Read Online Outerbridge Reach by Robert Stone - Free Book Online Page A

irritated, as though their meeting represented a particularly unwelcome irony. He was not offended.
    â€œFine and dandy, sir. How about yourself?”
    Joyce Manning bustled nervously, like a good witch.
    â€œHarry,” she insisted, “you’ve got to let Mr. Strickland see the view from Matty’s office. He may want to use it.”
    Thorne looked blank. “Use it?”
    She laughed solicitously. “In the film, Harry.”
    Thorne curled his lip and stepped aside. Easing past him, Strickland inspected the room. It was enormous and high-ceilinged, obviously the renovation of one of the mansion’s ceremonial chambers. There were fine windows over the river, well-placed watercolors, and Navaho rugs on the hardwood floor. There were sunny boat photographs and Acoma pottery on the blond shelves along each wall.
    The office’s working desk was off to one side, as though put there out of indifference to the room’s prodigality. It was a small desk of indeterminate wood, cluttered and mean, like that of a bureaucrat or petty accountant. Beside it, Strickland formed his very first organized impression of the Hylan Corporation: as a feverish, unhappy place, missing its master. Business might be bad. He began to walk up and down, wondering how the room might be photographed.
    â€œHave you had the chance to see any of Mr. Strickland’s films yet?” Joyce was asking Harry Thorne. “Shall we set one up for you?”
    Harry watched Strickland’s pacing with an air of impatience and declined to be helpful.
    â€œNo,” he said. “Not for me.”
    Strickland turned to him.
    â€œToo bad your Mr. Hylan couldn’t make it, Mr. Thorne. It would have moved things along. It would have been constructive, if you know what I mean. I would have liked to talk t . . to . . .”
    Thorne watched without sympathy as Strickland fought to complete his sentence.
    â€œWe would have liked to talk to him too,” Thorne said finally. “But he didn’t have any time for us today either.” He turned to Joyce Manning. “Did he, Joyce?”
    The secretary laughed airily.
    â€œNow that I’m here,” Strickland asked, “what have you got for me?”
    â€œHow about lunch?” Joyce Manning asked. Thorne looked at his watch.
    â€œI don’t eat lunch,” Strickland said. He kept smiling. “I’m here to work.”
    â€œShow him the sailing stuff,” Thorne suggested. “Show him the boat. Before you go, ask Mr. Livingston to come see me.”
    About a dozen men and women stood silently outside Hylan’s office as Strickland and Joyce Manning emerged. Strickland thought they looked like gloomy corporate officers. The corporate dimension might be interesting, he thought, looking them over. Ten men, two women. Puffy faces, nice clothes.
    Following Mrs. Manning down to the boathouse on the river, he saw cloud shadows play on the broad lawns, just the way they were supposed to.
    Back in the main building, Harry Thorne was watching his executives file into Matty Hylan’s office. His man Livingston was at his side—red-faced, sweaty, as full of humor as Thorne was dry.
    â€œStep right up,” Thorne told them, acting the showman. There were a few sad smiles.
    â€œWhat a bunch of zombies,” Thorne said. “Eh, Livingston?”
    Livingston sighed.
    â€œWe go on from here,” Harry Thorne announced when they were lined up in the office. “We’re all existentialists here. We go forward.” He pointed the way ahead with an extended arm and an arched wrist, like a lineman claiming possession of a fumbled football. “We’re mobile. We’re moving. We’re going ahead.”
    A few throats were cleared. There was slight scattered applause.
    â€œAs you will soon see,” Harry went on, “I have informed the press that we are very much in business and we expect things to stabilize.