Chapter 15
The portion of northern Michigan which encloses Higgins Lake is described by the local Chamber of Commerce as 'Playtime Country.'
Adam Trenton, Brett DeLosanto, and others attending Hank Kreisel's cottage weekend in late May, found the description apt.
The Kreisel 'cottage' - in fact, a spacious, luxuriously appointed, multibedroomed lodge was on the west shoreline of Higgins Lake's upper section. The entire lake forms a shape resembling a peanut or a fetus, the choice of description depending, perhaps, on the kind of stay a visitor happens to be having.
Adam located the lake and cottage without difficulty after driving alone on Saturday morning by way of Pontiac, Saginaw, Bay City, Midland, and Harrison - most of the two-hundred-mile journey on Interstate 75. Beyond the cities he found the Michigan countryside lushly green, aspen beginning to shimmer and the shad-blow in full bloom. The air was sweetly fresh.
Sunshine beamed from a near-cloudless sky. Adam had been depressed on leaving home but felt his spirits rise as his wheels devoured the journey northward.
The depression stemmed from an argument with Erica.
Several weeks ago, when he informed her of the invitation to a stag weekend party, which Brett DeLosanto had conveyed, she merely remarked,
'Well, if they don't want wives, I'll have to find something to do myself, won't I?' At the time, her reasonableness gave Adam second thoughts about going at all; he hadn't been keen to begin with, but yielded to Brett's insistence about wanting Adam to meet Brett's supplier friend, Hank Kreisel. Finally, Adam decided to leave things the way they were.
But Erica had obviously not made plans of her own, and this morning when he got up and began packing a few things, she asked, 'Do you really have to go?' When he assured her at this stage he did because he had promised, she inquired pointedly, 'Does 'stag' mean no women or merely no wives?'
'No women,' he answered, not knowing if it were true or not, though suspecting not, because he had attended suppliers' weekend parties before.
'I'll bet!' They were in the kitchen by then, Erica brewing coffee and managing to bang the pot about. 'And I suppose there'll be nothing stronger to drink than milk or lemonade.'
He snapped back, 'Whether there is or isn't, it'll be a damn sight more congenial than around here.'
'And who makes it uncongenial?'
Adam had lost his temper then. 'I'll be goddamned if I know. But if it's me, I don't seem to have that effect on others apart from you.'
'Then go to your blasted others!' At that, Erica had thrown a coffee cup at him - fortunately empty - and, also fortunately, he caught it neatly and set it down unbroken. Or perhaps it wasn't fortunate because he had started to laugh, which made Erica madder than ever, and she stormed out, slamming the kitchen door behind her. Thoroughly angry himself by this time, Adam had flung his few things in the car and driven away.
Twenty miles up the road the whole thing seemed ludicrous, as married squabbles so often are in retrospect, and Adam knew if he had stayed home the whole thing would have blown over by midmorning. Later, near Saginaw, and feeling cheerful because of the kind of day it was, he tried to telephone home, but there was no answer. Erica had obviously gone out.
He decided he would call again later.
Hank Kreisel greeted Adam on arrival at the Higgins Lake cottage, Kreisel managing to look simultaneously trim and casual in immaculately pressed Bermuda shorts and an Hawaiian shirt, his lean, lanky figure as militarily erect as always. When they had introduced themselves, Adam parked his car among seven or eight others - all late models in the luxury ranges.
Kreisel nodded toward the cars. 'Few people came last night. Some still sleeping. More arriving later.' He took Adam's overnight bag, then escorted him onto a timbered, covered walkway which extended around the cottage from the roadway side. The cottage itself was solidly built, with exterior walls of log siding and a central gable, supported by massive hand-hewn beams. Down at lake level was a floating dock at which several boats were moored.
Adam said, 'I like your place, Hank.'
'Thanks. Not bad, I guess. Didn't build it, though. Bought it from the guy who did. He poured in too much dough, then needed cash.' Kreisel gave a twisted grin. 'Don't we all?'
They stopped at a door, one of several opening onto the walkway. The parts manufacturer strode in, preceding Adam. Directly inside was a bedroom in which polished woodwork gleamed. In a fireplace, facing a double bed, a log fire was laid.
'Be glad of that. Can get cold at night,' Kreisel said. He crossed to a window. 'Gave you a room with a view.'
'You sure did.' Standing beside his host Adam could see the bright clear waters of the lake, superbly blue, shading to green near the sandy shoreline. The Higgins Lake location was in rolling hills - the last few miles of journey had been a steady climb - and around cottage and lake were magnificent stands of jack pines, spruce, balsam, tamarack, yellow pine, and birch. Judging by the panoramic view, Adam guessed he was being given the best bedroom. He wondered why. He was also curious about the other guests.
'When you're ready,' Hank Kreisel announced, 'bar's open. So's the kitchen. Don't have meals here. Just drinks and food twenty-four hours.
Anything else can be arranged.' He gave the twisted grin once more as he opened a door on the opposite side of the room from where they had entered. 'There's two doors in 'n out - this and the other. Both lock. Makes for private coming and going.'
'Thanks. If I need to, I'll remember.'
When the other had gone, Adam unpacked the few things he had brought and, soon after, followed his host through the second door. It opened, he discovered, onto a narrow gallery above a central living area designed and furnished in hunting lodge style. The gallery extended around the living room and connected with a series of stone slab steps which, in turn, formed part of an immense rock fireplace. Adam descended the steps. The living area was unoccupied and he headed for a buzz of voices outside.
He emerged onto a spacious sun deck high above the lake. People, in a group, had been talking; now, one voice raised above others argued heatedly, 'So help me, you people in this industry are acting more and more like nervous Nellies. You've gotten too damn sensitive to criticism and too defensive. You're encouraging the exhibitionists, making like they're big time sages instead of publicity hounds who want their names in papers and on television. Look at your annual meetings! Nowadays they're circuses. Some nut buys one share of company stock, then tells off the chairman of the board who stands there and takes it. It's like letting a single voter, any voter, go to Washington and sound off on the Senate floor.'
'No, it isn't,' Adam said. Without raising his voice he let it penetrate the conversation. 'A voter doesn't have any right on the Senate floor, but a shareholder has rights at an annual meeting, even with one share.
That's what our system's all about. And the critics aren't all cranks.
If we start thinking so, and stop listening, we'll be back where we were five years ago.'
'Hey!' Brett DeLosanto shouted. 'Listen to those entrance lines, and look who got here!' Brett was wearing an exotic outfit in magenta and yellow, clearly self-designed, and resembling a Roman toga. Curiously, it managed to be dashing and practical. Adam, in slacks and turtleneck, felt conservative by contrast.
Several others who knew Adam greeted him, including Pete O'Hagan, the man who had been speaking when he came in. O'Hagan represented one of the major national magazines in Detroit, his job to court auto industry brass socially - a subtle but effective way of soliciting advertising.
Most big magazines had similar representation, their people sometimes becoming cronies of company presidents or others at high level. Such friendships became known to advertising agencies who rarely challenged them; thus, when advertising had to be cut, the publications with top bracket influence were last to be hurt.
