The Zinc, Inc. board met two days later. Marge had managed to get hold of all the directors but two who were on vacation in the Australian outback. Unfortunately, they were P.T.’s two biggest allies on the board, men he could count on to support him no matter what.
Things didn’t go exactly as P.T. hoped. Tibbets, the scientist, gave a preliminary report that verified the rumor that an enormous store of tin had been found in the hills behind Bulvania’s capital. The prospect of a new lode of tin ore, and of their company getting exclusive rights to it, had the directors all but salivating. After a bit of discussion, they arrived at a consensus: P.T. was to do anything in his power to get his hands on that metal for Zinc, Inc.—anything, up to and including accepting the ambassadorship and relocating to Bulvania.
“But I don’t want to go to Bulvania,” P.T. protested.
“That is beside the point.” P.T.’s biggest rival on the board, Jerrold Carothers, was almost breezy as he said it. “You have an obligation to this corporation and its stockholders. If you miss this opportunity to increase the company’s worth… ” He didn’t out and say the board would have to replace him as CEO, but the threat was pretty clear; a clear majority of the board was backing Carothers.
P.T. protested a few more times, but it was clear he was stuck. When the meeting ended, he went back to his office and sulked. There had to be some way out of this, but he was damned if he could see it. When, a few minutes later, the cuckoo popped out of its clock and chirped at him, he threw his coffee cup at it.
An hour later, Logan showed up. His manner was light and casual. “I noticed a few of the objects in your cases need some conservation work. I’m going to take them to a friend of mine to see if he—” His father was sulking, not paying the least attention to him; it wasn’t like him at all. “Oh. So… what did the board decide?”
P.T. glared at him. “We’re going to Bulvania, that’s what.”
It caught Logan off guard. “Has the earth trembled and I didn’t notice? You’ve always had the board of directors in your hip pocket. How could they—”
“Carothers.” He snorted the word contemptuously. “The prospect of getting me out of the country so he can take over the company has given him a major erection.”
“Lucky bastard.”
“I’m serious, Logan. He’s been jockeying to take my place as CEO since the day he joined the board. This ambassadorship will be exile in more ways than one.”
“You’ll come out of this just fine, dad. You always do. If you can actually get hold of all that metal for the company, your position will be stronger than ever.”
“If. That’s the trouble, isn’t it? If. What the hell do I know about doing business in Bulvania? For all I know, their currency consists of potatoes and cabbages.”
“It can’t be that bad. And you won’t exactly be on your own. You’ll have the power of the U.S. government behind you. The embassy staff there will be able to give you all the guidance you need. It shouldn’t be too hard to turn this whole thing to your advantage.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Our advantage, you mean.”
Logan froze. “You’re not really serious about making me go too, are you?”
“Perfectly serious. I’ll need someone I can lean on, someone I can trust.”
“Get a dog, then. I don’t want to go to Bulvania.”
“That’s exactly what I said to the board, and you see where it got me. Look on the bright side. As official photographer you’ll have a government expense account. You’ll have more fancy cameras than you know what to do with.”
“I already do. Dad, don’t do this to me. I’ve just met the cutest guy, and we—”
“Exactly. It really is time for you to settle down. And find a career that will give you some substance, some status, not just these damn photo exhibitions of yours.”
“My photography—”
“Will come in handy. Being an official State Department photographer will look good on your resume. It’ll impress the hell out of everyone. You’ll be able to work as a photojournalist anywhere you want.”
Logan was getting desperate to find some argument against what his father wanted to do. “I don’t want to impress anyone but this guy I met.”
“You can do better.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know him.”
“I know the kind of guys you hook up with. Graffiti artists, government clerks, actors… Why don’t you find a nice, understanding lesbian heiress and get married? The appearance of respectability, of normality, would—”
“We don’t do that anymore. That time is past.”
“I’ll have Marge do some research on Bulvania for us. She’ll dig up a lot that’s really useful, not just the stuff we’ll hear in our State Department briefing.”
“Dad, please.”
P.T. had argued long enough. “My mind is made up. You’re coming with me. I couldn’t survive there without you. If you refuse, that’ll be the end of your allowance and your trust fund.”
Logan fell silent. After a long pause he said quietly, “Oh.”
“You’ve had a free ride for far too long, Logan. It’s time for you to start earning a respectable living.”
“Oh.” He looked away. “Oh.”
“Look, I’m going to need you, son. For the first time in either of our lives, I’m really going to need you. “Don’t let me down.”
“You’re not leaving me much choice.”
P.T. buzzed for Marge. She had been his private secretary for years; she was the kind of assistant who knew what her boss wanted almost before he did.
“Yes, sir?”
“Marge, I’m going to ask you something.”
Her puzzlement showed. “Whatever you like, sir.”
“You’ve heard about this ambassador thing I’m stuck with?”
“Of course, sir. And congratulations. A friend of mine was there once. It was part of a package tour of the Black Sea region. The Crimea, Yalta, Georgia. And Bulvania. She said it was... quaint. But you must know all about that area, what with your ancestry and all.”
He went on. “Logan here will be coming along as my official photographer and personal assistant.”
She nodded at him. “Congratulations to you too, sir.”
“Don’t rub it in,” Logan grumped.
“So, Marge, I’m wondering if you’d be willing to come along too, as my secretary. I’ll need people I can depend on.”
“Oh, Mr. Bockwein, I’d be thrilled! My friend Alice says the Black Sea is beautiful!”
So the deal was done. Logan realized there was less and less wiggle room for him; everything and everyone seemed to be stacking up against him.
* * *
When he left a few minutes later, he stopped at Marge’s desk. “You’re not serious about this Bulvanian thing, are you?”
“I couldn’t be more serious.” Marge was in early middle age. Her hair was just beginning to show some gray, and her face was starting to show a few wrinkles, but she had too much self-respect to resort to cosmetics to cover it. Logan had always found her a wry, no-nonsense type; her enthusiasm for Bulvania surprised him.
“I know you, Marge. You’re even more of a devoted urbanite than I am. You can’t really want to relocate to the Third World.”
“I can and I do. If you knew me as well as you think you do, you’d know how burned-out I am by this city. Just yesterday, doing some shopping, I found myself face to face with three conservative congressmen. It was a repulsive experience.”
“There are conservatives everywhere. Unfortunately.”
“Not like these, Logan. You know the old saying: Washington is Hollywood for ugly people. The pace here, the pressure, the constant fighting… I’ve had enough.”
He laughed. She had a point, for what it was worth. “But isn’t going to Bulvania a bit of an extreme reaction?”
Marge shrugged. “You don’t want to go, I take it.”
“I’d rather be in hell with my back broken.”
She frowned, then broke out in a laugh. “It can’t be that bad. It really is a pretty part of the world, judging from everything I know.”
There was no point bickering about it. “How’s Mary?”
Marge leaned back in her desk chair. “She’s left me for a younger woman.”
“Oh. Oh.” Then it clicked. “I thought there was more to this Bulvanian thing than just a desire to see the Black Sea.”
“At this point I want to see anything that doesn’t look like the American gay community.”
“Should I take that picture of the two of you out of the exhibition?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t make any difference one way or the other.”
“Are you coming to the opening?”
“I’d sooner lose a tooth. I told you, I’ve had it with the gay community.”
The intercom buzzed. “He wants me again. Look, I’ll talk to you another time, okay?”
“Sure.”