Luggalor's Lenses

by W. S. Fuller

  “Yeah, maybe a couple of months ago. She’s a features editor now, has a regular column with a byline.”

  “You think she’s still unhappy with that attorney she’s going with?”

  “I don’t know. After what I told you she said a year or so ago, she hasn’t said anything about it the last time few times I’ve seen her. They’re still together though.”

  “Well, I’d better go. I haven’t even told my parents I’ve got to go back early.”

  They stood and shook hands, holding their grasp and each other’s eyes while they spoke.

  It was great to see you, John. You take care of yourself, O.K.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try. It was great seeing you too. Maybe when I get home again we’ll have time for a few more beers.” John broke into an easy smile and hoped his friend understood what he was feeling.

  “Is there any place I can write to you?”

  “Yeah, my folks will have the address. If you see Shawn, tell her her old buddy sure would appreciate a letter while he’s eating beanie weenies in the sand.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Take it easy.” John turned and walked to his car.

  2012

  ASPEN, COLORADO

  The van moved slowly through the thin air up the steep, winding, narrow driveway. One final switchback and a contemporary palace filled the windshield. The massive structure’s stone, timber and glass architecture was stunning, and matched in impact by the magnificent backdrop of the Maroon Bells, the jagged, alp like rock peaks that rise above the town of Aspen.

  As the vehicle rolled to a stop under the massive port-au-cashare, they were met by a large man, chest and arm muscles bulging under his tight, long sleeve knit shirt, wearing an earpiece and wire reminiscent of the Secret Service and elite security services. He held a wand that would scan the two men and two women, the van and all its contents.

  The security check took at least fifteen minutes, and Li looked away when the wand passed over the metal case containing the set of large, stainless steel carving knives. The metallic clink of the clasps being opened sharpened his focus…on appearing nonchalant…not turning…or moving. He didn’t relax until he heard the top of the case fall back into place and the clasp closed.

  Enormous wooden beams and curved, decorative timbers formed a spectacular framework for the luxurious leather furniture, Native American rugs, Remington bronzes and western art that filled the main living area. As they walked toward the kitchen Li calculated quickly and guessed two thousand square feet for the space. Then they stepped into another six hundred square feet of industrial strength kitchen, separated from the great room by only two of the massive beams.

  It took a number of trips to the van to unload all the containers and coolers of food, alcohol, and cooking utensils. An hour later they were set up and ready to put together the first meal, which would be dinner that evening. Tomorrow there would be three full meals, including an outdoor barbecue, and then only breakfast the following morning. Li removed the cutlery set from the box, slipped the largest knife under his apron when no one was looking, then made sure he had the sharpener and tiny tool in his pocket. Once inside the wash room just off the kitchen, he quickly pried one half of the large, thick black handle away from the stainless steel shaft. Inside the hollowed out piece of ebony was the tiny camera and recorder, no larger than a small, narrow box of promotional matches. Nestled against the steel shaft, it had been safe from the eyes of the giant’s security wand. Within seconds the knife’s handle had been reassembled, the camera pushed deep inside Li’s under shorts, and the knife hidden again for its return to the cutlery set.

  The guests started to arrive in the early afternoon, and by 5:00 p.m. were all on the immense timber and slate deck, where cocktails and hors d’ouevres were being served. Considering corporate or private jets had delivered each of them, such a coordinated arrival from so many different locations at the somewhat remote enclave of Aspen was not surprising. It was a crystal clear late summer’s afternoon, and as the sun dropped toward the mountain peaks and ridges, a lovely green gold patina flooded the forests and rock faces of the Maroon Bells.

  Carlton Abrams was the CEO of one of the country’s two largest oil companies, and Bradley Opperman led the other. James Stafford headed up America’s only surviving major automobile manufacturer, Mark Silverstein was the CEO of the nation’s largest bank, and Gary Shipman helmed the largest insurance conglomerate. Robert Quigley had just been appointed CEO of a major defense contractor, and Steven Gall directed the largest energy conglomerate. Martin Ravenwine headed up one of the nation’s largest hedge funds, and owned the palace where these titans of finance and industry were gathered.

  As Li passed among the men, taking drink orders, he tried to listen to the individual conversations, but only for himself. They were cordial, mostly social in context. Questions and comments about family, second, third or fourth homes, golf, hunting, fishing, skiing, travel, and other interests and pursuits common to the planet’s male elite.

  Dinner was served in the large, rustic dining room, at a round table fashioned from an enormous tree trunk that Li guessed could have seated the majority of King Arthur’s knights. He had arranged to be the server that would constantly hover around the group, whether to keep all the water and wine glasses filled, or to take orders for anything on the whim of any of those assembled. During the second course, an elegant salad of greens, fruit and exotic nuts, the conversation turned to the purpose of the gathering.

  “We’re in a mess gentlemen, and we can’t miss any chance to have an effect on the outcome of the election. The American free enterprise system cannot stand even one more year of what we’ve been through for the past twelve.” Martin Ravenwine had a booming baritone of a voice, and his eyes flashed with fierce intensity as he spoke. Li’s thumb moved deftly and discreetly to activate the tiny camera and recorder hidden in the folds of his starched collar and coat. “All our cherished traditions of individual initiative, entrepreneurship and incentive linked to profitability have been under lethal attack, and if we don’t launch an effective counter-offensive it’s going to be too late. Global warming, the green revolution, government health care, higher taxes, restrictions on the financial sector, redistribution of wealth…it’s going to destroy everything we believe in…everything that allowed each of us to accomplish what we have. Your thoughts, please.”

  “As the economy has strengthened and gas prices have dropped, there’s less interest in alternative fuel sources. We’re even seeing signs SUVs, big luxury and muscle cars are getting popular again,” James Stafford said. “We will have to keep the P.R. going with hybrid, electric concept cars and R&D on fuel efficiency and batteries, but with friends in the White House and congress we might be able to make the kind of profits we used to see when everyone wanted something big and brawny, and we could give it to them.”

  Steven Gall chimed in as he twirled a glass holding a Rothschild vintage Bordeaux. “The taxes to pay for all the R&D and implementation of alternate energy, even the national grid that gets so much attention…well, the reality of the tax increases and their effect on Joe-Bag-O-Doughnuts cash flow is sinking in. I agree. If we can get the right guy in the White House and a majority in one or both houses, the time is right to turn back the clock to a better business environment and see significant profits again,”

  Ravenwine’s voice again filled the room. “We can get this done if we spend tonight and tomorrow exploring our best options. As we had hoped, and suspected, after the recession’s witch hunt for CEOs and money guys like me, we’re beginning to see some loosening of the restrictions and structure that made so much political hay. The folks who know how the world really works and how critical reward is to risk have renewed influence. The rain delay could be over if we can orchestrate this. If we can find the right candidate…make sure we get enough money to them…and put together the strategy and ads that will turn people against this goddamned liberal agenda…” His inten
sity was constant, fierce, even though his body language was relaxed as he leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed.

  “Credit markets aren’t getting the scrutiny they were. The tide does seem to be changing toward less protection for investors and more chances to make money for those who lend it, sell it, or bet on it. There’s an excitement building in the banking industry for potential profits and compensation that hasn’t been there for a while.” Mark Silverstein spoke in a soft, authoritative voice. “We all know when things get better, time goes by, people forget.

  Become risk takers again. We’ve got to continue loosening the restrictions, the oversight, that inhibits the chance for big time profits and compensation that has always driven our system…and has been responsible for the incredible growth and success of the Republic in the relative heartbeat of time comprising our history.”

  “The drug and insurance industries would share your optimism if we can get the next installment of health care reform defeated. They got too much last time, and if everyone has guaranteed coverage and the government is running a good part of it, we’re in real trouble. I’ll do all I can to help elect anyone who will put the health care industry back in the hands of the market and the private sector,” Gary Shipman said, joining the freewheeling discussion. “Reforms have been killing profitability.”

  Ravenwine’s bright blue eyes came to rest on Robert Quigley, seated on the opposite side of the table. “Robert, do you think you could start building profitable weapons systems again if we end up with a defense secretary who doesn’t always question how much the military really needs what it asks for?”

  “I was hoping I could sit quietly and listen this evening…so I could be assured of staying and enjoying the company and fantastic food for another day. I’m going to be the devil’s advocate in this discussion.” As Quigley finished his sentence, Li sensed all eyes around the table narrowed at once.

  “I like to make money for myself and our stockholders as much as any of you, but I haven’t heard one mention of the larger, critical problems we face, and what those of us around this table can do to affect solutions. Just the same concerns with profits and compensation. Given our power and profiles, we’re in a position, gentlemen, to affect changes that will do some real good in a world that desperately needs it. And the irony – after we’ve had to bite the bullet for a while during the transition – we’ll be back to substantial profits with new products and technologies, and they will be sustainable. Not temporary…until the price of oil rises and we’re forced to once again to confront the same problems we never put our best efforts into solving.”

  “I’m listening, Robert. Go on,” James Stafford spoke with a flat, hard voice.

  “Jim, there’s no industry that could lead by example better than yours. You’re right, the American people’s infatuation with cars and status means that many of them will buy vehicles they can’t afford and use gas we shouldn’t be burning. And your profits will rise. But only for a time. Throwing all your weight and resources behind developing batteries and natural gas systems that would relieve our dependence on oil and all the problems that entails… and if you are first, with the best electric cars…then that hallowed American tradition of innovative and quality products will allow you to be highly profitable…well into the future. There are tremendous profits to be realized in the alternate energy industry. It’s the next great commercial revolution…like the computer industry…and the online industry. It may offer more opportunity than either. Trillions of dollars in profits. We just have to bite the bullet for a while through a transition in the goals we set for running our businesses.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell us what these new goals should be.” Ravenwine’s voice now had an edge.

  “Simple in principal. The big issues…the problems that are a fact…environmental degradation, dependence on foreign oil, poverty, health care…we all know what they are. If our decisions regarding the direction our companies take…the products and services we bring to the market…are informed as much by how they will contribute to solutions to these problems as they are by profitability…we’ll make a tremendous contribution outside of the bottom line. We don’t need government to beat the free enterprise system out of enormous profit potential by taking on the innovation and new technology associated with these emerging markets. We should be solving these problems, and making a tidy profit in the balance. But it will require us to think about the common good as much as profits…whatever our real motivation. This devil’s advocate isn’t going to harp on moral responsibility. Just a longer vision that will assure sustainable profits…and a better world…for our grandchildren.”

  “And what brought on this sea-change in your thinking, Robert? We’ve talked on a number of occasions, and I don’t remember this kind of philanthropic, world view.”

  “Not only philanthropy, Martin. I’m talking about using the best minds and the best economic system in the world to solve the world’s major problems. With the same profit incentive that has made this country the only surviving superpower. Sure, I’ve been thinking for some time that I want to be known for something other than making money and questionable products, and how critical it is to find solutions to the major issues. And I finally realized that using my position to help and making money need not be exclusive of each other…that I can be most effective if I do both.”

  “What you’re proposing means years of lower profits, and dividends, and compensation,” Carlton Abrams said, joining the conversation for the first time. “And even higher taxes.”

  “True. But we’re talking about relative numbers. Stockholders will have to be educated to the necessity and potential of contributing to the common good while at the same time planning for sustained growth and profits well into the future. And we’ll all have to settle for a bit less. Higher taxes are a fact if we’re to pay what’s needed for solutions while keeping the deficit out of the stratosphere, but if we can ever get a handle on wasteful spending and political pork, they won’t be have to be that much higher. If taxes buy real value, and people are educated as to what’s needed, they will accept the cost,” Robert said as he shifted his glance to Ravenwine. “Martin, if you concentrate your lending and investments on innovative companies and products in the alternative energy industry, you may only make $50 million for a few years instead of $100 million…but you’ll make $50 million.” The money manager did not look amused. Robert smiled broadly. “Come on…we can all get by on a bit less through the transition. Maybe even forever…if we’re really doing some good.”

  “Epiphany comes to mind here. Is there anything that put you over the edge on this?” Gary Shipman’s voice was the first that had an open edge of sarcasm.

  “The kids I suppose. I’ve got two very bright college students. They keep asking me why anything that could help with solutions to our major problems seems to be anathema to the business community and politicians known for supporting business leaders. They keep telling me that paying more taxes if it’s necessary to right the ship…cutting profits in the short run if it will help… shouldn’t piss off so many capitalists. When your kids tell you that your contributions to the world community and its issues are as important as those to yourself and your company…how are you going to argue?”

  Robert continued. “My daughter gave me a quote I can’t get out of my mind. It’s from the philosopher Theodor Adorno. “The conversion of all questions of truth into questions of power…has attacked the very heart of the distinction between true and false.”

  The main course, featuring bison steaks and king crab, was served. Their was initial silence around the table, then a forced conversation about the local ranch that provided the thick slabs of grilled buffalo that were on their plates. Robert knew his words elicited no support, only condemnation. Might be a long couple of days.

  Even the brightest humans can be so stubborn…so intractable in their views. Even if the truth is right in front of them. The filters on thei
r lens prejudice so many of their thoughts. I, Luggalor.

  2012

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

  “And now it gives me the greatest pleasure imaginable to introduce to you the most Honorable Representative to the United States Congress, our own Jennifer Stark Baker.”

  The applause erupted, engulfed her, and the thrill of its stunning intensity coursed like a charge through her body. Shrill whistles and screams of ‘yeah’ and ‘all riiight’ pierced the din. It went on and on...no one seemed interested in sitting down. She waved and smiled, finally moved the few steps to the podium and started to adjust the microphone, then heard the rhythmic stomping of feet and. “Jen ni fer...Jen ni fer...Jen ni fer.” Tears welled in her eyes. Stepping back, she started waving again, buying time to compose herself, but also to take in and revel in each moment of the scene.

  After the applause finally subsided, she stepped forward and began to speak, “Thank you.”

  It began again. “Jen ni fer...Je ni fer.” She smiled broadly and shook her head. After a few more moments of the chant she tried again. “Please, please, you are much too kind. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  Again the crowd erupted, but this time their volume quickly subsided…then became quiet enough for her to start. “President Holland, members of the executive council and esteemed members of the world’s most important profession...” She was interrupted by another deafening roar that seemed louder than anything she had heard so far. Again she waited.

  “I cannot possibly express to you what a thrill it is for me to stand here before you. There is no doubt in my mind that each and every one of you are what made the difference, that you are the real reason I am now a member of the United States Congress, and I’m here to thank you and tell you this is one congresswoman who’s not going to let you down.” More applause…whistles… applause.