Jewel of Eros

This was the first time I saw Ari fully dressed, I realized. All the other times, he was completely naked, or else was wearing island casual shirt and shorts or slacks. If you can believe it, he looked even sexier, and I now know that guys in Armani suits will make my knees rubbery. Ari’s was dark blue, and he was wearing a medium gray shirt (also silk, I imagine), and a same color tie. You see that same color shirt and tie often by stud-wannabes, and go ‘Ehh,’ but Ari could pull it off. And I could have used his shoes to apply my lipstick, they were so glossy.

But I, with my pale blue silk open blouse exposing just a hint of cleavage under the power jacket, bold gold earrings, and three-inch narrow heeled black pumps, carried the ‘dress for effect’ field that afternoon. Confidently striding with accentuated hip action like a model on a runway, I walked through the bar to the corner table where Ari’s group was waiting. It was like Moses crossing the Red Sea. The drinking crowd was thick, but as I approached any person or group blocking my path, one stare at my elegant appearance, which I boldly returned, made that party cease speaking and step out of my way. God! Did I feel in control! Impetuously, I decided that I would extend my role in this charade, and act, not as Ari’s mere assistant, but rather as a working partner.

I arrived at their table, and the four men rose politely. My first impulse was to apologize for being late. After all, for centuries, all women have been brought up to ask forgiveness from men for acts that do not deserve apologies.

‘Today, I am Thalia,’ I thought. ‘One of the Three Graces, a minor goddess in Greek mythology, but a goddess nevertheless. I do not bow to mere mortals.’ I gave my best interpretation of a goddess smiling to mortals.

“Gentlemen, thank you for being so prompt. Ari, will you introduce me to your friends?” I said in Greek.

Ari almost lost it with my assertiveness, but stifled it with a simple raise of his eyebrows and a smile of good humor. He obeyed my directive, and introduced me by the name of Thalia Grace, American. I shook hands with the two Italians and the arty guy. The Italians were reflexively ready to intimidate a mere woman, but were caught totally unprepared for being introduced to a minor goddess. They were the ones who were intimidated. Power does corrupt absolutely. Their names were Mr. Tortorelli and Mr. Lavagnall, speaking and acting like a matched set of puppets. Their strings were pulled by the third man. I was informed that he was Alain Delacroix, from Lyon.

To maintain the momentum of my power rush, I asked Ari where he intended to have his meeting. “If we are going to remain in the bar, I will have a Campari and soda, if you please. However, if you gentlemen have had your refreshment, I suggest, Ari, that we go immediately to the conference room and get started.”

The corners of Ari’s mouth turned up slightly, and his look into my eyes revealed that he was amused and approved of my impetuosity, thank God. He ushered the four of us into a private conference room on the opposite side of the lobby. Inwardly, I glowed with female pride as I noticed the surreptitious glances from the men we passed by. As Nora Ephron once said, it is every woman’s fantasy to be admired for something other than her mind.

The room had a round table of dark wood, surrounded by six leather-covered executive type chairs on silently rolling casters. On the far wall was a thin two-door cabinet hanging from the wall, containing the ubiquitous white board and cork on the inside of the doors. There was a credenza on the side wall, set up by the hotel staff as a wet bar, with bottles, glasses and ice. Verrry nice.

Ari gave a slight nod of his head, indicating in which chair he wished me to sit. He gestured and informed the others where he preferred them to sit, then sat in the chair next to mine. It did not go unnoticed that the two empty chairs separated us two from the other three. All at once, it dawned on me. Until that moment, I had thought that his buying me this suit and stuff was an impulse, but he had deliberately walked us back on that side of the street so that I would ‘happen’ to see and fall in love with these clothes. And he would ‘happen’ to be pleased to buy it for me.

He didn’t indulge me; it was his idea to dress me up to overpower his negotiation opponents. If those three guys thought of me as Thalia, a minor goddess, then they were acknowledging Ari as Zeus. As they say in tennis, ‘You think you’re pretty good, then you play someone who really is good.’ I stared admiringly into Ari’s eyes, and he placed his hand on my shoulder, gently pressing me into my chair. He remained standing, and I meekly took my seat, or did I genuflect? I can’t remember.

“Help yourself to drinks, if you wish, gentlemen, before we begin. Thalia, will you please get us each a bottle of Perrier?”

Thalia dutifully fulfilled her obligation of serving Zeus, knowing that her minute of top-dogginess was over. I poured two glasses for Ari and me, while the others mixed themselves another drink. As we had arranged, I snapped open my attaché case, and hauled out papers for Ari, and a blank legal pad for myself. Ari reached inside his suit jacket and retrieved a Mont Blanque pen. Why was I not surprised?

It would be a violation of client confidentiality if I told you any of the details of the proposition, and the negotiating details. Suffice it say that the business involved obtaining financing for the Italians to manufacture pharmaceuticals in Morocco and be granted government licenses to export them to countries in the European Market. Ari had told me this much and more when he briefed me on the motorboat trip over from Xirokis.

I admired Ari even more when he told me that, while he knew that the drug factory in Morocco was a sweat shop that exploited its female workers, it was the most likely company to be willing to market low-cost AIDS medication to poor African countries. That was what he was after, but he was suspicious that the hidden French backer really wanted a channel to enter the market for drugs for the elderly, which were financed by national health insurances.

Ari began the negotiation by inviting the Italians to summarize their perspective of the deal, and to make their initial offer. This was standard protocol for any kind of trading among southern Europeans: get the other side to make an offer, then you make a counter offer. However, Ari tripped up the Italians by saying nothing for a few moments, as if he were pondering their offer. All the while, I saw out of the side of my eyes that he was tapping the table with the top of his pen. So far, he was interested. Then he looked at the Italians, nodded his head as a positive sign, and stared at the Frenchman. It had been agreed upon by all parties that the discussion would be in English, which was the commonly understood language. Ari did all the talking, while Superwoman kept quiet and listened.

“And you, Mr. Delacroix, what is your position regarding the offer of these gentlemen? There is little or no profit in making AIDS drugs for African countries. Why would your client wish to participate in a venture that has no payback? And, furthermore, since your client wishes to remain in the shadows, it is difficult for me not to conclude that he has additional aims beyond being noble to our black brothers.”

“Ah, Monsieur Themopodi, you have, how you say, put your finger on the nub of the issues. It is with the most noble of motivations to shoulder some of the responsibilities for alleviating this scourge of Africa that my client is wishing to support our Italian partners. Pharmaceutical manufacturing and marketing is very expensive and risky. We simply are ameliorating the risks for Dotore Tortorelli and Signor Lavignall, so that they can focus on getting the lines running and product ready for market quickly.”

“How generous, Monsieur Delacroix. I laud you and your client. That relieves me of the last concern that I had on my mind, and why I believe that you will be overjoyed when I tell you that a comrade from Salonika has informed me that, with the global economic downturn, he has the misfortune of having expensive excess production capacity in his pharmaceutical plant.”

I watched Monsieur Delacroix’s eyes narrow with suspicion. Ari turned to the Italians.

“Signor Lavignall, when I return to Athens next week from this holiday, I will inform my legal and financial sub-ordinates that I am now satisfied with your proposal. I will instruct them to provide the necessary funds to begin the construction of an AIDS drug line that will ramp up to 30,000 units per month by the end of next year. Needless to say, this medicine is needed urgently. Therefore, the people in Africa must not be forced to wait so long for relief from their terrible suffering. Consequently, I wish to reduce that amount of money you requested for constructing a plant designed with built-in excess capacity, and turn that money over to my comrade to immediately begin manufacturing the drugs under your license at his now idle plant.”

Mr. Delacroix coughed discretely, and interrupted.

“Ah, that is, er, you see, my client was foreseeing that his return on his investment, while negligible in the short run, would be assured through some future exploitation of the capacity of the larger designed plant in Morocco. Your alternative, while certainly being worthy of consideration, is considerably different from the proposition on the table when my client became a partner with our friends here.”

“Well, then,” Ari said. “Why don’t you call your client right now, and ask him or her, I don’t know which it is, perhaps both. Any case, you certainly cannot make that significant a decision for your client. Call right now. We’ll wait. And Dotore Tortorelli, you may wish to converse with your superiors as well.”

Mr. Tortorelli and Mr. Lavagnall wheeled their chairs back from the table to whisper in a caucus. Concurrently, Mr. Delacroix moved from the table to sit in a chair next to the drinks bar, and punched some keys on his cell phone. Ari swallowed the Perrier remaining in his glass, and handed it to me, motioning to get some more. Alain ignored me while I busied myself pouring more Perrier for Ari, and then offering to get something for the two Italians.

This bartending business made me appear less in stature, but did allow me to listen in on the French connection conversation. You can make the wrong conclusions if you listen to only one side of a telephone conservation, but the gist I got from eavesdropping was that Alain’s client was irate at Ari’s modification of the original plan, and he was demanding that Alain make Ari change his mind, which Alain was doubtful could be done. I couldn’t catch all of it while I was walking back to the table, but Alain made mention of having no luck getting anything on the Greek.

Ari looked at the three expectantly. It was the Italians who spoke first, stating that they could, indeed, agree to Ari’s alternative, although that was subject to evaluation of the manufacturing facility at Salonika, and arrangements for technology handoff. However, they said that they had sent a letter of intent through Mr. Delacroix to the French backer that they would borrow one-third of the capital needed for the plant in Morocco, for which they would give up 50% of the ownership.

“You must be more undercapitalized than I thought,” Ari remarked. “One third the money for one-half the ownership is rather harsh terms, Mr. Lavagnall. If you accept my proposition of licensing a Greek manufacturer, and construct a smaller plant, then you would not require so much financial assistance. Also, you will get drugs to market much sooner, thereby enhancing your cash flow. I would think that any lawyer would agree that your letter of intent was based upon the assumption of the original expansion plans. Now that you have been made aware of an alternative, and certainly more profitable, strategy to meet your goal of producing drugs for Africa, that letter can be rescinded.”

“No!” shouted Mr. Delacroix. “We have a deal. I insist that you honor its terms, Dotor Tortorelli. Otherwise, we would be forced to reveal to the public those things of the past.”

I saw Ari point his pen at the Italians, then tap the top of the pen. A moment later, he pointed the pen at the Frenchman, and tapped the point of the pen. I decided to play a hunch and make a bluff.

“Excuse me for interrupting, gentlemen, but I feel it is time to put all the cards on the table. As you no doubt have already guessed, I am not Mr. Themopodi’s assistant. No indeed. Permit me to show you the passport under which I am traveling. You will note that the name is not Thalia Grace, but Jeanine Jameson. I am sorry, but I do not have the customary business cards to distribute. I represent what is commonly called The Company, located in Maryland. It frowns on disclosing either the names of their operatives, or their purpose in, shall we say, getting involved. When we got wind of this little deal, and dug into the backgrounds of the players, some of my superiors became very interested.”

I looked at Ari, and smiled conspiratorially at him. Just the corners of his mouth turned up, and he reverted to his poker face. I had more confidence, and continued.

“Mr. Themopodi graciously agreed to co-operate with us and arranged for his week-long island getaway, so that this meeting would be inconspicuous. Two days ago, Mr. Delacroix, your operatives may have seen my partner and me rendezvous with another operative, using the code name of Aglaia, another of the Three Graces, like my own code name of Thalia. Mr. Themopodi and the other three of us made it appear like we had become friends, and he invited us to his villa on the island of Xirokis. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes, but you did surprise us,” Alain said. “We were told to look for the arrival of Mr. Themopodi’s mistress.”

“He has no mistress, Mr. Delacroix. Only two Americans and a Greek who are working for their governments in tracing the trail of money exchanges over most of southern Europe. That trail has led us to you, Mr. Delacroix, and now much closer to your boss. Even as we speak, two of your clients’ soldiers have been quietly arrested and are being interrogated.”

“That is preposterous!” said Alain. “You are Americans, and your other so-called Grace is Greek. My client’s people are all in France.”

“Actually, two of them are in Brussels at the moment, Monsieur Delacroix. You probably don’t believe me, so why don’t I prove it? Would you please hand me that speaker phone over there? Thank you. And, if Mr. Themopodi would consent to my making an overseas call, we’ll all learn what our two visitors at Interp, …, er, that is our sister company in Brussels, have to share with us.”

When I dropped the Interpol name, Mr. Delacroix became noticeably uncomfortable. I looked at my watch. Four-thirty PM. Seven hours difference made it 9:30 AM in Pennsylvania, so I assumed that my parents would be awake, especially with our boys staying with them. I pressed the keys for an international phone call, and on the third ring, I heard my father’s voice saying hello. I cut in, sounding very official.

“ Papa Bear, this is your Rosebud calling from Greece. I haven’t got much time, so please patch me in to Antoinette.”

My dad immediately understood who was calling from my use of old-time nicknames for each other. And often, when Mom wished to discuss with Grandma things about the boys, like birthday and Christmas presents, and not have their ears listen in, I would ask for her by first name. My mother’s mother was a WWII French war bride, and my mom was a high school French teacher, which was where I got my interest in European languages. Dad put me on hold, and fetched my mom. Soon, the four of us heard a feminine voice, with the purest of northern French accent.

“Bon jour, mon petite,” she began, and Mr. Delacroix blanched, realizing that I could speak French. You could almost see him struggling to recall what he had said over the phone, that I would have understood. I didn’t want my mom to blow the CIA/Interpol cover, so I interrupted her immediately, barking out orders in French in my most authoritarian tone.

“Listen, Antoinette, I haven’t got much time. I am with three men, who do not believe that you are holding two people of special interest to us. Will you confirm that two young men are in your custody, and tell me how they are co-operating?”

“Of course we have those two hellions here,” my mom replied. “We couldn’t very well let them run loose, could we? As far as behavior, the younger one is co-operating quite well, but the older one often is stubborn and sullen, demanding that he get a chance to speak to someone he calls Leslie.”

My teen-age son, Brian, has recently discovered girls, and he and Leslie have a hot thing going via telephone and webmail.

“Well, I would let him make contact with this person, but definitely monitor all communications. I’ve been introduced to the person at this end of the line now, so our activities here in Greece will be winding up shortly. I’ll give you a full report when I get back to Brussels. Tell Papa Bear that we’ve changed our flight to the US. We’re now going to Philadelphia, not Dulles. I must run. Keep up the good work, and don’t let those two out of your sight.”

I hung up the phone, thinking how that call would make for interesting breakfast conversation at my parent’s home. Looking directly at Mr. Delacroix, I assumed my company operative role, empowered by the business suit I was wearing. I decided that speaking French would be most intimidating to him.

“So, Monsieur Delacroix, you now know that there is a trail connecting you to some others in France. Things in your country are, shall we say, sufficiently shady and redolent with objectionable odors. I do believe that I could arrange it so that you would not be tainted with those odors, and could go about your business normally. Frankly, you are too small a fish in the ocean to be wasting much of our time with you. Why don’t you simply agree with us in this room that your client is no longer interested in participating in this pharmaceutical project?”

I didn’t give Mr. Delacroix an opportunity to object. I turned to the Italians, who, along with Ari, could not understand what I had said to Alain, nor the words of the telephone conversation with my mom, but they read Mr. Delacroix’s body language to know that he was rapidly diminishing in self-confidence. This time I spoke in Italian, which surprised them, and elevated my stature.

“Dotore Tortorelli, and Mr. Lavagnall,” I said. “Mr. Delacroix is now aware that it is in his and his client’s best interests to withdraw from your project. Mr. Themopodi’s alternative proposal reduces the scope of the project, which requires less capital on your part. This is a way in which you can meet your objectives and still avoid being scrutinized by mine and Antoinette’s surveillance organizations. Believe me when I tell you, that kind of attention you most certainly do not wish to bring upon yourselves. Mr. Themopodi and I shall leave you two alone with Mr. Delacroix for the next thirty minutes to discuss among yourselves how you wish to proceed.”

I put my notepad back in the attaché case, and in Greek, boldly gave an order to Ari, repeating to him what I told the Italians and Mr. Delacroix. He looked into my eyes while smiling slightly, and gave a slight bow of assent. Then he faced the other three, and spoke to them in English, the one commonly understood language.

“Gentlemen, as you have witnessed, this business venture has gained the unwanted attention of several international security agencies. As noble as the goal of our project is, my bank and reputation could not possibly participate in the venture until and unless there are terms which satisfy Ms. Grace here. She and I will leave you three to work out mutually satisfactory arrangements to terminate your present connections, and then to consider my alternative proposal.”