Jane reached the receptionist’s desk at the stroke of three, exactly the time scheduled for her interview. She tried to hide her anxiety and shortness of breath. “Jane Warren of the Southport Post,” she said. “I have an interview with Mr. Andrews.”
“Have a seat,” the woman answered in a tone that fell just short of being a direct order. “Mr. Andrews is running a bit late, but I’ll tell his assistant that you’re here.” The receptionist was wearing a suit very similar to her own, dark with a chalk stripe. Jane felt a bit upstaged. Her first impression wouldn’t be nearly as impressive as she had hoped.
Art had come to her rescue. She waved him down as he was backing out and wailed that her car wouldn’t start. He listened to three or four repetitions of the dead starter and then lifted the hood with a sense of authority that made it appear as if he knew what he was doing. He looked, touched, and then moved the control connectors back and forth. Over and over he instructed that she “try it now.” The clicking sound never varied.
“Screw the car,” she snapped. “Just drive me to the train station.”
“No. This is simple. I’ll have it in a minute.” More poking and pulling and then “Try it now.” More clicking!
Finally she screamed. If he wanted to play with her engine, she was going to borrow his car. Only then had he given up on his debut as a mechanic and driven her to the commuter line station.
She had to run to catch the train as it was pulling out and had to pay a surcharge for not buying a ticket at the station. She had been on the verge of relaxing when the train ground to a halt just short of Grand Central. And when she finally made it to the street, her taxi got tied up in traffic. Her heart was still pounding when she rode up in the elevator.
She sat on a plush sofa, her laptop open, jotting down the questions she planned to ask. There were two choices. She could be the hard-hitting reporter and skewer William Andrews on tough, serious questions. How had he managed to acquire enough stock for the takeover without filing his intentions with the Securities and Exchange Commission? Since he had recently purchased a television station in the same market, how did he plan on getting around the Federal Communications Commission rules against multiple outlets in the same market? How did he plan on maintaining competition among his various properties? Or she could play the loyal employee and toss up the slow, fat pitches that he could knock out of the ballpark. Won’t your vast media sources make the suburban chain papers even more valuable to the readers? Are you going to be offering more upward mobility to employees of the newspapers? How would you describe the importance of locally based media? J. J. Warren, the young business editor who was beginning to attract a following, would take the tough approach and nail the greedy bastard to the wall. But Jane Warren, the recently acquired employee who dressed like his receptionist, decided on the more condescending alternative. If she was meek enough, he probably wouldn’t connect her with the paper’s irreverent coverage.
She noticed people rushing in and out, heard the receptionist announce calls for Mr. Andrews, and saw two recent arrivals ushered in ahead of her. She checked the global clocks that stretched dramatically across the wall, found the one for New York, and realized she had been waiting for nearly an hour. On her home turf, she would have reminded a receptionist that she had a deadline. Here in the big leagues, she sat quietly and cooled her heels.
“Ms. Warren?” The receptionist summoned her like a teacher calling a pupil. Jane rose slowly and walked to the desk. “Mr. Leavitt will see you.”
“Who’s Mr. Leavitt?”
The woman seemed annoyed. “Mr. Leavitt is an executive vice president, Mr. Andrews’s assistant.” Her tone implied that anyone of importance would certainly know who Mr. Leavitt was.
Jane’s first emotion was relief that she had been granted a reprieve. The great man was busy, so she was being pushed off onto an assistant. That seemed to indicate that she hadn’t been summoned to her own beheading. But her second emotion was anger. She had come a long way at considerable inconvenience, and she was being treated like a nobody.
“Is Mr. Leavitt going to sit in on my interview with Mr. Andrews?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the young woman answered, taking on the importance of the people whose gate she kept.
“Why don’t you ask him,” Jane suggested, sounding casual even though she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
The receptionist sighed with frustration, keyed her console, and asked, “Mr. Leavitt, is Mr. Andrews going to be able to keep his appointment with Ms. Warren? She seems to be concerned.” She listened, frowned, then sighed again. “Please have a seat. Mr. Leavitt will be right with you.”
Jane took a small measure of satisfaction in irritating the receptionist. But she went back to her place and resumed her wait. Maybe she should have taken Leavitt when he was offered.
The door opened for a short man in white shirt and tie. His suit coat had apparently been discarded inside during the heat of battle. He paused at the desk, followed the receptionist’s glance at Jane, and then approached with an apologetic shake of his head. “I’m so sorry! It’s been an impossible day and it seems to be getting worse.” His hand was out. “Bob Leavitt. I’m Bill Andrews’s assistant. And you seem to be J. J. Warren….”
Her knees felt weak. If she was J.J., then they must have read the articles. “Jane Warren,” she answered on the chance that she might still be able to hide her identity.
He gestured for her to sit and then lowered himself onto the sofa beside her. “Right now Bill is on a conference call with a couple of European managers. And the second it’s finished, he’s going to come racing through that door with some of our top executives running to keep up. We’re on our way to the airport, off to a meeting in Paris.”
She tried to look disappointed. “Okay. I suppose we’ll have to reschedule….”
“No,” Leavitt said with a half smile that suggested he had a better idea. “What I’m going to do is make sure that you’re in Mr. Andrews’s car. It will take us half an hour to get to the airport… probably closer to an hour in rush-hour traffic. You can do your interview on the way, and then I’ll have the car take you back to your office.” He paused to take in her reaction. Jane was a bit wide-eyed and at a loss for words. “I know it’s terribly inconvenient,” Leavitt went on, “and a lot to ask. But it will keep you on schedule and give Bill a chance to answer some of the questions you’ve raised.”
She thought for only a second. “That will work,” she decided.
Leavitt seemed delighted. “Great! Mr. Andrews will really appreciate it.” He stood up quickly. “Now, if you can just wait here one more minute, I promise you I’ll be right back. And again, thanks for your patience and understanding. As I said, not much has gone right today.”
Her fears vanished as she began to feel the heady warmth of importance. The chairman’s car! Not bad for someone from a small suburban chain. And keep the car so that she would stay on schedule! He must think that my time is valuable. Oh, of course he was a showman, and probably his concern was simply an act to turn a hostile reporter into an ally. But so what? Obviously, he had kept abreast of her series, and instead of having her drawn and quartered, he was paying the respect due a significant journalist. She was nearly giggling with self-satisfaction.
The door exploded open, and all six feet four inches of William Andrews charged out. He was talking as he entered, carrying on simultaneous conversations with the two secretaries who flanked him, each struggling to jot down the essence of his thoughts. “No, move that to Wednesday!” he snapped to his right, and then turning to his left, “Tell Archie to fly over and meet me at the hotel tomorrow night. I want to see the Houston deal.”
“You’re in Washington on Wednesday,” the woman on his right announced.
“Then Thursday! Find an hour in my schedule.”
And then from the secretary on the left, “You’re having dinner with the minister tomorrow night.”
“I’ll see Archie after dinner,” Andrews answered as if nothing could be more obvious.
He had reached the elevator when his handlers appeared, three men in dark suits, each marching with a notetaker at his elbow, and a slim woman in slacks and a blouse who was dictating to a younger version of herself. The elevator door opened to admit the executives, then closed in the faces of the secretaries, who were still struggling to jot down final instructions.
Jane watched the parade in awe, then tried to keep track of the women who rushed off in different directions. It had taken only twenty seconds from Andrews’s entrance until the waiting room emptied out. She was supposed to be in his car, and somehow she couldn’t picture the people who had just flown past waiting around for her arrival. She sprang to her feet and lunged toward the elevator bank. Robert Leavitt came up behind her and beat her to the button. “Don’t worry! We’ll catch up in the lobby.”
He had his jacket on now, and a colorful tie that seemed to explode from between the lapels. Unlike the frenzied faces in Andrews’s entourage, Leavitt seemed relaxed. Jane tried to size him up without taking her eyes off the blinking lights that counted down the floors.
He was in his forties, she guessed from the thinning light hair cut painfully short. He had a round face with large blue eyes and a mouth that seemed in a perpetual smile. Not a jock, she guessed from his soft neckline even though he didn’t seem overweight. Not as intimidating as the other executives who had rushed by earlier. They had worn their black jackets and dark open-collared shirts like the uniforms of an attack force, a casual look made sinister by their aggressiveness. Leavitt seemed completely comfortable in his suit and tie.
“What do you do for Mr. Andrews?” she ventured.
“A bit of everything. Basically try to smooth out the image of the organization.”
“Public relations,” she guessed.
He nodded. “Some of that. Also government policy. And then some internal relations. My title is executive vice president, and it seems to cover anything that Mr. Andrews doesn’t have time to do himself.”
The elevator opened onto the lobby, and Leavitt steered them to a side entrance where two limousines were parked at the curb with their doors open. Jane saw Andrews get into one of the cars and picked up her pace. But then the woman who had crossed the lobby behind him slid in beside him, and then one of the men. As she and Leavitt reached the door, the car pulled away. “Wasn’t that my interview?” she asked Mr. Andrews’s executive assistant.
He nodded. “Something must have come up.”
She sighed in defeat. Just as she was beginning to feel confident and important, she had been brushed off like dandruff.
“No matter,” Leavitt said, leading her toward the second car, which the two other men were climbing into. “We’ll catch him out at the airport.”
Jane stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Let’s just postpone the interview. He’s obviously involved with something else, and I’ll reschedule when he has more time.”
But Leavitt tugged her toward the car. “He never has more time, and he really is eager to meet you. We’ll all be standing around the terminal for an hour, and I’m sure I can get the two of you together.”
She let herself be loaded next to the two executives. “This is J. J. Warren,” Robert Leavitt said. Then he introduced Gordon Frier and Henry Davis. The men grunted as they squeezed together to make room. He got into the front seat, next to the driver, and then turned back to the passengers. “J.J. is the journalist Bill mentioned,” he said. And then, with mock seriousness, “She’s looking to skewer us, so I’d advise you to be on your best behavior.”
They favored her with a smile, and Jane laughed nervously. “I wouldn’t skewer anyone,” she said. But then added that anything she overheard would be on the record. They made small talk all the way to the executive terminal at La Guardia. But she couldn’t keep her mind focused on even the most banal comments about the traffic and the weather. The journalist Bill mentioned, she kept thinking, wondering just what he might have said.
It might have been dismissive. “This pushy bitch has been sticking her finger in our eye. It’s going to be a pleasure to kick her ass out onto the street.” Or maybe he had been diplomatic. “I’ve got to humor her for a few minutes to get her onboard with the program.” Or, she could only hope, it might have been complimentary. “This lady is damn good. She’s raised some tough questions, and I have to come up with answers.” Any of those scenarios would fit with Leavitt’s comment that Andrews really wanted the interview. But the important new information was that Andrews knew of her stories and had thought her important enough to tell his staff about her. She was clearly a blip on his radar, and he was well aware that he would be meeting an outspoken critic. So there was no point in trying to hide as Plain Jane. Win or lose, she would have to ask the tough questions and press for answers.
They moved slowly, stop and go, between the lines that backed up at the tollbooths. From the bridge they could see the airport lights, but it still took them an additional half hour to get there. When they pulled up in front of the executive terminal, Frier and Davis bounded out and ran to the doorway. Leavitt helped Jane out, then reached ahead to move the revolving door. They turned away from the shuttle flight gates and went into the art deco waiting room that originally served seaplanes. There was no sign of the Andrews Global Network executives. The room was nearly empty.
Bob Leavitt went to the counter. Jane was right at his heels, so she overheard the clerk say that Andrews and his party had gone into a private office. He turned to Jane. “Give me just a second to find out what this is all about.” He disappeared through a door marked PRIVATE before she could repeat her offer to postpone the interview. When he returned, he was smiling optimistically. “More phone calls,” he explained. “But I got his eye, and he indicated that he would be right out. It should be only a few minutes.”
Jane nodded that she didn’t mind the additional wait. “I guess this is what you mean by ‘smoothing the rough edges.’ Explaining Mr. Andrews to those of us who don’t know him has to be a full-time job.”
“No, that’s half the time. The rest is explaining ordinary human beings to Mr. Andrews. He has no idea what they’re like.”
She asked about the men in the car. “The way they cut off their conversation, they must have been planning to rob a bank.”
Leavitt laughed. “That’s about what they’re doing, but I think they’d put a different spin on it. Frier finds promising acquisitions, and Davis comes up with the money to buy them. As you can imagine, nearly anything they talk about is highly privileged.”
“And the other two? In the first car?” she pressed.
“John Applebaum runs our publishing operations. He’s the one you’ll be working for once we get your newspapers integrated. Kim Annuzio heads up the broadcast properties.” She had heard of Applebaum and Annuzio. They made constant appearances in the business press, generally inspiring fear rather than affection. Leavitt had more to tell her, but his voice was drowned out by the whine of a Gulfstream business jet that was taxiing up to the terminal. He shrugged an apology and looked out at the plane. Then he jumped to his feet and started for the private door. But the door opened before he reached it, and once again William Andrews appeared as if shot from a cannon. Now he was flanked by Frier and Davis, with Applebaum and Annuzio only a step behind. He glanced at Leavitt, exchanged a word, and looked over Leavitt’s shoulder at Jane. Then he snapped his head toward the waiting jet in a gesture that said “C mon, let’s go” and continued his trajectory to the terminal door. Leavitt ran back to Jane.
“We’ve got to go right now,” he shouted, even though he was right next to her. “Something about a weather hold that we don’t want to get caught in.” He took her laptop in one hand and then steered her into line behind the Andrews executives. “I’ll get you a seat next to him. You can have the whole trip for your interview.”
“Aren’t you going to Paris?” she yelled.
“That’s right!” He was doing his best to keep her moving.
“Where am I supposed to get off? Labrador?” Her eyes flashed anger. She was being led around like a lap puppy.
“In Paris. We’ll put you on a flight back as soon as you’re ready.”
“I don’t have a thing with me,” she snapped. “I haven’t packed—”
“No one has anything. Just buy what you need. They have great stores in Paris.”
Jane planted her feet in the doorway. With the roar of the engines, any further conversation was impossible. She shook her head and reached for her computer. But Leavitt continued to tug on her arm. “You’ll be back in the morning,” he bellowed.
That’s right, she realized. Over tonight and back in the morning. And what better way to start with her new boss than join him and his top management team aboard the company jet. She pursed her lips, nodded, and let herself be steered to the boarding steps. Within seconds she was strapped into a seat looking across at Robert Leavitt, who didn’t seem in the least perplexed by the dramatic change of venue.