The Right Kind of Stupid

by John Oakes

  "They already agreed to it."

  "But it isn't binding now, according to your own democratic principles. Unless you choose to make it so by your authority and not theirs."

  "Well then maybe I will. Maybe that is what is best."

  "What then becomes of your 'happy good times buddy buddy' island?"

  "How will the staff here even know?"

  "Oh they'll find out."

  Cody felt jammed again by Tagg. If he rose to Tagg's bait, he would have to impose the rules by force, even if only in a technical sense. It was entirely his right from a business standpoint, but it was at odds with what Cody believed was the right way to operate the resort.

  "You know what your problem is?" Tagg asked. "You want people to like you. It's the greatest weakness known to man."

  "And why is that a bad thing?"

  "Because if you aren't willing to make enemies, you'll never get anything done. There's a reason businesses aren't run like a knitting circle. Your employees are competing for your resources as much as other businesses are. It's you or them. Every time."

  Remarkably, Cody found himself agreeing with Tagg's business logic, if not the attitude behind it. Tagg's mentality was a large part of what Cody had witnessed in the business world, and had actively avoided all these years. Maybe there were good bosses out there, who balanced the needs of the bottom line with the needs of employees, but they had to be few. Cody couldn't really become a "boss" to save the Island, or he wouldn't be able to be part of a community of friends anymore. He'd be in charge, and he'd be alone. He was tired of being alone. But if he didn't enforce the rules somehow, then what would become of the Island?

  Cody was trapped, but tried to stay as calm as possible and extricate himself from this conversation. His confused brain wouldn't let him win a war of wits with Tagg at the moment.

  "Listen, you just gotta decide," Tagg said standing. "Do you want to be a businessman or a shit stain?"

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Regina's Cabinet

  Cody got off the phone with Big Tex and sat down at his cherry wood desk. He wore a morose expression on his face, and was turning this way and that in his swivel chair. Winton knocked and entered. He asked what was the matter.

  Cody sighed. "Winton, this guy is too wily for me."

  Cody explained their interaction as best he could.

  "So," Cody concluded, "if Tagg presses the issue, and he will, everyone will know that we can't even set up some damn ground rules without making it a power struggle. It basically means we can't have enforceable rules through community decisions." Cody reached into his bottom drawer and removed a bottle and glasses. Winton took the cue to sit.

  "Well, there has still gotta be a way to keep everyone in line," Winton assured Cody. "People will know that we all agreed on this, Filipino workers or no."

  "I'm rapidly losing confidence in that notion." Cody poured two fingers for himself, and a smaller dram for Winton. Cody rocked back and replaced his feet on his desk. He sipped and then took half the glass down at once.

  He winced at the whiskey. "And I just got off the phone with Big Tex."

  "Oh yeah?" Winton said with surprise in his voice. "Were you getting his opinion?"

  "I have come to think of him as a valued advisor in all matters related to business. But..."

  "He told you to go pound sand?"

  "Not exactly. Tex is a good man. He just...he's been an account man for thirty years. He just doesn't think like I do about business."

  "What does that mean?" Winton took a careful sip, savoring it. "He's not a utopian trust fund kid like yourself?"

  "Pffff." Cody blew derisively. "I don't have a trust fund. I keep telling people."

  "Okay, how about, 'Cody Latour: Man of the People,' as I like to say?" Winton made a gesture with his hand across the sky.

  Cody chuckled. "I'd take that if it didn't make me sound like a slimy politician."

  "So what did Tex say exactly?"

  "He just told me what Jason would. Business is exchange and exchange is compromise. But he believed me that Tagg was probably a slimy bastard. Except that doesn't exactly seem to bother him either."

  "What were you hoping he'd say?"

  "I don't know. I was hoping he'd have some combination of ancient military strategy and homespun wisdom that would help me conquer all."

  "Tex seems good at heart, but this is business, Cody. He's trying to make a buck. Do you really think Tex would be upset if he knew about us being used as footstools willingly? Maybe. But he knows that sort of stuff would go over great with his clients."

  Winton fished his pill bottle out of his pants and rattled it softly.

  They were quiet for a moment.

  "Jonathan said you take those because of having surgeries?"

  Winton nodded with pursed lips, considering the orange plastic bottle. "I've had 12 surgeries over the years. Mostly on my hips and my left leg. My limp used to be a lot worse."

  "They're for pain or..."

  Winton nodded. "They're for pains, alright. All kinds."

  "I have a large pain in my ass right now. Think they'd help?"

  Winton tossed the pills onto the desk. "Knock yourself out kid. I don't want 'em."

  Winton leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach. "But word to the wise...don't take them with alcohol." He gave Cody a crooked smile.

  Cody considered that as he belted down the rest of his drink. "Yeah, I suppose so."

  "Cody, would it be so bad if we just imposed the policies on our own?"

  "Winton, I thought I explained. If I do that, if I put the hard sell on people, it would be like standing up in a canoe. There is a delicate balance I have to keep here. I can't become a slave driver."

  "Cody, you're the boss. It's ok. That's not what's happening here." Winton sipped at his drink. "You got some real deep-seated issues about this, don't you?"

  "Dammit Winton, if I'm the 'boss,'" Cody made air quotes, "then I can't be Cody anymore, not to these guys. I can't let business take my friends."

  Cody felt an unexpected wellspring of emotion at hearing his own words. He'd given up thinking there'd ever be a place for him in the world. And here it was, in living color.

  "It's not just about losing friends, Winton. It's something I can't let them take away from me. I don't rightly know what it is, but I won't let 'em take it."

  Winton chuckled. "You really think they're all out to get you."

  "What can I say?" Cody shrugged. "I'm one step from living underground with a tinfoil hat."

  Winton nodded his head slowly, looking down at his empty glass. He reached out and sent his glass sliding across the small part of Cody's desk that wasn't cluttered. "Hit me again big guy."

  Cody poured for the both of them.

  Winton took his glass back from Cody and stared into it for a while. "I get it, you know. I didn't grow up rich, but I grew up with expectations I could never meet." Winton took a thoughtful sip and leaned back. "My Dad was a cop. My brothers are cops. So, I always thought that I was disappointing everyone, just for being small, just for breathing."

  Winton took a sip.

  "Then one day I realized that my size was not the most important part of who I was. And the biggest reason for me not to be a cop was simply that it's just not me. I have no interest in it. If I were nine feet tall, I wouldn't be a cop. My family thinks it's 'cause I'm small. But I know it's 'cause I was born for bigger things."

  Winton looked at Cody and nodded once.

  "So what are you going to do?" Winton asked. "Got any of them Cody ideas?"

  "Who told you about that nonsense?"

  Winton just shrugged, smiled guiltily and winked as he took a sip.

  "Well, I am plum out of Cody ideas. We're in a fix now, and I don't see how this Tagg partnership ends well for the resort. If I fight Tagg on letting this place become a zoo, fight him with some sort of business maneuvering, I'll just lose. It'd be like challenging Michel Jordan to a sla
m dunk contest."

  "Yeah, utterly useless," Winton said. He breathed in and out through his nose in somber agreement.

  "Stupid me, I thought that having 51% ownership in the resort would give me some magic trump card to prevent this sort of thing. So naïve. So fucking dumb."

  "We could have him killed," Winton joked.

  "You aren't the first to suggest it. I bet Ace could be persuaded to kill for money."

  "We could tell Jean Baptiste that Tagg said his cooking sucked."

  "That might do it." Cody smiled and drank.

  "Nah, just give it time, Cody. Maybe it'll all work out."

  Over the next few weeks, Cody watched helplessly as the Island reverted back to chaos. Where before, Cody had been ignorant to the indulgences, now he was fully aware that he was losing the battle to keep things wholesome. He was aware also that Tagg had been to the Island when Cody was absent to encourage such behavior.

  Cody tried to look on the bright side. He had felt powerless many times in life. The key was to distract himself with the positives. The guests in the buffet lines grew more excited about new dishes that Jean Baptiste was developing for the Japanese palate. Glen even began giving Cody and Winton daily lessons in Japanese. Cody got to spend more quality time with Jason, too, which was nice since they'd been in different cities for half a year. The only problem was, half the time, coming to the Island was an excuse for Jason to meet up with girls in Houston he had met online.

  "I'm casting a wider net," he had said. "Plus, ever since I put 'resort owner' on my profile under 'occupation', my responses quadrupled."

  Cody was certain these must be real nice girls too. Jason was on the fast track to marrying a gal who would make his life a living hell. Thinking about that reminded Cody to give Monica a call. She was literally counting down the time until they could "be together."

  "Only 15 more weeks, Sugar." She had said on the phone. "And then I'm gonna rip you to pieces. Oh sorry. I just can't help it."

  To end the conversation, Cody had only to infer that he was becoming aroused from merely talking to her. She was so thoroughly neutralized now it was almost sad. But no, it was still hilarious. And it was just about the only thing that truly shined joy into Cody's troubled mind on a regular basis.

  Cody wondered if Monica had actually begun to deceive herself into thinking she really did like him. Probably not. Either way, come November, her rage at finding out he had duped her would snuff her loving feelings. Then again, her rage might be quelled when Kelly handed her a check for $42 million. So, Cody reminded himself to enjoy toying with her while he could. He found a devotional reading schedule online and sent it to her so they could "study the Word" together. He sent along a corresponding set of discussion questions that he had copied off of the internet for her to answer, after she read each day's verses. He, of course, had to reply too, but he just copied and pasted somewhat applicable blog comments as his responses, so he could avoid actually cracking open his Bible.

  It was the Belgian National Holiday, July 21st. So, Jean Baptiste had made a king's feast for lunch. Cody tried pâté for the first time. It tasted like cat food and he wasn't sure if it was sitting well with him. After lunch, he looked around the office for something to ease his stomach. There was nothing. So, Cody ventured downstairs across the lobby and down the east wing to the spa, where he hoped some sort of medical supplies would be kept.

  The girl at the front desk was a new massage therapist named Becky, one of the two they had hired a few weeks back, after heavy demand convinced Cody and Winton to get the spa up and running. They had a steam sauna, a dry sauna, a small swimming pool and a hot tub. But finding small, licensed massage therapists had been difficult. Tagg had used his networking clout to find them.

  Becky had just moved down from Austin, where she had been giving chair massages in a mall. Regina, the other therapist was off that day, back in Houston where she lived. Winton swore by massages for treating his joint issues. He had said Becky was better than Regina, but wasn't complaining in either case.

  "How's business today?" Cody asked Becky. The desk she sat behind came up to just above his knee.

  "I have a three o'clock, but it's been slow."

  Becky was remarkably pretty Cody noted again. "The guests really like the massages?" he asked.

  "They are very into it. A lot of massage technique incorporates Eastern views on medicine."

  "I had no idea."

  "Well, you should come in and see me sometime."

  "Maybe Winton will convince me."

  "Winton says I might be the best therapist he's ever had."

  "Well, he always seemed less grumpy for a couple days after he sees you, so I'll take your word for it."

  Cody's stomach turned again.

  "Say, I don't mean to be rude, but my stomach is doing somersaults. Do you guys keep any medicines or stuff like that in here?"

  "No," Becky said with a sympathetic wince. "I don't think so. But we could look around. Let me check and see if there is anything in the supply closet. You could go into Regina's room and see if she keeps anything in there."

  "She won't mind?"

  "I doubt she'll mind you stealing a couple antacids." Becky smiled.

  Cody stepped around the front desk and into an unlit room. Cody hit the light switch. A a massage table in the middle of the room came into view, sitting low to the ground. Cody moved around the table to a long counter top with supplies lined up on it. He opened the cupboards underneath and above and rifled through their contents. He found massage oils in different scents, towels, creams, lotions, even some rocks, for God knew what, but no medicines. Cody reached the last set of doors and saw a long padlock holding the two handles together. He tugged at the doors but they could only budge a little. Cody's stomach turned and he had to steady himself on the cabinets to keep from retching. He began to feel clammy.

  "I couldn't find anything in the...hey you ok? You really aren't feeling well are you?"

  Cody shook off the wave of nausea and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I've felt better. Fuckin' French cat food."

  "Did the chef make you eat snails or something?"

  "No, pâté. It was disgusting. Like ground up bologna and tuna in a paste that tastes like rancid ass."

  "It's goose liver. Pâté...it's made from goose livers."

  "Ah God don't tell me that." Cody slammed a hand to his mouth.

  "Sorry. Anything in here?"

  "Not in the others," he said into his hand. "But this one is locked. Probably where she would keep her shit."

  "Well, you are the boss. I'll break it if you want me too."

  "How can you break it?" Cody imagined Becky channeling chuck Norris and karate chopping it in half.

  Becky left and came back into the room with a fire extinguisher. "Make the call, chief."

  The thought of just throwing up sounded appealing, but then he would have to taste that awful stuff again. Cody nodded. Becky grabbed the nozzle with her right hand and held the large red canister with her left. The thing was so big Cody couldn't have gotten both hands around it. But Becky lifted it back above her head and brought the bottom edge crashing down on the lock. It clipped the hard, plastic dial, breaking it off the lock. She picked it up again and brought it swiftly back down striking the lock right where the hasp met the round metal lock. It broke and spun wildly until it dangled there helplessly.

  "Holy Shit. Are all masseuses that strong?"

  "Dynamite comes in small packages." She smiled and set the extinguisher down. "And I'm a massage therapist, sir. Not a masseuse."

  Becky removed the lock from the looping handles and opened the door. Cody hoped desperately to find something chalky and stomach settling.

  "Well, I finally understand why Regina gets more clients than me," said Becky pulling out a box of condoms. For a second, Cody stared dumbly at them.

  "Is that...are those...?"

  "They ain't finger puppets," Becky said with eyebrows raised.


  "Holy shit." said Cody, forgetting his stomach troubles.

  "When I was talking about Eastern massage, I wasn't talking about this." Becky pulled a large white bottle with Japanese lettering on it.

  "What is it? Like lube or something?"

  "Not exactly. It's nuru."

  "What the hell is nuru?" Cody asked sitting up onto a knee.

  "It's for nuru massage. It's a cool seaweed gel that you spread all over. It's kinda like icy hot without the hot."

  "Oh. Like all over your body?"

  "Yeah, and then, well, a nuru massage usually involves getting naked and rubbing your body all over the person. It's not exactly a legitimate therapeutic technique, but you can see the appeal. It's the type of thing that gave the word masseuse a bad connotation."

  Cody looked from the cabinet to Becky and back to the cabinet.

  "So what are you gonna do?" Becky waggled the nuru at him. He didn't respond at first, but then Becky waggled the condoms at him too.

  "What am I gonna do?" Cody asked himself. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

  "Regina?"

  "Tagg." Cody said as a cold fury built up within him.

  "Mother Fucking Tagg."

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Buy Out

  Cody saw Tagg's Mercedes pull down the circle drive as it had a dozen times before. Tagg wasted no time making his way up the wide stairs to the second floor and into the administrative suite. He knocked on the open door and Cody beckoned him inside. Cody stood to shake his hand, which Tagg accepted briefly. Cody went to sit and motioned at the chair across his cherry wood desk.

  Tagg remained standing. "I'll be brief," he said holding up a hand. "You recently fired Regina Torks."

  Cody sat back in his leather chair and let it swivel slightly to each side. He made no response.

  "Did you not?" Tagg was demanding that he respond, but Cody had made him form a question. A small victory.

  "I most certainly did," Cody informed Tagg. He tried to still the urge to drum his fingers nervously on the arm rests of his chair.