Marshall murmured, “Pleased to meet you,” as Grace put out her hand for shaking. I’m never sure how hard to shake another woman’s hand. Some prefer a light clasp, while others must work on their grip the way men do. Grace fell somewhere in between, no doubt appropriate for a businesswoman. “Do you both work at the mill?” she asked.
“We don’t live in Byerly,” I explained “We’re visiting from Boston. Didn’t I hear that you two were from up our way?”
She looked surprised, and I could almost see her recalculating our place in her plans. “Wellesley, actually.”
That figured. Wellesley was a lovely town, but it had a reputation for being highfalutin, and since some people moved there to be highfalutin themselves, the reputation stuck. “We’re in the Back Bay,” I said.
“So you’re not in the hosiery business?”
“No, Richard teaches at Boston College.”
“Economics? Business?” she asked hopefully.
“Shakespeare,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, and I could tell she was mentally filing him as someone she didn’t need to know. “And you, Laurie Anne?”
“Just Laura. I’m a programmer.”
She nodded politely, probably thinking that I wouldn’t be useful to her either, but Marshall perked up.
“What kind of programming do you do?” he asked.
“PC-based, mostly database management software. I work at GBS in Cambridge.”
“I’ve heard of you guys.”
“You do consulting, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I can’t seem to stick with one product—once it’s developed, I get bored.”
“What Marshall means is that his talents are wasted on day-to-day maintenance,” Grace said hurriedly, obviously trying to put a more positive spin on it for the Walters’ benefit.
Aunt Maggie broke in long enough to say, “I’ll catch up with you two later on,” and then wandered onto the field. Grace turned her attention to a mill supervisor who’d come up to speak to the Walters, and I could see that Richard was listening to their conversation.
“Have you been at GBS long?” Marshall asked me.
“Ever since college,” I said.
“Harvard?”
“No, that’s my husband’s alma mater. I went to the technical school across town.”
“M.I.T.,” he said approvingly. “I went to Harvard for computer science, but I would have loved to go to M.I.T.”
“Why didn’t you?” If his grades had been good enough to get him into Harvard, surely he could have gotten into M.I.T.
“Saunders men always go to Harvard,” he said wistfully.
“So how did you go from computers to management consultant?” I asked, hoping the question sounded light.
“My wife’s idea, actually,” he said, which didn’t surprise me. “I enjoyed the programming, but she saw that it wasn’t giving me enough scope, and that I could better apply what I’d learned as a consultant.”
“And now you’re an up-and-coming industrialist.”
“Grace’s idea again. She heard about Walters Mill, and saw it as an opportunity for both of us. I’d probably have been happy to stay a consultant, but now that I’m here, I see a lot of room for modernization and applying new techniques.”
“Really?” If he’d announced that to the rank and file, it was no wonder people were upset. Nobody likes an outsider telling them how to do their jobs.
“You wouldn’t believe how primitive the mill’s inventory system is, not to mention billing. They actually use index cards—I didn’t know they still made index cards.”
Being in favor of computerizing that kind of thing myself, I had to laugh.
“And their record-keeping. All the data are there, but there’s no system to it. No graphs, no statistics—no attempt has ever been made to compile the kind of performance data that can help pinpoint areas for change. I’ve spent all week entering in data, and only have the start of a reasonable database. Grace and I really have our work cut out for us.”
“You sound pretty confident that the sale will go through.”
“I don’t see why it shouldn’t. Walters wants to sell, we want to buy. The rest is just details.”
“You’re not worried about labor opposition?”
He looked blank. “That’s Grace’s department.”
I had to keep myself from wincing. Marshall was a nice guy, but from the way he talked, he was like a lot of computer types I’d met. His expertise was numbers and technology—he was completely oblivious to the people involved. I wondered if he had the slightest idea why they were having a cookout.
Next he went into a description of the technical details of what he was doing, but even I had trouble following him. Eventually he noticed that my eyes were glazing over, and said, “Let me run out to the car and get my laptop so I can show you what I’m talking about.”
Grace must have heard him, because she said, “Can you hold that thought, Marshall? There are some people I want you to meet.”
He reluctantly moved to her side, and Richard and I took that as an opportunity to leave.
“What do you think?” Richard asked, once we were out of earshot.
“Maybe they can help the mill,” I said.
“None of that,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “We’re not supposed to make that kind of judgment, remember? Our only job is to determine whether or not the Saunders are trustworthy.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s just hard to separate the issues.” I thought about what I’d seen of the couple. “Marshall seemed honest enough. He was talking pretty openly about what he’d been doing, and even wanted to show me his graphs.”
“Show you his graphs?” Richard said in horror. “I’m shocked that he’d even make such a suggestion.”
I poked him in the side. “Anyway, he sure didn’t act as if he had anything to hide. Grace, on the other hand… She strikes me as somebody looking for the main chance. Not that that makes her dishonest, but she sure is focused.”
“She has a lean and hungry look,” Richard said, “if you’ll excuse the adaptation of Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene 2.”
“Just this once,” I said. “Did your eavesdropping confirm my impression?”
“It did, and it was fascinating to watch. When Grace met a person, she immediately determined how important he or she is and acted accordingly. With city leaders, she was perfectly charming, but with mill workers, her charm was directly proportional to rank. She fawned over supervisors and union representatives, but was merely polite to anybody else. She’s focused, all right, and I think she’d do a lot to get her way.”
Of course, all businesspeople want to make the best deal possible. The question was, would Grace merely cut a few corners to get that deal, or would she do something actively unethical? “They’re kind of a mismatched couple, aren’t they? A computer geek and a yuppie from Hell.”
“Almost as bad as a Southern computer programmer and a Yankee English professor,” Richard said.
“Touché. I guess opposites really do attract.” I gave him a thorough kiss to remind him that our attraction was still alive and well.
Chapter 5
By then, we’d reached the outskirts of where people were gathering. There weren’t any of the usual cookout activities, like softball or horseshoes. Instead animated conversations were going on everywhere, and after a moment, I realized there was a split in the crowd, complete with an aisle of empty space down the middle of the field. Not even the kids around were crossing the invisible barrier.
Aunt Maggie was close by on the right side, drinking a Coke and listening as an older man talked and gestured furiously.
“They’re union busters, Miz Burnette!” he declared. “We’ve got to make a stand, draw a line in the sand, fight them until the bitter end.”
Aunt Maggie seemed glad to see us, maybe as a way to stem the flood of clichés. “Floyd, this is my great-niece, Laurie Anne Fleming, and her husband, Richard. Laurie An
ne, this is Floyd Cabiniss. You might have seen him out at the flea market, selling seconds. He inspects socks.”
For a second, I wondered if this meant he was a new kind of foot fetishist, but figured out that she meant he inspected socks at the mill, and bought the discards to sell to people who didn’t mind a missed stitch or two in their tube socks. Floyd was a florid man, with a potbelly and thinning gray hair. Despite his job, or maybe because of it, he wore thick glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, but most people in Byerly do. Either I’d seen him in passing, or knew enough of his relatives to detect a family resemblance. “Pleased to meet you,” I said.
He nodded briefly, then went back to his tirade. “You’re a union woman, Miz Burnette. I know I can trust you to vote the right way.”
“We’ll just have to see what happens,” Aunt Maggie said mildly.
Floyd must have known that that was the best he was going to get out of her, because he murmured something polite and went into the crowd, no doubt to find a new audience.
“I thought you’d already made up your mind about the buyout,” I said.
“I have, but I don’t see why what I think is any of Floyd’s business. Besides which, all he’s worried about is his pension. He’s due for retirement this fall, and doesn’t want anything to come between him and taking off in that Winnebago he just bought. He’s afraid that with the Saunders in charge, he might lose his pension, and that’s the only reason he’s against them. He doesn’t really care about the mill or the union.”
“What made up your mind?” Richard asked.
“My gut instinct and Bobbin’s nose,” she said. “When word of the buyout got out, I went to the mill and told Big Bill I wanted to meet the Saunders right then and there. Bobbin was with me, and you should have seen how that dog acted with them. She let Marshall pet her, but not Grace, even though the woman cooed at her like an idiot. Floyd’s right about them being union busters—I can smell it on them just as good as Bobbin does. Maybe I don’t work there anymore, but I fought long and hard to get that union into the mill, and I’m not about to let anybody push it out.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that. Once Aunt Maggie forms an opinion, there’s nothing anybody can do to change it, and though Aunt Maggie hadn’t had Bobbin a year yet, she’d already started depending on the dog’s reactions.
From the other side of the field, I heard a loud call of, “Laurie Anne! Richard!” My cousin Vasti was waving at us wildly as she yelled.
“I suppose y’all are going over there,” Aunt Maggie said.
“Yes, ma’am. If that’s all right.”
“It don’t make no nevermind to me. I just didn’t realize y’all were in favor of the buyout.”
“We’re not,” I said, but before she could get the wrong idea, I added, “We don’t know what to think yet.”
“Well,” she said with a sniff, “I’ll be on this side.” She left us to cross no-man’s-land by ourselves.
Richard said, “I suggest we walk quickly to get out of the line of fire before the shooting begins.”
“I don’t think it’s going to come to that.” Then I looked at some of the angry faces on both sides, and I wasn’t so sure.
From the amount of stuff arranged around her, I’d have thought Vasti had come for the weekend rather than just the afternoon. I didn’t blame her for bringing a picnic umbrella since there wasn’t much shade on the field, but the folding lounger and battery-operated fan were a bit much. She was laid out on the lounger, with the fan aimed at her feet, and the plastic table beside her held a large bottle of ice water.
“Did you even recognize me?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Her shoulder-length brown hair was still thoroughly permed, and her bright red sundress matched her earrings, necklace, and headband, the same as always. I leaned down to give her a quick hug, and Richard did the same. “You look very nice.”
“You’re just saying that,” she said coyly. “I know I look as big as a whale.”
At first, I thought she was fishing for compliments. Then I remembered something Aunt Nora had told me in her last letter. Vasti had worked so hard to get pregnant that she couldn’t wait to get into maternity clothes, even though she didn’t need them yet. “You are starting to show,” I said, even though I couldn’t see any difference in her figure. Of course, her dress was big enough for the two of us put together, so it would have been hard to tell even if she had been showing.
“Starting to show?” she said plaintively. “I’m huge! Laurie Anne, you have no idea how hard pregnancy is on a woman’s body. Especially as little as I’ve always been—Mama says it’s easier when a woman starts out a little plump, so you don’t have to worry.”
Maybe Vasti’s weight had changed, but her personality hadn’t.
“And my poor feet,” she wailed. “They’ve been swelling up like basketballs every day since it started to get so hot. I can’t even wear decent shoes.”
I looked at her feet and did a double take. Vasti was wearing flats! Ever since she turned sixteen, she’d worn high heels everywhere—even her bedroom shoes had heels.
“At least it’s not too hot today,” I said. Despite the bright sun, it was cool and breezy, perfect weather for a cookout.
“That’s easy for you to say, but I’m carrying my own little heater.” She patted her distinctly flat tummy. “I just don’t know how I’m going to make it through the summer.”
“Are you sure you should be out here in this heat?” Richard said. I was sure my cousin heard only concern, not the sarcasm.
“Oh, I had to be here to show my support for the new mill owners.”
“They haven’t signed on the dotted line yet,” I reminded her.
“It’s only a matter of time,” she said, waving away my comment.
Of course, I already knew she was in favor from the side of the field she was sitting on, but I didn’t know why. “I’m surprised you feel so strongly,” I said. Neither she nor her husband Arthur had ever worked for the mill.
“But Laurie Anne,” she said, “this goes beyond the mill. It’s a chance to bring a new level of sophistication and elegance to Byerly.”
“Really?” I said. I’d never known Byerly to display any level of sophistication or elegance.
“Absolutely!” Vasti said, her curls bobbing as she nodded. “And I’m not just thinking about our generation—I’ve got the future to consider.” She patted her tummy again. “I spoke to Grace Saunders earlier this week, and when I told her about my idea of founding a debutante society, she said that she thinks it’s just what Byerly needs.”
“Is that right?” I said. Trust Vasti to be more concerned about debutante balls than jobs. As for Grace’s support, I bet Grace had only offered it after she found out Arthur was on the city council.
“I don’t know why people are putting up such a fuss.” She glared at the other side of the picnic grounds. “At least you two understand that.”
“Actually, Laura and I haven’t made up our minds,” Richard said. “It’s a pretty complicated issue.”
“I don’t see what’s so complicated about it—” she started, but before she could go any further, Arthur stumbled up, carrying an ice chest. Behind him, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair was toting two well-filled paper grocery bags.
“It’s about time you got back,” Vasti said.
“I got here as fast as I could,” Arthur said, as he put down the chest, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and mopped sweat from his forehead. “I was lucky Tavis came by to give me a hand.”
Now that Arthur said his name, I recognized the man with him as Tavis Montgomery, the local union president, and I wondered if he knew something about the Saunders more useful than Aunt Maggie’s gut instinct or Vasti’s tunnel vision. “Let me help you with that,” I said to him, taking the bags and plopping them down next to Vasti’s lounger. If Grace Saunders could suck up to people she wanted something from, so could I.
“Gl
ad to help,” Tavis said. “Besides, I was curious to see which side of the field Arthur would end up on.”
“Of course we’re on this side,” Vasti said sharply. “Why wouldn’t we be? I think—”
Interrupting her, I said, “We were just talking about the buyout. Is the union as divided over it as everybody else in town?”
“I’m afraid so,” Tavis said, “but we’re meeting with the Walters and the Saunders Tuesday morning to see what we can work out.”
“Do you think you can trust the Saunders?” I asked.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some sort of decision that will make everybody happy,” he answered, sidestepping the question.
“Of course we can trust them,” Vasti said. “You can see what kind of people they are just by looking at the way they act and dress. Arthur thinks so, too, and after selling cars all these years, he knows how to size up people in a hurry. Isn’t that right, Arthur?”
I expected Arthur to agree with Vasti because he always agreed with her, but at least he had reasons of his own this time.
He said, “I haven’t seen that much of the Saunders, but I do think we need a change at the mill. The place has been going downhill for years, and I don’t want to see it shut down. Apart from the immediate ramifications, the impact on local businesses could be disastrous. The buyout is best for Byerly.”
From the way he was speaking, I knew he’d been listening to Big Bill at the city council meetings. I also know which local business he was most concerned with. He’d recently broken ground for a new location for his Cadillac and Toyota dealerships, and if people lost their jobs, they sure as heck weren’t going to be buying new cars.
“Of course it’s for the best,” Vasti snapped. “You can go tell the union that I said so, Tavis.”
“I’ll do that,” Tavis said with a chuckle. “Now if y’all will excuse me, I’ve got some folks to catch up with.”
Arthur thanked him again, and Tavis slipped into the crowd.
“I knew he’d see it my way,” Vasti said. She pulled a handful of cookies out of one of the grocery bags and started munching.
I said, “I thought Big Bill was supplying the food.”
Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee Page 3
