The plastic tables and chairs in the main room are all shot. We had a couple finish up on their behinds soon after I came in when the chairs collapsed under them. So I want everything new. We have redecorated, but there’s a lot that is still scuffed and scratched, much of it beyond redemption. I want a new bar top, for instance, and new panelling along the front on the punters’ side. I want a new sign that makes a statement. The Castle needs to be noticed again. And, most of all, I want some new faces. I don’t want to sack anyone, but I do want some new blood in the place to get everyone back on their toes. A new brush sweeps clean. And I have a plan, a real business plan that will need a loyal, demoted and hard-working staff, so I have thought long and hard about how I can keep everyone motivated. It’s six of one and half a dozen of the other. Donkeys need their carrots - my Donkey certainly has his! - and when the going gets tough the tough get going. But you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and you don’t have to be different to be good, but you have to be good to be different. Some new blood will bring us to life.
Now that I’m in charge, it’s going to be the Mullins Method that rules round here. There’ll be no backchat, no slacking. And in return there’ll be a fair reward for a fair day’s work. We will succeed together and share the success. I told them and they were both impressed and happy. They certainly smiled when I laid into them to tell them what’s what. A penny saved is a penny earned, I told them, and actions always speak louder than words, so I want no slackers. Give respect, take respect and, at the bar, it’s always first come first served. If you don’t buy a ticket, you can’t win the raffle and to stay in with me you have to keep your end up.
So when I had my new people recruited, I got everyone together for a meeting before we opened the doors for the first night after our refurbishment. I wanted us all singing from the same song-sheet. They all knew something was coming. The new people were all anticipation, while the old staff were still worried about their jobs and were very much on tenderhooks.
“I’m going to give you all a share of the equanimity,” I said. I didn’t put a figure on anything, because I have yet to discuss the final terms with Mick. But I know how to get what I want from Mick Watson. He will give me whatever I ask.
Now I’m not entirely sure they all understood at first, but when I showed them some example figures, they all cottoned on. “It’s about profit sharing,” I said. “It’s about the bottom line. And you’re all on a basic that’s written into your contract.” And little by little, bit by bit, they understood.
Now there’s another thing. How many bars in this town have their staff on contracts? Not many is the answer. Well at The Castle under the Mullins Method all that’s going to change. I’m going to do things by the book. There’ll be nothing shoddy under my management and the last things I want in my cupboards are skeletons. A fair day’s work deserves a little security, so The Castle is putting its staff on contracts.
They might not be full legal documents, of course. I had Phil and Karen run something up on their DTP, something that looks real and impressive. Round here it’s usually just cash in hand with a verbal nod on hours. But The Castle will be different. It will offer security for commitment and rewards for graft. There were some murmurs when I gave out the sheets, but they all signed willingly when I explained how the scheme would work. Money can’t buy happiness, but no man is content with his lot and what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. You get out of life what you put into it, I told them, and you can’t have your cake and eat it. We must take the bad with the good, but we have nothing to fear but fear itself. You can’t change the wind, but you can change the sails.
Basically, we’ll work with the bottom line figures at the end of each month. I will do the accounts - well Donkey will actually do them on his computer with one of those bed sheet things - but I will produce all the numbers. After taking into account all of the fixed and running costs, there’ll be a number that represents our trading performance for that month. Mick Watson has been clear about what is his bottom line. I told him straight away he was being greedy. I asked him what the place had been making throughout last year, but he couldn’t produce any figures. Now that was strange, especially considering that when we visited Paradise he had accounts at his fingertips. Something smells, all right. I wanted to push, but then we mustn’t throw out the baby with the bathwater or put the cart before the horse. The ends justify the means and every cloud has a silver lining. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. It’s better to want something you can’t have than have something you don’t want.
But I insisted. I put him on the spot. “Has The Castle been losing money?” I asked.
“It’s not as simple as that...” was his reply. Now a half truth is a whole lie and a good enemy is a better person than a false friend. With Mick Watson I might just forgive, but I sure won’t forget.
“Either it has or it hasn’t,” I said.
“It depends on how you count.”
“Well I start with one, then move on to two, then three... How do you do it, Mick?”
Now give and take is fair play and if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, but it takes both rain and shine to make rainbows. I want to go with the flow, but to get where you want to go you first have to leave where you are. Now I see that from now on I’ll have to keep my mouth shut and my eyes open.
Since I agreed to manage The Castle, he’s been all sweetness and light, has our Mick. But when I started getting shirty with him, he changed. It was just like someone had flicked a switch in his brain. For the first time he started dealing with me like he deals with his other millions. His face hardened in a way I know so well. It’s when he wants something and isn’t willing to discuss conditions. He leans forward, widens his eyes and stops blinking. It looks like he’s going to speak but he doesn’t. In this mood he’s uncharacteristically quiet. The words just don’t come. They seem to stick in his mullet. He can’t express himself, so an aggression that’s always there but is usually suppressed, rises to the surface, shows itself in these little changes. His breath shortens, becomes an audible wheeze, just like it does when he’s about to do you know what. He closes his mouth and grits his teeth a little. His eyes take on a stare, but they focus on your mouth, not your eyes, as if he’s still commenting on what you have just said. It’s a pose of his I have learned to recognise and respect over the years. Where vice goes before, vengeance follows after and what you see is what you get. It’s like seeing a dog standing silent on the other side of a fence as you walk past. It’s a kind of silence that threatens. It announces consequence if its space is violated. It prompts the pedestrian to cross the road with a backward glance to check continued security. Dogs like that don’t even have to growl.
Now Mick is like that. He wants everything on his terms. He needs to control. That power is his comfort zone, the garden in which he can run free. But threaten its perimeter and he stops and watches. Cross the line and he bites. Now if I lie down with dogs, I get up with fleas. And love is like war. It’s easy to start and hard to finish. I like to think I’m once bitten twice shy. I take things with a grain of salt and hold my peace, but I still know what he’s thinking, and it’s not charity, so I keep my own counsel. Silence is golden and when I give him enough rope to hang himself, he usually does.
“The Castle is a bar and night club, Mick,” I said. “Let’s leave out what Phil and Karen do in that room upstairs. It’s not a complicated business. There’s rent and taxes, and there’s services. There’s staff and then there’s supplies. On the other side, there’s takings, and that’s it. Just tell me what The Castle has been doing.”
Still without a word, he leaned across towards his filing cabinet, opened the top drawer and, all by feel and without rising from his swivel chair, he found the file he sought. He fiddled with papers for a moment and then his mood changed. “Your wish is my command,” he said, reverting to yet another pers
ona that was not his own.
I studied the sheets. It took only a couple of minutes to see through them. “You’ve made these up specially, because you knew I would ask for them. These aren’t The Castle’s accounts,” I said. “They’re just what you wanted me to see.”
“As I said, it depends on how you count.”
“So this is your bottom line,” I said turning a sheet towards him and indicating a figure with my thumb. He nodded. “Make it a thousand less,” I said.
He was quiet again. I said no more. Slow and steady wins the race. “All right,” he said. It was a response that almost floored me. It was as unexpected as a pink cow. I almost protested about there being no argument. I had come prepared, ready to fight my corner, but he had just given me what I wanted.
“That’s the first time since I’ve known you that you’ve ever said ‘Yes’, plain and simple, when I’ve asked for something.”
“If I ruled the world...”
“Give over, Mick. This is business...”
“Suzie, darling, this is the first time in my life I’ve had the means to grant your wishes.”
“So that figure less a thousand is your bottom line? Then I reckon I can do business,” I confirmed after his nod. Better the devil you know...
So when I had my staff meeting, I had the margin I needed. I had the figure printed on a big piece of paper that I could fold out as I spoke.
“I have here a piece of paper,” I told my staff, “and on it there’s a number. Now that number is a vital number for all of you. It’s what we have to make in a month to keep Mr Watson in Paradise rather than in his Castle. If we make this much,” I continued, now holding up the unfolded sheet, “then he will clap his hands and let us get on with it.”
I took a moment to look around. I was confident that my plan would work, but I needed some indication of how enthusiastic my people might be. It was clear they hadn’t understood a word I’d said.
“Now here is the important part. Don’t count your chickens, but once we have reached this figure, the rest is down to our hard work and dedication. Every euro above this that we can make will be shared out. I will reward you, every one of you. You will all get your share. Fifty percent of everything above this figure - FIFTY PERCENT! - will go into the staff fund. And that will be shared out amongst you at the end of the month according to the hours that you have worked.” There was some murmuring.
“Okay. Let me spell it out. This is a gift horse. First there’s your hourly rates. Those are in your contracts, as are your basic hours. Multiply your hours by your rate and that’s your basic pay. That you will get and will continue to get as long as The Castle makes money, makes this figure, Mr Watson’s bottom line.” Again I fluttered the paper for all to see. “Now let’s say that we make that plus another six thousand. Fifty percent of that extra is three thousand. And that will go into the staff fund for that month, where it will stay for another full month. Then it will be shared out so you will all get a bonus. If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
“Why wait a month, Suzie?”
“Two reasons, love. Firstly I can’t get the accounts ready until after the start of the next month and secondly to ensure yours and everyone else’s loyalty in the next four weeks. The bonus is an extra - non-guaranteed. If you make a mess, you will get your marching orders, but the bonus for the end of the month will not walk with you. Keep some till more come.
“I ask for loyalty, honesty and effort. If anyone has the slightest suspicion that someone else is fiddling or even slacking, then I want to know. If you are proved right, then the culprit marches and you get their share. Accuse someone wrongly, then you yourself will do the marching and your bonus will be shared out. Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves.
“I need everyone here to work not just with everyone else, but for everyone else. We can all win. Any problem, any disagreement, even if it’s only a potential problem, comes straight to me. If something becomes an issue, then I’ll blame you for not having raised it with me before it blew out of all proportion. Understand? Look on the sunny side of life. But loose lips sink ships and one rotten apple spoils the whole barrel.”
I paused to note the communal nod.
“What happens to the other fifty percent?”
“I’m the boss. That’s my business.”
“And what about Phil and Karen and their work?”
“Phil and Karen are not part of The Castle. They are and remain direct employees of Mr Watson. From now on their business is quite separate. They’ll do their own accounts and keep their own records. But Karen is also going to do bar work for us. She is one of the team and will be treated the same way as everyone else. She’ll do the same hours and get the same rewards. What she does for Mr Watson with the rest of her time is none of our business.”
The meeting had gone well. There was a real buzz among the staff when I said it was time to get ready for the punters. Then, an hour later, just before we opened the doors last night to my first paying customers, I got all the staff together again. I wanted to do a battlefield briefing, a stirring speech to motivate the troops, to distil confidence. I said all I wanted was ten minutes of their time and that’s all I took. “I’m going to be clear from the start,” I told them. “You be straight with me and I’ll be straight with you.” They seemed to like that. “I’m looking for teamwork,” I told them, “and I want to distil a spirit of corroboration. From now on we in The Castle, together, are going to be like one big family, helping one another to make the place one giant success. I’m not going for half measures in this bar,” I told them. “Nothing less than the biggest thing in Benidorm will be good enough for me. We’ve got as good a pitch as any, so there’s no excuse. Starting next week we’re going to have all the best acts in town on this stage and, if you pull your weight, we’re going to have the best paid staff in the town as well.
“I’ll have no slacking, no shillying or shallying around. What I want is hard work, genuine commitment and an attitude that puts the customer above everything else. Then, if we can achieve that together, and the place becomes a success, we’ll all benefit because I will see to it that everyone that deserves to benefit will benefit with a share of the equanimity. If The Castle does well, I do well, you do well, we all do well, and the punters enjoy themselves. It’s a win-win situation. Winning isn’t everything, but it is the only thing.
“On the other hand,” I continued, my tone suitably gravel, “if I find any of you slacking or undermining our progress, I’ll have you out of here before you can say Jack Robinson, whoever he was. And don’t give me lip, any of you, because I’ll take that as disloyalty, and there’s no place in The Castle for anything less than total commitment. I want honest hard work for fair pay. You can’t run with the hare and with the hounds. It’s up to you. That’s all.”
And so the first Mullins Method evening at The Castle began. I’d had Phil run off hundreds of fliers offering bogof for the first two hours. Donkey spent all afternoon, bless him, giving them out in hotel lobbies, and the place was packed. Long may it stay that way.
Fifteen
Paradise, whether lost or merely mislaid... - Don goes for a walk and is attacked by two flocks of sheep. He takes a taxi to escape, but the sheep follow. He is saved by an acquaintance in a black car, assisted by the attentions of a pair of respectably-dressed gentlemen. He spends time alone in Paradise, a quarter of an hour that reveals many secrets before an apparition of the angelic turns up for work.
Paradise, whether lost or merely mislaid, may always be rediscovered. It’s a status that, once won, may be regained. We learn the route to its gates, experiment with different combinations of knocks and, sooner or later, recognise a code that allows access to its divine interior. Paradise is thus intrinsically personal, inherently material, exclusively both earthy and earthly, though we hab
itually imagine it elsewhere.
Mick Watson’s Paradise is on the map. It is an earthly garden of earthy delights it describes as heavenly. Its gates are closed to all save for the few cognoscenti with the code, but it remains a viable, purchasable, short-term contract, its privilege priced to exclude all but the worthy. On approaching its exterior this morning, a façade with suggestions of dereliction, I gave thanks, doubly gave thanks for its existence. Its anonymous, impersonal, pre-fabricated concrete panelled exterior offered me true solace, relief and safety. But though I will be eternally grateful for its care, the security it offers might be as pure an illusion as the permanence of its heaven. The mere promise of ecstasy is our spur, the lure that keeps us moving, persuades us that the path leads to our goal. An end deferred is a continued motive, a reason to act, to persevere. Ecstasy achieved is momentary, transient and debilitating, its achievement only deflating until the promise of new achievement reignites our desire. It’s the getting there that counts, the arrival itself, however, merely nothing, except for me, this morning.
I left Rosie early. While Suzie is away I can’t sleep in. I was up before the sun, which is not difficult here in Spain. We are about the same longitude as Kiddington, but we are on Central European Time and thus an hour ahead on the clock. So when I got up for my early morning walk, it was seven, not six. I have an internal clock that interprets such things as incongruities worthy of remark. I skipped breakfast, deciding to get a coffee and a gob-stuffer, a bocadillo, en route. I reckoned it would be about ten kilometres, no more. Turn left, go to the lights, turn right, go right to the end, turn left and then right again at the main road for the last two k’s. I would have been there by nine, before the sun got too hot, and in perfect time to take a late breakfast at one of the bars along the strip to await my appointment in Paradise. I say ‘would have’ because something far removed from Paradise blocked the way.
A Search for Donald Cottee Page 16
