E. Godz by Robert Asprin, Esther Friesner Page B

Big business. And if
you think big business is irrelevant, don't call yourself an American!"
    Peez made a face and started the car up again. Teddy Tumtum had been making
himself unbearable—pun intended or not, she didn't really give a hoot—ever since they'd
picked up the rental car at Logan Airport. Somehow or other he'd reached the unilateral
decision that being Peez's traveling companion wasn't enough of a challenge for him. No,
he had to be her self-appointed mentor, strategic advisor, and back-pocket Machiavelli
too. He'd filled their driving time with an unending stream of chatter, alternately briefing
her on what awaited them in Salem and telling her exactly how to handle it once they
arrived.
    He sounded just like her mother.
    "Fine, ignore me," the little bear declared. "See where it gets you. More to the point,
see where it gets your brother!"
    Peez took a hard right, heading the car east. She tried to focus on the traffic and the
driving directions that the ever-thorough and reliable Wilma Pilut had provided for her,
not so much out of the fear of getting lost but the better to shut out Teddy Tumtum's
nittering.
    "Ooooh, nice Beethoven imitation there," the bear sneered. "A regular Meryl Streep,
no less. You could almost make me believe you're deaf ... not! You don't have to pay
attention to anything I say, but by Teddy Roosevelt's overstuffed ghost, you are going to
hear it! It's not just your future you're risking here; it's mine. I've been thinking it over
and I've decided that I don't want to spend the rest of my unnatural life as the only close
companion of a total failure. Because that's what you'll be if your brother gets the
corporation and you get the shaft. What'll become of you then? Wilma's got a better
resume. You might find a job somewhere, something that pays crap per hour and has
benefits too small to be seen with the naked eye. If you're lucky, you'll be able to scrimp
and save and manage your pitiful finances well enough to get yourself a dinky little
apartment somewhere so far from New York City that your neighbors think a bagel is a
kind of dog like Snoopy! Remember how you always used to tell Dov that the only
reason people were nice to him was because they wanted to get close to Edwina? Well,
that was true enough and let me tell you, it wasn't because she made the best chocolate
chip cookies on the block. No sir, it was because she had the power. Power's got the pull
of a million magnets, and it's more of an aphrodisiac than oysters, perfume, trips to Maui,
lace lingerie, Super Bowl tickets, Swiss bank accounts—"
    "All right, all right!" Peez threw in the towel, though it was about the size of a bath
sheet. "I'll listen to you, you furry-assed pest! Even a history lesson has to be better than
this. So go ahead and educate me."
    "Sorry, that's too big an assignment, Peezie-pie," Teddy Tumtum replied. "But I will
give you a few tidbits that might help you out when we call on Queen Fiorella. First of all
..."
    * * *
    Peez Godz stood on the sidewalk outside Ye Cat and Cauldron Booke Shoppe and
took a deep breath, steeling herself for the interview to come. She never had been much
good with face-to-face business meetings, preferring the anonymity of e-mails, faxes,
phone calls and, in a pinch, the old-fashioned letter. She suffered from selective shyness:
She never had any problems when it came to giving orders to her employees, because in
that situation she held all the aces and she knew it. But a client was by no means an
employee, and when that client was the head of one of E. Godz, Inc.'s most influential
subscriber groups, the playing field became so incredibly tilted in that client's favor that it
resembled the down-at-the-bow Titanic just before it slipped beneath the waves.
    Could the situation possibly be any worse? What a silly question! Peez knew that
most situations could always be worse, and were only awaiting the opportunity to do so,