"But who cares where it comes from anyway?" I said. "If you like the beer, isn't that enough?"
Ali gave me a funny look, tilted her head a few degrees. "You are talking about beer, right?"
I smiled and was about to reply, but then a tall, good-looking, black-haired guy came up to the table.
He cleared his throat. "Sorry, this seat's taken," he said.
21
The predinner cocktail reception was held in a smaller room off the great room. A big banner hung from the low ceiling that said WELCOME HAMMOND AEROSPACE.
They were serving blender drinks and mojitos and flutes of champagne, and voices got steadily louder, the laughter more raucous, as the guys got increasingly soused. The exception seemed to be Hank Bodine, who was talking to Hugo Lummis, looking really pissed off. Ali had gone to Cheryl's suite to talk through the evening's schedule. I stood there holding a mojito and looking around when someone sidled up to me. One of the guys I'd seen whispering in the hall upstairs-caught whispering, I thought.
"You're Jake Landry, right?"
This was the blond one, which meant he was John Danziger, the corporate controller. The other one was Grogan.
"And you're John Danziger," I said. We shook hands, and I went through what was by then my standard pitch about how I was Mike Zorn's stand-in. But instead of giving me the expected response, about how big the shoes were that I had to fill and all that, Danziger said, "I'm sorry if I was rude to you upstairs."
"Rude?"
"That was you in the hall upstairs, right? When Grogan and I were talking?" He had a pleasant, smooth baritone voice, like an NPR radio announcer.
"Oh, was that you? Looked like an intense conversation." That meant he'd seen me coming out of Ali's room. If, that is, he knew it was Ali's room.
"Just work-related stuff," he said. "But sort of sensitive, which is why Alan overreacted."
"No worries." But it wasn't Alan Grogan who'd noticed me in the hall and suddenly broke off their conversation. It was Danziger. I couldn't figure out why he was making such a big deal out of something so trivial. Maybe he was afraid I'd overheard something. Whatever it was, he and Grogan had probably been too preoccupied to pay much attention to me or where I'd just come from. "So can I ask you something?"
Danziger gave me a wary look. "Sure."
"What does the corporate controller actually do, anyway?"
He looked to either side, then came closer. "No one actually knows," he said conspiratorially.
"Do you?"
He shook his head. "Don't tell anyone."
"Seriously," I said. "I have no idea what a controller does. Besides…controlling things."
"I wish I could tell you."
"You mean, if you told me, you'd have to kill me?"
"If I told you, I'd put us both to sleep," Danziger said. "It's too boring."
Someone tapped Danziger on the shoulder. It was Ronald Slattery, the Chief Financial Officer. He was a small, compact man, bald on top, with prominent ears, wearing heavy black-framed glasses. Slattery was wearing a blue blazer and a white shirt. This was the first time I'd ever seen Slattery not wearing a gray suit. He was the sort of guy you could imagine going to bed in a gray suit. Danziger excused himself, and the two men turned away to talk.
"Hey, there, roomie." Geoff Latimer grabbed me by the elbow. "Having a good time?"
"Sure," I said.
He faltered for a few seconds, looked as if he was searching for something to say. Then: "Everyone already knows everyone else. It's kind of a tight circle in some ways. Would you like me to introduce you to some people?"
I was about to tell him thanks but no thanks, when there was a tink-tink-tink of silverware against glass, and the room quieted down. Cheryl Tobin stood under the banner with a broad smile. She was wearing a navy blue jacket over a long ivory silk skirt and big jewel-studded earrings. Ali stood close behind her, studying a binder.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cheryl said. "Or maybe I should just say, gentlemen." Polite laughter.
Clive Rylance said loudly, "That rules out most of us," and there was a burst of laughter. Kevin Bross, standing next to Rylance, leaned over and said something mildly obscene to him about Ali. He probably meant to whisper, but his voice carried. I wanted to slam the guy against the peeled-log wall and impale him on a set of antlers, but instead I let the anger surge with a prickly heat and subside. Bodine and Lummis and Barlow were all standing together. I could see Bodine whisper something to Lummis, who nodded in reply.
"Well, you know me by now," Cheryl said smoothly. "I always expect the best. I'd like to welcome everyone to a Hammond tradition I'm proud to join. The annual leadership retreat at the remarkable King Chinook Lodge. It's great to be out of the L.A. smog, isn't it?"
She smiled, paused for the laugh. When it didn't come, she went on, "Well, I for one can't wait. From the minute I arrived at Hammond Aerospace I've heard stories about this place." She paused. "Some of which I can't repeat."
Some low chuckles.
"What's that you guys say-'What happens at King Chinook stays in King Chinook'? I guess I'm about to find out what that's all about, huh"?
"You know it," someone said.
"It's not too late to escape," someone else said.
"Not too late to escape, hmm?" she repeated. Her smile had grown thin. "Easier said than done. It's a long swim to the nearest airport."
She was making a good show of pretending to enjoy the testosterone-rich rowdiness, but at the same time you could sense the steel. As if she were willing to be a good sport, but there was a point beyond which she wouldn't go. You really didn't want to push this woman too far. She also looked as if she wanted to get the hell out of there. Back to corporate headquarters, back to her big office where she could sit behind her big desk and receive important visitors and be the CEO instead of one of two sorority girls at a frat party.
"And believe me, I've thought about it," she said. "Especially after hearing about the courses that Bo's about to take us through."
She looked across the room toward a giant of a man with a shiny-bald head and a big black mustache. That had to be Bo Lampack, the team-building coordinator. He stood in the back corner with his arms folded across a great broad chest. His shoulders were the size of ham hocks. He looked like a cross between G. Gordon Liddy and Mr. Clean, only without the gold earring.
Lampack gave a conspiratorial grin. "We haven't lost anyone." He paused for dramatic effect, then added, "Yet."
A burst of raucous laughter, laced with cheers.
"What about Gandle?" Kevin Bross shouted.
"Come to think of it," Lampack said, "I don't see Gandle here this year."
More loud laughter. Larry Gandle was the old CFO, whom Cheryl had replaced with Ron Slattery. He'd gotten some huge golden parachute early retirement package and moved to Florida.
Cheryl held up her hands to quiet everyone down. "Well, we'll hear more from Bo at dinner. And tomorrow, you guys are all going to see that we women can keep up with men-not just in the office but on the ropes as well." She looked around, then held up an index finger. "I'm not just the first outsider to lead Hammond Aerospace, but I'm the first woman. And I know that makes some of you guys a little uncomfortable. I understand that. Change is always difficult. But that's one of the…challenges…I hope we'll get a chance to work through this weekend."
The room had gone quiet but for a few pockets of restless stirring. Both Bodine and Barlow stood watching her in identical poses: their right arms folded across their bellies, supporting their left elbows. Their left hands clutched tumblers of bourbon. Like babies holding bottles of formula.
"If not," she said, "I hope you're all strong swimmers." She looked around for several seconds. No one laughed. So she continued, "You know, they say a general without an army is nothing. I need each and every one of you in there pulling-not for me, but for this great company. Let me remind you that the symbol of the Hammond Aerospace Corporation is the lion. And with your help, together we're going to make that lion roar."