Page 87 of Analysing Her Assets

The weather was cold, but there was no rain and no clouds marred the sky. Glowing mushroom-like heaters kept the large white marquee warm. Bouquets of red, orange, and maroon gladiolas were placed on pedestals as high as him. It was tasteful, but lacking in soul, looking more like a cocktail gathering or a business convention than a family celebration.

He proceeded to the stocked bar. His parents had pulled all the stops, the bar’s main theme was “aged liquor.”

“Macallan 25.” He pointed at a bottle that stood in line with numerous other drinks. This wasn’t even the most expensive bottle, an aged Mortlach gleamed right next to it.

This party cost an arm and a leg, and perhaps other body parts.

Clasping his crystal-cut tumbler, he looked for his parents, finally spotting his mother. She glided around, looking regal, in a long-sleeved red dress, greeting guests, chatting with everyone. Naomi had always been the perfect hostess.

“Imma, you look stunning,” he said. “This is a very nice dress.”

“Nice! That’s it? It’s Stella McCartney, thank you very much. Ruby red, because we’re married for forty years.”

“Oh.” He’d never heard of a McCartney outside the music business, but he guessed that was on him. “Well, it’s lovely. But if you ever feel like supporting local brands, you should try...” He almost said ‘my girlfriend’s company’, but he stopped himself.

Their first weekend as a couple was spent largely apart, with their different familial duties. He accompanied his mother for last minute arrangements, while Tamar helped her sister check the inventory and had a meeting with Tally and their father at the bank. Bolstered by Gideon's promise to leave, she had backed a substantial loan, and now owned a fashion company called Tally’s. He would make sure his mother gave ‘Tally’s’ her patronage.

“I should try who?”

“Never mind, next party.”

“Come, let’s make the rounds until your father joins us.”

“Why isn’t he here?” Gideon asked. Naomi shrugged her elegant shoulders.

“You’re an excellent substitute. Come, come along.”

Gideon drained his drink, welcoming the rush of warmth, and gave his mother his arm. He had been coached from infancy for this. Knowing the ins and outs of the business was important, but this was just as vital–meeting industry leaders and forming social connections. Naomi, with her aura of authoress and a lecturer at TAU, was an asset to Berdiplast. The guests were eager to speak to her and impress her. Tamar on his arm, as chief analyst of the largest money manager in Israel, would be an asset as well, Gideon realized, even more so than Naomi.

His mother spoke in halting Italian to a couple of handsome men in their fifties who were Berdiplast’s largest customers in Italy, buying the special bags that kept their three euros’ wine fresh in its carton box.

He teamed with Old Doron, who cleaned up, wearing an old-fashioned brown corduroy jacket. None of the polished Europeans seemed to mind the old man’s sense of fashion, everyone greeting him as an old friend. Doron introduced him to the new manager of the Spanish Valladolid facility. He spoke to a Californian tomato grower who used Berdiplast’s gigantic bags to deliver tomato paste and lamented with him the longest drought in history. Oddly, Young Doron hadn’t arrived yet. The way he was so close to his father, Gideon had thought he would be here as early as the caterers.

He hugged Savta Sarita, who looked wonderful in a blue pantsuit. Savta Paulina was as groomed and straight backed as ever when she pecked him on the cheek.

“Your mother can throw a party, that much is clear,” she said. “I wonder how much this all costs.”

“They can deduct it as a business expense,” Gideon said. “Considering the guests are mostly people we conduct business with.”

“We, huh?” Paulina said, missing nothing.

He almost told his grandmother he was coming back to Berdiplast, but he hadn’t told his father yet, and he needed the CEO of Berdiplast to hear it first.

“Where is your son?” he asked her. She always knew where everyone was and what they were doing.

“In the study, looking at some numbers. Go get him. I never object to a little work, but this is stretching it. It’s his party, and he hasn’t even shown his face yet.”

His grandmother was right. This was borderline impolite and poor business. No one spends tremendous amounts of money just to hide in their study.

“Hey Abba.”

His father raised a pair of tired eyes from the papers on his desk. The confident front he’d shown at Berdiplast’s shareholders' meeting had all but vanished.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, worried by the haunted look in his father’s eyes.

“Yes, yes, just checking some numbers.”

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he announced in a phony cheer. “It’s good news,” he added hastily when his father’s eye rounded in alarm.

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