Trilemma (9 page)

Robert used to complain I argued too much, but if you know what to do, it's your duty to make sure it happens. Not for me the political silences and the working through others and the patient oblique influencing. I preferred blunt talk and direct action.

And that is what Hera was going to need if we were to have any chance of building our business from the bare earth of the switch site on the Petone shore, through the streets of the Hutt Valley, and into Wellington and this office.

I'm still at my desk when Robert finally reappears. He stands beside me, looking over my shoulder at the figures.

“How are the finances tracking?”

“This month is okay, but once the software project kicks in we'll have much more of a challenge staying within budget.”

Robert sighs. “This business keeps getting more expensive. Sometimes I wonder whether we should have stayed out of it.”

“Do your investors have big pockets?”

“Big pockets but small stomachs.”

“Are you going to back out?”

“Not yet. We made a decision on Adam's replacement.”

“It took you guys a while,” I say.
Come on, Robert, spit it out.

“Stanton was pretty keen to go with his Old Boy network.”

“It's a specialized business,” I reply. “Telco knowledge is important.”

“Hobb wanted to bring in one of his executives from Ozcom. Obviously, with a lot of telco experience.”

“The challenger culture is different. I doubt if any of the Ozcom managers would know how to move fast and with so few people.”

“More relevant is that Lane is from the South Island and the only people South Islanders dislike more than Aucklanders are Australians. Lane preferred your friend Heke.”

“Tom would be a good choice.”
Although not as good as me.

“The three of them ended up deadlocked. Dao, on the other hand, liked the look of you, Lin, probably in more ways than one. He said you would best represent the multicultural aspect of Hera.”

A man with excellent judgment.
“Et tu, Robert?”

“I thought any chance of meeting the deadline would be screwed if we lost momentum by bringing in someone new. And yet I wasn't confident Heke could do it.”

“So?”

“Then Lane realized he didn't have enough support for Heke and changed his choice.”

“And so?”

Robert picks up the box of business cards I have on my desk
and takes one out, examining the company's logo. “I hate the color,” he says. “It's so—purple.”

“Violet,” I correct him.

“I bet you had a hand in choosing it, Lin. Nothing too dull for you, eh?”

I wait impatiently while he toys with me.

He tosses the box into the wastepaper basket. “You'd better get some new business cards. The job is yours.”

“Cool,” I reply. But it is a warm sensation that fills my body, from my stomach out to the tips of my fingers and toes.

“For the next six months you're going to have to eat, drink, and breathe Hera. No running back to lover boy.”

Robert and I share stares. “I told you that was finished,” I say.

“And if he calls to tell you he wants you back?”

“
I
don't want
him
!” I reply. “It's over.”

“You'll be a target, you realize? A foreigner and a woman? If you have a weakness, they'll find it. If you make a mistake, they'll crucify you for it.”

“I will be Caesar's wife.”

“There's always something, Lin, that can bring you down. Maybe in the job, maybe in your private life. The trick is to see it coming and get it before it gets you.”

“I promise you,
nothing
will bring me down.”

The management team gathers in the boardroom and Robert makes the announcement. They take it well, even Tom.

He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Well done that girl!”

Suddenly the glow dims a little. Then I tell myself,
all's fair in love and war
and
the best man won
and other sad clichés to make myself feel like I didn't just shit on him. But my intentions are good.
My intentions were good.

I dress carefully in conservative black linen. When I enter the
restaurant, five pairs of eyes observe me critically as I walk to the table. Lane stands and holds out his hand to congratulate me, then pulls out a chair.

Dao gives me a smile and a small nod of his head. Hobb also nods but without the smile, and Stanton shows me his teeth.

“Well done, Linnette, I'm sure you'll do an excellent job.”

Robert pours me a glass of wine and they toast me.

I put on the polite smile, supping on the French chef's filet and sipping on a single glass of Pinot Noir that smells of sweat and saddles, and leave them to their port when the jokes become too masculine and the laughter too loud.

When I arrive home, I take out the bottle of bubbly and slip into the Jacuzzi. I lie in the steaming water, drinking my wine, smoking a cigarillo, and looking out over Wellington.

Tonight the water and the wine don't relax me. Instead the blood pumps fast through my arteries. Fantastic opportunity. Terrific challenge. Huge responsibility. Thud, thud, thud through my neck, my head, my brain. Eat, drink, breathe Hera. There will never be a chance like this again. Thud, thud, thud.

Eventually, I clamber out of the water, pull on my robe, and sit down at the table. I open the draft of the e-mail I have been writing to Ben. I read my words again, but this time there are no improvements to make.

I hold my head in my hands while the sky spins slowly and my stomach churns.

I could send the email. Tell Ben I love him and ask if we can fix what went wrong. Ask him to forgive me.

Instead, I delete the e-mail.

At night and in the morning, before the meetings start, my brain is full of ideas and options and plans for what to do. It is as well I have that time to think because during the day and into the evening I meet with staff, our lawyers, the public relations agency, the accountants, and barely have time to clear my e-mails before nine p.m.

In the brief moments between meetings, my gaze returns to the corner where Adam died. If I close my eyes, I can see him, the sparse gray hair messed up and his eye staring into nothingness. They said it was fast. I hope he didn't feel any pain.

I pace the room before making up my mind. The desk is heavy, but I tug and twist and shuffle it around so the window is beside my chair and I won't be staring at that corner. Instead, I will gaze out at the sea. I shift the bookshelf behind the door to cover the spot where Adam lay. Then the table has to be moved as well to balance the space.

I sit down at the desk and run my fingers across the golden wood, shot through with flecks of caramel, then glance around the innocuous room.

Better.

Two days later, I get in to the office early, open my laptop, and sip on my take-out coffee. While I wait for my overnight emails and my day's appointments to appear, I glance across at the corner where the bookshelf now stands. Instead of family photographs, three large glass bowls adorn the shelves; one in
chartreuse and lavender, one in shades of pink and cobalt, and the tallest an acid-yellow mixed with violet.

This is
my
office now.

I wash my hands in the executive bathroom;
my
bathroom, the toilet seat firmly set down, and stare at my face in the mirror. Framed by shoulder-length red hair my dark, slanted eyes gaze back without expression. I stretch my mouth into a polite, executive smile. I practice my smile again, and then for a third time. The eyes stay still.
Good.

I tuck the ends of my hair behind my ears.
Better.

Then I fish out a smart set of red-framed spectacles and put them on. This is my new image: chief executive Lin.
Perfect.

That night I leave early and get home just before seven and turn on the television.

Men in black appear, moving in slow motion and in soft focus across the screen. It is an advertisement celebrating New Zealand's beloved All Blacks, the national team for the national sport of rugby. Although from what I can see they are nearly All Brown. Now they are taking off their jerseys. I watch, entranced, but they go no farther. Teasers!

Finally, the ads end and the current-affairs program starts up. The presenter is a pretty boy who wears nearly as much makeup as they put on me. But I'm not complaining because he was really
very nice
. The camera zooms onto my face.

Wearing my specs and with my hair drawn back behind my ears, I think I look intellectual and authoritative. And less Asian.

“Welcome to Linnette Mere, the new chief executive of Hera, the international company that is trying to join the broadband race,” he says, cocking his head to one side. “Congratulations on the new job!”

I watch myself smile politely back. Smiles are important on television, but you have to get it right. Not too wide, not too
small. “Actually, my name is pronounced Linnet,” I say. “The little bird with a sweet voice.”

“Sweet, sweet. As a woman, were you surprised to get the nod?”

“New Zealand has a great record where women are concerned,” I reply. “The first country to give women the vote.” I don't mention that several American states beat New Zealand to this; no one likes a smart-ass, especially New Zealanders. “And, of course, not long ago women held most of the senior posts in this country: prime minister, governor-general, chief justice, CEO of the second largest company—”

He nods, happy to hear about Kiwis leading the world in something or other. Then he assumes a serious expression. “Why do you think a foreign company should be allowed to be part of New Zealand's new network?”

The image of me again smiles politely. “Hera is a New Zealand company, Barney, staffed mainly by New Zealanders.”

Barney looks at me sternly. “But partly owned by foreigners. How do we reconcile selling our assets to overseas companies?”

“Hera is looking forward to investing in building those assets in the first place, Barney. We're very excited about the chance to be part of another world-leading initiative by New Zealand.”

He leans forward and fixes me with what he probably thinks is an eaglelike stare. “Your appointment took many commentators by surprise. Why do you think an American got the job instead of the position going to a New Zealander?”

“Well,” the image of me is saying, “my father taught at one of the universities here and he told me so much about this beautiful country, that when the opportunity arose, I jumped at the chance to see New Zealand for myself.”

I didn't admit he'd got one of his students pregnant. I certainly didn't tell them he was a hothead, a drunkard, and a philanderer.

“Your dad lived here? That's fantastic!”

“And, actually, Barney, I was even born here.”

I didn't mention that after I was born, his wife killed herself, and my mother went back to Macau.

Barney's eyes goggle. “Linnet! That makes you a Kiwi!”

“I'm not sure if it does or not. I left when I was a child.”

I didn't describe how he was accused of murder and, although the coroner concluded Rose's death was suicide, he was sacked and hounded out of the country by the media, his academic career in tatters.

Barney is now beaming at me. “So our very own Linnet Mere has been chosen to head up Hera. How are you enjoying being back in New Zealand?”

“I love being here. It's such a beautiful country, and everyone is so friendly.”

Barney turns back to the camera and says, “Well, we're certainly pleased to have heard from Linnet Mere, the new Kiwi chief executive for Hera. Thank you, Linnet.”

And the cameras cut and the light was turned back on, and Barney dropped his smile and I rubbed the space between my eyes where the spectacle frames were pinching, and then everyone smiled again and someone said “that went well” and I vanished behind the scenes while Barney interviewed the aunt of some murder victim bewailing—whatever.