‘I’m not English. I’m Scottish,’ said Rowena with dignity.
‘Same difference.’
‘Only a dumb-ass Yank would say something like that.’ They grinned at each other.
‘Come on, Goldilocks. Let’s put this thing to bed,’ Topaz said, ‘and you can tell me all about Daddy Bear over there while we’re at it.’
The main conference chamber of Maughan Macaskill was packed out. Quotron screens had been installed along the length of the walnut table, and there were so many phones and fax machines positioned round the room that it looked like the Starship Enterprise. Nick Edward had also ordered up a couple of wide-screen TVs, so they could watch reactions to this deal as it broke.
The place was thronging with more millionaires than a Hamptons country club: investment bankers, debt financiers, lawyers, industrialists from eight of America and Canada’s biggest conglomerates, and representatives from six banks. Twelve storeys below them, C NN reporters and Journal photographers were already jockeying for place on t[ae sidewalk. There was a general sense of disbelief-Barbarians at the Gate Mark II and everyone had missed it! How in God’s name was this bid put together without anybody finding out about it?
‘Where the hell is Topaz Rossi? All hell’s breaking loose up here and I can’t find my fucking director!’ Matthew Gowers fumed to Josh Oberman. ‘Her assistant’s not at her desk, Harvey hasn’t seen her since lunch.., she hasn’t left any message with my secretary.’
‘Rowena had a meeting with her at three,’ the Musica chairman told him. ‘I called her in the car on the way over. They must have left the building together for some reason, because Gordon’s not answering her mobile phone. Tammy Limmon told me she cancelled Hans Bauer to go see Michael Krebs, then went straight over to American… ‘
‘Yeah, but it’s four thirty. They should be here! Where’s Rossi’s goddamn secretary?’ Gowers demanded.
Oberman snorted. The bid was announced now. If Gordon was dumb enough to miss this party, that was her problem. ‘They’ve probably got some excuse,’ he said.
Matt Gowers looked out of the window at the crowd of business journos below him. He was annoyed; he’d been looking forward to a triumphant photoshoot of himself and Topaz as his nominated successor. Surely it wasn’t asking too much for just a little glamour at the end of his executive career?
‘Well, it better be a good one,’ he said darkly.
‘Hurry,’ urged Rowena. ‘For Christ’s sake! Is this the best we can do?’
‘I can’t go any faster without breaking the law, ma’am,’ the chauffeur said imperturbably.
‘Then baeak the fucking law!’ she snapped. ‘Or do you feel like becoming an instant midwife?’
The guy blenched visibly and pressed his foot to the floor.
‘It hurts,’ Topaz whimpered, her right hand clutching Rowena’s in a pincer-like grip. ‘Ohhhh… ‘
Her face twisted with pain as another violent contraction shuddered through her. Rowena watched it in an agony of sympathy. She estimated they were about five minutes apart now.
‘You’re doing great,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘Hang in there. We’ll be at Mt Sinai real soon.’
A quick, pained grin Came over Topaz’s sweating face. ‘“Real soon”? You’re becoming an American, Rowena.’
‘Am I hell,’ she retorted, smilirig at the woman in her lap. ‘Are so.’ ‘Am not.’
‘Are so. Jesus!Jesust. Aaaht.’
‘It’s OK, Topaz. We’re nearly there. They have some of the best anaesthetists in the city,’ Rowena said, stroking her hair. ‘Try and breathe. Don’t they teach you to breathe specially, or something?’
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‘It’s bullshit,’ Topaz said through gritted teeth.
‘It is?’ Rowena asked, trying to take her mind offthe pain. Keep her talking, just keep it going…
‘Probably. I skipped most of the classes,’ Topaz admitted. ‘You always did,’ Rowena reminded her.
Topaz managed a grimace. ‘Like you were such a dutiful student.’
Rowena kept going as Topaz’s grip tightened in anguish round her fist. ‘Lectures weren’t important. The Union was
important,’ she said. ‘I had my priorities right.’
‘Oh! Santa Maria! Aaah, God.’
‘It’s OK, sweetheart. It’s OK,’ Rowena said, watching
her stomach convulse with yet another contraction.
God in heaven, she’s gonna give birth on the back seat of this car! ‘Run every fucking light! Just get us there!’ she yelled at
the driver.
‘Rowena!’ Topaz gasped. ‘I’m having twins! I’m having two babies!’
‘I know, honey,’ Rowena said, holding her as tight as she could. ‘I know.’
Michael Krebs heard the news on his car stereo.
‘The Wall Street shock of the hour has to be the surprise hostile bid for the South African conglomerate Mansion Industries, owned by the notorious raider Connor Miles,’ the DJ said. ‘The bid, announced at four dollars thirty per ordinary share, is the work of a complex consortium of investment banks and firms operating in fields where Mansion has interests. It sets a total value of five billion dollars on the deal. So far, Mr Miles himself has refused to comment, but his board has convened an emergency meeting in Manhattan to consider the offer. In a strange twist to the sage, the two largest players in the consortium appear to be American Magazines and Musica Records, both companies recently thought to be targets of Mansion’s drive into the media industry. If this is the case, we could be looking at the biggest Pac-man defence in American financial history.’
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Without a word Krebs spun the wheel round, took a left, and headed downtown to Maughan Macaskill.
As with every other big moment in his career for the last nine years, he wanted to be with Rowena when this came through.
Backstage at the Globen Arena in Stockholm, Sweden, the Atomic Mass production office was hyping up for the show; Nell George, the tour accountant, was sitting down with the gate receipts, Jack Halpern, the stage manager, was yelling at a bunch of local crew guys who weren’t getting the gear up quick enough, and Will Macleod was striding around looking for his boss. Eventually he found her at the main entrance to the venue, negotiating some extra Scandinavian dates with a desperate promoter.
‘Four dollars and thirty cents,’ Macleod said.
‘l was talking,’ the promoter said, pissed-off that some great hulkhag ape was interrupting his urgent pleas to be allowed to schedule even one more gig in the summer break.
‘Oh aye?’ Macleod replied, with a glare of such ferocity that the promoter physically shrank away from him. ‘Well, if we want to play a fokkin’ giant golfball in July we’ll let you know. ‘
‘Will,’ reproved Barbara halflaeartedly, smoothing down her Norma Kamali pantsuit in an attempt not to laugh. The spherical dome of the Globen did look kind of like a golfball… Lord, look at Dolph Lystrom’s face.
‘Four dollars thirty, Barbara,’ Macleod said again. ‘Josh Obermanjust rang the productiort office and said to tell you right away.’
She looked at him blankly.
‘The price. Four dollars thirty,’ he repeated. ‘He said you’d know what he meant-‘
‘My God! They’ve actually done it!’ the manager exclaimed. ‘Didn’t Rowena Gordon call?’
‘Done what?’ Macleod asked.
43
‘Five-billion-dollar deal - I have to get to a phone,’ Barbara said, looking about her wildly. Had they tendered yet? ‘We have millions riding on this.’
‘July eighteenth?’ offered the promoter, hopefully.
‘I don’t care if it’s AI Pacino. I’m not taking any calls, understand?’ John Metcalf barked at his secretary. ‘I’m in a meeting and I cannot be disturbed. The only person I want to speak to is my fiancee.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said hastily, closing the door behind her. The president of Metropolis Studios stared out of his window at the polished Century City offices gleaming in the LA sun. He was almost lightheaded with anger.
No wonder she had to have those three weeks … Mansion Industries! Five billion dollars! An alliance with American Magazines!
The biggest deal this decade and she tells me nothing!
He recalled with perfect clarity every time he’d sworn at her that there was nothing she could do to save Musica. That resisting Connor Miles was a waste of time.
She must have been laughing her head off. Nothing she could
d? They’ve only blown the guy off the face of the planet …
If this buyout came off, John realized with an unpleasant jolt, his wife would be more powerful than he was.
All along he’d encouraged her, been a cheerleader for her, and been happy to have a beautiful woman on his arm who was a success in her own right. But somehow that equation had always included the given fact that he, John Peter Metcalf III, the youngest-ever head of a major studio, would be the really important half of the couple.
What am I gonna be? Trophy husband to a female Rupert Murdoch?
He couldn’t even get in contact with her. Rowena’s assistant had no idea where she was. Josh Oberman could tell him nothing. And her mobile and car phones were both switched off.
Meanwhile, a hundred calls an hour were coming through to his office from West Coast players who all
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assumed he knew what the score was.
We’re gonna have to talk, Metcalf thought grimly. We are really gonna have to talk…
‘Any response?’ Gowers asked Gerald Quin. The activity level in the dealing room seemed to have gone up several notches; traders were screaming into the phones, the fax machines were spewing paper faster than receipts from a supermarket till, and the Quotron screens were going crazy.
‘Very little. Miles is on his way to JFK in his private jet,’ the young analyst told him. ‘He’s saying that he wants time to counter. ‘
‘Does that make a difference?’
‘The longer he has to stall, the worse it is for us,’ Nick Edward replied.
‘We should turn the heat up,’ interjected a gravelly voice. Joshua Oberman had wandered over from the end of the room, frustrated at not being able to reach Rowena Gordon. She wasn’t answering in her apartment, either. ‘We know this is a generous price for Mansion. It’s only worth it to us because everyone in the buying group has space for a piece of them.’
‘True,’ Eli Leber agreed. ‘There’s no way any bank would support Miles bidding at that price.’
‘So what do you suggest?’ Quin enquired, humouring the old goat.
‘I suggest we call Mansion and tell their board that if we don’t have signatures by close of business today, the price becomes four twenty-five dollars. And four twenty at close Monday,.’ Oberman snapped.
‘We can’t do that,’ Gowers said uncertainly.
‘Why not?’Josh Oberman demanded.
Gerry Quin glanced at his boss, feeling the adrenalin crackle around them.
‘Why not indeed?’ Edward said. ‘Gentlemen, let’s apply a little pressure.’
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Rowena and the terrified driver supported Topaz through the front doors of Mt Sinai, where she was immediately lifted on to a stretcher and rushed off to the maternity ward.
‘Don’t leave me!’ Topaz choked, clutching Rowena’s arm
as she ran alongside her.
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here,’ she promised, turning to the orderly. ‘This is Topaz Rossi. She was planning to have her babies here.., it’s twins … her
contractions are about five minutes apart, I think.’ ‘Who’s the husband?’ somebody asked. ‘Joe-‘ Topaz moaned.
‘Joe Goldstein at NBC,’ Rowena said. ‘I asked her office
to call him but I don’t know ifhe’s here… ‘
‘We’ll get in touch,’ the nurse said.
‘I don’t want Rowena to go!’ Topaz gasped as they turned
into the private maternity wing.
‘Can you get her something for the pain?’ Rowena asked.
‘What the fuck are you crying for? You’re not giving birth,’ Topaz said gruffly.
‘Try and relax,’ the nurse soothed them. ‘Everything’s gonna be just fine.’
‘Want a burger?’ Josh Oberman offered Michael Krebs. ‘Pizza, Bud, Chinese takeout?’
‘No, thanks,’ Krebs said, distracted. He looked around
him at the chaotic scene in the meeting room. ‘What the hell
is this?’
‘A consortium that’s just issued an ultimatum,’ Nick Edward told him. ‘Welcome to wheeler-dealing.’
‘And I thought the record business was full of slobs,’ Michael commented. ‘Did you get the number of the bus that drove through here?’
‘What’s the press like outside?’ Matt Gowers asked.
‘It’s a total madhouse,’ Krebs replied, grinning. ‘Last
time I got that much attention I was coming out of a party
with Joe Hunter and Cindy Crawford.’
‘Where the hell is Topaz Rossi? seethed the American
.,
Magazines chairman.
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‘Where’s Rowena?’ Michael asked Josh.
‘That’s the sixty-four-dollar question,’ Oberman said.
Joe Goldstein’s heart had never beaten faster. Not when he was a quarterback in school. Not when he was up for his first major job interview. Not even when he’d lost his virginity.
We’re having twins! I’m gonna be a father! My god, what if she’s already there …
‘I’m having twins,’ he said breathlessly to the receptionist. The cab had got stuck in traffic so Goldstein had jumped out and run the last six blocks.
‘You are?’ he replied, suppressing the laugh. ‘Yes, sir. What’s your partner’s name?’
‘Rossi. Topaz Rossi, my wife - I’m Joe Goldstein,’ he said.
‘Yes, Mr Goldstein, we’ve been expecting you,’ a nurse told him, xniling. ‘If you’d just like to follow me.’
‘Graham Hackston is on the phone!’ somebody yelled.
Instant silence in the dealing room. Hackston was the chairman of the board of Mansion Industries.
An assistant held out the phone towards Matt Gowers and Joshua Oberman, uncertainly.
‘Age before beauty,’ Oberman said to Matt, grabbing it. He listened to the voice at the other end for a few seconds. ‘In that case, our lawyera will be in touch,’ he said calmly. ‘Thank you, Graham.’