Irresistible Forces (6 page)

He looked like his best friend had died, but in fact a lot of people's best friends had died, and husbands and wives, and children. It sounded like the
Titanic.
Meredith flipped on the TV while he dressed and there were bulletins about it on every channel. There was a gaping hole in one side of the building, from what they could see, and so much smoke surrounding the building, from fires the bomb had caused and the explosion itself, that it looked like a volcano.

They both stood staring at it for a moment, and then the cameras panned to the snarl of ambulances and fire engines on the street below, people still being ushered from the building, some of them having crawled down a hundred flights of stairs in smoke and darkness, covered with blood and lacerations, and then there were some grisly shots of tarp-covered bodies. It was an abysmal example of what the human race was at times capable of, and what gave Steve his business. “How can anyone do something like that?” Meredith asked in a choked voice as Steve pulled the drawstring on his scrub pants, and stuck his bare feet into clogs. At least he had slept for two hours, and felt human again. It was going to be a long haul for him now, and they both knew it. “Can I do anything if I come with you?” She hated the thought of sitting at home, useless. And her heart ached at what they had just seen on the news bulletin.

“I don't think so, sweetheart. Volunteers aren't much help in a mess like this. The city will give us some civil defense people, and Barbie said something about sending us National Guard medical personnel from New Jersey. I'll call you when I get a minute.” She knew it wouldn't be anytime soon, from what they had just seen on television.

He was dressed and gone in the next two minutes, and she sat down on their bed, staring at the TV in disbelief and horror, as they interviewed dozens of victims. She switched to another channel then, and it was even more gruesome. She couldn't begin to imagine what Steve would be seeing at work, especially if they were only sending them the critically injured. It reminded her, but much worse, of the 1995 bombing in Oklahoma.

And for the next twenty-four hours, she heard nothing from Steven. She stayed in the apartment, afraid to miss his call, if he had a free minute to call her, which he didn't. And she went over her materials for the trip again, for lack of anything better to do. He called her finally on Saturday, at midnight. It was thirty-one hours since he had walked out of their apartment. He said he hadn't sat down, slept, or eaten anything but potato chips and doughnuts since he'd last seen her. They had lost fifty-two of the nearly three hundred critically injured that had been sent to them, and the others were still in grave to critical condition. There had been some children, too, inevitably, and an entire day camp group among the tourists.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, sounding worried.

“I'm fine, babe. This is what I do for a living. I could have been a dermatologist if I wanted holidays and weekends. I'm just sorry not to be spending this particular weekend with you before you leave.” But that was the way their life worked, and they both knew it. It was something she had long since accepted. “I don't think I'll get home before you go,” he said, sounding apologetic.

“Don't worry about it. I'll see you next weekend.”

“I'll probably be here till then. I'll call you later. I've got to go now.” He was still doing surgeries, and they were still getting transfers from other hospitals that couldn't cope with the severity of the cases they'd gotten. He knew he'd be dealing with chaos for days, and when he called her again later that night, things hadn't improved much. And she didn't hear from him again after that until late Sunday morning. And by then, he sounded exhausted. He said he'd managed to sleep for a couple of hours the night before, but other than that, he hadn't slept since he left her. He was living on black coffee.

“You've got to get some sleep, Steve.” She worried about him being too tired to make sense, or making poor decisions, but that never seemed to happen. He tried to keep his hours within a reasonable time frame most of the time, but in major emergencies all limits and guidelines went right out the window. And in a case like this, she knew he'd stay at the hospital as long as he had to. He seemed to be able to stay on his feet forever, and in truth, she knew he thrived on it. He didn't like what had happened to his patients to bring them to him, but once they were his, he gave them his all, and would have died for them. It was what made him so good at trauma. He had the stamina of a warhorse.

“I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours now,” he promised her. “I'm scheduled for surgery again in a few hours. But Lucas is here, and he's covering for me.” They were a great team, and Meredith was sure that they had saved countless lives since the explosion. Earlier that day, a group of militant lunatics had taken responsibility for it, but so far, none of the perpetrators had been apprehended. “I'll call you before you leave tomorrow.”

It was hard to believe it was already nearly Monday. Even to her, her trip seemed mundane by comparison, and so shockingly unimportant in the face of this tragedy that had claimed so many innocent people. “You'd better get to the airport early tomorrow, sweetheart,” he warned, “they're going to be tightening security everywhere, and it may take you awhile to check in.” It was a good reminder, and she made a mental note to leave early, although she was only going to Chicago.

“I'll call you from the road, if I can get through to you. Don't worry if you can't call me. I know you're busy.” He laughed at the word,
busy
didn't even begin to touch it. You could still hardly walk through the halls of the trauma unit. There were people on gurneys, on stretchers the paramedics had left them on, some even on mattresses on the floor. They were filled to the rafters, and the whole trauma unit staff was exhausted.

“Thank God most of them are on IVs and we don't have to feed them,” he said ironically. The National Guard had provided food trucks outside to feed the staff, and the Red Cross had sent them a battalion of volunteers trained on advanced first aid to help them. “Have a good trip, Merrie … knock ‘em dead in Chicago!!”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. Don't get too worn out if you can help it.”

“Yeah. … I thought I'd play some tennis tomorrow and catch a massage afterward … be a good girl … don't wander around the road show in your underwear … or that Dow guy….” He still remembered the Gary Cooper comparison and didn't love it, but he trusted her and knew she had always been faithful to him. He just hated it when they didn't have time together, and they hadn't in weeks now. He was hoping to improve on that once his disaster and her travels were over. “Maybe we can go away for a weekend.”

“I'd love that.”

He called her again just before she left for the airport on Monday afternoon, but he was between surgeries and had to get off the phone in a matter of seconds. And with that, she picked up her bags and her briefcase, and went downstairs to catch a cab to the airport. It was a zoo there. As Steve had predicted the day before, they had tightened security every step of the way, and it took her over an hour to check in for her flight to Chicago. She felt as though she were leaving a war zone. There were even armed security guards and soldiers at the airport carrying machine guns.

It was a relief to get on the plane finally, and to get off in the relative calm of O'Hare in Chicago. An hour later she was at her hotel, and when she checked, Callan Dow hadn't arrived yet. He called her from his own room half an hour later, and he sounded like a kid going to camp for the first time, a little scared and a lot excited.

“That's some city you live in,” he said, without preamble. “I've been watching all that on the news since Friday. Christ, it's awful!”

“Yes, it is. My husband works at the principal trauma hospital in New York. They've had over three hundred critically injured patients transferred in since Friday.”

“He must be a busy guy,” Callan said admiringly.

“He is. I haven't seen him since then. It sounded terrible every time I talked to him. There are nearly two hundred fatalities now from the explosion. Anyway, how about you? All ready for the big show tomorrow?” They were starting with a breakfast meeting in the morning, where they would make their presentation to representatives of the institutions that were their potential investors. There would be a slide show, she would speak for a few minutes and introduce Callan Dow, who would then make a presentation, followed by one given by his CFO, Charlie McIntosh, who had come with him, and a brief time for questions and answers. And at lunch time, they would start all over again and do it for another group of potential investors. She knew that by the end of the week, it would all be familiar to him, but for the moment, before it all began, she expected him to be nervous. This was the big moment they had all worked so hard for. And Meredith wasn't anxious at all. To her, it was a thrill seeing who was there, and orchestrating it all with infinite precision, particularly if they were well received, and the book was oversold, which meant they had far more orders for shares than they had shares to sell. Their goal was always to be oversubscribed, by having more orders than they could meet, which would ensure a strong price in the aftermarket, if there were not enough shares to go around. In that case a “green shoe” of five to ten percent more shares, would have to be added to what was previously available, which would add some more shares, but not enough to supply all the orders. It was highly desirable to leave potential investors hungry for more, which would be a real victory for Callan's firm and the underwriters. And she was hoping that in this case, that would happen.

“I hate to admit it,” Callan said sheepishly, sounding boyish, “I think I'm a little jittery. I feel like a virgin.”

“You won't for long,” she laughed. “By the time we hit New York, you'll be a pro at this, and I guarantee you'll love it. It's addictive.”

“If you say so.”

She gave him the details of who would be there both at the breakfast and the lunch meetings the next day. And after lunch, they were flying to Minneapolis to do a dinner there, and breakfast again on Wednesday morning. And then, on to Los Angeles for another dinner, and a full day in L.A. on Thursday, and up to San Francisco after dinner, for yet another breakfast and lunch on Friday. He was going home then, and she was taking the red-eye back to New York, hopefully to see Steve for the weekend. She wouldn't have seen him for a week by then, and she was sure they would both be exhausted, but she wanted to be with him. But she had a lot of work to do in the meantime.

“I'm worn out just listening to our schedule,” Callan said, sounding pleased about it. “If any of our flights are delayed, we may blow the whole deal,” he said, sounding worried.

“I have backup arrangements for chartered jets in every city, if we need them. We'll see how it goes. But tomorrow is a quick hop from here to Minneapolis.” She sounded in full control, as always. She had thought of everything. She was used to this, and to handling all the most minute details. She had even found out from his secretary what he liked to drink, and there was a bottle of his favorite Chardonnay and the makings of a Sapphire martini in his room at the hotel, which was a little touch that he appreciated when he looked around his suite. She was quite a woman. “You'd better get lots of rest tonight, so you're fresh for our first show tomorrow,” she said, sounding like a house mother in a boys’ school, and he laughed at her.

“Actually, I was hoping you'd have dinner with me. We can make it an early night, Meredith. But if I sit here by myself worrying about tomorrow, it'll drive me crazy.” She seemed to hesitate for a long moment. She had spent a quiet weekend at home, without Steve, and dinner appealed to her.

“I'm not sure I should let you do that, but maybe if we make it early, Cal. I don't want you staying up late.” He laughed again and promised to go to his room immediately after dinner.

“You sound like me with my kids. I'll be good. I promise. I'll just come back here and drink martinis till tomorrow morning.”

“Oh great,” Meredith laughed. “Maybe I should take those bottles away. I think we may have to just give you a sleeping pill and knock you out. You're going to be fine, you know. You're going to be very proud of Dow Tech when this is all over. We all will be.”

“I'm just so grateful to you for everything you've done for me, Meredith. You've been incredible.” He sounded sincere and very humble.

“No more so than anyone else in the firm, Cal,” she said modestly. “There were a lot of people involved in this, and the analysts and the market makers have been very supportive, as have been my partners.”

“Even the SEC has been pretty good to us,” he said, sounding pleased. The prospectus had been very straightforward, and so far, they seemed to like it. “Anyway, let's go have dinner and celebrate. It's probably the last decent dinner we'll have all week.” He'd already heard that road show meals were traditionally inedible and usually featured what was referred to as “rubber chicken.” But he didn't really care what they'd be eating, he just wanted the presentations to go well. And in Meredith's capable hands, he was beginning to feel as optimistic as she did.

They agreed to meet in the lobby at seven thirty and he said he'd make a reservation at the Pump Room, which was actually one of Meredith's favorite places in Chicago. She had been there often, and loved it.

As promised, she met him promptly at seven thirty. He had arranged for a limo to take them to the restaurant, and it was waiting outside, and he looked as handsome and well dressed as he always did, with his healthy California suntan. He always looked more like an actor or a male model than a businessman to her, but she had worked with him for long enough that she no longer paid any attention to it. And what she liked best about him was his bright mind, quick wit, and easygoing sense of humor. She always had a good time when she was with him.

They chatted on the way to the restaurant, and were shown to a quiet corner table. And after they had ordered steaks and wine, he turned to her with a smile, and asked her a question she hadn't expected.