Free The Cooperman Variations by Howard Engel

through her set teeth, as though the name unlocked a chestful of pestilence. Vanessa jumped up behind her desk. Sally’s eyes were wide. She was on her feet and ran into Vanessa’s sanctum sanctorum. They both came out a second later, shoulder to shoulder, to meet the man in a grey suit with a hat, a briefcase and his topcoat over his arm. He was accompanied by a dark, curly-haired man half a head shorter. There was no mistaking which was the bishop and which the clerk.
    “Raymond! Raymond, you shouldn’t have!” This was Vanessa as she came within bussing distance of the newcomers. He kissed her soundly on each cheek without even noticing that Sally stood next to her. “I would have sent the contracts down to you by courier. You didn’t have to come all this way.”
    “Vanessa, I don’t trust people. When I want something done, I do it myself. That’s the only way to survive. Besides, with all these changes in the air, I thought I’d better get the ink on the paper as soon as possible. By the way, you know Roger here, I think.”
    “Changes? What changes? What are you talking about, Raymond? Do you mean our revised fall schedule? Revising is what we do best around here.” Vanessa smiled broadly, but I could tell that she hadn’t liked what Raymond had blurted out. Raymond, too, was now looking like a child who had said too much and now was being badgered to say more. Raymond took the fatter of the two briefcases from Roger here, and began a paperchase with its contents. Roger here stood by and watched.
    “Oh, I must have thought that you’d be taking some time off now. Because of the shooting, I mean. By the way, I called Ted and Whatshisname, you know, from your plant department, or whatever you call it, to sign for the engineering side of things.” At this point, Vanessa introduced Sally and me to Raymond Devlin, who was acting as though that name was better known than it was. Roger here turned out to be Roger Cavanaugh. Even with a last name, he remained the acolyte of his boss. Sally passed a man with a bald dome and black-rimmed glasses as she went out in search of beverages. He turned out to be Whatshisname.
    “Oh, here you are, Harry.” Vanessa introduced Harry Parlow, head of Plant and Services, whatever that meant. The bald head bobbed, almost bowing, over handshakes.
    Devlin boomed, “Glad you could make it, Harry. I don’t have long, so I’m glad you’re on time.”
    “Raymond’s legal firm is the executor of Dermot Keogh’s estate, Benny. Thanks to Keogh’s estate, NTC is building a new concert studio and Raymond has generously allowed us to use Dermot’s name. He’ll remain as a consultant on the sort of things that the studio will be used for. We hope that it will rival the CBC’s Glenn Gould Studio.”
    “Rival? Hell, Vanessa, it will make the CBC hall look like a swill bucket to this Limoges tureen we’re putting up.” Raymond Devlin looked like a young Henry Kissinger, with jowls poised to start sprouting after his next corned beef sandwich. Fussiness was written all over him. He fairly quivered with fastidiousness. His eyes drank you in and spat out the seeds, leaving your innards on his hard drive for later use. His weight was doing damage to an expensive, well-cut suit. He managed to make it look like he picked it up off the rack in a “Reduced to Clear Sale.” Roger Cavanaugh gave me the look he’d learned from his master. He was out for learning.
    Sally arrived back not with coffee but with proper drinks. There was an array of bottles on a trolley and a nearby credenza yielded biscuits, glasses and napkins. While she was working on the refreshments, Vanessa was laying out four copies of the contract for all to sign. Raymond Devlin brought out a package of cigarettes. Menthols. “I don’t suppose that here on the twentieth floor we are free from the prohibitions that obtain elsewhere in this building?”
    “You’ll have the security squad down on you in a minute.