by Bud Crawford
"Speechless with pleasure, I pray, not dismay?"
"Pleasure, without any question."
"Well," Alistair bowed slightly to the guests, "please stay as long as you like. Marti will clear the dishes to give a little more elbow room." She appeared as he spoke, carrying an empty tray. Conversation picked up around the room. The Herbert family gathered gear and left to meet their bus. The Farley sisters rose up from the dining room, then settled in the parlor behind their laptops.
"We're off to the job-site." Dwight smiled. "It's a working vacation for us. See you-all tea-time, if we get done, and you're here."
Honoria watched and listened unapologetically. Ross was apparently intent again on his Blackberry, typing quickly with two thumbs.
"So, you've got to see a client this morning, Harold, Stef said?" Ellen handed her cup and saucer to Marti.
Harold winced as Marti swept close in front of him. He turned to Ellen. "I wish I hadn't said I would. But this guy has been trying to see me for a month, and I haven't had any time. We've been busy generally, plus I needed to cram ahead to set up this trip, plus I'll have to catch up when I get back. It seemed easier just to say I'd see him this morning, when it turned out he'd be in Asheville, too. There's some kind of gem show, that he's come here for. He collects rocks, I think." He looked as Stephanie. "I hope you really don't mind."
"Of course not," Stephanie said, "it's just for an hour or two, right?"
"Probably less. James just needs me to explain something about his statement, his account, and he said he had some old coins, too. Probably Indian-head pennies, that's usually what 'old' means to people. We're going to meet at a coffee shop across the street from the Civic Center. I might have to walk a couple blocks to the Asheville Metrocor office to look something up for him, but I don't think that's likely."
Geoff slid his chair back and crossed his legs. "I'm a-working, too. Got a satchel with several inches worth of student work to mark up. I may ride my bike awhile this afternoon, clear my head."
Ellen said, "Well, we're all working stiffs this morning. I've got the next five days mapped out with sights to see and evaluate. There are conducted walking tours, self-guided walking tours, trolley tours, craft studio tours, gallery tours. Then kayaking and rafting tours. Plus I've got to do a mini restaurant guide, so lunch and dinner is working, too. And I have never been to that Biltmore House. Then there's caves and waterfalls and arboretums. Plus museums, theaters, and clubs."
"You do this for a living, right, take long vacations on an expense account?" Harold asked.
"Basically, yes, when I have a paid assignment. Sometimes I work on spec, trying for something I hope will turn into a salable piece. That way I can follow my own nose, but may end up with something nobody wants. The other way, on assignment, I'm following somebody else's program, but expenses are covered and the sale's guaranteed."
Stephanie asked, "Do you take the pictures?"
"I shoot a lot, but mine rarely get printed. Usually they'll send a pro, most often a local guy. They use my shots for reference. I know it sounds like a cushy gig, and it is for me. I enjoy moving around, I take good notes, and I can write fast. But there is a lot that I've got to know, a lot of areas to keep up with. Sometimes it gets like working in the candy factory. Luckily, when that happens, I can stay home for a while, throw some pots, putter about, recharge. After a while I'll get restless and start calling editors."
Honoria said, "You know, my dear, if I had time for another career, I might try yours. I travel like you do, but all at my own expense. Unless I can buy a play."
"But, you've got to realize," Ellen said, "it is work. All those tours of Asheville I mentioned, there'll be about a ninety percent overlap of material. I've got to pretend that each one's my first, and judge it on its own merits. Okay, I know what. You both come with me today, quit anytime you want. We'll take the tours, grab some lunch, tour some more, get back here for tea, maybe a run later. And you can decide first-hand how fun it is."
"Count me in," said Honoria, "except for the run. Save that for the next life, I'm afraid. But I'll try to keep up with the rest."
"Sure," said Stephanie. "If you don't mind, Harold?"
"No. I'll feel less guilty about my meeting with Richter. It fits perfectly."
"Ah, there it is." Ross looked up apologetically. "Sorry to intrude y-all, I'd been waiting for a message. Now after sitting here like a bump on a log, I've got to dash away. It was a pleasure to meet all of you. I may be back for tea, with the possibility of two-way talk. Sorry I've been so uncommunicative." He stood, nodded, and left the dining room.
"Funny character," Geoff said. "I had the feeling he was taking notes on us, which makes no sense. You guys got a bus to catch, right? Ten o'clock at the Chamber of Commerce?"
Ellen stood, leaned down and kissed him. "You remember stuff I never told you as reliably as you forget the stuff I've invested hours in nagging you about."
"We work the gifts we're given. Be careful out there. Time for us all to start having fun." Geoff stood and stretched his arms over his head.
"Right, girls," Ellen said, "get what you'll need for a day in town, especially comfortable shoes, and we'll meet up in the parlor."
They returned to their rooms, then set out, except for Geoff.
He watched from the porch as Ellen, Stef and Honoria walked west towards the Chamber of Commerce building. Harold went east towards the bridge over the expressway into downtown. The little girl from yesterday afternoon was again pedaling purposefully down the sidewalk. Today she wore jeans and a pink t-shirt. He waved at her. She stopped to look at him for a minute, then resumed her journey to her turn-around at the corner.
Just as he was twisting around to go inside, Geoff saw a slim form turn left from the cross street, heading the way Harold had gone. He thought it was Ross, but the figure was out of sight behind the trees that lined the sidewalk. Nothing there, surely, he thought, as he climbed the stairs to his room. The timing was all wrong.
~
Madison Markey looked down the hall of her office. Five doors opened left, four right, with reception at the end. All my little soldiers. I want a meeting room, besides my office, she thought. The library could go downstairs, there's plenty of room, it's doable. So, who's left of this lot? Collins, Emery, and Straus. And Lightcamp. Why not? I'd do a woman, same same game, besides she's engaged to a cute guy. Both would be a blast. Take them together? That's hot, make that marriage blast right off or kill it dead. But this week there's an old flame coming down to my new town. Ex et ux. What shall we do about that? Time to meditate. She turned back into her office and closed the door. She walked around her desk and perched on the tall leather chair. The combination lock buttons on the top left drawer released and she lifted out her favorite wand, the silent silver one. She slumped and lifted her leg over the chair arm. Her skirt was cut wide, she tugged her thong aside. The intercom chimed softly. What is it, Elaine? Already? Tell her I'm ready to go, just one little job to finish up. I'll be out in three minutes. The distraction hadn't distracted her. The whispered possibility of exposure, just more vibrations, You're a naughty girl, Madison, a nasty girl.
chapter twelfth
They got to the trolley pickup with just enough time to purchase tickets. Eight dollars for a ninety-minute ride. Ellen led them to the rear seats, explaining that she liked to watch, when she was on a tour, to see the reactions of the other tourists, and be able to take notes without being too obvious. Stephanie looked slightly guilty as she sat next to Ellen. Honoria began snapping pictures out the windows and inside the bus.
The driver was a personable handsome fellow in his fifties, with a plaid shirt and a panama hat he used more as a prop than as a head cover. Ellen thought he was probably an actor, and that his twang was not fake, but enhanced a little. He stood in the front of the bus, facing his audience.
"Hi, folks. I'm Bob Gentry, and I'll be driving us around this morning, talking pretty much the entire time. Our to
ur is about ninety minutes long, starting and ending right here. Your ticket buys the whole trip, but you can get off anywhere I can legally stop the trolley. You won't get a refund but you'll get away from the sound of my voice." He paused to draw out a little polite laughter.
"Let me tell you just a little bit of what we'll be seeing. Asheville sits on a plateau, about twenty-two hundred feet above sea level, ringed by mountains ridges almost all the way around." He arms reached first forward towards his audience, then opened to the side as he twisted his torso, completing the circle with an almost balletic port-de-bras.
Ellen had flipped her notebook open, the pocket-sized spiral-bound she liked for quiet recording: 'trolley' she wrote, then 'bob gentry, gesture, hat'. She'd decide later if she wanted to quote him, or use his name. She'd ask permission if she did; it wouldn't be polite to surprise him in a national publication. Stephanie and Honoria were trying so hard not to look at her notebook that Bob's glance would be drawn straight to it. She crossed her legs and set the book under her hand against her skirt, the pen along side. Plenty of time for notes, once he turned around and began driving.
~
Harold squinted into the sudden darkness as he stepped through the coffeehouse door. He stood a minute as his eyes adjusted. There, alone at a two-seat table along the right-hand wall. James stood up, extended his hand. Harold walked across to him. "Good morning, James. It took me a minute to see you, it's so bright out there." James squeezed his hand firmly, holding the contact for a couple seconds.
"Do you want some coffee, something to eat?" James pointed to the bar that took up the back half of the long narrow shop.
"Oh, no, nothing. Just had a three-course breakfast, two cups of coffee. I couldn't handle any more. You go ahead, of course."
"I'll get a refill, be right back. Have a seat." James turned and walked to the carafes across from the bar. He held out his cup, pressed down on the lever, and hot air gasped from the spout, but no coffee. He snapped the handle closed and lifted the empty carafe up onto the bar. The girl behind the bar smiled and thanked him. Harold watched James hold her glance before he turned to the backup carafe. James unclipped the handle and pumped fresh steaming coffee. He carried the overfilled cup carefully ahead of him as he walked back to the table. Looks like an Eddie Bauer model, Harold thought. Ankle high leather hiking boots just slightly scuffed, blue-green plaid flannel shirt, fisherman vest unzipped, most of the dozen or so pockets apparently in use. He felt his face flush, as he tried to suppress the thought, what a handsome guy James was. He didn't like it when such ideas jumped into his head. Geoffrey didn't have that effect on him, and certainly not those two queer guys back at the inn. Gay guys, whatever you were supposed to call them now. He didn't like this line of thought.
James set his cup carefully on the square wood table, and sat facing Harold. "I really appreciate you seeing me, breaking up your vacation. I was glad my account got handed off to you when Joe Robbins died. That was the only time we actually met, I think, that one little conference. But you have a reputation as a good analyst, not just a commission-hungry cowboy, like some of the Metrocor brokers. They may have a good knowledge of the market, but I've got that myself. Just like I've got good math instincts, but not real math skills."
Harold's flush deepened. He could not look away from James' wide ice-blue eyes. Lashes like a girl, Harold thought, then shook his head, breaking the glance. "It's nothing," he said, "it's not a problem. Sorry I couldn't see you in Charlotte. The run-up to April fifteenth is always crazy at the office, then it takes the whole next week to clean up."
"Yeah. Nobody plans ahead. How'd you get this week off?" James smiled.
He knows the effect he has on people, Harold thought, expects it, uses it. He said, "I had to beg, basically, and promise to cover the next time anybody else wanted time off. Anyway, here we are, what did you want to ask me about?"
"Well, two things, actually. I can't figure out what's happening with the fees on my managed-fund account, and then I've got some coins you might be interested in."
"I thought you only collected US? I'm not really into them"
"That's true. But I just finished a three-way trade that left me holding a couple older items, as well as the CSA gold pieces I was after. That's for dessert, let's do the brokerage first."
"Sure." Harold straightened up in his chair. "What's the question."
James reached down and picked up a soft leather brief case. "There seem to be two separate charges for the same thing, but they're not identical and I can't really follow how they're calculated. Look, here's my consolidated statements for January through March, all my accounts with Metrocor, and here's the managed-fund statement for the first quarter." He pulled a folder out of the case. "Same thing, only different amounts, for third and fourth quarters last year."
Harold took the folder and paged through the statements. "Give me a minute, I usually see this stuff differently formatted. The management fee is not cheap, but those guys are generally way ahead of the market. They've been pulling twelve to fifteen percent lately. They're out front with all the newest stuff. I'm not really up myself on all those collateralized and securitized instruments and the hedges and swaps that are supposed to eliminate risk. There's some higher math for you. But that would be within your holdings and have no affect on fees. They seem about what you'd expect." Harold looked up from the statements. "You know, it's always your call: cancel the management, do it yourself, save the fees."
James leaned across and pointed to a figure on the first page. "I know the pitch. It's reasonably accurate. But that isn't what I mean. The basic fees are right here, literally up-front, three-eighths percent of portfolio value." He picked up the February statement, and turned to the last page. "It's this stuff. The trading fees. They did a lot of trades in February, so that's the most obvious month, But they're not included with the other trading fees. And they don't really seem to track with activity in the account."
Harold studied the page. "I think I see what it is. If a trade is done into a Metrocor fund, then Metrocor might earn a fee as broker, besides what the managed-fund charges. It's probably related to that."
"That's what I thought at first. You're the buyer's broker, then the seller's broker, then the broker of account, collecting three or four fees per trade. Can't have a conflict of interest with yourself, after all. But it's more than that, look." James handed Harold a printed spread sheet.
Harold looked down at the columns of numbers for a minute, then up at James. "I'm going to need a level of detail I can't pick up from your statements. Can I keep this?"
"I printed it for you. It's in my computer."
"The Asheville Metrocor office is just a couple blocks away. I should be able to log in there and get an answer for you. We don't try to make our fee structure hard to understand, but we don't always present it clearly. People mostly aren't interested in the details as long as their money grows. When the market goes down, that's when we get questions about fees. Sorry I can't give you a better answer without a little research."
"Well, I'm sort of glad it isn't super-obvious, that would have made me feel like a dope. I'm sorry again about interrupting your vacation." James reached across the table and squeezed Harold's shoulder. "Look, I'm not holding my breath over this. Now you see what I'm concerned about, just take the spreadsheet back to Charlotte, and call me next week, or the week after, whenever you've had a chance to look at it."
"If I can't get a good answer today, I'll do that. But Stephanie is off on a tour bus and I don't really have anything else to do this morning. Let me see what I can turn up, and call you later?"
"Yeah, that's good. Here's my card, the second number's my cell. I'll write the number for my cabin on the back, cell coverage is spotty out there in the hills." He handed the card to Harold. "Now, let me show you some denarii, almost fine."
~
Geoff stood and rubbed his eyes. One-thirty. That's one job done, the essays, the easy pile. Clar
ity and coherence and diction only. Tomorrow he'd start on the artful stuff. How about riding up that road they'd come in on, Town Mountain Road, and burn off breakfast? He found himself nodding in agreement, decided he must be right, changed into bike shorts, pedaling shoes and a long-sleeved t-shirt.
~
Ellen looked across the table at her companions. Salsa's was a fantastic little restaurant, serious cooking at a twelve-table hole-in-the-wall. Half-hour wait for a table, but easily worth it. They'd swapped bites of three very different, all excellent entrees. I love a fearless cook, she thought. The house iced tea was spicy and refreshing, like the food. Right up to the edge but not over. Probably too daring for half the population, but very much to her taste. She was going to have to work in an interview with the chef, somehow, this week. Her notes covered a menu copy she'd been told she could keep. She reread her scribbles, to set them in her mind and make them easier to decipher later.
"You guys good for another tour?" Ellen asked her companions. They had gotten off the trolley at ten-thirty, passed the test to ride the Sego roll-abouts, and then taken that tour. They stopped at Salsa's for lunch. "I was planning to do the guided walk first thing this afternoon, then go back to Juniper House and take a run before tea, or right after."
