He paid her twenty dollars and walked diagonally across the lobby to the hotel registration desk. There he acquired an envelope. He put Hubbard’s materials in the envelope, hesitated, then scrawled across the front of it, “Welcome aboard!!!! Fred Frick.” He had the envelope placed in the rack for 847.
He moved along to the next section of the registration desk.
“Yes sir?”
“You have a reservation for me? John Dempsey.”
“Ummmm... yes, Mr. Dempsey. A single. Are you with the convention?”
“No,” Frick said, filling out the registration card.
“How long will you be with us?”
“I’ll leave next Sunday.”
“We can offer you a choice of...”
“Put me as far from the convention accommodations as you can get me. A nice room, please, but I don’t have to stare at the ocean.”
“Ummmm... eleven-oh-two is a nice room, Mr. Dempsey, in the main part of the structure here on the street side. Your luggage is here?”
“It’ll be along later.”
“Is this a charge, sir?”
“Cash. Do you want any right now?”
After a slight hesitation, appraisal, decision, the clerk smiled and said, “That won’t be necessary, sir. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us. Shall I have a boy show you...”
“Not right now, thanks,” Frick said and pocketed his key and walked away from the desk. It was standard procedure devised a long time ago by Frick and Jesse Mulaney, and they had picked a name easy to remember even when drunk. The most predictable aspect of any convention was the certainty that the unpredictable problem would arise. And the availability of an anonymous room far from the turmoil of convention was a handy device. When checkout time came, the room could be billed right along with the rest of the AGM tab.
He went up to 1102 and found it a pleasant, sizable twin-bed room. It was a few minutes after twelve. He phoned the AGM suite, and Bobby Fayhouser answered.
“How are you doing, Bobby?”
“Okay, I guess. I raised some hell, and they’re yanking a big rug out of here and replacing it. Near as I can figure, somebody built a camp fire in the middle of the main room here and put it out with catsup. I had three assistant managers up here clucking about it. Otherwise the place is okay.”
“How about that little diarama display?”
“It’s on the way over.”
“Who have you got there with you?”
“Charlie and Les.”
“When can I come make an inspection?”
“We should be all set by one o’clock anyway, Fred.”
“Better than I expected. Look, I checked myself in at the convention desk, and I picked up Hubbard’s stuff too. That check you got made out to NAPATAN is for a hundred ’n forty, right? Okay, first chance you get, go down and pick up the crap for the whole group and get twenty cash out of her, which you’ll owe me. If she makes a fuss, tell me. She looks like a little doll who enjoys fussing. One thing I forgot to tell you. Scrounge all the glasses you can. I’ll be around later on.”
Next he called his home. Bert said, “This is a real considerate time to tell me whether or not you’re coming home for lunch.”
“Honey, I told you I can’t be home for lunch or dinner, not while the convention is going on.”
“You may think you told me but you didn’t.”
“Honestly, honey, I don’t like this any better than you do, but I swear I don’t have any idea when I’ll be able to get home tonight.”
“Oh, I knew so damn well that if that Jesse Mulaney came down, I wouldn’t see you at all.”
“Now baby...”
“Don’t give me that now baby stuff, Frederick. It doesn’t do any good. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know you’re damn glad to get away from me. You couldn’t wait to get out of the house this morning, could you?”
“Honey, I’ve got a lot of responsibilities here. I got to see that the AGM part of this thing runs smooth, or that brass that comes down is going to think Fred Frick is a bum.”
“The cat has been throwing up again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, honey.”
“I’ve been cleaning up after him all morning.”
“That’s a shame.”
“If you ever happen to think of it, and you’re not too drunk, call me up again some time and say hello.” She hung up so strenuously the noise made him flinch.
He tried 847 again. He was so convinced there would be no answer that when Hubbard said, “Hello?” it caught him off balance.
“Oh... uh... Mr. Hubbard? This is Fred Frick. We’ve never met, but...”
“Mr. Frick. Of course.”
“Glad you could make it. I guess you got in real early.”
“Earlier than I wanted to. But all they could do for me on anything later was put me on standby. So I decided at the last minute to play it safe and take a night coach.”
“Is your room okay?”
“Fine. Fine.”
“What I did, I signed you in for the convention and left the badge and stuff at the desk for you. I can phone down and have them shoot it right up to...”
“Thanks. I’ll pick it up when I go down there.”
“As you probably know already, Mr. Hubbard, this thing doesn’t officially get off the ground until the opening banquet tonight in the Arabian Room at eight o’clock. I’d like to ask you to have lunch with me, but I’ve got to go out to the airport to meet Jesse and Mrs. Mulaney. Would you want to go out there with me?”
“I guess I’ll wait until they get settled in. I think that would be better.”
“Anything you say. What I was thinking, some of my boys are getting the AGM hospitality suite in shape, and if you’re not doing anything else, I could stop by in say five minutes and take you down to the suite and introduce you to some of the boys, and we could have a little drink maybe.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Frick. Five minutes?”
“Right.”
Frick called the suite. Bobby wasn’t there. Les Lewis said he was due back any minute and, yes, the suite was shaping up, and they could fix a drink. Frick explained the situation.
When he rapped at the door of 847, Hubbard opened it immediately, smiled, shook hands, came out into the hall and checked the door to be sure it had locked. Fred Frick felt slightly off balance. Hubbard was not the type he had anticipated. He was a stocky man, with considerable breadth of shoulder, and a look of toughness of body, of a resilient fitness. His black hair was cropped to a length which left just enough to comb and part. His lightweight suit, though obviously tailored to fit him very well, looked as if it was not the sort of thing he would ordinarily wear. He had big hands, a hard thrust of jaw, black and bushy brows, a nose slightly misshapen from some old breakage, a friendly grin, warm, brown, direct eyes. He gave Frick an impression of uncomplicated honesty. Frick knew the type. This man was some kind of technician. He would be more comfortable in coveralls. The hatchet men were cooler types, reserved, watchful, chronically skeptical.
As they walked toward the suite, Frick said, “Have you been to many of this sort of convention, Mr. Hubbard?”
“I’ve been to conventions, but not this kind. I guess they’re all alike in a lot of ways. Mine were engineering deals.”
Frick was gratified to have hit it so closely. “Oh, you started on the production side?”
Hubbard stopped outside the open door of the suite. “Not production as such, Mr. Frick. Once upon a time I was a metallurgist. It wasn’t so long ago, but it’s beginning to seem like a long time ago. GAE hired me away from a research and testing lab to head up a research program on high conductivity metals, and it turned out bigger than they thought, so I had to get more and more over onto the administration side. Much to my disgust, Mr. Frick, they think I’m a better administrator than a metallurgist. So I’m stuck with it for a while. And they keep exposing me to every facet of the whole deal.” He grinned, and Frick found it infectious. “They keep me in a constant condition of confusion.”