At this particular moment there was a fourth person sitting in my office, namely Wigwam, who so far hadn’t really said much. But that was no surprise. After all, Wigwam had spent the better part of his youth eating dinner at my house, so he was acutely aware of Mad Max’s capabilities.
Mad Max was saying, “…and you two morons are gonna get your tits caught in a wringer over this one. A hundred-eighty-million-dollar buyout? It’s like pissing right in the SEC’s face. I mean—Jesus f**king Christ! When are you two gonna learn?”
I shrugged. “Calm down, Dad. It’s not as bad as it seems. It’s a bitter pill I’m being forced to swallow, and the hundred eighty million serves as lubrication.”
With a bit too much glee, Danny added, “Max, you and I are going to be working together for a long time, so why don’t we just chalk this one up to experience, eh? After all, it’s your own son who’s getting the money! What could be so bad?”
Mad Max spun on his heel and stared Danny down. He took a world-class pull from his cigarette and puckered his lips into a tiny O. With a mighty exhale, he focused the smoke stream into a tight laser beam a half inch in diameter, and he projected it at Danny’s smiling face with the force of a Civil War cannon. Then, with Danny still enveloped in his smoke cloud, he said, “Let me tell you something, Porush. Just because my son is leaving tomorrow, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna show you any newfound respect. Respect has to be earned, and if this morning’s meeting is any indication, maybe I should just go to the f**king unemployment office right now. Do you know how many laws you broke with that cockamamy routine of yours? I’m just waiting for a phone call from that fat bastard, Dominic Barbara. That’s who that young fruitcake is gonna call with this shit.”
Then he turned to me and said, “And why did you fashion this buyout agreement as a noncompete? How can you compete if you’re already barred?” He took another pull from his cigarette. “It’s you and that bastard Gaito who cooked up this crooked scheme. It’s a f**king travesty, and I refuse to be a part of it.” With that, Mad Max headed for the door.
“Two things, Dad, before you go,” I said, holding up my hand.
With a hiss: “What?”
“First, the firm’s lawyers all approved the agreement. And the only reason it’s a hundred eighty million is because the noncompete has to be written off over fifteen years so we don’t lose the full tax benefit. Stratton’s paying me a million dollars a month, so fifteen years at a million a month is one hundred eighty million dollars.”
“Spare me the quick math,” he snapped. “I’m unimpressed. And as far as the tax code goes, I’m well aware of it, as well as your and Gaito’s blatant disregard for it. So don’t try snowing me, Mister Man. Anything else?”
Casually, I added, “We need to move tonight’s dinner to six o’clock. Nadine wants to bring Chandler along so you and Mom can see her.” I crossed my fingers and waited for the name Chandler to work its happy magic on Mad Max, whose face immediately began to soften at the mention of his only grandchild.
With a great smile and a slight British accent, Sir Max said, “Ohhh, what a wonderful surprise! Your mother will be thrilled to see Chandler. Well, righty-o, then! I’ll call Mom and tell her the good news.” Sir Max exited the office with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.
I looked at Danny and Wigwam and shrugged. “There are certain key words that calm him down, and Chandler’s the most surefire of all. Anyway, you gotta learn them if you don’t want him to have a heart attack right in the office.”
“Your father’s a good man,” said Danny, “and nothing’s gonna change for him around here. I look at him like my own father, and he can say and do whatever he wants until he’s ready to retire.”
I smiled, appreciative of Danny’s loyalty.
“But more important than your father,” he continued, “I’m already having problems with Duke Securities. In spite of Victor being in business for only three days, he’s already spreading rumors that Stratton’s on the way out and that Duke is the next great thing. He hasn’t tried stealing any brokers yet, but that’s coming next, I’m sure. That fat f**k is too lazy to train his own brokers.”
I looked at Wigwam. “What do you have to say about all this?”
“I don’t think Victor’s much of a threat,” replied Wigwam. “Duke is small; they have nothing to offer anyone. They don’t have any deals of their own or any capital to speak of, and they don’t have a track record. I think Victor just has a big mouth he can’t control.”
I smiled at Wigwam, who had just confirmed what I already knew—that he was not a wartime consigliere and would be of little help to Danny in matters like these. In warm tones, I said, “You’re mistaken, buddy. You got the whole thing backward. See, if Victor’s smart, he’ll realize he has everything to offer his new recruits. His greatest power is actually in his size—or lack of size, I should say. The truth is that at Stratton it’s difficult for the cream to rise to the top; there’re so many people in the way. So unless you know someone in management, you could be the sharpest guy in the world and you’re still gonna be blocked from advancing, or at least advancing quickly.
“But at Duke, that doesn’t exist. Any sharp guy can walk in there and write his own ticket. That’s the reality. It’s one of the advantages a small company has over a big company, and not just in this industry, in any industry. On the other hand, we have stability on our side and we have a track record. People don’t worry about getting their paychecks on payday, and they know there’s always another new issue around the corner. Victor’s gonna try to undermine those things, which is why he’s spreading the sorts of rumors he is right now.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Anyway, I’ll address that in this afternoon’s meeting, and it’s something you, Danny, need to start reinforcing during your own meetings, if you can get past all the homo-bashing shit. A lot of this is gonna be a war of propaganda—although three months from now it’ll be a moot point and Victor’ll be licking his wounds.” I smiled confidently. “So, what else?”
“Some of the smaller firms are taking potshots at us,” said Wigwam, in his usual glum tone. “Trying to steal a few deals, a broker here and there. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
“It’ll pass only if you make it pass,” I snapped. “Let word leak out that we’re gonna sue any Stratton spin-off that tries stealing brokers. Our new policy is gonna be a heart for an eye.” I looked at Danny and said, “Anybody else receive a grand-jury subpoena?”
Danny shook his head no. “Not that I’m aware of, at least not in the boardroom. So far it’s just me, you, and Kenny. I don’t think anyone in the boardroom knows there’s an investigation.”
“Well,” I said, losing confidence daily, “there’s still a good shot the whole thing is a fishing expedition. I should know something soon. I’m just waiting on Bo.”
After a few moments of silence, Wigwam said, “By the way, Madden signed the escrow agreement and gave me back the stock certificate, so you can stop worrying about that.”
Danny said, “I told you Steve’s head is in the right place.”
I resisted the urge to tell Danny that, as of late, Steve had been bashing him at unprecedented levels, saying Danny was incapable of running Stratton and I should focus more of my attention on helping him, Steve, build Steve Madden Shoes, which was showing greater potential than ever. Sales were growing at fifty percent a month—a month!—and they were still accelerating. But from an operational perspective, Steve was in way over his head, with manufacturing and distribution lagging far behind sales. In consequence, the company was getting a bad reputation with the department stores for delivering its shoes late. At Steve’s urging, I’d been seriously considering moving my office to Woodside, Queens, where Steve Madden Shoes kept its corporate headquarters. Once there, I would share an office with Steve, and he would focus on the creative side and I would focus on the business side.
But all I said was, “I’m not saying Steve’s head is in the wrong place. But now that we have the stock, it’ll make it that much easier for him to do the right thing. Money makes people do strange things, Danny. Just have patience; you’ll find out soon enough.”
At one p.m. I called Janet in for a pep talk. Over the last few days she had been looking very upset. Today she seemed on the verge of tears.
“Listen,” I said in a tone a father would use with a daughter, “there’s a lot to be thankful for, sweetie. I’m not saying you don’t have grounds to be upset, but you have to look at this as a new beginning, not an end. We’re still young. Maybe we’ll take it easy for a few months, but after that it’ll be full steam ahead.” I smiled warmly. “Anyway, for now we’ll work out of the house, which is perfect, because I consider you a part of my family.”
Janet began snuffling back tears. “I know. It’s…it’s just that I was here since the beginning, and I watched you build this from nothing. It was like watching a miracle happen. It was the first time I ever felt”—loved? I thought—“I don’t know. When you walked me down…like a father would…I…” and with that, Janet broke down, crying hysterically.
Oh, Jesus! I thought. What had I done wrong? My goal had been to console her, and now she was crying. I needed to call the Duchess! She was an expert at this sort of thing. Perhaps she could rush down here and take Janet home, although that would take too long.
Having no choice, I walked over to Janet and hugged her gently. With great tenderness, I said, “There’s nothing wrong with crying, but don’t forget that there’s a lot to look forward to. Ultimately, Stratton’s gonna fold, Janet; it’s only a question of when; but since we’re leaving now, we’ll always be remembered as a success.” I smiled and made my tone more upbeat. “Anyway, Nadine and I are having dinner tonight with my parents, and we’re bringing Channy along. I want you to come too, okay?”
Janet smiled—smiled at the thought of seeing Chandler—and I couldn’t help but wonder what that said about the state of our own lives, when only the purity and innocence of an infant could bring us peace.
I was fifteen minutes into my farewell speech when it dawned on me that I was giving the eulogy at my own funeral. But on the brighter side, I also had the unique opportunity of witnessing the reactions of all those attending my burial.
And just look at them sitting there, hanging on my every word! So many rapt expressions…so many eager eyes…so many well-formed torsos leaning forward in their seats. Look at those wildly adoring stares from the sales assistants with their lusty blond manes and their delectably plunging necklines and, of course, their incredibly loamy loins. Perhaps I should be planting subliminal suggestions deep inside their minds—that every last one of them should burn with the insatiable desire to blow me and then swallow every last drop of my very manhood, for the rest of their natural lives.