ONE

John Hofstead was a pink man. His face had a uniform pinkness that extended from his closely shaved chin to his round, pink nose to his glowing pink, hairless scalp. The vast expanse of pink was interrupted only by two drifts of snow-white hair above his light blue eyes. The only other feature that relieved this ocean of pinkness was a uniform and carefully trimmed fringe of feathery white hair that created a shimmering curtain between the pink pate and the pink neck. From the rear, Hofstead’s head looked like a maraschino cherry comfortably nestling in a mound of whipped cream. The overall effect of his pinkness extended even to his hands. The nails, clean and clipped short, had such a translucent quality that the slightly whiter cuticles served to define what looked like ten little buttons.

Perhaps it was something about this color, perhaps it was only the inner peace of the man showing through, but, in any event, Hofstead gave off the aura of a man at peace with himself and at peace with the world. He always wore a suit and tie, and in the winter he usually wore a vest as well. It was hard for anyone to see such a well-scrubbed man and not form an instant liking for him. His pale eyes were the epitome of openness, and it seemed impossible that they could hide any deceit. His soft laugh, which verged on a giggle, was disarming to the most hostile of potential foes. Somehow, and without contrivance, he even managed to smell clean. There was no odor of French cologne about him, just the consistent perfume of Ivory soap.

This was of great benefit to Hofstead in his chosen position. Hofstead was an insurance man. His ingenuous likability proved to be such a tremendous asset for sales that he founded, at the age of twenty-seven, his own insurance company. That was four decades ago, and Hofstead Hail Insurance was now one of the most prosperous firms in Fergus Falls, Minnesota. Hofstead Hail was successful, in part, because the owner and president genuinely believed in his product. He took pride in the fact that he refused to sell more insurance to a client than he really needed, and claimed that he got a great deal of personal satisfaction in handing over a claims check to a deserving farmer who had had the foresight to insure his crops with Hofstead Hail. To be sure, there were those who might have pointed out that Hofstead’s idea of what people really needed in the way of insurance was somewhat grander than commonly accepted levels, but nobody could accuse him of not practicing what he preached. His car, his boat, his house, his business, and his teeth were all insured against any untoward event. His life was insured with policies that benefited his three loves. His wife, Martha, would be taken care of at the time of his being “called home,” but so would his alma mater, Concordia College, the Lutheran college in Moorhead, Minnesota, to which he attributed every good thing that had happened in his life. His third and most recent love, and the beneficiary of his third major life insurance policy, was the student scholarship program, the “Hofstead Award,” at the local Fergus Falls State University. The late president of FFSU, George Gherkin, had been extremely persuasive and, when he made the continuation of the college insurance contract contingent upon a meaningful contribution, Hofstead agreed to set up a scholarship fund that would be presented to graduates of Fergus Falls High School, the home of the Otters. He and Martha had never had children, and the intellectual progress of the Hofstead Scholars gave them special enjoyment.

It was a life that reflected accomplishment and personal fulfillment, and this was perhaps part of the reason that the giggles could gush forth so easily from his short and portly body. But it had also been a life of hard work, and the death of a close friend, the unfortunate George Gherkin, had brought home to Hofstead the fleeting nature of life on earth. Hofstead was now sixty-eight years old, and although he didn’t really need it, he figured he should be collecting social security. It was time to stop and smell the roses, time to retire and spend all his days at the lake cottage, and time to go back to the old country and see where the Hofsteads had come from in Norway. And it was also time to spend the winters in Fort Meyers, Florida, and then watch the Minnesota Twins during spring training.

“The last winter in Minnesota,” mused John Hofstead, as he gazed out the frosted windows of his office in the old Hotel Kaddatz. “Boy–oh-boy-oh-boy! I don’t think I’m going to miss it at all. I’m going to give up ice fishing and snowmobiling for golfing in January. What a trade! What a glorious trade!” A smile of anticipation added dental whiteness to the expanses of pink. “And tonight, when I tell Martha the news, I’m going to start by telling her that I don’t think she should go out and buy a new coat. Hee-hee. She’ll say, ‘But I need to replace my old one.’ And then I’ll say, ‘No you don’t! No you don’t!’ Hee-hee.” He proceeded to write “Florida” in the frosty rime and with a warm pudgy finger melted the ice to form the dot over the i. He caught a reflection of his face in an unfrosted part of the window. “I’m going to spend my time in the sun and get a nice, deep tan,” he promised himself.

Still, he knew he would miss his office in the old hotel. It was once the grandest hotel in western Minnesota, but when the interstate highway was built, newer hotels with swimming pools and plenty of parking spaces had been built on the edge of town. Only the locals, it seemed, came to downtown Fergus Falls anymore, and they usually didn’t need a place to stay. For years the building stood empty, suffering the indignities of abandonment, the ravages of a leaking roof, expanding ice, pigeons, bats, and assorted vermin. Everyone in town wistfully waited for some white knight to open up the grand hotel once more. Finally, and inevitably, it appeared that it would have to be torn down. But John Hofstead, who had spent his wedding night with Martha in room 306, could not bear to see it go. He took the lead in investigating historic preservation grants. He persuaded a local architectural firm to examine the building and prepare projections for alternative uses. Finally, it was he who made the first commitment to relocate his business there. It had taken a lot of volunteer work for the painstaking restoration, and the top floor was still a long way from completion. The heating was inefficient and the windows would all have to be replaced eventually, but it was Hofstead’s pride and joy, and when he overheard younger people refer to it as the “Hofstead building” he did not bother to correct them.

Hofstead Hail held a perpetual lease on the front half of the third floor, and it was no coincidence that his own office had once been Room 306. All of the other employees of Hofstead Hail, with the exception of seasonal adjusters (usually high school teachers who could not get a summer job as a driver’s education instructor) were located in adjoining rooms. His faithful secretary, Mrs. Borghild Kvamme, could be found in an open area that had once been Room 302. Clarence Sandberg was in old Room 304, Gary Swenson was in Room 305, and Myron Pekanen was in Room 303. That left Room 301 vacant for Hofstead’s special professional indulgence, an infrequently used conference room containing a large banquet table from the hotel’s Western Empire Room.

The first thing Hofstead did when he decided to retire was to call a company meeting. It was a mark of his dedication to the firm that his employees would know about his plans even before his beloved Martha. He approached the meeting with undisguised glee, keeping all details secret from even the ever-curious Borghild. He wanted everything to be just right for this little swan song and, to his secretary’s amazement, he was observed personally cleaning up the conference room, misting the surface of the large table with a can of Pledge. Carefully, the dapper pink man aligned chairs before the ubiquitous note pads and pencils, both of which were embossed with “Season’s Greetings from Hofstead Hail.” He even considered brewing a fresh pot of coffee for the meeting, but decided that Borghild could just as well maintain her most important office function.

His preparations complete, Hofstead instructed Mrs. Kvamme to hold all calls and proceeded to hole up in his office with the door closed, an occurrence remarkable in itself. For the next half hour, while Borghild used every last bit of her will power to avoid picking up the phone and listening, he was speaking on the telephone in a muffled voice.

At three o’clock, the permanent employees of the company found their way to the meeting room to take their positions at the table. They assumed, correctly, that the chair at the head of the table was reserved for the owner and president of Hofstead Hail. They also assumed that the chair immediately to the right was reserved for Mrs. Kvamme. What occurred next, however, could be seen as a portent of the struggle to come. Sandberg and Swenson entered the room at exactly the same time, a good ten minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin.

“Got any idea what this meeting is all about?” asked Sandberg, desperately trying to suppress the cheerfulness from his voice. He had heard Hofstead make one too many references about Florida not to suspect what was coming. He stretched in front of Swenson and dropped an empty folder at the place immediately to the left of Hofstead’s presumed seat, and with measured nonchalance proceeded to the coffee maker.

Swenson blinked at the table for a few seconds and announced, “You know, I think I’ve already had too much coffee today.” He proceeded to slide Sandberg’s empty folder down the table, replace it with his own folder, bulging with computer printouts, and sit down with his empty “Hofstead Hail” coffee mug. He continued pleasantly, “I don’t expect the meeting to last too long. You see, I’ve been providing him with material about how we can make our office more efficient and our growth rate stronger through the extensive use of advanced software. I’m sure he just wants to speak to all of us together about these plans.”

Returning with his coffee, Sandberg lugubriously eyed the table. He realized he had no choice but to sit down, pretend he didn’t notice, and remember the tactic. The next eight and a half minutes were taken up with staid, frosty, and fatuous communications about the weather while Swenson wondered if he dared to get up for that cup of coffee for which he was ready to kill.

Thirty seconds before the meeting was to begin, Mrs. Kvamme came in with a steno pad and several manila folders containing sales and actuarial figures. Both men were delighted to see her as a welcome relief from seeing each other.

“What’s this all about, Borghild?” inquired Clarence Sandberg. “The last time we met in here was when John gave us his United Way pep talk. Has he volunteered us to clean up the litter along a mile of highway or something?”

Borghild scowled and replied, “There’s nothing I can tell you, I’m afraid. He’s been hiding in his office for a long time, making phone calls. When I asked him the purpose of the meeting he just said ‘Wait and see!’”

“Maybe it has something to do with the profits from last year,” ventured Gary Swenson. “We had a good year. We sold a lot of insurance and mother nature was on our side. I know I sold more insurance than I ever have, and Clarence, you even sold more than usual, didn’t you? Maybe he’s going to announce a bonus or something. He enjoys pleasant little surprises.”

Sandberg was trying to come up with a response to the snide use of the word “even” in Swenson’s reference, when he heard Hofstead’s door opening. Hofstead glanced in to see that Myron Pekanen was not yet seated and walked over to retrieve the latecomer. It was with a degree of repressed joy that Swenson and Sandberg heard the annoyance in Hofstead’s voice as he said, “Come on, Pek. You’re late!”

This was followed by a somewhat addled, “Huh? Is it three o’clock already? Yah, I’ll get my cup and be right there.”

Hofstead preceeded Pekanen into the room and pulled out the chair at the head of the table. “Sit right down here, Pek. I don’t intend to keep anyone too long.” Sandberg and Swenson tried to avoid looking at each other and failed.

With that, Hofstead sat down on the other side of Borghild, folded his hands in front of him, and, enjoying every minute of the suspense he had created, said, “I suppose you are wondering why I called you all together.” To John Hofstead, it was the perfect cliché.

Nobody spoke, and Hofstead continued to beam at them in all his radiant pinkness. After ten seconds of bewildered silence, Myron Pekanen said, “Yeah, so, what’s up?”

“Ha!” said Hofstead with undisguised glee, “thought you’d never ask! I’m quitting!”

“Er, ah, quitting what?” asked the deliberate but hopeful Clarence Sandberg.

“Quitting business. Quitting work. Quitting the rat race. Quitting getting up at six thirty every morning. Quitting spending my winters in Minnesota. In short, I quit!”

Four minds immediately turned to their own futures. “But,” protested Swenson, “you can’t just quit!”

“Why not?” said the grinning pink eminence.

“Well, I mean, ah, well, what’s to become of the company?” Swenson inquired cautiously.

“Yes, well, you see, that’s where you come in.”

A stunned but elated expression spread across Swenson’s face. “Me?”

“Yah, you. And Clarence. And Pek. And maybe even Borghild if she would consider it.”

“What, er, just what is it you mean?” spluttered Clarence Sandberg.

Hofstead leaned back in his chair and beamed. “You see, I’ve been running this business a long time, and as I see it, if I’m gonna quit, I got two choices. I can sell the business to whoever wants it at the best price I can get and go away and never think about it again. And maybe that’s what I should do. But, you know, when you spend your whole life doing something, it isn’t so easy just to walk away from it. So I don’t want to do that. Instead, I’m gonna own the company, but I’m just not gonna run the company. I’m still gonna own the company, but instead of being president, I’m going to be your chief executive officer.” Hofstead paused and smirked, “Your CEO! And I don’t intend to do a lick of work. That’s where you come in. I intend to hire one of you to be my president.”

Hofstead let those words hang in the air like a bountiful piñata, ready to pour blessings down upon a chosen one. Clarence Sandberg looked at his co-workers, and noted with dread the smug expression on the face of Swenson. Borghild Kvamme also looked at her co-workers, and dreaded the thought that one of them would probably be her future boss. Gary Swenson looked confidently at John Hofstead, attempting to convey a message that said, “I’m ready for this, and you know that I’m your man!” Myron Pekanen looked at the rubber band he had unconsciously wrapped around his little finger to the point where it had cut off all circulation.

“Yes, it will be one of you, all right,” the new self-appointed CEO continued, “but I haven’t made up my mind which one. I presume you would all like the job. I wouldn’t hire you and keep you on all these years if I thought you were the kind of people who would shrink from a challenge or an opportunity. Now, Clarence, you’ve been with me longer than anyone else. You know the business and would make a good president. Pek? When you joined the company, business just took off and we haven’t looked back since. You brought in a lot of policies from territories that we had never even considered. Gary? What can I say? You’ve been the leading salesman for the last five years. And Borghild? Well, everybody knows who really runs Hofstead Hail, huh?”

Everyone patronizingly chuckled as Borghild smiled in the manner she was expected to and blushed appropriately.

“So. It won’t be an easy choice. Since I own the business and I still want to make enough money to pay my Florida greens fees,” he paused to grin from one person to the other, “I want to hire the right person. I don’t want to go outside the company because I’m sure that I’ve got the right person right here, right now. You all bring special strengths to the company, and maybe each one of you would make a good president. As owner, I know what each of you can do for the company now. But I don’t know what you can do in the future. If the new president is not Sandberg, for instance, I want the new president to make use of Sandberg’s talents.”

(“What talents?” thought one person at the table.)

“If the new president of the company is not Pekanen, I want the new president to realize what an asset Pek is to the company and treat him well.”

(“Treat him to severance pay,” thought two people at the table.)

“If the new president is not Swenson, I would hope that he would have enough sense to do everything he could to retain a terrific insurance man.”

(“Fat chance!” thought three people at the table.)

“Finally, if the new president is not Mrs. Kvamme,” (“How nice of him to be so inclusive, and isn’t that just like John,” thought everybody at the table) “anyone who would not retain her would have to have rocks in his head.

“I’ve taken pride in the fact that I put together a darn good insurance team here. In running this outfit, I’ve seen what each of you can bring to the company and since I still intend to make my living off of the profits of Hofstead Hail. Yes, the name will not change. Whoever I select will have to demonstrate that he—or she, of course—can work with the remaining members.”

Four pairs of eyes looked at the speaker and each pair peeked surreptitiously at the other three. Each member of the firm was concerned with one major question.

“Now, you’re probably asking yourself, ‘How’s he going to decide this?’ Well, I’ll tell you. I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. For the last hour I have been making arrangements for all of us to go to the Otter Slide Resort for one of their Winter Wonderland specials. You know the place. It’s on Long Lake just outside of Vergas. Your wives are specifically requested to come along, and Borghild, I want to make sure you get Harry to come along with you. Martha and I will look forward to spending more time with you in a relaxed setting where we can just unwind and have fun. I mean, they’ve got cross-country skiing, snowmobiling, ice fishing, tobogganing, sleigh rides with real horses if you give ’em enough warning—the whole nine yards. And, just for you, Pek, they’ve even got a sauna. Now, maybe you’re not the active type­—well, that’s okay, too. Just bring a good book and sit and relax. All meals are included and it’s all on me.

“Now, I didn’t have a whole lot of choice when it came to dates, so I just picked January twenty-eighth through January thirtieth. I realize that doesn’t leave you with much time to plan. But you don’t need to plan for anything. Just show up. I expect you to cancel any other plans you may have and be there. I asked them to send us some brochures on the place that will tell you everything you will need to know.”

Hofstead stood up and folded his hands at the point where his vest met his trousers, and in the process made his tummy look like a bowling trophy.

“So. That’s about it! Meeting adjourned! Gosh, this was fun! I can hardly wait to get home and break the news to Martha.”