by Derek Hansen
Music became her love, but it was also a legitimate retreat from the world. Sometimes she’d play for so long that her arms would ache unbearably, and she could scarcely hold them out in front of her. But she now had her dream. Music, she decided, would be her life and her career. She would be a concert pianist. But if, as it proved, her injuries denied her the dexterity to make the grade as a performer, then she’d happily teach.
She worked hard on her music and on her school work. She also worked hard on what she secretly called her ‘expression’. Her facial muscles atrophied from lack of use, and their slackness was becoming apparent. Her nightmare was that she would lose control over the right side of her mouth, and she’d unwittingly dribble. Or she’d be drinking and liquid would spill out. It had never happened but the possibility terrified her.
She developed a habit of dabbing her lips with a handkerchief or serviette after every sip or mouthful of food, until it became an unconscious act which recurred regularly throughout her waking hours. Her ‘no-expression’, which had served her well, had taken on a different aspect. She now looked sullen and sulky even when she was happy. Sometimes it seemed she looked ashamed.
One day she overheard Jan and Lita discussing her, and vowed to do something about it. She realised it would eventually wear down her family and the few close friends who still found time for her. So she changed. She adopted a look of detached serenity. It was within the scope of expressions she could manage without her palsy being obvious.
For the first time she began to observe her mother critically to discover what made her appear so regal. She was amazed to see how Lita made her tiny frame seem so much taller. She came to realise that expression was only a part of impression, and that impression was founded on deportment and attitude.
She kept her back straight and her chin high, like her mother did, and she slowed down the pace of her movements until she achieved the same fluid grace. She taught herself to meditate from a book, and learned to carry herself with the same sense of calm and inner strength that she saw in her mother.
Sundanese women mature early, and already her hormones were hard at work in her body. Her family noticed the change in her and put it down to her coming of age. The boys at school couldn’t help but notice either. They watched her glide past them, weak-kneed in their admiration. Yet they hesitated to approach her. Ironically, it was not her palsy that put them off, but the results of the regime she had adopted because of it. She topped her year in every subject she studied, and her academic achievements made them feel insecure. But even more formidable was her mask of ‘detached serenity’, which made her seem infinitely more mature and sophisticated than they, and stratospherically remote.
The girls in her school admired her apparent sophistication and told her so. Once more Annemieke found herself the envy of her peers. It was a wonderful feeling, redolent with echoes from her past. She worked even harder on her ‘expression’ as a result. At the age of fifteen, Annemieke appeared to have moved into womanhood without ever having been a teenager.
The omission would prove catastrophic.
For two years Jan pestered Dr Ryan, but the doctor could offer nothing that he had not already tried. He was genuinely sorry. But the reality was that the damage to Annemieke’s facial nerve was irreparable and irreversible, at least by any known techniques. He said it was time Jan accepted that.
He arranged a last meeting with neurologists and neurosurgeons, and once more they patiently explained the limitations of their capabilities. They pointed to their success in limiting the disability and, all in all, concluded that Annemieke, given the nature of her injuries, had been a very fortunate young lady indeed. They could offer no more hope, other than that nature may yet work a miracle and restore partial mobility. It was a faint possibility, but one that couldn’t entirely be discounted.
Jan went home from this last meeting with Dr Ryan, and gave up. He’d done all he could. He would now try to learn to live with what he’d done to his child. As usual she was playing piano. He sat down quietly to watch her unobserved.
She was playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. In the afternoon light filtering through the lace curtains she looked exquisite. He took stock of her beauty, the strength she’d inherited from her mother, and the calm and serenity that seemed to radiate from her. The Moonlight Sonata rose and fell with its sweet sad beauty, and Jan was drawn into reverie, contemplating what might have been. Her beauty, he suddenly realised, was like the beauty of a nun, and he longed for the radiant and gregarious little girl he’d lost forever on the slopes of Tangkuban Perahu. He felt the melody sweep over him and carry him off in its flow to the sweet land of his memories.
Annemieke played on until, sensing his presence, she turned and saw him watching her, tears flowing down his cheeks. This time, at least, he didn’t turn away. She stopped playing and threw her arms around his neck.
‘The Moonlight Sonata has the same effect on me,’ she said, and smiled her lop-sided smile. Immediately her right hand produced a handkerchief to dab the side of her mouth.
Ramon finished speaking and his audience was loathe to break the spell. They were, each of them, in Jan’s shoes. His tears were familiar to them. They were the tears of every man who has ever lost something precious. A wife, a child, a country or even the promise of his own youth. They were reminders of their own vulnerability.
‘Coffee and grappa,’ said Gancio theatrically. ‘You’ll like this grappa. Very special. Brings tears to your eyes.’
The four men burst out laughing.
‘What’s the matter? What did I say?’ Gancio replayed his words in his mind, wondering if he’d accidentally made a joke or said something rude. English was a tricky language sometimes.
‘Nothing at all,’ said Ramon, solicitous to his friend. ‘It was all a question of timing.’
‘Ah! Okay. No matter.’ Gancio returned to his kitchen shaking his head.
‘You see how you waste your breath and our time, Ramon?’ Milos took a sip of his grappa. ‘If it’s tears you want, just order the special grappa.’
‘What’s the point?’ moaned Ramon. ‘Why do I bother? I take my time and build a mood, patiently drawing you into my web, then … whammo! The spell is broken and it’s all one huge joke.’
‘Don’t worry, you got us where you wanted to take us. You did well.’
‘Thank you, Neil. A rare compliment.’
‘You were fishing for it hard enough.’
‘I think it was a very beautiful moment.’ Lucio looked around at his friends. ‘Sad and beautiful. Soon my daughter gets married. It made me think of how I will feel when I have to give her away to another man.’
They thought about this. Until now they hadn’t even known Lucio had a daughter. They still weren’t convinced that he had.
‘I didn’t know you had a daughter?’ said Neil.
‘Why should you? As Ramon said at the start of this story, we know so little about each other. Perhaps it is best this way.’
Ramon smiled inwardly. Once again Lucio had issued a warning. Had the others detected it? Why wouldn’t they? They shared the same suspicion.
‘How about we get back to business?’ It was Neil. Nobody would ever accuse him of sentimentality. ‘You’ve tied up that loose end beautifully. The next few years of Annemieke’s life are clear to us all. She’ll glide along skilfully avoiding the world without appearing to do so. She’ll become a silent beauty, a wraith that flits among the shadows. She’ll continue with her solitary pursuits. Everybody will compliment her on the food she cooks, her manners and bearing, and say what a fine young lady she is. But nobody will get remotely near to her, outside her family and small circle of friends. She won’t have regular boyfriends because her defence systems won’t allow it. She’ll become aloof, serene and unreachable. She may even begin to feel superior to other mortals, as if she were on a higher plane than everyone else. In other words she’ll spend the next few years of her life like a sleeping beauty
waiting for her prince to come along. Do we all agree?’ He looked around the table. Milos and Lucio murmured their agreement. His eyes settled on Ramon.
‘Please tell me,’ Ramon said, ‘if you’ve heard this story before. Yes, Neil, that is exactly what happened to Annemieke. You tell it so well, why don’t you finish the rest of the story.’
‘How can I? I’m not Eduardo. And it is Eduardo’s story, isn’t it, Ramon? You’ve told us at length about Annemieke but, at the end of the day, it is Eduardo’s story. How can I tell you how that bastard would act?’
‘No, it is not Eduardo’s story. It is the story of Eduardo, Annemieke and the gift he gave to her. I told you that at the very beginning. Now let me ask you something. Do you still think Eduardo is a bastard?’
‘Yes, he still thinks Eduardo is a bastard. He just said so.’ Milos was like a father stepping between two warring kids. ‘The question is, has Neil’s intrusion jeopardised the rest of the story you intended to tell us today?’
‘Truncated … not jeopardised.’
‘Good. Then can we continue? I would like to hear what happened to Roberto.’
Ramon sank into deep thought. At least that’s the impression he gave.
‘I have not yet finished with Eduardo,’ he said finally. ‘There is more to tell before this first part of my story concludes. But since you have been so patient, Milos, I promise I will tell you about Roberto before the day is out.’
Chapter Twenty-five
At the beginning of September 1986, Burton Simmons made their move. It was not the move Eduardo had expected and it momentarily gave him cause to regret the partnership proposal he had made to Phil and Don. He could not go back on his word now even though the partnership had not been finalised and no money exchanged. But Phil had mortgaged his house, and Don was in the final stages of selling his business. He was morally bound. Besides, their confidence in him had moved him more than he would ever admit.
Still, the offer from Burton Simmons, made through their high-flying parent company Austral Corp, was astonishingly generous. It would make him a rich man. But the five-year service contract he’d have to sign would also make him someone else’s servant, a role with which he would never be comfortable. The ‘no-compete’ clause also meant he’d have to abandon his dream to enter the publishing business—the business he’d been trained for and in which his heart lay. It was also the business his social life demanded he enter.
He called a meeting with Phil and Don and told them of Burton Simmons’ proposal. Both men turned pale. Eduardo would be a fool to refuse such an offer, and where did that leave them?
‘I have two choices,’ Eduardo began earnestly. ‘I can accept or refuse. If I accept I will compensate you both for your dislocation. They may wish to retain Phil, but either way, I cannot compensate either of you for the loss of opportunity. But if I refuse their offer you will think me a fool.’
The two men looked grim as they listened to Eduardo, and watched their hopes and plans disintegrate.
‘The question is,’ continued Eduardo, ‘are you two still prepared to go into partnership with a fool?’
‘You bastard!’ cut in Phil. ‘You’re going to tell them to get stuffed, aren’t you?’
‘You’re a bloody fool, Eduardo!’ Don tried to maintain the detachment of his profession and failed miserably. His moustache bobbed up and down as he fought to control his grin. ‘You could coast for the rest of your life.’
‘That is the problem. I’m not yet ready to rack my cue, as Phil puts it. If we are successful in the publishing business, and I am determined we will be, we will make far more money than this. Besides we have a good business, and we have the skills to survive the tough times ahead. Surely this Austral Corp have bigger fish to fry?’
‘Perhaps, but don’t count on it, Eduardo.’ Don was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be negative. I’m more than delighted we’re going ahead with our plans. I’m not convinced that, if our positions were reversed, I would have been so loyal. But we shouldn’t get carried away in the euphoria.’
‘This is euphoria?’
‘Shut up, Phil. Go on, Don.’
‘Well you’ve met the new brains behind Burton Simmons. Burton Simmons is just a stepping stone on his pathway to corporate glory. His fortunes, for the moment, are inextricably linked to the success of Burton Simmons and we’re in his way. There is the problem.’
Eduardo knew Don was right. Cam Kambourian was a Harvard-educated whizz kid. He had impressed Eduardo with his mental agility, his immense confidence and his persuasiveness. He would be a powerful adversary.
‘We’ll just have to bunker down.’
‘No way, Eduardo,’ said Phil, who still hadn’t stopped smiling. ‘That’s how your lot lost the Falklands War and how we lost in Vietnam. No, mate, we’ve got to be guerrillas and use guerrilla tactics. Advertising is a disorganised business. All we have to do is make sure we’re there when they need help. Sooner or later they’ll get embarrassed by the build-up of favours they owe us, or simply take the line of least resistance. Either way we’ll be back in business. But if we wait for business to come to us, Burton Simmons will knock off our clients one after the other. What do you reckon?’
‘Makes sense to me,’ said Eduardo.
‘Good, let’s go have a beer.’
Cam Kambourian was speechless when Eduardo refused his offer and defied the mighty Austral Corp. When he regained the use of words he had little control over them, and they spewed from his mouth in insults and threats which demeaned them both. His grim advisors led their superstar out of Eduardo’s office.
Eduardo was appalled. The encounter brought home to him the enormity of the decision he had made.
The opening engagements were one-sided. Hot Ink Press took a pounding. More advertising agencies gave their work to Burton Simmons while their sister company, Alexander Press, walked away with the biscuit-packaging business and were actively submitting for more of Eduardo’s accounts.
Phil and Eduardo wined and dined their contacts endlessly. They got sympathy and moral support, but they didn’t get their business. As Phil had predicted, they managed to pick up lots of one-off jobs, but the cost of winning each job barely made the exercise worthwhile. Some agencies stood by them, resolute in their insistence that quality and service take priority over price, but they were in the minority. The Hot Ink Press struggled to meet its overheads.
Whenever they had to let staff go they were snapped up by Burton Simmons, who used them to replicate Hot Ink Press’ superior systems and procedures. The edge that Eduardo and Phil had always maintained was all but eroded. Phil was forced to seek work at the bottom end of the market, in sales promotion and direct response, where margins were tighter and quality less of a consideration.
Eduardo and Phil were on the slide and they knew it. The problem was there was no second string to their bow. Because of the desperate situation at Hot Ink Press, Eduardo had not had time to even begin setting up the publishing business. All the while, their capital was disappearing into the black hole of lease repayments and overdraft rates. Something had to give or they would lose it all.
‘We’re in trouble,’ said Don. ‘Our revenue and margins are down, and the cost of servicing the remaining business is up by around fifteen percent. I suggest we forget about our guerrilla tactics and consolidate with those clients who have stood by us and service the Christ out of them. Lose them and we’re history. We won’t actually make any money by doing this, but we’ll substantially reduce our losses.
‘Eduardo has also taken a hammering with the printing business but less so. And I think there’s a good reason for this. I happen to know that the management of Alexander Printing are less than impressed with being used by Burton Simmons to undermine us. They have their own whizz kid who’s just as keen as Mr Kambourian to climb the corporate stairway. Word is they’re getting tired of taking a loss just to make Burton Simmons look good. That may expla
in why we won the last pitch against them.
‘My strategy is that we should repitch the clients we’ve lost. If we’re guilty of anything here, it’s petulance. Eduardo, you put such a premium on loyalty, but giving us the flick wasn’t an act of disloyalty on our client’s part, just good sound business. You got miffed so you’ve ignored people who are our prime prospects. People who know us, trust us, and with whom we’ve had a valued relationship. So swallow your pride and get off your arse. Go see them and resubmit. We can afford to cut a few points off the last quote we gave them. Fact is, we can’t afford not to. And don’t assume, by the way, that their relationship with Alexander Printing has been all peaches and cream. You didn’t have a great deal of respect for their work before, and I’ve heard nothing to suggest things have changed.
‘So come on, guys. Think positive. What was, is gone. What is, is just a temporary setback. Think only of what’s going to be. Now get out of here and get on your bikes.’
‘Now I know why we pay you,’ said Phil. But Eduardo just looked at the little man with the outsized moustache in awe and admiration.
They adopted Don’s strategies and applied them with vigour. Eduardo’s old clients were pleased to hear from him again, and happy to give him the opportunity to re-pitch. There was no overnight miracle but the fightback had begun. People could see the advantage of having two strong companies competing keenly for their business. Where they could they gave him projects. It was a start.
Phil consolidated their position with their major agency clients by providing a service Burton Simmons couldn’t match. He was always available. Nothing was too much trouble. No demand too great. He put in hours that made a widow of his wife and strangers of his children. With family and mortgages Phil, more than either Eduardo or Don, could ill afford to lose.
