"Twenty one percent, including adjusted underemployment. Reason?"
"Just curious. I remember when it was just five percent. Unadjusted or statistically manipulated."
"Thanks anyway, Hubert. Let you know."
"Would you?"
"Certainly. Talk to you later."
George went back to the directory, this time to the addendum.
"Union Negotiating, Mr. Bargunn's office."
"This is George Graylin, Council of Economic Advisers. Mr. Bargunn there?"
"One moment."
"Gus Bargunn. What can I do for you, George? You're the only conservative economist left in Washington."
"No politics, Gus., What's the story in Denver?"
"Denver?" The tone was bland. Too bland.
"No reason… except we've got a few figures here about increasing unemployment in homebuilding. But housing starts are up, and increasing. Means less labor intensive techniques, I'd guess…"
Gus Bargunn smiled. "You know, George, I might like you… some day.",
"Cut the compliments, Gus."
"Affirm. Houseman-he's developed so called new methods, will eventually hit us, but right now, he's non Union. Doesn't exist."
"Yet," added George.
Gus dropped the labor management smile.
"Thanks again, Gus. Unofficially, if interested, James Boulin Chartwell, III, holds for you. Jobs, not technology."
"Can I pass that on?"
"No, but you will anyway." George grinned.
"George, ever think about Labor?"
"I'll keep it in mind. If I need a job."
George ambled down to the cafeteria and drank two more Cokes, to wash down the yeastburger.
A Memo was waiting when he returned.
"George: Have you any information on the Nature of The Problem? What is the danger of Incipient Recession?" There was more. George threw it in the pulper He tapped out the intercom code of the Senior Adviser. "Mildred. The Adviser in?" "Yes, Dr. Graylin." Mildred used "Doctor" in a tone of contempt. The other PhD's were "Mister."
James Boulin Chartwell, III, and his glass of One Hundred Percent Pure Mineral Water, appeared on the screen.
"George, what have you Discovered?"
"Enough to go to Denver." "That's the Spirit, George. Get to The Heart Of The Matter." --He made it through the Reservation Gate before the afternoon crush. He caught a cab without notice, keeping the hand in his pocket on the ultra beamer just in case.
He had to pay an extra ten dollars for the two trips around the quad while the police disposer unit digested an illegally parked car.
George packed a small bag, then changed to a plain dark gray suit, pale blue shirt, and black tie. He hoped he wasn't too conspicuous.
The flight to Denver was uneventful. The passengers were knocked out once, in the middle of dinner, when a femrad tried to divert the plane to Sweden.
At Stapleton International, George waited an hour for the Denver Motor Pool to find his car.
Struggling with his newly acquired map and a perverse number of one way streets, he managed to find his hotel.
He set up the portable defense screen as soon as he entered his room, then dialled Houseman's office number. There was no home viewer listed for the builder. He got the answering service. No picture.
"This is Dr. George Graylin with the Council of Economic Advisers in Washington. While I'm here, I'd like to meet personally with Mr. Houseman. Tell him I plan to drop by at ten. I'll call at nine to confirm."
"You're Dr. Graylin, and you plan to see him at ten tomorrow. You'll confirm at nine. Is that all, sir?"
"That's it. Thanks."
The click was the only indication that the faceless secretary was no longer behind the blank screen.
George threw the combosuiter on the bed and thumbed it open. He hung up the two suits, washed his face, combed his hair, and wandered down to the coffee shop. He had a Coke and a yeastburger at the counter. Thirteen other business types were slumped around, and the one waitress and the blank faced busboy jerked from table to table to counter.
George picked up a copy of The3, Denver Post on the way back to his room.
The portascreen was still buzzing happily. George double locked the door and sandwiched the desk chair under the knob. He tossed the dark gray suit into the laundry section of the combosuiter, then dumped it onto the floor. He stretched out on the bed with the paper. After three pages he felt sleepy.
He woke at eight, the bedside light glaring into his face.
There was enough time to shower, shave, and dress.
He ambled down to the coffee shop for a Coke and a cinnayeast. George finished in time to call Houseman's office at five past nine. Ten was fine with Mr. Houseman.
The junior staff economist to the Senior Member of The Council of Economic Advisers managed to mangle the city map and his digestion in finding the builder's office. He arrived at ten ten.
George took three deep breaths before going in.
"May I help you?" Her voice was pleasant. George admired the modified Afro.
"Yes. George Graylin from the Council of Economic Advisers. I have a ten o'clock appointment."
"Go right on in. He'll be with you in a minute."
George sat down in a black leather and chrome chair. The office was spartan. There was an engineering diploma to Theron Oliver Houseman on one side wall. George could see why Houseman used his initials.
"Dr. Graylin?" Houseman was short, wiry, and black. His hair was clipped. Other than the long side burns, he was clean shaven.
"George, just George, Mr, Houseman."
"Call me Tod. I'm just a carpenter with a degree. What do you have in'mind?"
"I really don't know, exactly. Somehow, an economic phenomenon we're investigating seems to be connected… oh, hell, there I go getting tied up in the language again."
"Briefly, your project seems to have something to do with an increased number of Housing Starts in the Denver area as well as an increased unemployment rate." George felt that he shouldn't have to step lightly, but… feeling wasn't always correct.
Tod Houseman surveyed George. Then he laughed, explosively.
"You take some straight talk, George?"
George grinned, partly in relief.
"It's a roundabout way, but I'd like to tell you how I got started in this business. I meant it when I said I was a carpenter with a degree. I broke into the Union when they started the Philadelphia plan here. After the plan flopped, I decided to stay in the building business. I got the degree at night. Went from framer to framing contractor to builder. After the experience with the Philadelphia plan, I went non Union all the way. For obvious reasons. The Union bigots didn't want me-not on my terms. And later, I didn't want them.
"I could build a better, cheaper house without all their rules. Since there are a bunch of non white builders around they couldn't make it too hard on any one of us."
Tod Houseman forced a smile.. "It's still harder than hell not to be bitter. I keep telling myself that bitterness doesn't help."
"You were going to say how all this got started," interjected George.
"Right. I used to build houses in the old style. One day I was going over my cost sheets. The cheapest part of building the house was the frame and the foundation. The two most expensive items are labor and lumber. Labor for plumbing, dry walling, electrical and heating installations, tile, trimming… you get the picture."
"Hm m m," commented George.
"So I thought, why not do a whole house at the framing stage, and use something besides lumber. And that's what I'm doing." Houseman gave an easy smile.
"The idea sounds great. But how do you make your profits? A lot of builders have tried the pre fab route and lost their shirts." George wanted a Coke.
"The product is simple. I'll start with that. I work a modular room system. The prefinished rooms are delivered to the site. Then we bolt them together, stick on our precast roof and, siding and we're. finished." His smile turned into a grin. "It's working pretty well."