A Fine Mess

Chapter 3

Peter Delacourte, Financial Officer for WesCat Alliance was the uncontested company stud; the firm's most eligible and happily available male. Tall with dark blonde hair just bordering on long and worn like a young Robert Redford, he showed a preference for open shirts, pleated pants and lightweight blazers.

Notorious at company fundraisers for flagrantly flirting with client's wives, a persona purposely developed to put the men on the defensive and therefore susceptible to the suggestions of their ecstatic wives. More than one account materialized because Peter had flattered the pants off a wife who browbeat her husband into doing business with WesCat.

The annual party for loyal clients and those with potential was held atop the roof garden of the Warren Arms Hotel, Barton Weston's favourite venue exclusively used for his business pitches. A Barton Weston function rated the head chef, bartender and attending staff and a full third of a page with pictures in all the city's newspapers. WesCat's senior management, their partners or spouses and matching couples were expected to attend and be prepared to politically massage their opposites from the client crop and the investment community. Barton expected each affair to reap profitable benefits without exception.

"This is a surprise, Peter, seeing you without some young woman clinging to your arm." They were standing in front of the buffet; a pink, linen covered table displaying the fussily creative talents of the hotel's head chef. Silver and fine china along with crystal glassware sparkled amidst the artfully decorated selection of foods.

"All you have to do is grab hold and the surprise is gone." He bared a row of gleaming teeth as he plopped several peeled shrimp onto his plate.

"I said, young woman," Miriam chuckled softly.

"Youth isn't all cosmetic, Miriam -- or maybe I should say, youth is all cosmetic." He popped a shrimp into his mouth and turned to face her.

"It's what you men seem to like."

"What I would like," he lowered his voice and bobbed his eyebrows, "is not something I should be saying to an associate's wife."

She faked a shocked expression and leaned closer. "Peter! Teasing a woman like that is a terrible thing to do. How shall I ever get to sleep tonight? You're almost as naughty as that Arnold Chang from Cybrus." Taking her plate of food, she showed him her back and crossed the busy room to a quiet alcove where she sat eating daintily and watching the crowd.

Barely restraining his curiosity, Peter casually joined Miriam in the alcove, complimenting her on finding the small, private oasis. They sat silent just listening to the music, Barton's choice of ballad, waltz, Latin and the occasional jazzier piece for the younger group.

"This is a nice break," he offered finally, chewing his shrimp and pretending to look around.

"Young woman can wear you down."

"I thought we covered that." She just smiled. "You aah- you mentioned Arnold Chang back there. You and Myles know him?"

"I do."

"Uuh. Is he a- a personal friend or..."

"Arnold is to business what you are to flirting, Peter." She bit into a cracker covered in crab paste and watched him experience an uncommon blush.

"I aah- believe you used the word, naughty, Miriam. That doesn't sound like business to me... unless it's monkey business." He tried his own smile on her.

"Are you inferring something, Peter?" He held her eyes with what she recognized as his practiced Valentino smoulder, the look that turned the women's knees to water. "I believe you are." She dabbed her lips with her serviette and set her plate aside. "Shall we dance?"

•••

Myles Forbin straightened the knot in his silk tie and politely offered a plate to the matronly woman beside him, hopefully to move her on. "Please," he smiled benignly, "if chef sees an empty plate near his buffet we're liable to bear witness to culinary suicide." The woman tittered and barged past, plump fingers selecting more and more as she cruised down the table.

"Careful Myles, we don't want an excessive cholesterol suite filed against us." Brian Cathcart, second in command and junior partner, leaned around his cohort and shook his head at the mound growing on the woman's plate.

"I just wish we could conduct our business without all this faux pageantry."

"Why Myles, that's exactly the point! All this food, music, booze and fine cigars are designed to set the suckers up fo' business."

"That cheap pun is beneath you, Brian." Myles sniffed and cracked a mandatory smile at the woman who was pointing to her plate and blushing. "Cow." He muttered behind a clenched smile.

"Where is your lovely wife, I feel slighted she hasn't asked me to dance yet?"

"Protocol would require the gentleman to do the asking. Anyway, she's already circling the floor with Predatory Peter."

"Now, now, Myles, that's conduct unbecoming an officer I would say. You should be proud if not somewhat pumped that the men all want to dance with Miriam."

Myles eyed his friend with suspicion, his trim moustache twitching like a frightened squirrel, trying to process the possibility of a tease. He found the idea of Miriam as anything but a financial prize completely ridiculous. "I think I shall attempt a rescue of Moira from these party crashing cretins. Barton expects her to spend these gatherings like a- like a rental bike without the rental."

"My goodness, Myles what a seamy observation. It makes her sound as if she's--"

"You know what I mean, Brian. Just stop being so clever and patronizing. If you'll excuse me." Myles tugged at his jacket, palmed the side of his hair and swam out onto the floor, heading for Moira.

"Asshole." Brian shook his head and turned back to his search for Miriam. The woman waved at him with a croissant the size of a horseshoe, blushing a smile through a mouthful of pâté. He quickly mimed an apologetic need to be elsewhere and fled onto the crowded dance floor.

•••

Barton patted the stocky man on the back and leaned forward, whispering something to the man's companion that set the group off laughing and nodding appreciatively. With practiced ease, he gently cast them off from his throne beside the bar into the sea of mingling couples, stubbed the butt of his cigar in the large ashtray on the bar and took the brief break to sneak away to recoup.

Glad handing and constantly smiling while pretending to listen earnestly took its toll and even the indefatigable Barton Weston needed a pit stop now and then. Some of the prospects deserved further investigation but the bulk of them came strictly to freeload and be seen by the press. It was the cost of doing business.

One disturbing remark had stuck and he rolled it around in his head, leaning it against the cool tiles above the urinal. Merger. Nothing specific, just a passing comment. Not the kind of talk he wanted to hear. In his business that was like blood on the water.

Barton brooded, as the idea seemed to develop strength in his mind. He suddenly pictured himself alone again as he was when he first launched his career, fighting for appointments and opportunities to demonstrate his products to the hard-nosed men guarding their fiefdoms with worried eyes to the future.

The men who had helped to grow WesCat Alliance were not as loyal to the dream as he; they came on board after the ship was afloat, their interests leaned primarily toward the link of money and power and joining in any kind of a new alliance was not something to keep them awake nights. They didn't care and or couldn't see that something like that would just break him apart. That's how Barton saw the result of any merger, a physical breaking apart of his being. He felt some security with he and Moira's combined stock but he was not foolish enough to ignore the many guises temptation could take; certainly he had employed enough of his own over the years.

He finished and went to the sink, rinsing his hands and contemplating the face in the mirror. You were tough enough to do it all in the first place, you're tough enough to hold on to it, besides, it could all be your imagination. He dried his hands and adjusted his jacket... and then again...