“We were just finishing up; I’ll be right with you, Mr. Owen.”
I shut the door, then spent the next five or 10 minutes walking around in the waiting room. I was too wound up to sit. Hopefully I didn’t cause too much of a stir in there.
Finally, Miss Planter opened the door and came into the receptionist/waiting area. I met her in the middle of the floor. “Why didn’t you call, Mr. Owen? What is it; what’s so important?”
“I wanted to tell you face-to-face, because I said you’d be the first person to know. I don’t trust phones anymore; you never know who might be listening in."
She shook her head, as though she was talking with a conspiracy theorist. “Okay, I’m listening. It’s lunchtime; I don’t have another appointment for an hour.”
“I don’t have time to eat with you; I wish I did. I’m headed up to the Lovely Chocolate Factory, and it’ll take a little time to drive in the middle of the day. I have a two o’clock appointment with the members of the board.”
“The board members at the Lovely Chocolate Factory? What on earth for?” she asked.
“I’ve got three minutes to talk to the board, hoping to convince them that Susan Lovely seeing Dr. Burke is not in the best interest of the company.”
“You hope to sway the board? How do you plan on doing that?”
“I hoped you could tell me. I have a few ideas, but this could use a woman’s touch. What would you recommend, or tell them?”
“Well, I…” Miss Planter was flustered, but also flattered that I had asked. I had come to have a respect for Miss Planter’s opinions and ideas. Maybe she could supply me some insight which might make a persuading point.
“I’ve had a lot of overstressed businessmen visit the office,” she said. “Unfortunately, the only thing that impresses their bosses and stockholders is money. How is the company doing?” she asked.
Asking how Lovely Chocolate was doing in Lovely was like asking how the Dallas Cowboys were doing while in Dallas. Everybody knows. I was surprised she didn’t, but I supposed her interests were her clients, or patients.
“This is one of the most in-demand chocolates on the globe,” I said, hoping to fill in the blanks. “Their stock is high, and they provide jobs for thousands. Everybody likes their product, if they can afford it. If you’re looking at this from a monetary standpoint, I’ve already taken that under consideration.”
“Do you know anything about the people sitting on the board of directors?” she asked. “What kind of people are they? Are they like you, with a faith reference? Are they moral men? Do they hold to a right and wrong?” Now she was making my wheels turn.
“It’s common knowledge that Cornelius Lovely was a man of faith; he may have been a Quaker, I believe. As for the board, I know nothing about them except the name of the chairman of the board, Mr. Hal Ostrander. I was finally able to reach him by phone, and he said I could speak before the board today. His work biography is listed on the internet, but I haven’t read it in depth, except that he’s spent his whole career with Lovely Chocolate.”
“Are there any women on the board?”
I hadn’t thought of that. What if there were women on the board? What difference would that make?
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I was thinking, perhaps if you played the family up, the ladies of the group would probably be persuaded to think about the children before the men got around to thinking about them. That sounds a little as though I’m assigning roles, but there are differences between men and women.”
“You’re saying that if I speak about the four Burke children, this will convince the ladies on the board?”
“That is my first thought, yes.”
“Thank you, Miss Planter. You’ve just given me useful information which I hope will be what I need to right a wrong situation.”
We stood there in the reception room for a moment. She looked as though she was expecting something, but I had nothing to give her. My goodness, it wouldn’t be anything for me just to lean over and kiss her face.
“I speak at two; I’ve got to go.” I turned to leave.
“Good luck!” I looked back at her, and grinned. “Oh, you don’t believe in luck, do you?” she said, correcting herself. “Well then, knock ‘em dead!”
“You’ve been a big help to me, Miss Planter. I wish you could come with me.”
“I wish I could go as well.”
This surprised me; I actually heard myself gasp. “But you’ve got an appointment, you’ll be helping somebody.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Miss Planter.” I left the reception room, walked down the hall, skipped the elevator, and took the stairs. On the walk down the steps to the parking lot, I was talking out loud and saying to myself, “She likes me. She likes me! She likes me!” putting emphasis on different words, and then I quit talking to myself suddenly when passing by the security guard, who was sitting at his station, who gave me a strange look.
The Lovely Chocolate Factory
I arrived at the huge company complex in plenty of time. The whole plant was built on a hill, known as Lovely Hill, on the north side of town, where it had plenty of room to expand on land it owned and maintained. I knew a little something about the layout since the company I worked for, Root and Bonham, had done business with Lovely, designing and installing drain ditches and pipes for their newer buildings. In the car, at the far end of the parking lot, I donned a wig, dark lenses, and a beard and mustache.
Outside the boardroom was a holding area with plush high-backed chairs, complete with leather cushions. Secretaries and receptionists were at their stations nearby, and made sure I was comfortable with drinks, cookies, and of course, chocolates. My stomach had became a wreck on the drive up to Lovely; I was walking into unfamiliar territory, and, not being much of a public speaker, felt like Daniel outside the Lions’ Den. “It’s only for three minutes,” I told myself, but those three minutes could make or break Helen’s family. I drank lots of water and had a few cookies, but didn’t think I could handle the chocolates. The secretaries must have thought I was important from the treatment they were giving me, or else everybody was treated as though they were important. I was used to hearing, “There’s the water fountain; help yourself.”
I watched the circular clocks and followed the second hand for about five minutes. At about a minute until 2 p.m., a receptionist came up to me and said, “Mr. Smith? The board is ready to see you.” I stood, and she opened the door to the boardroom, and walked me in. I expected her to introduce me, but the board meeting was already in session; they must have started early! Mr. Hal Ostrander, the board director, spoke first, saying, “It’s good to see you, Mr…. Smith. The board is interested in what you have to say. You may start speaking … now,” saying this while looking at his round, high-dollar watch.
I looked around the room for a moment and saw that all the board members, except for one, were men. The only woman was an older, matronly lady wearing a bright purple business outfit. I assumed she was wearing a dress, but couldn’t quite tell, since nobody stood up for me. I’d already used up 10 seconds.
I reminded myself I’d better get started. “Board members of the Lovely Chocolate Company, my name is John Smith, and I have come to you with an issue that may prove to be trouble for Lovely Chocolates.” Nobody moved or reacted after I said this. I did hear someone clear his throat.
“My concern is for the family of a man who is involved in an affair of the heart, with someone with whom you are closely tied. He is a married man with children, and has become closely linked with the granddaughter of Cornelius Lovely, Susan Lovely.”
At this time there was a little movement, a shuffling of the feet, a little stirring, but still nobody said anything. It was as though they were trying to stifle their reactions. I guessed that this was the way things were in the corporate business world, but I wouldn’t know for sure.
“My concern is for his family, a prominent f
amily in the community. If his family falls apart because of his involvement with Miss Lovely, his wife and children will suffer greatly. Where you and your company come in is … Lovely Chocolates has always had the reputation for being a family-friendly company. If news of Miss Lovely reaches the tabloids as being a factor in the break-up of a family, this would make poor publicity for Lovely Chocolates. Indeed, not only would its reputation suffer as a result, but quite possibly its stock and value and sales… and employees also, in the long run.”
There was more shuffling of feet. Some of the board members looked at one another. There were a little whispering and low murmurs among a few of them although I didn’t see who was talking. At this point, I was hoping for some questions, but nobody said anything. I figured my three minutes were just about up. I had to make this fast.
“I have a suggestion for the Lovely Chocolate board members, which is that you speak with Miss Lovely and ask her to stop seeing this man, so that he can resume his life with his wife and children, and so also there would be no ripples throughout the community involving the reputation of Lovely Chocolates.”
I figured that was about it; that was just about all I could do. All eyes were upon me, and you could hear a pin drop. To break the silence, I asked, “Are there any questions?”
“I have a question, Mr. Smith,” said a younger-looking board member, probably in his fifties. “What’s in it for you?”
“Nothing. Nothing is in it for me,” I said. “Just the two things I mentioned before, keeping a family together and keeping the name of Lovely Chocolates out of the mud.”
Another voice spoke up, but I didn’t see who asked; the lenses made it hard to see. It said, “So… this isn’t a blackmail situation? You don’t want money for this information, or money to keep a scandal out of the newspapers?”
“No.” I said. “I don’t want that.” I was almost embarrassed by it, but since they didn’t know me, it was a legitimate question.
The board was quiet until the lady in purple said, “Is Mr. Smith your real name?” She had a bit of a British accent.
I hesitated for a moment. I had lied my way in there, and if I said, “Yes,” this would be another, probably obvious lie. I wanted them to know I was telling the truth.
“No.”
Mr. Ostrander said, “Why did you lie about your name, Mr. Smith?”
“Because I wish to remain anonymous.”
The board members looked at one another, and with that, Mr. Ostrander said, “Thank you, Mr. Smith. That’s three minutes, as we agreed on earlier. If there are any issues concerning this information, I suppose you could contact us, since I assume you won’t be leaving your address.”
I was a bit startled, not knowing how board members handled themselves in powerful situations; I nodded and walked towards the door. That was it, no follow-up, no more questions, no more answers. I had failed, again.
Once outside the room, I looked around the waiting area. The secretaries and receptionists were busy working; it was as though I was never there. I walked out of that room and down a hallway, towards the parking lot where I had left my car, but the sickness of my pre-board jitters caught up to me. It was time to find the nearest men’s room. I looked up and down the hall, but there were no public facilities to be seen. I pushed open a door marked “Workroom Floor” and saw lots of workers in a huge, gymnasium-sized warehouse, working near conveyer belts and putting chocolate products in packages. I guessed that this was the end of the line for Lovely Chocolates; the next step was shipping.
Looking around in the warehouse/workroom floor, I saw a door marked “Men.” I headed in that general direction, trying not to look out of place, and pushed open the door, finding a locker-room environment just inside. I walked through the locker area and found the stalls off to the left. Fortunately, nobody else was in there, and I picked the middle stall.
I entered the little stall, got situated, and while getting comfortable, wondered if I had done the right thing. I had just tattled on a high-level society girl who owned most of the stock of the company, who was a billionaire-in-the-making, and who would one day soon be able to buy and sell people like me. Was it the right thing to do, to tattle? If she ever heard that I had sullied her name, and found out who I was, she would be able to hire an army of lawyers to have me tied up in court for years. Was it the proper thing to do, to ask the Lovely board of directors for help?
As I sat there pondering the fate of Dr. Burke’s children, I heard the restroom door open. It opened again; perhaps the fellow who just entered turned around to leave. Then I heard it open a third, and fourth, and a fifth time. There must have been a shift change; the fellows were probably getting to their lockers.
Then something strange began to happen. Feet appeared at the bottom of my stall, the stall that I was in. I heard someone jiggle the lock on the stall door, and thought, “What the heck?” There were empty stalls on either side of me with no one in them; why doesn’t he use one of them? Can’t he see the door is shut? I said, “It’s occupied,” but heard no reply. Then I heard the doors swing open to the other stalls around me, and then saw even more feet appearing as people walked into these stalls. That wouldn’t be unusual, but weren’t stalls meant for one person at a time? It got even weirder when I began seeing feet appear all around the bottom of my stall, and when I say all around, I mean all around! There were people lining my stall! There must have been four people to my right and five people to my left and three people in front of me, and all the feet were situated so that the faces that belonged to the feet were against the outside walls of my stall! All the feet were there, with toes inside my stall, with even more feet behind them. I was surrounded!
One of them knocked on the door.
I thought I’d try to use humor. I said, “I’ll be through in a minute!” hoping they weren’t the security police. I began to wonder if I had wandered into the wrong restroom, one on the workroom floor? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be in there; maybe there were some strict regulations about non-workers in workfloor restrooms. Perhaps someone noticed that I hadn’t been wearing a hairnet?
A voice with a slight accent said, “Take your time, Mr. Smith. We haff all day.” I felt instant panic; who would know I’m in here? Who would follow me? Who would watch me enter a restroom, and further, who would want to speak to me here?
I said, “What’s going on? Who are you people?” I looked at the shoes lining the stall and noticed that they were all different styles of footwear. Some were black, shiny and expensive, some were rough, dirty, workroom boots, and some of the shoes were covered with white coverings, the kind that painters put on before entering a house, so they don’t dirty up any carpets or floors. Above the different footwear were blue jeans, white work pants, and pinstriped dress pants.
One pair of shoes especially stood out, furthest to my left, as though they didn’t wish to be viewed but had to be in on the scene, were a pair of purple lady’s shoes, with older, wide ankles, since there were no hose, socks, or pantsuit. There was probably a purple dress in that ensemble, however.
I heard a voice say, “We’re all here; hit the lights.” The lights went out, and it was pitch dark.
“Hey!” was all I could say. I was getting a little more nervous at this point.
“Don’t worry, Mr. ‘Smith’,” the first voice said. “We’re not here to accost you. We just need a little information.”
“Information?” I said. “You need some information? Why don’t you turn the lights back on and ask me then?”
“This is to protect you, Senior Smith,” a South American voice said. “We know who you are, but obviously we don’t want you knowing who we are. We have lives to protect.”
“Well, I have a life to protect, my own! Who are you?” I tried not to sound nervous.
“Very well, Herr Schmidt. We will trade information, if that is acceptable to all?” The American accent was beginning to slip a bit more, being replaced with a German one, probably ea
st German; I heard the murmuring of approval among the out of sight group.
The east German cleared his throat and said, “We represent others who are very interested in the condition and profitability of the Lovely Chocolate Company, those who would to go great lengths to protect its good name to the public.”
I sat, still stunned. Someone heard me in the boardroom, after all! “Go on,” I said. “You have my attention.”
“You possess knowledge of the company heiress, Miss Susan Lovely, as being involved in some--- how would you put it, an illicit love affair?”
“Yes, I’ve said that. I said that just a few minutes ago--“ I clammed up. I didn’t want these people guessing that I knew some of them might be on the board.
“We wish to know the name of the man with whom Frauline, er, Miss Susan Lovely, is involved.”
These people were serious.
“Why? Why don’t you ask her?”
An Italian voice spoke up, saying, “It is not our practice to embarrass the one most important person in our company. If she didn’t like our probing, at this point she might possibly go to the airwaves saying that the chocolate company was interfering with her private business. That might ‘tilt the apple-cart,’ as you Americans like to put it.”
Americans? These guys were foreigners!
“Why don’t you have the board of directors deal with her?”
“The fools!” a woman’s voice said, trying to speak in a deeper tone like a man. “They don’t listen to anyone but themselves! They are fat, lazy, complacent, and cannot see into the future. Also, they are unaware of our existence, which works in our favor.” She sounded British, but that could be from a number of countries.
“Besides,” a Spanish-accented man’s voice said, “they don’t run the company---we do.”
“We?” I questioned.
“Herr ‘Schmidt’,” the east German said. “It is time for a trade. We have given you information, and now we require information in return. It is time for you to answer our question. What is the name of the man with whom Miss Lovely is having an affair?”
The Lovely Chocolate Mob Page 18