Date: Fri, 7 May 2010 17:31:22 +0200
From: Julian Obedient <julian.obedient@gmail.com>
Subject: Love and Power III

You are a fool, Joe, Malcolm Farrell said, pointing his cigar at him.

The western horizon was visible behind Farrell, in the distance,
through the grand plate glass window. The sun burned with an uncanny
apricot radiance that seared and scarred the sky.

What are you talking about? da Ponte said, seeing Farrell's features
muted by the light and the man made a blurred form against that light.

He was surprised by his senior partner's vehemence.

You really let him go?

Da Ponte stared at him, momentarily at a loss to understand.

Blum, Ted Blum. You really sacked him?

Of course, I did? da Ponte said. What else was I to do? Isn't that
what you expected?

It was not, Malcom Farrell said biting at the words.

What did you expect me to do?

Farrell first only clenched his teeth and shook his head. Finally he
said, slowly, I thought I could count on you to keep your private life
and business separate.

What did you want me to do?

Giovanni tried to sound exasperated and insistent, but he was loosing
his composure, something that never happened to him anymore, and which
unnerved him more when he realized it.

Keep him in suspense. Punish him. Drive him to a frenzy of despair.

What for?

You have to ask that! Farrell said with exaggerated incredulity.

But I did not want him anymore, Giovanni tried to explain in his
defense, but sensed the futility.

So much the better, Farrell said. What does that matter? There are
other reasons beside your caprices. He was more than just your toy.

I don't understand.

No, I guess you don't. I have to say, he said with condescension, I am
surprised.

Mac, I was tired of him. I did not need him.

You. You. You. You did not need him. Farrell was scolding him,
something that had never happened before.

He was a good worker, Farrell said. I don't care about your private
lusts. Game time is over, mister. I repeat: he was a good worker, a
good researcher. We needed him, the firm did, even if you no longer
did. Had you taken that into account? His reports were sharp, and at a
time like this, well, he was a good investment. He did the work of two
men for the price of one. I paid you to get him in shape. You did, and
then you got so self-involved you blew it. You had him just where he
was supposed to be. You could have worked him all the harder. He would
have given all the more to the firm because of it.

Giovanni da Ponte sat like a beaten whelp, silent. And then he said in
pained amazement, You paid me? Is that what you said?

But Farrell ignored this and asked instead, as if da Ponte had said
nothing, Do you know where he is now?

Why should I? da Ponte said, trying to tough it out.

Don't you read the papers, Joe? Farrell went on berating him.

What are you getting at? da Ponte said loosening his tie, trying to
command the authority he had lost.

This is not the same economy that it was four years ago. We are not
the same people. No more ten thousand dollar bottles of champagne and
trading in pretty boys like Barbie Dolls.

Giovanni da Ponte began to feel sick. Something was about to happen
that he had never dreamed of, something that was going to redefine him
completely. He was steeling himself against an onrush of panic.

Have you been so caught up in the vanity of your narcissism that you
haven't followed what has been going on?

What are you talking about, Mac? What has been going on? da Ponte said
holding on to the last fragments of his arrogance as to a bruised
armor.

What's been going on is a change you haven't been able to see coming,
a change that means I'm not Mac to you anymore but Mr. Farrell.

Jesus Christ, Mac what is this? We're partners in this venture.

We never were equal partners. Partners, yes, but not equals, junior.
But no more. You are not even a junior partner. You are yesterday,
Joe. Have you looked at the books recently? The value of the company
is a fraction of what it was four years ago.

Then we both have a loss.

No. You have a loss. I still have a business, smaller, but it's still
here. What you have, you ought to know, is a possible indictment.

What are you talking about?

Farrell showed him the books and the way he had reorganized the
company without da Ponte's knowledge, dividing the assets and selling
bundles of debt in da Ponte's name, bringing capital into the company
but putting da Ponte at risk, and when that debt went belly up when
the sub-prime market failed, well, somebody had to have been
responsible. Somebody had made bad, perhaps unethical decisions.

Your finger prints are all over it, Joe.

What do I do then? da Ponte asked.

You might get a lawyer.

You would not do that to me.

Nope, I would not. You did it to yourself.

What the fuck?

Or... you can do whatever you like.

What does that mean?

Whatever you want it to.

You'll pay for this.

I don't think so. Your best option is just to disappear and hope that
I can pull the company through and save your ass by the by.

You bastard.

Now you got it, Farrell said, bowing slightly as if grateful for the
acknowledgement.

Farrell pressed a button on his desk and a security office entered the
office immediately, so quickly that it was obvious he had been
standing just outside the door.

See that Mr. da Ponte can clear out his desk of any personal effects
and is out of the building in ten minutes at the latest.

What the fuck, da Ponte yelled.

You said that already, Joey. Don't give Wendell trouble. He is not a
man you want to cross.

Come on, Mr. da Ponte, the former heavy weight boxer said. It's time to go.


I fall on my feet, da Ponte said, sipping a very dry vodka martini
with a twist of lime.
I admit there was some luck involved. Nothing came of Farrell's
threats, thanks to some of the bailout money from Washington, the
company made restitution to the shsareholders. But it was not only
luck.

James, hardly yet more than a boy, sat beside him at the bar and said
nothing, listening, waiting, admiring him in the quiet way he always
had, wondering if his patience would be rewarded, as it was from time
to time.

I admit it: I was knocked off balance for a moment, da Ponte
continued. But I got my bearings quickly. Once outside I knew what to
do. I did not have to think about it. It came to me clearly in one
piece.

First I called Browning, my lawyer. Farrell was not sitting quite as
pretty as he assumed he was. I had a few bargaining chips, and he was
reasonable, especially because I did not want much more than to close
the chapter.

Then I called Mary Cashman and told her to meet me at the penthouse.
She was waiting downstairs talking to the doorman when I got there.

She greeted me with a handshake and a steady gaze.

Anything wrong? she said.

Nothing that we can't fix, I said.

Why are we here? she asked as we rode up in the elevator.

I need to sell, I said.

She said nothing and waited for me to say more, but the doors opened
and we stepped into the apartment.

Well, I won't have any trouble with this one she said. It is magnificent.

Yes, it is, I said. But -- I made a small arc in the air with the flat
of my palm -- it is time for a change.

James touched the rim of da Ponte's glass with his own and sipped his martini.

And now what? he asked.

Now, Giovanni said, I am an independent consultant. I bill something
like five thousand a week and I work out of a two bedroom place on
Twentieth Street off Tenth Avenue.

And?

And I got myself a golden retriever.

Is that enough?

I could use a houseboy, but I'm on an austerity budget, da Ponte said
in his slow and ironic southern drawl, fixing his companion with a
shatteringly bright smile.

I would not expect to be paid, James said, offering himself with a
smile, crossing his arms over his chest, right palm touching left
shoulder, left palm, right, and lowering his head.

No? da Ponte said.

Not in cash.

How then?

Knowing how much my service pleased you would be due compensation.

And if I were not pleased?

I think you will be.

Don't get ahead of yourself.

No, sir.



They went back to Giovanni's place after another martini and James
knelt beside da Pote's chair without being told.

May I take off you shoes and socks? he asked respectfully.

Giovanni ruffled his hair and smiling said, Please.

Thank you, James said bending to perform his task.

He took each foot in his hand as if it were precious and before
touching each instep with his lips, he said, May I?