Carl grunted. ‘Small dicks.’
Lena choked.
Just then Bulldog walked in. For an awful moment, Lena thought he might have heard what Carl had said. But he gave no indication. In fact, he gave no indication of any emotion at all, simply holding out his hand to Carl, who rose peevishly to take it.
‘I apologise for the wait.’
In these few seconds when his attention was engaged, Lena allowed herself to examine him. He looked different. Maybe it was because the last two times she’d spoken to him he’d been in casual clothes. His face seemed more set, the glint in his eyes a little harder, his jawline a bit tighter. He also hadn’t shaved.
And Bulldog always shaved.
‘No problem,’ Carl lied gruffly at his apology. Bulldog then extended his hand to Gavin and finally to Lena.
Lena tried not to make too much of the brief contact but found herself analysing every millisecond of it. His fingers were warm and firm. His shake, controlled. But his eyes were cool. Too cool.
I guess he still hasn’t forgiven me for the insult I dealt him in the laundry.
Bulldog’s mouth twisted into something that could not be described as a smile and Lena felt the sting of him telling her off all over again. She withdrew her hand before he completed the shake and sat down.
Carl and Gavin, who were still standing, each cast her a confused look before following suit. Bulldog sat down also, laying a black diary and a few data sheets on the table. Her indiscretion had not fazed him in the slightest. He was straight down to business; all client; all boss. Though they were both managers, he had a presence that poor Carl could never hope to compete with. They had the same level of power and responsibility, but Bulldog held the room.
‘I didn’t know Ms Todd would be joining us.’ He looked directly at her, his gaze measured and a little accusatory. ‘Is there a reason for your presence?’
‘I had an idea for the skid that –’
‘Yes, Mike told me.’
Lena stopped. ‘Mike?’
‘Yes.’ Bulldog folded his arms. ‘He happened to be at the end of the wharf at the same time I was this morning.’
Happened to be? Lena digested this with annoyance. Mike’s job was on the skid: he never just happened to be at the end of the wharf.
‘Well, I don’t know what he told you,’ she began, ‘but this new concept I’ve come up with could improve our progress speed –’
‘Not if you’re taking men off the skid.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Mike told me your idea involves taking men off the skid to fabricate a new platform. That’s going to slow us down.’
It was clear. Mike had completely sabotaged her. Bulldog’s distrust of the scheme was as plain as the mulish bend of his mouth. Mike had no doubt loaded him with as many negative views about the platform as possible.
She tried to inject a note of calm rationale into her voice. ‘Fabrication will slow us down temporarily but in the long term we’ll be better for it.’
‘If the men take to your new system easily. That will take leadership.’
What is he saying? That I can’t lead them?
He didn’t explain himself further, however, just stared at her as though waiting to be confirmed or denied. Lena licked her lips and pulled her sketch out of her file. ‘I understand that. I have a sketch of my design. If you’ll –’
‘Your design?’ Bulldog’s long fingers rubbed his stubble, the sound of flicking bristles immediately conjuring images of white sheets, streaming sunshine and hot coffee.
Man! Where did that come from?
With iron effort Lena pulled her mind back to the office as he held out his hand.
‘Let me see.’
With relief she passed it to him. Finally, she was making some headway.
‘It looks too light.’
Or not.
Lena lifted her chin confidently. ‘I designed it to be light. We need something that can be moved with manpower.’
‘Yes but are the members strong enough?’ He scratched his chin. Again the sound of bristles distracted her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she almost missed his next question.
‘What grade of steel are you using?’
‘Huh? I mean 450MPa.’
He frowned. ‘You’ll definitely need to specify that more clearly. Will these sizes work for 250 or 350 grade?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, then you’ll need to find out.’ His tone was impatient. He turned to Carl.
‘Has anyone checked this?’
‘I haven’t had time to crunch her numbers,’ Carl returned. ‘But I am confident that Lena –’
Bulldog interrupted him. ‘Lena is a graduate. I want someone chartered to check this.’
Would anyone ever believe in her? The helplessness of her case made her snap, a little more viciously than necessary. ‘It’s just a simple platform, not the Empire State Building.’
His blue orbs stabbed hers. Lena felt their impact like a bolt of lightning. ‘Every design on this project is important, especially one that concerns the safe working environment of our men.’
His voice was so intense, it was like he’d reached inside her chest, grabbed her heart in his fist and squeezed.
Carl remained unaffected. ‘We don’t have a fuckin’ chartered design engineer on site. Fuck. If you need someone other than me to check this, we’ll have to send it back to the city. It’ll be a two-week turnaround at the fuckin’ least. Do you really want such a fuckin’ fuss over a little platform?’
There was a weighty pause, as Bulldog again looked from Carl to Lena and then back again. Expression had once more withdrawn from his face. Finally he spoke but it wasn’t about the project.
‘Carl, can you please watch your language?’ He looked at Lena again without smiling. ‘There are . . .’ he paused perceptibly as if the point were up for contention, ‘ladies present.’
Here we go.
He might as well have lit a stick of dynamite. No one criticised Carl’s language. It just wasn’t done. Everyone just accepted that ‘fuck’ was a part of his vocabulary and got on with life. He probably couldn’t stop saying it if he tried.
Lena glanced at her boss to examine the effect of Bulldog’s words. It was almost comical. All he needed was puffs of steam to blow from his ears to round off the image of suppressed rage. Bulldog had just made an enemy for life.
As Carl’s expression turned from fury to pain, Lena realised that the only reason he hadn’t said anything yet was because of the ‘client is always right’ policy touted by Barnes Inc top management. She waited with bated breath.
‘I apologise, Lena.’ The words were squeezed from him.
‘Oh, there’s no need –’ Lena began in haste but Bulldog interrupted her.
‘There will be men working on that platform, twelve hours a day, perhaps lugging heavy equipment on and off it. I want to know this platform’s limits.’
‘I am happy to do up a formal report, detailing safe working loads for different scenarios,’ Lena suggested.
Bulldog’s enigmatic gaze flicked over her again. His long tanned fingers drummed impatiently on the desk like they were plucking her nerves, one by one. ‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘But I want Carl’s signature on this and a copy of the calcs before fabrication. I’ll check it myself.’
‘Fine,’ Lena said stiffly and Carl nodded. She took her sketch back and put it in her file. So much for impressing him. Why did he always make her feel like she was nothing more than a splinter he couldn’t get out?
They heard the rumble of a truck outside as it passed the window. The loud noise did nothing to defuse the tension in the room.
Bulldog drew his hands together on the desktop, a
s though gathering forces for a new assault. ‘I suppose you’re all aware as to the real reason why I called this meeting today?’
We are?
Lena was dismayed: Carl hadn’t briefed her. She thought they had called the meeting. Clearly not.
Carl opened his notebook. ‘I’m assuming you wish to discuss the progress of the project.’
‘What progress?’ Bulldog retorted. ‘There is none. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were going backwards.’
Lena winced. Bulldog’s eyes passed to Gavin, who moved uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Piling is fifteen per cent behind the skid.’
‘The hammer broke down last week. But we’re back on schedule now,’ Gavin tried to reassure him.
‘Not quite.’ Bulldog shook his head. ‘Where’s your deck engineer? I thought he was coming to this meeting too.’
‘He got stuck in town talking to suppliers.’
‘Still treading water, I see.’ In exasperation, he turned back to Carl, who was pulling at the collar of his shirt. ‘What about the trusses?’
‘They haven’t arrived yet.’
‘They should be in the yard by now.’
‘And they will be,’ Carl sat up confidently, ‘by the end of the week at the latest.’
‘By the end of the week,’ Bulldog’s eyes glittered dangerously, ‘you’ll be twenty per cent behind on that front as well. This is not acceptable.’
Carl’s fingers curled into fists against the desk. Lena could tell the effort to stop himself from swearing was a considerable strain. She intervened to buy him time.
‘There has been improvement, but catching up will take time. You can’t expect it to be instantaneous.’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I can,’ Bulldog fired at her.
‘And how do you expect us to pull off this f– this miracle?’ Carl demanded.
‘You can put on a night shift.’
Lena and her colleagues gasped and Carl just couldn’t help himself. ‘Fuck that!’
Bulldog’s eyes narrowed upon him until finally, tight-lipped, Carl turned to Lena. ‘I apologise.’
She swallowed under the furious apology and refrained from comment. Carl turned back to Bulldog after visibly taking a breath. ‘Putting on a night shift will be an extremely expensive operation. Especially if you don’t mean to compensate us for the logistics of setting it all up.’
‘It’s my right to see this project completed on time,’ Bulldog stated firmly. ‘And you have a duty to make sure you live up to our contract.’ He shrugged. ‘The ball is in your court.’
Carl’s control slipped a notch. ‘Well, I don’t appear to have much of a fuckin’ choice, do I?’ he said and then, without even looking at her, ‘Sorry, Lena.’
When Bulldog said nothing to confirm or deny this, Carl’s fury only seemed to heighten. ‘A night shift isn’t going to fuckin’ happen over-fuckin’-night with half the fuckin’ town already working on this fucked-up job anyway. Sorry, Lena. Who knows where we’re going to get a fuckin’ night-shift workforce? Sorry, Lena. This fuckin’ idea is going to take up time I can’t fuckin’ spare! Sorry, Lena. And let me tell you, you can’t do every-fuckin’-thing in the fuckin’ dark! Lighting is going to cost the fuckin’ earth. Shit! Even you should fuckin’ know that!’ He paused to draw breath. Then he turned back to Lena, but she held up a hand, trying to wipe the grin off her face.
‘I know,’ she nodded, ‘you’re sorry.’
‘More fuckin’ sorry than you fuckin’ know,’ Carl growled at her.
Lena chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
‘Well, it’s the solution that we’re demanding,’ Bulldog said. ‘Cyclone season is coming and we need to stay on target as much as possible. If you don’t consider this request, you will be compensating us for delays.’ He stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’
And then just like that, he left them still reeling from the aftermath of the bomb he’d just dropped.
‘I can’t believe how badly that meeting just went,’ Lena said as she closed her file.
‘It wasn’t a meeting. We didn’t discuss anything. We just got told.’ Gavin shook his head.
‘Look,’ Lena injected some confidence she didn’t feel into her voice, ‘we can turn this around, we just need a few smart moves.’
‘Night shift! Fuck!’ said Carl.
Lena could see the receptionist craning her neck with an effort to see what they were still doing in the meeting room. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we should go. We can’t discuss strategy here, of all places.’
Carl suddenly seemed to remember where he was. ‘Fuck no!’
It was about twelve-thirty when Lena, Carl and Gavin got back to the Barnes Inc offices. They were just in time to see some boilermakers and scaffolders exiting the lunch room.
‘Hey there, Fabio, can I have your autograph?’
There was a lot of wolf-whistling and jeering going on. Only this time it wasn’t directed at Lena or Sharon. Lena watched the commotion with satisfaction. From the centre of the crowd, Biro and Fieldmouse emerged. They made their way towards the bus, trying to avoid their peers as they jumped on their backs and ruffled their hair.
‘Show us some skin, baby!’
Fieldmouse gave Lena a pained expression as he scurried past, looking more like a twitchy rodent than ever. He jumped on the bus and raced to the back. Lena chuckled.
‘Never thought you’d double-cross us like that, Madame E,’ Biro threw at her, pushing a hand away from his butt. The sound of loud slurpy kisses filled the air.
‘Fabio’s trying it on, Madame E!’
The heckling laughter escalated.
‘It was a thank you,’ Lena said in a low voice only Biro could hear. ‘For telling everyone about the gym.’
He reddened, but immediately tried to shift blame. ‘That wasn’t my idea. It was –’
‘I don’t care whose idea it was,’ Lena said firmly. ‘Don’t ever do something like that to me again.’
‘All right, all right,’ he said and jumped onto the bus, followed by his group of loud admirers. Sharon winked at Lena from the wheel and then shut the bus door so she could drive them back to the wharf.
‘You’ve got the boys fuckin’ toeing the line, I see,’ Carl shot at Lena. ‘Can’t you work some of that magic on Bulldog?’
A hot flush rose up her neck but luckily he’d already turned to go and didn’t notice. As he made for the office Gavin joined her. ‘You know,’ he said, scratching the back of his head, ‘if some of the boys are giving you a hard time, I don’t mind having a word with them for you.’
‘I doubt it would make a difference.’ Lena shrugged. ‘Let me handle it my way.’
‘I’m sure you will, Madame E.’ Gavin grinned. ‘Say, what are you doing on Friday?’
‘Friday?’ Lena gazed wistfully into the horizon. ‘Same as any other day. Working. Missing home. Dreaming about a dust-free environment.’
‘Some of my guys were thinking of going to a pub in Point Samson for a drink after work. I thought it was a good idea. Why don’t you come with?’
Her first thought was Sharon. It was the scenario they’d been waiting for. Alcohol, a moonlit night, the possible chance that Sharon and Gavin could connect.
‘Sure,’ Lena said, ‘I’ll tell Sharon. We’ll be there.’
‘Sharon?’ He stilled. ‘Yeah. Sure. ’Course.’
Lena rubbed her hands together as he headed back towards the office.
Brilliant!
Lena’s first priority the next day was to give Mike a piece of her mind. At eight am, Sharon dropped her off at the skid and she climbed the ladder to the deck. He was located in his usual position with his hands tucked behind his back, staring out to sea.
Lena often wondered what Mike was thinking about in these quiet moments. He seemed like such a lonely man. Not many people on site liked him. He turned suddenly and glared at her. All sympathy evaporated. It was plain that he knew why she was there and wasn’t in the least bit sorry for it.
Lena felt her lips tighten. ‘I know what you did, Mike.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Play dumb if you like, but I just wanted to let you know that your plan backfired.’ She walked towards him cheerfully. ‘Not only is the platform still going ahead but Carl’s giving me some extra men to fabricate it, so we don’t slow anything down.’
Mike’s expression got even grimmer than usual.
‘Thanks to your well-timed comments,’ Lena continued, ‘Carl’s decided to let me employ a subcontractor.’ It was true. She’d spoken to Carl about it before going home the night before.
Mike shrugged. ‘Thanks to my comments, not yours.’
Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe he was actually trying to take credit for the success of her idea. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You said it yourself.’
If violence wasn’t against company policy, Lena would have hit him at that point. While she contemplated what her other non-physical options were, a shout rang out over their heads.
‘Roo!!’
Roo? What the –? Whales she could understand. But this was absurd.
Lena stopped glaring at Mike and looked at Fieldmouse, who was jumping up and down and pointing landwards.
As if on cue, the radio on Mike’s shoulder started beeping. ‘Mike! There’s a giant red heading right for ya.’
Mike and Lena raced to join Fieldmouse at the railing and they all looked down the jetty. Sure enough, there it was, bounding towards them at a startling pace. Its long tail flew out a metre or more behind as it ate up the ground. Although it was still at least half a kilometre away, Lena could tell it had to be at least six feet tall – its leaps were almost that high.
‘Shit,’ said Mike.
‘Fuck,’ said Fieldmouse.
‘Oh crap,’ said Lena.
The Girl in Steel-Capped Boots Page 12