But I still am. Just on a larger scale. With more at stake. And solo. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be all along. God sure kicked my butt to remind me I was just a dumb frog at heart. Being a billionaire was just a trapping, an extra piece of equipment to strap on and enjoy for a few moments of my life.
Because that’s how it turned out to be. And it would be that way again.
Today I sort of felt just the same as I did 15+ years ago when I first walked into a bank and got turned down. No one had to remind me I wasn’t in a position of strength and these new “clothes” I was wearing somehow didn’t fit to my liking. But I told myself it was only temporary.
Story of my life.
Serena Bolton was the Vice President’s secretary. She wore a brightly colored yellow and fuchsia dress which belied this time of year in Boston. Her dreadlocks were pulled up on top of her head, woven with yellow satin ribbons, making a striking pattern of rows and zigzags. Occasionally, a tiny pink flower would poke through. Her skin was as dark as the macadam roads I traveled on by taxi, deliciously highlighted with her bright pink lipstick and purple eyeshadow. She resembled one of my Italian fusion glass pieces and was just as lovely to look at.
“Mr. Cullen is waiting for you inside, Mr. Gambini. If you’ll just follow me, please.”
I sauntered under a large second story balcony with glass partitioned offices above. She tapped on the Vice President’s door and I watched my intended target push back his wire rimmed glasses, straighten his jacket, stand and come to the door. He held out a beefy hand, stubby fingers splayed.
“Mr. Gambini, nice to meet you. Welcome to Boston.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
He waddled to his seat while motioning to his secretary to return to the lobby area from which we came. He sat down with an audible crunch, directing me to sit across the desk in the single, wooden and very Spartan-looking chair. I noted that most of his meetings were intended to be short and uncomfortable. I girded my loins.
“It’s been brought to my attention that we have some cross-collateralization issues, Mr. Gambini, most of this coming from your recent unfortunate separation.” He frowned into the paperwork in front of him in one very neatly piled file about a half inch thick. It wasn’t lost on me that “unfortunate” wouldn’t be the proper word for this and could cut two ways. Did he mean unfortunate to be divorced, because I felt freed? Or, did he mean unfortunate because of what it had gutted from me and my businesses? I decided to ask.
“Unfortunate is a relative term, Mr. Cullen. I assure you, the best is yet to come. This was just a matter of pruning and tidying up.” I tried to sound confident.
He wasn’t buying it.
“I’d say it rather looked like having to give up one of your children, Mr. Gambini.”
“Which, luckily, I don’t have.”
“Lucky for them as well, wouldn’t you say?”
He’d just smacked me and I was resisting the urge to see how flabby that belly of his actually was.
“I’d call it a haircut with a dull blade, Mr. Cullen. She was a bitch.”
I decided to see what kind of metal he was made out of. His single eyebrow-raising gesture told me he didn’t approve of my disparaging a woman. I normally didn’t either, unless she deserved it. Rebecca certainly did.
“As you say, she could be, but she has a smart lawyer. I’d be careful who you go expounding your feelings to, Mr. Gambini.”
He was a poser and I salivated to dig my teeth into him.
“Is that a threat, Mr. Cullen? While we’re being so helpful to one another can I suggest you not say things like that to me? I could easily do business with someone else.”
And then I felt brilliant as I saw the fear cross his face.
I stood up. “Don’t answer that,” I said to him, holding out my palm to his seated form. “I’ve just made my twentieth executive decision of the day. You can call Mr. Halliday in my accounting department and tell them you’ve gotten your bank fired.”
He hadn’t been prepared, and started to stutter.
“With me, it only takes once. I don’t give second chances and I don’t like threats. In case you didn’t know, you just gave me one.”
I left.
It took me thirty seconds to catch a taxi. I’d just gotten seated when Frank dialed me.
“Not here, I’m in a cab,” I barked.
“Marco, have him wait. Step outside so I can have a conversation with you.” He sounded serious.
“Just tell me, dammit.”
As we sped toward the Towers, I learned that there had been a call on one of my loans and cash was needed to keep the bank from foreclosing on me. My commercial dealings in Florida had been compromised by the recent filing of an injunction against the housing project on the beach for old frogs. Calling around, my CFO had only located one bank that was willing to extend me a line of credit, based on my reputation and personal guarantee.
And I’d just pissed off that one bank who had been willing to help me out.
“Just go back in there and tell him you made a mistake. It was a misunderstanding,” Frank told me. I could tell he was pissed.
“Not on your life. Bankers get rich not by saying yes but by saying no as much as they can to cover all the bad yesses they make. I’m not going to give that sonofabitch the satisfaction.”
“Marco, you have to face the facts.”
“Fact is, Frank, I’m swimming with alligators, but I don’t have to become a fuckin’ yellow-finned tuna in the middle of the swamp.”
“Yellow-finned tuna don’t live in the swamp.”
“My point exactly. I wouldn’t make him that lucky and bestow on him such a miracle. Let him live on worms and rodents. There has to be another way.”
“Marco, there is no other way.”
“There always is another way!” I yelled. “Now don’t call me back until you figure that out!”
I hung up. I felt the cabbie’s eyes on me while I fussed. I wasn’t proud of my anger or that I’d yelled at him and I had been abusive. I dialed him right back.
Before I could say anything, he blurted out, “I’ve taken another job and I’ll be leaving on Monday. Maybe one of the sultan’s daughters needs a good husband. You’re that lucky, Marco, and way more good looking than I am so I think you could pull it off. But then, he’ll own you. Have a nice life, Marco.”
Chapter 8
Shannon
Jared was as good as his word. He nailed the location of Rebecca’s hotel in Clearwater by nine PM. I called the hotel and got through to her right away, which surprised me.
“Your Program Director speaks highly of you, Shannon. He also stated you thought my interview this morning had been botched.”
I was impressed Jared had the clout to be able to reach the ex-Mrs. Gambini, and even more by the fact that he told her about our conversation.
“I think she did a great disservice to your project, Mrs. Gambini.”
“Oh please, I’ve been going by “Hey Slut” now for the past year or more. You can call me Rebecca.”
She did have balls the size of his. Okay, so much for one wrong mismatch. Maybe hers were bigger? I couldn’t believe I was even thinking about his balls, and I certainly hoped she couldn’t tell.