“It’d look cool.”
“Would we have to have the flower as well?”
Stan laughed. “Hey, Johnny, you know what? I’m stoked.”
Burton was twice the size of Oakridge and it took us a while to find the molding factory that made the planters. When we did, we bought what the pickup would carry of the models we wanted-cylindrical drums and long rectangular troughs-and placed a wholesale order for more to be delivered the next day.
It was early afternoon when we got back to our warehouse. The workmen had gone from the garden center and the complex was closed and locked and already had an air of abandonment about it. After we’d carried our planters inside Stan showed me how to build a display.
I followed his instructions on how high to fill the planters with soil and what plants to use and where to place them so that they looked good and gave a balanced effect. The drums were simple. A layer of pumice stones, several inches of potting mix, remove the black plastic wrapping from the root mass of a single palm or dracaena, center it in the pot, and fill it up with potting mix.
After we’d done a few of these we moved on and prepared a couple of troughs. Stan called these “display planters” and they took more time since a selection of plants had to be used to create a symmetrical display that rose gradually from the ends of the box toward a high point in the center.
It was pleasant being there like that. The scent of the dark moist earth and the green humidity of the plants made the work seem clean and real and good, and for the two hours we spent at it there was no need to think too deeply about things.
Even so, I couldn’t help moments of vague unease. I’d had to pay Bill Prentice the first three months of the lease up front and even though he’d given us a good price, that and the deal we’d just done for the planters had taken more than half my savings. We still had Stan’s money, but there would be more plants and soil to buy, and there would be bills too-electricity, insurance, the cost of running the pickup…
Toward midafternoon, while we were still working, I heard a car pull up. Shortly afterwards, faintly, beyond the tin walls of our warehouse, it seemed to me that someone was walking around the outside of the garden center. I assumed it was someone who’d come to buy garden supplies and that they’d go away when they finally figured out the place had gone out of business. But when there were still noises five minutes later Stan and I went outside to take a look.
Midway between the garden center and our warehouse a man stood looking carefully at the section of land. Though he could not have failed to notice us he gave no immediate indication of it. Instead, his gaze continued to wander over the buildings as though he was taking an inventory. Beyond him, in the parking lot, a red convertible E-type Jaguar bounced sun off its paintwork.
When he’d finished his inspection the man walked over to where we were. For an instant, as he looked at me, an expression of hatred rippled across his face, then he smiled and it was gone and he stuck out his hand.
“Jeremy Tripp. You’re Johnny Richardson. And you’re Stan.”
Stan made a surprised noise. “Wow, how’d you know?”
Jeremy Tripp waved his hand dismissively. “A man moves into a new town, he does his homework.” He gazed toward the trees that lined the road. “This is a very nice spot.”
There were two wooden benches in front of the warehouse, put there to add a little rustic charm to the metal shed. Jeremy Tripp sat down on one, leaned back comfortably, and gazed at us. He was in his late forties and a few inches under average height. He had brown hair that had been highlighted and a body that, while not overweight, was more padded by fat than muscle. He looked like a man who was used to dealing with people. He waved at the other bench.
“Sit down, it’s a beautiful day.”
I found his proprietary air offensive but as we were just starting a business it seemed sensible not to be offensive back. Stan and I sat and I forced myself to make conversation.
“So you’re new in town?”
“Mmm, arrived yesterday. Got a place on the Slopes.”
“What brings you to Oakridge?”
He looked levelly at me and took some time to reply. “I’m thinking about building a small hotel here.”
“Oh? Whereabouts?”
“I’m not certain yet, though I have a possibility in mind.”
“Is that what you do, build hotels?”
“I ran a telecommunications company. I’m taking a leave of absence. I was getting flaccid. The challenges in that world are really not so interesting. The boardroom is bullshit. What I’m interested in is something real. We’re like children, John, always children. We have to keep pushing at the walls of our playpens. Without that there isn’t a whole lot else to do.”
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound as though you know your own mind. You should watch that. The mind is the most powerful thing we have. A big, strong guy can beat someone up. But a smart guy can destroy a whole life.”
“If he wanted to.”
“If the person deserved it, it would be satisfying, don’t you think? Manipulating events to get that result.”
Despite the dictates of good business sense, I was thinking of getting up and leaving him to pontificate to himself, but he laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t pay any attention to me. I get these crazy ideas and I blurt them out. I don’t mean a word I say. What do you do, John?”
Stan chirped up before I could answer. “We’re starting a business.”
“Really, Stanley? Tell me about it, I’m all ears.”
“We’re going to put plants into stores and people’s houses.”
“I know the sort of thing.”
“Hey, you could be our first customer. Is your house big?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I bet it would look better with some plants in it.”
“It might. How are you structured? A one-off start up fee and a monthly maintenance charge?”
Stan looked nervously across at me and I pretended I had at least some idea of what I was doing and answered Jeremy Tripp with a firm “Yes.”
Stan took him into the warehouse and showed him the displays we’d assembled. When they came out again Tripp told us how many planters he wanted, then he shook Stan’s hand and sat back down.
“Done deal.”
I thought Stan would burst with happiness. “Boy, this is incredible! Hey, Mr. Tripp, can I go look at your car?”
“That’s not a car. That’s a VI2 E-type Jaguar. Yes, you can look at it.”
“Wow, thanks!”
Stan bounded off to the parking lot. Jeremy Tripp watched him go.
“You two seem close.”
“We are.”
“Your brother appears to be quite invested in this plant venture.”
“Yes.”
“For the money? Because he doesn’t really seem like the money type. Tell me, is he challenged?”
“He had an accident when he was young.”
“And this is his chance to feel like he’s part of the normal world?”
“I don’t know.”
Tripp smiled knowingly. “Did you research your market?”
“What’s to research? No one else in Oakridge does it.”
“Even so, I’d be surprised if the town could sustain this kind of business. You’ll get customers, of course, the question is will you get enough of them? You have to pay for your stock, cover your operating costs, and generate sufficient profit to make the whole thing worthwhile. Juggling your income and your expenses can be tricky, John. I should know.”
“Well, we’re going to give it a shot.”
“How do you think your brother will react if that shot fails?”
“I guess he’ll come to terms with it.”
“Really?”
Stan came back from the parking lot then. “Cool car, um, Jaguar, I mean.”
Tripp’s face brightened. “Just the man! How would you feel if your plant business didn’t make it, Stan?”
Stan looked at him in surprise. His mouth trembled and he glanced at me then back at Tripp. “Don’t you want plants anymore?”