Otter Under Fire (3 page)

“You see that long blond hair on his shirt?” Otter said absently, isn’t his wife a brunette?”

Ten to twelve hour workdays seem short when you are too busy to think about it. There were finished parts and raw material she had to schedule through shipping, rosters to go over with Gonzo and his people and customers to appease. After her last big blow up with Defray because once again he had promised a job on a machine that was already planned for something else; she stormed into her office and slammed the door.

“Asshole, asshole, dickhead,” She ranted, and then she drew up short. Clark was sitting in her desk chair. If she hadn’t been so pissed, it would have been funny. Clark McCartney looked like a cartoon character. He was short and fat and fully one fourth of his body was his head. Because her desk was high enough for her to work while standing up, her chair was the height of a bar stool and his stubby little legs hung over the edge like a child’s. She wondered how he had gotten up there.

“I hope you have a good reason for being in my office,” she growled at him. “I’m not in the mood to chat.”

“I have to postpone our meeting this week,” Clark said with as much dignity as he could muster, “I am going out of town.”

“Oh, OK,” Otter said, surprised, “vacation?”

“Yes, an unexpected vacation. I am going away for a few days. I met a fellow Bishop at a conference a few months ago and he invited me to come up and visit for some prayer and reflection. Since it is Labor Day weekend, I thought it was a good time to go away.”

“I’m sure you’ll find that restful,” she said. She always forgot he was a devout Mormon and an official of his church. Given his personality she didn’t just forget, sometimes she found it hard to believe. “Where are you going?”

“He is in a small town in Michigan. I am sure I will find the visit quite enlightening. I’d appreciate it if you did not let anyone know where I am going. You understand a person in my position cannot be too careful.”

“You can count on my discretion.” All those disappointed zealous fans and paparazzi would have to find out from someone else, she thought.

“I knew I could. And I would like to offer a confidential word of advice.”

“OK.”

“Do not let Defray get to you. He will not be bothering anyone around here for long.”

“Did you get that directly from the boss?”

“Let us say I got it from several sources.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but then changed his mind.

“OK, I’ll take your word for it.”

“We can have our meeting on Tuesday morning when I get back.”

“If you still think it’s important.”

“It is very important. I know we have never been friends, Otter, but I do enjoy working with your professionalism.” Again that hint of something left unsaid.

“Thank you.”

“And you are going to our charity ball in October?”

“The Halloween ball? Yes, of course. I have my date and my dress all lined up.”

“Well it is the first weekend of October, hardly a Halloween ball. But good, I am pleased you are going. I am taking my wife of course.”

“Of course,”

“Listen, Otter—Mackenzie, I…”

There was a fierce pounding on her door. She could see Raymundo, the shipping guy in the window. The skull tattoo on his bald head was radiating fury. Someone in the Shipping and Receiving department must have screwed up again.

“I’ll get rid of him if you need to talk.”

“No, go on and take care of it. We can talk when I get back on Tuesday.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Yes, yes, go.” He shooed her away with his hands.

She opened the door to a spate of a heated combination of Spanish and English and hurried out to the floor to fix the latest crisis.

Deep down she believed Clark got rid of her so she couldn’t see how he got himself off that chair.

“It says here that your name is Tara Kowalski,” Tempest said reading off of her notebook. They were at Tempest’s favorite restaurant for an introductory business meeting.

“That’s right,” The blond in the tight red dress said. Tempest resisted the temptation to look, but the neckline of the dress seemed to plunge to the woman’s belly button. Secretly she sighed to herself. This Tara person looked like another clueless nut that had no idea how to run a business. Tempest sincerely hoped this potential customer could at least do the work she claimed she could do.

“So tell me how you’ve been finding your accounts up to now,” Tempest invited, pulling booklets and pamphlets from her briefcase. She had developed the Blackthorn Method of Marketing which she shared only with her special customers. It was a rigorous set of guides and classes that she administered personally. Nearly all of her protégés had started out novices and become successful entrepreneurs under her tutelage.

“Well, mainly I’ve been offering to have sex with them,” Tara told her tearfully, “but once the sex stops I lose the client.”

“I don’t understand,” Tempest paused, “you said you were a financial planner.”

“Well I heard your presentation at the Chamber of Commerce and you said to be innovative and think outside your industry.”

“Ok,” Tempest pulled up the outline for a new client file on her notebook. “Tell me something unique about you that will compel new clients to want to visit your office and meet you.”

“I have a blue asshole.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with taking care of other people’s money.”

“But in your presentation you said…”

“I did not tell you to get a blue asshole,” Tempest snapped, “I also didn’t tell you to run naked through a business consortium and I didn’t tell you to pierce your nipples.”

“Those last two didn’t work either.”

“If you’re not going to be serious about this, I don’t see why I’m here.”

“I’m very serious,” the blond exploded. One of her breasts popped out of her dress, nipple piercing and all. “Everyone says you’re so great, but I’ve tried some of your methods and I’m not doing any better than I was.” She carefully tucked her boob back behind her plunging neckline. “So someone said that maybe I misunderstood and talking to you would make me understand your methods better.”

“Please give me their names so I can thank them personally.”

“I understand numbers; I do well with finances, financial planning and accounting. Ledgers and numbers are my world; its people I don’t understand.”

“Well I can certainly help you to become more professional and attract a decent number of clients, but you understand it’ll be expensive. I would have to start from scratch with you.”

“No problem, I can afford it. If you can build my business up, I can pay you.”

“But you haven’t had a steady client in months.”

“I don’t have to work. I’ve done my own financial planning and investments; I have enough money to live comfortably the rest of my life.”

“Really,” Tempest was impressed despite herself. The woman couldn’t be more than 35 years old. “So why work at all?”

“I need to work on accounts. I’m bored with travel and sightseeing and all that useless stuff. I was brought up to be industrious and work for a living.”

“Indeed,” Tempest tapped her fingers on the table, deep in thought. “You could go work for an accounting firm,” she said slowly. “Not that I’d pass on a lucrative account, but any number of financial institutions would love to have a qualified person such as yourself working for them.”

“There are better tax breaks for doing the same work, and I don’t have to get permission to use the proprietary software I designed. The problem with owning your own company is the state of Arizona only allows you to have a business for a certain amount of time without making money. I’m only 8 months away from the deadline and I’m getting a little desperate.”

Tara leaned forward with excitement burning in her eyes. “Listen, you say that if I follow your program and run my business and marketing exactly how you say--then you guarantee I will build my business.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” Tempest said.

“And I’m saying that if a potential customer follows my program and sets up their finances the way I tell them to, they will be able to build their net worth beyond what they thought possible and may be able to retire earlier than they expected.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” Tempest said in satisfaction. “This is good, very good. “ She looked at Tara. “You have to understand that we will need to change your image to be a bit more professional.”

“I’m ok with that. I don’t care what I wear.”

“So why do you dress like this?”

“It’s what my Mama told me I should wear.”

“Your
mother
told you to wear that dress for a business meeting?”

“Oh yes,” Tara nodded vigorously, “I’ve learned to listen to my mother. Mama raised my sister and me by herself. When the school told her that her girls were smart and would go places, she worked two jobs to get the money to make sure we got a proper education. Stripping and dancing at two different clubs. She was one of the best back in the day.”

“So you take her advice on how to dress.”

“Nobody knows people and situations like Mama does. She has a real knack for polite society.”

“So what does your sister do?”

“She’s a doctor here in town.”

“That’s really nice; it sounds like your mother did right by both of you. She won’t be hurt if you wear something more conservative instead of what you have on now?”

Tara looked down at herself. “Oh no, she’ll be fine with it. I can give this back to her, since it’s hers.”

Truckload after truckload of metal rumbled through receiving while the furnaces shot flames to the ceiling. Lathes screamed and mills hummed as Otter moved in tandem with the hungry machines. She paused a moment to look at a part, check a schedule, ask a question—then back to the rhythm she spun. A consultation with Gonzo or an e-mail from a customer would send her hurling back out to the sweltering shop floor as she directed traffic to another machine, to another department or off to shipping to be trucked to the next destination. She met with Defray, gave him her plans and schedule, compared them with his, got a grunt and a nod and she was out to the floor again to sign paperwork and send it to the office for shipping tickets.

Clark had pulled in extra sales that week, Otter thought as another truckload of castings pulled up. She paged Ron Defray out to receiving to show him the latest delivery.

“Three more truckloads,” Otter shook her head in wonder, “I think Clark is trying to kill us.”

“You got to strike when the steel is hot,” Defray said looking at the packing slip. “You know how it is.” He twiddled with the bullet casing hanging around his neck, sure sign he was calculating a schedule.

“Yeah, I do,” Otter said, “but he promised everything in two weeks. That’s wild stuff.”

“Yeah, well it’s a new customer. We’ll get it done, don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure, and I’m always right,” he flashed his shark grin at her. “Speaking of Clark, do you know where he went? He disappeared kind of suddenly.”

“Haven’t a clue,” Otter shook her head, “I got the impression it was some kind of religious retreat that came up unexpectedly.”

“He didn’t say where?”

“He’s not in the habit of confiding in me. All I know is he cancelled a meeting we had with the GM and the boss and said he’d be back Tuesday.”

“Hmmm, strange,”

“Yeah, well it’s Clark,”

“Good point,” Defray picked up his clipboard. “Now I need to get back to the fabrication department and check on some stuff. My gout is acting up today and it won’t be long before I’m chair bound.” He strode away, a slight limp in his step.

“You have anyplace special you want these?” Raymundo asked as she watched Defray make his way across the open compound toward the fabrication department.

“Nah, stash them out on a storage lot,” she said, “We won’t get to them for a couple days.”

Raymundo gave a shrill whistle to the forklift operator, “Hey George! Take it to lot 34, all of it.” George nodded and drove toward the back storage lots and Raymundo made a note on his map. “You got it boss lady.”

“Thanks man,” she turned and went to her office. By the end of the day the shipments were made and industry continued to spin on its axis. The city’s garbage trucks would be repaired with the parts that Otter marked for shipment, a child would get her leg braces and a jet on the tarmac at the airport would get its replacement piece.

One special part that she ran through on an expedite
[4]
as a favor to a regular customer got out early enough to repair a helicopter that was shipped overseas on time. Two weeks, later it was the vehicle in a daring rescue of 3 British citizens and an American, proving that a stone dropped in a pond can have far reaching ripples indeed.

When Otter got home, the foreman for the crew working on her waterfall was waiting for her. He was a bull of a man, almost totally gray with big bushy eyebrows and hands like hams. They walked back to the pool together.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said as he rummaged in a pocket.

“It’s going to take longer to get finished, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s those dragons you have on either side of the fountain. They are a problem.”

“They were all plumbed and ready to install when you got them,” Otter said, “I checked them myself.”

“Yes, yes they’re plumbed, but the problem is the spray out of their mouths. You want the water to go down into the pool and we have to make a special fitting for the nozzle to fit into.”

“And this is going to cost…”

“About a thousand extra,” he pulled two tubes of plastic out of his pocket and presented them to her. “We had to have these made special in a machine shop.”

Otter quirked up an eyebrow at him as she viewed the plastic in his hand.

“There are complicated angles in there,” he said defensively.

Otter took the tubes and looked down the center of each one. They were three inches long with a hole bored through the center, ending in a slight angle--she would give him that. About fifteen minutes on a CNC mill including programming and she could have made them at no cost.

“A machine shop made these, huh?”

“Yes, a professional shop. When you have something custom made, it costs more.”

“Well I manage a machine shop, and we’re not only professional, we’re Aerospace approved.” She looked inside one of the fittings again. “If a shop is charging you $500 each for these, you are getting seriously ripped off. Send me some prints and I’ll get you a quote.” She handed him her business card. Funny, she had never thought to give him her card before.

He looked at her in shock.

“I could program these in my sleep,” she assured him as she handed back the pieces.

Her cell phone rang and she saw it was a call from work. She spent the next five minutes re-routing the schedule around a broken furnace. When she hung up he had gone. He had probably gotten tired of waiting.

It was strange, but the fountain foreman reminded her of Ron Defray.

Ice cold cinnamon tea hit the spot when Otter got out of the pool that evening. Tempest had brought home subs and salads and was setting them up on the patio table. Since it was already early September, it was the time for living outside. From September to May, the weather would be perfect for eating and playing outside. Sad kitties lined up against the patio door because they weren’t a part of the food and fun. Otter waved to them, took her seat and looked out toward the pool.

People in cooler climates laughed when Phoenicians talked about cold weather, but after Labor Day the pools started to get too chilly to swim in without some way to heat the water. Otter was designing a solar water heater so they could swim year round, but she hadn’t put it together yet.

“What I don’t understand,” Tempest said as they sat down, “is why you guys keep employees that are such dickheads.”

“Because they are good at their jobs,” Otter said as she helped herself to some pepperoncini. “Ron Defray is one of the biggest jerks you will ever meet, but he really knows what he’s doing. He’s arrogant, insulting and self-centered, but I know that he will drive himself hard to get the work out. He screws me over on the machines and furnaces because someone asked him for a favor and he likes to look like he’s in charge, but he will also work overtime to get some big job out because I’m down to the wire.”

“Do you like him?”

“It’s complicated, sometimes I do, and sometimes I definitely hate his guts. It depends on the day.”

“What about this other guy, Clark?”

“Sometimes he’s a bigger jerk than Defray. He’s pompous and self-satisfied. Of course he and Defray hate each other.”

“Are you sure he’s a Mormon? Mormon’s are usually nice.”

“Yeah it baffles me too.”

“And is he good at his job?”