Arthur Hailey - Wheels

"I can play that," Stella said. She had returned with Adam's drink and one for Pierre.

The congressman moved over to join them. He had flowing white hair, a genial manner and a strong, though pontifical voice. "I was interested in what you said about your industry listening, Mr. Trenton. I trust some of the listening is to what legislators are saying."

Adam hesitated. His inclination was to answer bluntly, as usual, but this was a party; he was a guest. He caught the eye of Hank Kreisel who seemed to have a knack of being everywhere and overhearing anything that mattered. "Feel free," Kreisel said. "A few fights won't hurt. We got a doctor coming."

Adam told the congressman, "What's coming out of legislatures right now is mostly foolishness from people who want their names in the news and know that blasting the auto industry, whether it makes sense or not, will do the trick."

The congressman rushed as Adam persisted, "A U.S. senator wants to ban automobiles in five years' time if they have internal combustion engines, though he hasn't any notion what will replace them. Well, if it happened, the only good thing is, he couldn't get around to make silly speeches. Some states have brought lawsuits in efforts to make us recall all cars built since 1953 and rebuild them to emission standards that didn't exist until 1966 in California, 1968 elsewhere."

"Those are extremes," the congressman protested. His speech slurred slightly, and the drink in his hand was clearly not his first of the day.

"I agree they're extremes. But they're representative of what we're hearing from legislators, and that - if I remember - was your question."

Hank Kreisel, reappearing, said cheerfully, "Was the question, all right." He slapped the congressman across the shoulders. "Watch out, Woody! These young fellas in Detroit got sharp minds. Brighter'n you're used to in Washington."

"You'd never think," the congressman informed the group, "that when this character Kreisel and I were Marines together, he used to salute me"

"If that's what you're missing, General"

Hank Kreisel, still in his smart Bermuda shorts, snapped to rigid attention and executed a parade ground-style salute. Afterward he commanded, "Stella, get the senator another drink."

"I wasn't a general," the congressman complained. "I was a chicken colonel, and I'm not a senator."

"You were never a chicken, Woody," Kreisel assured him. "And you'll make it to senator. Probably over this industry's corpse."

"Judging by you, and this place, it's a damn healthy corpse." The congressman returned his gaze to Adam. "Want to beat any more bell out of politicians?"

"Maybe a little." Adam smiled. "Some of us think it's time our lawmakers did a few positive things instead of just parroting the critics."

"Positive like what?"

"Like enacting some public enforcement laws. Take one example: air pollution. Okay, antipollution standards for new-built cars are here.

Most of us in the industry agree they're good, are necessary, and were overdue." Adam was aware of the size of the group around them increasing, other conversations breaking off. He went on, "But what people like you ask of people like us is to produce an anti-pollutant device which won't go wrong, or need checking or adjustment, for the entire life of every car. Well, it can't be done. It's no more logical to expect it than to ask any piece of machinery to work perfectly forever. So what's needed? A law with teeth, a law requiring regular inspection of car pollutant devices, then repair or replacement when necessary. But it would be an unpopular law because the public doesn't really give two hoots about pollution and only cares about convenience.

That's why politicians are afraid of it."

"The public does care," the congressman said heatedly. "I've mail to prove it."

"Some individuals care. The public doesn't. For more than two years," Adam insisted, "we've had pollution control kits available for older cars. The kits cost twenty dollars installed, and we know they work.

They reduce pollution and make air purer - anywhere. The kits have been promoted, advertised on TV, radio, billboards, but almost nobody buys them. Extras on cars - even old cars - like whitewall tires or stereo tape decks are selling fine. But nobody wants antipollution kits; they're the least selling item we ever made. And the legislators you asked me about, who lecture us about clean air at the drop of a vote, haven't shown the slightest interest either."

Stella's voice and several others chorused, "Spare ribs! Spare ribs!"

The group around Adam and the congressman thinned. "About time," somebody said. "We haven't eaten for an hour."

The sight of piled food, now on a buffet at the rear of the sun deck presided over by a whitecapped chef, reminded Adam that he had not had breakfast, due to his fight with Erica, and was hungry. He also remembered he must call home soon.

One of the purchasing agent guests, holding a plate heaped high with food, called out, "Great eating, Hank!"

"Glad you like it," his host acknowledged. "And with you guys here it's all deductible."

Adam smiled with the others, knowing that what Kreisel had said was true - that the purchasing agents' presence made this a business occasion, to be deducted eventually on Hank Kreisel's income tax return.

The reasoning: auto company purchasing agents, who allocated millions of dollars' worth of orders annually, held a life or death authority over parts manufacturers like Kreisel. In older days, because of this, purchasing agents were accustomed to receive munificent gifts even a lake cruiser or a houseful of furniture from suppliers whom they favored. Now, auto companies forbade that kind of graft and an offender, if caught, was fired summarily. Just the same, perks for purchasing agents still existed, and being entertained socially, on occasions like this or privately, was one. Another was having personal hotel bills picked up by suppliers or their salesmen; this was considered safe since neither goods nor money changed hands directly, and later, if necessary, a purchasing agent could deny knowledge, saying he had expected the hotel to bill him. And gifts at Christmas time remained one more.

The Christmas handouts were forbidden annually by auto company managements in memos circulated during November and December. But just as inevitably, purchasing department secretaries prepared lists of purchasing staff home addresses which were handed out to suppliers' salesmen on request, a request considered as routine as saying, "Merry Christmas!" The secretaries' home addresses were always on the lists and, though purchasing agents allegedly knew nothing of what was going on, somehow their addresses got there, too. The gifts which resulted - none delivered to the office - were not as lavish as in older days, but few suppliers risked failing to bestow them.

Adam was still watching the purchasing agent with the piled plate when a soft, feminine voice murmured, "Adam Trenton, do you always say just what you're thinking?"

He turned. In front of him, regarding him amusedly, was a girl of twenty-eight or thirty, Adam guessed. Her high-cheekboned face was up-tilted, her moist full lips lightly parted in a smile. Intelligent bright eyes met his own directly. He sensed a musky perfume, was aware of a lithe, slender figure with small, firm breasts beneath a tailored powder-blue linen dress. She was, Adam thought, one of the most breathtakingly beautiful women he had ever seen. And she was black. Not brown, but black; a deep, rich black, her smooth unblemished skin like silken ebony. He curbed an impulse to reach out, touching her.

"My name is Rowena," the girl said. "I was told yours. And I've been asked to see that you get something to eat."

"Rowena what?"

He sensed her hesitate. "Does it matter?" She smiled, so that he was aware of the full redness and moisture of her lips again.