X - Chapter Twenty Eight "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution" 

Chapter Twenty Eight 

      Bill Voldman felt his impatience grow. The flight from San Francisco to New York was already a half hour late, and there was no explanation from United Air. And there was no information at the Information desk nor from the agents at the United Air check-in counters one floor down in the United Terminal at JFK. 

      Bill was standing near the railing in front of the sliding doors where the arriving passengers come out to greet their mates, their families or friends, or the assigned drivers with their signs carrying the names of important business travelers. 

      His eyes wandered over the terminal – the airy expanses that swept high above the floor with light flooding in from huge forms of glass, the modern shapes of white and gray that shouted “We are modern, we are dependable, we take care of you, ” the gleaming floors with arrows to tell you where to go, the huge electronic panels high in the air that give you the information you need, but are sometimes wrong.   

      Why do I spend so much time in airports? Bill asked himself. Because, silly, came his answer, it’s a big part of your profession. It’s all part of the game. Don’t let it bother you. You gotta use the time. 

      Bill was waiting for Maggie. They had been separated for almost two weeks, and he missed her. Sure, they talked every day, which was easier because of the time difference. When he was in his hotel room, exhausted at midnight, it was only nine in Belmont, California. 

      He needed that time with his wife. He had almost forgotten the kind of support she could give him, never accusatory, never clinging or dependent, but always logical and accepting, always offering some idea he hadn’t thought of because he was too involved in running Winshire Associates. 

      The list of priorities jumped into his mind. Doesn’t priority mean things that are especially important? he argued with himself. But, hey, they’re all so important; everything needs to be done, everything needs a decision, and now if not sooner. 

Lucky you got Scott Li and Mike Stein. They take that whole media circus off your back. 

      Even the regular stuff can’t wait! The final responsibility for the client contracts is you, buddy! The big-spending items are yours, too! The plans for informational seminars, you gotta say what the firm can reveal and what it can’t. Approving the expense accounts made Bill shudder; Dorothy was handing that, because he trusted her. Collections, you can’t imagine how many clients with very big names delay their payments because just two days late can mean big money in the bank. 

      And now the investigation that won’t stop and Gordy’s murder trial to come, it all made Bill wish he could just blank it all out. You knew what was happening. You let it slip, and all hell broke loose. Your loose lips didn’t sink any ship, your loose lips sent that ship on a crazy, twisting, time-consuming dance skipping over a sea of confusion. And what can you do? You got a firm to run, and you sure don’t know who really sent Ted to Hell? 

      You know what you always say? Take it easy, one step at a time, it’ll all work out. Sure, not with my old buddy Grant trying to control everything. If you trusted him, maybe that’d be okay; but you never trusted him, not for all those ten years. The guy’s got a Napoleon complex. Yes, he’s trying to control everything, and if you try to stop him, he’ll just stall all kinds of other things. He’s got some angle, but what? 

      And Maggie? What can we do? Bill felt a tinge of guilt. He had told Dorothy that their relationship had to change. They both knew it was wrong. Before, it was once a week or every two weeks. Now, with Bill just a few feet from her every day, it just couldn’t go on. Dorothy said the words – Yes, yes. But Bill didn’t see conviction in her eyes. 

      And now, with Maggie . . . .

      Suddenly, Bill heard a woman’s voice, a slightly high, smooth and appealing voice. Bill looked up. It was Maggie. She looked wonderful, better than the images he carried in his memory. Her hair was short and modern, but still very feminine. Her smile almost brought tears to his eyes. She was wearing a dark blue pants suit that was gathered at the waist and enhanced her trim figure.

      They rushed to each other. Arms outstretched, they clung to each other. 

      Simultaneously, they both said the same thing, “Oh, I missed you so much! I missed you so much!” 

      In the cab, they didn’t talk. They didn’t know where to start. They didn’t know what words to use. They knew they had decisions to make, but they didn’t want to start out on the wrong foot.

      “Let’s not rush it,” Bill said. “Okay?”

      You can’t just drop a bomb, Bill told himself. Drop a bomb, and you get an explosion. 

      Later, at a private corner table in the restaurant of The Warwick on Sixth Avenue, they ordered a simple meal with one of the house’s red wines. 

      “Maggie,” Bill started out, “We got so much to talk about, and decisions to make. Let’s just enjoy each other, be at ease with each other. We haven’t been together for a long time.”

      “Bill, if you’re going to ask me to come East, I want to tell you right away. The answer’s yes. I want to be with you,” Maggie said. “But of course, I have to ask Félix,” she added with a glint in her eyes. “And I don’t know. He’s not as easy as me.” 

      Bill laughed. It felt right.