J R

  —Take it. Take it.

  —Mister Crawley he’s taking . . .

  —stock guide, and this stock commission calculator . . .

  —Take it, take them just come along . . .!

  —Five, six, seven, Mrs Joubert counted at the elevator.

  —What kind of a gun did you kill that thing with those horns with?

  —Mannlicher here, look out there! Get off that desk . . .!

  —Yes sir, I just wanted one more picture of . . . oh! I’m sorry, I’ll pick it up . . .

  —Just leave it! leave it! don’t, hold things up . . .

  —There goes a nickel.

  —ten, eleven . . .

  —A penny went back of that chair back there hey . . .

  —Now are we all, J R? Come along you’ve got quite enough . . .

  —This could I just have this too it says Investment Barometer . . .

  —Take it along, take it . . . Crawley breathed heavily, blocking them packed in the small elevator and paused, as though to be certain the doors would close on them before turning with —get this money picked up in there, Shirley. And count it while you’re at it . . . bending for the dime gone under her chair as the doors closed on his tweed seat expanse, —should be twenty-two dollars and ninety cents . . .

  They plummeted.

  —I think I just need some air, said Mrs Joubert, and drew her fingertips across her forehead.

  —Where we going now.

  —Did we eat yet?

  —Out this way everyone, into those two cars there.

  —The big black ones?

  —Why, do you see a red one dopey?

  —Who’s that guy saluting to.

  —That’s a chauffeur what do you think it is, that’s because we’re an owner now right Mrs Joubert?

  —Look out. Sit on somebody else, will you?

  —Where we going to eat?

  —Boy hey look back there, that guy lying in that doorway? He didn’t have any hands, did you see him?

  —Boy did you see his face?

  —He didn’t have any either hey what’s that, a radio? Turn it.

  —It’s a cigarette lighter, dopey.

  —Push it.

  —Where we going now.

  —All right now, let’s just try to sit quietly and act a little more like . . .

  —But Mrs Joubert he’s taking up the whole seat with all those papers and stuff how’s anybody supposed to sit anyplace . . .

  —Let’s try to act a little more like grownup shareowners in a large corporation . . . She gathered her lap from the cascade threatening from the knees beside her —until we . . . get there . . . and she stared out of the window.

  —Get where.

  She stared out of the window until they got there.

  —Hey look they beat us, they’re here already.

  A piece of newspaper came blown ankle high along the curb and clung. —Six, seven . . . her pointing finger trembled, she kicked the bit of newspaper away, —eight . . .

  —But that says Typhon International Building the company our stock is is . . .

  —Just go in, go in! It’s the right place, hurry.

  —More elevators.

  —We’ll find our company on the fifteenth floor boys and girls. Push fifteen, someone . . .?

  —Lemme push it.

  —Hey listen. That music, hear that music? Where’s it coming from. Listen.

  —What are we stopping for.

  The doors opened silently. No one went and no one came. Nothing moved but notes of Dardanella. The doors closed.

  —Can I stay on the elevator and listen to the music awhile Mrs Joubert?

  —Here we are, now try to act . . .

  —Hey look they beat us, they’re here already.

  —Hey did you have music in your elevator too?

  —And look hey, here comes that same little guy again.

  Shooting rights and lefts as though fighting his way through a horde to receive them Davidoff burst upon the elevator bank putting on his jacket, closing the generous bills of his collar with the mean knot of the tie in a sweep of opening a door where there was none. —Your new bosses . . . his gesture ended in a fling toward a girl packed in yellow coming up behind, his expression in a wink —boys and girls, one of our topflight secretaries. Oh and Carol . . . he stopped short piling them up on his abrupt authority, —tell Mister Eigen I need him in the board room immediately and Carol, bring in a dozen copies of the Annual Report, I told Eigen to put a little kit together for these youngsters . . . he poised long enough to keep her off balance, and then —this way, he stepped out with a rewarding report each time a heel hit the hard floor, mounting the corridor to the door opened off it just short of where blue carpeting began, and they piled up at shore’s edge to crane for a glimpse of —my office in here . . . composition seated chairs vacantly attending the catercornered command of a paper-littered metal desk —oh and Florence, get a mailroom boy into the board room to run that projector, and those box lunches . . .

  —Yes sir. I’m looking for the . . .

  —And where’s Mister Eigen? I need him in the board room.

  —He’s working on the new draft of Mister Moncrieff’s speech Mister Davidoff, he needs that corrected third draft . . .

  —Check. If the fire bell rings I’ll be in the board room, right through here everybody . . . he turned and, in a single stride, dropped his stature into the blue that swallowed his course in silence toward the walnut bulwark ahead where he touched the metal doorknob and quaked, —not scared of a little static electricity . . .? he dipped and crested, swung the door, and they came through bobbing, streaming, running downwind in the seaway stretched before them where, dead ahead, beating his course close-hauled, hat turned up all round, white handkerchief puffed next to the hearing aid made fast to the leach of light gray flannel, the immaculate specter approaching eased off abruptly to make the walnut piling on a beam reach, luff unsteadily, and begin to gather sternway.

  —Oh here Governor, here . . . Davidoff veered full throttle cutting across vagaries of wind and sail and the dictates of labored metaphor, threatening capsize on all hands —our new, some of our new shareowners sir they’ve, this is Governor Cates boys and girls, he’s a director of the company. They’ve just bought a share of company stock, sir.

  —Which company? The Governor sought mooring.

  —Diamond, a share of Diamond Cable, sir . . . Davidoff tipped side to side on the blue ripple of carpet as they scudded past. Governor Cates rocked gently. —Can’t go wrong with that can they sir, he looked back for Mrs Joubert, —here, here . . .! Governor Cates had begun to gather headway. —This way . . . Davidoff waved them on in a wide berth, getting the last of them by as the Governor made mid-channel dead in her course.

  —Amy . . .?

  —Good morning, Uncle John.

  —Good, come along with me for a minute, Amy.

  She took his arm,—oh Mister Davidoff . . .? over his shoulder as Davidoff got the last of them through a door ahead and swung back.

  —Take your time, we’ve got a presentation all set up for them.

  —And the lunches?

  —And the lunches . . . He listed in a bow and hurried back up the corridor to enter the board room with—Well! You’ve just had an opportunity not many youngsters experience. When you go home tonight you can tell your families you met one of your country’s outstanding Americans.

  —You mean you?

  —Governor Cates is one of the men who opened the frontiers of America as we know it today, Davidoff leaned knuckled under on the expanse of walnut stretched before him, pad, pencils, ashtray, pad, pencils, ashtray,—he . . .

  —Him? He was this frontiersman?

  —Not like Daniel Boone if that’s what you’re thinking of, no. He opened America’s industrial frontiers, her natural resources that make us the wealthiest country in the world. He’s a man presidents come to for advice, and you can be proud . . .

  —I
s he rich?

  —Well after all, a man who has contributed so greatly to his country’s wealth and power would deserve . . .

  —What are all these here pads and pencils for?

  —This is the board room, where your board of directors meets. They sit right in the very chairs you’re sitting in and, oh Carol just bring those in and pass them around. This is your company’s Annual Report boys and girls, we put it out because we believe that you, and all the other company owners, have a right to know all about your company and the activities it’s engaged in Carol tell him to get that projector going, the many varied ways your company serves our great country with cable of every kind you can imagine from the defense industry to communications of every sort, the . . .

  ———ubbb . . . vvvv . . . vvawwwwg . . .

  —Carol . . .! Light splashed over the map and drapes behind him.—He’s got that on backwards, tell him to . . .

  —He’s rewinding it, he . . .

  —Oh and Carol where’s Mister Eigen, I said I wanted him in here to handle this presentation find him and send him right in here. Communications of every sort, from interpersonal messages to the vast and growing television audience, whether it be the family gathered at home for the finest in entertainment or the student in the remote classroom absorbing the lesson of the master, whose wisdom can be shared with more fertile young minds in a single hour today than Plato, Aristotle, and the renowned teachers of antiquity reached in their entire we about ready in there? Momentarily blinded, he turned to reach behind the tasteful gold-on-blue arrangement of denarii, ducats, shekels, and similar bright testaments to long submerged mercantile struggles that formed the pattern of the drapes.

  —Boy hey, look!

  —Hey that’s real neat. Look hey.

  The map rose silently and disappeared, revealing a horizontal bar graph in gay shades of orange labeled Plant Investment and Accumulated Depreciation (in Millions), which followed the map to expose Sources of Capital (in Millions) in vertical yellows, Sales Projections by Continent (in Millions) in assorted aggressive hues, and two, three, four more with the haste of snapping window shades, to lay bare an empty screen.

  —Reached, in their entire lives. Lifetimes. Now, in just a moment now, you’ll have a close look at the many and varied contributions your company’s products are making toward a growing America, and your share in helping our great country to turn the promise of tomorrow into the reality of today, as the tide of human ready in there? He braced back, doubled fists on his hips in a commanding stance of out-of-doors to look up the length of the table’s sheen broken by balled sweaters, a candy wrapper, elbows and whole arms and even a head or two, chairs swiveled and legs slung outboard twisting, tapping,—we may have time for a question or two somebody might have about the Annual Report. Your board of directors wants every shareowner to, yes?

  —Are you one?

  —A shareowner? Of course and I’m proud to . . .

  —No I mean like a director, said the girl wadding her sweater.

  —Oh, Davidoff inclined restraining his glasses to contain his wink,—maybe some day, if you’ll vote for me. Because, he straightened up—that’s what people’s capitalism is, isn’t it everybody. As one of the company’s owners you elect your directors in a democratic vote, and they hire men to run the company for you the best way possible. When you vote next spring . . .

  —With one share we get like one vote?

  —You certainly do, and what’s more you’re entitled to . . .

  —And like if I owned two hundred ninety-three thousand shares then I’d get like two hundred ninety-three thousand votes?

  —That’s not fair! Like we get this one lousy vote and he gets like two hun . . .

  —What’s so not fair! You buy this here one share so you’ve got like this lousy twenty-two fifty working for you where I’ve got like six thou, wait a second . . . the pencil stub came up to scratch,—nought times nought is . . .

  —He couldn’t could he?

  —I could so boy I could even vote two hundred ninety-three thousand times for myself for a director if I wanted to couldn’t I?

  —I mean like that’s democracy? It sounds like a bunch of . . .

  —Slow down now slow down, before a family squabble starts here let’s come to this little lady’s rescue . . . she cringed from Davidoff’s wink behind the sweater wad,—every shareowner wants profits whether you’ve got one share or a million, right? So you’ll all want to vote for directors that will hire topflight management like your company here’s got to keep those profits rolling in and if they’re not, this little lady with her one share has just as much right to question the directors and management as somebody with a million shares because they’re working for her too, aren’t they. If she thinks they’re not running things for her and all the other owners she can even take them to court and start a lawsuit for damages to make sure they’re obeying all the company’s rules, that’s why we put a copy of the company’s bylaws in your little kit there. Those are the company’s rules and anybody who breaks one has to answer to this little lady, like a regular club boys and girls and those are the club’s rules one for all and all for one, I think that’s a pretty good little lesson in democracy that film about ready in there?

  —Could I just ask if . . .

  —Looks like we’ve got another minute . . . he looked past the arm straining the sweater’s dreary pattern in front of him,—look right in the back of your Annual Report there and you’ll see the pictures of your directors, that’s Governor Cates up in the corner you can say you’ve actually met him can’t you, and the big man right under him you might have heard about in your history books about the war let’s speed it up in there we can’t take all day, General Box, he was the famous armored division commander who stopped the whole German army in the big winter Ardennes . . . they startled to a blare of music and he shielded his eyes,—all right boys and girls I think we’re ready to see . . .

  —Could I just ask back here where it says eight hundred sixty-seven thousand shares . . .

  —Turn that sound down! What is it Carol . . .

  —These eight hundred sixty-seven thousand shares which it says here they were under option at an aggregate price of . . .

  ——of tomorrow, presented by . . .

  —Down turn it down! Look, he seized the narrow shoulder where the sweater’s seam gaped—it would take a month to explain all that arithmetic it’s just what we call the consolidated financial statement, don’t worry about it. Now, get those lights somebody . . .?

  —I’m not worried about it I just wondered who . . .

  ——our natural resources, and the national heritage that makes us all proud to be . . .

  —What’s this Carol.

  —The update on Mister Moncrieff’s biography before it’s sent out and Mister Eigen wondered if that press release . . .

  —Where is he I said I wanted him up here, that press release can wait I’d better check this bio out with Monty get Eigen right up here to keep an eye on things, boys and girls? I’ve got to get on deck for a brush fire, he came on over their heads loosening his tie—oh and Carol make sure the board room’s cleaned up in there when they’re done . . . and his lips continued to move silent as his stride up the corridor, round an alcove, touching the doorknob his wince became a grimace associated with tightening his tie passing with a nod toward an unoccupied desk—Boss wants to see me . . . tapping briskly on the door ahead and opening it, slow, on Mrs Joubert sitting knees clenched reading through tortoise shell glasses, looking up just then elsewhere to ask—must I read all this now? elsewhere the weather side of Cates hunched, back to the door, reading papers with a look pinched through gold rims that rose abruptly and glanced off hers to cross the desk lusterless with—just the cobalt? where Moncrieff’s glance over heavy black half frames and the huddled permanent of a secretary had already passed them both and returned, to leave Davidoff standing like the cry of fire! in an empty theater.

/>   —The cobalt’s what they want. The cobalt’s what they’re getting. He took off the glasses, folded in their straight black bows and sat back molding the bridge of his nose.—Why drag in anything else.

  —Like to see things spelled out Monty, spell them out now you don’t end up trying to spell them out for some damn subcommittee.

  A light glowed on the desk’s button-studded console and a naked arm braceleted with the time came up for the telephone.—Mister Beaton, sir.

  —Just tell him . . . staring beyond them, Moncrieff’s finger coursed the ridge of his nose as though the face where his eyes were fixed, dropped back to profile and none of its aloofness lost, even lowered, prompted comparison.—Here . . . he took the telephone,—bring in everything on this smaltite contract, and Beaton? My daughter’s here waiting to sign those powers of attorney. What’s holding things up. He handed back the telephone still looking beyond where her profile broke again, turning to him, slipping off the tortoise shells, dangling them.

  —Must I read all this now? The children . . .

  —Just sit still for a minute, Amy. What is it Dave.

  Davidoff came forward as though he had just entered.—Your youngsters are fine, he skirted the thrust of her ankle as she crossed her knees—in there watching the presentation we put together for the spring stockholders’ meeting getting a real kick out of it, he came rounding the corner of the desk in a generous turn that included them all in his audience, lowering his tone on arrival for the confidence—We’d better watch our step Boss, they’re a pretty shrewd bunch . . .

  A light glowed. Up came the phone, and a murmur—the press calling for the statement . . .

  —He’s got it right here, just read it off to them here Dave.

  From the tangle of arms naked, silk-and-mohair, the acrylic sheen of Davidoff’s rose with the telephone.—Hello? You’ll have the statement first thing tomorrow, he said, and handed the phone back.

  —What’s this, then. Where’s the statement.

  —Being typed up sir, said Davidoff, briskly tossing the paper clip from his papers into the empty wastebasket.—This is your biography, I wanted to check it out before we release it . . .