The Dinosaur Club Page 21

  “I don’t think Carter ever fantasized about cheerleaders,” Samantha said. “I think he always fantasized about money and power.”

  Fallon grinned again. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But, anyway, I was thinking about it. And I wondered if Carter ever thought about it. I wondered if he ever visualized another little future yuppie sitting in a similar dormitory, and if he understood that fifteen years from now that kid will be dead center in the carnivorous world he seems so determined to create—but that, then, he’ll be the meat the little bastard wants to feed on.”

  “I don’t think Carter worries about that,” Samantha said. “I think he expects to be CEO of a company long before that happens. And if he’s not, then I think he believes he deserves whatever he gets.”

  Fallon looked back into his glass and shook his head. “Is that what it’s come to? Have we degenerated all the way to accepting the idea of survival of the fittest?”

  “Was it ever different?”

  “Jesus, I think it was. I can remember going to retirement parties. I can remember the sincere affection for those people—the sense, in most cases, that they’d be truly missed.” He looked across the table at her, wishing she could remember it, too. “I’m not saying there weren’t people rubbing their hands together about the vacancy that was being created. Or ruthless bastards, who tried to push people out of the way. Of course there were. But they were looked upon as ruthless bastards. They were an anomaly. They weren’t respected by their peers. They weren’t people anyone wanted to emulate. And, most of all, they didn’t represent the way things were done.”

  Samantha stared at him, but said nothing.

  “I sound naive, huh? Maybe I am. Maybe Trisha is right—that I’m a guy with seventies values who’s stuck in the nineties.”

  “When do you think it changed? This attitude toward people, I mean.”

  Fallon paused, as if trying to pinpoint a specific date. “It’s hard to say, because it seemed to sneak up on us. I guess it started in the early eighties, with all the merger insanity, all the mindless acquisition. That’s when the bottom line became king. Then it just grew. And before anybody knew it, the idea of permanence had simply faded away. All of a sudden nothing was expected to last. Not people, not companies, not even society. Only profits.” He toyed with his glass. “It just sort of crept in, and then it was there. Or maybe we just ignored what was happening. Maybe we never expected it to go this far.” He stared across the table at her. “Human values aren’t supposed to change that way, I don’t think. But they do, of course. It happened in Europe in the thirties, didn’t it? A whole new set of values that lacked any humanity. Suddenly it was there. And people bought into it because it held out the promise of economic gains after some very hard times. And it also gave them a chance to blame someone else for those bad times, to ignore their own complicity. And that was important. The ability to have an easy scapegoat—people who had caused the problem. It gave the ruthlessness a justification.”

  Samantha stared at the table. “That’s a hideous picture, Jack.”

  “You think I’m wrong? That this is somehow different? You think jettisoning people solely for the purpose of increased profitability has any moral standing, or even any humanity to it?” He picked up the cocktail napkin on which his drink had sat and began tearing at it absently. “Bad management is the reason companies are in trouble today. Years of bad management, complete with all the excessive perks that went with it. But the guys running things are never going to admit that. They want an easy scapegoat. And what better than to piously proclaim that they’ve been too good to people for too long.” His fist closed around the shredded cocktail napkin. “And guys like Carter feed on that kind of thinking. You saw those poor klutzes in the gym tonight—that group of wonderful clowns who’ve been labeled dinosaurs. All of them, scared to death, and even more frightened that it might show. Christ, none of them ever wanted to be CEO of anything. Their sense of worth didn’t depend on that.” He stared across at her, his face weary again. “Those people are everywhere, in every company. They work in labs and in manufacturing, in clerical jobs and shipping departments, because it’s what they do best, and they’re proud of it. But by Carter’s premise they’re fodder, and they’re expendable because they haven’t made it to safety at the top.” He let out another cold laugh. “The very place everything got screwed up in the first place.”

  He looked away, shook his head, then turned back to her. “Have you been into a Kmart, or a McDonald’s, and seen the fifty-year-olds who are suddenly all over those places doing menial jobs?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t noticed, I guess.”

  He nodded. “I only really started to notice myself.” He offered her a regretful smile, as though acknowledging his own absent sensitivity. “I guess you have to face the bear before you realize how dangerous the woods are.”

  He shook his head. “Christ, I watch all these companies shutting down plants and moving to Mexico, and the Philippines, and wherever. All to get cheaper labor so they can grab more profits.” He leaned toward her, his face earnest. “I see them laying off hundreds, thousands of people, and I wonder what the hell is going on in their minds. Isn’t anyone saying: Hey, wait a minute, if we all do this, who the hell is going to buy our TV sets and our cars and our toasters? Where’s our talent pool going to come from when all those families can’t afford to send their kids to college anymore? What’s going to happen to our economy when those kids grow up and are never able to buy a house? And you know what’s even sicker? Nobody’s asking those questions. Not even guys like me. We’re all too busy watching our own backs, because we’re all just trying to survive this new wrinkle in the game. And the guys who are making those decisions are oblivious to it all. They’re fixated on balance sheets.”

  Samantha was stunned by his vehemence; even more than she had been able to put aside those same concerns for so many weeks. Yet, despite the mock newsletter, the phony E-mail memos, and the T-shirt bravado, there was also a hint of surrender in Fallon’s voice that frightened her. She looked into her own glass of wine. “Jack, I’m going to give you something I shouldn’t.” She glanced up, held his eyes. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and it’s something I want to do. Not just for you, but also for myself. Up until now, I just didn’t think I could … ethically.”

  “What makes you think you can now?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Sometimes, I guess, one set of ethics outweighs another.” She wanted to tell him she cared about him, too. Perhaps was even falling in love with him. But no similar words had come from him, and perhaps, just perhaps, he was still in love with his wife. Even the possibility of that caused her pain.

  He reached out and took her hand again. “Look, I don’t want you to compromise your job. I’m a big boy, and this isn’t your problem.”

  No, but I’m very much a part of the problem, she thought. Her own boss was on their hit list—which was why she had been given the task of preparing a severance proposal—and she had done nothing to warn him. The man was a chauvinistic fool, but he still didn’t deserve what was about to happen. The realization she was a party to it disgusted her.

  She stared across the table, kept her voice soft. “I’ve been doing quite a balancing act for the past several weeks,” she began. “I’ve been doing something I haven’t liked very much, but something I felt I had to do anyway.” She lowered her eyes, realized how easy it was to make excuses. “I’ve tried to justify it in a lot of ways. Legal ethics versus personal ethics. But I guess it all boiled down to hanging on to a job I very much wanted to keep. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and it hasn’t been easy. There aren’t many women in my position, and I guess I valued that fact more than I admitted, was even willing to do things I wouldn’t have considered a few years ago.” She felt cheapened by what she had said, but pushed it aside. “But I can’t keep doing it. I realized that earlier today. Part of it’s you, but part of it’s what I see happen
ing around me. And to me.” She let out a long breath, urged herself on. It was a point from which she would not be able to return. “Jack, I’ve finished the draft buyout proposal I told you about. No one, other than Carter and whoever else is in the loop, is supposed to know about it.”

  Fallon let out his own long breath. “Have they told you who they’re targeting?” he asked.

  Samantha nodded. “I got the names a few days ago. All of you—all the dinosaurs—are on Carter’s list. But it’s been designed very cleverly. It includes almost everyone close to fifty and over, with a few exceptions in the lower salary brackets. It also includes enough younger people to undermine any claims of age discrimination. If you buy into Carter’s bravado, he really doesn’t expect that suit to happen. Though, frankly, I think the idea makes him nervous. Still, he’s hinted that the whole question of a suit might be moot—that a sizable number of people might leave before the offer is even made.”

  Fallon let out a derisive snort. “I think he’s already started that little game.” He lowered his eyes. “And I don’t think there’s any way to stop it.”

  “Probably not,” Samantha said. She reached down, withdrew a manila envelope from her briefcase, and slid it across the table. “That’s a copy of my proposal. Carter just got it today, and he’s already indicated he’s not pleased with it. Especially not the recommendations I made concerning factors that should be considered before anyone is put on their final target list.”

  Fallon opened the envelope and flipped to the back of the report. He read the addendum and offered her a haggard smile. “I bet he wasn’t,” he said. “But even with this, even if he agreed, it’s still wrong.”

  “I know.” She felt an odd mixture of emotions, moving between professional and personal. There was an underlying sense of betrayal in each.

  “I don’t think Carter has final approval for this, but I think he’s close,” she said.

  “I think he has the approval that counts,” Fallon said. “I think Charlie Waters is one hundred percent behind him. They may still have to sell it to the board, but it’s Charlie’s board. As long as the numbers crunch the right way, they’ll get what they want.”

  “If it comes to that, the proposal will help you make a case for age discrimination. Especially if the recommendations are ignored.”

  Fallon nodded. “I know. And I appreciate what it means for you to give it to me. You could get in a bit of trouble, couldn’t you? I mean even outside the company?”

  “Believe me, I’ve thought about that. And, yes, it’s a breach of client confidentiality,” she said. “The bar’s disciplinary committee would not view that lightly.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand again. “Being a hired gun sucks at times, doesn’t it?”

  Samantha let out a small, mirthless laugh. “I never suspected how much.”

  A waiter came to the table, ready to take their order. Samantha shook her head, sending him away. “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” she said. She glanced out the window. The glistening street didn’t seem beautiful anymore.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Fallon said. He squeezed her hand. “I have to be at my mother’s nursing home early tomorrow morning,” he said. “But I still have the change of clothes I took to Plattsburgh, and I’d very much like to spend the night here with you. I’ll just have to leave early in the morning.”

  Samantha looked across the table and gave him a wistful smile. “I’d like that, Jack. And I think I could use it.”

  13

  THE RESIDENCE AT WILLOW RUN SEEMED SOMNOLENT, almost still, when Fallon pulled his car into the parking lot at eight-fifteen. A few elderly denizens had already taken their posts on benches scattered near the front entrance. Otherwise, all was quiet.

  Fallon sat in his car with the window down. The rain had ended during the night, and the morning was unseasonably cool, almost crisp, the still-wet foliage filling the air with a sniff of the autumn yet to come. He had left Grand Central at six-fifteen, retrieved his car at the suburban station parking lot, and had driven home to drop off his suitcase and check his mail. Then he had headed for The Residence and his eight-thirty, rear-door meeting with Warren Montague.

  Fallon glanced at his watch and decided to remain in the car rather than stand outside the rear door until the appointed time. He had done this once before, he recalled. Trisha and he had come together for his twice-monthly visit. They had been arguing, and had remained in the car, spewing invective at each other until, finally, he had gone inside alone.

  Had there always been that much fighting, or were those times just indelibly marked in his mind? Perhaps now they were—some necessary defense mechanism to ease the pain—the cuckold convincing himself he was better off. It was a depressing thought, the fact that the pain was still there even more so. But he knew he would never seek reconciliation, would not spend his days wondering when infidelity would again reenter his life. And renewed intimacy, he was certain, would always carry the taint of a former lover, and would crush and overwhelm all feeling. Was that some primal need for exclusivity, some perquisite of possession? He hoped not. He wondered if he was sorry she was gone or simply hurt by her decision to dump him for another man. And what about your complicity in all of it?

  Fallon stared out the window, not wanting to consider any of it. Think of better things, he told himself. His mind settled on Samantha, the one, perhaps the only better thing in his life right now.

  What she had done the previous night staggered him. He did not dismiss a higher ethical motive behind her decision. But there was no doubt her feelings had played an essential part. The end result would probably not allow him to escape Bennett’s scheme, but that didn’t matter. There had been little hope of that anyway. And that was something she knew, had to know. Yet she had placed herself in jeopardy. Love? The thought of it so soon after Trisha’s betrayal scared the hell out of him. But how do you feel? You think about the woman incessantly, see her every chance you get. Are you falling in love with her? Everything about Samantha kaleidoscoped through his mind. She seemed so damned perfect in so many ways. Is there any reason not to be falling in love with her?

  Jesus. What would she want with you? What would anyone want with a middle-aged mutt about to be tossed out of the only real job he’s ever had? Add to that a divorce that’s about to bankrupt you, and two kids in college with grand expectations you may never be able to meet. He glanced toward The Residence and reminded himself not to forget dear old Mom.

  Fallon climbed out of the car, escaping his thoughts. He made his way along the walkway that led around the building. As he rounded the final corner, he came upon the small, man-made pond at the rear of the building. Empty benches were scattered around the perimeter, vapor rose from the surface. Five ragged-looking mallards paddled along the far shore, old ducks no longer capable of migration who had adopted the pond as a year-round home. Ducks in a nursing home, Fallon thought. Why not?

  He went to the rear door and found it open, an anxious Warren Montague waiting just inside. The nursing home director was tall and slender, and he was dressed in a dapper, yet very somber, blue suit—an undertaker in waiting, Fallon thought. Montague was smiling, but Fallon thought he detected more than a little panic in it.

  “I’m glad you could come.” He let out a slightly weary sigh. “We have a somewhat awkward situation.” Montague had clasped his hands and was rubbing the palms back and forth. Fallon had the distinct impression he was about to be shown a coffin.

  “How awkward?” Fallon asked.

  Montague took Fallon by the elbow and led him away from the door. There was a small sitting area in front of a picture window. They took chairs opposite each other, Montague’s back to the window. Behind him a bedraggled male mallard was pursuing a female along the shore. It was not an amorous pursuit, Fallon noted. The female had a crust of bread in its beak.

  “Your mother has caused a bit of a commotion, I’m afraid,” Montague began. He offered a w
eak, helpless smile. “All of us here—the entire staff—are at a loss on how to deal with it. We were hoping you might help.”

  A commotion? My mother? Why am I not surprised, Fallon thought?

  “What seems to be the problem?” Fallon asked.

  Montague clasped his hands, rubbed the palms again. “Goodness, this is embarrassing. But I assure you it just happened. No warning at all.”

  “What is it?” A hint of concern had come to Fallon’s voice.

  The weak smile reappeared. “Well it seems your mother—a lovely woman …” Montague was fumbling now. “Everyone here just adores her….”

  I doubt that, Fallon thought.

  “Well, it seems she’s become a bit delusional.”

  Fallon sat forward and held the man’s eyes. “Please, Mr. Montague. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Another breath. “Well, it seems your mother has decided that she is the reincarnation of the Virgin Mary.”

  Fallon stared at him. “What?”

  Another weak, sickly smile. “The Virgin Mary. The mother of Jesus.” He studied Fallon’s face, seeking comprehension. The palms massaged each other again. “She’s begun dressing in a blue robe and blue veil, and she’s been holding … apparitions, I guess, throughout The Residence.”

  “Is she walking on water?” Fallon asked.

  “That was her son, I think,” Montague said.

  Fallon covered his face with his hands, shook his head.

  “I’m afraid it’s even a bit more serious,” Montague said.

  Fallon looked up. “How so?”

  “Well, it seems some of our other residents—not many, but some—have taken this situation to heart.” He made a face, as if what he was about to say would not be believed. “Some of them seem to be … venerating her. Some of the Catholics have even begun saying the rosary when she … appears, so to speak. I’m afraid the numbers have even been growing.”