Distraction - Bruce Sterling [31]
Oscar was surprised. “How long have you been watching me?”
Her shoulders lifted briefly within the baggy jacket. “The plumbing is obvious.” Oscar realized that he had disappointed her. She had hoped that he was smarter than that.
“Time for a break,” he announced. Oscar knew that he lacked the searingly high IQ of Greta Penninger. He’d examined her career stats—of course—and Dr. Greta Penninger had always been a compulsive, overachieving, first-in-her-class techie swot. Still, there was more than one kind of smarts in the world. He felt quite sure he could distract her if he simply kept changing the subject.
He walked inside the jagged circuit of raw cinder-block walls, where a fire burned in an old iron barrel under a spread of plastic awning. His back hurt like a toothache. He had really overdone it. “Cajun beef jerky? The krewe really dotes on this stuff.”
“Sure. Why not.”
Oscar handed over a strip of lethally spiced meat, and ripped into another blackened chunk with his teeth. He waved one hand. “The site looks very chaotic now, but try to imagine this all assembled and complete.”
“Yes, I can visualize that.… I never realized your hotel was going to be so elegant. I thought it was prefabricated.”
“Oh, it is prefabricated. But the plans are always adjusted by the system to fit the exact specifics of the site. So the final structure is always an original. That pile of cantilevers there, those will go over the porte cochere.… The patio will be here where we’re standing, and just beyond that entrance loggia is the pergola.… Those long dual wings have the guest rooms and the diner, while the upper floor has our library, the various balconies, and the conservatory.” Oscar smiled. “So, when we’re all finished, I hope you’ll visit us here. Rent a suite. Stay awhile. Have a nice dinner.”
“I doubt I can afford that.” Clouded and moody.
What on earth was the woman up to? In the blue-lit gloom, Dr. Penninger’s wide-set, chocolate-drop eyes seemed to be two different sizes … but surely that was just some weird illusion, something about her unplucked brows, and the visible tension wrinkling her eyelids. She had a big squarish chin, a protruding, oddly dimpled, and elaborate upper lip. No lipstick. Small, slanted, nibbling teeth. A long, cartilaginous neck, and the look of a woman who had not witnessed real sunlight in six years. She looked really and genuinely peculiar, a sui generis personage. A close examination didn’t make the woman any less odd. It made her more so.
“But you’ll be my personal guest,” he told her. “Because I’m inviting you now.”
That worked. Something clicked over in Dr. Penninger’s wool-hatted head. Suddenly he had her entire and focused attention. “Why did you send me those flowers?”
“Buna’s a city for flowers. After sitting through those committee meetings, I knew you must need a bouquet.” Red poppies, parsley, and mistletoe—he presumed she knew the flower code. Perhaps she was so hopelessly detached from mainstream society that she couldn’t even read a flower code. Well, if she didn’t, no great harm done. It had been a very witty message, but maybe it was just as well if it were lost on her.
“Why do you send me those mail notes with all those questions?” Dr. Penninger persisted gamely.
Oscar put aside his peppered stub of jerky and spread his gloved hands. “I needed some answers. I’ve been studying you, during those long board meetings. I’ve really come to appreciate you. You’re the only member of that board who can stick to the point.”
She examined the dead grass at her feet. “They’re really incredibly boring meetings, aren’t they?”
“Well, yes, they are.” He smiled gamely. “Present company excepted.”
“They’re bad meetings. They’re really bad. They’re awful. I hate administration. I hate everything about it.” She looked up, her odd face congealing with distaste. “I sit there listening to them drone, and I can feel my life just ticking away.”
“Mmmhmm!” Oscar deftly poured two cups from a battered cooler. “Here, let’s enjoy this sports-performance pseudo-lemon