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  She folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “What can I do for you?”

  Rob took a deep breath, blew it out, and began his well-rehearsed opening lines.

  “You’ve cut my discretionary expense budget. There’s no way…”

  She held up her hand, and in a surprisingly compassionate tone, said, “I thought I’d be seeing you today on this matter. As president of Craig and Mathews, I make decisions and choices that determine whether or not the corporation will be profitable. If it isn’t, I won’t be doing my job and will be fired. It’s as simple as that. With that in mind, I’ve decided to re-examine the viability and success probability of influencing politicians in an effort to simplify the tax code. Is it realistically attainable or are we wasting our time and money?”

  "But you can't expect results this soon. All projections for success had a five-year window. We just got started. And already we've…"

  Claire stood, came around to the front of the desk, and took the guest chair alongside Rob. She opened her hands, palms up. Quietly but with concern, said, “We are re-examining the project. What more can I say?”

  Rob felt his shoulders slump. A silent moment passed. “Can I ask you a question? Off the record?”

  As with many organizations, Craig and Mathews had an unwritten policy addressing touchy topics. It was known as OTR or Off the Record. This caveat was used when a conversation drifted into the stormy waters created by the ACLU and other litigation-happy organizations, which have effectively stifled frank discussions. Whether or not it released the participants from the scrutiny of corporate lawyers, glaring down from the nearest dead tree, waiting for an opportunity to swoop down and “gotcha,” was still yet to be tested in a court of law. But it seemed to work.

  Claire nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Rob turned and faced her, noticing for the first time that Claire Anderson – contrary to her prevailing reputation - wore the expression of a sympathetic active listener, not a blood-thirsty shark.

  “Does this have anything to do with my father-in-law?”

  Whatever he expected, it wasn’t the sad smile that spread across her face.

  “Your father-in-law ran this company like some exclusive, good ole boy country club, and it’s no secret he and I didn’t see eye to eye. In fact, I think it’s safe to say we detested each other. For the years of his presidency, he personally selected many employees. Liberally sprinkled throughout this company are his appointees: in some cases qualified and competent, in others, not so much.”

  She paused and again, opening her hands palms up, continued. “If I spitefully fired all his hand-picked men and women, there’d be nobody left to turn off the lights. The company would cease to function. Plus, I’m quite pleased with the performance of some of his key appointees. How they got to where they are is of no consequence.”

  She cocked her head to the side, making sure to catch Rob's eye. "Take you for example. You were appointed to a Senior Vice Presidents position immediately after marrying his daughter. I'd be lying if I said that didn't irritate me, and at first, I admit, I dismissed you as a political appointee and wrote you off as being a chip off the old block. But I will happily acknowledge I underestimated your value to the company. Based upon input from a wide array of sources, you know tax law, understand corporations, and manage your employees very well."

  Rob frowned. “But if I’m…”

  Claire stood, walked behind the desk and took her seat. “This is when my job becomes most challenging and difficult. I’m going to be straight with you. Your assignment, influencing politicians to think outside the box and behave beyond their comfort zone, needs to be driven by someone who is utterly ruthless, willing to play all those nasty political games, and possessing skin the thickness of dragon hide.” She looked Rob straight in the eye. “You are not that person.”

  5

  The Long Dark Road

  A few nights later, Rob lay on the couch again, staring at the ceiling somewhere up there in the darkness. Sleep was a million miles away. Like an old-fashion record player stuck in a grove and endlessly repeating the same notes over and over again, the words Claire said, “You are not that person,” kept replaying in his mind. Dreams of a ‘President’ sign hanging on his door dissolved as did the plans for international expansion into a Fortune 500 Company he fantasized about leading. In place of those dreams was the realization that he would be fired; with all the shame and stigma attached to such a situation.

  He frowned and whispered, “How did I get here, soon to be fired, sleeping alone on my couch in this snake pit of a house where all the inhabitants despise me. What went wrong? When did all this happen?”

  He squinted his eyes in the dimness, rolling back his personal history, pausing at each key event: promotion to Senior Vice President, the birth of his children, marriage to Nicole, and so on. It all seemed to be going so well, but now…

  When did it all change? Life used to be full of promise and joy. But now…

  Suddenly Rob sat up and said aloud, “It was that party.”

  The year nineteen eighty-nine was a banner year for the accounting firm of Craig and Mathews. The corporate growth had been exponential, opportunities were blooming, and promotions were looming. Among the potential promotions was a newly approved Vice President's spot, and among the applicants under consideration was the tax code specialist, Roberto Santos. No, he was not the only candidate and in fact, his ascension to the rarified air where the Vice Presidents live took several years – after a few false starts - but eventually, it did happen.

  Undoubtedly, the events that took place during the end-of-the-year Christmas season corporate celebration were a contributing factor to the promotion. And they were the beginning of the end to his life of happiness.

  It all started weeks before the party when notifications were sent out. The invitation read ‘Roberto Santos and Guest.' At the time, Rob was living with Anna Becker: a graduate social worker who volunteered at the local soup kitchen. She spent her days fulfilling her zeal to help the poor and less fortunate. In contrast, Rob wore expensive suits and took the subway into the office every day, climbing the corporate ladder. Still, they loved each other – passionately - and at the time, life was good.

  The invitation, attached to the refrigerator with a Boston Red Sox magnet, was ignored for a week or so, but then the date loomed, and plans had to be made. For his part, Rob rented a tuxedo from a local men's store. He had the type of body made for finely cut suits, and the fit of the rented tux was by all assessments, a wow. Conversely, at Rob's constant urging, Anna borrowed a dress from a co-worker. It was dull and ill-fitting. Further, it was shapeless and far more appropriate for a Woodstock love-in than a corporate celebration.

  Finally, the date arrived. The ‘Year End Celebration' was to be held at the Ritz-Carlton, and Victor Craig, Corporate CEO and President personally greeted all invites at the front door.

  There were speeches and awards, a meal fit for royalty, and expensive wine flowed like water. Finally, mercifully, the band struck up a tune and the floor was instantly filled with dancers.

  Rob offered Anna his hand. “Shall we?”

  Anna picked up her purse, leaned close to Rob and whispered, "I'm feeling really uncomfortable here. I want to leave as soon as we can."

  Rob’s shoulders slumped. “But…”

  "I'm going to the ladies room," Anna said, and with her cheeks an angry red strode across the dancefloor to the facility.

  Rob stood as she left. “Anna…”

  But she kept walking.

  A woman’s voice from behind said, “‘Cause every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

  Rob turned and there stood the daughter of company president Victor Craig; the lovely Nicole.

  Rob blinked. Nicole wore a fitted black dress, with a neckline that plunged to her navel and a slit up each leg that stopped just short of the goal line. And she had a figure to fill it out. Her jewelry was diamonds, her hair was perf
ect, and in short, she was ravishing.

  Stunned at the sight, Rob blurted, “Pardon me?”

  Nicole flashed a coy smile. “It’s a line from that song by ZZTop, Sharp Dressed Man.” She looked Rob up and down. “Nice threads.” Then she extended her hand. “I’m Nicole Craig.”

  “Rob Santos”

  “I know. My father speaks highly of you. Now I can see why.”

  “I’m surprised. There are plenty of good accountants.”

  “So I hear.”

  The band played on.

  Nicole asked, “Is she your finance?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Your date. The woman you came with. Are you engaged?”

  “Oh, Anna. No, not yet.”

  “What does Anna do?”

  “She’s a social worker. Graduated from Leslie College last year. Volunteers in the soup kitchen.”

  "I see." Like a light switch being shut off, Nicole's facial expression instantly changed from Belle of the Ball to total disgust. "Each to their own I suppose. As for me, I want the good life." The coy smile returned. "As I can see by the way you are dressed, I think you do as well."

  Rob blushed. “Well, er, maybe.” He looked down at his coat. “I figured I’d better dress the part. I don’t normally…”

  Nicole moved a step closer. She reached over and touched his sleeve, ostensibly to feel the fabric of his fine tuxedo, but they both knew it was way more than just an examination of the coat. She slowly, softly moved her fingers up his arm. Rob’s mouth fell open, as his pulse quickened. His eyes drifted down to the cleavage on Nicole’s dress. Her pendant acted as an arrow, guiding his gaze. She moved her leg slightly, the slit up the side of her dress falling open.

  And then she was gone, and in a moment, Anna had returned.

  “I see you’ve met the bosses’ daughter. Is she nice?”

  Rob shrugged. “She was just making the rounds.”

  They stood side by side, the party flowing around them like a colorful, musical carousel.

  Finally, Anna said, “Just remember what William Shakespeare once said.”

  “What’s that?”

  “All that glitters is not gold.”

  Rob frowned and gazed all around the dance floor. Nicole had disappeared. Then he looked back at Anna and when he did, all he could see was her ill-fitting dress.

  Anna looked up at Rob. “Can we go now?”

  For the Fortune 500 commercial accounting corporation of Craig and Mathews, the most important gathering of the entire year was the strategic planning meeting held on the first Friday of the New Year. It was by invitation only, and all those with a step or two on the corporate ladder were present. Unbreakable rule number one for up and coming executives: never, never be late! Rob drained his coffee mug, grabbed his notebook, straightened his tie, and was just stepping out of the door to his office when his phone rang.

  “Shit,” he said, dashing back. “Hello?”

  “Rob, this is Nicole. We met two weeks ago at daddy’s Christmas party. Do you remember me?”

  Face suddenly flushed, Rob said, “Why yes. Of course I do."

  “I know you’re likely running off to the big meeting so I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know, I’d be interested in seeing you again. I’ll be in Karen’s Tavern this afternoon, after your meeting. Come on by. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Ah,” Rob stammered. “Wow, I’ll…”

  “You’ve got to run. Hope to see you later.” She hung up.

  6

  Another Way

  The bartender placed a Sam Adams Lager beer on the smooth oak bar in front of Rob.

  “Want to see a menu?”

  Rob shook his head no and stared at the beverage.

  The dimly lit, upscale watering hole for Boston's professionals, known as Emmett's Place, was just starting to fill up with suits dropping by for a quick drink before dinner, or in some cases, several quick drinks instead of dinner. Behind the bar, the usual array of blue and purple vodka bottles was backlit and stacked in front of an oak rimmed mirror. Stained glass lamp shades hung from the ceiling throughout the establishment, like so many colorful stalactites. Pictures of Boston sports legends covered the wood-paneled walls. With tall tables and padded stools, it was designed for people meeting people – and staying.

  A few minutes later, he was still staring at his beer when Chrissy Kosic arrived.

  “Hey there, Sunshine,” she said, clapping him on the back. “What’s happening in the world of corporate tax evasion?”

  Rob stood, gave her a brief hug, and then plopped back into his seat.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  She slid onto a bar stool and ordered a Perrier water. Chrissy, who’s most eye-catching feature was a huge, bird beak nose, wore a finely tailored gray JoS.A.Bank suit and white silk blouse with the top few buttons open. Her coal black hair was cropped short, and other than simple pearl earrings, she wore no jewelry or make-up. She smiled her full face toothy grin while looking Rob up and down. Her grin faded.

  “What have you been up to? You look like shit.”

  "Thanks, Chrissy. And just so you know, I look better than I feel."

  She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. “Well, listen to this. It may cheer you up. Two weeks ago, I was out with some friends, and we were comparing notes about dates with men."

  Rob cocked his head. “Men? But I thought…”

  “Some of us had dates with men before we jumped the fence. And guess what: my final date with a man was with you! It was our junior prom.”

  Rob slowly shook his head and exhaled. “So much for my manly sex appeal.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You just said I was the reason you decided to, what was the expression you used, jump the fence?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” Chrissy said laughing. “In fact, you treated me so well I was inspired, or should I say empowered, to follow my heart. Understand?”

  “No.”

  Ignoring Rob’s response, Chrissy added pensively, “I will admit, the goodnight kiss was major league weird. It was like kissing my sister Nancy.”

  Rob sipped his beer.

  Chrissy cocked her head and studied Rob. “What’s up?”

  The after-work crowd had filled the place and increased the noise level accordingly.

  She broke the silence and said, “So this isn’t a social call I take it.”

  Rob shook his head no.

  More silence.

  “Wanna tell me about it or am I supposed to guess?”

  Rob drained his glass and motioned to the bartender for another.

  “Where to begin,” he mused. “Well, just this morning, my boss, the president of the company, told me I’m not the man for the job I currently hold.”

  Chrissy nodded. “Bummer. So I suppose this means you’ll be taking a lateral transfer somewhere. Yes?”

  “Nope.” Rob waited as the bartender placed a fresh beer in front of him, then said, “When you are a Senior Vice President – one of four – there’s no place to laterally transfer to. This was a warning that I’d better start looking outside the company – soon.”

  Chrissy grimaced. “Now I understand the gloom…”

  He held up his hand and interrupted, “Hold on, it gets better. Within the last few days, I’ve learned my daughters have been expelled from Phillips Andover for, get this, bullying a classmate into attempted suicide.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Ouch? It’s not the money or the disgrace, although both are fairly substantial, it’s the fact,” Rob turned on his stool and faced Chrissy. “They think it’s cool. There’s not a lick of remorse between them. Can you imagine?”

  She exhaled. “Teenagers can be…”

  "No, let me stop you right there. You're about to tell me kids will be kids and teenagers are weird and all that, but this is different. These kids of mine…" He swiveled back towards the bar and stared at his beer. "They're evil. And no mat
ter how you slice the onion, I own some of this."

  Chrissy covered his hand with hers.

  “All parents must…”

  Rob squeezed her hand, hard. “And I hate the both of them.”

  Silence.

  “And they hate me.”

  Chrissy removed her hand from his grip, which had become painful, and signaled to the bartender.

  “I’d like a Cosmopolitan please.”

  More silence.

  Finally, Chrissy asked, “Where’s Nicole in all of this?”

  Rob chuckled. “Ah yes, lovely Nicole. The same day I found out about the darling daughters,” he turned and faced her again. “Nicole informed me she’d been – and this is a quote – fucking her personal trainer William.”

  The Cosmo arrived, and Chrissy took a healthy swallow. “I have to be honest with you Rob; this has been coming for a long time."

  He held up his hand, “I know, I know. You and everyone else told me so.”

  Chrissy studied his face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  The crowd in the bar ebbed and flowed. Loud conversation and laughter filled the air. No one paid any attention to the two people sitting at the end of the bar.

  “So,” Rob began. “This brings me to the reason why I wanted to meet you here tonight.”

  Chrissy pursed her lips. “You know of course, what I do for a living.”

  “Yep. You are an attorney, a highly successful attorney, whose clientele are exclusively women, and you specialize in cases wherein women are pitted against men. And this little meeting we’re having right now, this could actually do you some harm if someone were to snap of picture of us here and post it on Facebook. The world might think you’ve jumped the fence again.”