Chapter 15
SEDUCTION UNLIMITED....
Being invited to Darcy Sinclair's home was a joke to begin with, Carl thought as he pushed the bell and waited for the door to open.
He guessed he was supposed to feel trepidation, that was surely the reason Darcy had set it up this way instead of a meeting in his office. Instead, Carl felt only curiosity. He wondered as he waited, how Bob Smelton would react to such a command performance.
The woman who opened the door was tanned and firm and more attractive than he would have expected for the wife of Darcy Sinclair. He knew instinctively though, that she was Mrs. Sinclair even though he had never met her.
"Mister Jordan?" she greeted him with an open smile that was warm and honest. "Do come in."
She offered her hand and he took it and held it for a moment. This gal, he thought, is so far above the agency level that her being married to Sinclair has to be a joke. He wondered whether he would gain any insight into it during the evening ahead.
Carl sensed that Darcy was somewhere in the wings nursing a drink and waiting to make the grand entrance when he felt the time was right.
"I'm sorry my husband is detained, Mr. Jordan," she explained as they walked toward the bar in the spacious living room.
"I'm not bothered if you're not, Mrs. Sinclair," he replied with a confident smile. "I have a beautiful and gracious hostess and what looks like a well stocked bar. I've learned to count my blessings."
They exchanged smiles as she poured a pair of drinks and Carl guessed that somehow she had found a way to raise herself above the level of agency intrigue and was content to stay there and laugh.
"You don't look like an agency type, Mr. Jordan," she said with the same smile as she handed him his drink.
"Thanks for that, Mrs. Sinclair," he returned her smile. "Neither do you."
It could have gone on and been fun, but at that moment, Darcy Sinclair walked into the room. He wore black slacks, an open topped white silk shirt and a neatly folded black ascot. Carl guessed he had seen a picture in Playboy and was playing the role.
"Hello, Carl," he extended his hand, "nice of you to come. I hear you have more interesting ways of spending your evenings."
"I'm sure you have too," Carl responded, looking at the woman rather than the man. He caught her quick smile just before she turned her back toward her husband and walked to the bar.
While she was there, she poured her husband a drink, but Carl knew she had made the trip so that her husband wouldn't notice the smile. He guessed, too, that Darcy didn't spend enough evenings with his wife. His next guess told him that Mrs. Sinclair was doing just fine and didn't much care where her husband spent his time.
He knew then that if it weren't for Elaine, he would move in and have himself a slice of this. She looked cool and confident, but he guessed that with the right inspiration, she would be very warm indeed. He doubted that Darcy was capable of providing that.
For a little while, the banter continued and Carl knew he could play the game as long as Darcy and then some. Sooner or later, he sensed, Darcy would get around to the point of the meeting. When that happened, he knew, he would play it by ear without working up a sweat.
"Aren't you curious about why I asked you to come here?" Darcy asked finally, with what Carl spotted as a trace of peevishness over the fact that he had been forced to introduce business instead of Carl asking.
"Not really. I thought it was my charming company you were interested in" As he said it, Carl noticed that the woman turned to look at one of the pictures on the far wall.
"You're pretty cool, Carl."
"Only in matters of business. I have moments when I'm very warm."
"I think you'd be cool enough to do a pretty good job of running a P.R. department. How does that thought grab you?"
"Somewhere in the same area as leprosy or maybe venereal disease. I don't much care for any of them, thanks."
When Darcy turned to the bar to refresh his drink, Carl knew it was a stall for time while he tried to regroup his forces.
The kingmaker had called him to the palace to receive a knighthood perhaps. He had spurned it and the king felt a distinct pain in the seat of his royal shorts.
It all seemed so foolish. Darcy Sinclair, as vice president of the agency, had an office where he could hold business meetings. Instead, he had to call the candidate to his home so that his wife could be a witness while he carried out the assassination of one man and elevated another into the job.
How insecure the poor little man must be, he mused as he sipped at his drink. At the agency, he's mister big who makes people like Bob Smelton crawl. Here, in his own home, he needs a crutch to show his wife how strong ad important he is. A man would prove that in bed, not with homework from the office.
"I take it you're not interested in moving up in the agency, Carl?" As he turned from the bar, Darcy wore a small smile on his mouth but none of it reached his eyes.
"I guess you could say that. Every man has his own goals and values. I have mine and they don't include running a P.R. department or getting to the top of an agency."
"Isn't that a dangerous pholosophy?"
"I don't know. I feel pretty healthy."
"I think you're playing games with me, Carl. What's the angle, shooting for more money?"
"There isn't any angle, Darcy." Draining his glass, Carl moved to the bar and poured another drink without waiting to have one offered. He knew it was a dramatic gesture, but he couldn't resist making it.
"Care to explain that?"
"There's nothing to explain. I don't want to run the PR. department and I don't want to move up in the agency at all. I like the simple, uncomplicated life."
"It sounds like you're being loyal to Bob Smelton. I didn't figure you as a Smelton man."
"I'm not. I'm my man."
There was a pause then and Carl knew it was an uncomfortable one for his host.
"Dear," Darcy turned to his wife. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a while?"
"I'm sorry, darling," she smiled and dished out eight tons of sarcasm, "I got the impression that you wanted me here for the discussion."
She left the room, carrying her body with a pride that her husband obviously could never get at or even understand. Carl understood a lot of things and he didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or be sick on the carpet.
Darcy wanted his wife as an audience to applaud as he functioned. Now that the ball had been taken away from him, he didn't want her around to see what was happening.
"Okay, Jordan," he almost hissed when they were alone in the room, "what's your angle."
"I told you before, Sinclair," Carl shot back with an equal lack of respect, "I don't have any angles. This meeting was your idea, not mine."
"Are you pushing to get fired?"
"I couldn't care less. Bob Smelton has wanted to fire me for a long time, but he doesn't dare because he knows my accounts belong to me, not the agency. Do you have guts enough to do it?"
There was sheer hatred in the look Darcy Sinclair flashed him then. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to call him Sinclair, a longer time since anyone had dared him to fire them. "You're pretty confident, aren't you?"
"That's right. I am."
Putting his glass down on the bar, Carl turned and looked at the man who fought for inspiration as he sought a remark that would cut his employee down to size. Carl didn't give him a chance.
"I don't blame you for wanting to dump Bob," Carl spoke easily. "If you want someone to run the place for you, I'd suggest you give the job to Al James and leave him alone to do it. It could work"
Carl saw the man fighting for control and wondered how he had reached vice presidential status. His mind told him what agency life was really like and he stopped wondering.
Before Darcy had a chance to speak, Carl had said good night and walked past him toward the entrance hall of the big house.
Outside, the air felt clean and cool. He paused on the step to light a cigarette. Flicking the match away, he walked toward his car that was parked in the circular drive.
Just before he opened the door, he heard the voice of Mrs. Sinclair. It was sweet on the still evening air.
"Good night, Mister Jordan."
It held the tinkling quality of a silver bell and he heard the laugh in it. It wasn't a mocking laugh. Rather, it was a laugh that told him she had shared and enjoyed the joke.
He kept his voice equally quiet as he returned the parting salute.