The Golden Whatever

When the American Offshore Drilling Supply Corporation merged with the Eastern Electrical Cable Company in 1969 to form Amcorp & Eastern, one of the prime tasks was to select a slogan compatible with the products of both firms. After considerable debate, the phrase "Technology for America at home and at sea" was unanimously approved by the board of directors; but a week later, the slogan was found wanting, when Amcorp & Eastern, as the first step in its diversification program, purchased a large chain of taco stands.

An amendment of the slogan to "Technology and snacks for America at home and at sea" was rejected out of hand. As a last resort, an employee contest was held, and two weeks later, the entry of a young management trainee by the name of Howard Page was declared the winner. He was summoned to the 49th floor, where the chairman of the board presented him with a $25 U. S. Savings Bond and announced that thenceforth, thanks to Howard, the official slogan of Amcorp & Eastern was to be: "Men working for the future--to make the future work for man."

As soon as Howard got back to his office, he phoned his wife, Clarissa, and told her the good news. At first she pleaded with him to leave early so they could celebrate, but then she agreed with him that it would be wrong to put in less than a full day's work.

The firm was headquartered in downtown Los Angeles, but even at rush hour, the traffic did not seem particularly heavy that day, so it was only 20 after five when Howard arrived at their duplex in Hollywood. Clarissa greeted him at the door, wearing a dress that had always been his favorite.

"Darling!" she said.

"Actually, I just sort of hit on it by accident," he said modestly.

"You're going to kill me, but I went out and bought two New York steaks," she said. "I just didn't care!"

In the next few years, with the acquisition of the Florida citrus groves, the mobile-home manufacturing company and the line of forestry products, as well as Amcorp & Eastern's ventures into high-rise construction and dietary beverages, it became increasingly apparent that Howard's slogan for the corporation had been a wise choice. Therefore, it was only right that one day, after five short years with the firm, Howard was called into the office of Mr. Selfridge and informed of a promotion. He was to become liaison executive in charge of Amcorp & Eastern's latest acquisition, with sole responsibility for transforming an independent company into a wholly owned subsidiary.

"Tentative word came through on Monday that it would be you, but I held off until I got final word," Mr. Selfridge said. He was a man in his 50s who took a quiet pride in the fact that he had never once made the mistake of locking his keys in his car. He came out from behind his desk to shake Howard's hand. "Howard, let me tell you what I've felt from the beginning, and what I still feel to this day. A career as an executive in the world of business is far more than just a career. Far more. You might almost say it's a quest--like Jason and the golden whatever." He paused, still clasping Howard's hand. "I hope you don't think that sounds pompous," he said.

"Well, no, I don't think so," Howard said. "Not when you put it that way."

As soon as he got back to his office, he phoned Arlene, a girl in processing, and told her the good news. She said she couldn't wait to celebrate, so they left work early and met in the cocktail lounge on the top floor of the building.

"It's a firm up in San Francisco," Howard said.

Arlene squeezed his hand. "I'd love to see Hadley's face when he finds out it's you and not him."

"Oh, I don't know. Hadley's OK."

"He's going to absolutely shit!"

"Listen, you want another? I feel like another."

•

Since Howard did not start home until 7:30, he decided to tell Clarissa he'd been held up by a wreck on the freeway. Unfortunately, there actually was a wreck on the freeway, so it was nearly nine o'clock by the time he reached their home in Encino.

Mimi, his three-year-old daughter, was sitting on the living-room rug. She'd unwrapped a package of brown-and-serve rolls and was drawing on them with a red crayon.

"How's my little Miss Mims?" Howard said, scooping her up in his arms.

"Don't, Daddy," Mimi said.

Clarissa was sitting on the bed, watching television.

"Got tied up in a meeting," Howard said.

"I can't believe crap like this ever gets on," she said.

Howard glanced at the TV. A man in white with a stethoscope was telling another man in white with a stethoscope that they couldn't discount the possibility of an aneurysm.

Howard said, "Then, on top of that, there was a wreck on the freeway."

"Your dinner's in the oven--I'll be in as soon as this is over."

Howard went to the kitchen and took a look in the oven. A bottle of vodka was lying on one rack and a bottle of vermouth on the other. "Very funny!" he called to her. "Very witty!"

At the next commercial, she came out of the bedroom. "Just kidding," she said. "Your plate's in the refrigerator."

But Howard had already left the house. He drove to a bar on Ventura Boulevard, where, shortly after midnight, he bought a burrito, which the bartender heated up for him in a small microwave oven next to the cash register.

•

During his flight to San Francisco the next morning, Howard examined the material on the acquisition that Mr. Selfridge had passed on to him. He soon realized that the feasibility study that usually accompanied computer print-outs seemed to be missing. Consequently, even the title of the firm--Vayazcavac--was unclear to Howard, since the computer was programmed to print no more than ten letters of any name. In any event, Howard concluded from what information he had that possibly the company was a small specialty firm, such as a graphics design shop--something that would not only show a modest profit on its own but might also serve as a consultant to other Amcorp & Eastern corporations.

The firm turned out to be located in a small loft in North Beach above a café that offered espresso, pastry and, in a separate glass case, an assortment of European chocolate bars that were dusted regularly every three years. At the top of the steps to the loft was a frosted-glass door lettered Vayazemsky and Cavacchioli.

Howard stepped in, tapping on the door as he entered. An old man, seated at a workbench littered with wood shavings, looked up. He was in his late 70s, with a large fragile nose that looked like some valuable antique that had been in the family for generations--and, as a matter of fact, it had.

There was a sharp, clean smell of varnish and, along with it, like a fitful breeze from a less desirable part of town, the smell of a glue made from the hooves of horses.

"I've already explained over the phone," the old man said. "We have no company car."

"1 guess I should introduce myself," Howard said. "Howard Page--Amcorp & Eastern."

At this, the old man probably would've slapped himself on the forehead if he hadn't been holding a small chisel. "My apologies." He got up and shook Howard's hand. "Nicholas Vayazemsky," he said. "A pleasure to meet you."

Before Howard could answer, a second old man emerged from a storeroom at the rear of the loft. He had a thick cream-colored mustache that looked as though he trimmed it himself, most likely on days when he was in a bad mood. Mr. Vayazemsky spoke to him in Italian. The other man said something--only a single phrase but a phrase that seemed to have an incredible number of letters--then turned abruptly and disappeared into the storeroom.

Mr. Vayazemsky turned back to Howard. "My partner--Alfredo Cavacchioli," he said. "He says it is a pleasure and an honor to meet you."

Howard glanced around uncertainly. There was a second workbench to one side, also littered with wood shavings. He saw what he recognized as a violin--or at least the main part of a violin--clamped in a complicated pair of wooden vises. "I think there may be some mistake," he said.

"You're right, but I'm to blame," Mr. Vayazemsky said. "I thought you were the magnetic-sign salesman."

"What is this?" Howard said. "Some sort of a violin-repair shop?"

"We do some restoration--but primarily we make our own."

Howard stared at him. "Just the two of you? Working here--making violins?"

Mr. Vayazemsky nodded. "Since 1936. Before that, in a small town near Cremona."

"Excuse me--I think maybe I should make a phone call."

Mr. Vayazemsky explained that they shared a phone with the cafe downstairs. "As a matter of fact, we'll join you for a cup of coffee." He called to Alfredo and said something in Italian.

Alfredo called back. Again it was only a phrase, possibly prompted by Mr. Vayazemsky's suggestion, or possibly prompted by having dropped something heavy on his foot.

Mr. Vayazemsky translated for Howard. "He says for us to proceed and he will join us in the twinkling of an eye."

•

When Howard got Mr. Selfridge on the phone, he said, "Listen, do you have any facts on this acquisition you didn't turn over to me?"

"What happened--run into some flak at the orientation meeting?"

"No, I haven't actually held the orientation meeting yet."

"I'm talking about management orientation," Mr. Selfridge said. "That's usually first on the agenda."

Howard saw Alfredo enter the café and take a seat with Mr. Vayazemsky at the front window. "As a matter of fact," Howard said, "I'm probably going to handle management and employee orientation in a single meeting."

"Well, that sounds damn risky, but it's up to you," Mr. Selfridge said. "Good luck."

"Thanks, except I think there must be----"

But Mr. Selfridge had hung up.

Howard joined Mr. Vayazemsky and Alfredo, but before he could get into anything in the way of an orientation meeting, Alfredo drained his cup, excused himself with a mutter and returned to the loft.

"Perhaps I should mention that Alfredo has misgivings," Mr. Vayazemsky said.

"I could kind of tell," Howard said.

•

After coffee, Howard accompanied Mr. Vayazemsky back to the loft for a tour. The storage room was stocked with maple, willow wood, Swiss pine, ebony and a broken umbrella.

Howard was allowed to peer into a can of the Vayazemsky and Cavacchioli varnish that was made according to a secret formula. "Nice," he said.

Chisels, gouges and cutting knives were scattered at random over both workbenches. Alfredo was shaping the ribs of a violin with a bending iron, heating it (continued on page 156) The Golden Whatever (continued from page 136) periodically over a gas ring and spitting on it perhaps a little more vehemently than necessary to test its temperature.

In a small office opposite the storeroom, Mr. Vayazemsky showed Howard a wall covered with framed photographs of famous violins, plus pictures of Pablo de Sarasate and Charles de Bériot, and a black-paper silhouette of Paganini. In addition--in the place of honor--there was a letter of praise, dated 1921 and apparently folded and refolded a great many times before finally being framed, from a violinist who had once played in a recital with Paderewski.

Howard noticed a stack of correspondence on the desk. "So the whole operation is handled from this one location? I mean, there's no chain of distribution outlets or anything like that?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Well, listen, it's been nice, but I've got to run. Calls to make, etc."

Mr. Vayazemsky escorted him to the door.

Howard started down the steps, then paused. "By the way, when you first moved here, did you by any chance--just to avoid the inconvenience of paying rent--buy up a lot of property for a song? You know--a block or two of prime real estate now worth millions that you hardly ever think about any more?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"No, I didn't think so. Well, just checking."

•

Back at the hotel, Howard put in another call to Mr. Selfridge, but he'd gone for the day. Howard went to the cocktail lounge and ordered a vodka on the rocks. When the bartender served him, Howard said, "There's been some weird kind of fuck-up where I work."

The bartender nodded. "A man gets broken," he said. "That can happen. But once he's himself again, he finds out he's stronger than ever."

"I think you're missing the point," Howard said.

•

The next morning, Howard phoned Los Angeles again, but Mr. Selfridge was in conference. He took a cab over to the loft to explain that there had apparently been an error but that everything would be cleared up in no time.

When he got there, Mr. Vayazemsky said, "This arrived yesterday after your visit." He led Howard to a workbench, where he had spread out the contents of a large carton.

"Oh, of course," Howard said. "Very handsome." He did his best to sound enthusiastic. "It's a monogrammed desk set. See? Here's a leather-bound appointment calendar, a letter opener with its own leather case and even a little leather cup for paper clips. All with your initials on them, along with the Amcorp & Eastern logo."

There was another for Alfredo, but, since he was listed second in the firm's title, his desk set, although in many ways every bit as handsome, was made of vinyl.

"I think it's just their way of saying welcome aboard," Howard said.

Before Mr. Vayazemsky's opinion of the desk sets could be learned, two deliverymen arrived with a time clock. Howard took a card and stuck it in the proper slot to show how it worked. "See--there's the exact time printed right there. Just do that in the morning and again at the end of the day and it'll show at a glance exactly when you get here and when you leave."

Mr. Vayazemsky looked puzzled. "But I know when I'm here and when I'm not."

Howard lowered his voice. "Well, it's generally used for employees." He nodded in Alfredo's direction, then added uncertainly, "Although I guess he's really more of a partner."

Mr. Vayazemsky spoke briefly with Alfredo in Italian, then turned back to Howard. "He says that he also knows when he is here and when he is not."

"I've got an idea!" Howard said. "How about a nice lunch--on me?"

Howard insisted they take their pick of any place in the city and assured them that the sky was the limit as far as expense was concerned. They decided on a small Italian restaurant two blocks away on Green Street, where they usually went for lunch.

Afterward, they walked to the boccie courts behind the library. Mr. Vayazemsky told Howard that Alfredo had taught him the game in 1919. "So far I have won twice--once in 1928 and again in 1937. However, I suspect he may have deliberately lost the second game to keep me from getting discouraged."

But on this occasion, Alfredo evidently felt it was too soon for further encouragement and added three more games to his string of victories.

Back at the loft, a packet from the Los Angeles office had arrived special delivery. Something about it looked very official to Howard. He was somehow certain that the mistake had been discovered and that the packet contained--along with an apology for any inconvenience caused--the necessary waivers that would render the acquisition null and void.

Mr. Vayazemsky opened the packet, forgetting to use his new letter opener. Inside he found two group-health-insurance forms, two forms for the ordering of business cards, offering Mr. Vayazemsky a choice of eight type faces and Alfredo a choice of four, and a bulletin reminding all subsidiaries that it's never too early to start recruiting players for the Amcorp & Eastern softball tournament.

•

Howard caught the next flight back to Los Angeles and, by promising the cabdriver a ten-dollar tip, managed to reach the office only eight minutes after Mr. Selfridge had left for home. The following morning, though, Howard was waiting outside the elevator when he arrived.

After Howard had explained the circumstances, Mr. Selfridge said, "Well, I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation behind the whole thing."

"On top of everything else, both guys are in their seventies at least."

"Granted, it seems wrong. Granted, it seems crazy. But Howard--let me offer a little advice. Never--but never--underestimate the powers that be." He suggested that Howard fly up the next day for a second look. "Sort of give the whole situation a calm reappraisal, now that the dust has settled."

"All right, but how about if you come along with me?"

"I wish I could."

"It would only take half a day at the most."

"I wish I had the time--I really do."

Mr. Selfridge rose. Howard stood.

•

That evening, when Howard got home, he found his daughter on her tricycle, sprinkling the flowers with a can of starter fluid from the charcoal barbecue. Howard took the can away from her. As he closed it, he noticed that it featured what was advertised as a child-resistant cap. "Did you open this yourself, Mimi?"

Mimi nodded proudly. "Mommy taught me."

When Howard questioned Clarissa about it, she said, "I just knew you'd object--if you had your way, she'd stay a child forever."

"All right," Howard said. "Evidently something happened that got you mad at me and this is your way of getting back. The only thing is, I don't have time to go into it now, so I'm asking you to just try to sit tight until I get this thing at work resolved."

•

The following day, Howard caught a cab to the airport and once again took part in the fulfillment of one of man's oldest dreams--to fly and eat salted nuts at the same time.

'Mr. Vayazemsky hurried forward as Howard entered. "I've been trying to phone you," he said.

"What's wrong?"

Mr. Vayazemsky gestured toward a nervous young man in his early 20s seated on a crate near the storeroom. He was dressed in a dark suit and striped tie. A black attaché case was on the floor beside him.

Howard introduced himself.

The young man shook hands but still looked worried. "Willis Gilmore," he said. "1 think I have the wrong place, but they say no."

Alfredo was at his bench. He stopped whatever he was doing and watched them both a little warily.

"What exactly can we do for you?" Howard said to Willis.

"Well, I'm part of a new program." He explained that he was a management trainee from the Chicago division of Amcorp & Eastern. They had recently launched a program in which a handpicked group of employees was to tour the various subsidiaries, spending four weeks at each for an on-the-job learning process.

Mr. Vayazemsky said, "To carve the pegbox alone takes six months to learn properly." He looked at Willis' attaché case. "Do you have tools?"

"No. Just a pocket calculator."

"I've got an idea!" 'Howard said to Willis. "How about a nice lunch--on me?"

"I already ate."

"Oh. Well, let's go downstairs and have ourselves a cup of coffee."

•

In the café, Howard explained that since the acquisition had taken place so recently, matters were still in a state of flux and it was his opinion that little could be learned at this time. "Besides that, this doesn't represent your typical Amcorp & Eastern venture. About all I can figure out is that the whole thing must be some kind of experimental writeoff."

Howard gave Willis his card, suggesting that he return to his hotel, phone his superior in Chicago and explain the situation. "If he has any further questions, just have him get in touch with me."

"Thanks," Willis said. "I was supposed to go to a pulp mill up in Tacoma after this. Maybe I can go there now instead."

"That certainly sounds reasonable," Howard said.

"I hear they've got sex like you wouldn't believe up in Tacoma."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Howard said.

"Threesomes, groups--you name it."

•

When Mr. Vayazemsky relayed Howard's news that the management trainee would not be staying, after all, Alfredo did not go so far as to look pleased, but he at least stopped scowling, which Howard considered a victory of sorts. Not only that but Mr. Vayazemsky disappeared downstairs to make a phone call and returned to announce that Howard was invited for dinner.

•

After work, Howard accompanied Mr. Vayazemsky and Alfredo to pay the week's rent to the lady who owned the loft. On the way, they stopped off at a bakery to pick up two loaves of French bread, which Howard assumed were for dinner, but Mr. Vayazemsky left them with the landlady. After the visit, Howard assured Mr. Vayazemsky that all leases would eventually be assumed by Amcorp & Eastern. "Sometimes things get slowed down by all the paperwork," he said.

"Well, all right, but don't forget about the bread," Mr. Vayazemsky said. "She doesn't find it that easy to get out anymore."

They continued on foot from the landlady's place to a narrow, alarmingly steep lane off Kearny Street, where Mr. Vayazemsky and Alfredo lived. Mr. Vayazemsky was the official tenant of the flat and Alfredo paid him a set amount monthly for one room and his meals. Mr. Vayazemsky's niece, Mira, a lady in her 60s with a tendency to sidle around the edge of any room she entered, did the cooking. The arrangement among the three of them had been established late in 1937, a year after Mr. Vayazemsky had been widowed and approximately a month after a lady Alfredo had been living with had decided she would be happier sharing her life with a short man who had just invented a fire extinguisher suitable for home, car, boat or office.

During dinner, Mr. Vayazemsky talked about his past. "I grew up in a village near Kiev, where I was apprenticed to a cabinetmaker. I remember only two things about him: One, he could make a billiard ball disappear into thin air. And two, he would not make it reappear again unless you agreed to close your eyes."

In 1914, Mr. Vayazemsky left Russia and eventually traveled to Italy. "A few months after my arrival, war was declared. I was put to work in a factory that was charged with turning out eight hundred ammunition boxes a day. However, I was determined to continue with my cabinet making, so, in the course of eighteen months, I concentrated my efforts on a single ammunition box inlaid with six kinds of wood. When it was discovered how I had spent my time, a move was made to deport me, but a colonel interceded on my behalf, appropriating the box I had made as payment for his efforts."

Mr. Vayazemsky was set free and began to frequent the company of malingerers, deserters, saboteurs, enemy agents and officers so high in rank that no one had the audacity to inquire why they were not at the front. It was during this time that he met Alfredo, although it was never clear to which of the above categories he belonged. In any event, they were able to make their way north, where they were able to apprentice themselves to a violinmaker and where they lived until the move to San Francisco.

Pears in a blue-and-white china bowl were served for dessert. Alfredo said something to Howard, the only time he'd spoken to him directly, but, of course, since Howard didn't know Italian, Mr. Vayazemsky still had to translate. "Alfredo says one should always choose a large pear, because with the larger pears there is less danger of putting out an eye."

"Is he serious?"

"I don't know," Mr. Vayazemsky said. "I don't feel I've known him long enough."

•

Howard returned to Los Angeles the next day, but Mr. Selfridge had driven down to La Jolla to see his son play in a tennis tournament.

That evening, over a drink in the top-floor cocktail lounge, Arlene said to Howard, "I think we made real progress at lunch today."

"Pardon?"

"Your wife and I. The phone conversation earlier this week left such a bad taste in my mouth."

"What phone conversation?"

"Well, I simply felt it was high time to reassure her that however deep our relationship might be, it represented absolutely no threat whatsoever to your marriage."

"I don't want to sound critical," Howard said, "but I really wish you'd checked with me before you did something like that."

•

A note was waiting for Howard when he got home later that evening:

Mimi at sitter's. Ground beef in fridge. Went to Taft High football game.

C.

She arrived home a little after one. "Sorry I'm late," she said. "He took me out for a Coke and French fries afterward."

"Who?"

"Barney B. You know--the boy who takes care of the yard. He was here when I got back from lunch, so I invited him in for a drink. I don't think he'd ever had one before. It was so cute to see him sitting there in your chair, sipping away at this great big bourbon and water. Anyway, one thing led to another and he invited me to the game."

"Listen, I can explain the whole thing concerning Arlene, if that's what's bothering you."

"He says all the girls at school are real conceited, but not me."

"Clarissa, if you're upset, the thing to do is talk things over." He thought a minute. "Barney B. What kind of a name is that for a kid?"

"Oh, that's not his real name," Clarissa said. "That's just my nickname for him. I call him Barney B. and he calls me Barney Boo."

•

The following week, Mr. Selfridge's secretary phoned Howard and said Mr. Selfridge would like a word with him.

A violin lay on Mr. Selfridge's desk.

"Is that one of theirs?" Howard said.

"My point exactly," Mr. Selfridge said. "How is one to know?"

"Well, they've got a special signature. The initials V and C in sort of interlocking squares--like this." He borrowed a memo pad from Mr. Selfridge's desk and drew a replica of the signature:

V

C

"And exactly where is this signature?"

"Inside--below the bass-bar."

"Inside," Mr. Selfridge said. He gazed at Howard, immensely disappointed.

Howard coughed. "In the traditional place," he said.

"Howard, let me propose a hypothetical situation. You're in the market for a fine violin. You've heard and read a great many wonderful things about this particular brand. But what happens? You pay a visit to a music store and what do you find? Numerous violins lying about helter-skelter with no way of knowing which brand is which, short of bothering clerks who may very well be busy with other matters. Now, answer me truthfully, Howard. Does that strike you as sound marketing?"

"Well, the thing is, it's been a tradition since----"

"Howard, I'm not issuing an ultimatum. I hope you know me better than that. I'm simply suggesting a direction that I think merits exploration--the signature on the front of the violin in the lower-right-hand corner, as is done, by the way, in many fine paintings. And beneath that--in small type, of course--our standard line."

"I'm sorry--our standard what?"

"The line used by all our subsidiaries: 'Another fine product of Amcorp & Eastern.' "

Howard promised to pass on the suggestion to Mr. Vayazemsky.

"Fine," Mr. Selfridge said. "By the way, I saw your memo on delivering loaves of bread to the landlady every week and I took care of it myself."

"Oh--thank you."

"Not every firm would go to such lengths, believe me. Luckily, we've got a bakery up in Fresno, so I arranged for them to ship her two dozen Googlies every Friday."

"Googlies?"

"Right--chocolate icing with white squiggles and a surprise marshmallow center. They come cellophane wrapped, two in a pack."

"I don't know," Howard said. "I just caught a glimpse of her, but she didn't seem like the sort who'd like Googlies."

"Well, no need to worry. Just say the word and I can switch the order to Num-Nums or Scoobies--although, from what I understand, Scoobies aren't actually baked, as such. It's all done by some sort of chemical process that takes place in the vat."

•

Back in his office, there was a note from Arlene suggesting they have dinner together. He phoned her. "Arlene, I don't think this is a good time to be seeing each other. Clarissa is pretty upset."

"That's funny--she's the one who called and suggested it."

"You mean the three of us?"

"No, I think she's got plans of her own. She said something about a sock hop at the gym."

•

For the trial separation, Howard rented a furnished apartment in a building with a heated pool on De Longpre. After he'd moved in, he noticed that a large percentage of his fellow tenants were interns, but he could never decide if this was good or bad.

Two weeks passed and he still put off phoning Mr. Vayazemsky to tell him Mr. Selfridge's suggestion about the signature on the violins. But then he realized that not only Mr. Selfridge but Amcorp & Eastern itself was counting on him, and he felt it would be more than wrong to simply ignore his role in the matter, so he decided to phone Mr. Selfridge and lie to him.

"I checked with Mr. Vayazemsky and he says they refuse to change," Howard said.

Mr. Selfridge said, "This may very well surprise you, but I'm glad. Have you got a minute?"

•

There were two men in Mr. Selfridge's office whom Howard had seen in the halls from time to time but never identified, and when he was introduced to them, he heard his own name very clearly but still didn't catch either of theirs.

"After we spoke, I passed on that violin to our research-and-development department, and they've come up with something I'd like very much for you to see," Mr. Selfridge said.

He showed Howard the violin. At first glance, it looked the same as before, but then he noticed that the strings had been removed and a small piece of wood had been glued at an angle onto the bridge.

"You've just had a party," Mr. Selfridge said. "All the guests have gone home. You're tired and you want to go to bed. But the last thing you want to face in the morning is all those unsightly ashtrays full of cigarette butts. So what do you do?" Mr. Selfridge picked up the violin by the neck, pressed down on the wooden piece fastened to the bridge and the lower half of the violin belly swung open on a hinge. "You simply go into action with one of the finest hand-crafted silent butlers ever made."

He flipped the top of the violin open and shut again. Howard didn't say anything.

One of the research-and-development men said, "Hal and I can't take all the credit--it was definitely a team effort."

Mr. Selfridge said, "And now you just pop open the lid and there's your V-and-C brand name right there in plain sight." He illustrated by opening the top of the violin again.

Finally, Howard spoke. "Do me a favor," he said. "Don't do that again."

"No need to worry about this hinge," Mr. Selfridge said. "It's on there to stay." He pressed the lever and opened the violin again.

Howard said, "I'm going to ask you one more time very politely, you simple-minded asshole--please don't do that again."

The room fell silent. Mr. Selfridge turned to the research-and-development men. "I wonder if you two could give us a moment in private."

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Mr. Selfridge said, "I wouldn't be entirely honest if I didn't say I find your attitude disappointing."

"Well, don't worry, I've got a great way to improve it--I'm quitting."

"Howard, we often say things in haste that we later regret. Perhaps all you need is simply a change--a new set of responsibilities."

"No, thank you."

"Well, then, all I can suggest is that you set up a briefing with Hadley sometime in the next couple of weeks so we can bring about an orderly transition."

"Fine." Howard turned and left, but an instant later, he stuck his head back into the office. "I changed my mind," he said.

"Well, Howard, we often say things in----"

"No, I'm still quitting, but I'm not going to bother meeting with Hadley. I'm leaving this afternoon."

•

It was over a month before he even tried to look for another job. Then someone recommended a firm in San Francisco, so he flew up for an interview. The man who met with Howard smoked a pipe and seemed to consider himself something of an expert in human psychology.

"Let me just postulate this as an area of discussion," he said. "Where would you like to be five years from now?"

Howard thought a moment, then said, "In five years, I'd like to be important enough to tell you to take that pipe and shove it up your ass."

"I see," the man said.

"I hope that doesn't sound hostile," Howard said.

The man promised to keep Howard's résumé on file.

•

The divorce seemed to be proceeding smoothly enough without Howard's presence, so he decided to stay on awhile in San Francisco. He moved into a hotel in North Beach overlooking Washington Square, taking a room with a metal cot and linoleum on the floor.

For no logical reason, he stayed away from the loft where Mr. Vayazemsky and Alfredo had their shop; but then one afternoon, a month after he'd moved to the city, he saw them sitting in the square, watching the Frisbee players.

He smiled affably as he approached. Alfredo, without speaking, got up and moved to another bench. Howard asked Mr. Vayazemsky how things were going.

"They are not," Mr. Vayazemsky said. He said that a few weeks ago a man from the Los Angeles office had visited them.

"A Mr. Hadley?"

"I don't remember. First, he explained that you were no longer with the firm, and then he showed us a contraption they had made from one of our violins. Alfredo broke it over his knee." Then Mr. Vayazemsky said they were notified a week later that since they were both past the mandatory retirement age, the wholly owned subsidiary of Vayazemsky and Cavacchioli was to be phased out of existence. "We protested, but they continued to point out that we would both be eligible for a great deal of money in severance pay, profit sharing and something they called retroactive pensions." Mr. Vayazemsky had offered to take over rental of the loft again himself, but they had refused.

"What are they using it for?" Howard said.

"Nothing. They say that it is worth more to them if it is kept vacant and therefore a total loss."

But he said that even if he and Alfredo had a place to work, there would be legal difficulties, since Amcorp & Eastern still owned the rights to their name. So, according to Mr. Vayazemsky, their days were spent sitting in the park, with now and then a trip to the market to pick up groceries for Mira. "Alfredo has always viewed life more philosophically than me," Mr. Vayazemsky said. "So, of course, all this has been much harder for him to accept."

•

It was several weeks after this that Howard, late one night, found himself on the narrow, steep lane where they lived. There was a light on, but even so, he probably would never have knocked if he hadn't had too much wine with dinner. Mira answered the door and seemed slightly unnerved to see him.

Mr. Vayazemsky appeared from a side room and seemed even more nervous. "It's Alfredo," he said. "He's sick in bed." He called back toward the room in Italian. There was a good deal of clatter, followed by some rustling.

Again, the wine made Howard behave differently. "I feel bad that I never did get along with him," he said. "Let me at least give him my good wishes."

He brushed past Mr. Vayazemsky and stepped into the room. Alfredo, looking the same as ever, had a lumpy quilt pulled up tightly around his neck. He, too, seemed nervous to see Howard.

"Tell him I'm sorry he's feeling sick and I wish we had been able to talk and hang around places together," Howard said.

At this message, Alfredo shrugged and shifted uneasily. Something under the quilt knocked against something else.

"Well, I guess that's really all I wanted to say," Howard said. He turned to go and his foot sent something skittering across the floor. Mr. Vayazemsky snatched it up and stuffed it into his pocket, but not before Howard saw that it was a small chisel.

At the front door, Mr. Vayazemsky, hoping it would never happen, said, "You must drop by again."

And Howard, knowing he never would, said, "Sure--sometime real soon."

•

The following day, Howard took a bus back to Los Angeles; and three days after his arrival, the Amcorp & Eastern headquarters received a threatening letter. It was turned over to the authorities and a press conference with the police officer assigned to the case appeared on the evening news.

"More than likely, this is the work of an amateur," he said, "but we can't afford to take any chances. In any case, it clearly isn't your ordinary bomb threat. We don't know at this point if explosives are even involved."

When pressed for further details, the officer said that if his department's interpretation of the letter was correct, the threat was not simply to bomb the 50-story office building but to tip it over. The officer went on to say, "I'm sure I don't need to point out that if he managed to bring a thing like that off, it could cause a tremendous amount of property damage, depending, of course, on which way it fell."

"Welcome aboard! Together we can make business history by maximizing efficiency, streamlining distribution, exploring redesign...."

"I'm sorry, I fail to….."

"Non capisco."