Stuart's Slip

By Brink Hudlee

Stuart Sterling is the mayor
of St. Louis, Missouri, with his
eye on a bigger political prize.
What is he willing to sacrifice
for his ambition? His familys
happiness? The code of honor
handed down to him from his
Scottish ancestors? This novel
takes readers across boundaries of
time and culture as it explores the
people and events that have made
Sterling who he is and affect the
decisions he makes, decisions that
lead to tragic consequences. This is
a thought-provoking investigation
of morality punctuated by forays
into the worlds of sports, business,
romance and especially politics,
where the curtain is lifted to reveal
the fascinating inner workings of
the Electoral College.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469147390

Book preview

Stuart’s Slip

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Brink Hudlee

Copyright © 2012 by Brink Hudlee.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012900249

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-4738-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-4737-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-4739-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

108545

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

REPUBLICAN PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE STUART STERLING DISAPPEARED IN WASHINGTON AT APPROXIMATELY TEN FIFTEEN THIS MORNING.

B CA anchorman Walter Haden made the announcement and then looked aside. His shoulders were askew, not set straight as they always were during his regular network programs. His worried face looked all of its seventy-six years. Despite having reservations about Sterling’s campaign methods, he was smitten by the forty-two-year-old, affable, energetic St. Louis mayor and telemarketing magnate. Evidently, people had no qualms about the candidate’s style. They liked his snubbing of the media with his no interviews policy and they liked him personally; the polls predicted he would win in a landslide.

It was the Sunday before the election on Tuesday. The atmosphere in the BCA studio, and in most parts of the country, was one of a stunned suspension of normal life. Walter was reminded of the interval after the announcement that President Kennedy had been shot. That memory brought forth a frightening thought: Suppose the nation has lost a second hero.

The anchorman gathered himself and continued. Sterling was last seen by Secret Service agents at his company’s branch office in Washington just after he finished rehearsing for the live broadcast he has scheduled for eight p.m. tonight. The agency has refused to provide details about that last contact with him. So far, the F.B.I. has not released any information about a search for Sterling. The office of the President, which gave the brief statement revealing Sterling’s disappearance, has not responded to our requests for a news briefing.

Walter laid aside his copy. He struggled with his speech in concluding his report.

Friends, no one seems to know where Stuart Sterling is. We don’t know whether some terrorist group has kidnapped him or whether he has simply had a . . . uh . . . some kind of lapse. We just don’t know.

II

Late that afternoon, Stuart’s wife and their children were circling the St. Louis airport in a Sterling-T Co Learjet. Moira, usually a model of orderliness, had buttoned her blue Scottish plaid jacket so that the buttons didn’t match up with the right openings. She seemed to hardly know where she was. In his father’s absence, twelve-year-old Jimmy had virtually taken charge of her, as he sometimes did with his sisters. He had persuaded his mother to go ahead with the travel arrangements that Stuart had suddenly changed to before he had left to work on his speech early that morning.

Moira wiped her brow with her handkerchief. She hadn’t realized she was perspiring so heavily—or that she had spilled coffee on her sleeve. She was reminded of how sweaty she had become when her daughter, Mary, had gotten sick at the St. Louis Forest Park Zoo and vomited all over her new green birthday dress. She would never forget how she had kicked at a fat woman with a brown fur collar, probably mink, when the woman pushed to get ahead of her as she was getting into a taxi. The woman had ignored her shouting and, with Mary in her arms, what else could Moira do but kick? Fearing that her daughter might have food poisoning, Moira had rushed her to Barnes Hospital, which fortunately was near Forest Park. Mary had recovered quickly. Handling the emergency by herself had secretly pleased Moira.

Now a deep lump sat in her throat. It had come with the call earlier in the day from Stuart’s campaign manager Kelly: Moira, do you know where Stuart is?

If he isn’t at the office, I don’t know where he is, she had answered, worry in her voice.

We don’t either, Kelly had said tentatively. He hesitated, thinking how to soften what he had to reveal, but couldn’t come up with anything but the simple: He’s disappeared.

What do you mean he’s disappeared? Moira had screamed. He couldn’t have disappeared—the Secret Service was with him.

She had been alone in her hotel bedroom, so the children hadn’t heard her. They had never heard her scream.

Whether or not to leave Washington was a difficult decision for her to make. She felt alone while the entire world watched. For most of their marriage, Stuart had been willing for her to turn problems over to him, and she had. He always tried to make things easier for her. During his battle to get the nomination for the presidency, he had been able to arrange to be with her almost every night. However, after he was nominated and the hectic election campaign began, that hadn’t been possible. Nevertheless, he called her every day to see how she and the children were. Furthermore, he announced that his no interviews policy meant no interviewing him or his family. He had protected her. Now she was alone and overwhelmed by the world.

Moira adjusted her seat belt, but she couldn’t get comfortable in her airplane seat. She slipped her right hand over her engagement and wedding rings and held them tightly, her way of keeping her emotions in check as much as possible. She now noticed that her left hand was sticky. Realizing she must have spilled something on it, she wiped her hand with a napkin.

The plane started its descent through the mist of the November afternoon. A terrifying thought flashed into Moira’s mind: Suppose I never see Stuart again? Closing her eyes helped erase everything from her consciousness so thoroughly that she was not even mindful of being in a plane until it touched down. The slight jolt startled her. She looked out the window and saw the familiar private-aircraft terminal building. A small flame of hope rose within her. Perhaps there was a message from Stuart in the terminal—he had left messages there for her in the past.

Suddenly, she noticed that her wedding and engagement rings were gone. Her scream—My rings, my rings, they’ve disappeared!—caused the pilot to open the door to the passenger cabin. She was so distraught she started to cry helplessly. It took Jimmy several attempts get her attention before he finally got her to see he had himself found the rings. As the plane was rolling to a stop, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jimmy had already untied the blue, plaid neckerchief his grandmother had given him from around his neck. He offered it to his mother and put his arm around her. He kept close to her until she was safely off the plane.

III

Before the Learjet carrying the four Sterlings landed in St. Louis, BCA received an anonymous phone call. A male voice no one could identify delivered a provocative message: A videotape containing information about Stuart Sterling will be delivered to your studio for broadcasting at eight p.m. tonight. Make sure the feed is sent to all the stations that were to show Sterling’s speech at that time.

BCA executives immediately notified the F.B.I., which sent agents to the studio to receive the tape. Just after six fifteen, a taxi pulled up to the back entrance. The driver had a tape, but little useful information. He said he had been paid cash for his services and could give only a vague description of the man who had hired him. The F.B.I. interrogated the driver, decided he was an innocent party and let him go.

The tape was soon cleared for broadcast. The F.B.I. made a copy, in case it would be needed later, and delivered the original back to BCA, which notified the other stations of its availability. Within minutes, all the networks and cable companies were broadcasting teasers to their audiences with an announcement that the fate of Stuart Sterling might well be revealed within about an hour.

The St. Louis airport had a special office for controlling flights by private airplanes. Its manager was on hand when the Learjet carrying the four Sterling family members landed. As he helped Moira off the plane, he asked her to walk off to one side with him so he could talk with her privately. Her first thought was that he had the hoped-for message. She tried to remain calm while they took a few steps away from the children. When he turned toward her, she saw he was not carrying an envelope or even a sheet of paper and her heart sank.

Mrs. Sterling, about ten minutes ago, there was a public announcement about a videotape regarding your husband . . . .

Is he all right? What does it say? She shouted more loudly than she had intended. Jimmy, Mary and Kate came running over to her.

We don’t know, he calmly replied. The information will be broadcast this evening in a little over an hour from now.

Hasn’t anyone seen it? she demanded.

According to the announcement, only the F.B.I. has viewed it and they haven’t revealed what is on it. Do you want to watch the broadcast in my office?

No. No. Get me a car quickly. I’m going home. I can make it in time.

Yes, of course. Right away.

The manager returned to his office after Moira left. He found F.B.I. director Ross Ollis was waiting on the telephone. Ollis had hoped to speak to Mrs. Sterling privately about what was on the videotape. When he learned she was on her way home in a car with her children, who might overhear their conversation, he decided to let it speak for itself.

IV

Rose O’Daniel, thirty-eight-year-old governor of Texas, spent all the weekends she could at her cabin by Lake Austin rather than in the governor’s mansion. Tonight, she had invited a long-time family friend, her most trusted and esteemed advisor, Chance Rankin, to join her at her cabin since he was spending the weekend in Austin. She wanted someone she could trust to talk to about Stuart’s disappearance and his impending broadcast. He could tell she was deeply troubled. After she took a seat on a barstool, he had asked, Wouldn’t you be more comfortable on the sofa?

Rose didn’t show any signs that she had even heard him. She merely sat motionless, her head in her hands. Finally, she looked up and said, I’m really worried about Stuart.

Chance took a seat behind the exquisite bar. His face was lean, weathered and tanned. He looked more like a ranch hand than the millionaire banker from Dallas that he was. He and his wife had been among the volunteer leaders behind the scenes who had brought about the Republicans’ rise to dominance in Texas. His eyes narrowed as he mulled over Rose’s words. Worried about him, or how his situation might involve you?

Mostly worried about Stuart, but I guess I am thinking about my situation, too. You’re the only one besides my doctor who knows about it, and I’m questioning whether that’s right.

Are you planning to announce something before Tuesday?

Rose sat up and looked over Chance’s head at the wooden carving of an armadillo that hung above the bar. She had put it there because of the toughness and self-reliance she saw in its armor of small bony plates. She would need such qualities now.

I’m not ‘planning’ anything, yet; just thinking. She leaned back onto the bar again and, with her eyes downcast, asked, What do you think I should do?

Chance took a long sip of his drink before answering. Wait and see what the broadcast this evening brings.

She felt herself tremble, even if it didn’t show. She got up and started straightening bar glasses wondering whether it was a good idea to have anyone around while she watched the broadcast.

V

Stuart Sterling, alone, was leaning against one of the ledges of a sheer, rock bluff high above the wide Missouri River. He was about half a mile from his birthplace, a small town near St. Louis named Inverness. The moon was almost full, and bright enough to illuminate the surface of the smooth, flowing water below him. He angled his wristwatch upwards to catch the moonlight. It was half-past seven, Eastern Time. They should start his broadcast within half an hour.

Stuart wondered whether his wife had gotten his note yet. He hated knowing how much she would be suffering until she found out he had arranged his own disappearance. He was appalled at his weakness in not being able even to call her, but he just couldn’t bring himself to face up to what he had done and tell her in person or even over the phone. Then, it occurred to him how much more she would suffer once she read what was in the note. Still it was better this way, he thought: better that she be allowed to express her emotions away from my presence, better that we both have time to prepare to meet each other face to face.

For some reason, he started thinking about the pilot survey for Barry Cooper’s father. It had bothered him from time to time since his company had taken it on soon after the company’s founding. Why couldn’t he put it out of his mind? For generations, his family had lived by a code of honorable conduct, a code he had been proud to uphold. To get the contract to do the follow-up Cooper project, Stuart had broken away from that code. No, he had just lapsed from it a bit, that’s all. Now he was taking himself too seriously, as his grandmother had warned him against when he was just a child. Yes, he was taking himself too seriously, especially when he thought of his deviation from his family’s high standards as a fall. It wasn’t a fall; it was just a slip. But that slip had led to more, each one another step away from the code, and those slips had brought him to this point.

Self-doubt overtook him. He examined that first slip again more closely. It had won him the contract with Cooper, which had launched his business and led to his financial success. But could I have done it without having to cheat? Would I now be on the doorstep of the presidency if I hadn’t jump-started my business with the pilot survey?

He knew what-ifs are wastes of time and thought. It happened. It had happened after he left Inverness for St. Louis, back when his responsibility was trying to grow his start-up company, not running a campaign.

CHAPTER TWO

O ur heads are above water—the first time, ever! Kelly Kino exclaimed, bursting through the open doorway into Stuart’s home office in St. Louis. His usually fast pace was more rapid than ever. He crossed the bare concrete basement floor at Sterling Telemarketing Co. headquarters in a flash. He moved with quick, short steps, which reminded Stuart of old movie scenes where dozens of umbrellas dart across streets and squares. He wondered whether it was a coincidence that the movies were shot in Tokyo and Kelly was of Japanese ancestry.

Kelly’s rare show of excitement provoked two telephone sales representatives—TSRs—to swivel their chairs; which, in turn, caused their headsets to slide off in unison. Smiling as broadly as Stuart had ever seen him smile, even in their college partying days, Kelly triumphantly placed a financial report before his boss and sang, slightly off-key, It’s celebration time! We’re in the black!

And you didn’t leave anything out, not even depreciation?

Checked it three times. We still owe beaucoup payments for the equipment we bought, of course, but, accounting-wise, we are out of the red.

No money in the bank, debts over $ 100,000 and your salary only half-paid. Are you sure it’s party time? Stuart rose from his old, leather swivel chair in a boxer’s crouch and delivered a feigned left jab followed by a real right cross rifled at Kelly’s jaw. However, his former roommate knew all of his boss’s moves and had hands quicker than the eye. He easily ducked under the punch and landed his own firm, but shortened, blow just above the belt. Stuart took the hit well, laughed, and wrestled the much smaller Kelly down into the only other chair in the office—a straight-backed, cushion less, wooden relic. It had been in their college dormitory room when they had moved in.

Stuart beamed. Wait ’til I tell Moira. She’ll probably wonder how the business can be making money, knowing how little cash we have for ourselves. He returned to his chair and swung around to pick up his favorite picture of his wife. In the picture, Moira’s jeans were torn at the knees and she was holding a watermelon from her own garden. Her face was smudged and her hair was loosely tied with a red-checkered bandanna that clashed with her dirty, orange and white striped T-shirt. Her parents had probably never seen her attired like that. They probably wouldn’t appreciate the joy their daughter had experienced in accomplishing something by her own effort. Stuart was reminded of the excitement he had shared when she had harvested that watermelon, her first. He was feeling the same way now about the success of his business and knew she would understand his exhilaration.

He put Moira’s picture back on his desk next to his computer, which stirred another pleasant memory—the image of her typing away making the library cards for the first elementary school library in their county. She had worked harder on that project than she had on her college courses. He remembered the stream of curses he had heard her mutter after every one of her numerous typing errors. Stuart was a much better typist but she refused his help, saying this was her project. She had later supported him in his own project, the telemarketing business. He had been thankful that, if it failed, he knew she would say, It was worth a try. We didn’t lose the farm over it.

O.K., Kelly, let’s have a company blowout for our employees. They have worked hard and you’ve been giving your all fifteen hours a day for months, including most Saturdays and Sundays.

Kelly was sitting up in his chair, as straight as its rigid back, but he was relaxed and smiling. I put in the time: you put in not just time, but money.

More credit than money. Stuart leaned back in his own chair and closed his eyes. His smile was one of relief as much as of accomplishment.

We’ve got our heads above the surface, but all we’re doing is treading water, Kelly pointed out. We need to tie onto a big, fast ski-boat that’s making waves. We need a link to the movers and shakers in St. Louis.

Who do we know other than our creditors?

Barry Cooper! Stuart thought. Barry’s father owned the largest mobile communications company in the Midwest. The son had been in three classes with Stuart and worked with him on a community co-op project. Though Barry worked hard and was no dummy, Stuart had been due most of the credit for the project’s success. He showed the way in innovation, thoroughness, self-reliance, persistence and willingness to take chances. All these were the makings of a successful entrepreneur. Barry had noticed his capability then, and would probably remember it now. Their project had received the highest grade in the class.

Stuart was not mistaken. Barry not only remembered him, he still felt inclined to like and trust him. He accepted an invitation to lunch, during which he agreed to have his father’s management staff provide the information Stuart and Kelly would need to put together a pilot survey proposal.

Three days after the lunch meeting with Barry, Kelly had the proposal ready to present. It was based on the results of similar projects Sterling Telemarketing had completed. Stuart wasn’t in his office and his desk was piled high with papers, so Kelly put the proposal on top where it couldn’t be missed.

Two hours later, his boss called and asked him to join him to discuss one part of the proposal. Kelly found the door open, so he just walked in without knocking. Thinking he wouldn’t be there long, he remained standing. Stuart motioned to him to close the door, and then asked, Is this the best you think we can offer?

It’s as good as we’ve ever done before. It should get us the job.

Stuart made no reply.

Kelly waited, and then broke the silence with, You know Barry much better than I do. What makes you think he’s a good link to the St. Louis business community?

Barry’s in a lot of organizations, Stuart answered. His family has been in St. Louis for a long time, and I’ll bet he runs with people in the know.

Kelly noticed his former roommate’s behavior was unusual. Not even in his college days before a test had he seemed so nervous. He was fidgeting with his wooden paddlefish-shaped letter opener, which he had now wedged under the thick proposal booklet and was using to lift it up and down. Kelly was afraid he was going to break off the paddlefish’s long, thin bill. When Stuart didn’t say anything more about Barry, Kelly asked: Has his dad ever used telemarketing before?

Stuart frowned. You’ve hit on our problem. He’s a traditionalist who thinks the only way to sell is by having experienced salesmen—and by the way, he hires salesmen only—knock on doors. He doesn’t know that customers can be reached through skillful TSRs like ours. Since his company has been profitable for most of the forty years it has been operating, he hasn’t considered better marketing techniques. He doesn’t realize how much we could increase its sales at a low cost.

Kelly smiled. That reminds me of Gino’s Pizza, back when we were at M.U. We sure sold a lot of that greasy stuff just by calling students and telling them about special offers! I wonder what it tasted like. Kelly also wondered where this meeting was going. All the work on the proposal was complete. It was in its final form, so what could Stuart want to discuss? Kelly shifted from one foot to the other, wishing he had sat down when he first came in. This meeting might go on and on.

Stuart looked up at his assistant from across the sturdy, but battered, desk he had bargained for at the used-furniture store in St. Louis. Kelly was, as usual, dressed in his short-sleeved white shirt with one of the five ties he regularly rotated, all of which had dark colors to match his dark eyes. His black hair was always combed, but it was obvious that he didn’t think it was worth his time to make sure every hair was in place, so long as he looked reasonably tidy and efficient.

You mean you never did eat any of those large meatheads Gino paid us off with when he ran short of cash?

No. Never did. Nevertheless, I’m grateful to Gino. I’d never have made it through college without what he paid us. You did a good thing persuading him to hire us. I guess it was my luck of the draw to have you as a roommate.

Mention of their being roommates reminded Stuart of the funny way they had first met. He had walked into their dorm room on move-in day and placed a large box on the edge of a chest-of-drawers. Kelly was stooping over behind the chest, completely hidden by it. When he stood up, he banged his head on the box, sending it tumbling to the floor. He wasn’t hurt and laughed about the incident. Stuart appreciated that attitude. It was an auspicious start to their relationship.

From the beginning of their acquaintance, Kelly recognized his roommate’s leadership abilities and accepted a support position without any resentment. Stuart appreciated that; he thought his roommate showed unusual maturity for his age. Despite those fine qualities, however, as they became better acquainted, Stuart sensed there was a side of Kelly that he kept hidden.

A clue to that side came during their sophomore year. One evening after his roommate had rushed off to attend a lecture by a visiting professor, Stuart realized he needed a book he had loaned him. Looking for the book in Kelly’s closet, he noticed a copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince. A sticker on the cover showed it had been purchased new a year before, but the well-worn pages indicated a great amount of use. Kelly’s major had nothing to do with politics or Italian history, so Stuart’s curiosity was aroused. His roommate didn’t seem to have much free time. Why would he be using any of it to read a work describing the art of duplicity?

The next weekend, over beers at the Tiger Den—a favorite hangout for M.U. students—Stuart asked Kelly, What’s your opinion of power politics? Do you think that sometimes the end justifies the means? He was startled to see the guilty look that flitted across his roommate’s face before he caught himself and answered, Of course not. It’s never right to use unfair tactics to further your cause, and those who do usually get found out. Stuart’s suspicion grew. Years later when Kelly joined Sterling Telemarketing, Stuart remembered that incident and decided to be on guard for any unethical practices his assistant might attempt.

Now, he himself was considering doing something he knew wasn’t right. He flipped the proposal over and back, over and back. It was as if he was trying to block out thoughts of his father, his grandfather and his great-grandfather, but they kept returning to his mind.

Finally, Stuart sat up straight in his chair. Yes, Gino’s small shop helped us get through college, but Cooper Mobile Communications could be our entry into something really big. Your projection of the number of appointments our staff will get is twenty-one per cent of the calls made. After our lunch meeting, Barry told me their salesmen often get almost twenty per cent on their own. I’m sure his dad will never pay for a pilot program unless he can get something much better than what they get now. Our proposal needs to be at twenty-five per cent.

Kelly looked sharply down at Stuart. We haven’t had a single project with a success ratio over twenty-one per cent. Stuart closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them and looked away. He was trying to block out the voice of his grandfather, reminding him of the family code. After all his suspicion that Kelly was the Machiavellian one, he couldn’t help but feel the irony that it was he who was proposing using the ends to justify the means. Finally, he turned toward his assistant and said, I know if Barry’s dad will just try telemarketing, it will be profitable. A call from a trained TSR will get his people in the door easier than any other technique. The report on our recent home insulation survey almost proves it.

I’m not objecting. You know I’m for gaining customers any way we can, but what if he agrees to the pilot program and it doesn’t produce the twenty-five per cent ratio? Kelly sat down in a straight chair nearby.

Stuart shifted in his own chair, turned away and said, It’s like running for a political office, Kelly. If you don’t get elected, you can’t implement your program. If Barry’s dad won’t vote for the pilot program because our proposal doesn’t promise what he thinks advantageous, we won’t have a chance to show him how much we can do. He turned back around and paused to take a deep breath. His voice sounded strained when he said, We’ll just have to do a super job on the script and training for the pilot survey so we get a twenty-five per cent lead ratio. I’ll help personally on this one, and we might hire those two experienced applicants that we didn’t think we could afford.

You’re the boss. I’ll go ahead and put twenty-five per cent in the proposal. We’ll do our damnedest. Kelly stood up and faced Stuart. He wanted to ask why—for the first time, as far as he knew—the company’s written proposal included an unrealistic estimate, something that, more than once, he had not been allowed to make. He glanced across the desk and caught sight of the bust of Lincoln, a bronze depicting the former president’s rugged features. It was usually front and center on Stuart’s desk and his boss often rubbed his fingers over it when wrestling with a tough decision. Today, it was off to the side, out of reach. Kelly wanted to know what had happened to cause such a change in company standards. What was different about the Cooper project? He surmised Stuart decided it was too tempting to let get away. Kelly was ready to press for answers, but his boss turned his back to him by swinging his chair around in the other direction. The meeting was over.

*     *     *

The Cooper Company agreed to pay for a pilot survey. Stuart had been right about what it would take to get the job. When Barry called to relate the good news, he quoted his father’s, Hell, we’re not going to waste our time and money if over three-fourths of the time they tell you ‘no.’ Stuart smiled, imagining the scene. Then he started to worry: What would happen if the project did not produce the results that he had promised? He closed his eyes and tried to dismiss his feelings of guilt. A hope arose: Maybe some way or other, they would pull it off and get the twenty-five per cent. He knew it was just a prayer.

The survey started on a Tuesday and was to run for two weeks under the watchful eye of Marsha Keltner, the staff supervisor. On the first day, Stuart appeared in the work area and greeted the telemarketing crew with: I imagine you’re surprised to find me out here with you rather than in my office this morning. You know I try to stay out of the way of those who are doing the work.

The crew laughed, but they did wonder why the boss was holding things up. Marsha had told them the day before to be sure to be on time and not waste a minute before they started their calling.

You have already heard that this project is important, Stuart said, emphasizing his point by making eye contact with each of the TSRs in turn. What the company needs now is that ‘something extra’ a team gives to a championship game. I am going to give that something extra myself by being more personally involved than I have been before. I’ll be here with you part of every day until the project is complete. Marsha will be monitoring the responses you receive and passing them on to me. She and I will make any changes in your script that we think will assist you in getting appointments for our customer’s sales force. There will be a bonus for all of you if the customer extends our contract. Does this seem like a fair deal?

All nodded yes. Susan, one of the best team members, stood up and turned to face her co-workers.

That’s what I like about working for Sterling Telemarketing. The boss is willing to do his part, and share the profits when we do well. Let’s go, gang!

*     *     *

On the Saturday after the project ended, Marsha proudly placed computer printouts from the Cooper survey on Stuart’s desk. I just finished these. This is the best we’ve ever done.

Stuart noticed that her lipstick slightly overlapped on one lip—unusual for her. He suspected she must have rushed this morning to come in early to compile the results. She would have known he would like to have them to review over the weekend.

Thanks, Marsha, especially for coming in on a day you are usually off. I imagine you had to make special arrangements for someone to stay with your son, Brad.

Marsha’s eyes moistened. Her slightly crooked smile showed her gratitude. I think your being with the crew every day helped, she said. Well, I’ll be off. See you Monday.

Stuart sat at his desk alone and studied the results. The right-hand column showed what each TSR’s success in getting confirmed appointments had been. The first four were: 23.9 per cent, 23.6 per cent, 19.9 per cent and 24.8 per cent. He hastily turned to the summary page to find the average for the crew as a whole, but in his anxiety ripped that sheet almost in two. Holding it together, he looked for the double red underline Marsha used to denote key information. There it was: 23.7 per cent lead ratio. It was the best survey the company had ever accomplished, but it was not the twenty-five per cent that Cooper Mobile Communications was expecting and what would get the contract for ongoing services. Stuart wanted that contract. He had an inordinate desire to make his company bigger and more profitable than it was. With less hesitation than he would have expected, he made some computations, slipped the disk containing the survey report into his computer and made a few changes here and there. A contract with Cooper Company would give him enough work to expand Sterling Telemarketing and produce his first substantial profit. He made the final keystroke and hit SAVE. Stuart had made mistakes before, but they had been honest errors. This was the first time his company had made a false report. There it was in writing, and he had done it.

Well, he knew Kelly—and Machiavelli—would approve: The ends justify the means. But he felt a twinge. Honor still fought ambition. For a moment, he hesitated. Am I really going to do this? And is there any way the management team at Cooper Mobile could find out what I’ve done? he asked himself. I don’t see how, he thought. Anyway, the end result will be good for Barry and his father; sure as the world, it will. Doesn’t that make it all right? This will bring my company financial success. Then why can’t I stop feeling my father’s, grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s disapproval? And, if it is all right, why do I know I won’t tell Moira? I’ll have trouble falling asleep tonight. I’d better jog after dinner. Maybe I can wear myself out and then I’ll be able to sleep.

II

Stuart looked down at the river from the weathered, white-limestone ledge he was resting on. Several miles upstream, this same river flowed past Cooper Mobile’s dock in St. Louis. Recalling his falsifying of the data in the report, he pondered: Was my deciding to cheat inevitable—if not then, then the next time a profitable opportunity came along? Does business have this effect on more people than the world realizes? Even people with heritages of integrity like mine, the one I have been so proud of? Is it a gigantic siren leading people down ugly paths, while taking away their ability to resist? Do other people realize the moment when they made their first slip? Is where I am now the logical conclusion of that first slip?

From his place on the cliff, Stuart could see the bend in the river. He pictured his great-grandfather, William Sterling, at the bow of a large boat struggling upstream toward that bend. He had persuaded ten Scottish families to travel with him by ship to New York, go by railroad to St. Louis and charter a boat there to take them west up the Missouri River to find a new home. Stories of the success of their fellow-countryman, Andrew Carnegie, in the United States had helped sway their decision to sell all they had and take a chance on achieving their own triumph. On a Sunday morning in April, 1910—Stuart must have heard his grandmother tell the story a hundred times—they came around the bend just as the sun broke through the clouds. It dazzled them all by flashing a brilliant gold onto the steep, two-hundred-foot high rock face he was partway up now. According to the tale, almost a legend now, the cliff flanking the river reminded those settlers of the site of Inverness, Scotland. They immediately decided to make the area their new home and give it the same name. That was the popular version. However, Stuart knew the true account of the founding. He had heard it this way one evening when he was alone with his grandfather, Thomas.

It was late in the afternoon when the men pulled the boat over to the shore at the foot of a high bluff. They felt that everyone needed a chance to rest from the rough water they had encountered. My mother was two months pregnant with me, but she was strong. After about half an hour, she said it was time to get going again. The men got into an argument about how much longer they were going to fight the strong current. About half of them wanted to go on, but the other half said they were tired and weren’t going any farther. My dad was one of the ones who wanted to go on. He called the others ‘no-good, weak-kneed bastards’ and said he would have left them on shore, but he couldn’t leave wives and children, so that decided the matter: the families stayed and settled on that spot. After the first night, everybody joined efforts to help each other build log cabins. None of the group had been members of any of the long-established Scottish clans, but they were determined to carry with them the good customs of those clans to their new home.

Even though some of his forebears had shown weakness at that time, Stuart felt every one of them had later endured a tough life, hard choices and temptations. He knew the details of one of those temptations, because Thomas had famously withstood it and maintained the code of conduct his family had brought with them to America.

William had built a grain elevator near Inverness in 1911. Twenty-four years later, he suffered a stroke and his son took over its management. By prudent buying and selling, Thomas established a stable and profitable operation. He gave honest measure to both the farmers he bought from and the farmers and breweries he sold to. Everyone up and down the river knew it.

In the early 1900s, the practice was for elevator operators to promise certain prices per bushel to farmers at planting time and keep to those prices when the harvest was delivered, no matter what. Thomas did too. Those sellers always got what he had committed to, which was always enough to recoup the expenses of planting and harvesting. But he did more: when he was able to sell at high prices, he shared the extra profit with the farmers he bought from. He would never have thought to do otherwise.

In the late1930s, Thomas was tested when the bottom fell out of the grain market and prices plummeted. Other elevator operators reneged on their guarantees, but he honored the agreements he had made even though it caused him to sell at a loss and even go into debt. Most area businessmen thought Thomas was foolish, but the entire Inverness community, now known as the river clan, took pride in the example he had set. For years afterward, they associated his integrity with Scottish folk heroes and taught their children to follow his example.

Stuart’s mother, Mabel, was her generation’s only redheaded female in Inverness. There were a few women whose hair had auburn tints, more with a strawberry-blonde tinge to theirs, but no others who were totally and unquestionably redheaded. Her hair set off her dark blue eyes beautifully, especially when there was fire in them, which happened whenever anything set off her strong will. Her neighbors weren’t afraid of her then—she wasn’t short tempered—but they knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

Mabel had grown up in Edinburgh, Scotland, part of an old and well-to-do family that owned a travel agency there. She majored in history at the university in her hometown. During the summer recess, she handled the international services of her family’s agency.

The summer of 1957, after Stuart’s father, Robert, graduated from the University of Missouri, Thomas rewarded him with a month-long trip to Scotland. He had always wanted to visit that country to see what was so special about the land his grandparents had always insisted was the greatest place on earth. Robert had never challenged them, but always wondered: if Scotland was so wonderful, why had his grandparents left? Thomas knew of a family in Edinburgh with a son, Neil, who had also just graduated from college. They said they would be pleased to have an American stay with them. Arrangements were soon made.

Neil picked up his guest at the airport early in the morning. He proved immediately friendly, greeting his guest with, Welcome to Scotland. Let’s get you home and unpacked so you’ll have time for a nap. A group of my university friends are getting together tonight at the Thistle & Swallow. We’ll be out late.

I’m liking Scotland already, Robert replied. Does your group include any of those spirited lasses I’ve heard about?

You’ll see tonight and can make up your own mind.

The crowd was lively and noisy that night at the Thistle & Swallow and Neil’s friends were the liveliest and noisiest. The second large pitcher of beer was halfway around the table when the group started peppering Robert with questions about the U.S., Missouri and Inverness, in particular. Just three of the nine Scots enjoying the evening had been to the U.S., and only on the East Coast. One of the nine—a redheaded girl, young and quiet, in contrast to the others—didn’t say a word during the discussion. While the rest were evaluating the chances of Scotland’s soccer team, Robert found this girl—she was introduced to him as Mabel—was not shy and could be just as voluble as the others, once she got started. What got her started this evening was not clear.

Years later, after they were married and had a family, she would insist to their children it was that Robert spoke to her first, but he claimed he was prompted by her winking at him. Their differing views on that score always caused a friendly row, which the youngsters enjoyed. Regardless of who made the first contact, their conversation didn’t end until after midnight.

The next day, Robert borrowed Neil’s car so Mabel could show him around Edinburgh. Then, she took the rest of the week off to cover the beautiful lowlands and travel with him to Stirling to see the castle there. Robert wanted to find out whether his ancestors might have come from that area, given their family name. He didn’t discover anything conclusive about that, but he did find out that he wanted to continue being with Mabel much longer than one month.

Robert’s courtship of Mabel was arduous. Her parents wanted her to stay another year in Scotland to finish college. Robert persuaded them to accept a compromise: Mabel completing her education, but at St. Louis’s Washington University. The day after her graduation, Robert and Mabel were married in Inverness.

In 1958, Robert and Mabel moved into a small cottage high on the cliff above where the original settlers had pulled into shore to rest. Thomas died ten years later and Robert took over management of the grain elevator. He also succeeded to the semi-official clan-chieftain role that his father and grandfather had held.

Two years after the founding of Inverness in 1910, the townspeople cleared a glade so Highland games could be held there. Even a few Scottish families from Kentucky and Tennessee came to participate in Shetland sheepdog trials, foot races, dancing, bagpipe competition and the tossing of a 180-pound, long, wooden pole called the caber. The First World War interrupted the games for a year. When Prohibition hurt attendance in 1920, the schedule changed to every other year. During the Depression, only participants from within thirty miles could afford to come. In 1934, instead of competing with each other, the whole town drove into Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis to cheer as the Cardinals’ Gashouse Gang fought for the pennant. After the Second World War, the event became a community picnic with a few sporting events for families and a circle dance that bore only a faint resemblance to the kilt-clad highlight of earlier days.

As the character of the games gradually faded, so did the influence of Scottish traditions that the older generation tried to retain in their families. Nevertheless, two Highland traditions survived the world wars and the coming of television: any visitor who came to your door was invited in; visitors were offered the best food and drink available, even if it was all the host had to feed his own family. No one in Inverness would have thought that such seemingly commendable customs could lead to a deadly disaster.

Joey Donizetti, Stuart’s best school friend, loved being in the countryside. It was in his blood. His ancestors tended the vines outside of Naples, Italy, for generations. Joey’s branch of the family had left Italy after the Second World War to join a cousin who had migrated to St. Louis in the 1930s and he was doing well with a family restaurant in the Italian hill section. They spent a few years in St. Louis, then Joey’s father, Tony, responded to his father’s urging that he return to the soil. With financial help from his St. Louis cousin, he bought a sixty-acre tract with gentle slopes near Inverness. Tony’s father came most weekends to teach his son and his eight grandchildren how to plant, irrigate and protect the tender vines. Everyone in the community was intrigued by the Donizetti family’s venture and wanted to help, since they knew that Tony was barely able to scrape by.

All of his children were thrilled to be in America where, as newcomers, they were the center of attention at school. Their classmates quickly introduced them to what remained of the Scottish traditions and clan games. Tony thought the community was interfering in his family’s heritage. As head of the family, he felt he had the responsibility to train his children to follow Italian traditions. He tried hard, but the local customs were too alluring, especially to the boys.

One Inverness custom in particular captured the interest of the four boys in the Donizetti family, because it was daring and secretive: scaling the cliff on the river without any help. It was the goal of all boys growing up in the area. At the age of twelve, Stuart’s grandfather, Thomas, became the first to reach the top and embellished the feat with what would become part of the ritual. About halfway up, he chiseled his name in large letters into a flat rock surface. It could not be read from below on the riverbank, but it was clearly evident that a man-made mark had been etched into the centuries-old landmark. A month later, a second boy climbed the cliff and added his own name. Over time, it became an unofficial rite of passage for Inverness boys upon reaching the age of twelve. Many of them worried that they might not be up to the task, but when their time came, all made it.

Joey was no exception when it came to wanting to match the standards and achievements of his peers. Unfortunately, he had been born with a short left leg and his general coordination was poor. He never could keep up with the other boys in the schoolyard games, usually stumbling along off-balance several steps behind. One day after school, two of the older boys held Joey while a third grabbed his bright red Cardinals baseball cap and ran away. Stuart, who was nearby, chased and caught up with the troublemaker and demanded he return it. The older boys were laughing at Joey when he limped up to the group. With a surprising surge forward, he wrestled his cap away from the bully who had it. Stuart backed up his friend with clenched fists and a fierce stare. The older boys muttered, but backed off. In his schoolmates’ and Stuart’s eyes, Joey’s gutsy efforts had won him a place.

Late one Friday afternoon, Stuart was visiting Joey at his home. Tony was working on the monthly bills at the kitchen table while his wife and the three youngest children were at the grocery store in Inverness. The other four children were visiting friends. The main dish for dinner, minestrone, was already on the stove. The appetizing aroma rising from the huge, simmering pot filled the room. Stuart was amazed. He had never seen, let alone tasted, authentic Italian food; nor had he seen dishes prepared primarily to serve a large number at a low cost.

He had arranged with his parents to spend the night away because it was his secret plan to go up the cliff the next morning if the light rainfall that afternoon had not made it too slippery. Joey had frequently asked him when he was going to try it. Stuart was afraid that his friend’s lameness would keep him from being able to make such a difficult climb, so he always avoided answering. He planned to find a pretext for leaving Joey behind the next day.

Someone knocked on the door.

See who it is, Tony said. Joey gave an embarrassed glance toward Stuart before going to the side window to look outside.

It’s Mr. and Mrs. Loeb with Billy and Judy. They have a watermelon, Joey said and headed for the door.

Keep quiet and they’ll go away, Tony commanded.

We’ve got to let them in; they’re visitors. Joey’s voice was barely audible and he avoided looking at Stuart.

We don’t have to do anything. This is my house, and I don’t have food enough to feed everyone who comes along, Tony answered.

Daddy, please! Joey pleaded and took hold of his father’s arm. Billy’s in my class. They probably can’t stay to eat, but we’ve got to let them in.

Tony pulled his arm away and held his finger to his lips.

Stuart never forgot the look of anguish in Joey’s eyes that day. In the years to come, he would see other instances of suffering, embarrassment and humiliation, separately and combined, but never exceeding that which Joey seemed to be experiencing at that moment. Stuart vowed that if he had children, he would never do to them what Tony had done to his son.

Joey ran out the back door into the rain. When Stuart started after him, Tony said, Don’t interfere in my family, Stuart. Let him go; he’ll come back.

He didn’t come back. A few minutes later, Stuart gathered his things and took his leave of Tony and Mrs. Donizetti, who had returned with the rest of the children. When he got home, he told his father what had happened. They both were sure Joey would attempt to climb the cliff to try to redeem his family’s honor. Robert got a long rope and a flashlight and they set off immediately to go to help him.

When they arrived at the top of the cliff, they heard the sound of chiseling before they spotted Joey below, adding his name to those of the boys who had gone before him. Both marveled at his accomplishment in climbing halfway up the cliff—a difficult feat even with two good