Chapter 4

Cliff drove in to the plant on Saturday morning. He knew it wasn't operating; the current volume of business was not nearly big enough to justify Saturday operations. When he arrived, he was greeted by the gate guard and parked his car close to the plant entrance. Since it was a warm day in early April in Milwaukee, Cliff was wearing an old pair of Levi's and a golf shirt. He left his windbreaker in the car and walked into the plant, turning toward the factory floor. When he entered the plant he was surprised to see people working. Bill Stevens was there along with Janet Simmons and Sandy.

He joined them. "What brings you all in on Saturday? It's such a beautiful day, I thought I would be the only one here." Turning to Bill, he said, "I guess you and Mrs. Simmons must be working on the cafeteria plans. But Sandy, what brings you in? Don't you have a home?" He noticed that Sandy had beautiful legs which were shown off by the tight-fitting Levi's she was wearing along with a University of Michigan sweat shirt.

She gave him a welcoming smile and said, "Force of habit, I guess. It's been a long, cold winter with nothing better to do, so I guess I hung out at the plant."

Cliff asked Bill if he would show him around. When they reached the shipping area, he noticed some particularly heavy packing crates that seemed to be ready for overseas shipment. They were an export shipment headed for South America.

Bill sounded puzzled when he said, "Cliff, I just make the parts, but this doesn't make a lot of sense to me. Believe it or not, these parts are priced and sold FOB our shipping dock. The shipping people even bitch about the extra packing required for overseas shipment. I understand that we make good money on these orders but we make the buyer handle all the export paperwork. Does that make sense to you?"

"No, Bill, it sure doesn't. Have you ever been to South America?"

Stevens shook his head, no.

"It's the place old American cars seem to go to die. Particularly in countries like Venezuela, it's like going back in a time warp to the 1960s. You find all these huge American cars with their monstrous V-8 engines. With the country a major producer of crude oil and local fuel prices nationally subsidized, gasoline is still very cheap down there. Those engines were well-built, too.

"It seems logical we would have a big export business, though. Those engines will run a couple of hundred thousand miles before they need major engine work — and that's where a lot of them are when the odometer rolls over the second time. I guess we'll find out more about our export business starting Monday morning.

"In the meantime, what's all this other stuff?" Cliff was pointing to lines of stacked pallets with product on them. Judging from the weathering and the accumulated dust, the crates appeared to have been there a long time.

Bill frowned and replied, "It's quite a collection, isn't it? It really drives my people crazy. Looking at it, some of it looks like it's been here as long as we've been in the building. Honestly, Cliff, I would be afraid to ship any of this stuff without opening up the crates and inspecting it first. We're not even sure any of these things are usable."

"What do the auditors say?" Cliff asked. "They often get pretty tough on valuation of unsalable inventory for the balance sheet."

"Frankly, I'm not sure they even notice it. Some of these crates are like the plant walls: they're just here. Every time I raise a question, though, the finance types go through the ceiling — something about an inventory write-down. Frankly, I think we've got a product line that's much too broad. If the 80-20 rule generally holds — 80 percent of the sales come from 20 percent of the products — I'm not sure we don't run at 90-10 or even 95-5!"

Cliff did not like much of what he saw during his inspection. When they finished their tour, he noticed it was nearly one o'clock. Sandy was still out front talking with Janet Simmons. Bill and Janet went off together leaving Sandy alone with Cliff.

She looked at him thoughtfully and said, "From the look on your face, you didn't enjoy your tour with Bill, did you?"

"No, I didn't. We're going to have a lot to discuss starting Monday morning. Are the arrangements all in place?"

She nodded. "I even went over to the hotel yesterday afternoon to be sure. So far, so good."

"How about having lunch with me? I haven't eaten at all except for coffee. How about you?"

"I would love to. There's a place around the corner where a lot of the men eat. With the plant closed today, it should be pretty empty."

They went around the corner and entered a small café where Sandy was greeted by name.

"Does everybody know you around here, Sandy? I don't think I've seen you fail to be greeted by name yet." She just smiled and they ordered hamburgers with everything and Cokes.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she remarked. "I thought this was the big night with Stephanie. You should be down in Chicago panting at her doorstep. And remember, if you're very, very good, she may even allow you to share her bed."

Cliff just looked at the girl across the table. Finally, he said, "I apologize for what I said last week."

"What did you say last week?" she asked.

"I seem to recall saying you were getting broad in the beam. I apologize. You're not. Seeing you in those jeans convinced me." He continued to study the girl. He realized she was wearing no makeup at all. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing an oversized sweatshirt, she appeared to be about sixteen.

He told her so, and she stuck out her tongue at him. "That's the story of my life!" she said with a grimace. "I always remind guys of their best friend's kid sister. If I tried to act seductive, the guy would laugh and think I'm going to trip him or something. Please, Cliff, let me take back everything I said about Stephanie. It's just my jealousy showing, and I have absolutely nothing to be jealous about. She certainly got to you before I did."

Cliff just looked at her, realizing what a beautiful girl she was. "Would it have made a difference if you had seen me first?" he asked.

Her eyes flashed with green fire. "It certainly ... No, it wouldn't," she finished quietly. "Remember me? Everyone's kid sister? No, I'm afraid not. I apologize again. I guess I'm just overmatched and know it."

They finished their meal in silence and then Sandy quickly excused herself. Cliff was thoughtful as he drank his second cup of coffee alone.

He went back to the plant, got his car and drove back to his apartment. After he showered and shaved, he put on his best suit. Packing some things in his overnight bag, he left the apartment and headed south for Chicago. Stephanie's posh apartment building was on the Near North Side overlooking Lake Michigan. After parking in the garage he went up to her apartment, arriving a little before five.

Stephanie greeted him at the door, still in the process of dressing for dinner. As he went to kiss her she turned her face away saying he would smear her lipstick. He kissed her on the cheek and lightly caressed her voluptuous body. He noticed that she resisted for an instant but then allowed her body to melt under his hands. It was a reminder that she didn't seem to really enjoy close physical contact. Rather, she seemed to tolerate it, but only under certain conditions — conditions inevitably of her own choosing. Her unthinking reaction was typically one of resistance.

Since there was nothing for him to do, he just wandered around the apartment while she finished dressing. The dinner was being catered and the caterer was present with his staff. Cliff thought of getting a drink for himself but decided against it. It amused him that to Stephanie more than a single drink was a clear sign of early-stage alcoholism. Since it was early evening, he enjoyed the view of Lake Michigan from the apartment. Although it was still early in the season he could see people working on their boats in a marina down below.

Steph rejoined him and began telling him about her activities at the public relations agency. He never ceased to be amused that she never made a connection between her job at the agency and the fact that Ajax Industries was the agency's principal client. Since her salary and expenses were billed to Ajax, she was really on daddy's payroll one step removed. She filled him in on the evening's guest list: it was a Who's Who of Chicago's yuppiedom.

Cliff did not like the term, yuppie, but had to admit it fit. He was a young urban professional whether he liked it or not. As he reflected on the term, he realized it wasn't the acronym itself that bothered him as much as what was so often inferred from it: young people who were acquisitive self-centered airheads. Unfortunately, he had to admit, there was all too much truth in the characterization and most of the people coming to dinner personified that subspecies.

Guests began arriving and Stephanie began running off to greet them and allow herself to be kissed. Cliff allowed himself to be drawn into a conversation on the relative merits of BMW versus Porsche. While listening to the talk, he quickly realized that he didn't give a damn. As a supplier to the U.S. auto industry, he noted that American-built cars simply did not enter into the conversation. It wasn't that they were rejected or even dismissed out of hand. Rather, they were not even considered.

Cliff confined his drinking to Perrier with a lime and a glass of wine with dinner. Stephanie didn't like the smell of alcohol on his breath. Idly, he wondered what her reaction would have been had she come into his office Monday night and found him eating pizza and drinking beer. She detested beer — any beer. Moreover, the idea of drinking it from a bottle would have been abhorrent.

The dinner was good if one liked French nouvelle cuisine: very light, with different taste combinations. Cliff didn't really care for it, preferring classic haute cuisine. Finally, about eleven the guests started to leave, and the last were gone by midnight. The caterer and his crew had already left leaving Cliff and Stephanie alone in the apartment.

When they went back toward Stephanie's bedroom, Cliff reached for the girl, reflecting that this would be two weekends in a row. She turned away from him, saying he would ruin her dress, and asked him to wait a few minutes until she called him. This was an aspect of Stephanie that really annoyed Cliff: she wanted to set the stage. He knew that when she called she would be arranged in bed with a single soft light which she would extinguish before things got too passionate. She didn't like him to see her in the light, she said. Cliff idly wondered why his feelings towards her seemed to have changed so much in just the last seven days.

He heard her summons and went into the bedroom. She had a single bed light turned low. As he expected, she was wearing a very expensive black lace nightgown. Cliff had already loosened his tie; he was soon undressed and in bed beside her. He started running his hand over her body and again sensed rather than felt a momentary resistance on her part. He moved his hand under her night dress and ran it up her soft inner thigh. He had moved close to her, took her into his arms and kissed her on the lips.

She moved closer and he slipped off her nightgown. As he ran his hand over her soft full breasts, he could feel her nipples begin to harden. Then he returned his hand to between her full thighs and felt her spread her legs slightly to provide him easier access to her moistness. She caressed him and he could hear her sounds of rising passion. Finally he entered her and heard an intake of breath as she felt him penetrate. He started moving inside her, and in a few minutes he achieved release. He could feel her passion ebb as she came down from whatever peak she had reached. Soon they were both asleep.

Cliff awakened early on Sunday morning. For reasons he did not fully understand, he quietly dressed and left her in bed, still sleeping. He knew that she didn't like him to see her awaken. As he looked at her in the early-morning light, her face appeared pale and puffy.