Chapter 10

Scott was on his sixth cup of black coffee when the phone rang. After a virtually sleepless night punctuated with restless pacing about his apartment and energetic tossing in the bed, his nerves were on edge. The shrill ringing of the telephone made his hand shake.

He picked the instrument up and listened to Harry Halliday's secretary rattle off two short sentences. He was to be in Harry's office at eleven o'clock and Mr. Halliday wondered if he'd mind wearing a suit and a tie.

A suit and tie? What the hell was it with Harry? Harry, knew that Scott was passionately dedicated to casual wear. He thanked the secretary and told her to tell Harry that he'd stop at the Salvation Army on the way down to pick up a tie.

Scott Nelson was not nearly as flip as he wanted to sound. Someone knew that he'd balled the two young girls. Scott was positive of that. When the girls had left the afternoon before, Scott had seen them to the door. Just outside his door he found a handkerchief and a pack of matches on the hall floor. They hadn't been there when he had taken the girls into the apartment.

All night long his thoughts alternated between what would happen if he was exposed and the glorious things the three of them had done together. One moment he saw himself wrapped in a straight jacket and locked in a psycho ward of a prison, and the next he was reliving the way Kathy had played with his balls while he fucked her thirteen-year-old girl friend.

At some point in the middle of the night Scott was suddenly convinced that the board of directors at Merrill would hate his work and tell Harry to get rid of him. From this his thoughts progressed to the fact that he was washed up and would have to go back to pushing a pencil over sheet after sheet of accounting paper.

A suit and tie, for Christ's sake! Were they fattening him up for the kill?

He arrived at the Merrill plant at five minutes to eleven and was ushered into Harry's office at eleven on the dot.

"Thanks for breaking your schedule to come in, Scott," Harry said with extended hand.

"Breaking my schedule?"

A flick of Harry eyes told Scott that they weren't alone and Scott saw the elderly, portly man sitting in the corner. The man looked like something from an advertisement in Esquire.

"Scott, let me introduce Martin Stachdt," Harry said.

"Mister Stachdt," Scott said, offering his hand as the older man rose and crossed the room.

"Mister Nelson."

"Martin is a member of our board, Scott," Harry said as he crossed back to sit behind his desk. "And he is also president of Stachdt Industries."

"Mister Nelson probably knows us better by our brand name, Harry," Martin Stachdt remarked. "My company produces the Hurricane line of boats, skis and sporting goods."

"Oh!" Scott replied, properly impressed. Hurricane was one of the largest companies in the country and the Hurricane building dominated the Dallas skyline.

"By the way, Scott," Harry said, "did Charlene tell you how much the board liked the photos?"

"Charlene told me to be here at eleven, wearing a suit and tie," Scott returned with a laugh.

"Well, the board flipped over the samples I showed them," Harry said with a smile, "and they authorized me to go ahead full steam for the catalogue."

"Great!" Scott said as casually as he could. His heart was pounding in his throat with relief. "I hope you got a decent budget, Harry. Working those trial shots on that shoestring damned near killed me!"

"Don't worry," Harry laughed, "they gave us a virtually unlimited budget. Within reason, of course."

"Have I ever been unreasonable?" Scott laughed.

"Never," Harry replied. "The reason I asked you to come in at eleven, Scott, was that Martin wanted to meet you and talk to you. Martin has a very interesting proposal for you, but let me remind you, before he starts, that Merrill comes first on your schedule."

"Mister Nelson," Martin Stachdt began, picking up the thread from Harry Halliday, "I'll begin by saying that your work hit me between the eyes when I saw it last night. It's new, innovative, attractive and I think it has more class than anything I've seen in years."

"Well, thank you," Scott replied, basking in the praise and wondering what in the hell was coming next.

"I gave the matter a lot of thought last night, Mister Nelson, and I want you to do some work for my company. Now, before you start talking about your schedule, let me say that I'm sure you're well booked. A man of your talent and imagination never lacks work. I realize that. And I realize that Harry was damned lucky the day he happened to run into you downtown."

"The answer to our prayers," Harry commented.

"So," Stachdt continued before Scott could speak, "I want you to know that what I have in mind isn't a small project you can work in between other assignments."

"Just what is it you have in mind, Mister Stachdt?" Scott asked. He was tempted to call him Martin, but you didn't call men worth what this man was worth by their first name the first time you met them.

"I want you to do the catalogue for every division of my company and then a general catalogue for the whole company," Martin Stachdt said. "We have five manufacturing divisions and thirteen sales companies. At last count our consumer products number some thirty-one different lines."

"Mister Stachdt," Scott gasped, "you're talking about something that will take over a year to..."

"I know what I'm talking about, Nelson," Martin Stachdt laughed. "I'm talking about one hell of an expensive project, but it's something I've felt needed doing for some time. And I don't want those yes-men over at the advertising agency involved. I want the kind of imagination I saw in your work."

"But..." Scott began.

"And I know that you have to be paid, Nelson. Now, Harry will tell you that I usually get what I want, Mister Nelson. So let's not waste time dickering. You've got some commitments. Break them. I'll pay whatever penalties you incur. And I'll pay you time and a half what you regularly charge. The photographer we use now charges us six hundred and fifty a day. Will a thousand a day cover your charge, Mister Nelson?"