Easy to Like by Edward Riche

Author:Edward Riche
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc.
Published: 2011-09-02T16:00:00+00:00

Owing to his chronic labyrinthitis, Victor Rainblatt, the president of the CBC, had, for Elliot’s first two months on the job, communicated only by phone. Rainblatt was confined to bed and couch; if he stood up, the room spun and he fell. What was more, it was impossible for him to watch television without becoming nauseous, so he deferred to Elliot’s opinion of existing or piloted projects. He was “a manager of people, not a programmer,” Rainblatt said. In this way, Elliot and Victor had become almost friendly.

Now, under a new pharmaceutical regime — something called Nelfex — and therapy, Victor Rainblatt’s condition had improved. His coming out, his return to the helm, was a series of meetings: first, an all-day affair with the Executive Committee of the CBC, on which Elliot sat, and then, the next day, a shorter, half-hour session with the Board of Directors followed by an informal mixer for the two bodies. Elliot guessed it would be not unlike an intersessional meeting between the Presidium and the (symbolic) Supreme Soviet.

All the executives were towing their attendant seconds. Owing to her extended stay in Newfoundland, Hazel was coming straight from the airport. But at 9:45, fifteen minutes before the powwow was to begin, there was no sign of her. Elliot called Hazel’s EA, a bright young man named Troy.

“I’ve called Ms. Osler’s cellphone, Mr. Jonson, but I’m getting that message saying the phone is off or out of range.”

“Was the flight delayed?”

“I have the arrivals board on the screen in front of me, sir. It says the flight arrived early . . . at 9:09.”

Hazel was mad! Even assuming that morning traffic would be ebbing, this was cutting it too close. It was at least thirty minutes from the airport. Add the wait for the luggage. Elliot dashed to the elevators and went downstairs.

He was about to quit pacing the sidewalk of Front Street and try the John Street entrance when a Crown Vic pulled up. A back door opened. It was Hazel. Her complexion was transformed by salt air and wind, and even behind her specs Elliot could detect a cold sea’s clarity in her eyes. For all its deficiencies, for all its torments, the atmosphere in Newfoundland was a cure. Either that or she had indeed enjoyed the comforts of some rogue.

Hazel had put one heel on the pavement when Elliot, forgetting himself, took her hand and pulled her up and out of the car and toward him and kissed her cheek.

“Oh my,” she said. “I shall go away more often.”

Elliot looked to see if any staff were about. His inexplicable indiscretion would surely be reported in one of the poxy blogs hosted by his disgruntled employees. No one was staring, at least. A couple of shivering yobs smoking by the entrance seemed scarcely conscious.

“Just glad you made it in time for the meeting.”

“I left you notes. You would have been fine.”

“Actually, I’d wish we’d had time to go over them together. The direction they take, in terms of programming, it’s not what anybody at that meeting wants to hear.

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