“Maybe I should feel thankful to the person who wrote that note. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have stayed in the race.”
Drake and Melody were running through Laguna Beach on Route 1, past art galleries and other touristy buildings. A horde of shorts-clad tourists competed with them for sidewalk space, often slowing them down.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, but don’t push it. The note said we had to finish the race. My mum was rather shocked when I called her, by the way. She wanted to know how I found out where she was.”
“She always struck me as being very independent.”
“Too independent. I’m trying to talk her into coming to the U.S. and living close to me so I can keep an eye on her, but she won’t hear of it. She says she would miss her friends too much.”
Drake looked behind him. “I wonder how Aki and Mike are doing. I haven’t seen them since we got off the beach.”
“They’ll be okay. Aki said the doctor didn’t think the cut was too bad. He just told him to stay off his feet for a few days.”
“Which of course he isn’t going to do.”
“When did runners ever pay attention to what doctors say?”
“At least we’re not in last place today. There’s someone in worse shape than I am. I’ll be happy when we’re not in last place overall.”
“As I said, don’t rush it.” Melody put a hand on his shoulder. “I feel your competitive fire returning, which isn’t a bad thing. I’m glad to see the old Drake. However, you’ve got to last a few hundred more miles. There’ll be opportunities. In a race this long, things are bound to happen.”
“Like stepping on rocks. And getting rear-ended.”
“I keep seeing signs about the Festival of Arts and “Pageant of the Masters.” What’s that about?”
“The Festival of Arts is an art festival. Ouch.”
Drake recoiled as Melody punched him in the shoulder.
“Well, what did you want me to say? If you’re going to hit me, I won’t tell you about the ‘Pageant of the Masters.’”
“This sounds like something out of Queen Elizabeth’s time. The first Queen Elizabeth. Prithee, kind sir, tell me about the ‘Pageant of the Masters.’”
“I went once. The folks who live here dress up like the people in paintings and sculptures and assume the same poses. They build sets for the backgrounds, and when you add the people and light it properly, you get a tableau that looks like the real thing. The models become the people in the paintings. It’s amazing how they do it, and they’ve been doing it forever.”
“That’s brilliant. I’d love to see it.”
“Well, since it’s going on right now, maybe we can talk Freddy into taking us.”
“Or steal the car and go ourselves. We have tomorrow off, so we don’t have to worry about going to bed early.”
“If it isn’t sold out. It’s very popular.”
“Do they depict nude paintings like ‘The Naked Maja’?”
“Sometimes, although if there are any men in them, they wear loincloths.”
“That’s all right. I’ve seen enough naked men on the beach. What about the women?”
Drake’s smile told her all she needed to know.
“May I say how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Thank you.” Melody smiled at Fred.
“You know, it was my idea to invite you to participate in Running California. I’m certainly glad I did. You’ve been a breath of fresh air.”
Drake reflected that this was the first time Melody had worn a skirt since Running California had started and wondered whether that had prompted Fred’s attention to her. It was a short skirt-Mary Quant had introduced her minis into the States a couple of years back-but more of Melody’s legs had been visible below the shorts she had been wearing every day. Somehow the skirt made her look more appealing, more feminine. In addition, she was wearing her sandy hair down without the ponytail. He began to rue the agreement between Melody and himself that they would sit on either side of the round and rolly Fred.
Melody, who was expert at manipulating men, made it sound to Fred as if they were trying to get to know him better. Which was certainly true, as far as it went. Fred had surprised the runners by producing a ticket to the “Pageant of the Masters” for each of them. Peaches drove them back to Laguna Beach from Newport Beach on the bus.
The Irvine Bowl was an outdoor amphitheater with tiers of seats rising gracefully in an arc from in front of the stage. It reminded Drake of a Roman theater he had seen on the island of Cyprus. It also bore similarities to a Greek Odeon, such as those at the Acropolis of Athens. Like the ancient theaters, there wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Not everything of value had been invented in the last hundred years.
The show couldn’t start until dark-about 8:30. It gave them a chance to talk to Fred. Drake decided it was time to change the direction of the conversation from how good Melody looked.
“How long have you been with Giganticorp?”
“Fifteen years. I joined right out of college.”
Melody said, “The Company must have been small then. I’m trying to remember when I first heard of it.”
“It was started in the late forties by a group of retired military officers and scientists who wanted to make sure that the U.S. stayed on the leading age of weapons and war technology. In some ways we got caught flat-footed by World War Two.”
It had grown rapidly and become very large, all in twenty years.
Drake had a question. “Since it started small, as most companies do, how did it get its name?”
“That was a joke. You know how military men are with their big egos. They decided that if they were going to start a corporation, it was going to be a big one. In reality, it started in an old warehouse not much larger than a garage. It was just Casey and half a dozen scientists.”
“How did Casey get involved?”
“His father was a lieutenant general in the army and on the original board of directors of Giganticorp. He died a few years ago. Casey was a senior at Stanford, majoring in business. They were working on a shoestring and needed somebody they could get cheap to head it. They pulled Casey out of school and made him president. I suspect they were planning to bring somebody in over him if they were successful.”
Melody spoke above the murmur of the voices of hundreds of theater-goers, chatting as they drifted toward their seats. “It sounds like Casey was so successful they never replaced him.”
“That’s it in a nutshell. He proved to be good at getting military contracts-although, of course, the connections of the stockholders helped. The corporation grew faster than any of the founders had dreamed.”
“I take it you’ve grown with the corporation over the years.” Melody kept a straight face, not looking at Fred’s waistline. “What’s your position?”
“My official title is Vice President of Marketing Operations.” Fred pulled two business cards out of a pocket of his sport coat and handed one to each of them. “I get involved with a lot of special projects.”
“Like Running California.”
“Precisely. Although I have to admit that was Casey’s idea. He runs almost every day. I’m not a runner, but I admire people who can do that sort of thing.”
Fred was smiling at Melody as he said this.
“Are you going to help Casey with his Senate race?” Drake asked.
“He hasn’t asked me. I was as surprised as anybody when he made the announcement. He doesn’t have an organization yet.”