Following the problem with Veezacard and the FBI, Paul had finally accepted that it was all a big mistake and that my bit in the shambles with his President had been quite innocent. But who to blame? Me for not having a pen in the bar? The barman for not having one? The girl who took the pen and who put the FBI onto Veezcard? The telephonist who, on hearing it was the FBI, put them directly through to the President’s office without asking any questions? Paul and I discussed it all over a few bottles of fine Claret and then we had moved on.
That had been several weeks before and discussions with Paul and his team had progressed amazingly quickly since then. The President’s insistence on regular progress updates had made sure that the project, still called Trident, moved as quickly as I’d hoped it would and indeed the lawyers were telling both Paul and myself that the paperwork would be concluded within a week – and $100 million would hit my fund!
I’d been down to San Francisco a couple of times for update meetings with Paul and his team and after Steve’s observation about the Veezacard’s team’s sexual preferences (whether it was for each other I wasn’t sure but it was definitely for the male species), I’d watched them more closely at each meeting.
Eventually, any sign of heterosexual pretence was dropped by the Veezacard guys (or should that be gays ?) and in bars and clubs after meetings they became quite open about their sexuality, to the point where Paul started to make overt references to his partner – John.
On one occasion Paul held a cocktail event at his lakeside condo. We were planning to have lunch across the lake at a surf/turf restaurant but he wanted to thank me and my guys for working on the project and had invited us for aperitifs at his home. As we stood on his deck which jutted out over the water he lit a cigarette and realising that I’d left mine at the hotel, I stupidly uttered the most ludicrous phrase – ‘Paul, can I ponce a fag’.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised what an absolute faux pas I’d made and could see $100 million disappearing back into the Veezacard vaults. As I stood there aghast at what I’d said, Paul turned with a packet of Lucky Strike, offered them to me and said, ‘Nigel – don’t worry. Us gays are used to people saying the wrong thing. Forget it’. Phew !
I changed the subject to his condo. When had he bought it? Did he ever fish off the deck? Anything to try and recover a ‘normal’ position as regards the conversation.
Paul answered my questions readily and offered to show me around the building which was tall and narrow
And then my second faux pas, although I think I was more justified this time. Paul headed up the second set of stairs saying that the bedrooms were at the top of the house and afforded great views of the lake. I took one or two steps and then decided that I just could not look at a bed where two guys, one of whom was Paul, a rather rotund chap, would roll around doing what they did to each other. I muttered something about just remembering a key part of the project which I needed to discuss with Steve and headed back down the stairs.
As I re-entered the dining area, Steve winked and asked if I’d had a good time. ‘Don’t even go there’, I answered and headed back out onto the deck for another glass of Californian chardonnay and a cigarette.
Two weeks later, Paul and some of his team arrived In London. As with guys of his status working for a huge international company, if they wanted a meeting in London, the meeting was held in London. It was as simple as that. It didn’t matter about the logistics or the inconvenience, and certainly the expense was not even on the radar, if Paul wanted to spend a couple of days swanning about London, then as the client, that was his prerogative. I was happy enough with this, particularly as they didn’t want to be ‘entertained’ whilst in the City but they did suggest a dinner with the key members of the respective teams in attendance.
I suggested Tanya and Carl our legal team, to attend along with Steve and one of the other client relationship guys from the New York office. I had no real idea who Paul would bring but I expected to see some of the guys who we’d met in San Fran plus their lawyers. I got Marion in our London office to book a restaurant in the centre of London as I knew the Veezacard guys were staying somewhere in Soho – how appropriate!
That night, as I rushed to find Le Palais du Jardin in Covent Garden, I cursed Daddy. Just as I was leaving the Mayfair office, he’d asked me to ‘pop in for a chat young man’ and that was that – 30 minutes late before I’d even hit the evening London traffic.
Despite the light rain which usually drives everybody into London’s cabs, I managed to get one quite quickly and was in Covent Garden within 10 minutes. I’d never eaten at Le Palais before but the layout was quite clear – a long bar area leading into a two-tier restaurant. The receptionist heard the word ‘Veezacard’ and headed off through a bustling and absolutely full restaurant and led me up a set of stairs to the higher level where the group I was to join sat at a large round table. I made my excuses for being late and sat down in an empty seat next to Paul.
No sooner had I sat down and asked the waiter to pour me some wine, than another person arrived. Given that he was without his jacket, he’d obviously been to the gent’s toilet and it was also obvious that I’d taken his seat.
He introduced himself as John and sat at the only other empty seat at the table which was between Tanya and Steve. He didn’t look too happy but what the hell. I can’t stand these meetings where everybody lines up in their respective groups – it makes things more interesting when there’s a mix.
Dinner was served and quite sumptuous it was too. The service was impeccable, the food amazing and the restaurant the perfect place to impress clients. I mentally noted that I should congratulate Marion who had booked it.
The wine flowed and as usual in these situations, I probably had more than I should but as it was Friday night and I had nothing arranged for Saturday, I thought what the hell.
And then I spotted it. A gift wrapped package in the middle of the table, obviously a book of some sort. I assumed, rather too quickly as it turned out, that it was one of those little gifts fancy restaurants sometimes leave for their diners – in this case it was quite obviously a book about the restaurant. As the host, I felt it was my duty to open it which I did and was rather surprised to find a book on ‘Love Poems’. Opening the cover I just read out what was printed inside without even thinking. ‘To John – with all my love, Paul’.
As I uttered the final syllable, it seemed like the whole restaurant went silent but of course, it was just my table. I didn’t know where to look and neither did the members of my team. I could feel another ‘death’ moment rising within my body and waited for the inevitable tirade from the client but was amazed when John came round the table, took the book from me, kissed Paul on the cheek and then sat back down in his place.
Paul, for his part, stunned me by saying that it had been nice of me to ‘present’ John with his gift and put his arm around me in a really friendly gesture – a bit too friendly for my taste though!
‘How many lives do you have Nigel?’, I asked myself.
Dinner continued and everybody seemed to be partaking rather too much of the delicious Montagny Premier Cru we were drinking but it was all very jolly. I asked Paul what he had done that day and before he could answer, John interjected that they’d been shopping and Paul had bought the ‘most atrocious burgundy brogue shoes’. At that, and again without thinking, I said that I liked burgundy brogues and indeed, I was wearing a pair.
John literally sprinted around the table, pushed my chair back, grabbed my leg and held my foot up to show everybody my burgundy brogues. This time, it wasn’t just our table which went silent. This time the whole of the upper tier of Le Palais went silent as they looked at me precariously perched on two legs of my chair whilst this stubble-bearded, thin guy held my leg aloft.
After I was restored to a normal sitting position, our table returned to normal but lively conversation with John and Paul becoming more animated by the minute.
Desserts, coffees and liqueurs were taken and the time came for me to pick up the bill but not before the cab, which had been ordered for Paul and John, was announced as sitting outside the restaurant. I got up to shake the hands of my clients but whilst Paul warmly responded with a handshake, John grabbed me by the shoulders and started to kiss me – full on the lips. At first I thought it was all a joke, albeit a rather unfortunate one, but once John’s tongue started to enter my mouth I realised it wasn’t. I was appalled and all I could think of was self preservation. I didn’t knee him in the balls as my natural instincts told me to, I just clenched my teeth and hoped it would all end as quickly as possible.
And as all this was happening, all I could think of as his stubbly face rubbed into mine, was that I now knew how women felt when their man had not shaved!
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