Wheels by Arthur Hailey Page B

us to bore in hard. Like everything else, I guess there's a new look in journalism .”
    He added thoughtfully, "Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable, too .”
    'Well, it doesn't me," Newsweek said, "and I still have a question hanging .”
    She turned to Adam. "I asked it of you .”
    Adam hesitated. Quo Vadis? In other forms, he sometimes put the same interrogation to himself. But irt answering now, how far should open honesty extend? Elroy Braithwaite relieved him of decision. "If Adam doesn't mind," the Silver Fox interposed, "I believe I'll answer that. Without accepting all your premises, Monica, this company-as it represents our industry-has always accepted community responsibility; what's more, it does have a social conscience and has demonstrated this for many years, As to consumerism, we've always believed in it, long before the word itself was coined by those who . . .”
    The rounded phrases rolled eloquently on. Listening, Adam was relieved he hadn't answered. Despite his own dedication to his work, he would have been compelled, in honesty, to admit some doubts. He was relieved, though, that the session was almost done. He itched to get back to his own bailiwick where the Orion-like a loving but demanding mistress-summoned him.
     
    Chapter F ive
     
    In the corporation’s Design Sty ling Center-a mile or so from the staff buildi ng where the press session was now con cluding-the odor of modeling clay was, as usual, all-perva ding. Regulars who worked in Design-Sty ling claimed that after a while they ceased to notice the smell-a mild but insistent mix or sulp hur and glycerine , its source the dozens of security-guarded studios ringing the Design Styling Ce nter's circular inner core. W ithin the studios, sculptured m odels of potential new automobiles were taking shape. Visitors, though, wrinkled their noses in distaste when the smell first hit them. Not that many visitors got close to the source. The majority penetrated only as far as the outer reception lobby, or to one of the half-dozen off ices behind it, and even here th ey were checked in and out by security guards, never left alone, and issued color-coded badges, defining-and usually limiting severely the areas where they could be escorted. On occasions, national security and nuclear secrets ha d been guarded less carefully than design details of future model cars. Even staff designers were not allowed unhampered movement. Those least senior were restricted to one or two studios, their freedom increasing only after years of service. A n d precaution made sense. Designers were sometimes wooed by other auto companies and, since each studio held secrets of its own, the fewer an individual entered, the less knowledge he could take with him if he le ft. Generally, what a designer w as told about activity on new model cars was based on the military principle of "need to know .”
    However, as designers grew older in the company's service, and also more "locked in" financially through stock options and pension plans, security was relaxed and a distinctive badge -worn like a combat medal-allowed an individual past a majority of doors and guards. Even then, the system didn't always work because occasionally a top-flight, senior designer would move to a competitive company with a financial arrangement so magnanimous as to outweigh everything else. Then, when he went, years of advance knowledge went with him. Some designers in the auto industry had worked, in their time, for all major auto companies, though Ford and General Motors had an unwritten agreement that neither approached each other's designers at least, directly-with job offers. Chrysler was less inhibited. Only a few individuals -design directors and heads of studios-were allowed everywhere within the Design-Styling Center. One of these was Brett DeLosanto. This morning he was strolling unhurriedly through a pleasant, glass-enclosed courtyard which led to Studio X. This was a studio which, at the moment,