Night Magic (17 page)

“So, hiring me is for window dressing.” Paul
started to rise. A restraining hand on his shoulder guided him back
into the leather conference chair.

“As usual, Kyle proves that he has more
skills as president of a company than as a diplomat. Relax. I was
honest when I said your credibility with environmentalist would be
an asset. But as we have already shown, any recommendations you
make will be given serious consideration. Look at how we
implemented several here at Big River.” Claude sat beside him.

“Now, wait a minute. I didn’t mean to imply
that we hired you for show. But let’s face it, image is critical in
business. Hell, we got a couple of Black guys in our commercials.”
Singleton blustered.

“Kyle, be quiet.” Claude spoke in that same
controlled voice he had used with his wife. “What he’s trying to
convey, quite ineptly, is that we are sensitive to the issues the
African-American community has raised. Of course, Batton Chemical
is committed to being in the forefront of the trend towards working
with environmentalists. We want to have a diverse team to make sure
all views are considered. Safety is good business.” Claude
explained smoothly.

“Nice save. My mama didn’t raise no fools,
Mr. Trosclair. I know I’m useful to you. I’ll be just as honest and
say I have every intention of making sure you live up to those
words, whether you mean them or not.”

Laughing, Claude put his arm around Paul’s
shoulders. “Young man, we are going to make a great team.”

Paul left the office, copies of the contract
in his leather portfolio. He was concentrating on the questions he
would ask his attorney and the answers he would have for Savannah
when he saw Quentin emerge from the adjoining office suite.

“You don’t have what it takes to deal with an
operation as big this one, Honorè. And it won’t take long for that
to be obvious.” Quentin stood several feet away, arms folded.

“Wrong again, Einstein. I’ve been handling
big jobs since I was in college.”

“I’m going to be watching every move you
make. One mistake and I’ll be all over you. Forget trying to
sabotage us to help your little lawyer girlfriend and her old
man.”

“Anything I do will be done well and
honestly. Seems your grandfather thinks so, or else I don’t think
he would have hired us.” Opening the door to his truck, Paul threw
the portfolio on the passenger side of the seat.

“My grandfather is an old fool. He won’t be
in charge much longer, so don’t get to comfortable with that
contract.”

“You think so? He looks pretty healthy to me.
Besides, isn’t Singleton next in line when it comes to running
things?” Paul raised a mocking eyebrow.

“You just wait and see who’ll be giving
orders. Don’t kid yourself it could ever be you.”

“Hum, I hadn’t thought of that, but now that
you mention it your grandfather does seem to be a man who promotes
on ability. If you’re my competition, I’ve got it made.” Paul
smiled, bearing his teeth.“What does that mean?” Quentin flushed a
deep red.

“It means he knows what I can do. What have
you done lately?” In anger Paul, took a random poke at a possible
weak spot. He struck a raw nerve.

“I’ll see you in hell first, you black
bastard. Before I’m through, you or that piece of brown sugar of
yours won’t own a pot to piss in, much less a business.” Quentin
jabbed a finger in Paul’s chest.

For several seconds, Paul looked at the
finger. With one quick motion, he slammed his fist into Quentin’s
jaw knocking him down. Paul stood over him, waiting for him to get
up. Quentin pushed himself to one knee. Cursing he started to rise,
but hesitated when he looked into Paul’s eyes.“Don’t ever touch me
again, and she’s Ms. St. Julien to you.” Paul spoke through
clenched teeth, every muscle strained at the effort to keep from
punching him again.

Quentin backed away from him holding his
face. Singleton and another male employee come outside. Singleton
tried to help Quentin to his feet, but was brushed away.

“This isn’t over! You hear me? You’re going
to pay for this! You’re going to be nothing when I finish with you,
nothing!”

“Don’t be an even bigger idiot than you
already have been. Now get up,” Claude snarled. Stepping around
Singleton he threw his grandson a look of disgust.

“He attacked me for no reason. I’m going to
press charges.” Quentin spoke in a whining voice.

“Knowing you, there was probably sufficient
provocation. Now stop your whimpering and go back inside.”

Paul climbed behind the wheel. Glancing back
just before he drove away, he saw an obviously angry Quentin trying
to speak to Claude. His grandfather walked past him into the
building without a word or look in Quentin’s direction.

*****

Claude sat in the library listening to
Chopin, a glass of brandy at his elbow. His head tilted back, eyes
closed he was lost in the music. As the last strains of a lovely
concerto died away, he raised the glass to his lips. He looked up
to find Quentin standing in the doorway. Sighing deeply, he crossed
the room to the antique bar for a refill. Quentin came into the
room, a tall glass already in his hand.

"I see you don't need a drink." Claude still
had his back turned.

"No, indeed. I'm doing very well, thank you."
Quentin took a long swallow of the amber liquid.

"Humph." Claude went back to his chair.

Quentin paced restlessly for several minutes,
fingering with his grandfather's collection of antique glass paper
weights arranged on a nineteenth century lady's writing desk that
had belonged to Claude's great-grandmother. He crossed to the
window to stare out into the darkness, and then began another
circuit of the room. When the music stopped, Claude got up to
change the record on the old-fashioned phonograph.

"Why do you bother with that old thing?
Digital music files have a much better sound," Quentin said. He was
slumped on one of the small sofas.

"This old thing as you call it is a fine
example of workmanship. I enjoy operating it, watching the
precision movement as it operates so smoothly after so many years.
Besides, part of the pleasure in having this wonderful collection
is choosing which selection I'll listen to next.""Something you can
so just as well with a digital player. Really, doing the same
things you done for years isn't always the damn virtue you make it
out to be. Tradition? Just another way of saying you can't adjust
to change." Quentin gulped more of the drink.

"I don't think we're talking about my
phonograph anymore, are we?" Claude crossed his legs. Leaning back
in his favorite chair, he was relaxed.

"Why are we poking along with this new plant?
The process of creating slag for use in road beds and building
foundations is brand new. Which means that there is no track record
that says it's unsafe. We've got customers lined up because we can
provide they product the need at one third the cost."

"True. It may take another ten years or
longer for the health effects to really be known. But it may not be
completely safe."

"The tests have shown no leaching under test
conditions."

"So it doesn't bother you that over time it
could be hazardous?" Claude gazed at his grandson wearing a slight
smile.

"No, and you don't care either. Before this
Paul Honorè showed up you were willing to do whatever it took to
get this plant fully operational. His report is nothing new and you
know it. And why are you lapping up everything word he says. I'm
sick of him. We don't know enough about him. I wouldn't be
surprised if he's been feeding information to those damn
protesters." Phillip's jaw tightened. Noticing that his glass was
empty, he went to the bar. He searched for several seconds before
finally settling on scotch.

"You're right. I don't give a damn about all
this whining over the environment. Those people do more to pollute
this planet than most industries. But Paul Honorè is no fool. I've
investigated his background thoroughly, professional and private
life. I know quite a lot about him." Claude paused to stare ahead
thoughtfully before continuing."

"And?" Quentin growled, impatient for him to
continue.

"And he's right that the politicians have
begun to take note of how many voters blame big business for dirty
air and water. Caution will not cost us as much in the long run.
Besides, he can be very useful. A really sharp young man.""As usual
you don't think my advice worth much. Some-- two bit engineer with
a degree from a one of those under funded colleges shows up and you
hang on his every word. I don't think you feel comfortable with the
techniques, new ways of doing business." Quentin snapped.

"Oh, I see."

"We need to move aggressively, fast. While
you hold hands with Honorè, trying to please every local crackpot
with a gripe, most of whom can barely read, some other company
could move ahead. Now I would take the reports we have and move up
our timetables. Make the plant fully operational, and profitable,
and the objections would get drowned out."

"I'm a bit too slow, am I?"

"The way you've always done things isn't
relevant anymore. This is a new market that's wide open. With all
the publicity, some other company will see the opportunity and
seize it while you're still sipping tea with Honorè." Quentin
failed to notice the steely look in his grandfather's eyes. He
spoke as though he were alone. "Batton Chemical could soon be as
much of a relic as the dinosaurs if something isn't done to bring
it out of the stone age."

"And you are the man to do it I suppose?"

"If you stop making me feel like some
incompetent kid you have to watch every minute. Yes, I have plenty
of ideas that could get us on the right track."

"How interesting you should mention my having
to watch you every minute. There was the time I sent you to Dallas,
remember? You insulted some of the best staff, slept with the wife
of one of my most valued executives who promptly jumped ship taking
valuable information with him to our chief competitor, and
production fell by ten percent when you decided you could step into
his shoes. Then there was the fiasco in Atlanta when you decided
that Williams, one of the top contract negotiators working for me,
was moving too slow. You met with Argentineans without him and they
walked away with a wonderful deal, at our expense. A deal we
couldn't get out of without losing our shirts even more." As Claude
spoke, his voice took on the sharp edge of a scalpel. With each
word, he carved his grandson down inch by inch until Quentin seem
to physically shrink under the onslaught.

"There already were staff problems in Dallas,
I told you. I was making head way before you stopped me. Sharpton's
wife had slept with half the office anyway. Atlanta wasn't my
fault, I tried to work with Williams but he--" Quentin's voice
became strained.

"You would be unemployed if
I held you to the same standards I set for my other employees. Now
let's get this straight, you’re vice president of
`do as you're told'
, you
understand? When I want your opinion, I'll tell you what it is. I
have been cleaning up your messes since you were fourteen and
sadly, you haven't learned anything from your numerous mistakes. At
least your father had the guts to try to make it on his own."
Claude snorted in disgust, not even looking at Quentin.

"My father would be alive if you hadn't tried
to run his life. You might as well have put a gun to his
head."Claude whirled around grabbing the front of Quentin's shirt
with both hands, pulling him close. Claude spoke with such
intensity his whole body shook.

"Don't ever speak to me like that again or
I'll beat you to a pulp, and then throw you out on the street
without a penny."

"Claude, let him go. Please, he's your
grandson." Annadine stood in the room wringing her hands.

"Get out of my sight," Claude said through
clenched teeth releasing him.

Quentin backed towards his grandmother,
rubbing his neck. His breath came in ragged gasps, lips trembling
with the effort not to cry. He opened his mouth several times, but
seeing the look on Claude's face said nothing. Annadine put her
arms around his shoulders. Quentin faced her.

"Let go of me." He shook free of her hold and
ran down the hall. After a few minutes, the door slammed and the
roar of an engine could be heard.

"At least he didn't snivel to you this time.
That's some small improvement." Claude sat down. Smoothing his hair
in place, he reached for his glass.

"How can you say such horrible things? He's
always been a sensitive boy. Losing his parents so young had such a
devastating effect on the poor child. You should be more
sympathetic to him."

"His mother was a spoiled selfish brat who
taught him nothing but how to whine for whatever he wanted, his
father a silly dreamer who spent time digging in dirt for centuries
old garbage. But then I always thought he went on those long trips
as much to escape her constant complaining as to discover some new
civilization. At least for that I can't blame him."

"Vivian was used to the finer things in life
and came from such an old, wealthy family. And Louis had a
brilliant career ahead of him in archeology, his professor said
so."

"Spare me the fiction, my dear. The only
career either one of them worked at was drinking expensive liquor
until they were too drunk to see straight and partying all night
with their equally fatuous friends."

"Louis wanted your approval so much. If only
you could have been more understanding."

"As usual you make excuses. I tried to teach
them to be men and you baby them. Encouraging Louis with that
archaeology nonsense."

"But it was what he wanted."