by John Oakes
"But pinching ass is their culture," Tagg said. "You're asking them to change culture?"
"Culture? When did you get so worldly? It's plain bad for business. How about that?"
"I don't see how making our guests happy is bad for business," Tagg replied.
"What about our employees?"
"If they don't like it, we can replace them."
Cody's mouth hung open for a moment, and he shook his head. "That's not what I meant. It isn't fair to ask people to endure that."
Tagg took on the professorial demeanor he used when he had to be bothered to explain what he felt were the ABCs of business. "It's merely a matter of finding those willing to serve our guests, and cutting those who aren't."
"Willing to serve?" Cody waved a hand. "That isn't service! That's degrading!"
"Jesus," Tagg said. "You have had your critics, haven't you?"
"You mean the hack job in the news? Yeah. Among many others."
"So, others found what you do distasteful, but you didn't see it that way."
"No, I don't."
"So how is your distaste over this matter any different from their distaste at your business as a whole?"
That made Cody stop and think for a bit.
"Listen, you just can't do that in America," he responded. "You can't grab peoples asses willy-nilly! It's harassment, maybe even assault."
Tagg laughed and shook his head. "You can do it," he said emphatically. "People do it at bars, on buses. What is legal and what is enforced are two very different things. Business is often done in these...these gray zones."
Tagg sat back and interlaced his fingers in his lap. Cody for the first time noticed his suit. It was also gray, and to his admittedly unfashionable eye, it was the most elegant business suit he'd ever seen. Tagg wore it like he deserved it.
Cody looked back up at Tagg. "Gray zones? That's just a fancy way of saying illegal and immoral."
"Cody, how can I help you?" Tagg asked with an air of frustration. "You ask me to help you sort out a cultural misunderstanding, and I'm telling you have nothing to worry about."
Cody was incredulous. "Well, for starters, you can help me find a way to tell our Japanese friends to keep their hands off my employees."
"Our employees," Tagg said gravely.
That was maybe true, technically, but it was a distinction Tagg had never sought to make before.
"And how will I tell them?" Tagg asked. "Do I look fucking Oriental to you? And even if I spoke their clap-trap, how would I tell every guest that comes after these ones leave?"
"You know business. They know business. Isn't there some sort of international lingo, some common understanding?"
Tagg, thought on that, squinting an eye.
Cody continued. "Maybe we can put up signs in Japanese. 'No touching' or something."
Tagg shook his head with a smile. "This will serve no good."
"Well, phrase it however you want. Can't you think how we can tell them in an appropriate way, or figure out how to help me make them stop? 'Cause I will just punch out the next one who lays an unwanted hand on anyone."
"Fine, fine, Lancelot. Get off your white steed. I'll see what I can do."
Tagg's sudden acquiescence made Cody feel a little ashamed for getting so hot under the collar. He left Tagg, amazed at how far they seemed to have come. He hadn't been called a shit stain at any point in the conversation. Tagg seemed like a very reasonable man when it came to business. But that was also the problem. He didn't give two licks what went on there, just so long as he got his money in the end.
After a week without anyone getting goosed, Cody called from the administrative suite and thanked Tagg for doing whatever he had done to curb the groping.
"Oh, no trouble," Tagg said, the noise of traffic in the background. "I merely explained that, in your eyes, it's dishonorable for them to fondle your property."
"You told them the staff were my property?"
"Not property, but a possession."
"A possession?"
"A possession," Tagg repeated.
Cody forced himself to return to placid calm, not rising to the bait, whether it was intended or not.
"These employees are not my possessions."
"Whatever you like to tell yourself. You wanted help. I helped. If you're smart you'll tell the same thing to the next group that comes in."
Cody paced the length of his pool house living room, from the patio doors to the kitchen, back and forth.
"That guy is a slimy fucker. I'm telling you guys." Cody put his hands on his head in exasperation. He, Jason and Ricky were back in the pool house in San Antonio for the first time in ages. Cody had needed to get away from Midget Island 3000 to clear his head. But Jason was being less than helpful. And Ricky was quiet and brooding, the way he had been quite often since Grampa died.
"Oh come on, Cody. You always get like this," Jason said. "You get into conspiracy mode and you think everyone is out to getcha."
"Well that's because I'm gullible sometimes and I know it, I admit to that...and then I get burned by folks like him. So I'm trying not to be so danged gullible is all."
"I never liked the smell of him," Ricky added.
"You see!" Cody gestured to Ricky emphatically with both arms. "Ricky saw what he was like at that wedding. Goddam maniac. I'm so stupid. I never should have gotten into business with him."
"Doesn't matter now!" Jason said. "You need to find a way to work with him."
"You see! That's just it!" Cody said, exasperated. "He knew. Grampa knew this would happen. He knew I'd have to get into bed with a Tagg type eventually. And now I'm in over my head. So tell me, Rick. You mighta known Gramps better than I did. Why the hell did he force me into this?"
Ricky's mouth hung open for a moment.
"I can't say," Ricky said with a tinge of distress in his voice.
"Well you're in it Cody. You're in it." Jason leaned forward at the table. "So find a way to make it work. Maybe that is what your grandpa wanted you to learn...how to deal with these people. You gotta compromise."
"If there is one thing that my grandfather was definitely not trying to teach me, it's how to compromise."
"Fine Cody, but goddam, welcome to the real world. And do I have to say it?" Jason looked between Ricky and Cody. "I guess so. Your Grampa was not that good a businessman. He hired people to keep LMO well-managed, and that worked for a time, but by the time he handed it over to Leroy, things were floundering. Bruce said that himself."
Cody looked up. No one ever criticized his grandfather like that, certainly not his friends.
"I'm sorry if it's too soon Cody," Jason said in softer tones. "But if your grandpa wanted you to make a business that can be worth a million bucks, trying to be like him is not the way you wanna go about it."
Ricky shifted his weight from side to side uncomfortably.
"The man you want to emulate is your dad. Leroy is cold and analytical."
Cody looked to get Ricky's opinion. Ricky tilted his head from one side and to the other, showing Cody he didn't completely disagree or agree with Jason's statement. But he didn't seem willing to elaborate.
"Then how did Grampa do everything he did?" Cody shot back to Jason. "Leroy was handed a huge company. He didn't build it from nothing. It just don't make sense to say Bruce Latour wasn't a good businessman. I thought you've idolized him since college precisely because he was a tycoon."
"I have idolized him. Shit, I grieve over the man, too, Cody. I wanna emulate him in so many ways. But every time I go to try and make a decision about business, I can't think what he'd do. You know why? Because I don't think Bruce knew what he was doing most of the time."
Cody reflected on that, and surprisingly couldn't object.
"I ain't saying the man had no sense, but...but..." Jason searched for words. "The man also had a certain flair. That's what really set him apart. It made up for a multitude of sins."
"You saying I don't have flair?"
Cody just scowled, put his straw to his mouth and drank in protest.
"Now, we've made it this far via a series of odd events, many of which fall under the category of dumb, stupid luck. Businessmen go their whole lives without hitting this sort of streak of growth, fair winds and calm seas. Between that and the Unabomber over here and his Armageddon locker, we've gotten this far. But realize how fortunate it is, how lucky we were to run into Tagg. I mean the guy appeared out of thin air, the moment we needed him! Maybe this is divinely-ordained or something, but not even God is gonna be able to help you if you look gift horses in the mouth all the time. You gotta compromise with Tagg."
"So, what do I do then?" Cody asked honestly. "How do I compromise and still keep this place from getting away from me? From losing its humanity?"
"Well, that's a good question," Jason said. He sat his chin on his fist.
"Maybe you shouldn't include that slick Willy in the process," Ricky said.
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "Maybe stop trying to control the guest's behavior and control the employees."
"Dude, I've been saying, I don't want to force people to act a certain way. I can't be the morality police."
"Well, can't you just come up with a list of offenses with the staff and put it to a vote? Like democracy and all?"
Chapter Thirty-Six
Democracy and All
Cody looked out over the small crowd gathered in the common room of the workers' dorms. The dorms were not as nice as the guest suites, but they were clean and comfortable and, most of all, free. The common room was no different, furnished with three couches, a foosball table with the legs cut down, a smattering of chairs, a couple TVs and a fireplace. 28 employees were strewn about this room, most sitting, and all had their gazes pinned to Cody as he read aloud.
"...Lastly, there will be no touching of guests, unless there is an emergency situation. There'll be no sexual or romantic contact with guests. All physical contact guests make with you, welcomed or otherwise, must be reported to management immediately. There will be no nudity that guests can see. Y'all can run around in your birthday suits in here as much as you like though."
The crowd chuckled.
"And lastly, no receiving tips or taking gifts."
Cody looked up. "This would be the suggested list of rules. Let's go ahead and get your thoughts now."
People began looking around, feeling the pulse of the room. Cody saw a few nods and shrugs of assent.
"Why can't we take tips?" someone asked.
"Gratuity can still be taken by reception upon payment," Winton said. He was perched next to Cody on a bar stool in front of the dorm kitchen. "It'll be distributed by hours worked during the stay of that guest or party. But this rule is important to catch all the ways money could change hands in payment for disreputable services."
"But who defines what's 'disreputable'?" Ace asked. Ace had performed at Cowboys' stadium, and the very first Tiny Tacklers show, way back in the Fall. He loved working with his hands, so he floated between maintenance and groundskeeping when he wasn't gunslinger Ace McCullough in the Old West.
"The idea is," Cody said, "if no one takes money for anything except doing their normal jobs, then we're pretty much in the clear. That way we wouldn't need to make a big dumb list of what not to do."
"But I think, even if we all decide that is best," Winton said, "we still need to decide as a group where the line is. What can we do to hopefully prevent this safe haven from becoming something unhealthy, just another Medieval Adventure or far worse."
"But why make all these rules in the first place?" Jerell asked. "It's like you are accusing us of...of what? Being whores?" Jerell, an obese black man who worked at the front desk with Glen, threw his meaty arms out to either side.
"Whoa, whoa." Cody held two hands up to Jerell.
"Like anyone's gonna pay you for sex," someone said, sparking laughter around the room.
"No, Jerell, no one is accusing you of that," Winton said. "Ok, for instance, we had an issue with two people who shall remain nameless who wanted to make a quick buck, so they allowed two guests to put their feet on them like footstools. Hell, I'd be tempted to make quick money by demeaning myself. Frankly, I have. The winter I dressed as one of Santa's Little Helpers to make rent makes me way more depressed than the thought of being a footstool. Either way, that's my right. But I won't do that here. Same as I don't want any of you to either."
A confused grumble came from the crowd.
"It's a free country," Ace said. "Why can't I do what I want?"
"No one is asking you not to," Winton said. "I'm asking you to want something bigger than yourself. What is the point of Midget Island if we can't use our autonomy to raise the standard of our treatment? This is a team effort. The things we do under this roof have an impact on everyone else here. Agreed?"
Winton paused a moment to let the thought sink in.
"Self-determination means it's within our rights to live any way we want, and yes, that includes anything. But if we start taking money for things past a certain line, we will spark a negative feedback loop, a race to the bottom, if you will. Trust me when I say that the magic of this place will die if we don't shepherd it. That is our responsibility that we have to balance with our autonomy. Every time you get down and act like a foot stool, it's sending the message that our performances, our service and hospitality to our guests, isn't enough. We have to know that we're good enough. We're worthy of fair pay for honest work and no pressure to do anything out of the norm. We're worthy of high esteem."
A pensive hush filled the room.
"What do we want? What are we comfortable with? Where is that line between exercising our freedom and preserving our humanity and decency? Where is the line between safe haven and menagerie? Listen, we have a lot of fun here. We love costumes and merriment, singing and dancing. We're pretty silly, and we like that. No one is saying we shouldn't continue having a ball here. So let's just get down to the business of deciding on a few rules that will keep us out of trouble."
"Yeah!" someone shouted out.
"No leprechauns!"
"No elves!"
"Hey, I like elves."
"Not the Legolas kind. The Santa's little helpers, I mean."
"I love Santa!"
"Okay, okay, everyone, wait your turn." Winton calmed the group.
"What's to stop someone from doing this stuff anyway?" Ace asked.
"Well, once we vote on this, these become binding policies. Doing one of these things will be considered an offense like stealing or other misconduct, punishable up to and including termination."
A silence dipped over the room. But it was soon swept away by a rush of suggestions from the crowd. For the next half hour, Winton and Cody worked at a whiteboard taking notes, as each potential rule was debated. And when it was clear there were no more questions, Winton brought out a wooden box with a hole cut into the top. Each employee passed by, grabbing either a white or black marble and dropping it into the box, white for a yea on the staff-chosen code of conduct, black for nay.
The summer continued to move by with its oppressive heat and bugs. But Cody could at least rest in the knowledge that Midget Island 3000 had survived its first true test. What a mistake it had been to ever ask Tagg for help. Cody had been desperate, true. But now he saw that in any given situation, Tagg would always pursue money at any cost. Cody wouldn't make the mistake of willingly including him in management decisions again.
So it was with no small sense of satisfaction that on Tagg's next visit to the Island, Cody handed Tagg a booklet entitled, "Employee Code of Conduct".
Tagg sat in one of the chairs opposite Cody's desk.
"These are our new binding policies approved unanimously by the staff
."
Tagg frowned over the document. "I see."
"So anyone found interacting with guests in a way I deem inappropriate based on these rules, can and will be punished."
"You say that these were voted on?"
"Yes. I couldn't enforce them in good conscience if the staff weren't on board."
"Well, then this is not valid."
"Excuse me?"
"Not all of the employees of this resort got to vote. I for one was not informed a vote was happening."
"But you are a VP."
"Am I not an employee of sorts?"
"I'm not sure about that. Even if you were one, it would still be you vs. 28."
"But that doesn't take into account staff members I've hired."
"What's that now?" Cody leaned an ear toward Tagg.
"I have a staff of marketers in the Philippines. They make promotional materials for the resort in Japan."
Cody could not believe his ears. "No way. I don't believe you."
"I'll show you the papers tomorrow."
"How many do you have?"
"Well, I could be wrong, but I do believe we employ 29 Filipinos."
Cody stared silently at Tagg, seeing only a placid expression looking back at him. Cody was convinced, however, that he could see laughter behind those still, dark eyes.
"What the fuck, Tagg?"
"Well Cody, I've heard some unpleasant grumblings lately. Our more regular guests have come to expect a certain level of hospitality that I hear has been diminished."
"If you mean that they aren't getting away with sexual harassment, then yeah."
"But you see, going and putting such heavy language on it doesn't help anyone. Our suppliers, if you will, the account execs who send us all these guests, they are especially unhappy that we are...restricting their guests."
"So you are really going to fight me on this?"
"Fight you? You'll know when I'm fighting you. I'm simply holding a position."
"Well, I am the President. Maybe I'll just fire anyone who does anything below board."
"This will help divide your tribe. Won't it? There will be those who obey you and those who don't."