Эд Макбейн - Strangers When We Meet

Harry Baxter was a short man of fifty-four with a craggy face, an unkempt mustache, and a deep rumbling voice. He seemed stuffy and insensitive until you noticed his eyes and his hands. And then, all at once, you got the feeling that this unattractive little man could design wonderful buildings. He and Larry hit it off instantly, and by the time dessert was being served they were talking familiarly of Gropius, Le Corbusier, and Mies.

“Well,” Baxter said at the end of the discussion, “our Puerto Rican project will undoubtedly be prefab. That’s why I brought up Gropius to begin with.”

“I understand,” Larry said.

“How does it strike you?”

“It sounds good, so far.”

“That’s encouraging,” Baxter said. “Think about it.” He glanced at his watch. “Say, if we’re going to see that show, I’d better call for a check.”

Eve had heard the reference to Puerto Rico, and it aroused her curiosity without satisfying it. Nor did the topic come up again until they were sitting in Lindy’s after the show, and then Eve, who was reading her menu, almost missed Baxter’s second mention of the project.

“... and, of course, it would necessitate going to Puerto Rico.”

“Naturally,” Larry said.

“I imagine a week’s time would be sufficient,” Baxter said. “That is, of course, if the proposal appeals to you.”

“Well, I’m really pleased you thought of me,” Larry said, and Eve turned her complete attention to the conversation at the table.

“But you’re not interested, is that it?”

“I’m interested, but I’m working on another job right now.”

“Oh, what kind?”

“A house.”

“How far along are you?”

“Well, to be truthful we’ve barely started.”

“Then postpone it awhile.”

“No, I couldn’t do that. The client is anxious to begin, and I’d like to present some ideas to him.”

“I understand. When will you show your rough sketches?”

“I’m meeting with him on the twenty-ninth.”

“And after that?”

“I’d want him to study the drawings for a while.”

“Then you could conceivably leave by the first of the month?”

“Yes. If I took the job.”

“What job?” Eve asked. “Leave for where?”

“Puerto Rico,” Larry said.

“My firm is designing a factory for the island,” Baxter explained. “A lot of new industry is being seduced to the island by the lenient taxes. Actually, it’s a wonderful thing for the economy, and it doesn’t hurt the manufacturers one bit. Our factory is to have its own housing development for the employees.” He paused, waiting for Eve to grasp his meaning.

“Oh, I see,” she said, nodding.

“Naturally, since your husband won a prize back in 1952 for—”

“Oh, did he?” Eloise Baxter interrupted. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, El,” Baxter said. “In an international competition. Larry designed a housing development for a typewriter factory in Milan. Six hundred families. His scheme won second prize. Seventy-five hundred dollars, wasn’t it, Larry?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Actually a little less after the lire exchange.”

“I’m not attempting flattery when I say you should have got first prize. I studied both schemes when they were published, and yours was superior by far.”

“Well, thank you.”

“I always thought so, too,” Eve said.

“You’re prejudiced,” Larry answered.

“I’m not ,” Baxter said, “but the devil with prize-awarding committees. The important thing is that I saw your scheme and liked the thinking in it. I can use that level of thinking on this project. Please don’t misunderstand me. I have a staff inferior to none, and I think our factory design is excellent. Nor do I doubt we’ll turn in a competent job on the development, too. But if I can bring flair to it, if I can bring the sort of sweeping imagination you showed in your Milan scheme, I’ll be achieving something more than the merely adequate. Do you follow me?”

“Yes,” Larry said.

Baxter turned to Eve. “That’s why I’ve asked your husband to work with us in an advisory capacity. I want him to go to Puerto Rico to get the feel of the site. It’s as easy to plan well as to plan badly, and I’d like to begin the right way.”

Eve nodded. She could feel pride for her husband swelling into her throat.

“I can pay you fifteen hundred dollars, Larry. Plus all expenses, of course. I’d want an imaginative site layout, recommendations for the kind of buildings you’d want on the site, and a schematic of one of the buildings.”

“That’s worth a lot more than fifteen hundred dollars,” Larry said, and Eve felt a slight pang at his audacity.

“How much more?”

“I’d want three thousand. Plus expenses. If you want to save the expenses, I can work from photographs of the site.”

“No, I think the feel is important. Would you settle for twenty-five hundred?”

Eve looked to Larry nervously. “That sounds fair,” Larry said.

“What’s the trouble, Mrs. Cole?” Baxter asked.

“Why, none. It’s entirely up to my husband.”

Baxter smiled. “Have you ever been separated before?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Eve said. “Really, it isn’t that at all. I’d like Larry to go. It’s entirely up to him.”

“Larry,” Baxter said, “would you be more inclined to say yes if your wife could go along?”

“Well, I...”

“Take her with you.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you. But...”

“It’s not kind at all. Architecture is an art, but it’s also a business. And I’ve never yet met a successful businessman who doesn’t speculate. If this design is superior, other projects will come to my firm. The housing development is an integral part of the factory. I want your ideas. I’ll pay for them now because I’ll profit from them later.”

Baxter paused. The table was suddenly silent.

“Can you and Eve leave by November first?”

Larry looked at Eve. Eve nodded.

“All right,” Larry said.

“Good,” Baxter answered. “Then we’ve got a deal.” He extended his hand and Larry took it. Then he grinned broadly and said, “Ah, here comes the coffee.”

They were both silent until they approached the bridge.

The radio was on in the car, and Larry was listening to it in seeming contentment. Eve had learned not to push conversation upon him, especially after a new idea was presented. She knew that the idea needed time to jell and that once the excitement of it — or the disappointment, in some cases — had caught up with him, there was no stopping his torrent of words.

So she would not have brought up Puerto Rico, even though she was bubbling with the excitement of it, had the disk jockey not begun playing a mambo. And then, because she normally associated mambos with Spanish-speaking peoples, and because she was thinking of lush tropical growth and sunny skies to begin with, she automatically said, “I’ll have to get some new bathing suits.”

He realized she was only thinking aloud, and there was certainly nothing in her words to precipitate an argument. Yet he felt an awakening of anger, even though he answered her mildly.

“He seems like a pretty decent fellow,” he said. “Baxter, I mean.”

“Yes, he does.”

“I hope we’re not taking advantage of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know.”

“No,” Eve said innocently.

“Taking you along,” Larry said. There still was no anger in his voice. But he felt himself frowning, and he wondered why.

Eve thought for a moment and then said, “Well it was his suggestion.”

“More or less,” Larry answered.