Текст книги "Spring Fever"
Автор книги: Mary Kay Andrews
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
26
When he finally made it into the office, Mason found a thick pile of phone-message slips and an endless stream of e-mails. He was exhausted, guilt-wracked, and pissed off at Annajane Hudgens, whom he blamed for plunging his usually well-ordered life into a maelstrom of doubt and indecision. He was clicking his way through the e-mails, when he came to a long one from Joe Farnham, expressing his regret about the termination of the Quixie account and wishing the family well, that set his blood boiling. He called Farnham and had a brief conversation with the ad-man. As soon as he hang up, he stormed into Davis’s office without knocking, slamming the door closed behind him.
“Hey, bro,” Davis was dressed in his customary custom-tailored suit, heavily starched white dress shirt, and an expensive Italian knit tie. He was on the phone.
“We need to talk,” Mason said, and he felt his jaw muscle twitch. He glanced at Davis’s computer screen—and saw what looked like a page of real estate listings. Davis quickly tapped the mouse and the Quixie logo appeared on his screen saver.
“Hang on a minute, can you?” Davis said, covering the phone with his hand. He gestured toward the wingback chair in front of his desk.
“Look, I’ll get back to you on that,” he said and hung up. He swiveled his chair around and gave his brother a searching look.
“Dude,” Davis said, with a merry chortle. “I hear you had yourself quite a night last night. So. You and ole Annajane out at the farm, scaring the livestock. Congratulations, buddy. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
Mason clenched the sides of the chair with both hands. “Shut the fuck up,” he said fiercely. “I mean it, Davis.”
“Okay,” Davis said, shrugging. “Don’t get so bent out of shape. I was just messin’ with you.”
“You’ve been messing with a lot of people lately, haven’t you, Davis?” Mason said. “I just got an e-mail from Joe Farnham. He tells me you’ve terminated our account with them?”
“Well, hey-yullllll,” Davis drawled. “You know, it’s just one of those things. If we do this deal with Jax Snax, they’ve got their own in-house agency. And I know you’ve been on a cost-cutting tear, so it seemed to me that now was the time to cut Capheart loose. We’ve got the summer promotion plans, and it’s no biggie for me to cherry-pick the best parts…”
“It is not just one of those things,” Mason said. “We’ve been working with Farnham-Capheart for years. They’ve done a good job for us. More importantly, this Jax thing you keep harping about is not a done deal. You know damned well we don’t have any idea of how Dad’s trust arrangement is going to shake out. For all we know, he may have left Quixie to the Humane Society.”
Davis’s eyes shifted nervously. “The old man wouldn’t have done anything like that. Anyway, we’ll know by next week. I’m just trying to make sure we’ve got all our ducks in a row once we do know how it shakes out.”
“I am not going to let this company be sold, Davis,” Mason said quietly. “Not without a fight. I know we’ve had some philosophical differences in the past, and we’ve managed to work things out, but this time, I’m not backing down. Our great-grandfather started this business. He and Granddad and Dad managed to keep it afloat during the Depression and the war years. They fought off Coke and Pepsi and half a dozen other companies that tried to put us out of business. But if Kelso and his bunch get their hands on Quixie, you know as well as I do that they won’t leave us alone. I’ve seen how they operate. They don’t want us—not the physical us. They just want our brand and our market share. Oh yeah, they’ll make promises about keeping things just the way they are, but that’s a bunch of bullshit. They’ll write us a big check and then show us the door. They’ll shut the plant down, ship the equipment somewhere else, and throw everybody in town out of work. Everybody but the Baylesses.”
“You got something against making money?” Davis asked. “Or do you just enjoy the idea of being the last noble Bayless to run Quixie—right into the ground? Because that’s where it’s headed, big brother. Get your head out of your ass! Take a look at what’s happening in the business.”
“We can turn it around,” Mason said stubbornly. “The new flavors, the focus groups loved ’em. And we need some fresh ideas, but we’ve got a good product…”
“I’m telling you it’s too late,” Davis said, half-shouting. “The brand extensions you’re talking about will cost millions. We’d have to retool the plant, add extra capacity, and God knows what all. And I’m tired of flushing good money after bad. If you don’t believe me, talk to Celia! She’ll tell you the truth. The smart money is on Jax. We make the deal, get ’em to sign an iron-clad agreement not to move the company—at least for four or five years. Maybe milk the state for some tax incentives to stick around…”
The muscle in Mason’s jaw twitched as though it had been touched with a live wire. “We are not going to hold this state ransom and hang around for a government handout just to turn around and double-cross them. That’s not how Baylesses do business.”
“The hell you say.” Davis was leaning back in his leather chair. He clicked his mouse and his computer screen was again filled with color photographs of real estate listings. He swiveled the monitor so Mason could get a look.
“You see this? That’s a four-bedroom house on Figure Eight Island.” He tapped the screen with his forefinger. “The lot alone cost a million, three, and I know the owner spent another million and a half building the damned thing. Then he lost his ass in the speculative real estate market. Guy is hurtin’ big-time. Now, he’s begging me to buy it—fully furnished—including a thirty-five-foot Grady-White. I just put an option on it. Eight hundred thousand. You believe that?”
Mason felt his stomach churn. His brother relished the idea of feasting on another man’s disaster. “You could buy that house and boat right now, without taking a dime out of Quixie,” he pointed out. “You’ve got the money. Nothin’s stopping you.”
Davis leaned across his desk. Beneath the tan, a network of fine red veins threaded across his high cheekbones. “Quixie is stopping me,” he said. “Floggin’ this dead horse takes up all my time and energy. But now I’m done.”
He laid his palms flat down on the desktop. “And before you start in on lecturing me about family duty and all that bullshit, you need to know that I am not the only one in favor of this sale. I know Pokey’s dead-set against it, but hell, Pete’s got plenty of money, and anyway, our baby sister don’t know squat about cherry soda.”
He glanced over at a glamorous silver-framed photo of Sallie that rested at the edge of his desk. She’d had the portrait done only a year ago, not long after she’d made a trip to Florida that had been billed as a winter vacation, but which they all knew was for a skillfully done face-lift.
“I wasn’t gonna get into this right now, but you need to know that Mama is ready for this deal to happen. She’s not getting any younger. She wants to get out and enjoy her life while she still can. And if you let this company go to hell, out of your own stubborn pride, that’s on you, buddy.”
He pointed at the monitor with the photo of the beach house. “This summer, when you’re messin’ around out at that broken-down old boathouse and cottage out at Hideaway—that’s where I’m gonna be spending my time. Ocean views on one side, views of the sound on the other.”
Mason shook his head. “I went to see Mama this morning. You’ve been telling her all kind of lies about what’ll happen to the company if we don’t sell, haven’t you, Davis? Scaring her, making her think she’ll be a penniless widow?”
His younger brother gave a nonchalant shrug. “Mama’s a grown woman with plenty of business sense, Mason. She can see the handwriting on the wall without a flashlight.”
“I’m done here,” Mason said tersely as he stood to go. “Anyway, I didn’t come in here to debate the merits of Jax Snax. What I did come in here to talk about is Quixie. Here and now. Today. I’ve tried to stay out of your side of the business, but I can’t do it this time. I called Joe Farnham after I got his e-mail this morning. He told me losing the account meant he couldn’t hire Annajane. Was that your intention? Making sure she wouldn’t have a job? What the hell has she ever done to you?”
“Nothing,” Davis said. “I’m okay with Annajane. How was I supposed to know he’d let her go? I’m not privy to their internal workings.”
“You need to fix this, Davis,” Mason said, glaring at his younger brother. “Nobody knows the company history as well as Annajane or understands our market like she does. Rehire her, or I will. Firing Capheart is one of the stupidest damned moves you’ve ever made. And you’ve made some pretty stupid decisions in your life.”
“You’re calling me stupid?” Davis leaned forward. “Take a look at yourself, big brother. I’m not the one lettin’ my gorgeous fiancée sleep at Mama’s house while I’m out fuckin’ my ex-wife in a cornfield.”
Mason felt the blood rushing to his head. He stood very still. He jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from slugging his brother.
“I’ll call Annajane and let her know she’s been rehired,” he told Davis. “In the meantime, we need to concentrate on running Quixie, the best way we know how.” He turned and stalked out of the room.
27
NOW ENTERING PASSCOE, N.C. HOME OF QUIXIE BEVERAGE COMPANY SINCE 1922. Annajane slowed the car as she passed the city limits sign.
Funny, she’d never really noticed the tasteful green and red billboard before. If Jax Snax managed to gobble up Quixie in the proposed merger, would the town fathers leave the sign standing? The real question, of course, was whether there would be anything left of the town if Quixie got sold.
She’d seen too many other small towns around the state decimated after the departure of textile mills, furniture manufacturers, and yes, even the much-maligned big tobacco. The sight of those abandoned buildings, with their weed-strewn properties; ghostly, boarded-up windows; and forlorn FOR SALE signs never failed to send a shiver up her spine.
They didn’t cure cancer or promote world peace at Quixie. They just made fizzy soft drinks. But their product made people happy.
Mason might fret about shrinking market share, but one thing did not change. Their customers felt intense loyalty to a soft drink that had been around for more than ninety years. Quixie employed three hundred people in Passcoe, which made it the county’s biggest employer. Quixie, and by extension the Bayless family, had provided most of the funding for Memorial Park, the high school football stadium, and the obstetric wing of the hospital. Quixie and its employees were always the biggest contributors to the local United Way fund, and, of course, their taxes kept county roads paved and libraries and schools funded.
Annajane ran her tongue over her now-straight teeth. As the child of a longtime Quixie employee, the company’s health plan had paid for her orthodontia, and Leonard’s company-sponsored savings plan had sent her to college.
Quixie, she vowed, could not just up and leave. She might not have a home or a job or a future here, but she couldn’t let all of this go. Not without a fight.
Her cell phone rang and she recognized the number on the readout as her real estate agent’s.
“Annajane, hey,” Susan Peters said. “I’m so glad I caught you.”
“Please don’t tell me you have bad news,” Annajane said. “I’ve already had enough today.”
“Not exactly bad news,” Susan said. “But news. We need to move up the closing on your loft to Wednesday. So you’ll get your money two days early. Hooray, right?”
“But that’s the day after tomorrow. I’m not even done packing.”
“Sorry,” Susan said. “Your buyer has to leave the country on business Friday, and Wednesday is the only day we can get it scheduled with the lender and the closing attorneys. So it’s Wednesday or nothing.”
“I won’t have to move until Friday though, right?”
“Uh, no. You’ll need to be out of there by noon Wednesday, so she can get moved in before she leaves on Friday.”
“Susan!” Annajane said, with a moan. “You don’t know what you’re asking. I just found out today my job in Atlanta fell through. I don’t have any place to move to.”
“Can’t you just move in with your fiancé?”
“Probably not, since we’re no longer engaged,” Annajane said.
“Oh. Wow. You are having a run of crappy news,” Susan said. “Well, look on the bright side. You’re making out like a bandit on the sale of the loft. You can afford to buy something really nice now. I’ve got a darling 1940s cottage over on Mimosa Street. It’s a three-bedroom, two-bath, on a huge lot, with tons of potential. You could pick it up for a steal, and have lots of money left over for the restoration.”
“Restoration?”
“It’s what we real estate professionals call ‘a handyman’s special.’ You know, it’ll need a new roof, plumbing, electrical, heat and air, a new kitchen, like that. I can show it to you today, if you want, and if you love it, which I think you will, we can write up an offer by tonight.”
“Whoa!” Annajane said. “I’m still processing the news that I’ll be homeless in two days. Look. I can’t wrap my mind around this right now. I’ll have to call you back, okay?”
“Okay, but remember, closing is now at 9 A.M. Wednesday. And you really do have to be out of the loft completely by noon. Call me if you want to see Mimosa Street.”
Annajane dropped her phone into her open pocketbook with a sigh. This day was one that would go down on record as one of the worst in her life. Ever.
She slowed the car at the intersection of the county road and the street that led to Mason’s house. She would deal with her broken engagement, the job situation, and the moved-up closing later. What she needed now was a little cheering up. Sophie would be home from the hospital by now. Impulsively, she made the turn, and hoped all the turmoil at the office meant she could visit the little girl without encountering Mason. Or Celia.
* * *
Sophie’s nanny, Letha, gave Annajane a quick hug. “She’s been asking about you since we got home,” Letha said. “Her daddy told her you’d gone out of town, and she sure didn’t like hearing that!”
She found Sophie propped up on the leather sofa in Mason’s study, sipping from a glass bottle of Quixie and watching The Little Mermaid video. The little girl’s pallor was gone, and she was giggling as Sebastian the lobster capered around on the colorful flat-screened television.
“Annajane!” Sophie cried, spotting her. “You came back.”
“I did,” Annajane agreed, sitting gingerly on the edge of the tufted ottoman that served as a coffee table. She reached over and adjusted Sophie’s sparkly pink glasses, then ruffled her hair. “Are you glad to be home?”
“Yeah. The nurses were nice, but Letha is nicer.”
“Lots nicer. And you’re feeling better, I hear?”
As an answer, Sophie pulled up her pajama top and pointed at her abdomen. A small square of gauze covered her incision. “I’m gonna have a scar,” she said proudly. “Nobody else in my whole school has a scar like me.”
Annajane laughed. She stuck out her leg and rolled up her pant leg to her knee. “I’ve got a scar, too,” she said.
Clearly intrigued, Sophie ran her finger over the faint strip of puckered flesh and shivered. “Did you have to go in an ambulance and have an operation at the hospital?”
“Nope. My scar isn’t anywhere near as cool as yours.”
“How’d you get it?”
“It was a long time ago,” Annajane said. “I was dressed up in the Dixie the Pixie costume. You remember that from my office, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well. I was marching in the Fourth of July parade, and I had a cart full of Quixie to give away to people watching the parade, but then these bad boys ganged up on me, and they stole my cart.”
“Oh no.” Sophie’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”
“I tried to chase after them, to get the cart back,” Annajane reported. “But I had on that big goofy pixie head, and I couldn’t see very well, and then I was also wearing those silly shoes that were five sizes too big, and I tripped! And that’s how I banged up my knee and got this scar.”
“You left out the part about how I rode up in the fun car and saved you.”
Mason. She hadn’t even heard him come into the room.
Annajane didn’t turn around. “Actually, I saved myself. But your daddy did give me a ride home that day.”
“Don’t forget I bought you a hot dog and some potato chips,” Mason said. He walked over to the sofa and dropped a kiss on the little girl’s head. He held up a white paper sack. “Guess what’s in here?”
“Ice cream!” Sophie exclaimed.
Mason pulled a round cardboard tub from the bag. “Your grandmother sent this over. Strawberry shortcake ice cream. Want some?”
Sophie nodded vigorously, sending the pigtails on either side of her face wagging.
“I’ll fix it,” Annajane volunteered, taking the bag from Mason.
She was out in the kitchen, scooping ice cream into bowls, when Mason strolled into the kitchen. “I’ll just fix this for you guys, and then I’ll take off,” Annajane said.
He leaned with his back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, surveying her with studied indifference.
Tell her about the baby, he thought. Tell her so she can cut and run. Do it now. But he couldn’t. Not tonight.
“Wanna share any news with me?” he asked.
Annajane gave him a backward glance. “Pokey told you I broke up with Shane, right?”
“She mentioned it. I’m sorry, Annajane. So, he didn’t take the news of our, uh, encounter well?”
“He didn’t take it the way I anticipated,” she said, avoiding all the messy details. “As it turns out, it’s been a day full of unpleasant surprises.”
Mason took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. “First things first. I want you to know that I had no idea Davis was going to fire our ad agency, effectively rendering you unemployed. He didn’t bother to inform me until it was a done deal.”
“What was he thinking?” Annajane asked.
“I have no idea,” Mason said with a scowl. “We’re basically only communicating by e-mail these days. But that’s going to change pretty shortly. In fact, a lot of things are fixing to change.”
“You met with Sallie?”
“Yes,” Mason affirmed. “We had a fairly long, frank discussion about a lot of stuff. She’s still not totally convinced the family should keep Quixie, but that’s sort of a moot point at the moment.”
Annajane looked over at the bowl of ice cream she’d just scooped out. “Sounds like this could be a long story. So let me just take this in to Sophie before it melts, and I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Annajane came back into the kitchen. “You were saying?”
“My brother and I can’t keep working at cross-purposes,” Mason said. “It’s hurting the company, and it’s hurting the family. We managed to hammer out a short-term agreement this morning.” He took a deep breath and looked directly at Annajane.
“I told Davis we have to find a way to get you not to leave the company.” He clamped his hand over hers. “We need you, Annajane. Need your talent, your energy, your commitment. Davis and I don’t agree on much, but it turns out we do agree about that. What do you say? Will you come back?”
She stared down at their hands and sighed.
“Please?” Mason’s face looked haunted.
Annajane looked away, struggling to find the right answer, for the right reasons.
“I’m all done.” Sophie stood in the kitchen doorway, her tousled blond curls backlit by the sun streaming through the windows. Her pink pocketbook was slung across her chest, bandolier-style. She padded barefoot into the kitchen and carefully placed her bowl on the table where Mason and Annajane were sitting. Without a word, she slid onto Mason’s lap.
“Whatcha doing?” Sophie asked, glancing down at the intertwined hands on the tabletop.
Annajane snatched her hand away from Mason’s, but she could feel herself blushing.
“I’m trying to talk Annajane into changing her mind about moving away,” Mason said.
“Letha says it’s a damned shame Annajane got chased outta town by that lil’ hussy,” Sophie said brightly.
Mason choked. “I’m going to have to have a talk with Letha about little pitchers having big ears.”
Sophie cocked her head and regarded Annajane somberly. “Will you stay, pretty please?”
“I’m not sure,” Annajane said. “I have a lot to think about.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, I don’t have a job anymore,” Annajane said, keeping her tone light.
“You can have your old job back,” Mason offered.
“Yay!” Sophie clapped her hands in delight.
“Also, I don’t have anyplace to live. My loft is sold, and I have to move out by the day after tomorrow,” Annajane said.
“Since when?” Mason asked.
“My real estate agent called right as I was driving into town,” Annajane said. “The closing had to be moved up to Wednesday, which means I have to be totally moved out of the loft by noon that day.”
“You could come live with us!” Sophie said delightedly. “Right, daddy?”
Mason coughed politely. “I think Annajane probably wants a place of her own, Soph.”
“Letha told Aunt Pokey that Daddy and Celia had a big ole fight, and now Celia is gone for sure, thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus,” Sophie reported, mimicking Letha’s slow southern accent with deadly accuracy. “So now, Annajane could sleep in your room, couldn’t you, Annajane?”
Mason coughed so violently his face turned purple and tears streamed down his face. Annajane couldn’t help herself. Her shoulders heaved with suppressed laughter.
“I am going to have a serious talk with Letha about spreading gossip,” Mason said solemnly. “And for your information, and Aunt Pokey’s and Letha’s, we did not have a big fight. We had an um, discussion. But Celia is not gone.”
“Are you still getting married?” Sophie asked, tilting her head to look at her father.
He looked out the window. “It’s still under discussion,” he said finally. “Anyway, that’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Annajane could stay in my room with me. Right?”
“That’s a very generous invitation, Sophie,” Annajane said, giggling despite herself. “But if I do stay in Passcoe, which I’m not sure I will, I’ll need to find a house of my own.”
“Why?” Sophie looked puzzled. “Don’t you like us?”
“I like you a lot,” Annajane said. “But I’ve lived alone for a long time now. I’m used to my privacy, and doing things my own way. It would be best for everybody if we left it like that.”
Sophie yawned widely and leaned her head back against Mason’s chest.
“Time for you to go take a nap,” he told her, gently sliding her down from his lap.
Sophie threw her arms around Annajane’s neck. “Will you come over and watch Milo and Otis with me tonight?”
“Hmm,” Annajane said. “I wish I could, Soph, but now I’ve got to go home and get my stuff all packed up to put in storage. But I promise, as soon as that’s done, we’ll have movie night again.”
“Okay,” Sophie said, trying to suppress another yawn.
Mason waited until Sophie had gone to find Letha before returning his attention to Annajane.
“Will you at least agree to come back to work at Quixie?” Mason asked. “I’m dead serious, Annajane. I told Davis I want you back on our team. You’d report directly to me. I know it’ll be awkward, but that can’t be helped. Will you do it?”
He gave her that slow, winning smile that had always worked on her in the past.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I really don’t want to get between you and your brother. Or Celia. I’ve complicated things enough already.”
Tell her, damn it. You’re only making things worse by talking her into staying.
“You’re not what’s between us,” Mason said. “Davis and I have been having issues for a long time now. And Mama, she’s got her own agenda. But I do want to talk to you about this new marketing scheme; I don’t like it.”
Annajane bit her lip, hesitant to trash Celia.
“You know,” she said finally. “Yesterday, I was cleaning out my office and taking some old file boxes that had been in there for years and years out to the Dumpster. One of the boxes was so old it fell to pieces as I was unloading it. Inside it I found all the old magazine and newspaper mechanicals and tear sheets for Quixie ads from the ’40s and ’50s. They were so charming, so right, so Quixie, for want of a better phrase. For me, they just really captured the essence of what we’re selling—fun, refreshment, and yeah, the idea of celebrating the moment. I honestly think that’s what we’ve forgotten with all these slick, sophisticated campaigns we’ve bought into in the past few years.”
Mason nodded thoughtfully. “I remember those old ads. There was one, from the sixties, probably, showing teenaged girls in a speedboat…”
“I saw that one,” Annajane said. “It made me want to run out and get a permanent wave and a Jantzen bathing suit, maybe buy a Chris-Craft outboard.”
“Mama and my aunt Lu posed for that ad,” Mason said. “They took the photo that the illustration was based on, out on the lake, back in the day. Dad had it framed and hanging in the basement playroom for years and years, when we were growing up.”
“Those are the ads that everybody remembers,” Annajane said. “Quixie is never going to be Coke. It’s never going to be Pepsi. It shouldn’t even try. The brand is iconic in its own way, and I think that’s what the message needs to return to. Retro is in again, you know.”
“My granddaddy always said he just wanted us to be the best independent regional soft drink company in the business,” Mason said. “He never touched coffee, but he drank a bottle of Quixie from his own special Quixie icebox just about every morning of his life, as soon as his feet touched the bedroom floor. As far as he was concerned, our product was unique, and he really believed every bottle of Quixie that left the plant was the thing that would sell the next one.”
He grinned. “That and ads with curvy girls in bathing suits.”
Annajane stood up. “I better get going. I’ve still got to finish packing and, I suppose, start looking for a temporary place to live, at least until I figure out my next move.”
“Think about what I said, will you?” Mason said, touching her arm lightly. “I think you’re on the right track with your ideas about returning to our original brand message. If I can just get Davis to listen, I think he’d realize it’s brilliant.”
“Maybe,” Annajane said. “I will say that if he’s dumped the ad agency, he’s gonna have to come up with a new summer campaign in a big hurry.”
“One more thing,” she added, her hand on the back door. “I bumped into Celia as I was sifting through that file box I just mentioned. She urged me to throw all of it in the Dumpster, and not to bother you with any of that old crap, but I told her you might like it for the company archives. There are a bunch of the old original Quixie bottles, too, the ones with the ribbed glass…”
Mason looked horrified. “You didn’t throw them out, I hope.”
“Nope,” Annajane said. “I put it all in a new box and stashed it in the trunk of my car, just in case.”
“Great,” he said. “I’d really like to see those ads, maybe use them to persuade Davis it’s time to go retro. Hell, maybe we’ll even resurrect Dixie the Pixie.” He did a mock leer at Annajane’s legs. “I’ll bet you’d still fit in the suit. And the Fourth of July is just around the corner. Right?”
“No. Frickin’. Way,” she said succinctly. “But maybe Celia would like to wear it.”
