Alice was supposed to have a late lunch with Lydia, Percy and Petra after sorting out some details with Sammy at the Lyston dispensary. Sammy had decided she wanted to get out of the big city, so she was working there full time now and loving it. Alice was looking forward to seeing her but even that didn’t lighten Alice’s apprehension or reticence about the day generally. She doubted that the lunch would be very well-digested.
Lydia was always unfathomably positive. Or willfully blind. Even back when the state had threatened to pull the company’s registration, Lydia was unperturbed and waxing on about how wonderfully CannRose was doing. It didn’t help that her suggestions were mostly met with open-mouthed bewilderment. People found her ridiculous and yet her money kept CannRose afloat. From Alice’s perspective the woman was surrounded by vultures, scorpions and a slew of assorted parasites. At least with that new Guido guy around she wouldn’t be the lone cash cow anymore. Not that Alice liked him much at all.
As Alice drove, she contemplated responsibility, integrity and loyalty. And there was the greater good to consider. She tried her best to convince herself that Lydia’s exploitation by all was none of her business. Marijuana was helping a lot of people — maybe not enough to pay the bills of the company — but if Lydia was as wealthy as rumored, then what of it? It would make no difference in Lydia’s life, but it was making a big difference to others. Maybe that was what Lydia wanted all along. Who knew really? Alice had little insight into the motivations of the moneyed and privileged. But no sooner had Alice persuaded herself that all was as it should be than misgivings about her own complicity crept in and put her stomach in knots.
#
The late lunch was attended by only the three women. The grow facility was in the middle of a harvest and Percy’s QA skills were required to keep the paperwork straight.
“Have you noticed this industry is mostly men?” Lydia piped up. “I went to that big cannabis conference in San Francisco and there was a seminar specially for company owners and CEOs. I was the only woman in the room.”
“Well it’s mostly white too. Try being the only Black person in the room as well as the only woman.”
“Did they ask you to make the coffee?” Petra popped a piece of cheese in her mouth and smiled at Alice.
“It wasn’t quite that bad. It was a while ago, for the drugstore business actually. They were all pretty uncomfortable. They had a mission statement from a few years before with all sorts of references to affirmative action. Just had to take a look around the room to see how well all that was going.”
Petra tsked. Then she took another gulp of her wine and reached for a second piece of cheese.
Lydia was eyeing the cheese too but then clearly thought better of it. “But why do you think men are dominating the marijuana industry? White men in particular. The plants are female. Most farmers in the world are women.”
“Look at the start-up costs, Lydia,” Alice said. “I know class is an uncomfortable word, right up there with racism, but there it is. Plus the politics of marijuana have never done Black people any favors. And that’s putting it mildly. As for male dominance . . .” Alice shook her head.
“Take subsistence farming out of the equation, you got bigger agriculture. That’s very male. And corporations get in there,” Petra said, waving her wineglass. She was feeling pretty good. “Greed takes over. Men have a much easier time manifesting their greed. Women usually get punished for it.”
“They’re supposed to be selfless. Didn’t you know that? Women are the life-givers,” Alice said, batting her eyes.
They laughed.
“I hear women prefer their abusive partners stoned rather than drunk,” Petra said. “And sometimes stoned rather than sober.”
“I can believe that,” Alice said.
Petra waved her wineglass more vigorously. “Did you know that cannabinoids interact with animal reproductive systems, suppress sperm production and can lead to pregnancy failure? So if you could get the world stoned more often, maybe we could slow the population growth.”
They all laughed. And then Lydia leaned forward and said, “So really, Petra, you think the medical marijuana business is about greed? We’re not doing very well if that’s the case.”
“The boys are bankin’ on the future, Lydia. Buds and bonuses.” Petra helped herself to some more wine.
“I’m glad you brought this up,” Alice said, her tone becoming serious. Then she looked intently at Lydia. “The sales I’m seeing barely cover my costs. This company is going to bleed to death. Something big needs to change.”
Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “You know I don’t make most of the decisions. And there’s a cap on my investment now, but Guido has already been a big help. He says we can aim for a five-year turnaround. He’s very committed. And I think he’d be happy just to see the company break even.”
“You might want to watch that, Lydia. He is a fiddler,” Petra announced, realizing she’d consumed too much lunchtime Chardonnay by that point. “And so was Nero.” She belched rather loudly, and the three of them started to laugh again.
PART NINE
Harvesting
Squandering Reapers! A dervish demurs at your repose. We loved life too. Consider that as the scythe swings. Consider our mission all spent. No mercy is your mercy. We loved hope. We saw the sky and the twelve heavens. Now we pay rent. We felt exaltation and tasted pure light. We bring our soul to the years coming in and to the earth. You want gummy bears. Our distance grows and you harvest mileage. Consider our love as the blades flash in the light of limits. Blades made by midgets and stumblers. Consider this for a minute. One. If you can.
from Cannto VII, Cannabidadas
Chapter 42
“The DOH won’t allow it.” Percy stood looking out the QA office window at the unrelenting gray day. Rain had been drizzling the whole morning. And this was the second round of this discussion.
“What do you mean the DOH won’t allow it?” Caldwell found Percy’s detachment incomprehensible. CannRose had produced its best crop yet. The buds were big, dense, beautiful. Dried like a dream. Perfect. And the THC concentration was coming in at a whopping thirty-three and a half percent. It was premium bud. They hadn’t even had to irradiate it. Caldwell had been overjoyed. Proud like a new dad! Now Percy was telling him they’d have to lose it. Mill it with something else! Sell it to one of the other dispensaries for extract because Stoyan was still validating! This was craziness. Caldwell was having none of it.
Percy turned briefly to look at Caldwell, who’d taken over the one chair in the office. “You can’t sell cannabis products with that profile,” Percy said. “The THC is unfortunately just too high.” He was not unsympathetic. It was a spectacular crop. Everything had worked. No mechanical breakdowns. No fertilizer screw-ups. No humidity issues. No yeast or mold counts to speak of. Stellar really. But the DOH was the DOH, and it had recently issued THC-concentration limits on all products sold.
“The DOH doesn’t control the plants,” Caldwell said, jutting out his chin.
“No.” Percy turned back to stare out the window. It was best to let Caldwell get to the other side of the tantrum before discussing what to actually do about the matter.
“They don’t control the product,” Caldwell continued, his voice rising.
“No. They don’t.”
“And they certainly don’t control this company!”
“No, they just take the offending product off the shelves, and, if we do sell any, make us do a recall.” Percy didn’t have to look to know that the veins on Caldwell’s forehead were bulging.
“I don’t care! We’re selling it anyway. In fact we’re selling it as premium product. The CannRose Premium line!”
“You might consider we’re still on probation,” Percy said, watching a couple of birds fluffed up against the rain and perched on the sumacs. “Some people at the DOH are just looking for another reason to pull the registration, you know.”
“T
hey wouldn’t pull it over that!” Caldwell almost laughed — the idea was ridiculous.
“Have you met Ms. Ligner? Our delightfully officious inspector is on a mission. I think she’d like nothing better than to see CannRose dead in the water.”
“Well screw that,” Caldwell stormed. “We’ll threaten to sue them again! This time we’ll do it. We’ll sue the goddamn DOH.” Caldwell raked the hair off his reddening forehead. “And we’ll win.”
Percy sighed. “But they still won’t allow the sale. It’s in the regs.”
“I know the code inside out, and nowhere does it give concentration limits for THC.” Caldwell figured Percy was siding with the incompetent know-nothing teenage inspector. Another tiny miserable person trying to thwart the CannRose vision.
“It’s in the commissioner’s letter,” Percy said. “Talk to Alice if you don’t believe me. She’s not going to put it on the shelves.” And then Percy began to explain it all again. In the interest of public safety, the state reserved the right to issue amendments to the code at any time. Percy had received official notice three months ago that no trimmed dried flowers or derivative products, including tinctures, oils, creams, capsules or suppositories containing more than twenty-five percent THC could be sold. There was also a looming issue with the plant growth hormones because they would concentrate in the extracts. CannRose should take note.
Caldwell’s exasperation tended to encourage Percy. So he launched into more explanation about the growth hormone issue. “The state will inevitably set specifications, Caldwell. They’re bound to be stringent and they might not be so easily attained given the current cultivation practices, especially when you consider—”
Caldwell’s phone jingled. He got up from the chair, gave one last annoyed glance at Percy and left the room to answer the call.
Petra came waltzing in. She looked outrageously happy these days. Percy didn’t want to think about it. He’d only had to spend a few minutes in that lab to know what was going on. And the last time he’d been in there, Sanjay had winked at him. Again! The saucy tramp. He wouldn’t tell Gavin about how compelling a little hussy he was — not yet anyway. Percy leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “What can I do for you, Petra?”
“I thought you might need a little cheering up. You know after old buggerlugs there got through chewing you out for doing your job.”
“I could do without his toddler tendencies. Then again, I’d like to see him try putting that stuff on the shelves.”
“Wonder what kind of a hissy fit the DOH would throw . . .”
“He’d never get it past Alice. That’s the fireworks I’d like to see. He does have a point though, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. There’s no proof whatsoever concentrations like that are universally harmful. What if thirty-three percent is the perfect dosage for some condition? Honestly, between the DOH tying our hands and feet at every turn and Caldwell tilting at windmills, I’m surprised we function at all. Tell me, Petra, why do any of us stay?”
“I’m kind of off in my corner there, Percy. I work on stuff Caldwell doesn’t pretend to understand. I have to hand that to him at least.”
“The man does not tolerate instruction nor abide even the most moderate directives. He dismisses almost everything I tell him.”
“I wouldn’t take it too much to heart.”
“Speaking of hearts, I think he’s putting on weight. And he’s looking pasty. I don’t think he exercises either. And he’s that age, you know.”
“Oh, you’re in a much more hopeful mood than I thought you’d be. Good for you!”
“Yes. Good for me.”
Chapter 43
Cassie and Joe’s opinion of Damian grew worse every day. When cultivation was going well, they were able to ignore the master grower. But not when there were issues, like right now. One of the flower rooms was infested with thrips, small flat insects. They were a sinister group, even with only a left mandible — the right one was reabsorbed during the embryonic stage — and they had a second pair of jaws that worked like vacuum pumps sucking the life out of plants until the young leaves curled in disfigurement. Some thrips delighted in floral tissues, and like a Typhoid Mary of the plant world, would pass on diseases to the plants. Their trajectory on the dark side began early; the larvae were diabolically red-eyed.
Cassie and Joe blamed Damian and his stressful growing practices, which made the plants more susceptible to herbivory by tiny demons. And they didn’t hide their contempt for the master grower. The more they familiarized themselves with marijuana-grow culture, the more they were convinced of his incompetence. He seemed to gravitate toward the most unsound and blatantly dumb practices going. In effect they’d decided Damian was a fraud with no right to be making the money he made or even influencing the show, never mind running it. They openly challenged him at every opportunity and kept up their private log — the one that documented all the stupid decisions Damian made and the even more outrageous pronouncements and snap changes directed by Caldwell.
And then they showed their logbook to Lorne. The production manager grimaced at the entries and suggested they keep it under their hat a while longer. Things could change quickly. He’d noticed that seemed to be the nature of the cannabis industry and he’d smiled at them with composed assurance. As for the thrips, they just kept multiplying.
It all came to a head in the potting room. Cassie was taking samples and measuring the pH for a new lot of grow media. She’d airily remarked to Damian that she wasn’t at all surprised the primary flushing procedures he’d used for the Alabama Blitz had resulted in the lowest yield yet. The head grower from Condor Rush, the most successful outfit in the West, had told her that amateurs often had difficulty with both timing and duration for most techniques. Cassie went on to mention Damian might want to reconsider his drought strategies too, since Javier Corvidez, the legendary West Coast pot guru, had told her just last Saturday that thrips are best thwarted by misting.
Damian just stood there. His head began twitching with sharp little forward movements. His jaw clamped and the tendons on his neck bulged. He picked up a trowel, clenching his fist around the handle until his knuckles went white.
Cassie continued smiling and working, not looking at him, and pointing out that he shouldn’t be too hard on himself since there were probably a lot worse things than amateurism, and besides it was probably unavoidable given his lifetime of smoking homegrown second-class weed.
Suddenly Damian took one long step toward her and stabbed the trowel into the table where the probe had been lying just an instant before, and Cassie’s hand right next to it.
Cassie jumped back. “What the fuck!” The metal went deep enough into the tabletop that the trowel stood vertically on its own and vibrated. “Asshole!” she screamed at him.
That did it. Joe seemed to come out of nowhere. He jumped Damian from behind and rode him piggyback with an arm tight around his neck. With his free hand he kept smacking Damian on the side of his head. After a few seconds of this, with Damian spinning around trying to throw him off, the master grower dropped and rolled, bashing Joe into the table legs to disengage him. Then Damian lifted himself, climbed on top of Joe and started punching him in the face.
Cassie looked around wildly as if she was going to scream but didn’t know who to scream to. Her eyes lit upon the pH probe. Her movement was swift. She gripped the probe, her face contorted with indignation and rage. She ran at Damian. In a move that looked to have been perfected in some bowling alley in hell, she swooped in low and stabbed him.
“You fucking cunt!” Damian screamed. He reached around, pulled out the probe and turned to face her, holding it up to her as she towered over him. “I’m gonna have you locked up,” he hissed. “And then I’m gonna sue your ass for every last fucking penny.”
“It was well aimed,” Sanjay said later. He’d heard the crashing in the potting room and went to take a look. “Very resoundingly, in the right buttock.”
; Chapter 44
“How come there’s just two of us here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Won’t take that long.”
“These buds are fire, bro.”
“Frosty femmes!”
“Thirsty ladies! Gonna be lit AF.”
The two young devotees put their earbuds back in to listen to their music as they trimmed. They hummed along from time to time and smiled at each new plant as they came to it. Eventually the flower-room door opened and the third young man entered, somewhat breathless and excited. The two who were working each took out one earbud.
“Yo, bro! Where you been?”
“Yeah. We’re like Gucci on this trimming.”
“High key! They finally had it out. Big fight!”
“Who?”
“Who else, Perennial Shade Throwers.”
“Who won?”
“Whoever was loudest, bro. And they’ll be at it again tomorrow.”
“No, brobes. They were talkin’ fists. Catchin’ hands!”
“What? Seriously?”
“Right on the potting-room floor.”
“Shit! You see it?”
“No. Got there after. There was a crowd. Everybody was freaking.”
“So who won?”
“I don’t know. Ernie said Cassie rammed a pH probe up Damian’s ass!”
The Buds Are Calling Page 21
