“Let’s keep this simple,” I said. “You were a goddamn mess on Conquest. I was a goddamn mess on Sensation. We’re even. Shall we make the next ship the success story?”
“Even?” she mocked. “Life is not so equitable, Mr. Brown. And you don’t even know if you’ll have a ‘next ship’.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You’re always chasing butterflies, Brian,” Bianca chided. “You make everything sound so positive, but you’re just denying reality. You told me that you passed all these tests, yet here you are again, having to impress this Lucifer blood clot. You obviously haven’t convinced him you have what it takes.”
“Have I convinced you?”
She stared at the ebon sky.
“Well that’s just great,” I replied sarcastically. “You know, I’m doing my best. My best to understand, to provide a life for us.”
“I expect nothing from you,” Bianca said. “I only hope.”
“You know, Bianca,” I said, taking a stab at explaining my thoughts. “You claim you won’t marry someone for money. You turned down Tommy the Teddy Bear and who knows how many others. Do you really feel like it’s your job to do this all alone? Isn’t the whole point that you go through life’s challenges together?”
“Oh, Brian,” Bianca said, shaking her head. “You really are a dreamer, aren’t you? ‘All you need is love?’ is that it?”
“I’m not that naive,” I said, bristling.
“We’re both adults,” Bianca pressed. “I expect nothing from you, and will thank you for the time we’ve had if you find someone else who can give you what you need.”
I stared at her, incredulous.
“So ‘come back to me’ has now become ‘thank you for your time.’ Lovely. When did that happen?”
“I just... I just don’t know what the future holds anymore,” Bianca admitted.
“Neither do I,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m scared of it and hedging my bets. Look, I came here expecting to get an earful. I’m getting it. But you don’t really want to give up on us now, do you? We’re finally getting past some barriers here! Let’s keep trying.”
“But what if you fail again?” Bianca asked.
“Well,” I said after a moment of thought, “if I can’t impress Lucifer one last time and get another ship... and you don’t feel able to move to America with me... I guess I’ll thank you for our time together.”
Chapter 17. Tadpole Twenty-three
1
I suffered no illusions about my return to Pennsylvania for advanced auctioneer training. It was gonna suck. Auctioneers, as a rule, continuously preened themselves and strut like peacocks. When faced with others of their kind the posturing became absolutely unbearable. Even my huge ego was flaccid compared to those blowhards.
The weather was equally repulsive. Winds roared out of the mountains, snarled around the bridges, then hunted down each soul unfortunate enough to be outside. The skies were locked in slate gray. The cold was sharp. I longed for the gentle, soothing snows of Sighișoara.
Sundance’s formula for auctioneers was different from that of trainees. The transportation from the airport to the hotel was no longer designed to impress, for example. Rather than being chauffeured in a Lincoln Town Car, I was shuttled in a brand new Chrysler 300—a sweet ride, to be sure, but a far cry from a driver in coat-tails. At the hotel, however, the prominent status of auctioneers was reinforced with a private room boasting a hot tub.
At 9 p.m., we met in the lounge. As with any pack of animals, the established hierarchy was readily apparent to a trained observer. The outskirts of the lounge were filled with milling, nervous trainees: all very young and very attractive, mostly male. The crowd bunching near the bar consisted of returning auctioneers, rising in prominence as they neared the altar to alcohol. The sycophants stood thick indeed around the bar’s four chairs, for those seated were preeminent.
The two far chairs were occupied by a long-established auctioneering couple, Jim Nabors and Scarlett Johansson. Their Sundance monikers had been selected with care: he the spitting image of Gomer Pyle, and she the stuff of men’s fantasies. The two near chairs, however, held the men of the moment.
First was the auctioneer dubbed John Goodman: a huge man with a straggly goatee crawling down the rolls of his thick neck. He must have been six and a half feet tall and well over three hundred pounds. But the second man, of average height and build, clearly dominated all. His swagger made that clear, even if his grooming did not. His clothing was a sloppy, unkempt mess, as was his brown hair. He had big ears and an ugly mouth.
It was time for my performance. I was more nervous about this moment than I expected to be at any time the entire week. I pushed my way up to the bar. The braggarts paused their blustering to gauge if I was so worthy. All eyes were on me.
“Give me a double rum on the rocks!” I ordered with bravado. Then I turned to the seated, hyena-like man and greeted coolly, “Lewis.”
Upon hearing the messy man’s real name, rather than his Sundance moniker, the demeanor of the altar defrosted. Old auctioneers nodded. New auctioneers whispered.
“I’ll be damned,” Lewis—otherwise known as Lucifer—said derisively with a slight British accent. “It’s Buzz Lightyear!”
“That’s the Frog Prince to you,” I replied. Waiting a dramatic half second, I added, “As I recall you told Frederick himself.”
The room fell into stunned silence. A woman somewhere gasped. A tray dropped in the distance, complete with clang and crinkle of glass.
“What?” rumbled John Goodman, “A new guy outsell me? Impossible!”
“No, no sales at all,” came the icy response. The uneven, toothy grin was replaced with a sneer. “But something far worse.”
“Worse than no sales?”
“Yes,” he answered. “He once proved me wrong.”
Lucifer’s puffy eyes met mine and he added contemptuously, “Something he’ll regret for the rest of his very short career.”
2
The introduction was coordinated by Gene, who once again channeled Uncle Sam. While his age, build, and particularly features were akin to those of the proverbial Uncle Sam, his dress was even more so. Gene wore an American flag: the pattern continued neatly from his windbreaker, down across his jogging pants, to even his tennis shoes.
About thirty bodies sat facing each other in a circle: most wide-eyed trainees, the rest returning auctioneers. Beside me sat the only person who was neither: Hot Cocoa. The Brazilian beauty with the dark skin and raspberry lips had been a fellow trainee last year. She had intended to remain a permanent associate, but asked to join advanced training in a bid to become an auctioneer after all. Her name was Mariana, but the awe-filled moniker I gave her in training had caught on.
“My name is Gene,” the patriot said, “who you all spoke to over the phone. My role is manager of fleet operations. I welcome you all to Sundance. It’s an exciting time for us, with growth exceeding everyone’s wildest expectations. That’s because of people like you!”
“Those that survive,” Lucifer interrupted from behind the circle.
“Yes,” Gene agreed after a pause. “This will be a challenging week. I wish I could lead you, but we’re growing so fast that I simply no longer have the time. So let me introduce the man who is now in charge. His name is—”
“Lucifer!” the slovenly man interrupted again. He strode to the center of the circle. His swagger was profound. So was my nausea.
“Pond scum!” Lucifer said sharply as he glanced over the circle. “That is what you are. You aspire to be more, yes, but most of you will not succeed. I am happy to say that our drop-out rate is now over 50%. That’s not the failure rate, you little amoebocytes, but the drop-out rate. Many who tough it out still don’t get in. This will be the hardest week of your life. It is not only my job to make it so, it is my pleasure.
“It is my duty to help you crawl out of the primordial ooze and become
something greater. A few of you may evolve into tadpoles, at which point you will be released to the big pond. More will fail out there, but some will survive to become frogs. You see a few frogs in attendance here. Keep your place in mind: returning auctioneers are not here for you, but their own advanced training. They will not help you unless I order them to.”
“Now,” Lucifer continued. “Names! In the past, Gene did a name game where we labeled you by the celebrity you most resembled. He thought that was a fun way to break the ice, yet emphasized that you have more important things to remember than people’s names. That’s a load of crap. Most of you will not make it, so it’s a huge waste of time.”
Gene looked up from his BlackBerry and clucked his tongue at Lucifer.
“However,” Lucifer sighed, with obvious reluctance, “I defer to Gene’s age and expertise, and will give you all the benefit of the doubt. I shall present you with monikers that assume you will see week’s end.”
“You!” Lucifer said, thrusting a finger at a handsome young black man. “You are Tadpole One.”
The youth looked too awed to be offended. Lucifer strode around the circle, pointing rudely to each trainee in turn, designating them Tadpoles One through Twenty-two.
“So now, trails of slime, you are free for the night. I suggest you study the books you were assigned to bring. If you did not bring them, then pack. Tomorrow at 8 a.m. meet here in auction attire. That includes gavels. If you don’t have a gavel, then pack. You may now go soil yourselves.”
Cocoa leaned in to me and whispered, “He hasn’t changed much, has he?”
Before I could reply, Lucifer stepped up before us. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, with one untucked shirttail covering a forearm.
“Hot Cocoa,” he greeted, bending towards her with a smarmy smile. “I’m glad you’re here. We needed a woman among the exalted ranks, and you look sexier than ever.”
“And you’re charming as ever,” she replied sarcastically.
Lucifer grinned hyena-like, eyes glinting lasciviously. I couldn’t fathom how Cocoa kept her cool. I never before realized the unique challenges supremely hot women had to endure in the workplace. I had always assumed it gave them an edge, but suddenly I wasn’t so sure. Still leaning forward aggressively, Lucifer swiveled his head towards me. He reminded me uncomfortably of a praying mantis.
“Buzz,” he gloated. “Your savior, Gene, wants a word with you.”
Then he was gone.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said to Cocoa, “but aren’t returning auctioneers supposed to get special treatment?”
“Oh, you’ve always gotten special treatment from him all right,” Cocoa laughed. “That’s why I like hanging around you: he usually leaves me alone.”
“At least I’m good for something,” I muttered with a smile.
“He’s always hated you,” she said. She placed a reassuring hand on my arm and added, “I hope, for your sake, Gene has good news for you.”
“The understatement of the year, my dear.”
I went straight to Gene, who was still busy checking emails on his BlackBerry. I waited respectfully for him to finish.
“Oh, Buzz!” he said, finally putting his phone away. “We need to talk. We have a list of complaints about you.”
I stared at him, stunned. “A... list?”
“Five, to be exact,” Gene supplied. “We’ll talk about them in the morning, OK?”
“Not on your life!” I quickly responded, eyes wide. “You can’t keep me stewing all night after telling me that!”
Gene paused a moment in thought, then shrugged. “All right, then. The auctioneer of Sensation wrote a very long and detailed email about how you left the ship in shambles.”
“No way,” I retorted. “I left things better than I received them. Way better, if you count aerating the damn cabin. That’s a major rule in Boy Scouts, you know, and I come from a long line of Scout Masters. I want to know exactly what Robin said.”
“I’ll read you the email,” Gene said, again citing his smart phone. He searched for what felt like ages. Finally he brightened and said, “Here we go! First, he said you didn’t provide him with an end of cruise report from the ship.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “There was a new ship’s accountant who messed up. It took him two days to get the reports, which were emailed to me. Robin should have emailed them to you, as well. If you don’t have them, I’ll forward them to you immediately. I keep everything.”
Gene regarded me thoughtfully. His doubt was poorly hidden, but eventually he gave another shrug and said, “No, if you sent them I’m sure I have them somewhere. The second complaint is that you did not sign a proper handover inventory.”
“Yes,” I agreed again. “The sales computer crashed while we were doing it. We printed an inventory and manually checked off all the high-end works I had already sold. You’ll recall that there were a lot of them. We both signed off on it. I sent in Sundance’s copy the very next day.”
Gene looked at me a long time in silence. It was most unsettling, because Gene had been my biggest ally during training. Without his support, Lucifer was going to destroy me.
“Third complaint,” Gene continued suddenly, “You left without giving him a full ship tour.”
“Are you kidding?” I squawked. “Sensation was his ship for the previous ten months! Further, I was ordered to leave the ship by 9:30 a.m. due to Coast Guard regulations. I was actually escorted out by security, in fact. The ship’s purser can even verify it. You got anything tangible, or is this—as Lucifer would say—all a load of crap?”
“Fourth complaint,” Gene said tersely, “You left him with no employees to do the paperwork. And I have indeed noticed a very high amount of paperwork issues since you left. So has Frederick.”
Gene looked at me accusingly, letting the magnitude of his final words sink in. Frederick could—and did—fire his auctioneers on a whim. However, I wasn’t scared. I was furious. With each point Gene rattled off, it had been more and more difficult to contain. Finally I exploded.
“This is a load of crap!” I boomed. “The internet manager from Mexico, Susana O’Reilly, was in charge of checkouts. She’s a genius.”
Gene looked at me with open disbelief, like I claimed the dog had eaten my homework. He asked sarcastically, “A Mexican named O’Reilly?”
“You think I would make up something like that on the fly?” I countered. “You know what this is all about, don’t you? Robin signed on without his girlfriend, Vanessa. Her name was on every single report. The problems with the paperwork are because he doesn’t know how to do anything, and never did! He couldn’t even figure out how to do a paper inventory, Gene. I had to teach him how! The guy’s blaming his complete incompetence on me.”
“Vanessa was not with him?” Gene asked, surprised. “Now that you mention it, I do remember her name on the reports.”
Gene pocketed his BlackBerry, then said casually, “Well, I guess that clears up that, then. Don’t worry about it any longer.”
He acted like nothing had happened at all. I was still fuming.
“What’s the fifth complaint?” I asked, trying to keep my voice cordial.
“Hmm?”
“You said there were five complaints,” I pressed. “What what the last one?”
“Oh, yes, well,” Gene said idly. “He claims you stole several bottles of fish oil.”
3
Advanced training was relatively easy. Then again, compared to what the trainees were enduring, so was engineering a suspension bridge. Three tadpoles were booted on the first day because they had not brought everything asked of them, and another had already left in tears—a high school football star who couldn’t handle the verbal abuse. Two more quit on day two, and day three saw the end of five more. Twenty-two had become fourteen.
At lunch on day five, I passed Hot Cocoa at a sushi restaurant. She sat ramrod straight in a chair opposite Lucifer and John Goodman. Auctioneers usually lunc
hed together, but I was surprised she hadn’t fled upon seeing only those two present. She was already regretting it. John reached across the table and placed his beefy hand on hers. Cocoa winced and extricated her hand immediately. However, she placated him with a smile from her knockout lips.
“Buzz,” she cried out in relief, “I’ve been looking for you all day!”
John looked at her in surprise, and rumbled, “But I’ve been with you all day!”
“I was just going to brag to my classmate,” Cocoa soothed, “about how I’ve been learning all day from one of the highest earners in the fleet!”
John nodded imperiously, expecting to hear nothing less. Lucifer, on the other hand, waved his hand dismissively.
“Bollocks! He’s all piss and wind,” he mocked. “He learned everything from me.”
Such conversation was precisely why I rarely dined with other auctioneers. John’s obsession with his own success was distasteful. Almost hourly he had interrupted Lucifer’s lectures to inform the trainees, the returning auctioneers—really anyone who would listen—about how he had solved yet another issue that plagued the rest of us. His solution was invariable: sheer bravado. Of course I was loathe to socialize in any way with the odious Lucifer.
But with Cocoa’s expressive eyes begging me not to leave, how I could abandon her? Reluctantly I sat down.
“Don’t bugger about with Buzz,” Lucifer ordered Cocoa. “He got lucky once, but his sales are crap.”
“But you said Buzz was the first one in our class to get his own ship!” Cocoa replied.
“Yeah, and first to lose it, too,” Lucifer cackled.
“I broke the ship’s record the week before I got yanked,” I pointed out.
But Lucifer was not listening. He was busy leaning into the aisle to accost our waitress. Though she was at another table, he certainly didn’t let that slow him down.
“Hey!” he barked over their conversation. “Bring us some California rolls. Two each. We’re in a hurry.”
Unsinkable Mister Brown (Cruise Confidential 3) Page 29