Variation on a Theme, Book 6
Copyright© 2024 by Grey Wolf
Chapter 115: Curve Ball
Friday, March 21, 1986
We didn’t hit the road until about eleven-thirty, having had brunch with Camille. She had nothing to say about business but a lot of questions about the weddings. Not just ours, either. She was curious about Lizzie and Janet’s and Cammie and Mel’s.
The idea of me following a tux-clad Lizzie’s lead while wearing my kilt had her nearly in stitches, and she made me promise to get her a recording of it if possible. Photos, if not. We discussed, but rejected, Jasmine learning to lead. I probably wouldn’t wear my kilt for our wedding, anyway.
I might, though. Camille and Jas both thought it was worth considering, and I would wear whatever Jas wanted me to within reason. Frank-N-Furter was ‘right out,’ absolutely, but anything reasonably nice and formal would work for me.
The thing was — and Camille picked up on it right away, and approved — Jas and I were basically planning a traditional wedding. Angie and Paige were, too, except for the lack of a groom. We would play the ‘Wedding March’, have an officiant who looked and sounded the part (and was, in fact, an ordained minister in a fairly major denomination, if a very liberal one), have flower girls (probably — I needed to talk to my cousin Keith about that!), Bridesmaids and Groomsmen (and maybe Bridesmen), and so forth. A traditional rehearsal dinner, bachelor and bachelorette parties (times three, with Angie and Paige skipping each other’s), and all of that. Vows that left some things out, put other things in, but were basically traditional. Rings and ringbearers, flowers, a photographer, a videographer, and perhaps a unity candle. A traditional reception, except with two cakes (and no shoving cake in anyone’s face).
Maybe three garter tosses, though. Entirely possible! And three bouquet tosses!
The blend of traditional and non-traditional leaned fairly heavily toward it being something Grandmother would approve of. That wasn’t a goal, but rather just something that came from who we all were. We had never really sought to curry favor with Grandmother in the first place. We just liked her.
Aunt Helen could have a cow if she wanted. Heck, she could have an entire herd. As of now, she was going to be on the guest list, partly because it was unthinkable to exclude Tim and inconceivable to invite Tim but ask him not to bring his wife. We might have some very large ushers designated to maintain order should Helen get unruly, but that’s what happens when you have two Division I linebackers and a tight end as close family friends. All three of them were very polite people, but even Aunt Helen might think twice about getting in their faces, should she otherwise feel inspired to be disruptive.
On the other hand, some of them might be groomsmen or bridesmen, in which case we would have other people designated as ushers. Heck, if Andy and Cal brought friends over again, maybe they would be Division I players, too. I didn’t feel close enough to anyone but them to invite them now, but we had a year and a half to change that.
And, with Kip Corrington peripherally involved in one of the study groups, he might be on the guest list anyway.
Our first stop along the way was at Kyle’s office. He had tax returns ready for all of us. We would review them in the next week or so and send him any changes. Most likely, we wouldn’t have any, but something could come up. After that, he would prepare the final returns.
Finally, we would sign them and send them off. Angie’s would have a big check to go with it. Some of the rest of us would have smaller checks.
I suspected next year’s returns would be more complicated, and it was only going to get worse from there. Even with this set, the part of the return covering Camel was likely to be a pain in the butt, and I got a lot of that, since MNMS was pretty thoroughly linked to Camel for the moment. Cammie would get a fair bit herself.
We arrived at the Hilton around three. As expected, P.C.’s Limited was paying, but they took my Amex for ‘incidentals,’ as usual. There was a folder waiting at the desk, too. I took it up to the room to look at later.
It turned out we weren’t in a normal room, but one of the smaller suites on the concierge floor. Our room had a living room and a bedroom with a door between them, and there was a gift basket on the living room table.
“This is cool!” Jas said. “I could get used to this.”
“You’ll probably have to,” I said. “We still can’t count chickens before they hatch, but we have multiple paths to being multi-millionaires within a decade as of now, and none of the main ones require us to do very much.”
She giggled and hugged me.
“Seriously not why I’m with you, but it would be stupid to say it doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Oh, I agree. It obviously matters. It’ll change how we live and somewhat who we are. The rules change. Michael’s not going to be able to just go to a restaurant without people and without getting everything set first, starting in a few years and lasting the rest of his life, unless something breaks. Jess may be in the same boat. And we might, too.”
“Which is weird,” she said. “You have a better perspective on that.”
“I’ve never lived it, though. Not even vaguely. I’ve just watched it happen to other people, and that from afar. We have to find ways of staying connected to reality. There are painful videos in the future of politicians trying to pretend they understand how ‘average folks’ live when it’s clear they don’t have the slightest idea. When was the last time George Bush walked into a grocery store? He probably thinks that’s what they’re still like today. In my first life, we had a rich politician who just couldn’t get the idea that regular people pump their own gas. I doubt he had ever touched a gas pump in his life.”
“See ... that, right there, kinda nails it. Now I’m trying to imagine a life where I don’t go into grocery stores. I’ll be fine, but ... it’s weird.”
“It is.”
“Okay!” she said. “Change of subject. What’s in the folder?”
“Just a sec,” I said.
I picked up the phone and quickly called Michael’s office, letting Alice, his assistant, know I was here. She promised to tell him. I made a mental note to get to know Alice better. We would likely be talking quite a bit more in the future.
After that, I sat down at the living room table and said, “Let’s see.”
Inside were some papers. The top one was a handwritten note from Michael that said, ‘Late dinner guest for Saturday. Friend of a friend. Interesting guy. I think he might be a better candidate, but we’re not playing it as a double interview. He’s officially there to help me interview William Reynolds. Wanted you to know who he was so you’re ready. See you tonight!’
I flipped the page and my heart skipped a beat. Probably not literally, but it felt that way. The two-page resume introduced me to one Lee Walker. I couldn’t tell where he was from originally, but he was an Aggie (Class of ‘63, in Physics). Corps, then, all the way. He had an MBA from Harvard — impressive in itself — in 1967. He’d started and sold several companies, and was currently between jobs.
Doing the math, that probably made him about 44 or 45. He would be older than Michael’s and my combined ages, but he should be able to handle it. My being an Aggie might make a difference, and I obviously had to get that into the conversation if Michael didn’t.
This, right here, was our guy. We just had to get him.
Jas said, “You look engrossed.”
I passed her the resume and said, “This is the guy, according to Angie. This is who we want running the show.”
“He’s not the main interviewee?” Jas said.
“It’s complicated. He’s coming because a friend of Michael’s suggested he sit in. But Michael is impressed and, I think, is trying to interview Lee while pretending to interview William Reynolds. So, that’s what I’ll be doing, too. I had Reynolds pegged as maybe the better candidate before, but this’ll turn into a really weird interview. Three of us, one with very little interviewing experience, interviewing a fourth, all while two of us are trying to really make it about the third guy.”
She giggled.
“I would worry, but you’ll pull it off. I have total faith in you.”
“Oddly, I do, too,” I said. “This will work. Michael got him on board last time, and I honestly think we have a better shot this time.”
“Because of the Aggie connection?”
“A few things. That, and Dell’s bigger. More compelling. Also, because if Michael gets him intrigued enough, he can hit me for a second opinion, and I can make a really good case.”
“I hope it works!” she said. “That means tonight’s original interview is just for show, right?”
“I think it always was, but we’ll see. The guy just feels wrong. If this was 2010 Dell, I’d strongly consider him for a division presidency or something. He’s the wrong guy for a COO role right now, I think. But I could be wrong. He might have strengths I’m missing.”
“You’ll have fun,” she said. “Gonna call Angie?”
“I probably should,” I said.
It only took a few minutes to get her on the phone.
When I mentioned his name, Angie said, “Lee Walker! That’s definitely the right guy. It’s a big relief. Well, or a ‘What if it gets fucked up?’ sort of thing. But mostly relief.”
“I’m in the same place about it,” I said. “Anyway, I should run, and you probably have things to do.”
“Nothing big, but yeah. Go get him!”
“Planning to!”
Jas grinned.
“Sounds like you were right.”
“It’s him, or at least Angie is sure it is.”
“Yay!” she said, hugging me.
“Now, off to interview the wrong guy!”
“Meanwhile, I will go shopping! There’s a whole mall right over there!”
“Have fun, honey,” I said.
She grinned.
“Girl in a mall? I’ll have plenty of fun!”
Jas helped me pick out interview clothes. I wound up wearing a blue long-sleeve shirt with an open collar and black socks and shoes. Tomorrow would be almost the same, except for a burgundy shirt. That would make the A&M connection obvious, but it was also a shirt I wore fairly often, so it wasn’t forcing anything.
I also wore my new Scottish cap. It had grown to be a tradition, and it felt right for this.
Dinner — both nights — was going to be at Fonda San Miguel. It was an interesting interview choice. Mexican, to be sure, but not the ‘Mexican’ a lot of people would think of. Fonda San Miguel was interior Mexican food (Oaxaca, I was pretty sure) and toward the high end. It fit for a business dinner, but it was also unabashedly ‘Austin.’ Someone who wasn’t comfortable there would likely not fit in very well.
I arrived about fifteen minutes early for the interview, headed inside, and let them know I was here. They had comfortable seating just outside the door, so I hung out and waited. The door was propped open, anyway. In the summer, it probably would have been closed.
Five minutes after I got there, Michael arrived. He made a beeline for me as I rose, then shook my hand.
“Hey!” he said. “Love the cap!”
“Thanks!” I said. “Love the hotel room!”
He chuckled and said, “Thank Alice. The only thing I had to do with it was saying, ‘Get Steve a room somewhere decent.’ The rest is all her.”
“I need to get to know her better. Feels like we’ll be talking a fair bit.”
“She’s very good. Obviously, or I’d have someone else, but ... I need about three of her. One day! For now ... the place would shut down in about twenty-four hours without her, I think.”
“People like that are worth every bit of what they’re paid and more.”
“Don’t I know it!” he said. “I make sure she gets a very healthy bonus!”
We both chuckled.
A tall guy in a suit walked up and headed for the desk, ignoring us. He was just loud enough that I heard the name ‘Dell.’ I gave Michael a look. He smiled back, and we headed over. I took off my cap as we headed in, tucking it under my left arm for the moment.
“Hello,” Michael said. “Michael Dell.”
The guy looked slightly surprised, but said, “Gregory Robinson.”
They shook hands, and then Michael said, “Let me introduce you to my not-as-silent-as-he-wants-to-be partner, Steve Marshall. Steve’s my first investor and half of the Board of Directors.”
“Howdy,” I said.
It fit, because I was going to do the same thing tomorrow. Also, I had to see if it would throw him. Plenty of Texans, and most Aggies, would lead with ‘Howdy’ over ‘Hello,’ even in this setting. If he pegged me as ‘hick,’ it would say something.
“A pleasure,” he said, shaking hands.
The hostess seated us at a table for four that seemed relatively quiet. Not that Fonda San Miguel was loud — it wasn’t — but we could use some quiet.
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