Читать книгу The Dryline - Jack Grubbs - Страница 17

Eight

Thursday, New Year’s Eve

Houston, Texas

Elam pulled into the parking garage at the JP Morgan Chase Tower using the Travis Street entrance. He followed the directions received over the phone and on the third level found a reserved parking space with his name on it. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all. He crossed Travis Street, stopping only long enough to take a look at the fifty-five-foot steel and cast-bronze sculpture, “Personage and Birds.” The sculpture was not your run-of-the-mill nude; it was a collage of multicolored triangles, cylinders, and rods. Elam thought to himself, That looks stupid. He walked in the building.

A security officer noticed Elam staring at the elevators. “Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?” Eyeing the rugged, somewhat disheveled man peering up at him, the officer couldn’t help but think of directing him to the shelter on Chenevert Street. But he had seen his share of confused eccentrics walk into the JP Morgan Chase Tower, so he remained courteous and helpful.

“Sure can. Name’s Duquette. Elam Duquette. Got a three o’clock meeting with Mr. Miles.” Elam glanced at his watch. “He’s the CEO.”

The guard, amused at what seemed to be a kid’s first trip to the zoo, politely answered, “We’ve got lots of tenants. What is the company you’re hunting for?”

“Oh. Mr. Miles at Wellington Oil and Exploration.”

The officer replied, “Take the last elevator to the forty-sixth floor.” He pointed to the bank of elevators immediately to Elam’s left. “Take a left; it will be at the end of the corridor.” The officer stepped back, smiled again, and tapped two fingers against his right eyebrow. “Have a nice day.”

Elam walked toward the elevator. He was upbeat, enjoying his entrance into the world of the VIP. Elam followed the officer’s directions and soon found himself at the entrance to Wellington Oil.

The doors, with Wellington Oil Exploration, Inc. cut into neat rows on each frosted glass panel, opened to a magnificent reception area. Once inside, Elam found himself staring at a very pretty receptionist.

Beautiful woman, he couldn’t help thinking. Beautiful. He eyed the nameplate reading Macy Buckles.

“Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to Wellington Oil. May I help you?”

“Sure can. I’m Elam Duquette and I’m supposed to see Mr. Miles right about now.”

“Good to have you here, Mr. Duquette. I hope you enjoy your time with us. Mr. Miles will be with you in just a few minutes.” She pointed to a leather couch and matching chairs. “Please have a seat. May I get you a cup of coffee or a soft drink?”

An uneasy silence for her. Daydreaming for him.

“Mr. Duquette, may I get you a cup of coffee or soft drink?” Her volume increased just enough to bring him back to reality.

“Huh? Coffee? Yeah, sure.” Elam thought the couch looked most comfortable, so he sat down on the middle cushion.

Over his coffee Elam surveyed his surroundings. The dark blue carpet was covered with yellow-gold dashes laid out geometrically like headstones in a national cemetery. Pleasant canary-yellow walls accentuated the carpeting and mahogany furniture. Adorning the walls were pictures of the Texas oil industry up to the 1950s. Wooden derricks, oil-covered wildcatters, and gushing plumes of black gold told stories from the past. The antiseptic cleanliness of the room was too much for Elam; he preferred comfort to clean and beer in a bottle to coffee in a cup.

Bart Miles walked as briskly as possible from his office directly to Elam. He stuck out his hand before Elam could stand up.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Duquette. I’m Bart Miles and we’re pleased to have you join us today.” His smile was overdone and Elam noticed. Bart continued. “My senior leadership team will be meeting us in the conference room.” Bart Miles swept his hands toward double doors at the far end of the complex.

A huge oak conference table dominated the room. Same carpet, same walls, similar pictures. A polarized glass window, comprising the entire outside wall of the room, opened over the Houston skyline. It was magnificent.

Elam offered, “Sure love your place. Pictures remind me of the Wild West.”

Bart, not interested in small talk, ignored Elam’s comment. “Let me introduce you to my colleagues.”

Three men in tailored dress suits rose to greet their visitor. After pleasantries subsided, Bart directed Elam to a seat next to him and nodded to the others to take their seats. In addition to its CEO, the leadership of Wellington Oil and Exploration consisted of Frank Milsap, Morgan Rosewood, the company’s senior lawyer, and Jim Bitters, the new executive vice president of oil exploration. The scene before him was surreal; he was sitting somewhere near the top of the world with four of the most influential oilmen in the United States. Maybe I shouldn’t be here, he thought.

Everyone sat down and Bart Miles started the meeting. “Let me begin with how I came to learn about Elam and his oil extractor.”