The Groaning Board

major firm, they’d be lucky to get
forty percent payout for one year. And they Certainly wouldn’t get a check for
one mil.
    “Sonny has such a passion for the
business, he gets carried aWay,” Wetzon explained to them. “And don’t forget,
he’s from New York.” Traitor, she thought, as she dialed up Sonny and scheduled
the two brokers for a second meeting.
    “You’re a wonder, Wetzon,” Sonny
said.
    “Thanks, Sonny.” She hung up and
sighed. “And a nag too.
    Max knocked. “Good morning, dear,” he
said. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning?” He was wearing his bull-and-bear braces
under his shiny brown suit. “Darlene went out to get a sandwich. She’ll be
right back.”
    “Fine. The phones are quiet. Smith
won’t be back, and I have to leave around four. Can you work until five today?“
    “Of course. Do you want me to call
into any particular firms?”
    “Take a look at today’s Journal, Max. I think we should be calling Smith Barney brokers. There’ve been rumors
for the last few weeks that Sandy Weill is shopping again. He’s supposed to
have his eye on Pru. He wants to be bigger than Merrill. Let’s see what his
brokers have to say. My guess is they’re not going to be happy campers, because
they’re already complaining they don’t have support and can’t get answers.
Being one of eight thousand brokers is bad enough; one in fifteen thousand will
be horrendous.”
    The phones began ringing, two lines
at once. Max rushed to his desk. “Smith and Wetzon, good morning. She’s at a
meeting...”
    “Smith and Wetzon,” Wetzon said.
    There was no response... except for
the breathing, along with some muffled background noise that Wetzon couldn’t
make out.
    “Who is this?” she demanded. “What do
you want?”
    The line went dead.
    She didn’t need this right now. On
her desk was a stack of her updates. She flipped through the suspect sheets but
couldn’t focus on any of them. Where was Smith? She would have liked to talk
this over with Smith. Had they alienated someone in the industry? Maybe Smith
was getting these calls too. Rising, she walked over to Smith’s desk and looked
at her appointment book. Smith had blocked out the whole day with a big
scribble.
    The outside door slammed. Wetzon went
back to her desk and looked at her pink messages. William Veeder had called.
And Rita Silvestri. Shit. She dropped the messages on her desk. She’d have to
think about this. Call Rita back at some point. Don’t call Veeder. Why not call
Veeder? No. Definitely not call Veeder.
    “Wetzon?”
    “Darlene?” How long had Darlene been
standing in the doorway?
    Darlene smiled. “You looked as though
you wouldn’t take rime for lunch, so I brought you a snack.” She held out a
brown paper bag.
    “That’s very nice of you, Darlene.”
Be gracious, Wetzon ordered herself. She didn’t feel gracious. “Actually, I
have half a bagel that’ll get me through, so long as there’s coffee.” She took
the bag with the Mangia logo from Darlene and looked inside, then removed a big
crunchy macaroon. “I love these, Darlene. How did you know?”
    “Heard you mention them once. You
seem so down today I thought you could use some comfort food.”
    “Down? Do I seem down?” Dammit, she
thought, I won’t have it. “I am not down. I’m just distracted. But thank you so
much.”
    The phones began their syncopated
jangle again. Darlene waved at Wetzon and left the room.
    “Laura Lee Day for you, Wetzon,” Max
called.
    She picked up the phone. She was
Wetzon, curmudgeon.
    What?”
    “Uh-oh,” Laura Lee said. “You sound
down—“
    “Damnation, Laura Lee, why can’t
everyone leave me alone?”
    “There you are. I’ll say no more.”
    Wetzon sighed. “Silvestri and I have
split up.”
    “Good heavens! You poor dear. No
wonder. Tell Mama Laura Lee all about it.”
    “I can’t now. The phones are going
crazy and Smith—”
    “Is not there.”
    “Right.”
    “Why am I not surprised?”
    “Can we talk later?”
    “Yes, of course. But don’t hang up. I
have a story to tell you that will make you laugh. At least I think it will.
Take a minute.”
    “Okay. Talk fast.”
    “True story, Wetzon. A major firm has
a regional managers’ meetin’ on insurance in Tahoe. The meetin’ is being
conducted around the pool, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “Now this one head of an entire
region—and he shall be nameless—finishes his report, turns, and pisses in