Citizen Hughes - Michael Drosnin [167]
The calculated provocation left Hughes seething. He would not, however, give his underling the satisfaction of triggering an uncontrolled outburst. Instead he replied with a restrained fury that hissed more ominously for being kept under control.
“I know that you have said in the past that you are a free spoken person who cannot keep things bottled up, etc., and that, when you have to let off steam, I should just take it in stride,” wrote Hughes.
“I usually can. But this situation wherein you seem to think you have to resort to making threats of dire consequences is just more than my nervous system can handle.
“Suppose you set forth the minimum formalities that will satisfy you for the 36 hours starting now and ending after the hotel is operational.
“Suppose you do this with no further drama than necessary. I will agree to a program that is satisfactory to you, provided you do your best to outline a program which you believe to be as near as possible to what you think I want.
“I will then tell you what I propose for the remainder of our relationship after the Landmark is opened.”
Neither Hughes nor Maheu was in a festive mood. By July 1, the day of the big party, their marriage was so strained they were barely talking and there was more than a hint of separation in the air. What had been planned as a celebration of their partnership was looking like a prelude to their divorce.
Hughes, however, was still busily revising the guest list, too dedicated to be diverted by his unsettled domestic situation. Unfortunately, he was running out of time.
“Please consider very carefully the matter of a delay,” he urged his estranged helpmate first thing that morning. “I have now gone thru the lists and could give you a go-ahead within a matter of hours.
“I personally have always favored a delay,” he continued, “but know this would not rest well with you and others in your organization.
“Anyway, please do not announce anything until further consultation.”
The consultations went on all day. Hughes and Maheu were civil with each other, but no more. Under the circumstances, that was a considerable achievement. It was too late for Hughes to block the party, having foolishly approved the closing the night before, but he kept on kibitzing right up to the end, besieged by last-minute fears.
“There is one thing I have been meaning to take up with you,” he suddenly inquired. “How many people are you permitted to have up in the bubble of the Landmark at any one time?”
A few minutes later came a more elaborate paranoid vision, this one straight out of a disaster movie:
“One more thing. Are you really sure it is going to be cool enough in that bubble with hundreds of people present? You know a crowd dissipates a lot of heat.
“To my knowledge there has never been a crowd in that tower and, you will remember, one of my first questions re Landmark was about the air conditioning.”
The image of partygoers packed into the bubble, trapped inside without air conditioning in the blast-furnace heat of a Las Vegas summer, got fixed in his fevered mind.
“I dont suggest a dry run,” added Hughes. “I just urge somebody make careful calculations adding in the necessary correction to compensate for the crowd. I think you might also investigate alternate machinery and alternate power source, in case of a failure of some kind.
“Boy, oh Boy, would some people laugh if something like that were to happen on the opening night.”
With the opening only hours away, Maheu had more immediate problems on his mind. It was not that Hughes had authorized only forty-four invitations and seemed unable to find any more equally qualified guests. Maheu had taken care of that. He had secretly invited another 440 people to the party, enough to fill the small Landmark showroom.
No, Maheu’s big problem was the food. Hughes would not let him order it. Finally, at five P.M., two hours before the big gala, Hughes relented.
“I will not ask you further to withhold the procurement