The Loews Regency Hotel on Park Avenue has three doormen to whip the brass doors open. Those at the breakfast tables are seated by status. Private meetings are in the back, gawkers and tourists right in front, midrange power brokers fill the middle, while the real power sits along the sides, where they can be seen but not easily interrupted. The smell of expensive cologne mixed with fresh, dense coffee caffeinates the room. The only other woman I spot here is a New York Post gossip reporter, in place to note who is hanging out with whom. It’s a testosterone-fest at 7:30 a.m.
Will Markle, an undercover detective, stops me to say hello. He spies for undisclosed hedge fund managers, letting them know if one CEO speaks with another and what if any takeover or deal implications that could have.
I barely acknowledge him because I see Greene, alone in the back and ready to get this bonus discussion going.
Greene likes to talk about money on neutral territory, away from eyes peering into the glass executive offices and yet public enough to avoid the possibility of raised voices and ugly scenes. Greene has managed to secure one of those unapproachable power tables.
Though paunchy, Greene is spry enough to jump up and pull out my chair to seat me. My brain goes on extreme alert. While most women would think this implies Greene has manners, the men I work with act this way when nervous, or trying to get away with something. Manners appear when someone either needs something or is guilty of something. Greene shakes my hand and his is sweaty. Mine is cold, assured, and I’m so glad I had my head-clearing walk. I can already tell I need all my brain synapses to be firing and Greene wastes no time. Before the bow-tied waiter can pour a glass of orange juice so magnificent the pulp threatens to rise up and turn back to a whole fruit again, Greene says, “I’ve got an opportunity for you.”
I’m not at all hungry for the sweet, delicate muffins but to appear relaxed, I push a piece of one into my mouth, where it sits sugary and unappreciated.
I fire back with my best cheerleader face. “An opportunity? Feagin is one big opportunity.”
I fake a breezy, light tone as I smooth the starched napkin across my lap. My phone is buzzing and while I lean down to turn it off, I never let myself release eye contact with Greene, which unfortunately allows me to catch his eyes falling to my cleavage. I sit up straight and adjust my blazer jacket.
“You’ve had a lifestyle change,” he begins.
“I have?” I am very cognizant of this common tactic of beginning a tough discussion with a surprise statement. I’m now on high alert.
“I mean, three kids, the demands of this job,” he continues.
“I’m terrific at this job and I’ve had these kids for a while,” I say carefully, because I have no idea where his train of thought is going.
“You are good at your job, but think of the suffering of the children.”
I’m knocked off my balance beam. This isn’t at all what I envisioned. I try to stay calm.
“You mean . . . what?”
I feel my face get hot and for a second I flash back to Brigid’s eyes this morning. Was that suffering I saw?
He continues, “Nobody can properly run a household, have three children, be an MD at Feagin, and keep firing on all cylinders. Even me. My wife mostly stays at our Florida home, my kid’s at boarding school. That’s how I do it. But you can’t possibly do it. Not with babies and whatshisname.”
“His name is Bruce and he’s essentially taken on most of the traditional mother roles,” I lie. “I have just as much free time on my hands as you do.” Second lie.
“So I’m doing you a favor and giving you a partner,” Simon continues.
“A partner?” My voice is very low.
I tell myself to wait, to count to some very big number before firing back, but I can’t wait. I’m always waiting. There’s no five-second rule here because I’m exploding inside.
“My husband is all the partnership I need,” I say evenly. “Giving me a partner on my accounts is a nice way of telling me my income will be cut and it would make no sense for you to cut one of your largest producers because you’d be taking away her motivation to ever produce again. You’re too smart to do something like that.” Greene tries to interrupt me but I don’t let him. “I came to a place like Feagin Dixon so I could operate alone, work as hard as possible, and reap what I sow. Feagin is a place that allows that, that pays like that. I’m already giving half of everything I make to a trader and some of them pull their weight and many of them do not. If I understand you correctly you’re telling me that I’m now to cut my half into yet another half with some . . . some parasite?”
“You don’t even know who I’m thinking of. And honestly, Belle, it’s someone who will grow your accounts immeasurably.”
“Simon, you’re a salesman selling an idea to another salesman. Give it a rest and just let me guess which guy it will be because I know it will be a guy and it will also be someone with no relationships and no accounts. Am I right?”
Greene is slightly rattled but remains direct. “Yes, he’s a man.”
“Which man?” I say, but it sounds like a hiss.