The Betsy (1971) (31 page)

 Chapter Three

There was a telephone message in my box at the Ponch when I returned to Detroit that evening. I read it in the elevator going up to my apartment.

PLEASE CALL MRS. HARDEMAN

There was a New York operator and telephone number. I looked at the time at the top of the message. 7:10 p.m. I checked my watch, wondering what Bobbie was doing in New York. It was close to nine o’clock.

The faint sound of the music from the cabaret on the floor above my apartment filtered down through the ceiling as I let myself in. I picked up the telephone at the far end of the living room and looked out the window down at Cobo Hall while I waited for my call to go through.

This week’s convention was the morticians. That had to be a fun thing. The operator came back on. “I have Mrs. Hardeman on the line for you.”

“Hello, Angelo?” It was not Bobbie’s voice. It was Alicia.

I hid my surprise, “Hey there.”

She laughed. “Hey there,” she said. She hesitated a moment. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called?”

“Yes,” I said frankly.

“I know you’re busy so I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“Don’t go formal with me, Alicia,” I said. “We’ve known each other too long for that.”

She laughed again. This time her voice was relaxed. “Sorry,” she said. “But since the divorce I’m never quite sure where I stand with people I knew when I was married.”

“I knew you before you got married.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll still keep it simple. As part of my divorce settlement I received half of Loren’s stock in Bethlehem.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Very few people do,” she said. “Loren didn’t want to give it any publicity. That’s why he has my voting proxy.”

“I see.” That meant that Loren owned only five percent of the company stock, not ten as we thought.

“I read in the papers about the lawsuit,” she said. “I heard Loren and Dan Weyman talk about it many times but I never thought he would really do it.” Then her voice went hard. “I don’t want them to have control of the company.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I spoke to my attorney and had him draw a new proxy in favor of Grandfather,” she said. “I want you to tell him that for me.”

“Why don’t you call him? I’m sure that he’ll appreciate it.”

“No,” she said. “His secretary-housekeeper, Mrs. Craddock, reports back to Loren. I don’t want him to know anything about it.”

I was right and I was wrong. I had figured Number One’s man to be the leak. “I’ll make sure Number One hears about it.”

“I’m sending the proxy to you at the hotel,” she said. “Tell Grandfather to vote it any way he sees fit.”

“I will,” I said. I was curious. “You say Loren and Dan spoke about this many times?”

“Yes. It was nothing new. Every time Loren was angry at Grandfather it would come up. Especially after they learned about the Betsy.”

I tried a wild shot. “Did you ever hear them talk about a man named Simpson?”

“Mark Simpson?”

“That’s the man,” I said.

“He’s a friend of Dan Weyman’s,” she said. “Dan brought him over to the house to talk to Loren several times. They were working on something together. It had to do with automobile safety, I gathered.”

Jackpot! I deliberately kept the excitement from my voice. “Would you do me a favor and write a note to me mentioning the times you recalled they met at your house?”

“Of course,” she said. There was a curiosity in her voice. “Will that help?”

“It might,” I answered cautiously. I looked down at the message slip in my hand. “If I have to reach you again, will you be at this number?”

“No,” she answered. “I’m leaving tomorrow night for Gstaad.”

“I didn’t know you skied.”

She laughed. “I’m not going there for the skiing. Betsy’s due to have her baby any day now and I want to be with her.”

“How is she?”

She laughed again. “She’s very calm about the whole thing. Her husband, Max, is more excited about it than she is, but I still can’t believe it. I’m going to be a grandmother.”

“Grandmothers are getting younger every year. You can thank the younger generation for that. Give Betsy my best.”

“I will,” she said. “Good-bye, Angelo.”

“Good-bye, Alicia.” I put down the telephone and walked over to the bar. I broke out a tray of ice cubes, opened a new bottle of Crown Royal and made myself a stiff drink. I needed it.

Number One had been right in his thought that Weyman was covering up. But I wondered whether he really thought that Weyman and Loren were involved with Simpson. It just didn’t make sense. Until now.

The music from the cabaret was growing louder. I was annoyed. I went back to the phone and called the assistant manager. “You have to do something about those amplifiers in the cabaret upstairs,” I complained. “They’re driving me out of my mind.”

“You must be mistaken, Mr. Perino,” the A.M. said smoothly. “The cabaret is closed tonight. Perhaps one of our guests has the radio on too loud. We’ll check into it.”

“Please do,” I said shortly. I put down the phone and started for the bedroom, the music growing louder. I had enough troubles to manufacture my own headaches without outside help. I opened the bedroom door. The blast of music from the eight speakers almost knocked me down.

Cindy was sitting up in bed, her long hair falling across her naked shoulders and breasts to the sheet over her legs, stoned out of her mind on the sound. She turned to look at me, her head still nodding to the beat. A slow, happy smile came to her lips. “Welcome home, Angelo. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Turn it down!” I shouted above the noise. “What are you trying to do? Break my lease?”

She picked up a remote-control device and aimed it at the tape player across the room. The volume went down to a respectable level. “The latest thing,” she said. “I couldn’t resist it.”

I stared at her. “How did you get in here?”

Her eyes went big and round. “Would you believe there wasn’t a vacant hotel room in this whole town when I came in yesterday?”

“That’s not answering my question.”

She got to her knees on the edge of the bed. “Come over here,” she said.

I walked over to her and she put her arms around my neck and pulled herself up against me. Her lips were warm and soft.

I pulled my mouth away. “That’s still not answering my question.”

“It wasn’t too difficult, darling,” she said, her eyes smiling into mine. “I merely told them that I was installing the new sound system you had ordered.”

“But that was yesterday,” I said. “How come they let you stay all this while?”

“Everybody knows you can’t do installations like this in one day,” she said innocently. “Besides I was very quiet. Until just now when I heard you come in and go right to the telephone to call another woman.” She stuck her hand under the pillow and came up with a telephone message which she thrust into my hand. “Especially her!”

I looked down at it. It was the door copy of the message I had picked up downstairs. When I looked up again, her face was so angry I had to laugh. “You’re jealous,” I said. “That’s not like you. I thought you were too cool for that sort of thing.”

“I’m not jealous!” she said heatedly. “But how would you like it if you spent two days in bed waiting for me to come home and when I did, I went right to the phone to call another guy?”

“But I didn’t know you were waiting,” I laughed.

“That doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “I don’t think that was very nice. You could have at least looked in the bedroom first!”

“It was business,” I said.

“Oh, sure,” she said sarcastically.

“It was,” I said. “You got the wrong Mrs. Hardeman. This was the first one.”

“My God!” she said in a shocked voice. “Don’t tell me you’ve been there too?”

Duncan was waiting in my office when I got to the plant in the morning. Carradine of Engineering and Joe Huff of Design were with him.

I didn’t need a second look to know they weren’t there to bring glad tidings. I walked around behind my desk. “Okay, gentlemen,” I said. “Hit me with it.”

“How do you want it, laddie?” Duncan asked. “One at a time or all at once?”

“One at a time,” I said. “This is Monday morning and I’m not in very good shape.”

“Okay,” he said. “On Friday all work on the production line was stopped. Orders from the president.”

“He can’t do that. He hasn’t the authority. Number One is still chairman of the board and chief operating officer.”

“He did it,” Duncan said flatly.

“Well go in there and start it again,” I said.

“We can’t,” Duncan said. “We’ve been barred from the plant. We can’t even get into our own offices. This is the only place we could come.”

I was silent. Loren wasn’t waiting. Maybe he was even a little ahead of himself. “That’s one,” I said. “What’s next?”

“Union troubles,” Duncan said. “The UAW said they won’t let the assembly line start until all the reclassifications are agreed on. They claim too many jobs are being downgraded.”

“I thought we approved a schedule that was satisfactory to them.”

“You mean you approved it,” Duncan said. “Weyman never passed it on.”

Weyman again. He wasn’t being very helpful. I was starting to really dislike him. “He’s supposed to negotiate only on the basis we give him,” I said. “He has no right to alter or withhold our proposals.”

“He did,” Duncan said. “Of course, he had direct orders from the president.”

I looked at him. “Is that all?”

“No,” he said. “Did you read
The Wall Street Journal
this morning?”

I shook my head.

“Here, read it,” he said, giving me the newspaper.

It was a front-page story. Banner headline across the first two columns.

HUNDRED-FIFTY-MILLION-DOLLAR NEW CAR

OF BETHLEHEM MOTORS ALREADY A DISASTER?

I read on. The story was out of Detroit, dated Friday.

Special to The Wall Street Journal
—Informed company sources inside Bethlethem Motors today indicated serious doubts over possible success of their new car, the Betsy, due to be introduced later this year. These doubts came to the surface with the filing of a lawsuit by Loren Hardeman III and his sister, Princess Alekhine, against their grandfather, Loren Hardeman I, and the Hardeman Foundation for what basically amounts to control of the giant motor company.

Company sources further revealed that Mr. Hardeman III began to feel concern over the mounting costs on the project together with progressive reports as to the safety of the car itself, and that he initiated this suit reluctantly after endeavoring to persuade his grandfather to abandon the project in the interest of the public.

There was more but I had read enough. I put the paper down. There was no doubt in my mind as to whom the “informed company sources” were. Weyman. As executive vice-president, he had a pipeline right into the paper. I had the feeling this was only the beginning, there would be more stories like it going to newspapers around the country. If they wanted to kill the Betsy before it reached the market, they couldn’t find a better way. A few more stories like this and the public wouldn’t buy the car if it were given to them on a silver platter.

“Wait here,” I said. Then I went down the hall to Loren’s office.

 Chapter Four

“Mr. Hardeman’s in a meeting,” his secretary said holding up a restraining hand as I went to his door.

“Beautiful,” I said, brushing past her.

Loren III was behind his desk, Weyman and a man I didn’t know were sitting opposite him when I entered.

Loren was the only one who didn’t seem surprised. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

“I don’t doubt that,” I said.

The other man and Weyman got to their feet quickly. “We’ll be in my office when you’re free,” Weyman said. They started out.

“You wait,” I said to Weyman. “What I have to say concerns you too.”

Weyman shot a questioning glance at Loren. Loren nodded and he sank back into his chair. “Wait in my office, Mark,” he told the other man.

The man nodded and left. I didn’t wait for the door to close behind him. “Is that Mark Simpson?” I asked.

Weyman hesitated. Again Loren nodded. “Yes,” Weyman answered.

“I thought so,” I said. “The scum’s beginning to come to the surface.”

They didn’t answer.

“I’ll get to him later,” I said. I moved to the side of Loren’s desk where I could look at both of them. “You saw the story in
The Wall Street Journal
this morning?”

“Yes,” Loren answered.

“Don’t you think you’ve overreached with that one?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I think it reflects the truth.”

“As you see it,” I said.

“As I see it,” he echoed.

“Have you thought what might happen to the company if you should lose?”

“I won’t lose,” he said confidently.

“Even if you win,” I said, “you lose. A few more stories like that and you’ll control a bankrupt company. There won’t be a single person left in the world who will buy any car that this company produces.”

“What happens to this company won’t be any of your concern,” said Loren.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “I am concerned. I happen to be the owner of two hundred thousand shares of stock in this company which I purchased from your grandfather for two million dollars cash.”

For the first time surprise showed on Loren’s face. “I don’t believe it. Grandfather would never sell a share of his stock to an outsider.”

“It’s easy enough to check,” I said. “Why not pick up the telephone and ask him?”

Loren didn’t move.

“As a stockholder I have certain rights. If you read the bylaws of the company as carefully as I have you will know what I’m talking about. I have the right to ask indemnification and damages against any officer of the company who interferes with work currently in progress, if that interference leads to losses directly attributable to it.”

Loren reached for the telephone. He spoke quickly to Jim Ellison, the company’s general counsel. He put down the telephone and looked up at me. “You would have to prove it first,” he said.

I smiled. “I’m no lawyer, but that should be a cinch. You halt production on the Betsy now and a hundred and fifty million dollars goes down the drain.”

He was silent.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” I said. “I’ll give you the time it takes for me to go from here back to my office. And when I get back there if I don’t hear from you that work on the production line has started again and my boys can go about doing their normal jobs without interference, I’m going to hit you and your little prick friend here with a lawsuit requiring you both to come up with the biggest indemnification bond any of you ever heard of. One hundred and fifty million dollars worth.”

I started from the office. Halfway to the door I turned back. I looked at Weyman. “And you have exactly one hour to be in my office with the UAW people to straighten out our contract.”

I almost smiled at the expression on his face. His devotion to Ex-Lax was a running gag around the plant. He didn’t look as if he would need any today.

I turned to Loren. “If I were you,” I said almost mildly, “I would go about finding a way to deny or counteract that story in today’s paper before it has a chance to catch up to you.”

I went back to my office the long way round just in case they needed time to think about it. I passed Weyman’s office. On an impulse I went in.

“Is Mr. Simpson here?” I asked the secretary.

“He’s just left, Mr. Perino,” she said brightly. “He told me to tell Mr. Weyman that he had an important appointment and that he would call him later in the day.”

I nodded and went out. The man had all the good instincts of a jackal. He smelled trouble and he was going to be nowhere around when it was happening. I made up my mind to get to him later in the afternoon if things here were under control.

I leaned against the outside door to my office and smoked a whole cigarette before I went inside. I wasn’t taking any chances. I wanted them to have all the time they needed.

My secretary looked up at me as I came in the door. “Mr. Perino.”

I stopped at her desk. “Yes?”

“I just received a peculiar message for you from Mr. Hardeman’s office,” she said, a puzzled expression on her face. “I didn’t understand it, but he said you would.”

“Read it to me,” I said.

She looked down at her shorthand notebook. “He said to tell you that everything was arranged the way you wanted it but that he, personally, would come down to say good-bye to you next week.”

I smiled. I knew just what he meant. I went into my own office. “Okay, fellows, get back to work. We’ve already blown four days on this shit.”

Duncan looked at me. “How did you get them to back down so quickly?”

I grinned. “I used my Italian charm. I threatened to sing ‘O Sole Mio’ for them.”

We didn’t finish the meeting with the UAW representatives until after nine o’clock that night and by then it was too late to go chasing after Simpson. There was a lot more to building a car than just getting it from the drawing board to the assembly line.

It was the first time I had ever been close at hand to a union negotiation and as far as I was concerned, I was willing for it to be the last. But, as little as I liked the son-of-a-bitch, I had to admit that Dan Weyman was good at it.

He was professional and precise. I hadn’t realized up to now the number of different classifications that existed within the same assembly-line framework. He did. And knew the exact definition of work responsibilities for each class. Once he got down to it, I was fascinated at the efficiency and subtlety he brought to his work. I only wished that he were on our side, not Loren’s, but that did not keep him from doing a good job for the company.

At one point when things got a little sticky, he dug right in and explained it to them in basic terms. “We’ll give a little, but so will you have to bend a little.” His voice was as calm as if he were lecturing a class at college, which I understand he had done before he went to Ford with the whiz kids. “We’re all breaking our asses to keep the Japanese and Germans from walking away with our market. Not only in sales but in manufacturing. It would have been comparatively easy for Bethlehem management to decide to build this car abroad and it would have cost less. You know it and I know it. Last year our average hourly rate of pay was $6.66, substantially higher than most other companies in the industry. And we lost twenty million dollars on our automotive division. We had every justification in the world to go abroad and build the new car. But we didn’t. Because we have a respect for and obligation to our employees, and to do so would cause a great deal of hardship among them. Now all we ask is their cooperation. To increase their productivity together with our own. You give a little, we give a little. Maybe between us, we can bring some of the business back home where it belongs.”

I watched the faces of the union representatives while he made his little speech. I couldn’t read much in them, but they, too, were professional and experienced in their jobs. From that point on, it took hours. But eventually it was all done.

After they had gone, I looked at Dan Weyman who was gathering up his papers. “You did well,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“You could have saved all of us a lot of trouble if you had done it when you were asked in the first place,” I said.

He snapped his attaché case shut. He stared at me for a moment as if he were about to say something, but then he turned abruptly and walked out of the office without speaking.

Cindy met me at the door of my apartment when I let myself in after ten o’clock. She handed me a message slip. “Try to tell me that this is business too,” she said sarcastically.

I looked down at it. “Am in the piano bar downstairs. Must see you right away.” It was initialed B.H.

I looked up at Cindy. “It probably is.”

“Sure,” she said. “She called before the message came up. I would recognize that British accent anywhere. But she hung up before I could ask who is calling, then the message came up.”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Maybe a half an hour ago.”

I thought for a moment. The bar was no place to meet. Bobbie had to be looking for trouble. “Go down there and tell her to come up,” I said. “Then get lost for an hour.”

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked.

“Go to a movie, sit in the bar. I don’t know,” I answered.

A bitchy smile came to her lips as she moved obediently to the door. “Can’t I come back upstairs?” she asked. “I’ll stay in the bedroom, out of the way. You won’t even know I’m around.”

“Uh-uh.” I shook my head.

“At least then, let me set up a mike,” she said. “Maybe that way I can learn something. I was always curious how the British ladies did it.”

“I’ve had a rough day, Cindy,” I said wearily. “Now do as I say or I’ll belt yuh.”

She looked at me for a moment. “Not now,” she said. “When I come back.” The door closed behind her.