The Ladies of Garrison Gardens (23 page)

Chapter Forty-eight

S
HE'D BEEN RIGHT
about Stuart Junior. When she showed up in his office asking for the books, there had been a little vein throbbing in his left temple that said how badly he wanted to throw her out on her unworthy redneck ass. But she'd walked in like she owned the place—which come to think of it, she did—and he hadn't given her a fight. He even said he was sorry for the crack about overturning the will, which was definitely the first time in her life someone who sounded and looked like Stuart Junior had apologized to her. An added bonus was the feeling of pride when she called Sheralynn to say Jessie didn't have to sneak the books to her after all. Then Chrissie had given her a crash course in corporate bullshit that was so infuriating she couldn't sit still when she reported it all to Li'l Bit and Maggie on the porch the following afternoon.

“The CEO, Peter Terranova, the vice presidents of This and the directors of That—there's about a hundred of them,” she ranted, as she paced back and forth on Li'l Bit's porch, “you better believe
they
aren't worrying about paying for a hospital visit! The damn suits protect their own. Know how they do it?”

“No, Doodlebug,” said Maggie, “but maybe if you sat down—”

“They can't cancel the coverage for everybody, because the Feds would come down on them. They get a tax advantage if they offer everyone health insurance.” Two days ago she wouldn't have known how to use the term
tax advantage
in a sentence. In spite of her anger she was impressed with herself. “But they can ask the workers to pay an enormous percentage of their premiums. As long as everyone is paying the same percent, it's legal. Of course, they jack up their own salaries to cover the cost of their own premiums. Everyone else takes the full hit. People like Grace Marshall's mama drop their health insurance because it's gotten too expensive. Which is what Stuart and his friends wanted all along! Plus at the gardens, they're planning to lay off a thousand full-time employees—”

“My God!” said Li'l Bit.

“They can't run the gardens without a staff.” Maggie said.

“They replace full-time employees with part-time employees. If you work less than forty hours a week, you're not entitled to any benefits
at all
.”

There was a long silence on the porch as her two old friends took this in.

“Human beings never change,” Maggie said at last.

“Remember the old days. It's better than it was,” said Li'l Bit. But she sounded weary.

“It's more subtle. But more insidious.” Maggie grumbled.

“I haven't told you the worst stuff,” Laurel said. “The big boys all get bonuses—and we're talking in the millions—but the freebies are worse.”

“Freebies?” Maggie asked.

Laurel nodded grimly. “Chrissie calls them ‘executive perks'.” She ticked them off as she continued to pace. “Three times last year, Pete Terranova's wife hopped on the Garrison jet to go to Los Angeles. It costs six thousand bucks a trip. All the top execs have their kids in private schools, and a Garrison scholarship fund picks up the bill. The execs get special rates on their home mortgages, financed by guess who? Their SUVs are company vehicles, so they don't so much as pay for the goddam gas. Everything at the resort is free for them—the golf courses, the spa, the swimming club, the tennis courts, the restaurants—and they get huge discounts at all the shops. And if they need to get away from the stress of robbing everyone blind, they can go hang out in an apartment in Atlanta, which costs twenty thousand dollars a year, or a ‘bungalow' the size of a supermarket next door to the movie stars in Aspen.”

And that was just the big stuff. The vice president in charge of food and beverages had charged hot-rock massages for his secretary, who—if the employee brochure was anything to go by—was considerably younger and blonder than his wife. The director of marketing had been reimbursed for the mouthwash he used, on the grounds that it was a professional expense.

“When Chrissie showed me all of it, I was . . . it was just amazing,” Laurel wound up. Which didn't begin to express how shocked she'd been. Like all Charles Valley locals, she'd always assumed the boys who ran the resort and the gardens were helping themselves to extras on the side, and as long as they kept the place functioning and providing jobs, no one thought about calling them on their petty larceny. But what she'd seen was grand theft.

“This Terranova guy came to Charles Valley five years ago from Los Angeles. He was working for some big hotel chain. He brought in a whole bunch of people from outside to run the gardens and the resort. And Stuart Lawrence has been giving them a free ride.”

“What are you going to do, Laurel?” Li'l Bit cut to the chase.

“Have another talk with Stuart. I may not have a diploma from a big-deal business school, but even I know you can't steal everything that isn't nailed down and then say you're bankrupt.”

“Yes,” Li'l Bit said carefully. “Obviously, you have to talk to Stuart.”

“I've got all the facts this time. I made Chrissie walk me through the numbers until I could recite them in my sleep. And we worked out a budget that'll keep the premium costs where they are for right now. Long-term we'll have to make other plans, but this will be a start.” Maggie and Li'l Bit exchanged one of their looks. “What do you think? I really want to know.” She sat down on the porch between them.

“I assume your budget doesn't include bonuses and executive perks?” said Li'l Bit.

“Everyone will have to make some sacrifices.”

Li'l Bit leaned over to hand her her untouched beer. “I'd be very strong when I talked to Stuart,” she said.

Maggie brushed a wisp of hair out of Laurel's eyes. “But I wouldn't use the word
freebie
, Doodlebug,” she said.

When she got home, Laurel called Stuart Junior and asked politely if she could come to his office in the morning. She thanked him when he said yes. Then she went into her bedroom and got the power-of-attorney form out of her drawer and, in front of the admiring dogs, lit a match and burned the damned thing.

That evening after supper, she drove to the small house Perry was renting. He'd heard the Viper roaring up his driveway and was in the front yard waiting for her.

“Sometimes I can be an asshole,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I forget who my friends are.”

“Yes. Want to come inside?”

“I can't. I have a big day tomorrow.”

“You came over here just to say you're an asshole?”

“That's it.” She turned to get into her car, but he came down off the steps and stopped her. Which pleased her a lot more than it should have.

“I'd have your back even if you did fuck up,” he said.

“That might not be the smartest thing you've ever said.”

“I'll take my chances.”

It took her a moment. “I was going to go to the Sportsman's Grill Saturday night. I figured I'd get into as much trouble as I could and forget the whole mess. I didn't.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“I followed you. Just in case.” And before she could say anything more he put an arm around her and started walking her to her car. “Now go home and get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.” He helped her into the Viper and stood in the driveway smiling as she drove off.

Chapter Forty-nine

J
UNIOR'S SECRETARY
hadn't been on the scene the first time Laurel had gone to see him, but this morning she was waiting.

“Stuart would like you to meet him in the conference room at the end of the hall,” she said, with a friendly smile. “That's three doors down on your right.”

Later, Laurel would realize that the words
conference room
should have put her on guard, but she felt so confident it never dawned on her. She found the right door and breezed in.

At first it seemed like there were fifty men sitting around the long table staring at her. Then she realized there were only eight of them. Stuart, who was seated at the head of the table, got up to do the honors.

“Laurel,” he said, “I'd like you to meet our team.” He began rattling off names and labels like Director of Special Events and Vice President of Sales. In her shattered state, only “Peter Terranova, CEO of Garrison Gardens” actually stuck. Stuart finished his laundry list of Garrison big guns, gave her a moment to let it sink in, and then said with a chilly little chuckle, “That's the entire cast of characters, and don't worry, there won't be a quiz.” There was a collective—and equally chilly—chuckle from the boys at the table.

Junior, the son of a bitch, had ambushed her.

The faces staring at her were well groomed and doubt free, because the men who owned them knew they were entitled to run the world. Faces like these had been scaring the hell out of her all her life. She'd been prepared to deal with one of them, but eight was another matter. She gulped. “Stuart, I thought we'd be talking alone.”

“I felt this would be more efficient. If you have questions for any of our executives, you can ask them directly.”

So now she could ask the food and beverage director about the hot-rock massages to his face.

“Whenever you're ready, Laurel,” Stuart prompted with a smirk. The smirk was a mistake. He thought he'd backed her off with his posse. Well, that kind of bullshit might work with Peggy and Miss Myrtis, but Laurel Selene McCready came from people who never backed down from a fight—not even when the entire damn bar was lined up against them.

Her hands were shaking, and her teeth were starting to do their castanet imitation, but she clenched her jaw and said loudly, “I do have some questions. Like how come we're making health insurance so expensive for some people and not for others.”

“Every employee at Garrison is offered the same package of benefits,” someone began.

“Yeah, but everybody here at this meeting gets a boost in their salary to cover the premiums when they go up.” If she'd been expecting guilty, or even shifty, looks, it wasn't happening. They all seemed bored. “You get bonuses too, and a whole lot of freebies,” she added, and then remembered she'd promised Maggie she wouldn't use the word. She wanted to kick herself.

“Laurel, there are a variety of circumstances—” Stuart began, but a voice cut him off.

“I'd like to hear more about these freebies,” Peter Terranova said. He stood up and strolled to the opposite corner of the table. To address him, she had to speak over the heads of seven hostile execs. Terranova wasn't big—at the most he was five feet eight inches tall—but he gave off a street fighter vibe that was impressive. His neck was thick, and his shoulders were massive. If Laurel had had to guess she would have said he'd been a wrestler at some point in his youth. Or maybe he just overdid it with his trainer at the resort spa. At the moment every fiber of him was bristling.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself that facts were facts, and started in.

“There are certain . . . extras,” she said, getting the terminology right this time. “There was a trip to the West Coast for your wives at the resort's expense. And a scholarship fund that only gets used for kids whose fathers are already making six figures.”

Terranova leaned against the wall behind him. “Go on,” he said.

So she did. Heart pounding, she listed every one of the “perks” the boys were heaping on themselves and added up the expense to the resort and the gardens. Terranova was still leaning back; he seemed to be listening. The rest of the room seemed to be listening too, although it was hard to tell with those bland faces. At least they were being quiet. Her mouth was dry and swallowing was hard, but she kept on, launching into the suggestions she and Chrissie had put together for the next fiscal year.

“First, there're the bonuses. They're only supposed to be handed out when business is going well. But you all know it's not. If we get rid of that expense, cut all the free—extras, and I don't take any profits for the rest of the year, we won't have to raise the percentage the employees are paying for health insurance right now. I know that's not going to fix things forever, but it gives us a little time to try to find another way to take care of this mess.”

She looked at the silent men sitting around the table. They didn't like what she'd said, but no one was arguing with her. How could they?

Then Pete Terranova straightened up. “When I told my wife I wanted to leave LA and drag her and the kids to Bumfuck, Georgia, she started looking for a divorce lawyer,” he said. The line got him loud snickers around the table. He wasn't the only one who had had a rough time selling the family on Charles Valley.

“She was right. I was on my way up the ladder at Benchmark Hospitality; everyone who knew me said I was out of my mind to leave. But I liked the idea of trying to save this old place.” He turned to Laurel. “Trust me, coming to this little mom-and-pop operation was not a career move for anyone in this room. God knows, we didn't do it for the money. You can't even offer stock options. That bonus you say I didn't earn? It isn't a tip toward what I could be making.”

“I didn't mean—” Laurel began, but he talked right over her.

“The only thing you have to offer me, besides the work I happen to love, is a lifestyle. So, damn straight, I expect the resort to make sure my kids don't go to the shitty public schools, and Lindsey's horse gets boarded at the Garrison stables, and if my wife is getting cabin fever and she wants to fly out to Beverly Hills to see her friends, yes, she goes on the company jet. Because none of that is a freebie. I've earned it.” His eyes were hot with anger. “I've worked my balls off for this place. When I came here, it was gurgling down the tubes. You're so fond of checking the books, check out how close this place was to Chapter Eleven.”

“I know about—” Laurel started to say.

“It took me three years to put together the team that's sitting at this table. And it took us another two years of beating our brains out to get the resort turned around. We're not totally there yet, but we haven't gone belly up. With a recession, and a war on terror and nobody wanting to leave the house, and gas prices going up and down like a goddam yo-yo, we've kept this place going. We've even managed to grow a little. I worked a minor miracle here, and everyone in the industry knows it. I can exercise my out clause, walk out the door today, and I'll be up to my ass in job offers. So will my entire team.”

Stuart tried to break in. “Now, Pete—”

“What I won't do is put up with any more of this crap. If I ever,
ever
have to sit through a meeting like this again, I'm gone. Is that understood? You can run this place yourself, Ms. McCready, since you think it's such a cakewalk.”

“I don't,” Laurel said. But no one could hear her because Pete Terranova was slamming the door on his way out.

There was silence in the room for a minute, and then one by one the men sitting at the table got up and followed their leader out of the room. Only Stuart Junior stayed behind with her.

“He meant every word he said, and I don't blame him,” Stuart said.

If she had to look at him she was going to do something childish like spit in his eye. She walked to the window and looked out at the pretty little garden in front of the building.

“It would be nice if every person were equally valuable, Laurel, but they're not. Not from a business point of view,” Stuart said gently. “We give Pete Terranova what he wants because he's worth it. That maid you told me about is replaceable. I'm sorry if that sounds elitist or unfair. My father always used to say,
I never got a job from a poor man
.”

That would be your father the rotten lawyer.

“It took us a year to talk Pete into coming here,” Stuart went on. “He's right; he has worked a miracle. Part of our appeal for him is that he's been his own boss. He's not going to take interference, from you or anyone else.” He started for the door. “Neither am I. I'm through fighting with you. If you don't want to sign that power of attorney, you'll have to replace me too.” At the door he turned. “By the way, next summer, a new theme park will be breaking ground forty-five minutes away from here. They should be ready to compete with you by 2006.”

Then he walked out of the office.