Spoils of the Game

by Lee Lamond

  Austin completed looking through the file and perhaps had the same frustration that his wife had had. He closed the file and carefully put it back in the same location.

  At about eight that night, he became hungry and foraged through the kitchen for anything to eat. Austin did not have the time to shop for food or make something from scratch. The standing order with his housekeeper, Louise, was simple: keep the refrigerator full, and throw out the old stuff. The problem Austin had was that he did not know what she had provided, and that often resulted in a refrigerator safari.

  Dinner was lasagna, chocolate pudding, and beer, followed by TV and a nap. When he finally got to bed, his head was spinning with thoughts. The questions were simple. What would it take to complete the two projects on Susan’s desk? Austin knew that a little effort and money would do it. Pierre, the Museum Mouse, in the hands of some good publishing types, should be a done deal. The rescue mission for dying art was another question. The file had a lot of good ideas and even some outlines, but it still was missing a lot of information. It appeared to be more of a project management issue than an art project. It was the type of thing that Austin was good at, but he didn’t know the European art world and he didn’t know a thing about fixing art. How difficult can it be? he thought to himself.

  The issue was not whether he could do it, but rather whether he could get away from Clay Medical. Over the weekend the idea of completing Susan’s projects lingered in his head. On Monday morning Austin called a meeting of some of his key people. No one knew the agenda, and no one could have guessed. There were five people in the room before Austin showed up. Carl Thomson sat to the right of Austin’s chair. Carl had been with the company for almost as long as Austin, and as senior vice president, he knew every detail of the company’s finances and operations. The four other men ran R&D, engineering, operations, and finance.

  Austin entered the conference room and greeted the group with a broad smile. “Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you all had a good weekend.” For a few seconds Austin arranged some papers on the table as he toyed with the small audience. It was clear that all of the key players were very curious about what was to be said, and Austin was having fun with them.

  “So, gentlemen, what’s new?” asked Austin with a telltale smile on his face.

  Everyone in the room knew that Austin had no interest in their words, and each looked around the room for a clue from the others.

  “Well, if you gentlemen have nothing to say, then perhaps I do. I am thinking about taking some time off. I am not sure for how long. Perhaps it will be two or three months, perhaps it will be more, and there is a chance that it will be a lot less. I have a few things that I want to do that involve projects started by my wife. You guys know what you are doing, and the place might run better with me gone for a few months. I don’t know my exact plans, but I might leave right after the stockholders’ meeting next month. You guys can keep me up to date with e-mail, and if there is a crisis, I can come home early.”

  “So where are you going, boss?” said Carl Thomson, knowing that everyone wanted to know.

  “Paris.”

  It was about two o’clock when Austin’s meeting broke up. Everyone was a little surprised and everyone knew that things would be fine while the “Big Guy,” as some called him, was away.

  In Paris there was another meeting with a different result. Claude Badeau and Madeline Rousseau were in Badeau’s office. Badeau had given Madeline instructions on how to handle some of the other people in his department, and Madeline strongly disagreed.

  “Claude, it is not necessary that you treat people like slaves. They are people, and a little respect will do more than your constantly talking down to them. I don’t know one person on your list who would not do whatever is asked of them if you would just stop being an ass.”

  Madeline was about five foot four, but more importantly she could be ten feet tall if pushed into a corner.

  Badeau said, “Madeline, I have asked you to carry out my policies, which are intended to be the best for the department. It troubles me that you are insubordinate. Perhaps I need to replace you with someone who understands what I am trying to do.”

  “No civilized person can understand the mistreatment of personnel. With you, Claude, it’s a stupid power game. You have asked me to take on three separate jobs, and the good news is that I don’t have the time to carry out all of your petty policies. If you want to abuse people, do it yourself. Or if you want to dismiss me, fine. I used to love working here at the Louvre, but Claude, the last two years have been hell, and the last few weeks have been even worse. I will tell you right to your face that I don’t like or respect you, and perhaps a change would be best for both of us. Perhaps you, the managing director of the museum, and I should have a little meeting, and we can talk about the future of Madeline Rousseau at the Louvre.”

  Of all of the people that worked for him, Madeline was one of the few that would fight back. In Badeau’s defense, he had been under a lot of pressure, and recent events with Caron had not made things any easier. He had been allowed to operate his department without much supervision, and he did not need anyone bringing attention to the possibility that many in his group were unhappy.

  “Madeline, we have all been under a great deal of pressure, and perhaps my style is not your style. If you have difficulty with imposing a little discipline, then I will do it myself.”

  “Claude, it is more than a difference in style. So much of your style is unnecessary. You just play your little games and leave me out of it, but don’t be surprised if one day the entire group just walks out.”

  Madeline walked out of her boss’s office and went into the public portion of the museum to recover. As she walked through the museum, her cell phone rang.

  “Madeline, this is Margo in Andre Vassar’s office. If you have a minute, he would like to see you.”

  “Okay, I will be there in five minutes.”

  Madeline knew Vassar, the managing director, casually but did not usually get much exposure to the man. Her mind raced; she was sure that Badeau had taken the offense and that her career was in for a change. She was ready. She had had enough, and she just didn’t care.

  When Madeline entered the outer office, Margo greeted her. There was no sense of tension, and there was no sign of Badeau. Vassar saw Madeline and came to the door of his office and greeted Madeline with a broad smile and an outstretched hand.

  “Madeline, so good to see you this morning. Please come in, come in.”

  This was not what she had expected, and now she was very confused.

  “Madeline, it has been a while since we have had any time together, but I must say that I am very pleased with the work that you are doing. I know you are busy, and I will not take too much of your time, but I received an e-mail from a Monsieur Austin Clay. Perhaps you might remember his wife, Susan Clay, who unfortunately died a while ago. She was a very good friend to the museum, and I would have liked to follow up on some of the things that she was doing. Anyway, apparently her husband, Austin Clay, is interested in finishing two of her projects, and he would like to come to Paris to complete the work. One of the projects was going to be such fun—perhaps you remember Pierre, the Museum Mouse—and the second was defined as an art rescue project, and I am not sure what the best approach might be. Monsieur Clay is willing to take off some time from his business to at least explore the second project. His wife and I discussed this idea at some length, and it might be worth our effort to support him. I would like you to work with Monsieur Clay when he arrives in a few weeks. I don’t know where these projects will go or how much time we will assign to them. For now, let’s be open-minded. Austin Clay could become a major contributor to the museum, and our efforts might pay off nicely.”

  Madeline was thrilled. She knew of both projects and thought they were great ideas. She had met Austin before and been very impressed.

  “Andre, I would welcome the chance to work with Monsieur Clay, but
Claude has me swamped with so many other things.”

  “I will talk with Claude and make sure that he reassigns some of your work.” Vassar handed her a copy of the e-mail message from Austin. “If you look carefully, Madeline, you will note that he asked to work with you, if you were available. He also said that he was impressed with you from prior visits, so I think we should give the man what he wants, if it’s okay with you.”

  It was more than okay with Madeline.

  “Madeline, I suspect that it might be several weeks before Monsieur Clay arrives, so you should have time to get things in order. If you or Claude have any questions, please contact me. In fact, keep me posted on your plans. I want to make sure that we provide Monsieur Clay everything he needs.”

  “Andre, I welcome the chance to work on this assignment. I knew Monsieur Clay’s wife very well, and I would be honored to work on her projects.”

  Madeline left Vassar’s office, elated. Only minutes before, she had been ready to quit, and now she had a new relationship with the man that ran the museum—the man who was Badeau’s boss. As she walked down the hall, she smiled and began to laugh.

  Chapter 3

  Paris

  The last time Austin went to Paris, he was with Susan. He wanted to believe that she was with him on this trip, but he felt alone. In the past, the longest time he’d been away from the office was perhaps two weeks. Now he was planning to be away for weeks or months. His conscience said he should stay on the job, and another part of his brain said that he had earned the luxury of taking some time off.

  The population of the VIP lounge at the airport covered a wide spectrum of humanity. It was clear that having the money for a first-class ticket to Europe did not guarantee first-class behavior. Across the room were members of the band Pestilence and some of the groupies that were traveling with them. In the corner was a gray-haired grandmother in an overstated floral dress. Austin could not help thinking that someone had stolen some draperies to make the dress. What bothered him more than the adults were the very young children. They had the potential to cry, if not scream, their whole way to Europe. Austin could tolerate a lot, but he could not tolerate screaming children.

  Fate has a funny way of entertaining itself by the burdens it imposes on our lives. For Austin the prank was that the lady in the drapery dress was to sit next to him in seat 3B. Within seconds of taking her seat, she introduced herself.

  “Hello, my name is Beatrice Higgins.”

  Austin was a little surprised by her bold, self-confident introduction.

  “I’m Austin,” he replied as he extended his hand.

  “This is such a nice plane,” said the slightly overweight woman. “My son is now working in Paris, and he sent me a ticket so that I could visit him and his wife and the two boys. Is this your first trip to Paris?”

  Austin looked up from his magazine. “No, I have been there many times.”

  “They have an apartment in Paris, and all I know is that it is very expensive. On Sunday we will be going to a soccer match to watch the boys play, and later in the week they are going to take me shopping. I don’t fly that often, and I always sit in the back. This is nice up here. Do you have any children?’

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No, ma’am, my wife died.”

  “Oh, I know how that is. My husband died fifteen years ago.”

  Shortly after takeoff the flight attendant came for drink orders, and Austin had to do something. Beatrice Higgins was driving him crazy.

  “Beatrice, can I buy you a drink?”

  “Well, I don’t know. What do they have?”

  Austin gave the order to the flight attendant. Whatever Beatrice was drinking, it was a double, and within fifteen minutes she was sound asleep.

  Austin tried to get involved in some of the inflight movies—buried treasure, the mob, and an improbable romance. Who makes up this crap? Austin thought to himself and elected to try to get some sleep. There was just too much on his mind. At first he had seen this trip as an adventure, but he now felt very unprepared. The plan was vague, and he lacked the energy and salesmanship that had been so natural to his wife. Things would go much better if she were there. Austin opened his file and reviewed the collection of e-mail from Madeline Rousseau. Over the past few weeks she had been great. She had done a lot of legwork and addressed details that he didn’t even know had to be addressed. He was looking forward to meeting her again. She had known Susan, and perhaps they could share memories. Without her help, he would be lost.

  His efforts at sleep were a failure and only made him feel abused. A fresh, hot cup of coffee at six the next morning helped to revive him. From the plane’s window the ground below was covered with clouds lit from above by the dawning sun in the east. It was impossible to tell the plane’s location, but soon the crew’s announcements made it clear that they would land in a few minutes. The die was cast.

  “Well, good-bye, Mr. Austin—I mean Mr. Clay,” said Beatrice as she began to exit the plane. “I am sorry I was not more of a traveling companion. I am afraid I had too much to drink. Every time I woke up, you were nice enough to make sure I had another.”

  “Good-bye, Beatrice, and say hello to your son for me. You’re a nice lady, and I like your dress.”

  After going through customs, Austin gathered up his luggage and exited. Several people had signs for people they were to meet, and a large gentleman in a dark suit had one with his name.

  “Hi, I’m Austin Clay,” said Austin.

  “Yes, sir,” said the driver in English but with the expected French accent. “Let me take one of your bags.”

  An attractive woman said, “Monsieur Clay, I’m Madeline Rousseau.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Austin. “You have been very helpful, and I very much appreciate your work.” Austin extended his hand and looked into Madeline’s eyes. He was impressed.

  “Please follow us to our car, and we will get you into the city and to your apartment,” said Madeline. “I know you must be tired. Today is Saturday, and you can spend the weekend getting some rest. Then on Monday we can meet again.”

  Austin had a reputation for making quick judgments about people, and within seconds of meeting Madeline again, he had a very positive opinion. Although he had met her once or twice before, it was like he had just met her for the first time. Madeline appeared to be in her mid-forties, with an excellent sense of style, and she was very much the professional and very much a lady. Perhaps it was a cultural thing, but Austin had always believed that French women were some of the best-looking ones, and style had a lot to do with it. Her blonde hair and well-maintained body helped complete the image.

  Susan and Austin had visited Paris many times over the years, and much of what Austin saw was familiar, while much had changed. Austin and Madeline sat in the back of the car, and Madeline took the opportunity to provide Austin with several large envelopes, including some information on his new apartment. Others contained information on the Louvre and the city of Paris.

  “Monsieur Clay, this information is kind of general, but I hope it helps with your arrival. I know that you will have the support of the Louvre staff, and perhaps on Monday we can talk in more detail on what your schedule may be and specifically whom you will work with. We have an appointment with Monsieur Badeau on Monday morning to begin the process.”

  Austin had chosen a short-stay apartment on the Right Bank of the Seine, in a quiet neighborhood. The driver knew his way around the city (and more importantly, he knew his way around the traffic), and they quickly arrived at Austin’s new address. The car entered a small courtyard that magically left the city behind. Madeline led the way to Austin’s new home for the next few months, keys in hand. His selection, which had been aided by the information that Madeline had provided, was a pleasant surprise. The apartment was perfect and located on the second floor of a grand building that was typical of the architecture in Paris. Wide marble steps with a beautiful br
ass rail led to an upstairs foyer. His apartment was the third on the right. The interior of the apartment was a mixture of styles. High windows defined the exterior walls, and the apartment contained both modern and period furniture. Although the building was many years old, the owner of the apartment had kept it in excellent condition with a modern kitchen and a very modern bath. Madeline had seen to everything. There was food in the kitchen, there were towels in the bath, and there were even copies of English-language newspapers. The bed looked very comfortable, and all of the rooms had been freshly painted. Austin turned to Madeline and again thanked her for her help. Austin never wanted to be a burden on the people at the Louvre, and he hoped that Madeline had not gone too far and that his arrival had not been preceded by an inflated estimate of his purpose or value to the museum. Madeline left with the driver, and he stood in his apartment alone, looking out the window at the street below. His life had been so ordered and so much in control, and now he was entering an unknown venture. He wasn’t worried so much about failure; he worried about preserving the reputation and memory of his wife, Susan.