1 Executive Lunch

by Maria E. Schneider

  The other three men hit their shots and none were quite as far as Gary's shot so he continued to beam. Thank God Autumn was along; she got stuck with Dan in the cart.

  Gary jumped right into the driver's seat after moving his clubs to my cart. He drove like a man obsessed. "You should have seen my shot off the first tee. The thing was like greased lightning."

  "Hmm." He didn't seem to require my opinion so I kept it to myself. It was probably a good habit, because his next shot to the green was way over and in a sand trap to boot. He hacked it out of there, and then took three putts to get it in the hole.

  Okay sure, off the tee box he hit it farther than any of the other guys, but he spent a lot of time making up for it around the greens. Tiger Woods he was not.

  I started wondering if the other guys were letting him win. With nothing else to do, I kept track of the scores. The guys seemed to spend a lot more time trying to out-drive Gary than on overall scoring. Leave it to a bunch of guys to turn golf into a muscle game.

  I waited impatiently for the famous business discussions to start. With all the money companies spent on these conferences, when were they going to talk about sales? Samuel and Rupin, the other guys playing in the foursome, were from a Denver company. Neither had talked about buying any equipment or services from Strandfrost, unless Strandfrost had started selling Ping Irons yesterday.

  By the end of the ninth hole Autumn hit her limit. She popped out of the cart like a genie from the bottle and yodeled, "I've got a massage treatment at three!" With a dainty hop, she scooted back to the clubhouse. To say I was tempted to follow would have been an understatement.

  "Three, already?" I bounced out myself. No one noticed, primarily because while they were waiting for the group ahead to finish up on the tee box, Gary was talking about the evening before.

  "Can you believe that old biddy asked me to dance? Like I don't have a wife at home and need entertainment outside the office." He took off his cap and rubbed his bald pate with a towel. "Gimme a break. I've had far better offers to stray."

  Rupin and Samuel both laughed. Dan didn't even wait to see if Autumn was out of earshot. "Oh, but it's nice to have a warm one that travels."

  "Hey Sam, I think that Kathy babe looked pretty interested in you," Rupin added his two cents.

  I would definitely be missed, as in forgotten. Unbelievable. Not one word of business. Furthermore, Kathy was not likely to be interested in any of these old farts. She was afraid to even show skin in bathing suit form. I doubt she had given Rupin, or anyone else at the conference, a second glance.

  I snorted. No one heard; they were still busy making up stories. By tomorrow Gary would have an audience believing he set a new course record, and that I accompanied them with a belly dancing routine.

  Slapping at an insect in disgust, I returned to my room. The conference had been a complete waste of time.

  * * *

  Friday morning I flew home. As an up-and-coming executive, I probably should have put in an appearance at the office, but from what I had seen at the trade show, it was more in character that I act like I was too busy to show up. I got a taxi from the airport and headed directly to the condo.

  I should have known from the look on the reception guy's face that something was wrong when I passed him on my way to the elevator. Thinking he was still miffed at me for answering the phone funny on the first day I ignored him.

  "Ms. O'Hala?" he called after me. The kid walked towards me as if he had hemorrhoids. He handed me a slip of paper. "A…ahem…a Ms.," he coughed in his hand, "Harrison came by to see you. Claimed you offered her a job." The cough and his mannerism told me that he didn't believe the story. "What shall I tell her if she returns?"

  "I don't know a Ms. Harrison. What did she look like?"

  He sniffed. "A rather…well." His job didn't allow him to say whatever distasteful words he wanted to use.

  "Cut to the chase here." I scanned his badge. "Michael. Was she blond, tall, short, fat, what?"

  He ahemed again. "A rather beat up looking woman," he finally responded without meeting my eyes.

  "Beat up?" For a moment I couldn't imagine what he meant, and then suddenly the scene in the bar downtown came to mind. "You mean bruises?"

  He nodded, still without looking up. "Rather large cut on her face. I was certain she was making the story up about the job offer." He turned to march his way back behind the bellhop desk.

  "Michael?" He turned, a half-cocked ear facing me, as if he couldn't expend the energy to get his whole body back around. "If she returns, send her up immediately. Oh and here, take this." I rummaged for scrap paper and scrawled my cell phone number on it. "If I'm not here and she shows up, call me on my cell."

  He stared, now positive I was diseased. He could barely muster the courage to take the scrap of paper. I didn't care. If Marilyn showed up again, I'd see her. If she was still alive.

  I was worn out from my trip and glad to be back. I really wanted to go straight home to my own bed, but it seemed important not to blow my cover. If anyone checked my expense report, the taxi receipt showed me coming to my lovely new condo.

  When I opened the door, I found that Huntington had been busy in my absence. Hanging in the kitchen were brand new pots and pans. The bedroom now had a gorgeous white embroidered comforter, including the skirt. Giant fluffy pillows with matching throw pillows finished it off.

  I zipped into the study and was grateful to see a new desk. He hadn't replaced the ridiculous chair, but at least I had a desk that wasn't lopsided.

  Grinning, I checked the balcony. Sure enough, he had filled the place with plants. "Woohoo!" I felt like it was my birthday. My mood lifted, I changed clothes and went out to get some groceries. Someone had to put those pots and pans to use.

  Chapter 20

  Saturday morning, I headed to my karate class. I felt guilty because not only had I not practiced, I hadn't even shown up for my first scheduled lesson. Luckily, the dojo was over on Eighth Street near Angela's shop so I could go for a massage later if I needed one. While I was there, I could pester her for more information about James.

  I bowed to Abba from the doorway. He hurried across the smooth wooden floors, gliding like the master he was. "Seedona!" He clapped me on the back. "It is good that you have come at last."

  "I was out of town," I explained.

  "Hmm, yes. Your name was in the newspapers. This not good." He shook his head as he looked me over. My karate uniform wasn't ironed, and it wasn't very worn either.

  The shiny wooden floor was cold as I shuffled my feet back and forth, guilty as silently charged.

  "I think we start you in Aikido this morning, yes?"

  "That would be excellent." I hurried over to start some warm up exercises.

  After about fifteen minutes, Abba let his helper take over leading the class and took me aside. "I think you need evaluations," he confided. "I work with you myself this morning to see if you fast enough. We make sure you ready for the next fight."

  "But I'm not planning on any more fights!"

  "Yes, of course." He kept it simple to start, but then he brought out the knives. "Now, I hear in the newspaper that you catch the knife. This not good. I don't remember that you had this training. You know you should not try these karates without proper training."

  "Well no. It wasn't my brightest move."

  "Here." He took my arm. "We learn to disarm instead of catch."

  It was no use pointing out that the guy who had thrown the knife wasn't close enough to disarm.

  Abba was hard on me. Apparently the newspaper story had frightened him. He came at me holding the rubber knife over my head. I blocked his arm, twisted it behind his back and forced the knife out of his hand. He let me do it several times before he got more serious.

  By the time I left, I was wishing for the hospital rather than Angela's shop, but she was closer. She was also busier than I hoped, but I was very good at looking pathetic. She bustled her bright pink self
right over to see what I needed.

  "I just got out of karate and wondered if you have someone available to do a massage," I asked, pulling back the sleeves of my uniform to show her the red spots where bruises were likely to form. "I have to take the class," I whispered. "What if they attack again?"

  She looked down at the counter. "Well, they probably won't."

  "I hope not." I sighed, lowered my eyes and looked as sad as possible. "Karate probably won't do me any good anyway, but it makes me feel better to take the class. I can't stop thinking that they might be back."

  "I don't have anyone available today," she said regretfully. "What about during the week?"

  "I have to work. I figured I'd stop in and hope someone had canceled. I know Friday and Saturday are your busiest."

  She nodded. "Look, Sedona." She hesitated, glancing around the shop. It was loud today with two hair dryers going and lots of chatting. "After you left the other day, one of the girls told me that Emma's nephew is only fourteen and lives in Colorado Springs, not Denton. I'm not saying he is or isn't, but I guess maybe he doesn't know squat about those thugs that attacked."

  "Fourteen?"

  She shrugged. "Like I said, it ain't something I asked Emma about. Next time she comes in, I can verify for sure, if you want. I can ask his age or where he lives, but I'm not gonna go asking what he was in for!"

  "Okay, okay." I patted her shoulder. "You let me know. And how about you put me down for a massage on the next Saturday where you have a slot?"

  She checked the schedule and found a slot in three weeks.

  I couldn't complain. I had come more for information than a massage anyway. If the kid was fourteen and didn't live around here, maybe he wasn't involved. Still, I called Derrick and left him a message. Maybe Derrick could track James down and make sure he wasn't a threat, because I was pretty sure that karate lessons weren't going to be enough to save me if someone came after me again.

  Chapter 21

  Turbo had an annoying habit of being very cheerful on Mondays. Usually people were energetic on Fridays, but not Turbo. He was at his best on Monday mornings. When he stopped by my new office, he was actually humming.

  I glared at him as he stood in the doorway, but it didn't remove his smile. "Oh, just come in already and tell me what you're so happy about."

  He did, surveying my new office as though it hadn't been there all along. The only difference was that it was now mine. Turbo took the visitor's chair. He bounced a couple of times, testing its softness. It was a much fluffier chair than the one in my old office. Finally, he got down to business. "I was right about it not being Gary that suggested Bruce and I come back early."

  "You know for sure?"

  "I asked Gary. He said he had no reason to call us back. And let's face it, if Gary pulls this investigation off, he stands to be promoted."

  I blinked. "He pulls it off? I'm the one undercover here. All he does is let Huntington run the show. How does that mean he is qualified for a promotion?"

  Turbo shrugged. "Since when do people get promoted because they deserve it?"

  Good point. I tapped my pencil on the desk in irritation. "Let me make a guess here. If I screw this up, not only will I get demoted back to my old job, that is what will happen if I'm very lucky. If I just happen to pull it off, Gary will be the one that gets a great promotion out of it."

  Turbo suddenly looked a lot less happy. I hoped it was because he was going to feel bad for his part in involving me when I lost my job. "I could be homeless within six months." Maybe I should have pocketed the money Huntington had provided for new clothes.

  "You won't fail," he reassured me or maybe himself.

  "Yeah, I'm getting lots of interest in my new status." I looked at my watch. "Speaking of which, I have staff in ten minutes."

  "Let me tell you what else I found out," Turbo said. He leaned forward. "From what I gather, Dan saw you mucking with the equipment at the show and decided it was obvious you were still willing to do that job."

  "What?"

  Turbo crossed his arms in disapproval. "He said you were crawling around the back just like you used to. No need for us."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Were you?" he countered.

  "I had to fix a hard drive!" Dan must have noticed me popping in and out of the back space.

  "Aha!" Turbo sat back. "Then he was right. You gave him the perfect excuse to suggest to Allen that we go home."

  "Nonsense," I argued. "You said Allen told you to go home before lunch. I was back there after lunch started." It was possible that Dan had run straight to Allen after seeing me, but I doubt they had waited for that excuse to send Turbo home.

  "You shouldn't have been fixing it at all," Turbo said.

  "Come on, Turbo, that's ridiculous. The guy sees me fix a single hard drive and tells Allen to send you back? Gimme a break. He didn't have the right to do that anyway."

  Turbo shrugged. "No, but he had the excuse ready just in case anyone asked."

  "And you asked?"

  "Not him," Turbo assured me. "I did some investigating."

  I rolled my eyes. "Sally? Or one of the other guys?"

  "Don't you have to go to staff?"

  I glanced at my watch again. "I'm going to ask Sally. I bet she told you what Allen said about getting the tickets."

  "It wasn't Sally." He sniffed. "Be nice to the guys in staff, Sedona. You need them on your side, even Dan. You never know who might approach you for a deal."

  "I am not putting up with ass-grabbing." I walked out the door ahead of him. "And brown-nosing would be too obvious, right?"

  Turbo glared at me.

  Apparently, I should have considered the brown-nosing strategy. Strongly. Gary's staff consisted of Dan Thorton, Allen Perry, Patrick Toll, and Ross Canton. Ross was the marketing and program manager. Patrick was like Allen and myself; a technical-type manager. Dan had to be satisfied with being a finance expert since his people skills were in the Neanderthal camp. I'd worked with them all before, but I was the newbie on the block and the only woman.

  I did not fit in.

  "I think the conference went well," Gary started out in a self-congratulatory tone.

  "Absolutely," Ross agreed. His head was rectangular, a little like Frankenstein without the knobs on the side. It didn't help that he kept his hair ultra short on the sides, but topped with longer, wavy brown locks. A tuft or two was often sticking up because he frequently ran his fingers though it. He talked in rapid-fire bullet points as he flicked copies of data across the table. "Check this out. So far the new sales total one point five percent better than we expected. I'm working with the team to get the new projects scheduled."

  Looking down at the sheets, I dared ask, "Who, uh, is going to handle new projects?"

  "Not a problem," Ross said heartily, straightening his tie.

  I refrained from pointing out that his projects were chronically late. He always excused schedule problems by saying the customer added requirements as the project wore on. I was usually privy to the customer requests, and I could state unequivocally that new requests were not the problem.

  The spinning of his tall tale began as he ran down the project names. The sheets had less than half the information actually needed in order to scope the work and time required to do the job. Ross had taken the liberty of filling in a "completed by" date anyway.

  "Has Turbo seen this? Or Paul?" I asked. I knew they hadn't, but what was the point in sitting here if I couldn't point out a few of the injustices that I suffered down in the ranks?

  "Sure."

  An out and out lie. Turbo would have marked this up in so much red ink the Feds wouldn't have been able to read the original with their best microscope. "Oh, that's great. I'm surprised Turbo didn't mention the P&R project. My special team is booked on that through August or September. I'll check with him and make sure he gets back to you."

  See now, a smart man would have let it go. But Ross was a spinner, not a thin
ker. "I'm sure your group can handle both of these projects in that time frame."

  The old fart put it back on me as the failure. "Not a problem. We can handle those two without suffering any quality problems. Patrick, I assume your group will be taking over Mamba?"

  Patrick drew his beetle-black eyebrows into an ominous line. "Uh…" he glared and peered over his impressive eyebrows, looking for a victim. There was no one lower on the totem pole besides me, and since I was the one to toss the assignment his way, I was no longer available.

  "And these next three…" I ran down the sheets. "What are your plans for those? We'd love to help, especially on the one you coded as Treker." I flipped the page. "I think my team could help here after September."

  Ross stared at me with his mouth open. "We've already told the customer these dates," he sputtered. "Look." He grabbed the sheet from me. "Let me show you how this can work."

  I lost track of what he was saying, but he counted October at least six times in the next five minutes, and I'm pretty certain he invented months, he just didn't give them actual names.

  Gary's frown got steadily darker. "This doesn't sound like it is going to work. I want you guys to meet and have a new schedule for me next week."

  Ridiculous. I huffed out with the rest of them, not saying another word.

  Back in my office, I started my desktop, but there was no mouse. "Argh." It had been missing since the move. I went into the lab to try and find it.

  "Hey Tam, have you seen my mouse?"

  He looked up blankly. He had a network card in one hand and a piece of casing in the other. "No, do you need me to order you one? How about one of those wireless ones?" He set the casing down and zipped over to a row of catalogs. He flipped through one of them. "It won't work well on a laptop because they are radio controlled, but if it is for your desktop, well, these are the best." He showed me a picture. "It's kind of expensive…"

  "Over a hundred dollars? You've got to be kidding."

  He grinned. "Ah, comeon! You're an important boss now. You gotta look the part."