Chapter 32 Calling the Shots
Calling the Shots
“Mrs. Gustafson?”
The receptionist at Gilbert Partners was new on the job and as thick as cold oatmeal. She was also doe-eyed, busty, brunette,
twenty, and just Howard’s type. If he hadn’t slept with her yet, he’d surely try before long.
“The one and only,” Charlotte said. “At least this week.”
The girl blushed a deep shade of pink and blinked her doe eyes, looking flustered.
Oh yes, Charlotte thought. Howard was definitely sleeping with her.
“Oh gosh. Um, I don’t think he’s expecting you.” The girl reached for the telephone. “Let me just call back and—”
Charlotte, dressed in an off-white Chanel suit with navy trim, the same ensemble she’d worn to the first book club meeting,
waved an arm through the air, cutting the girl off as she breezed past the reception desk.
“No need. I’d like to surprise him.”
The girl popped up from her chair, stuttering protests.
Charlotte ignored her, striding through the bullpen of desks with the flustered receptionist dogging her heels.
Charlotte beamed smiles and nodded acknowledgments to the wide-eyed employees watching the parade, making her way toward the dark walnut doors that distinguished Howard’s office from those of lesser rank.
His sanctuary was guarded by another doe-eyed woman, a few years older than the receptionist and not quite as dumb, but even better endowed and also a brunette.
Good Lord, Howard was predictable! But oh my, how Charlotte had been looking forward to this moment.
As Charlotte approached, the dark-haired guardian rose from her chair, moving out from behind her desk and taking a stance
in front of the office door.
“You can’t go in there. He’s in a meeting.”
Charlotte flashed a brilliant smile and practically purred her greeting.
“Brenda, darling! How are you? Haven’t seen you since the party. I hope you had a nice time. You know, I’m sorry we didn’t
have a chance to chat that day,” Charlotte said in a regretful tone that sounded almost genuine, touching fingers lightly
to her pearls. “I looked everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found. Must have been hiding someplace. However, I understand
Howard gave you a personal tour of the gardens. So considerate of him. Most of the plants are still taking hold, but the camellias
are so lovely and lush, don’t you think?”
Brenda said nothing but blushed even more deeply than her colleague from reception, who had given up the chase but was standing
within eavesdropping distance. Charlotte’s green eyes glittered like those of a cat preparing to pounce. She took two slow,
stalking steps toward her prey.
“Of course those bushes can be something of an attractive nuisance, a tempting spot for couples bent on sneaking off to engage
in dirty, illicit deeds.”
Brenda’s lip started to quiver. Charlotte leaned in as if about to share a secret, speaking in a stage whisper that could
easily be overheard by those listening in—including the eavesdropping receptionist, whose expression suggested she was waking
up to the fact that her relationship with Howard was less than exclusive.
Charlotte pressed her fingers to her cheek and let her eyes go wide.
“And do you know something? I actually think someone did. The day after the party, my gardener found an abandoned pair of
panties in the bushes! Can you imagine? Whoever it was must have been a real tramp. I mean, honestly. How cheap can you get?”
Brenda let out a sob, covered her face with her hands, and ran toward the ladies’ room. The other receptionist gasped, did
an about-face, and fled. Charlotte smirked to herself.
“Oh, that was almost too easy.”
She entered Howard’s office without knocking. He had a guest.
“Daddy! What a convenient surprise. Saves me the trouble of a trip to New York to explain my demands.”
With his sharklike smile, steely eyes that missed nothing, a full head of platinum hair, and even fuller lips, George Beverly
Gilbert III—known as G.G. by those who pretended to like him—had the air of an elder statesman when in a good mood, a dictator
when not. Charlotte referred to those as his “Il Duce days” and could tell this was one of them.
G.G. removed his cigar from his mouth. “Demands? What the hell are you talking about? And what are you doing here? Can’t you
see we’re in the middle of a meeting?”
“I know. But this won’t take five minutes, Daddy. And it really can’t wait. Or perhaps it’s just that I can’t wait. Either
way . . .”
Charlotte stripped off her gloves and laid them atop the inlaid walnut conference table at which her father and a very agitated-looking
Howard were seated. Howard stood.
“Charlotte, you can’t just barge in here without an appointment—”
“Ah, but it seems I can,” she said. “I don’t know what got into your secretary, Howard.
A few cordial words from me and a mention of our camellia bushes, and she went scurrying off to the bathroom in a torrent of tears, leaving her desk unmanned and you unprotected.
Same thing happened with the receptionist.” Charlotte tsked her tongue.
“Next time, try to find a bimbo with a thicker skin. And an IQ not measured in single digits.”
Howard’s lip curled into a sneer. He started to say something cutting but stopped when G.G. lifted his hand. Howard sank back
down into his chair like the yes-man he was, yielding the floor to his father-in-law. G.G. picked up his cigar.
“Quit playing games, Charlotte. If you have something to say, then say it so we can get back to work. But if you’ve come to
ask for an increase in your allowance, the answer is no. You cost more than you’re worth as it is.”
“Not quite an increase in my allowance,” Charlotte said. “More like a settlement. To be blunt, this is a shakedown.”
G.G. chomped the end of his cigar, observing his only child with the wary expression of a soldier who has just stumbled upon
a cache of unexploded ordnance. Charlotte folded her hands demurely in her lap.
“My demands are as follows. All proceeds from the sale of the house, a onetime payment equal to twenty years’ worth of Howard’s
current salary, including bonuses, and an equal amount put into an irrevocable trust for Denise. Of course Howard will also
be paying child support and college tuition for all of the children, but I want to make sure the baby born on the wrong side
of the blanket won’t be cut out of the will after you die, Daddy.” She flashed a serene smile. “Oh, and as I’m sure you’ve
already guessed, I want a divorce and full custody of the children.”
Howard raised his eyebrows and coughed out a laugh. “Isn’t it a little early in the day to be drinking, Charlotte? Even for
you?”
“I am stone-cold sober, Howard. And deadly serious.”
“Nobody is getting a divorce.” G.G. waved his cigar, leaving a trail of smoke that smelled like burnt mushrooms soaked in
whiskey. “My great-grandfather founded this firm in 1822. The reason we’ve managed to survive while others failed is by keeping
things in the family, guarding our image, and avoiding scandal. Nobody is going to entrust their money to a family firm that
can’t keep its members under control.
“So let me say again, nobody is getting a divorce. Not now, not ever,” he said, glaring in Charlotte’s direction.
“I thought your mother made the consequences that would ensue, should you embark on such a reckless course of action, perfectly clear. Do not test me on this, Charlotte. I meant every word of what I said.”
He wedged his cigar between his teeth and gave Charlotte a look that, in former days, would have withered her spirit as well
as her resolve. Those days were over.
“I don’t doubt it. But I can be ruthless too, Daddy. After all, I learned from the best. And thanks to your generous graduation
gift to Denise, the tables have turned somewhat.”
Charlotte pulled out the manila envelope containing Denise’s photographs, a typewritten list of names and addresses, and a
business card from her handbag, and laid the contents on the conference table.
“Not Howard’s best side, I’ll admit,” she said, fanning the photos out like a croupier dealing a hand of blackjack. “But nobody
will have any trouble recognizing his face. Or his anatomy. The newspapers would have to crop out some of the more explicit
bits, but the facial expressions of you and the tramp will be more than enough to pique people’s interest. And certain things
are even more lurid if left to the imagination, don’t you agree?”
Charlotte rubbed her thumb over the smooth veneer of her manicured fingernails with a sly smile and studied nonchalance. “Oh,
just in case you were wondering about the list, it includes the names and addresses of reporters covering the financial beat
of every major newspaper. Gossip columnists too, including Walter Winchell and Suzy Knickerbocker.
“Envelopes with copies of the pictures and a note explaining the circumstances are all addressed and ready to go,” she said.
“I haven’t decided if I should start with the gossip columnists or just send them out all at once, more of a rifle shot. But
I’m leaning toward the latter. Best to cover my bases, don’t you think, Daddy? Even you won’t be able to buy off that many
journalists, not for a story with artwork as juicy as this one.”
“You cheap, vindictive little . . .”
Howard, whose face had turned an angry shade of red the instant he laid eyes on the photos, sputtered and stood, clawing his
hands as if preparing to lunge. His father-in-law placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the chair.
“Sit down, you idiot. You’ve already done enough damage for one day!”
G.G. turned a soul-shriveling scowl upon his son-in-law, the kind of look that, up until now, he had only bestowed upon his
disappointing daughter. Though Howard blinked with momentary confusion, Charlotte could see realization of his demoted status
breaking over him, a layer of tarnish that the former golden boy would find hard, perhaps impossible, to remove. She almost
felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“If those pictures get out in the press,” G.G. said, almost growling at the still stunned Howard, “we’ll lose every client
we’ve got. Since you’re obviously too stupid to be discreet, at least have the brains to know when you’ve lost.”
Howard slumped in his chair. G.G. turned toward Charlotte.
“All right, Charlotte. You win. You can have your divorce. Honestly,” he said, taking a puff on his cigar and giving her an
appraising look that held a hint of admiration, “I didn’t know you had it in you. You’re tougher than I thought. But you’ve
got to be reasonable. You and I are going to have to sit down and work out a—”
Charlotte interrupted him with a shake of her head. “No negotiations, Daddy. Under the circumstances, my offer is more than
reasonable. That’s a business card for my lawyer,” she said, nodding toward the table as she picked up her gloves. “He’s drawing
up papers as we speak, spelling out the details of my demands. There will be some administrative hoops, and we’ll both have
to appear before a judge at some point, but I’d like to move quickly. No point in dragging things out. I’m sure Howard agrees.”
Howard shot her a look of unadulterated loathing. “I can’t wait to be rid of you.”
“Excellent! We’re all on the same page.”
She slipped on her gloves and walked to the door.
“Oh, just a couple of housekeeping items before I go. Daddy, I’m sure this goes without saying, but I expect you to pay the
lawyer and court costs.”
Charlotte looked toward her soon-to-be ex-husband. “And Howard, not that you’d want to come home, but in case you were thinking
of it? The locks on the house have already been changed. Don’t worry about your clothes. I made you a reservation at the Willard
and left six suitcases of your things with the bellman. They were awfully heavy, so do be sure to leave him a nice tip.” She
looped her handbag over her arm. “Well, I think that’s everything. Bye, all.”
She gave them a wave and swept out of the room, making her way through the canyon of metal desks with a confident stride,
walking in rhythm with the clacking of adding machines and clattering of typewriters. Approaching the lobby, she ran into
Edna Green, the friendly, middle-aged manager of the typing pool and one of the few people on the company payroll Charlotte
actually liked.
“Mrs. Gustafson! I didn’t know you were coming into the office today. So good to see you.” Edna looked her up and down. “My
goodness, Mrs. Gustafson. That is a beautiful suit. So stylish. And you look so happy. What are you up to today?”
Charlotte smiled.
“Calling the shots. And I have to tell you, Edna. It feels good.”