The Company You Keep - Tracy Kelleher

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you worked hard enough, anything was possible—especially for your children.

      No, he wouldn’t give Conrad Lodge III the satisfaction of knowing he’d pissed him off. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t usually get beyond the sports pages—being an ex-jock and all,” Vic responded. He leaned back in his chair and rested his stocking feet on the lip of the trash can next to Roxie’s pillow.

      The dog stirred and knocked the plastic cone around her head against the black container. Clearly, it annoyed her. If Vic knew that Roxie wouldn’t bother the bandaged ear, he’d take the thing off.

      Conrad chortled as if he were actually sharing the joke. “Of course. Which is exactly why I called.”

      “Not many people have any interest in my short-lived football career.” Vic wasn’t being modest, merely stating a fact. But he also knew that prospective customers, once they found out about his former sports career, liked to dish the dirt. Everyone was an expert or a fan, it seemed. Then after that ritual dance, they usually got down to business. “How can I help you?” He continued to draw on the pad, adding vertical lines to the grid pattern.

      “You may recall that I’ve sent you several emails regarding Grantham University, in particular Reunions in June.”

      Vic had a vague recollection of deleting some emails with a Grantham email address. He figured it was yet another solicitation for the alumni fund or the latest capital campaign. Not that he didn’t value his education and the opportunities it had opened up for him, but that didn’t mean he was about to fork over more than his two hundred dollars a year that he obligingly offered. Let the Conrad Lodge the Third’s of the world dip into their ample trust funds… . With a few quick jabs, he drew some arching lines, fanning outward.

      Wait a minute… Conrad Lodge III?

      Vic abruptly lifted his foot off the garbage can and planted both feet firmly on the floor. “Hold it. Now I remember why I know your name.” He lay the pen on the pad. “You wouldn’t happen to be Mimi Lodge’s father?”

      “Why, yes, Mary Louise is my daughter.”

      Vic looked down at his pad and frowned. He’d unconsciously drawn what looked unmistakably like the fountain in the courtyard of Allie Hammie. He ripped the paper from the pad and scrunched it up.

      And that’s when he hung up—without another word.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “HEY!” JOE JUMPED to his feet. “What the hell just happened?”

      Vic rubbed his forehead, then held up his hand. “Not to worry.” He hit redial.

      Conrad picked up immediately.

      “It seems we were cut off. My apologies.”

      Conrad didn’t bother with any more preliminary chitchat. “You may know that my firm is considering opening another office in the Antipodes.”

      Vic rolled his eyes at the pretentious language. “Yes, I believe my brother, Joe, to whom you talked briefly, mentioned something about it.” He nodded to Joe, who raised his chin.

      “Yes, well…I know our design and construction team are in the process of sending out for bids.”

      “That’s good to know. GSI has handled several projects in Australia and New Zealand, and we’ve had very positive reviews.”

      “I’ll pass that information along. But that’s not entirely why I called.”

      Why wasn’t Vic surprised? When did a CEO get involved with building projects besides signing off on the design and then cutting the ribbon at the end?

      “As I explained in my emails, I’m on the organizing committee for Reunions coming up this June.”

      “Congratulations, but I must confess I haven’t attended Reunions since my senior year when I served on a panel discussion,” Vic said. It was an experience he’d managed to put far, far away.

      “Yes, that was a memorable occasion.”

      “Your daughter, I believe, made it particularly memorable.” Vic tried to keep his tone even.

      “Yes, Mimi is definitely opinionated, but I’ve never seen her so…shall we say…demonstrative?”

      She may have been “demonstrative,” but somehow it had been Vic who had been hauled off to the police station. Mimi had merely waved goodbye wrapped in a towel provided by the cops. “I guess that’s what you could call it.” His tone wasn’t quite so even.

      “Yes, well, the past is something we can’t change, even if we’d like to.”

      That surprised Vic. Conrad didn’t strike him as someone who was particularly introspective, let alone regretful. He wondered if Mimi’s father was referring to something in particular.

      He didn’t know much about the family except what he’d heard as an undergraduate. You couldn’t live in Grantham without realizing that the Lodges were very Very Important People. And as for Mimi, she’d run with a different crowd—the preppy jocks who knew all about lacrosse, and what brand of gin was best for martinis.

      He knew she had become a hotshot war correspondent on the nightly news—her dream fulfilled, if he remembered correctly—who’d been kidnapped while on assignment in some ex-Soviet region and finally released. He wondered if the family had maneuvered that one the way they used to have the Grantham police in the palm of their hands. They obviously had connections everywhere. Whatever, he really didn’t care. If a family member of his had been kidnapped, he would have used every possible means to free them also.

      “On the other hand,” Conrad went on, “perhaps what I am proposing is a way to redress past wrongs. You see, as it turns out, I am the chair of panel discussions for the Reunions in June.”

      “Tell me you’re not proposing what I think you’re proposing?”

      “I think the possibility to revisit problems of equality in college sports is as timely now as ever. And since all the panelists have agreed to participate again, it will be interesting to see if any of their perspectives have changed.”

      “All the panelists?” Forget the others. Vic was only interested in one.

      Lodge cleared his throat. “Yes, though, it is true that my daughter agreed to participate only if you served on the panel, as well.”

      Vic tipped his chair back again. “She did? I’m surprised she even remembered me.”

      “Interesting, she said the same thing about you.” Lodge didn’t elaborate. “In any case, I think the audience would be fascinated by your perspective as a former professional athlete. And no doubt more than a few of them will recall your courage all those years ago to take what might have been considered a refreshingly candid, though politically incorrect stance.”

      “If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re itching for a replay. Is your daughter still so easily riled?”

      “That remains to be seen. Even if there are no fireworks, the anticipation that something might happen would be worth the price of admission alone, don’t you think?”

      Vic didn’t know what to think. He glanced down at Roxie, who sighed a dog sigh. He hadn’t wanted to wait until after the weekend, and the vet’s office closed early on Fridays, so he’d had no choice but to collect her first thing in the morning. Now, he just wanted to get her home and comfortable. And wait for the prognosis.

      Yet the businessman in him also wouldn’t let go. Besides, the economy in Australia might be booming, but big commercial jobs in general were still few and far between. “At the same time you’d keep GSI in mind in regards to the construction of your Australian offices?” he asked.

      “As two seasoned men of the world, I think we both understand the certain quid pro quo that is a part of doing business,” Conrad replied. “You

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