Say, Whitey, actually there're two reasons I'm calling. First was to touch base with you about the Judge, and second was to tell you that I spoke to Sis Ryder in dietary about next month's meat order.
She's agreed to try allowing your place to handle the whole thing rather than going through the Ultramed purchasing office. Just to see how it all works out… Oh, you're welcome. You deserve the chance. Oh, listen, there is one other thing. Needless to say, the Judge is in no shape to make that meeting this morning… No, I'm afraid there's no way to delay the meeting. The contract calls for the sale to be finalized at noon unless there's a buy back vote by the board. I did speak briefly with him a few minutes ago, and he seemed content just to let each board member vote his conscience on this thing, and let the chips fall where they may. But Whitey, since you'll be running the meeting, there's one big favor you can do for me. I'd really appreciate it if that vote later this morning could be by closed ballot… I know that's not how you usually do it, but don't you think that would be the fairest way? Do this for me, Whitey, and I promise you that dietary contract will be just the beginning… Excellent, excellent. Hey, then, I'll see you at the meeting. And Whitey, thanks."
Frank replaced the receiver in its cradle, sipped his morning coffee, and then drew a careful line through Whitey Bourque's name on the block-printed list of business he had to attend to that morning. Before becoming administrator of Ultramed-Davis, Frank had never in his life made a list of things to do. Lists were for morning people, for grinds and drudges, for catchers and linebackers, not for quarterbacks. They were for draught horses, needing to know in advance precisely where they would be clopping to and when, not for thoroughbreds. However, four years of exposure to the efficiency and effectiveness of Ultr'nia's data banks, plus the pressures of juggling a dozen or more difficult situations at once, had changed him. Now, he began each day with a carefully drawn-up menu. Frank liked to look on his emergence as a list-maker as one of the more visible manifestations of his adaptability and maturity. And of all the lists he had ever made, the one for this morning was easily the most exciting. He scanned the roster of members of the board to assure himself that everything was in order for the meeting. It had taken a hell of an effort, but with the Judge's influence virtually neutralized, he had used the promise of a closed-ballot vote, plus certain other inducements, to capture the additional members he had needed to block the buy back. The votes-six in all-had not come cheaply, but he had done what he had to do. The sudden turn of events had him giddy. The whole thing was unbelievable-absolutely incredible, Zack teetering on the edge of oblivion at Davis, waiting only for the smallest nudge, the Judge eliminated from attending the decisive board meeting. He couldn't have scripted it better if he had tried. With Mainwaring due back from Georgia any time, everything had fallen into place everything, that is, but one minor exception. After brief thought, Frank took a black magic marker from his drawer and eliminated Call Lisette from his list. "Fuck her, " he muttered. The woman deserved neither the call nor the apology he had considered making. In fact, if there were to be any apologies, they would come from her. She would see the truth on her own-come to understand what she had pushed him to do-or she would lose out. The house, the car, even the children. She would lose out big. He had more than enough friends in high places to ensure that she paid for her desertion. This was simply not the day for dealing with a whiny, passive bitch like Lisette. This was a day of triumph. If she didn't choose to be available to share it with him, that was her problem. He took his list and carefully added, Check with A. D. re, tonight. Perfect, he thought. Annette Dolan was the ideal choice to help celebrate the remarkable turn of events. He keyed the intercom. Moments later, Annette knocked softly and slipped into his office. She was wearing a tight plaid skirt and a beige, short-sleeved angora sweater that seemed to be straining to cover her breasts. "G'morning, " he said. "Morning, yourself."
She stood primly beside his desk, her hands folded in front of her skirt, her arms pulled tightly downward, lifting her breasts together in a way that made them look even more spectacular. "I… um… I have some Xeroxing I need done, " Frank managed. He passed some papers across to her. "Twenty copies. No, make that thirty. You ah… that's a great sweater."
"Thanks."
"Do you think you might be able to wear it to work tonight? Say at eight?"
"Oh, Frank, I don't know. My mom's not feeling too well."
"I'm sorry to hear that…"
He hesitated, and then reached into his desk and brought out the iamond necklace he had planned to give Lisette for her birthday, "… because I was kind of hoping you'd wear this at the same time."
Annette's eyes widened. "Oh, Frankie, it's beautiful, " she said. "It's the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen. You're so good to me."
"That's because you're so good to me, About tonight? She ran her fingers over the piece. "How could I say no?"
"I don't know… How could you? " He pulled her to him and kissed her, sliding his hand over her skirt and then up to her breast. "Annette, honey, I don't want to wait until tonight. Just a little, Right here.
Right now."
"Fraank, please, " she said. "You've got to wait. I have work to do, and all that Xeroxing, and that door isn't locked. And besides, he might hear us."
"Who might hear us?"
"Why, your brother, of course. Didn't I… T' She held her hand to her mouth and looked at him sheepishly. "Oh my. I was about to tell you.
Frank's expression darkened. "How long has he been out there?"
"Just a few minutes. I'm sorry, Frank."
"Hey, no need to apologize, " he said, giving her breast a squeeze,
"Just wear that sweater tonight… and your necklace. Okay?"
"S-Sure."
"Perfect. Tell my brother I know he's here, and I'll be with him shortly."
"Okay. I'm sorry."
"Actually, now that I think about it, he couldn't have come at a better time."
The receptionist brightened noticeably. "Really?"
"Really," Frank said. "This will be the icing on the cake." He patted her behind as she turned to leave, and followed it with his eyes as she sashayed from his office. Then he added another item to his list in the same, perfect block print as all the others, Fire He paused, studying the notation thoughtfully, and then drew a small happy face next to it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Dr. Iverson, Mr. Iverson said to tell you that he knows you're here and will be with you as soon as he can. Are you sure I can't get you something?"
"No, no, thank you."
Zack managed to prevent himself, at the last possible instant, from augmenting his response with a shake of his head. Actually, the tympani that had been rehearsing in his brain had given way to the French horn section, and the tempest in his stomach had been downgraded to mere queasiness. Physically, it appeared, he was on the mend. With a little assistance from Cheap dog, he had awakened well before the time set on his clock radio by Suzanne. On the coffee table beside him was a glass of water, a packet of Bromo Seltzer, aild his old copy of Davenport, held open by his stethoscope and marked with a note from Suzanne which said, simply, Be strong. Now, as he waited for his brother to decide that he had been kept waiting long enough, Zack withdrew the monograph from his briefcase and reread the passage. Be diligent. Be meticulous.