The Chairman Comes in Person
Chairman Henri Vuitton had come in person?
He was already offering me his hand. As we clasped, Henri winked with one eye.
Ha!
I had definitely been caught off guard.
"I hope I'm not intruding."
"Intruding? It's the greatest honor."
"You welcome me so warmly I hardly know what to do with myself."
Henri Vuitton turned his gaze toward Grandfather.
"His respect for you is extraordinary, Chairman. I offered him a rare vintage, and he refused me outright. He said the first drink of his life had to be with his grandfather."
"A drop of liquor. What's that to make a fuss over..."
He said it that way, but the pleasure sat plain on his face.
"And it wasn't only the wine. There were a great many special requests for your clothes, Chairman. From the cloth itself to the stitching and the silhouette, Representative Park saw to every detail in person."
At a signal from Henri Vuitton, a white man handed over a coat.
At a glance it was an ordinary brown coat.
"A Capsulemon print, commissioned specifically for you, Chairman."
"And what is this supposed to be?"
Grandfather turned his head toward me as he asked.
What do you think? I slipped one Capsulemon in where you'd only catch it while putting the coat on. Heh heh heh.
It wasn't stamped the size of a front gate, either. No bigger than two knuckles. And of course it meant something.
"It's the Capsulemon that draws money in."
"This little thing pulls money, does it?"
"Yes. Look. It's holding a dollar in its hand."
Maybe that was why. Even Grandfather looked pleased with that one detail.
"Then you ought to have made a wallet or some such..."
"Check the inside pocket."
"Eh?"
The gifts kept coming after that. A handsome briefcase for Father. A small, dainty shoulder bag for Mother. For my brother, a suit that fell clean from shoulder to hem.
"Those are the gifts Representative Park Jihoon prepared himself."
Oh. The tone said something still remained.
"If this were where it ended, there would have been no need for me to come in person."
Henri Vuitton turned a bright smile on the family.
"Should you ever need Luy Vuitton's help, please don't hesitate to call. I will look into it myself and see it settled at once."
On its face the offer was for the family. In truth, it was a gift from Chairman Henri to me.
Hkk!
I was still moved when—
"Would a collaboration with the Hyeon-gang Cultural Foundation be possible as well?"
It was Mother. Our family does run a little hot.
"I was wondering how it would be if Korean artists and Luy Vuitton released a collaboration."
"Splendid. So long as the work clears the standard we require, by all means..."
"If selling it in Luy Vuitton boutiques is difficult, a London department-store exclusive, or an Oxford Street limited edition, would be perfectly fine."
"Ah. Yes."
Perhaps because the proposal had come in so very specific.
"It... should be possible. Of course. Of course it would."
Henri Vuitton smiled, awkwardly.
"I'd like to give Luy Vuitton pieces to our employees. Would a special commission be possible?"
This time it was Father.
"Hyeon-gang will cover the cost, naturally."
Word was the bonuses had already been fat because the results were good, and now luxury gifts on top of that!
"That isn't difficult. I'll set it in motion at once."
"Ah, then I..."
Now it was my brother.
"...?"
"Would it be all right to dress that character in Luy Vuitton?"
"Ah. The way we did for Super Orlando?"
"Yes. Only it isn't a person. It's a monster, actually."
"Well... is there a law that only people may wear it? That much I can certainly allow. Ha ha."
Three of them in a row had filed their petitions (?) without so much as drawing breath. At that point Henri Vuitton had no choice but to look my way.
"Representative? You didn't happen to hold a meeting about this beforehand, did you?"
"I didn't even know you were coming, Chairman..."
"Th-that is true."
What can you do. Call it the particular quickness of a house of businessmen.
We had just finished that short conversation with our eyes.
"I've come all this way in good faith. I ought to say my piece too. Nothing else for it."
Grandfather's long-awaited turn.
"Later, when Hyeon-gang's concept car comes out, ask whether Luy Vuitton can do the interior."
Not a production car. If it was only dressing a single concept car—
"We would be glad to."
And that, it seemed, was how Henri Vuitton's gift-giving hour (?) came to an end.
Meanwhile, Tennessee was living through the busiest stretch of his life.
Tetris he could leave with Ralph. Europe's distribution lines, more often than not, were something only Tennessee could settle by stepping in himself.
Ngh. Were there simply too many countries in Europe? Fine. Grant that there were many. In a liberal country the work was at least straightforward. Belong to the Soviet Union, or sit inside its influence, and the problems grew tangled. Find the man in charge through connections, then find out what that man wanted. An infinite loop.
Even so, it felt wrong to complain to Park Jihoon that the work was hard. Put bluntly, call them partners if you liked; on career alone the gap was heaven and earth. He had been made a partner and even issued a card. That alone deserved gratitude. Resent this, and are you even human? That was the thing.
His head thought so. His body being exhausted was another matter entirely.
Hkk!
If I only had ability like Park Jihoon's...
Was it because his own incompetence (?) had sunk into his bones? Tennessee found himself wanting to see the reigning incompetents of the age. To lay eyes on the creatures, you had to go a fair distance.
Even so, today I want to see them more than usual.
An hour by helicopter brought him to the Grosvenor family's private land, a place where outsiders were strictly barred. Even past the dense bamboo, you still had to take a jeep a long way farther in.
They had nearly reached the destination when the warden of the grounds spoke.
"Five cubs this year alone."
"Didn't you say they were difficult to breed?"
"Turn them loose over a vast enough range and there isn't much of a problem."
"So how many does that make?"
"Including the five born this time, one hundred and fifty-three in residence."
That was when it happened.
Crack.
Bamboo snapped somewhere. Then, from every side, the sound of wood being chewed. Munch, munch. Crisp and relentless.
White coats, and over the eyes black patches like ribbons. The reigning incompetents of the age. And yet, in looks, unquestionably first in the world.
Pandas.
Ah. How can anything be that cute.
Tennessee stared blankly at them for about ten minutes. Whether people came or not, the pandas only went on smashing bamboo and crunching through their meal. And yet it was strange. Watch them quietly, and your heart went soft and warm.
"They say this is the only panda habitat outside China?"
"That's right."
The middle of the eighteen hundreds. During the Second Opium War, the Grosvenor family had gladly joined the fight. After the victory, while others plundered cultural treasures and heirlooms, Tennessee's great-great-grandfather had taken a fancy to a cute animal. And so, the story went, he had plundered—yes, plundered—every panda he laid eyes on. Qing China had already lost so much that it had no attention to spare for pandas.
Of course no record would remain.
If, by some one-in-a-million chance, that day's outrage ever came to light, people would only say that Britain had been Britain, and let it pass.
Anyway. Lately there had been no end of talk about China's panda diplomacy and the like.
While I'm at it... the European distribution lines... should I try opening them with pandas?
The thought lasted only a moment.
Bah. He couldn't use these cute things as diplomatic tools. Tennessee only stuck his lip out.
The next day I said my goodbyes to the family early in the morning. I would be back again once the term ended, so I had thought it was nothing much. Mother's eyes brimmed all the same. Father was busy comforting her.
"I'll just have to do the work of two sons."
My brother smiled, bright and easy, and told me not to worry.
Grandfather stood with his hands clasped behind his back, simply looking at me. Ordinarily he would have said not to overdo it, to take things easy. His eyes seemed to say that even if I had to strain, I should seize everything I wanted.
I'll remember, Grandfather.
"I'm off!"
A black Rolls-Royce waited outside the door, and beside it, Henri Vuitton.
"Let me ride with you to the airport."
I climbed into the back seat in high spirits.
"Thank you so much for yesterday."
"You helped me keep my chairmanship. That much is nothing."
How long is that story going to go on...
Perhaps he read my eyes.
"I'll keep at it for as long as I have the strength."
I don't much care for this mood. Ahem. Better change the subject.
"Are you heading to Paris?"
"No. I'm going to New York on business."
"A New York fashion show?"
"Yes. It's a new season."
The fashion world always runs ahead of the calendar, and by two or three seasons, easily. I was a Luy Vuitton shareholder myself, so we talked clothes for a while.
New York? Hmm.
In that instant an impulsive idea came to me.
"What if I came along?"
"To New York?"
I nodded.
"I'd be glad, but..."
His face asked whether I had business there.
"One phone call, and business that didn't exist comes into being."
It must have been a cryptic answer.
"...?"
A large question mark seemed to float over Henri Vuitton's head.
New York. JFK International Airport.
Perhaps it was because I had lain at my ease the whole way on a private jet. Even after a flight of more than ten hours, I was in peak condition.
"Oof. Oof."
Seeing how pale Henri Vuitton looked, maybe it was only that I was young.
Anyway!
Dmitri of Mad Bull was waiting at the airport. With Jo Sudeok throwing himself into the department store, the American work had all been left to Dmitri.
"For a Mad Bull CEO, isn't your color a little too poor?"
"There's a limit even to borrowing tomorrow's strength..."
But I was the one running myself into the ground, so the staff could hardly complain. Dmitri was no exception.
"Uh... shall I give you a work report?"
"I don't think I'll need one."
And no wonder. On every screen in the airport, a Mad Bull commercial was playing. The winner of a skateboarding contest: Tommy Hawk's riding, cut together with exquisite care.
The glory of the ad, of course, was this. A ripping hiss. A flash. A whirl. The nine-hundred-degree turn Tommy Hawk had landed for the first time in the world, a piece of craft so exact that even people who knew nothing of skateboards stopped where they stood and stared. Then, once the 900 was done, Tommy Hawk threw his head back and roared, and with him came the cheers of a crowd already certain of victory.
The Mad Bull logo stamped itself onto the last frame like a seal.
Now that's it.
The finishing stroke. The eyes painted on the dragon.
"Representative... that's my work."
"I know."
"I went through an enormous ordeal making that..."
"I know you did."
"That you recognize it is a very great comfort..."
"How's the collaboration with the Chicago Bulls coming?"
"Yes?"
"Not yet?"
"W-we are proceeding, but the F1 work you gave me is still outstanding, so..."
Ah. Too much work, so he hadn't managed it.
"Then shall we do it together?"
"...?"
"I'll be in America for a few days. I think you can just do it with me."
Help or not, where in the wide world was there a person who wanted to work side by side with the boss?
Sure enough.
"I... I'll get it done even if I have to stay up all night."
Dmitri was declaring a will stronger than ever.