X - Chapter Sixteen "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Sixteen  - Mike Stein 

      I took one sip of my hot coffee, and it was exactly what I needed. That morning, I had arrived at my office just before eight, to be ready when Ted Merritt called to see me. Of course, the subject was his speech. He was enthusiastic about it, and I hoped I hadn’t oversold it. But in fact I was more and more confident that I could capture his message and make it strong. 

      I spread my copies of the Times and the Journal on my desk, and then took the little plastic knife I got with my apple-walnut muffin, cut it into quarters and took a bite. Then, with the coffee, I was happy. Most of the consultants and the other staff members hadn’t yet arrived. I would have peace. Not too bad, Mike. Not bad at all. 

      A half-hour later, my phone rang. It was Dorothy. She sounded chipper: “If you have a minute, Mr. Merritt would like to see you.”

      “Of course, I’ll be right there.” I walked down the hallway, and paused in front of her desk. 

      She was smiling.  “You can go right in, he’s waiting for you.” 

      When I walked in, he was on the phone, but he signaled to me to take a seat across from him. 

      Ted had the receiver jammed between his shoulder and his ear, and he kept talking. “Look, yeah, I talked to them. Yeah, the lawyers. . . . Maybe we can do something. Yeah, maybe thirty percent. . . . No, no, I told you, any more would be crazy. Look, I can’t talk right now. Let’s get together out of the office.  . . . Yeah, that’s better.   . . . For dinner? Well, I don’t know.  . .  Okay, fine. Sure, if you want. Okay, see you there. Fine.”

      He hung up, paused for a second, and then looked at me. “Sorry about that. Some people can’t take no.” 

      “What can I do for you?”

      “Not much, Mike. Really, I don’t need any hand-holding. Just wondered how the speech is coming. I know we have plenty of time, we haven’t even set the date for the meeting yet. But the more I think about it,  . . .  Honestly, I’m just getting enthusiastic about the idea.”

      “Ted, I don’t have any text that’s ready . . .  for your eyes,” I started out. “But let me tell you, I’ve written myself all kinds of notes. I think it’s . . . The whole thing, the entire package of ideas will reflect really well on the firm. The way I see it, it has to be concise yet strong. I can just kind of sketch it out for you, if you’d like . . . “

      “Absolutely,” and Ted was leaning forward in his chair. 

      I began, and in fact, I hadn’t thought through the entire speech. “I’d like to start by asking some questions: Like, what will the future look like? What will the markets, the consumer and the industrial markets look like in the future? And what demands will those new markets put on industrial companies?” I glanced at Ted, and it seemed he was following every word.

      “Then, I’d look at two specific markets and try to show how they may evolve. I’m thinking about the entire food sector and the transportation sectors. These are sectors that will experience a whole lot of change, and they’re sectors that Mohamad and his Research crew are following really well. But if you wanted to use this speech for presentations to clients at some other time, then we could adapt it. Then I’d talk about what specific actions companies would have to take to prepare for the future.”

      Ted pushed himself up from his chair and started walking back and forth. “Mike, this is good, really. Listen, I don’t need a finished text, but . . .  Whenever you can, could you try and give me some drafts? That way, I could make some notes and maybe insert some other ideas.”

      Dorothy opened the door and stuck her head into Ted’s office. “Mr. Merritt, that call you wanted,” she said. “He said he’s getting ready to catch a flight.”

      “Okay, put him through,” Merritt said. “Mike, great, just please see what you can do.”

      “Everything I can, Ted. No problem.” I rose and left his office. 

      As I passed Dorothy’s desk, she gave me a look that I just couldn’t place. She smiled, and there was friendship or warmth there, but also there was an expectation or . . .  I just couldn’t figure it out.

      When I got back to my desk, I thought about what Merritt was talking about on the phone. It stuck with me; I didn’t know why. I didn’t understand. There were so many things I didn’t understand around here, at Winshire, how could I figure out where this fits in? He was talking about lawyers, and then about not wanting to go higher then thirty percent, like it was some kind of a project. 

      Jesus, it hit me! What Merritt was talking about on the phone, it must have been a project. And Gordy must have known about this project, because when he broke into Merritt’s office, when I was there, Gordy was talking about fifty percent, like he was upping the ante. That made sense. When he talked to me later, in my office, it was sure clear that he was desperate, like he had to show that he had new ideas, that he still had ideas, that he could push the envelope.

      Then another thing hit me: I couldn’t talk about this with anyone. 

      I had to think, I had to get out of the office. I grabbed my suit coat and made sure     I had my wallet and my telephone. And I headed for the elevator. On my way out, I told Bernadette that I was going to grab a quick sandwich. Her only comment was, “A pity.” 

      Once I hit the street I headed for Bennie’s, a deli I ate at once in a while at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Central Park South. I was ready to lose myself in a brisket sandwich and a cream soda. 

      It was not a beautiful day. It was not too cold, but a dull mist had settled over Midtown and killed any hope of sunshine, not even a glimmer of brightness. But still, there were a lot of people crowding the sidewalk, of course, because it was lunch time. 

      I didn’t know why, but I turned around to look at the people behind me. No real reason, just curiosity. Maybe just fifteen or twenty feet behind me, over the heads of other people on their way to lunch, there was a man. He wore a beige sport coat, a white shirt and gray trousers. He was a white man, and he was so common-looking, he could have been anyone. 

      Was this the anyone I saw on the Metro-North platform in Hastings? Was that just this morning? No, I decided, this was stupid. All of a sudden something strange happens, and then you start seeing strange things wherever you look. I decided this anyone was no one. But the thought lingered in my brain. I just couldn’t shake it. To keep my mind on something else, I bought a Sports Illustrated at a news kiosk and entered my deli. 

      Sometimes, I play mind games with myself. I can’t say when it started, but I’ve been doing it for a long, long time. When I feel unsettled or plain bad, I tell myself that I have to accomplish something to put me back on track or at least make whatever thoughts are bothering me less important. Well, my lunch at my favorite deli didn’t do the trick. And, back in my office, I felt as uneasy as I did that morning. I decided that there was no way for me to find out who Ted Merritt was talking to on the phone, and I certainly couldn’t understand what Gordy was trying to do. And about someone following me, I decided that I was just allowing myself to obsess over phantoms.

      So, what would my project be to return to a normal mental state? That would be reviewing the file Dorothy had given me about Winshire Associates’ history.  

      I found the file on the shelf of my bookcase where I had stowed it. As I placed it on my desk and then opened it, I realized that it was pretty hefty and should contain some useful information.

      First, I shuffled through press clippings and web postings that had collected over the last ten years or so. I saw references to the establishment of the firm, the awarding of consulting contracts, and some announcements of market studies and research methods. It took me a while to find it, but I finally located the article Dorothy had mentioned, the article that had been written by a freelancer but had never seen the light of day. The text did mention the establishment of the firm by a dozen or so escapees from McKinsey & Co., and I could see how the freelancer tried to portray the creation of the new Winshire Associates as a courageous act, especially a three-day conference at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel as creative for a group of consultants usually considered flat boring. Ted Merritt was presented as a hero, a tactic that seemed to me an attempt by the writer to get paid fast. 

      Then, there were detailed explanations about the firm’s growth. From the firm’s base in New York, new consultants were hired, new offices were established in industrial centers in the States, then in Europe and Tokyo and Riyadh, and then – one at a time – new practices were set up in the most important industry sectors. At the time the article was written, the firm had more than a hundred consultants and sixteen partners. 

      But the text could have been about almost any consulting firm, and I didn’t find anything that gave me any understanding about the firm or its culture. I did read some of the press clippings and posts from websites, but they didn’t tell me anything new. The more I thought about it, I was not being realistic. This was a basic, factual article, while I was seeking some answers for the questions I had today. 

      The speech, of course! I had hoped to shift my mood to the positive before attacking Ted’s speech, at least a first draft, but maybe the speech would do that on its own. After all, I’d been thinking about the ideas a lot, I had a lot more material from my conversations with Mohamad at Research, and Ted seemed really attracted by the ideas. 

      I opened my MacPro, and words started coming to me. I felt good and confident, and I watched the phrases to start blipping up on the screen. Fixed in my mind were the twin goals: Motivate the firm and – at the same time – have a text that could be used for clients or prospects at some point in the future. Phrases turned to sentences and then paragraphs. The general ideas appeared striking and precise and still accurate; they were things people could visualize. 

      For just an instant, the image of a cocoon floated past my consciousness. It was the cocoon I’d decided to hide myself in, so I could put my stray concerns aside, to be able to focus on this speech, so later I could let my brain work on all of the unsettled issues here, at Winshire. And it worked! On the screen in front of me, there were maybe seven or eight paragraphs, and my mind was still focused. I explained the two market sectors Mohamad and I discussed, and then – with his ideas – write about what the worlds of food and transport might look like in the future. Then I touched on some of the questions the leaders of those sectors might wonder about five or ten years from now. 

      Just to be safe, I printed out the document, stashed it in my desk, and stood up. Jesus, I didn’t believe it. But I was already thinking about showing it to Ted tomorrow. I decided to ask Dorothy to block out some time. 

      The Winshire offices were still busy. It was already six. People were rushing around, sometimes carrying sheaves of paper or holding rushed conversations in doorways. Associates usually worked late, because they were trying to impress their bosses, who were partners. And, of course, the associates wanted to make partner some day. And the administrative staff remained to help the associates. 

      But I decided that I had done my day’s work. I slipped on my suit coat and grabbed my briefcase with my Mac in it, and rushed for the elevator. 

-0-

      That night was for my family. When I walked in the back door, I found Wendy in the kitchen. She smiled at me, and she looked wonderful; her smile was bright and uncomplicated, and she wore a light cotton dress. I thought of the wonders hidden beneath the brightly colored fabric. I felt no guilt, but rather pride. We were husband and wife, open and sincere soul mates. When we kissed, I felt that electric buzz on my lips, and our embrace lasted longer than reasonable, with two sons playing in the next room. 

      Josh and Isaac were playing Legos in the living room. Josh was building something I couldn’t identify; he preferred following his creative soul and seeing where it led. Isaac was methodical, and even at two, I could see that he had Legos lined up to follow some kind of a process. But he did have a little trouble fitting the pieces together. They shouted “Hi, Daddy,” and I watched their progress for a while.

      At some point, I grabbed some of their books and we installed ourselves on the couch, with each boy snuggled on each side. We started with “Cat in the Hat,” and then I read some other Dr. Seuss books. Of course, there was some squirming around, but they were good listeners. Like any parent, but especially a parent who is a writer, I hoped they would continue to honor the written word. The boys went to bed easily. 

      It was a wonderful evening. Outside on our deck, there was a slight breeze, the air was fresh, and a peaceful silence reigned.  Wendy and I enjoyed a wonderful pasta dish with a simple salad. And, as the night took over the sky little by little, we enjoyed each other’s presence. After a while, I decided I wanted to tell her about Winshire Associates. 

      I said, “I know I told you that I’m writing a speech for the big guy, Ted Merritt. Well, I was a little late today, because I had a . . .  I don’t know how to explain it, all of a sudden, all these words and phrases came to me. It was like I didn’t even have to think. This text just came to me. I had to stay and get it down on paper. This morning, he told me he wanted to see some text, and . . .  If he has time tomorrow, I’ll show it to him.” 

      “Mike, of course good luck. But I know you don’t need any good luck. You know you’re a good writer,” Wendy sounded proud. “I saw it in Eureka, you know, I used to read just about everything you wrote. You know, I didn’t marry you for your writing; there were a few other things,” she smiled. “But it didn’t hurt. Oh, and you once told he, I remember, there was this AP editor, maybe in Los Angeles, I think, but he said you were a really good writer, and he said if you can write, you’ll always find a job.”

      “I guess, if I had to look for a new job, one way or another, we’d be okay,” I said. “We’re not facing that. It’s just that Winshire is so different from any place I’ve ever worked. I tell you, it’s really different. It’s not anything like journalism. Some people are really . . .  well, tough. And, really, some of them are really decent guys. Some of them, I swear, I can see the gears in their heads turning, ‘How can I beat this guy?’ really. And I know there’re these conflicts, they’re going on, and Jesus, I don’t really know what they’re over. 

      “But don’t worry, honestly honey, you don’t have to worry,” I went on. “If I’m feeling any kind of pressure, it’s because the Winshire people think I’m smarter than I really am. Sure, I been trying hard, and I’ve been pretty lucky. But I get the idea they think I can do anything, that I’m some kind of a genius, and I don’t look forward to the day I stumble.”

      Wendy held her right hand up in the air, like she was saying ‘Whoa there!’ “Mike, about your job. I’m not worried. I know what you can do. And, too, sure, I like your new salary; it’s good to know we have a few extra dollars in the bank. But, gosh, I want you to be happy, and I don’t want you to do something you hate. I guess, I’m saying, you don’t have to believe that you’re saving the world. But if you hate it, and you have to go to the office every day, and you dread it, I can live without those extra dollars.” 

      Wendy pushed her chair back, rose and walked around the table. I felt her fine arms reach around my neck, I felt her breasts against my head, I smelled the sweetness of her hair. “Mike, we’re fine. I know whatever happens, we’re going to be fine.” 

      That night in bed, Wendy opened her arms to me, and we held each other, and then she let me in. For the moments we had together that night, we were truly warm and giving, we lived our love.  

      If you take a hundred writers, you’ll have maybe a hundred and fifty definitions of love. Well, I have my own ideas on the subject. Sure, there’s the basic physical attraction, because we are fundamentally animals, intelligent animals, but still animals. But as intelligent beings with complex minds and emotions, there’s certainly more. And a big part of that ‘more’ is trust. When true lovers are together, they truly trust each other, and they want to give to each other. 

      I believe Wendy and I have found trust, and I can’t imagine myself with any other woman.