Authors: Meredith Greene
Bob managed to find a taxi and showed the driver a paper with the hotel name on it; the man grinned in a friendly way and nodded. The traffic laws seemed to be the same as those in Italy... they existed merely for show. Several times William thought they were going to get into an accident; the driver seemed undaunted by the prospect of getting into a horribly-disfiguring crash and continued on at his breakneck pace, using the horn almost constantly. By the time the cab pulled up outside their hotel, Bob had used about every swear word in the book and both passengers were sweating profusely. William wiped his brow and got out quickly with his travel bag and briefcase.
The cab driver did not mind their American money and smiled and nodded several times before accepting more people into his cab. William did not envy them; he led the way inside, Bob close behind.
“I sure hope that guy never moves to New York,” the older man said, with conviction. “Here I thought our taxi drivers were bad...” William nodded. Soon they stood by the front desk.
“Welcome to Sheraton Rio,” the young woman in a hotel blazer greeted them, in perfect English. “May I have your reservation number?”
Riding the elevator up to their rooms, William couldn’t help but comment on the nice hotel.
“After that flight, I was expecting a cheap motel,” he said, quietly. Bob laughed.
“Yeah, well... Oscar cuts costs where he can, like most employers,” the man said, with humor. “But this town still has powerful drug cartels that like to occasionally pad their pockets by kidnapping Westerners. Best to keep to the more secured hotels and restaurants. Not much happens at the popular spots.” The elevator opened on the third floor.
“I suppose even the crime lords don’t want to harm the tourist trade, eh?” William remarked, as they disembarked.
“That’s right,” Bob said, smiling. “If you travel in the USA on Felix-Maclane’s dime, though, you’ll more than likely find yourself at a cheap motel.” Chuckling, William bid Bob goodnight and walked off to find his room number.
The room turned out to be a comfortable, little haven, about the size of Michelle’s tiny nook at the Waldorf. It even had a mini-balcony that looked out on a moonlit bay.
“Not bad,” William said. Sitting on the bed, William picked up the phone; he spent a few moments getting through to an English-speaking operator and placed a call to New York. Michelle had apparently not gone to sleep; she answered the phone with a happy enthusiasm that made him chuckle. There was simply no guile in Michelle at all.
“I’m here in the room, sweetheart,” he said, after giving her his room number. William lay back on the bed, tired out with travel. “It’s really very comfortable.”
“I’m so glad,” came Michelle’s soft voice; she sounded a little far away but William could make out every word. “I was worried you'd be in one of those cockroach-infested rooms with the single bulb light hanging from the ceiling, with the noisy fan slowly turning in one corner.”
William laughed, closing his eyes.
“You’ve been at the old movies again,” he said, smiling. “It’s not anything like that, don’t worry.”
“So, a man from the new regime at your firm is with you?” Michelle asked, trying to understand more of the scene. William chuckled again.
“Regime... really,” he said, affectionately. “Yes, my traveling companion is a decent chap by the name of 'Bob'; he’s in a room down the hall. Apparently, he’s been with the Madman for some years.”
Michelle laughed at this; they’d officially dubbed William’s new boss ‘the Madman’ after she’d heard about the watermelon incident.
“We meet with the potential clients tomorrow, at lunch,” William continued.
“I know you’ll carry the day,” Michelle responded, wishing she could come up with something more original to say. “You convinced me, an introvert hermit, to like you… a virtual stranger, and then to fall in love with you, and then agree to marry you… all knowing you less than a month. I think you have the stuff to take on Brazilian business-owners.”
Listening, William wished he could hold his fiancée; her soft words invoked a feeling akin to confidence shot directly into his veins.
“You are the sweetest girl I have ever met, Michelle,” he said, smiling a little. “I have no doubt that convincing you to come with me to dinner that night--at the gallery--was the best piece of negotiation I have ever done.” Michelle felt her eyes grow a bit misty at his words.
“You have a beautiful soul, William,” she said. “Otherwise, I would not feel so comfortable with you.” William thought he heard a sniffle come over the phone line.
“I love you, Michelle,” William returned, sighing. “I’ll return soon, love... please don’t cry.”
“I love you,” she responded.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, hopefully sometime in the afternoon,” William said, smiling. “I don’t know when the meeting will be over. I’ll look forward to hearing your voice.”
“The same goes for me,” Michelle said, dashing away a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Michelle, William said, biting his bottom lip. Something clenched his chest as he hung up the phone; he could tell Michelle was trying hard to sound normal to cover up her tears. The idea that she was lonely and crying somewhere tortured William; at the same time, it felt highly flattering to be missed so
much. Sighing, he prepared to take a shower grateful that the hotel’s air conditioning was working.
The following day found Bob and William on a shuttle bus to one of Brazil’s ‘metro’ stations. Rio De Janeiro possessed a large, underground rail system; not as large as the Subway, but at least they could avoid the local taxicabs. They rode the Metro-rail along with an eclectic mix of the smiling, talking locals, businessmen on cell phones, college kids, elderly matrons in black dresses and bonnets and tourists taking pictures. It was definitely a colorful place; just humid… very humid.
“I never thought I’d say this...” Bob said as they climbed the stair out of the station, “But, I miss the New York chill all the sudden.” William chuckled.
“Yes,” he said. “At least it’s hot for only a few weeks a year.” They found the restaurant with little trouble; it was a popular steakhouse called ‘Marius’. It seemed to be a rather modern place, decked out in tan, white and beige colors, with stone floors; rattan chairs and glass-topped tables packed the main floor; these were equally packed with people. Large wagon wheels graced the walls and natural light could come in through tall windows, though presently shades were drawn against the bearing sun.
“Representatives from Felix-Maclane, to meet Mr. Orivera,” William told the hostess at standing behind a podium. She smiled and moved off immediately; they followed her through the crowd, up a curving stair to a large balcony. It had only about a dozen, larger tables but these were packed as well with business folk. This was apparently ‘the place’ for a meeting in Rio. The hostess led them over to far table, where sat a Brazilian man of medium height in a white suit next to a serene-looking, black-haired woman in a red dress.
“Mr. Montgomery...” the man said, shaking William’s hand. William looked back at Bob.
“May I introduce my associate, Mr. Marshals,” he introduced. Bob shook his hand as well.
“This is my beloved wife Marisol,” Mr. Orivera said, smiling at the woman. She smiled back and stood to shake Bob and William’s hands.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” she said, pleasantly; her English seemed a bit halting in its flow, but William understood her just fine.
“Yes, we wanted to come to New York, but the company cannot spare us just now,” Mr. Orivera told them.
“Please to sit down,” his wife said, sitting down herself. “We have heard very good things of Felix-Maclane,” she continued, sipping her fruit drink.
“Yes,” her husband agreed, nodding his head. “Changing our legal counsel will help give new life to our business.”
William and Bob listened politely as the two Brazilians spoke about their company. Apparently, Marisol’s father started the corporation forty years ago, originally buying and selling grain.
“How funny he would find that we now buy and sell the Internet,” Marisol told William. “He would say ‘it is nothing but empty space’.” The Oriveras both laughed at this. After a minute Marisol got up, taking her purse.
“I will be visiting the room of ladies. I will be only a few moments.” She smiled and gracefully walked away.
Once she was out of sight, Mr. Orivera leaned forward, a serious expression on his face.
“You read the information I sent you?” he asked. “You know what I wish to do?” William suddenly felt a twinge of apprehension at the man’s eager expression.
“From what we gathered, you and your wife wish to merge your separate shares of the umbrella corporation and hire a new CEO.” Mr. Orivera nodded, sitting back in his chair comfortably.
“Not quite,” he said, looking at the table. “My wife and I are separating soon, to divorce. Her father left her most of the company shares, so I need to find a way to acquire them and quickly. I would make myself the new CEO.”
William felt his stomach drop. The man before him suddenly changed from a prospective client to a sleazy playboy trying to cut his wife off from her inheritance. His mind whirling, William studied Mr. Orivera for a moment, striving to keep an expression of anger from his face. Inwardly, he reminded himself that he was supposed to be procuring a client; all he really wanted to do was deck the bastard.
Someone at a nearby table seemed to catch the Brazilian man’s eye; turning slightly, William saw three, young women at the table, all giggling amongst themselves. One, very pretty young girl was making eyes at Mr. Orivera. To William’s surprise the man actually winked back at the girl and halted a passing server. He pointed at the girl and laid money on the table, along with one of his cards. The server nodded and swept off.
“They recognize me,” Mr. Orivera said, smirking. “I have great parties; all the young people want to get into my night club.” He lifted his glass to the girls, causing them to giggle again. “So...” the man said, fixing his languid eye once again on William and Bob. “Have you found anything I can use? There is an infidelity clause in her father’s will; maybe we can find someone to pose as a jilted lover.”
“Has your wife been unfaithful?” William asked, careful to keep his tone even. Mr. Orivera snorted.
“No. You find something… I will hire your firm,” he said, smiling at the girls again.
William stood up slowly, his face grim; he towered over Mr. Orivera and snapped his briefcase shut.
“I represent a reputable firm,” he said, his voice ominous. “We will not sign on a disreputable, unfaithful client trying to cheat their wife from her due share of her father’s company...”
At his words, Mr. Orivera sat up and glanced quickly towards the stair; the man clearly feared his wife would hear, if she suddenly returned. William was not finished.
“It will be a cold day in hell before we do business with you, Orivera.”
Hearing this, the Brazilian seemed to snap out of his cowering daze. He hopped up and shouted profanities at William before throwing down his drink and storming out; the man encountered Marisol on the stair and led her by the arm downstairs, out of sight.
William leaned onto the table, letting out a long breath.
“I am going to be unemployed very soon,”
he thought, closing his eyes.
“Well, that was interesting,” Bob said; he’d stood up after Mr. Orivera had, in case a fight was imminent. He waved at a passing waitress. “I’ll take a beer there, senorita...” William shook his head.
“It appears we come all this way for nothing, Bob,” he said, trying to scare up a genial tone.
“’Scuse me, gentlemen...” A stranger spoke, from somewhere close behind them.
Turning, William and Bob beheld a slightly overweight wearing an large cowboy hat, seated at the next table; he smiled broadly at them. His accent sounded mid-western; he looked like a stereotypical cattle rancher, complete with a string tie.
“Couldn’t help but overhear that... Brazilians are anything but subtle,” he continued. The other men at his table all chuckled; they were dressed in a similar fashion. The man in the cowboy hat stood up, holding out his hand.
“Chuck Davidson, founder and CEO of Lonestar Construction, Inc,” he said. “That was a fine display of values there, son.” The other ‘cowboys’ seemed to agree, nodding their heads along with the speaker’s words.
“I am pleased to meet you,” William said, shaking the man’s hand. “William Montgomery, Felix-Maclane. This is my associate, Bob Marshals.” Bob nodded and shook the man’s hand as well.
“I’ve heard of Felix-Maclane,” Chuck Davidson said. “Just thought they were another bunch of lawyers. I can’t stand my current firm, I tell you what. They’d sell their own Momma to make a buck.” He scratched his ample chin. “I wanted to smack that fella good, hearing all that; and him making eyes at the girls with his wife gone to the can…”
“Don’t make too much of it, Mr. Davidson,” William said, half-smiling. He found the man’s frank manner of speaking rather refreshing. “That blighter made it easy to refuse him as a client. A real wanker.”
Chuck Davidson laughed.
“I like your style, Montgomery. If you weren’t English you’d make a fine American,” he said, admiringly.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” William returned, smiling. Chuck Davidson grinned.
“Why don’t you and Bob there join us,” he said, pointing to two empty chairs. “We ain’t eaten yet and it looks like you ain’t either. This place has the best steak in Brazil, bar none.” Bob and William exchanged a look.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” William said. “We’d be honored to.”
They sat at down and soon struck up a conversation. The men were indeed from Texas, working on contracted projects for the Brazilian government; their current project was a new highway, complete with a bridge over a tributary of the Paraguay River. The four men seated with Davidson were his subcontractors, each an owner of their own specialty service company. By the end of dinner, William and Bob walked out of the restaurant with five new clients, instead of one.