Chapter 2
Vase of Roses
Ellis (present day)
Ironically, Tom’s plan begins to crumble on Ellis Island, a place where dreams and industry once came together for a million people who built this nation, smiling as their backs broke.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass whether they love me or not,” I say to Clarisse, a rather large Southern woman whose admin has apparently handled tonight’s arrangements. Clarisse just met her new boss (me) and wants everything to run smoothly. This event is a first test for her, and if she succeeds, she’ll be on my good side. A firm believer in first impressions, she puts the majority of her stock in minutia. She’s staring at me in disbelief, clearly frustrated that details have been botched. The tension in her shoulders is visible; it’s a bit suffocating. If I could reach out and snap her neck, I’d take a shot. Too bad it’s not allowed.
Anyway, I need her.
“Christ!” I say, seeing the worried look on her face. Then I adjust my tone, flipping the switch inside my head that never fails. “Just relax. We’re VPs in this company. You’re detail oriented, and that’s great, but tonight is big picture. If they have to eat their chicken with peas instead of the veggie mix, who gives a rat’s ass? They’ll love me because I’m the guy who’ll pay their bills for the next decade. They won’t care about the menu.”
She looks down at her Blackberry and starts typing what seems like a hundred words a second. I’ve already figured her out—an easy specimen. It’s my gift to size people up within moments. I know what they’ll do before they do it. Sometimes I change my mind, but in the end, I’m never wrong. She, on the other hand, clearly doesn’t know what to make of her new boss but knows that finding something positive is critical to her career. My subordinates always think that way, so I make it work for me. After all, isn’t that what corporate leadership is all about? I’m not saying that it should be; I’m just saying it is. I’m smart enough to know that. All I needed was to be smart enough. That’s what Malcolm Gladwell said, and that’s what they all believe.
Without looking up, she says. “I see your point, Ellis, but she’s done this quite a few times. I’ll just deal with it in her mid-year review.” She finally looks up. “There, I put it on my list.”
It gives me a warm, sick pleasure to know she’ll spend the next several years trying to figure me out. I’ll be the lively topic of her dinner conversation, and she’ll meticulously dissect my words on her daily commute. I’ll weave into her brain like a virus she can’t fight. I’ll get what I want from her, but she’ll be a royal pain in my ass. I’ll try to ignore it along with all the other painful realities I’ve been carrying around for years.
“Good plan,” I say, and flash my best smile. I spend a half-second hoping she’ll go away before turning to take my suit jacket off the hanger.
“Well, it’s fantastic that we were even able to get the Island,” she says. “It was such a clever idea; my team did a great job with it. This is a critical event for this company, and I’ll not have it wrecked by incompetence. I’m a perfectionist, and I expect perfection from those who report to me.”
“Yes, it was a great idea,” I say. “Good job.”
She smiles, pleased with herself. The rise and fall of her shoulders almost seems to make a noise. She finally walks away, looking as if she’s resolved a huge issue when in fact she’s done nothing but waste my time.
Tom, who is sitting across the room, shakes his head and says, “You lucky dog. How great is it to have a real perfectionist on your team?”
“Fuck you,” I say because he’s my brother. “She may be a problem.”
He comes over to pat me on the back. “Put on your game face. This is the night we’ve been waiting for. We scratched and clawed to get here, and there are no perfectionists skilled enough to bring down the Spencer brothers.”
“No, but I may get Prometheus’ liver from this one.”
He ignores my attitude, his way of defusing the situation once he’s had enough. “I can’t believe we’re actually here,” he says, letting out a deep breath as if he’s held it in for years.
“Don’t get too comfortable; the top spot may not be so rosy.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head again. “What matters is that you’re in it and I’m here, and together we will rock this company off its ass and back.” His eternal optimism and his dumbass smile make me chuckle. It reminds me of when he was a kid.
Looking in the large mirror above the sofa, I say, “How did we get here?” I search for new wrinkles, any fine lines popping out, but find none. A good thing, I tell myself.
He smiles into the mirror. “We took the boat like the rest of the faceless crowd.”
“Yes, we did, didn’t we?” He moves closer and I watch
“We are hope!” He can barely contain his exuberance. “We are life for many people now.”
I snap myself out of a trance and turn to him. “Do you think that admin got the teleprompter right? I’ll need it. It’s got to be a perfect show.”
“Of course it does. This is corporate America.” He pats me on the back and it feels good. “I’ll say this—you’ve got the costume right.” He twists me around and straightens my tie.
I remind myself that I’m older. I’m the leader here. “Well, just keep behind me.” I’ve said this to him a million times; it’s a phrase that holds us together.
“I’ll stick around awhile.” He smiles again, but I see through it this time. He still thinks of her. She remains lodged in his core. I think of her, too, but unlike me, he loved her. I’ve forgotten what love is, and think he’s better off without her. “Well, I’m not sure where else you’ve got to go.” I look at him and see myself.
“Maybe I’ll shack up with perfect Clarisse.”
“I’ll kill you first.”
He walks toward the door as if on a mission. “Let’s go.”
“I’m almost ready,” I say, pacing around the room. I look at the trinkets and wall hangings someone has placed in the room to add interest. They bore me. “I met an interesting woman earlier.” As the words leave my lips, I wish I could scoop them back.
“No time for women now, Ellis,” he says, palm around the door handle. “You know that.”
“I hate that rule,” I say.
We have our own creed, one that ensures no distractions, no missteps, and no deviations from the goal. He knows how easily I can become distracted. Nevertheless, it’s been a long time since I’ve mentioned a specific woman, and I can tell he’s uneasy. He knows my comments are rarely casual.
“What was so great about her?” he asks, hand dropping to his side. He puts on the face he uses to remind me of the past; it always works. He’s devoted years to keeping me focused.
I stare at him for a moment, and then say, “For thirty full minutes, she made me feel alive.”
He flashes sadness, a memory, at me. “Remember your family ...”
“How can I forget? They’re always here; you’re here.” I look down at my ring. I spin it around my finger until I’m sure he’s right. He’s always right. “I didn’t get her name anyway.” It’s a lie to keep the peace.
“She’s probably the admin who stuck the crowd with peas tonight.”
I smile. “Let’s go,” I say.
†
I had met the so-called nameless woman an hour or so earlier.
Because my last visit to the Island was years ago, I wanted to see the old, fascinating black and white photographs again. I wanted to walk past them and through them, and put myself in the shoes of those staring at me from the thick, dusty walls and teeming shores of the past. It would build inspiration for my upcoming speech—the miraculous show for which I am the star.
I meander through the building like a lonely ghost, stopping here and there to stand and stare into old eyes, lost childhoods, ragged clothes, and heaving hearts yearning for just one more chance to realize a dream.
“These are incredible,” a melodious voice says into my right ear. I hadn’t noticed anyone there; she crept in undetected—unusual for me. As she has disturbed my thoughts, I choose to ignore her.
The room is stuffed with the one dimensional faces I came to see. They’re plastered across the walls, poignant reminders of our past. They are faces that mean nothing to me now, a contrast to the last time I looked at them. Few faces mean anything to me these days. All I care about is my plan. Having a plan saves me. People and their faces do nothing for me. The truth is: I can’t stand to look at most of them so I finally settle on hers.
She’s smiling as if I’m kind and happy to hear her opinions. She looks back at the photograph she’s studying when I remain silent. Then she looks back at me as if I will love her, and care what she has to say. “Can you even begin to imagine what it must have been like to come here, at that time, with a couple of bucks in your pocket? Imagine how it must have changed ‘em.” She has the look of being lost in art.
“People don’t change,” I say, looking back at the photos of the haggard, the downtrodden, the sick, the children, all searching for a new start, a chance to finally have what they long for. Before I can squelch it, a disturbing thought flies across the mental barrier I’ve worked so hard to create.
“Of course they do,” she says.
“What makes you the authority,” I ask kindly as I size her up. She has an odd fire. I can feel it, warming the colder parts of me—the parts I can’t afford to melt.
She chooses to ignore my question. Instead, she says, “Imagine takin’ these photographs ... standin’ behind the camera and capturin’ those faces, those emotions.” She holds up an invisible camera as if she’s there, as if I’m there, too. “If I had been there, that’s exactly what I would have been doin’.” Her sexy head shakes.
The hair shakes.
The breasts.
“Taking pictures?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“You probably wouldn’t have had a camera.”
“Then I would sketch ‘em, each face, one by one.” She lowers her fake camera and says, “I’m Holly Carter.” The look in her face somehow, in a single aching moment, shoves me outside my life. I’m looking in, and wondering what is really so goddamn important about any of it.
I take a step back. “Holly,” I say to myself.
“It’s such a fittin’ place for tonight, isn’t it? It’s impressive that the company brought us all here. I’ve never been here before. Is this your first time?”
“It’s an important night.” My mind races—the barriers cracking. I struggle to shut it down, hoping she can’t see my desperation.
“Well, I hope Ellis Spencer is reasonable, and intelligent. Not to be too negative, but I’ve worked under a few who didn’t have a clue.”
“About what?”
“Human nature, the business—all of it.”
I pull together and shove myself into corporate mode. “Spencer is sharp,” I say, wondering what she does for the company. I don’t ask her so that I don’t have to tell her who I am. I’d rather wait and enjoy her surprise once she realizes. There are fewer and fewer small enjoyments in life; I’ll take them when and how I can.
She seems satisfied with the topic and moves on, “So have you been here before?”
“I grew up in Manhattan,” I say. I would be nothing without Manhattan. It chased me into adulthood when I was slow to move. “I was here when they built the towers and I was here when they fell.” Her face takes in the thought. It takes me in. It busts me open, but I hold myself together. “You sound Southern,” I say as I stumble over a cliff I’d long forgotten.
“Yes, I grew up in Shreveport, Louisiana. I moved to Greenwich Village when I started with Pratt—only a few weeks ago.”
“Southern belle meets the Village; it must be a shock.” I want to touch her but can’t.
“I’ve been around the block. I’ve lived in other parts of the country, but yes, it’s different.” She drifts around the room, somehow bouncing and floating at the same time. “But I love a good shock,” she adds. She reminds me of music. I think I love her although it can’t be possible. I think of my family, which gives me a pain in my chest. I realize I’m following her; I can’t stop. Her shocking warmth pulls me along like a rope she doesn’t see. She’s young (I think), yet she knows exactly where she’s headed. I remember when I knew where I was headed.
It wasn’t Ellis Island.
My cell rings. It’s Tom, and I push him away with a thumb on a button.
“You should get a good ring tone—a song,” she says. “My son turned me on to ring tones.” The serious look on her face convinces me that I need one. She doesn’t fit any of the complex categories I’ve developed for people over the years.
“How old are you?” I ask, although it’s inappropriate; I don’t give a rat’s ass.
“Forty-one,” she says as if it means twenty-five.
I stare at her, knowing she’s younger than me although we’re about the same age. It’s true that age isn’t a number. Nevertheless, I’m surprised by this, and ask myself how old I really am.
She stares back, looking coy. “So what are you gonna say now?” she asks. “The moment after asking a woman her age is a tricky one.” Just then, a vase at the center of a table in the middle of a photograph catches my eye. I take a deep breath, thinking it should be stuffed with roses. But there are no flowers in the centerpiece. Although it’s exactly where it should be, it’s empty.
“Yes, very tricky.” I say, enjoying her flaming soul and wishing I could stay to roast in it for awhile. It’s nice to have a wish for something new—for just one lovely flower at the center.
†
Clarisse takes the podium and says, “Welcome to Ellis Island.”
I’m waiting in the wings, transforming my nervousness into excitement. I’ve learned over the years to twist those emotions on a dime; I never fail. It’s a gift that serves the corporate man well. My irresistible game face is plastered across my skull, feeling tight but good. I see Tom on the other side of the stage they erected for the event. The grand hall is adorned in seasonal garb. The fleshy faces in the crowd are eager to hear their new leader. They’ve worn their holiday colors, and appear like a sea of moving red, green, and white. Gold flashes here and there. Clarisse provides a brief introduction; she knows I’ll elaborate on my experience; I’ll tell them the parts they want to hear and keep the rest of the tragic story to myself.
Clarisse reminds the throng to turn off cell phones. I think about ring tones and turn mine off. There are no signs of Holly, but I know she’s here. I feel her; she’s something different from the rest. I’ve created a new category for her, but I’m not sure what to call it yet. I don’t actually enjoy categorizing people. The habit is a nasty off-shoot of spending too much time in the corporate world. Everyone is characterized, categorized, and shoved into nice neat boxes. It amazes me how fast it happens, and how difficult it is to break out once slotted. It’s disgusting.
Tom stares at me with burning eyes. He’s on guard. As always, he’s behind me, ready to propel my sorry ass forward. Clarisse is looking at me now. Everyone is waiting. The time has come to jump into the circus.
The crowd cheers as if I’m famous. I feel like Brad Pitt. Hell, I am Brad Pitt. Screw Brad Pitt, I’m better than he ever was. I smile and the women swoon because I’m good looking and filled with power. Nearly half of them fall in love as I make the walk from behind the curtain to the podium. They’re all the same.
Maybe people do change. I love my family, my career, my intellectual pursuits, my goals, my vision, and this company, but most of all, I love being on stage. I don’t think about the one thing I’m not allowed to love.
I make a mental note to stop categorizing people.
†
“Good Evening. I’m Ellis Spencer and I would like to welcome you to Ellis Island.”
The applause stirs the charisma in me, and it splashes over the far corners of the great hall.
“We are, on this momentous night, celebrating not only the holidays, but also the one hundred year anniversary of our great company, Pratt Pharmaceuticals.”
More applause hits me, and I begin to feel high. I hold my hands up as if to weaken the reaction. I’m young and still innocent, filled with the promise they crave for their predictable, little lives—the kind I used to care so much about.
“We are ushering in a new dawn, one filled with light, hope, and good will for each other, our families, and most importantly, the patients we serve. They are the reason we’re here.
“I’m honored to lead you into that new dawn, but before we look to the future, let’s consider where we’ve been. In our day to day work challenges, we often forget the incredible journey that created Pratt Pharmaceuticals, which over the last one hundred years has become an American icon, a brick and mortar representation of the American dream, of freedom and opportunity.” Heads shake; it feels like church. “Although Pratt has reached well beyond its original borders and now encompasses a global market, it will forever embody the ideals of American free enterprise. One hundred years ago, the Pratt brothers arrived on the shores of Ellis Island with less than the equivalent of twenty-five US dollars. With hard work, dedication, brilliance, creativity, and foresight they were able to build a company that has improved the lives of countless individuals residing in every continent, and nearly every country on our planet. The Pratt brothers entered this country through this great hall in which you stand tonight—with a dream. They achieved that dream. You are their dream.”
I am sick with their applause.
“As the global pharmacovigilance and drug safety organization for Pratt Pharmaceuticals, it’s our sacred duty to uphold the dream of the Pratt brothers by ensuring that the safety profile of our products is fully understood, and that we continue to provide safe and effective drugs to our patients.
“As we enter this new dawn together, I encourage you to look around.” People look around. “Consider the hope, struggle, determination, and sacrifice that filled this great hall over the years. Those individuals, including the founders of this company, believed in the American dream, and you are their legacy. This companies’ famous credo captures the very ideals embodied in these solid stone walls. I will not rest in my effort to uphold that vision for our patients, and for you. I pledge my utmost dedication to continue the success of this company and this, our global pharmacovigilance organization. My expert management team headed by Clarisse Briggs, Tom Spencer, and Fernando Diaz will move with me in lock step as we usher this organization to the next level.
“Our key goals for the coming year must support overall company growth. We will help maintain our double digit growth through ensuring our products are safe and that global regulatory standards are upheld. We will weed out unnecessary departmental programs and projects while streamlining the project management, training, and compliance functions. These departments are critical to our key objective. They will no longer be put on the back burner.
“I will not stand here and give you a song and dance (they love this) about the value of your jobs, skills, and personal objectives. We are here to support a business that must thrive. Considering the current external global environment, both financial and cultural, if that business fails to thrive, we are all in jeopardy of facing grave consequences. I can only pledge my dedication to creating the healthiest, most robust, and enjoyable work experience available. What more can you ask of a leader? My door is open. We are all in this ship together and I am honored to have this opportunity to take your hand. Together we will continue to build upon the dream of our founders—for the next generation.”
Applause rocks the temporary stage. At a table at the far right side of the audience, Clarisse’s face is awash with dedication. Its thickness suffocates me, but I continue to breath and smile. My eyes send out the sparkle I’ve learned to control. As planned, the audience of slackers, hard workers, smart workers, soldiers, leaders, brilliant minds and ignorant saps gaze at me as if I’ve come to save them.
It strikes me as sad that I don’t care about them. They are a means to an end. I know this, yet I go on with it. It’s what I want. For a moment, I wish I could toss myself into the crowd. Like a mosh pit grab, they would hold and pass my deadened soul around like pall bearers. And as I circulated, I’d bite off the heads of the weakest and shake the hands of the strong.
I’m basking in their admiration when I look toward Clarisse and see Holly. Her stare breaks me into a thousand pieces. She’s eating me, piece by piece. And because I can’t bear to break, because it’s not allowed, I look away. I search the crowd until I see a face I want to devour. It’s smiling as if to say, “Eat me. Devour me, Ellis Spencer.” It’s a woman reminding me how hard I’ve become. I stare into her blank eyes and remind myself that I can devour them all.
Tom beams so brightly that I fear he may explode into the blinding lights above our heads. At last, he has found his own piece of heaven.
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