Ann Lesage would soon be on her knees.
Vincent opened a bottle of celebratory wine, a Spanish rosé. Hart Toy would inevitably have to default on their contract, he thought. And that would set the rest of his plans in motion.
When his cell phone rang he looked at it as if it might be a foreign object.
“What is it?” he demanded.
There was a short silence that Vincent didn’t like. “I just heard from Tom Carlisle.”
“And?”
“He says he can’t go through with it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Vincent stiffened.
“Claims his conscience is getting the better of him.”
“Did you tell him that you would have full rights to the doll within a matter of days?”
“I did. But waiting for me to put out the doll just so he can have a better price is not something he wishes to pursue. Quote, unquote. Ann’s been calling him two, three times a day. He no longer has the heart to disappoint her.”
“Sonofabitch! I thought you said your relationship with this guy was a strong one?”
“It is, but he’s got some scruples.”
“Fuck his scruples!” Vincent exploded.
“It’s only Kmart. There are others in the running.”
Disbelief charged Vincent’s fury. “I want you to listen to me,” he said quietly, his voice turning to steel. “I suggest you call Tom Carlisle and ask for a favor. I will not accept no for an answer. Do I make myself clear?”
The pause was underscored by the other man’s breathing.
“Hello?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
Vincent snapped his cell phone shut. Then he hurled it across the room. It hit the bar, sliding into the glasses there. It whirled over the smooth surface like a demented figure skater, finally knocking a few pieces off. They fell over, some shattering on the bar, others bouncing on the carpet.
Vincent left the mess as it was and went to pour himself another glass of wine.