
He had a pair of unsmiling companions in black suits: junior executives, or so he claimed. It was hard to tell their origins; Europeans looked more and more alike these days.
One had a vaguely Corte d'Azur look, maybe French or
Corsican; the other was blond. They looked alarmingly fit and hefty. Elaborate Swiss watchphones peeked from their sleeves.
They began complaining. They didn't like the heat. Their rooms smelled and the water tasted salty. They found the toilets peculiar. Laura promised to turn up the heat pump and order more Perrier.
It didn't do much good. They were down on hicks. Espe- cially doctrinaire Yankees who lived in peculiar sand castles and practiced economic democracy. She could tell already that tomorrow was going to be rocky.
In fact the whole setup was fishy. She didn't know enough about these people-she didn't have proper guest files on them. Rizome-Atlanta was being cagey about this bankers'
meeting, which was most unusual for headquarters.
Laura took their breakfast orders and left the three bankers trading sullen glares with the Rizome guests. She took the baby with her to the kitchen. The kitchen staff was up and banging pans. The kitchen staff was seventy-year-old Mrs.
Delrosario and her two granddaughters.
Mrs. Delrosario was a treasure, though she had a mean streak that bubbled up whenever her advice was taken with anything less than total attention and seriousness. Her grand- daughters mooched about the kitchen with a doomed, submis- sive look. Laura felt sorry for them and tried to give them a break when she could. Life wasn't easy as a teenager these days.
Laura fed the baby her formula. Loretta gulped it with enthusiasm. She was like her father in that-really doted on goop no sane person should eat.
Then Laura's watchphone beeped. It was the front desk.
Laura left the baby with Mrs. Delrosario and took the back way to the lobby, through the staff rooms and the first-floor office. She emerged behind the desk. Mrs. Rodriguez looked up in relief, peering over her bifocals.
