Wheels (27 page)

The tall, graying Negro considered before answering. At length he said,
"I could be cynical and smart, and say that making a film about
problems, instead of solving them or trying to, is like Nero fiddling.
But being an executive has taught me life isn't always that simple;
also, communication is important
.”

He paused, then added, "What you
intend might do a lot of good. If there's a way I can help, I will,"
"Perhaps there is," Barbara acknowledged. "I've already talked with the
director, Wes Gropetti, and something we're agreed on is that whatever
is said about the inner city must be through people who live there
-individuals. One of them, we believe, should be someone coming through
tbe'hard core'hiring program
.”

Wingate cautioned, "Hard core hiring doesn't always work. You might
shoot a lot of film about a person who ends up a failure
.”

"If that's the way it happens," Barbara insisted, "that's the way we'll
tell it. We're not doing a remake of Pollyanna
.”

"Then there might be someone," Wingate said thoughtfully. "You remember
I told you-one afternoon I trailed the instructor who stole the checks,
then lied to get them endorsed
.”

She nodded. "I remember
.”

"Next day I went back to see some of the people he'd visited, I'd noted
the addresses; my office matched them up with names
.”

Leonard Wingate
produced a notebook and turned pages. "One of them was a man I had a
feeling about. I'm not sure what kind of feeling, except I've persuaded
him to come back to work. Here it is
.”

He stopped at a page. "His name
is Rollie Knight
.”

Earlier, when Barbara arrived at Brett's apartment, she had come by
taxi. Late that evening, when Leonard Wingate had gone-after promising
that the three of them would meet again soon -Brett drove Barbara home.
The Zaleskis lived in Royal Oak, a middleclass residential suburb
southeast of Birmingham. Driving crosstown on Maple, with Barbara on
the front seat close beside him, Brett said, "Nuts to this
!
" He
braked, stopped the car, and put his arms around her. Their kiss was
passionate and long.
" Listen !
" Brett said; he buried his face in the soft silkiness of her
hair, and held her tightly. "What the hell are we doing headed this
way? Come back and stay with me tonight. We both want it, and there's
not a reason in the world why you shouldn't
.”

He had made the same suggestion earlier, immediately after Wingate
left. Also, they had covered this ground many times before.
Barbara sighed. She said softly, "I'm a great disappointment to you,
aren't IT'
"How do I know if you're a disappointment, when you've never let me
find out
.”

She laughed lightly. He had the capacity to make her do that, even at
unexpected moments. Barbara reached up, tracing her fingers across
Brett's forehead, erasing the frown she sensed was there.
He protested, "It isn't fair
!
Everybody who knows us just assumes we're
sleeping together, and you and I are the only ones who know we're not.
Even your old man thinks we are. Well, doesn't he
.”

"Yes," she admitted. "I think Dad does
.”

"I know damn well he does. What's more, every time we meet, the old
buzzard lets me know he doesn't like it. So I lose out two ways, coming
and going
.”

"Darling," Barbara said, "I know, I know
.”

"Then why aren't we doing something-right now, tonight? Barb, hon,
you're twenty-nine; you can't possibly be a virgin, so what's our
hangup? Is it me? Do I smell of modeling clay, or offend you in some
other way
.”

She shook her head emphatically. "You attract me in every way, and I
mean that just as much as all the other times I've said it
.”

"We've said everything so many times
.”

He added morosely, "None of the
other times made any more sense than this one
.”

"Please," Barbara said, "let's go home
.”

"My home
.”

She laughed. "No, mine
When the car was moving, she touched Brett's arm. "I'm not sure either;
about making sense, I mean. I guess I'm just not thinking the way
everyone else seems to do nowadays; at least, I haven't yet. Maybe it's
old-fashioned . .
-
"

“
You mean if I want to get to the honey pot, I have to marry you
.”

Barbara said sharply, "No, I don't. I'm not even sure I want to marry
anybody; I'm a career gal, remember? And I know you're not marriage
minded
.”

Brett grinned. "You're right about that. So why don't we live together
.”

She said thoughtfully, "We might
.”

"You're serious
.”

"I'm not sure. I think I could be, but I need time
.”

She hesitated.
"Brett, darling, if you'd like us not to see each other for a while, if
you're going to be frustrated every time we meet . .
.”

'We tried that, didn't we? It didn't work because I missed you
.”

He said
decisively, "No, we'll go on this way even if I make like a corralled
stallion now and then. Besides," he added cheerfully, "you can't hold
out forever
.”

There was a silence as they drove. Brett turned onto Woodward Avenue,
heading south, then Barbara said, "Do something for me.'
'What
.”

"Finish the painting. The one we looked at tonight
.”

He seemed surprised. "You mean that might make a difference to us
.”

"I'm not sure. I do know it's part of you, a specially important part;
something inside that ought to come out
.”

"Like a tapeworm
.”

She shook her head. "A great talent, just as Leonard said. One that the
auto industry won't ever give its proper chance to, not if you stay with
car designing, and grow old that way.
"Listenl-I'll finish the painting. I intended to, anyway. But you're in
the car racket, too. Where's your loyalty
.”

"At the office," Barbara said. "I only wear it until five o'clock. Right
now I'm me, which is why I want you to be you-the best, real Brett De
Losanto
.”

"How'd I know him if I met the guy
.”

Brett mused. "Okay, so painting
sends me, sure. But d'you know what the odds are against an artist,
any artist, becoming great, getting recognized and, incidentally, well
paid
.”

They swung into the driveway of the modest bungalow where Barbara and
her father lived. A gray hardtop was in the garage ahead of them. "Your
old man's home," Brett said. "It suddenly feels chilly
.”

Matt Zaleski was in his orchid atrium, which adjoined the kitchen, and
looked up as Brett and Barbara came in through the bungalow's side door.
Matt had built the atrium soon after buying the house eighteen years
ago, on migrating here from Wyandotte. At that time the move northward
to Royal Oak had represented Matt's economic advancement from his
boyhood milieu and that of his Polish parents. The orchid atrium had
been intended to provide a soothing hobby, offsetting the mental stress
of helping run an auto plant. It seldom had. Instead, while Matt still
loved the exotic sight, texture, and sometimes scent of orchids, a
growing weariness during his hours at home had changed the care of them
from pleasure to a chore, though one which, mentally, he could never
quite discard.
Tonight, he had come in an hour ago, having stayed late at the assembly
plant because of some critical materials shortages, and after a sketchy
supper, realized there was some potting and rearrangement which could
be put off no longer. By the time he heard Brett's car arrive, Matt had
relocated several plants, the latest a yellow-purple Masdevallia
triangularis, now placed where air movement and humidity would be
better. He was misting the flower tenderly when the two came in.
Brett appeared at the open atrium doorway. "Hi, Mr. Z
.”

Matt Zaleski, who disliked being called Mr. Z., though several others
at the plant addressed him that way, grunted what could have been a
greeting. Barbara joined them, kissed her father briefly, then returned to
the kitchen and began making a hot malted drink for them all.
"Gee"' Brett said. Determined to be genial, he inspected the tiers and
hanging baskets of orchids. "It's great to have lots of spare time you can
spend on a setup like this
.”

He failed to notice a tightening of Matt's
mouth. Pointing to a Catasetum saccatum growing in fir bark on a ledge,
Brett commented admiringly, "That's a beauty I It's like a bird in
flight
.”

For a moment Matt relaxed, sharing the pleasure of the superb purple-brown
bloom, its sepals and petals curving upward. He conceded, "I guess it is
like a bird. I never noticed that
.”

Unwittingly, Brett broke the mood. 'Was it a fun day in Assembly, Mr. Z.?
Did that rolling erector set of yours hold together
.”

"If it did," Matt Zaleski said, "it's no thanks to the crazy car designs
we have to work with
.”

"Well, you know how it is. We like to throw you iron pants guys something
that's a challenge; otherwise you'd doze off from the monotony
.”

Good-natured banter was a way of life with Brett, as natural as breathing.
Unfortunately, he had never realized that with Barbara's father it was
not, and was the reason Matt considered his daughter's friend a smart
aleck.
As Matt
Zaleski scowled, Brett added, "y
ou'll get the Orion soon. Now
that's a playpen that'll build itself
.”

Matt exploded. He said, heavy-handedly, "Nothing builds itself I That's
what you cocksure kids don't realize. Because you and your kind come here
with college degrees, you think you know it all, believe everything you
put on
paper will work out. It doesn't.
It's those like me-iron pants, you
call us; working slobs-who have to fix it so it does . .
.”

The words
roiled on.
Behind Matt's outburst was his tiredness of tonight; atso the knowledge
that, yes, the Orion would be coming his way soon; that the plant where
he was second in command would have to build the new car, would be torn
apart to do it, then put together so that nothing worked the way it
had; that the ordinary problems of production, which were tough enough,
would quickly become monumental and, for months, occur around the
clock; that Matt himself would draw the toughest trouble-shooting
during model changeover, would have little rest, and some nights would
be lucky if he got to bed at all; furthermore, he would be blamed when
things went wrong, He had been through it all before, more times than
he remembered, and the next time-coming soon-seemed one too many.
Matt stopped, realizing that he had not really been talking to this
brash kid DeLosanto-much as he disliked him-but that his own emotions,
pent up inside, had suddenly burst through. He was about to say so,
awkwardly, and add that he was sorry, when Barbara appeared at the
atrium door. Her face was white.
"Dad, you'll apologize for everything you just said
.”

Obstinacy was his first reaction. "I'll do what
.”