CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HAMPTON
ASSHOLE. HE DIDN’T TELL ME to bring climbing clothes.
“No, it’s cool,” Mateo tells me. “It’s a very sporty look.”
I glance down. There’s a little gear shop at the base of the mountain, just off the property Mateo wants to buy, and they were happy to rent me rock shoes, a harness, a chalk bag, and a belay device. They weren’t willing to rent shorts or a T-shirt. The ones they had for sale were too small and done in colors bright enough to be in a Mountain Dew commercial. I’m too well-respected a man to have XTREME ASCENT written in all caps across my ass.
We’re not the only people at the crag, either. To punish Mateo, I refuse to climb the impressive multi-pitch routes on the north face and instead bring us around to the less-trafficked top-rope setups where fewer people can see my stupidity.
“I talked to the guy again,” Mateo says, settling onto a boulder. “My seller?”
“I don’t care about this, Mateo.”
“Except that you do because I helped you buy your building and I’m on your board for no pay. So, you do care about my deal to buy this mountain. You’ve just forgotten.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. I’m enthralled.”
“He talked to his daughter. Took her the new offer. I told him to be sure he told her about the terms, too, where they don’t just get extra money, but also credit with the forestry service. For getting future permits greased and stuff.”
“Is that legal?”
“Yes, but it’s expensive. That bitch will be able to build her next house wherever she wants. Places that will make the mountain’s view look like a joke. If she wants to pour her foundation onto a den filled with baby bears then build the walls from bald eagle bones, she can knock herself out.”
“And?”
“He said she’ll think about it. But we’ve been through this before. She’s just making me dance through hoops because she’s a fucking ass.”
“You think she’s going to say no?”
“I think fuck her. That’s what I think.”
Mateo is tying his line, apparently getting ready to climb. I look around. There aren’t many climbers here, thankfully. If they saw us, they’d assume he was the climber, and I was the climbing equivalent of a caddy.
Carry your chalk for you, sir?
Fucking Mateo. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, and after he sprayed himself down with sunscreen, his arms began to writhe with highlighted muscle like a sorority girl’s dream. The guy’s back is as broad as a truck’s face. Even his abs have abs.
“What’s with you? You get your Pillar Collection situation squared away?”
I shake my head. “I’m lost if Stacy won’t do it.”
“Do an executive search. Plenty of COOs and ODs out there.”
“It’s not enough to just hire an operations person. I need someone who understands what we’re trying to build.”
“A shit ton of cash.”
“Quality,” I say.
“You need a seamstress.”
“Just someone who understands clothes.”
“Then get that guy Todd to do it.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t let Todd near that job. Besides, he’s wrong for it. He’s great at making cheap party girl outfits because he’s always hanging out dancing with cheap party girls. I can’t imagine Todd in a quality suit. Oh, the humanity.”
Mateo ties in. He tries the rock. He makes the first few moves, then comes down and makes them again. His fingers are like machine claws.
He turns to face me. “You should have listened to Meat. Don’t fuck a girl you’re giving money to.”
“It wasn’t that.”
“What, you weren’t fucking her?” He scrutinizes me, then says, “Yeah, you were fucking her.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Like what?”
“It wasn’t just sex. She’s a good person. She knows her stuff.”
“So what?”
Mateo has turned away. But when I don’t answer fast enough, he turns back around and his reddish eyebrows wrinkle.
“What, Mateo?”
“You like her.”
“I just told you I like her.”
“You know what I mean, asshole. You like her. Who are you, and what have you done with Hampton Brooks? That’s why you’re so fucked up lately. You’re, like, lovesick or something.”
I scoff.
“You went out on real dates, didn’t you?”
“We had lunch.”
And ice cream.
“I’ll bet you talked about your feelings. You know, her hopes and dreams.”
“Just that she didn’t want a factory in her town. She got super pissed.”
“But you said you discussed it. That she knew all about it in advance.”
“We did discuss it. But I think we got some lines crossed. Her dad said—”
“Wait. You went on dates and talked to her father?”
“Do you want to help me out, or not?”
Mateo raises his hands. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Continue telling me about when you talked to the father of the girl you love.”
I give him a look, then continue.
“I guess the building meant something to her. The whole family used to go to a festival where they blocked off the street, had a few chintzy little rides, lots of fried food and drinks. I think there may even have been a place to bob for apples.”
“What happened to the festival?”
“It shut down. Years ago.”
“So how is that your fault?”
“It’s not. But apparently Williamsville sold the Billings & Pile Building to Newport when they were in a pinch. They tried to buy it back when a machine shop went in, then kept trying after it went bust. They were about to make a deal when I started showing interest.”
“Oh, that sucks for them. The price went up, and the city couldn’t buy. You ruined their chance.”
I nod.
Mateo half-shrugs. “I still don’t see the problem. Shit happens. So you’re there, and the city isn’t. What of it? Maybe you could start the festival back up.”
I give Mateo another stare.
“Well, why not?” he asks.
“I’ve already looked into it. I own the building, and the city obviously owns the street. I can’t throw a festival on the street because I don’t own it, and the city can’t throw a festival there, even if I donated the money because local ordinance says they can’t block my building’s front and impede my ability to do business.”
“Can’t you just make an agreement? You and the city, working together?”
“There’s an ordinance against that, too. Adjacent landowners can’t throw combined parties of any sort. It’s like an anti-block-party provision or something. When I asked, the clerk said it was something they did to prevent Newport from trying to buy off its neighbors. Apparently, the Newport Corporation is filled with cocks.”
“There’s an ordinance against that?” Mateo says. “Who does that town think it is, Long Beach, California?”
I stand and take the line Mateo spools out to me.
“Doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, she’s pissed at me and doesn’t seem like she’s going to stop. So I don’t have someone to run the Pillar Collection in this new factory I’m about to build. It’s all cleaned out. Structurally sound and up to code. The building is ready to go. But I sort of wonder if I should bother to take it the rest of the way and fill it with machines. This whole mess has made me lukewarm on even making the Pillar Collection.”
“But you pushed the rest of us so hard for your idea.”
Knowing how it will sound, I say, “It was our idea. Stacy’s and mine.”
I think Mateo will mock me for the sad note I hear in my voice, but he doesn’t. Either he’s tired of pretending I’m attached to Stacy for reasons beyond wanting her to run the Pillar Collection, or we’re both realizing that he isn’t pretending at all.
It’s taken this verbal abuse by Mateo to see it, but I’m beginning to suspect the real problem isn’t that Stacy wants nothing to do with Expendable Chic. I think I’m bothered most that she wants nothing to do with me. If Mateo isn’t making fun of me now, at this juiciest of opportunities, it’s probably because he feels sorry for me. And that sucks. Hard.
His face is so unlike normal Mateo. I’ve never seen his sympathy, and I don’t like it aimed my way.
“Look …”
I have to nip this in the bud. “It’s fine. I’ll either find another operations director to run the line, or I’ll abandon it.”
“Hampton …”
“I can put one of our standard factories in that building. Doesn’t have to be a whole super-quality setup. In fact, that’s a hell of a lot easier. Nothing wrong with a sweatshop in America, right?”
Mateo doesn’t laugh. He waits until my put-on smile fades. Then he leans against the rock face, slowly composing his next words.
He opens his mouth, and I brace myself for Mateo to tell me that it’ll be all right if I cared for this girl — that it would never have worked out anyway, that I’m a rich man and there are plenty of fish in the sea.
Instead, he says, “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”
“Excuse me?”
“You think I’ve never had a breakup? I have. Everyone has. When I was in fourth grade, Judy Gregorski told me we’d grow up, get married, and live in Switzerland. Then she got tired of me and hooked up with Jack Reyes. Now Jack’s pouring concrete and I own PEZA. Guess that bitch made the wrong choice.”
“This isn’t about a breakup. This is about me needing someone to fill a position at my company.” But I’m not fooling Mateo or myself, so when he ignores me, I drop the argument.
“Point is, look at what you’re breaking up over. Stacy didn’t like someone else’s crayons better. She got pissed because you bought her building and are putting a factory in her town.”
“Which she should have known was coming. Because we basically discussed it.”
“I don’t know if you got the memo, but there’s a rumor out there that sometimes men and women misunderstand each other.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s done, and I have a business to run.”
“This is the part where you’re a fucking idiot. You’re a smart guy most of the time, Hampton, but you don’t stop often enough to think about your why.”
“My why?”
Mateo slaps the rock. “I’m trying to buy a mountain, right? Why am I doing that?”
There’s an expectant pause. I guess I’m supposed to answer. “You’re trying to buy a mountain because you want to own a mountain.”
I’ve walked into a trap. Mateo slaps the rock again.
“No. Idiot. I’m buying a mountain because I want to run a rock climbing challenge. Because I want to spend my days outdoors instead of in an office, and I can manage PEZA just fine from wherever I am, not just at headquarters. I’m buying a mountain because it seems like the perfect vehicle to get what I actually want, not because the mountain is special in and of itself. If it turned out that my goals would be met better by digging a giant pit and climbing out of it — or by buying an outdoor rock gym, made entirely of artificial walls — then I’d do that instead, and fuck the mountain. Don’t you see?”
“Of course, but …”
“Know your why, Hampton. I know mine, but you clearly haven’t considered yours.”
“Yes, I have.”
“No, you haven’t. You bought the Billings & Pile Building because you wanted a place to put your all-American clothing line. But you secretly also wanted to please Stacy. That was your hidden, second why. The problem with buying the building is that it earned you your first why but not the second.”
“I don’t see your point.”
“Don’t buy the building. Owning the building isn’t your true goal any more than owning the mountain is mine. Choose a better option. One that gets you both of the things you want, rather than only one of them.”
“But I already bought the building.”
“Sell it.”
“But then I won’t have a place in America, which was the whole point of this to begin with! The company’s problems remain. I still need an American plant. Too many people think we only run sweatshops in third-world countries, so we need to prove them wrong. And dammit, once Stacy gave me the idea, I started to feel like we need a quality wing to the company, too. She said some things about Expendable Chic’s true values being … well, never mind; I believed her. And it did make me want to do the Pillar Collection. But you were right about the numbers not working for an American plant. The only reason I could make this work was that I knew the lowball deal I could negotiate on the Billings & Pile building. It had to be that specific building. Not to mention all the money I’ve already poured into it, to fix it up and make it habitable. Am I just supposed to eat that cost, then start over somewhere else? How the hell can I sell the building and still make this work?”