Authors: William Hutchison
Sarah Tidwell wrapped her fingers around the hair lying on her right ear and tugged. She always did this when she was nervous. This was a big deal. It was her first interview since she started her new job at the Daily Inquirer, and it was with a mortgage broker who was stuck firmly in the middle of the loan crisis.
The camera operator was struggling with the electrical cords, which were balled up in a knot.
“Can anything else go wrong, Dammit!” she thought to herself. She put her bottle of water down and helped untangle them. The operator looked up and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly thanking her.
The room was hideous, Sarah thought. It wasn’t right. It was too professional and appeared too staged. Magazines were neatly arranged on the desk in a fan arrangement; Golf Digest placed on the top. The pen blotter was positioned perfectly in the center of the desk opposite a comfortable black leather captain’s chair.
She moved to the desk, rearranged the magazines into a random pile, and picked up some of the papers from the in-basket and scattered them on the desk creating a picture of havoc.
That’s better. How can anyone think that this CEO of US Mortgages Inc. has everything in its place? This office is perfect chaos now, like the financial crisis the country was a few years earlier. The company was a house of cards, and shit was raining down on everyone associated with it. How could the CEO’s desk be “P-E-R-F-E-C-T?”
It wasn’t now thanks to Sarah…Now it represented what was truly happening….Chaos…with a capital C.
Good timing.
Hans Morgenstern, that dashing darling of Wall Street, pushed open the door. Makeup had done wonders. He looked at least 20 years younger than he actually was, Sarah thought, “he is pretty damn good looking, but what a scumbag.”
Hans spotted his desk and his eyes grew wide as he surveyed the mess.
Sarah looked at the camera operator who had a close-up of him. He got the expression on tape and gave a big thumb’s up.
Sarah nodded and took the chair near the desk and sat down. Hans spotted the red light from the camera indicating it was on, gained his composure and sat opposite her. He reached over the desk, extended his hand cordially to Sarah and put on a handsome Tom Cruise-like smile.
“Sarah Tidwell, so nice to meet you in person. I’ve seen some of your interviews and they are fabulous,” Hans said, still holding her hand, much longer than needed. He exuded charm and confidence.
Sarah was caught up in his web. She could see how good he was. Hans was a handsome man. Not only that, but he was also gracious. For a moment, Sarah forgot that she was here to rip him a new one and enjoyed the touch of this hand on hers, longing to get to know him better……DAMMIT.
She began her interview.
“So what's going on with the bailout? Why are you and your minions trying to screw the American public? What’s up with that?”
Hans looked at her squarely -- his gray eyes burning a hole in her head -- and simply said, "What’s it to you?"
“What's it to me? What's it to me? How in the hell can you even say that? You have investors that have lost whole life savings into your bank because of your firm’s unscrupulous business practices. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?”
She paused and turned to the camera operator. He stopped taping and erased her last comment. He then gave the thumbs up for her to continue. The F-bomb she dropped was now on the cutting room floor.
Hans looked at her nonchalantly and replied. “No need to get hostile.”
“Did you lose any money?” He asked. He was probing, trying to find out if she had any loved ones or if she had been hurt by his company and their misappropriation of funds and underhanded buying and selling derivative bonds that were worthless. His company was in such dire financial straits and had bent the rules of accounting so much he had forgotten the truth. But he had not forgotten that there were people out there that relied on him who had been taken to the cleaners by his firm. Hearing Sarah's words reminded him that he was a scumbag. In some ways, he was trying to redeem himself by asking that question.
“It's not about me,” Sarah replied. “It's about what you have done or rather your company has done to the countless thousands who invested in you and put their faith and trust in you. How do you explain what you’ve done? How do you redeem yourself for the financial toll you have taken on them and their families? How can you explain that or live with yourself?”
Hans heard her words and nonchalantly ignored them. Although his dealings with people were not on the scale of Bernie Madoff, still he had bilked millions in secondary derivatives that his company had packaged and sold to domestic and foreign investors. This was before the financial meltdown, and it was one of the primary reasons the US economy nearly collapsed. Hans knew he represented just one of thousands of companies in the mortgage and financial industries that had forgotten assets must have some basis of value behind them.
All this started under the Clinton administration with the federal government pushing financial institutions into making loans to people who could not afford homes. Hell, they couldn't afford to rent much less pay a mortgage payment. But like other failed policies, the siren song of deals based on humanitarian principles and sold as being good for the downtrodden ultimately won out over common sense. The US taxpayers inherited the debt of those who could not pay. Regardless, Hans rationalized he wasn't a crook. He was, after all, just one of many others in his position who were doing similar transactions daily. It was simply business. And that business had earned him millions. At 62, he didn't have to work another day in his life.
He got back on point and looked at his accuser across the table. “Ms. Jenkins. Or should I call you Sarah?”
“Sarah is fine,” she said.
Sarah grabbed at the hair around her ear and tugged even harder. She was very nervous now. He was starting to get to her.
Hans leaned into the table resting his chin on the palm of his hand; his elbow neatly tucked underneath and stared straight into Sarah's eyes.
“Sarah, it’s just business!’ With this, he abruptly got up and motioned towards the door ushering both her and her camera operator out.
“I really must be going now Sarah, I have a conference call that starts in five minutes.”
She was dumbfounded. She never expected this. She had been given the assignment to put the spotlight on Hans Morgenstern as a representative of the lowest of the low, and here she was summarily brushed off.
Her backbone stiffened as she stood up. “Mr. Morgenstern,” she said rather matter-of-factly. “Although the interview is over today and you’ve won this round, I'm not out of the fight yet. If you don't answer my questions about your firm's dealings, then perhaps some of your competitors will.” This veiled threat was meant to get a reaction and a possible follow-up interview.
It was ignored. Hans merely held the door open and waited.
The stalemate was over. She got up and walked out.
Then the most amazing thing happened.
Hans acquiesced.
He turned to her and spoke. “Have my secretary look up my availability next week so we can continue this conversation then. I'd much rather have an opportunity to set the record straight myself than for you to get lies from the likes of Smith Barney or Lehman Brothers. They would love to have the chance to torpedo me.”
Stunned, Sarah nodded and thanked him as he shut the glass door in her face.
Charlene spotted the new Jaguar coming down West Side Highway. It slowly passed and when she saw the occupant’s distinguished salt and pepper hair, she knew she hit pay dirt.
Hans slowed his car and pulled up in front of Charlene’s Mercedes. As he did, Charlene texted Randy, “Game on.”
Randy texted back “Got it on camera. Go get em!”
Charlene got out, shook her hair out of her eyes and walked to the front of her car. Hans had already rolled down his window and gave her a perplexed look but had not said a word.
“I don't know what happened. I was going along fine until 20 minutes ago and the darn thing stopped. I popped the lid to see if there was anything wrong, not that I would know what I'm looking for, but I don’t know why it quit."
Charlene bent over the hood and Hans, now standing beside her, got an eyeful of her ample cleavage peeking out from her blouse as she had left her faux fur coat unbuttoned. He turned his head slightly, not wanting to be caught staring.
Too late! Randy captured it all in a close up. From the angle of the shot, it was obvious Hans was ogling her.
“Good start,” Randy texted Charlene. “Keep working him.”
She read the text and put her cellphone in her purse.
“Let me take a look,” Hans said. He examined the battery cables first to see if they were loose, then moved to the throttle body to see if it was still connected. It was. He felt the top of the radiator. It was hot indicating the car was operating only moments earlier. Then he saw it.
“Miss, I’m afraid you’re stuck. You have a missing coil wire.”
Charlene was puzzled. “What's a coil wire?”
“It’s what makes the spark that runs the engine. You’re not going anywhere without it.”
“Hmm, I didn't know that. Can’t we buy one?”
“Perhaps, I could give you a ride to a parts store, or you could use your AAA card and the driver might bring you one. They’re relatively common and not that expensive.” Hans said staring at her breasts, not caring if he was caught this time.
She was so hot.
“On the other hand, triple-A might charge you a lot to install it. They have to make their money some way.”
Charlene caught him staring. He wasn't making any moves on her yet, but he was interested.
“I don’t have a triple-A card.”
Hans mind was racing. She was a catch. He was mildly interested, but he was smart enough to play it cool. He was the master of his emotions and knew
how to manipulate this situation to get what he wanted. He had played this game so many times before.
Act disinterested.
Act aloof.
It always worked on the ones who had such low self-esteem they needed the attention.
He knew it.
It was like floating a half-dead cricket on the top of the water and letting it wiggle just enough to make the bass bite. It always worked and it was working now.
Charlene moved closer to him and, even though, he didn't really need the sex, it was still fun playing the game. He had had such a bad day yesterday with the interview and his home life, if that’s what you call it, was a wreck. He’d been married for twenty years, and, although the first five or six were great, the last fourteen were a sham. Perhaps the distraction of an affair was all he needed.
Sarah Tidwell had gotten to him yesterday. He wanted to do the right thing with her and come clean, which is why he granted her another shot at talking to him. It was the professional thing to do and it couldn’t hurt his cause.
At that moment, Charlene gave him a quick hug and he felt her touch his arm and smelled her perfume (a mixture of sandalwood and plumeria). His altruism vanished like rain on the hot pavement after a summer storm.
She sensed his interest, set the hook and reeled him in.
Hans responded.
“Look, your car isn’t going to run, so I can call you a tow truck or take you to get the part. Your call.”
Charlene didn’t say a word; she simply got into the passenger side of the Jaguar.
“Let’s go get the part.”
Hans was amazingly handsome. She could tell he was also wealthy, not only by the car, but also by the crispness of his starched white shirt and 2 karat diamond stickpin centered in his red and white-striped 100% silk tie. He was the type of person that she ultimately wanted. But right now, her job was to get what she could from him. This was Randy’s and her last deal, and, from the looks of it, it could prove to be quite lucrative.
When Hans got behind the wheel, she reached over and pulled him close. “Thank you so much,” she said as she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him forward giving him a liquid-warm kiss. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
Randy caught it all on camera.
Hans pushed her away. “I don't know what your game is young lady, but I’m not playin’. I had a bitch of a day yesterday and your car problems are not my problems. And I'm not going to make them my problems. Move back a little bit, please.” He thrust the car key into the ignition, seemingly peeved but simply playing the game—and playing it rather convincingly.
“Make yourself useful, now. Find a car parts dealer near here on your phone.”
She was stunned by his icy rejection. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was more to Hans than met the eye. She sensed he could be as bastardly as he was charming. If this were going to play out in her favor, she’d have to use caution. She immediately started to search Google for auto parts stores nearby.
Hans saw the immediate change in her demeanor. He had purposefully over-reacted to her advances and it had the desired effect. Still, he felt bad about what had happened.
“Look, I'm sorry. I had a shitty day yesterday. I was trying to help you out, so when you came on to me, it caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to respond.
”Let's start this over again, if that's okay?”
Charlene cast a glance up in the direction of the apartment where Randy was getting this all on his camera. She didn’t look at her cell phone
Hesitantly she nodded in agreement. But she wasn’t going to let Hans off the hook that easy. He was a catch and, although he seemed interested now, she wanted to make sure of it.
She began her act.
“Okay. Look I don't know what happened to my car, and I don't know what I was thinking when I kissed you. I’m a very physical person and I have this audition later today, and I really need this part. If I don’t get it, I won’t be able to pay my rent and then I don’t know what I’ll do. And then you came along, and it got my hopes up, and I knew everything would work out. That’s why I kissed you. I’m so thankful. And now I’ve gone and screwed it up again.”
Tears began to run down her cheeks as she continued to apologize. “I just want to get my car working, get to the interview and get the job. If you can help, maybe later I could make it up to you. I could cook you dinner or something because you seem to be a pretty nice person, honestly.” She paused, tears still leaking from her eyes. She was starting to believe her own story.
She was playing the part.
Hans softened. “How would you know what kind of person I am? We just met.”
“I don't know. You offered to help. You could have driven by. Others did.”
“Well maybe I am nice, but you don't know that. It doesn't matter. Okay, look, let’s find the parts store. I’ll put the coil in and you can make your interview. As to dinner later, that would be nice. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in quite some time.”
He was lying; his wife was a gourmet chef, but a horrible lay.
As good as she was in the kitchen; she was equally bad in the sack.
Hans smiled knowing he and Charlene might end up together. He responded by reaching into his pocket and offering her a handkerchief. “Now dry those beautiful eyes. You don’t want them to be all puffy for your audition.”
Charlene used it and handed it back to him. Twenty minutes later, they picked up the part and Hans had it installed.
“Go ahead and crank it. It should work now.”
The car started right up.
Hans walked over to her window. She had unbuttoned one more button of her blouse while he was fiddling with the coil. It didn’t go unnoticed, by Hans or by Randy who had a great close up angle. Hans reached in, fondled her and then kissed her hard on the mouth.
“Dinner at my place at 7.” she said, handing Hans a business card with her name and address on it.
He looked at it and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. Now he had to come up with an excuse to tell his wife why he’d be late. That should pose no problem at all, as he often worked late, or at least, that’s what he told her. He leaned back into the car window and gave her another kiss. This time it was much more passionate, and it was all caught on camera, unbeknownst to him.
“See you at seven. Good luck on your interview, Charlene. Break a leg.”
He turned and got into his Jag, wiped the lipstick from his mouth and drove back to his office.