Beatrice is throned on a raw silk baby blue armchair in a suite upstairs, caught in the midst of a long and wordless moment shared with a high strung man in a crew cut.
The man is teetering on the edge of his chair, sweating like mad in a green woolen suit, “Mr. Sanger. Ain’t he coming?”
Will is seated behind Beatrice, on a couch, chewing, snapping and blowing a pocketful of Bazooka bubble gum that he picked up from their suite, on the way.
“Is Mr. Sanger gonna be coming?”
Beatrice ignores him.
He wipes the back of his neck with a white handkerchief, “I know he don’t like me. I’m not sure you like me neither.”
She straightens her Pashmina, “How I feel about a person on a personal level never enters my mind in business relations. Unless the person in question is so reckless as to lead my business unnecessarily into troubled waters.”
The man shakes his head, “I ain’t doing that.”
Will blows a bubble. Beatrice stares.
“Is he coming, Mr. Sanger?” The man glances to Scratch, who is in a winged armchair, reading the Miami Herald.
Beatrice gazes out to sea through a wall of blue tinted floor to ceiling windows, “I’m here. Talk.”
“Sorry to bother you on your vacation. I can’t pitch this deal.”
“You have little choice in the matter.”
He clears his throat, “All due respect, Mrs. McCarty, ma’am.”
“Call me Beatrice.”
He wipes a bead of sweat from his chin, “Thank you. Sorry. I got a lot on my mind.”
Beatrice stares, “Oh, yeah?”
The man blows his nose in his handkerchief, “I got a bad feeling.”
Will pops a bubble.
The man blows his nose, “They don’t like me, this district, none of these politicians, none of the constituents, they say I talk too much and I’m pushy, which is bullshit. I ain’t freakin pushy, pardon the language. I’m hearing this through the grapevine. They won’t give me a chance with this deal, they won’t listen to me, no matter what. Am I clear?”
Beatrice makes eye contact, “You have a message to deliver that will assist workers and all you’ve got to be is honest.”
“Okay.” He blinks, “I understand.”
She holds steady, “The flow on the road has to work for everyone involved, especially for the drivers and those who work the road. Nothing is easy. Pull yourself together.”
“Yeah.”
“This deal is sound, all you need to do is deliver it.”
The man shakes his head, “They want to hear it straight from you.”
“Your entire job is to represent me.”
Beatrice packs a lacquered pipe with hash, “Our hands are on this wheel, never forget it. If you can’t represent us properly through the deal, resign here and now.”
“Fulfill your responsibilities.” She lights her pipe and inhales deep, “Do your job.”
His face flushes. She exhales.
“If I have to fly to Chicago to present this deal, this will not bode well for you. Let me tell you.”
“Yes, Mrs. McCarty. I understand.”
He picks up a glass of water and takes a sip, “I see how this deal benefits Drivers. I see how it works. I just can’t talk it.”
“What’s the matter with you, what the hell happened to you?”
“Truth is.”
He takes another sip and it spills down his tie, “My wife left me three months ago and I’m scared to talk in front of crowds. I’m even scared to go outside, you have no idea what it took me to get here.”
Beatrice glances out the window, “Thanks for your honesty.”
Will pops another bubble.
“You lost your nerve.”
Beatrice gazes out to sea, “It’s not the end of the world. We all lose our nerve at some point or another. You’d better find yours right about now and keep hold of it. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you read the book?”
“Not since I was a driver. Been a while.”
“Read it again. It’ll help you to remember who you are.” She takes a sip of water, “After all, you’re working for me.”
He falls silent, his eyes to the floor.
“Look at me.” Beatrice holds his eye, “Serve your purpose.”
The man’s face flushes and nearly explodes.
Will chooses this moment to raise his hand, popping a bubble to draw attention to himself.
Beatrice turns, “Will, do you have something to say?”
Will shrugs, “Couple questions.”
The man’s eyes widen in disbelief as Will sits up and speaks with authority, “How many politicians do you have to flip to get this deal done for the drivers and road workers?”
The man’s head snaps straight back, as if slammed in the face with a six foot sturgeon, “Is this for real?”
Beatrice nods, “It’s a good question.”
“Six.” The guy shrugs, “Six politicians need to flip.”
Will snaps his gum, “Six ain’t bad.”
He unwraps and chews a piece of Bazooka, “The constituents, they’re road working people, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. They’re smart.”
Will blows a quick bubble, “By the time you land in Chicago, be ready to explain the deal to the drivers in plain language. Deliver it clear in simple terms and you’ll get the support of the constituents.”
“Once you have the people behind you, them six will hear the voice of the haulers and flip quick.”
The man turns to Beatrice, but she ignores him. Will snaps his gum, “Focus on the workers and what they need.”
He blows a bubble and offers the man a piece of Bazooka. The man nods as he quickly reads the cartoon, folds it and puts it in his pocket.
Will winks, “Don’t you think Gary Cooper was scared in High Noon? But, he pulled through. Right?”
“High Noon’s my favorite picture.”
“Act like it.” Will pops a bubble, “Stay focused. Pull it through.”
He unwraps and chews his next to last piece, “All due respect, you got to be able to vision down the road. And you gotta have patience to get where you’re going.”
The man blows a bubble.
Will meets his eye, “Folks need to trust you before they’ll listen to you, but you gotta trust yourself before anybody’s gonna trust you.”
The man nods.
Will leans in, “Land in Chicago with your balls intact and speak the truth of the deal. You can do that. Be simple.”
The man considers this and nods, “Yes.”
“Good.” Will stands, “Problem solved.”
The man nods and stands, “Beatrice, I had to fly down, I needed your confidence. I hope you don’t mind.”
Beatrice stands, “Find your own confidence.”
“Yes.” He nods, “Thank you. Okay. Yes.”
Scratch opens the door for Beatrice, and Will turns to the man, “How many years did you drive?”
“Forty-one years.”
“Long time.”
“I miss it. I’m thinking of driving again.”
“Just now, we need you where you are.”
The man nods.
Will leans in, “Be simple and discover the world.”
The man tilts his head, “Huh?”
Will makes himself clear, “I said, be simple. And discover the world.”
“Yeah.” A calm inner strength comes over the man, “I will.”
Will extends his hand, “Down the Road, sir.”
He shakes Will’s hand, “Down the Road, Mr. McCarty.”
Will catches up to Beatrice and they walk hand in hand down the hallway.
Scratch pushes the button and stands between both elevators in front of Beatrice and Will, who wraps his hunk of Bazooka and puts it in the ashtray, “Mama, when are we going home?”
“Tomorrow.”
“No, not home to New York. I mean home to New Mexico.”
She puts her hand to Will’s cheek, “I love you very much.”
“I love you very much, but I love you more in New Mexico.”
“I love me more in New Mexico, too.”
One of the elevators opens, but it’s too filled to enter.
Will confides, “I love the city, everything about it, but I need the road.”
“The road needs you.”
She takes Will’s hand, “How about a snack?”
“I got a poker game in the solarium with some old guys, pals of Lepke.”
Scratch contains a laugh. Beatrice looks to him, “Are you encouraging this?”
Will laughs, “Nobody has to encourage me.”
He unwraps and chews his last piece of Bazooka, “I organized the game myself.”
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