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He waves the hand that’s holding the crystal. Bourbon sloshes. I am loving the smell.
“Not as yet, no.” he says, “I take your point.”
I wonder.
“Second thoughts,” I tell him, “I’ll have a splash of what you have. Is that the twelve year old?”
He lifts a hand to snap a finger. “They didn’t have the twenty. Can you believe it?”
A second later, smart shoes snap across the floor and a suited flunky bends forward, offering me a silver tray with a glass to match Jerry’s.
I nod my thanks and take the glass. I let my eyes close for a second as I sniff. Elijah Craig. There are worse bourbons. The smoky spice aroma will be enough for me for now.
He raises his glass. I raise mine.
After he takes another healthy slurp, he says, “There have been indications that the Commission could look favorably on a grant of franchise for Seattle. For the states of Washington and Oregon as a whole, in fact.”
Indications. Look favorably. We are honored. The gods may make their faces to shine upon us.
As flatly as I can, I say, “Really.”
“With the right structure.” His fingers lift off the table, telling me, Let’s not get in a rush. “A more traditional structure. The right choice of hierarchy and ruling families. People who show the proper loyalties and respect.”
“You mean, show and demonstrate those loyalties and respect.” I wait. “With demonstrations in a material form.
“From the moment I saw you, I knew that we would understand each other.”
“How much?”
His hand waves, airily. “Let’s not get ourselves tangled up into the reeds. We can always find ways to make the details and numbers work. It’s about finding what’s going to work to our mutual benefit.”
Oh. Yeah. I can see this all being very mutual.
“So there’s something else to negotiate? Now you have me wondering. Something that comes ahead of the numbers. That is a surprise. What comes first, before what you want us to pay? What could possibly be more important than the tribute, the kick-up.”
“There’s no rush. Let’s get to know each other a little.
On the phone he was acting like a thug, a dictatorial bully. Now he’s trying to show me a sophisticated gentleman. I remember an FBI interrogator saying that it’s much easier to tell over the phone when somebody is lying. People lie and deceive more successfully with their eyes and their faces than they ever can with only their voices.
This guy, I think it’s safer and simpler to assume he’s lying all the time. Like a man with a lot of power and influence who never did much to get it, and who hasn’t needed to work to keep it. Like a spoiled kid, he tells sloppy lies and will always expect to be taken seriously.
“What do you have in mind?”
Jerry lifts an eyebrow as he cocks his head to peer at my legs.
He looks back up into my eyes and waits. His eyebrow is still cocked.
I don’t react.
“May I call you Lucrezia?”
“You may not.”
Suddenly, I’m too tired and weary of listening to his macho posturing. I just want it to stop.
“Okay,” I tell him, “cut the rebop, will you? Please? You want something, and you’re going to offer me something. An encouragement to get me to give it to you.” By the way he hesitates, as different expressions start to take shape ion his face, but then fall away again, I don’t think he knows how to deal with a woman taking charge.
Madonna, but he must be a chore in bed.
