, shaking his head slowly and smiling, as one might do having taken a satisfying bite of food.
Franklin changed directions. “Where do we stand on the Rollyglen thing?” he asked. “Is he coming in today?”
“Yeah, he’ll be here in about an hour,” Ronan said, forcing the smile from his face. “Don’t worry about it unless you can spare the time. We’ll probably get into the contractual stuff next week; we’ll need you then.”
“I may join you just so I can start to familiarize myself with things,” Franklin said and paused. “You know that’s the second time I’ve seen Bartoli sing Rossini,” he said finally, his face soaked in pride.
“I saw her once . . . in Rome,” Ronan countered.
“Me too, that’s where I saw her the first time,” Franklin said, no doubt realizing that he’d trumped Ronan.
“Hmm,” Ronan said, disappointed that he had played his hand too soon. “Well, perhaps we’ll see you in the boardroom in an hour.”
“Perhaps.”
The two lawyers disappeared down the wood paneled corridor to their offices, Franklin walking briskly, head held high, Ronan moping behind.
Jane Cooper smiled to herself; she had seen plenty of this type of thing. She was the receptionist at Bains and Ensor, her desk within spitting distance of the coat closet where Ronan Craig and Franklin Bekkart had just done battle. She was a simple woman who used simple language to convey her thoughts, didn’t own a summer home, didn’t actually own a winter, fall or spring home either, rather she rented an apartment, enjoyed drinking beer with her boyfriend at the local establishment, and was perfectly content not going to the opera.
Jane liked and got along with most of the lawyers at the firm, and would’ve shared a drink with any number of them if asked, although she never was. A few, Ronan and Franklin included, seemed to like wallowing in their perceived cultural superiority; continually attempting to out-sophisticate the others. Most of the time Jane got a kick out these little battles, although lately they seemed to be grating on her nerves a bit. Opera, ballet and the literary classics seemed to be the favorite battleground for these ruffian egos, and the scene Jane had just witnessed would play out several times, in several different parts of the office throughout the day.
Suddenly Ronan Craig reappeared, and headed towards the coat closet. “That’s a short day Ronan,” Jane joked, more for her own amusement.
He smiled half-heartedly without looking at her. “I just forgot my glasses,” he said and started to search the pockets of his coat.
“Ronan, you know something about opera, don’t you?” Jane said.
He turned toward her now. “Indeed. I do.”
“Well, I was wondering if you could help me.”
“What is it?”
“Well, my aunt and uncle are visiting in a couple of weeks from the coast, and they’ve managed to get themselves some tickets to see a singer named Velanni who they say is quite good. I’m always at a loss to make conversation with them, and I was wondering if you knew anything about Velanni.”
Ronan stared at Jane; he had a weak smile on his face, and he didn’t say anything.
“Is Velanni any good Ronan?”
His smile broadened. “Yes. Quite.”
“Thanks. That’s great. Now I can say that I spoke with someone at work about Velanni. That’s all I need,” Jane said, and laughed. “That’ll be a nice little ice breaker.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Ronan said, and he was gone again.
Ivan Rollyglen was a very valuable client for Bains and Ensor. He bought companies like most people bought shoes, and sold a good number of them shortly thereafter, once he was bored with them; all the while generating very handsome legal fees for the firm. Ronan and Franklin shared the account, and had a nice routine worked out. Ronan would handle most of the early work, trying to get a feel for what Ivan really wanted to accomplish; was he buying, selling, just bored and looking for something to do, or was he actually trying to squeeze out a profit. Franklin would come in later and handle the complexities of the contracts and get the investment bankers involved if need be. They wined and dined Ivan like he was royalty, and indeed he had come to expect a certain amount of preferential treatment.
Ronan popped his head into Bains and Ensor’s main boardroom. “Hello, Ivan.”
“Ronan, I thought you had forgotten about me,” the large man said, not looking up from the newspaper in front of him.
“That sir, would be an impossibility,” Ronan said, feeling more comfortable lately with Ivan, and deciding to push the boundary a bit.
“Hmm. Is Franklin joining us?”
Franklin entered the room at that moment. “I certainly will be.”
“Hello Franklin, how are things?” Ivan asked, looking up now.
“Very good thanks,” Franklin said and sat down across the table from Ivan. “I saw Bartoli last night.”
“Really. Wonderful,” the large man said although he had no idea who Bartoli was. If pressed, he may have been able to guess that they were talking about opera, but Bartoli? Might be a male, might be a female. Who knew?
“Yes, that’s the second time I’ve seen Bartoli. The first time was in Rome,” Franklin said and stole a quick glance at Ronan, who remained expressionless.
“You know, I’m sort of surprised that you chaps have never taken old Ivan to the opera. I suppose I don’t bring you enough business,” Ivan said and stared at Franklin, not acknowledging Ronan.
Franklin and Ronan laughed, if somewhat nervously. “You know, you may have a point there Ivan,” Ronan said, seeing an opportunity to one-up Franklin. “Perhaps we should take you to the opera.”
“That sounds like a fabulous idea.” Ivan said amused at his own power.
“Ronan and I will sort out the details and let you know a date Ivan,” Franklin said, a smile hiding the anguish he felt at the thought of spending a night at the opera with Ivan. “Perhaps we should discuss this cosmetics company you’re thinking of buying now,” he said trying to get them refocused.
“You know,” Ronan piped up, desperate to build on his momentum, “Velanni is coming in a couple of weeks. Why don’t we go and see Velanni.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Ivan said, now bored at the prospect of buying a cosmetic company.
“Do you like Velanni, Franklin?” Ronan asked.
Franklin smiled and paused, not unlike how Ronan had earlier in front of Jane. “Yes, of course. Who doesn’t,” he said finally.
“Ivan, would you enjoy seeing Velanni?” Ronan continued.
“Yes. Yes. Yes. It’ll be a great night. We’ll go for dinner and drinks, and bring the ladies. We’ll have a smashing good time. I must say; Velanni is a tremendous choice. Well done Ronan.”
Franklin gave Ronan a long stare. “Perhaps you can arrange to get the tickets and make some reservations Ronan,” he said slowly, as if to underline his annoyance.
“Yes of course.”
“N
ow, let’s figure out a way to buy this make-up company,” Ivan bellowed, clearly pleased with the prospect of a night of eating, drinking and being serenaded by someone named Velanni.
Ronan typed V-e-l-a-n-i, hit the enter key and waited for the search engine to do its thing. He scanned his screen and shook his head. That was the fifth spelling of Velanni he had tried and still nothing. He picked up his phone and quickly tapped out Jane’s extension.
“Yes Ronan.”
“Jane, I’m sorry I was sort of short with you before,” Ronan said, trying to sound sincere, but not fooling Jane. “Listen, let’s the two of us do a bit of research on old Velanni so we can wow those relatives of yours; really knock their socks off. Tell you what, grab some stuff off the internet and bring it in to me and I’ll summarize it for you.”
“Oh Ronan, that’s not necessary,” Jane said, sounding embarrassed. “Actually I’ve been trying for the last couple of minutes and haven’t been able to find anything on the internet. Perhaps I’m not spelling it correctly Ronan. How do you spell Velanni?”
Ronan paused, only for a split second. “As it sounds my dear.”
“There is a Velanni right. You did say you liked Velanni. Right Ronan?”
Ronan put his hand lightly over the receiver. “What, right now. Alright,” he said to his empty office. “I’ve got to go Jane,” he said quickly and hung up. Who the hell was Velanni? Ronan ran his hand through his thinning hair. Was Velanni a male or female? Maybe Jane had gotten the name wrong.
He picked up