Pointing to a Catasetum saccatum growing in fir bark on a ledge, Brett commented admiringly, 'That's a beauty! It's like a bird in flight.'
For a moment Matt relaxed, sharing the pleasure of the superb purple-brown bloom, its sepals and petals curving upward. He conceded, 'I guess it is like a bird. I never noticed that.'
Unwittingly, Brett broke the mood. 'Was it a fun day in Assembly, Mr. Z.? Did that rolling erector set of yours hold together?'
'If it did,' Matt Zaleski said, 'it's no thanks to the crazy car designs we have to work with.'
'Well, you know how it is. We like to throw you iron pants guys something that's a challenge; otherwise you'd doze off from the monotony.'
Good-natured banter was a way of life with Brett, as natural as breathing.
Unfortunately, he had never realized that with Barbara's father it was not, and was the reason Matt considered his daughter's friend a smart aleck.
As Matt Zaleski scowled, Brett added, 'You'll get the Orion soon. Now that's a playpen that'll build itself.'
Matt exploded. He said, heavy-handedly, 'Nothing builds itself! That's what you cocksure kids don't realize. Because you and your kind come here with college degrees, you think you know it all, believe everything you put on paper will work out. It doesn't! It's those like me - iron pants, you call us; working slobs - who have to fix it so it does . . .' The words roiled on.
Behind Matt's outburst was his tiredness of tonight; also the knowledge that, yes, the Orion would be coming his way soon; that the plant where he was second in command would have to build the new car, would be torn apart to do it, then put together so that nothing worked the way it had; that the ordinary problems of production, which were tough enough, would quickly become monumental and, for months, occur around the clock; that Matt himself would draw the toughest trouble-shooting during model changeover, would have little rest, and some nights would be lucky if he got to bed at all; furthermore, he would be blamed when things went wrong. He had been through it all before, more times than he remembered, and the next time - coming soon - seemed one too many.
Matt stopped, realizing that he had not really been talking to this brash kid DeLosanto - much as he disliked him - but that his own emotions, pent up inside, had suddenly burst through. He was about to say so, awkwardly, and add that he was sorry, when Barbara appeared at the atrium door. Her face was white.
'Dad, you'll apologize for everything you just said.'
Obstinacy was his first reaction. 'I'll do what?'
Brett interceded; nothing bothered him for long. He told Barbara, 'It's okay; he doesn't have to. We had a mild misunderstanding. Right, Mr. Z.?'
'No!' Barbara, usually patient with her father, stood her ground. She insisted, 'Apologize! If you don't, I'll leave here now. With Brett.
I mean it.'
Matt realized she did.
Unhappily, not really understanding anything, including children who grew up and talked disrespectfully to parents, young people generally who behaved the way they did; missing his wife, Freda, now dead a year, who would have never let this happen to begin with, Matt mumbled an apology, then locked the atrium door and went to bed.
Soon after, Brett said goodnight to Barbara, and left.
Chapter 12
Now, winter gripped the Motor City. November had gone, then Christmas, and in early January the snow was deep, with skiing in northern Michigan, and ice heaped high and solidly along the shores of Lakes St. Clair and Erie.
As the new year came in, so preparations intensified for the Orion's debut, scheduled for mid-September. Manufacturing division, already huddled over plans for months, moved closer to plant conversions which would start in June, to produce the first production run Orion - job One, as it was called - in August. Then, six weeks of production - shrouded in secrecy - would be needed before the car's public unveiling. Meanwhile, Purchasing nervously co-ordinated an armada of materials, ordered, and due on vital days, while Sales and Marketing began hardening their endlessly debated, oft-changed plans for dealer introductions and promotion. Public Relations pressed forward with groundwork for its Lucullan freeload which would accompany the Orion's introduction to the press. Other divisions, in greater or less degree according to their functions, joined in the preparation.
And while the Orion program progressed, many in the company gave thought to Farstar, which would follow Orion, though its timing, shape, and substance were not yet known. Among these were Adam Trenton and Brett DeLosanto.
Something else which Adam was concerned with in January was the review of his sister Teresa's investment, bequeathed by her dead husband, in the auto dealership of Smokey Stephensen.
Approval from the company for Adam to involve himself with one of its dealers, however tenuously, had taken longer than expected, and had been given grudgingly after discussion by the Conflict of Interest committee. In the end, Hub Hewitson, executive vice-president, made a favorable ruling after Adam approached him personally. However, now that the time had come to fulfill his promise to Teresa, Adam realized how little he really needed, or wanted, an extra responsibility. His work load had grown, and an awareness of physical tension still bothered him. At home, relations with Erica seemed neither better nor worse, though he accepted the justice of his wife's complaint - repeated recently - that nowadays they had scarcely any time together. Soon, he resolved, he would find a way to put that right, but first, having accepted this new commitment, he would see it through.
Thus, on a Saturday morning, after arrangements made by telephone, Adam paid his first call on Smokey Stephensen.
The Stephensen dealership was in the northern suburbs, close to the boundary lines of Troy and Birmingham. Its location was good - on an important crosstown route, with Woodward Avenue, a main northwest artery, only a few blocks away.
Smokey, who had clearly been watching the street outside, strode through the showroom doorway onto the sidewalk, as Adam stepped from his car.
The ex-race driver, heavily bearded and now corpulent in middle-age, boomed, 'Welcome! Welcome!' He wore a dark blue silk jacket with carefully creased black slacks and a wide, brightly patterned tie.
'Good morning,' Adam said, 'I'm . . .'
'No need to tell me! Seen your picture in Automotive News. Step in!'
The dealer held the showroom doorway wide.
'We always say there's only two reasons for a man to pass through here - to get out of the rain or buy himself wheels. I guess you're the exception.'
Inside he declared, 'Within half an hour we'll be using first names. I always say, why wait that long?' He held out a bear paw of a hand. 'I'm Smokey.'
'I'm Adam,' Adam said. He managed not to wince as his hand was squeezed.
'Let me have your car keys.' Smokey beckoned a young salesman who hurried across the showroom floor. 'Park Mr. Trenton's car carefully, and don't sell it. Also, be sure you treat him with respect. His sister owns forty- nine percent of this joint, and if business don't pick up by noon, I may mail her the other fifty-one.' He winked broadly at Adam.
'It's an anxious time for all of us,' Adam said. He knew, from sales reports, that a post-holiday lull was being felt this year by all auto makers and dealers. Yet, if only car buyers knew, this was the best time in any year to make a favorable financial deal. With dealers heavily stocked with cars forced on them by factories, and sometimes desperate to reduce inventory, a shrewd car buyer might save several hundred dollars on a mediumpriced car, compared with buying a month or so later.
