He didn’t have his employee badge when he reached Security, so he filled out the Lack of Badge form. This was despite the fact that he and the guard on duty had been on a first-name basis for at least a year. When he asked how many demerits could be expected for not having his I.D., Eddie replied wide-eyed that he didn’t think demerit records were kept on management-level employees. But this pointless drill was one of the last remaining remnants in the formerly overflowing basket of corporate security measures than had been so commonplace just a year earlier. Ben Walbee had seen to that.
Seizing on the fact that demand for qualified workers was far outstripping supply, and vamping on the title of Pandora’s Obsessions’ signature song, he’d christened this protest I’m Your Asset (Not Your Enemy). Gone were the ubiquitous video cameras that formerly hung from the ceilings of most American companies. Also missing in action was the micromanaged Human Resources tracking of real or perceived stumbles by employees such as offhand friendly comments that previously would be magnified into sexual harassment violations. Also relegated to the dustbin were all monitoring and investigations into the private lives and behaviors of 9-to-5er’s for any reason unless it involved criminal activity; and even then, only criminal activity that had a direct bearing to on-the-clock duties or performance.
Picking up a visitor’s ID, he ambled to one of the management access elevators. After signing in and flirting with Security Sheila in 18’s lobby, he hurried to the men’s room to straighten his tie and comb his hair. That done, he made his way to 18-north to say hello to Wallace Walker. As he neared the corner office, he noticed it was dark and recalled Debbie telling him Walker was out. He then walked back to the lobby where Sheila gestured him to the executive access lift.
He finally arrived at his destination on 25, the second highest floor in what was generally considered the best of BotHos—Boutique Home Offices—in the United States, if one didn’t count the one belonging to the Jennings Foundation only a few blocks distant.
It was 3:05. Lane’s secretary wasn’t there, but he could hear her boss talking on the phone so he busied himself with trying to read the papers on her desk though he’d never been good at reading upside down and still wasn’t. He’d partially figured out what the executive bonus structure might be for the following year when he heard a voice from the inner office call, “Maty? Bring in my appointments options, please.”
Stonetree peeked in, waved and deadpanned, “Sorry. Only me.”
Lane smiled pleasantly and motioned for him to come in. She pointed to the two couches at the near end of the office then returned her attention to a document on the desk, flipping page to page slowly, speaking softly into the telephone.
As he waited for his audience, he studied the surroundings. The space was slightly smaller than he’d expected, although certainly large enough to comfortably host 50 guests for lunch. It was decorated in subtle rust and cream and beige, all of the furniture teak or rosewood or of Classic Scandinavian provenance. The walls were much more interesting.
Directly behind her was a large, vertical canvas, mostly shades of gray, the nine ordinal numbers plus zero repeating over and over, no doubt executed by Jasper Johns in his heyday. To her right was a solid expanse of glass, floor to ceiling, running the length of the enclosure.
To her left was another painting, this one a colorful abstract of a woman seated in a chair, most probably a Picasso. Behind him was a third large work, this one featuring a small pyramid within a ghostly larger one, a series of tight, stenciled black letters running vertically on either side. The Combat Art logo at the bottom identified Lionne-Demilunes as its creator.
The wall to his right boasted a trio of artifacts. The first item was an acoustic, sunburst EKO twelve-string guitar. It took him a moment to peg its familiarity but then it hit dead center: it had to be the instrument Wexford was holding on the cover of his eponymous debut album.
Beside it was…this one was harder to decipher. It appeared to be a men’s suit coat hanging on an ordinary brass hook with a necktie casually draped over one of the shoulders as if the owner had just returned home from work and was now fixing a cocktail. Perhaps something new by an unknown, avant-garde artist?
Finally, there was a nicely framed collection of five knives mounted on aged parchment in descending order of size. The first was maybe eight inches in length, four of blade and four of a malachite handle inlaid with silver accents. The last was more than twice as long, its intricately pounded blade accounting for most of its length, a striking, polished turquoise grip finishing it off.
There were no plaques, no awards, no certificates, no photographs. There were no plants, no magazines, no bric-a-brac, no clutter. In fact, except for the document and a legal pad on the desk, there was no paper in sight. Aside from her telephone there were no electronics to be seen. The view, however, was impressive as she stood, then stepped to the opposite couch to join him.
She was, he thought, probably the most striking woman he’d ever met. Although they’d talked only a few times in the past, he certainly knew her better than she knew him. Lane was the stuff of which corporate legends were made.
Her rise through the ranks of SUE management was nothing short of spectacular, but there were still a few chapters left to be written. Her history was well documented by the media, the rest being filled in by conventional company wisdom and cafeteria gossip.
Although she’d majored in mass media in college, she couldn’t find a position in the electronic media field upon graduation, so she took the first job that was offered, a sales position with Baxter.
According to one account, she volunteered to take the toughest territory with the lowest sales and worst physicians. Impressed with her spunk, but put off by her arrogance, the man who hired her granted the wish.
Sales remained flat for a few months but then slowly began to turn around. After her first year, the territory had moved from an adjusted 25th in her zone to an adjusted eighth. The following quarter saw it move up to an adjusted fifth, then quickly to number three. The sales manager died, she took his job, promptly had the number one and two reps transferred out of the zone, fired all but her remaining top five producers and in a short time commanded a staff that was easily the best in the industry. Then she quit.
She spent the next six months of her life as a guest at a friend’s ranch outside of Santa Fe, horseback riding two or three hours a day, doing some nontechnical climbing and reading. Stonetree had seen a reprint of a picture of her taken back then—majestically atop a stallion, her black jeans blending into the horse’s body, her tight red sleeveless T-shirt in sharp contrast to the desolate background. Although probably not planned to be, it was one of the most sensual photographs he could ever recall enjoying.
When she returned to the city there were a dozen job offers or inquiries waiting for her, a few promising terms that most people would murder to get. Instead of accepting any of them, she wrote polite refusals to all of her suitors and filed a job application with Southern United Enterprises which had just surfaced out of the merger. Hundreds of workers were being terminated, retired or laid off but she’d refused to take no for an answer, and with her track record she was difficult to turn away. Eventually, she was given a mid-level marketing position in Pharmaceuticals, she transferred six months later to the struggling Media division, her starting pay said to be a third of the highest offer she’d refused.
Media was picked up whole when Southern Technology acquired and then merged with United Science and Communications and renamed Southern United Enterprises. At the time, Media consisted of the small recording label Court Records, a music publishing company, a fleet of six Gulfstream executive jets, three radio stations and a beer distributorship. On her own initiative she drafted a plan that argued against the proposed sale of the entire unit, boldly approaching SUE’s chairman Pierre Picard with her scheme.
Her outline called for the termination of most of the contracts with the existing roster of performers
, the sale of four of the jets, the disposal of the three radio stations and the beer distributorship and the sacking of her vice president. She also proposed the construction of state-of-the-art audio and video recording studios and the use of the remaining two jets to taxi passengers deemed potentially helpful to the execution of her vision.
A recent increase in the sale of music on all retail platforms informed her profits were to be made, especially by strengthening Court’s publishing arm.
The masterstroke of her scheme was the perception of a faintly emerging breed of country/pop performers following the dawn of The Age of CYD presenting material containing three recurring, interrelated themes. The first was the specter of young, especially gruesome death and its ramifications. The second was the new and disturbing class structure surfacing in the United States based on financial standing, the ability to face or inflict violence and Tourcam results. The third dealt with hope for a better day, no matter what fate might deal out.
Picard had molded Southern Technology from a minor collection of specialty manufacturing companies into a mid-cap player then bet his future and that of the company on the development, manufacture and sale of Febrifuge Blue 100 five years earlier. He soon again rolled the bones on another wager, this time taking SUE private. With the assistance of hedge fund genius Chucky Tessler of Tessler Letherland & Revenge, along with internet billionaire and start-up angel Guillermo Billie Dots Santana, the deed was done just weeks before Blue was approved by the FDA.
The bet paid off beyond anybody’s greatest expectations. SUE now held in excess of a 60% share of the entire market for CYD treatment products and this ever-expanding money machine had created hundreds of billions of dollars in sales. Though its balance sheets were closely guarded secrets, as were those of the principals, Forbes counted Picard, Tessler and Santana as the 29th, 41st and 18th wealthiest men in des Etats-Unis. While the three men had little to do with each other anymore due to personal and business conflicts, when it came to the company they formed a united front.
The story went that upon being shown the plan by Lane, Picard was struck with its insight and daring. He immediately summoned her superior, the now-immortalized corporate martyr Henry Schuster. Schuster studied the five-page outline and summed up his opinion of it with the statement, “Pierre, it just doesn’t work here at SUE.” To which the CEO supposedly responded, “And Henry, neither do you.”
With checkbook in hand and the new title of Vice President, Media on her SUE business card, Lane plunged into the work of putting her plan into action. Within a couple of months she’d signed a number of new performers including Peggy Quinlan, Afterburner and Impostor Michaels. Then she chanced one night in Philadelphia upon a plain, unremarkable, shy 24-year-old singer/guitarist who was the opener for a popular East Coast act.
She’d gone to see the headliners but immediately saw the potential of the young man whose name wasn’t even announced when he and his backing quartet took the stage. According to legend, after his set she stepped backstage to meet him. She introduced herself as “Trisha Lane, a recording executive” and he replied “I’m Wexford, an unemployed sandwich maker.” The fuse on Court Records’ skyrocket was ignited and the rest was history.
Tenacious was a frequent adjective used in describing Lane, both then and now. Her propensity to pick a fight with anyone who stood in the path of her singular vision was known both inside and outside the company. When some of the other adjectives were added to the equation - precise, distant, intense, driven - it wasn’t hard to appreciate that her rivals had all but become extinct.
The former vice president of Pharmaceuticals objected to the Search for Survival blood drive as a crass, ridiculous and unseemly gimmick to sell records and pander to disturbed adolescents and young adults. He found himself out of a job in less than a month. When the former group vice president over both divisions was faced with a direct challenge for position from Lane, he wisely accepted a generous early retirement package, joining the ranks of what had become known as the Lane Alumni Association.
And of course, there was the showdown with Dr. Camden the previous spring.
It seemed, however, that beyond her professional life, the profiles and whispers offered very little more than speculation. She was notorious for not attending SUE parties and apparently had no social life outside the company. He’d never heard anybody referred to as a friend of hers, nor could recall anyone ever having seen her anyplace except at the office or the airport.
But he was most impressed with the way she carried herself. She was close to five foot nine, he guessed, and moved her slender frame with the grace of a gymnast. Her long, thin hands sported perfect nails but no jewelry. She had a thick, midnight black mane of wavy hair that always looked perfect - this in striking counterpoint to her flawless porcelain skin and pale blue eyes set over a perfect set of cheekbones. Not her only perfect set, he mused, as she approached him. It was no coincidence that Esquire Magazine, in its popular spoof Best Of annual lists, had twice named her winner in the Sweetest Corporate Racks category.
“Do you like the necklace?” she asked as she sat down across from him, casually pulling it away from her white silk blouse.
“I do,” he said, and smiled.”I compliment your taste.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “but I didn’t do the choosing. Wexford’s manager gave it to me when The Shortened Life passed 40 million units. A little extravagant for my tastes but I try to wear it when he’s in town. I wouldn’t want to appear ungrateful. We’ve got a new contract coming up.”
“I read today that the grand jury wrapped up the bombing inquiry.”
“That was idiotic from the start. You’d think the authorities have better things to do with their time than to harass people they ought to be expending energy on to protect. One of the prosecutors involved in that witch-hunt had the gall to ask Wexie for an autograph after he testified. Here’s one of our overpaid public servants trying to put a man in prison for life and then wanting to kiss and make up so he can tell his wife that he and our boy are old buddies. That’s really aggravating.”
He nodded.
“People should invest themselves in their jobs,” she continued.”Do them well and accept success and failure with equal dignity.” She paused for a moment.”Which is why I wanted to speak to you this afternoon. Thank you for stopping by. You were in London?”
He felt his stomach muscles tighten and a lump rise in his throat. He’d never, his thoughts racing, really invested himself in his job. He certainly worked diligently and received what he judged to be adequate raises and promotions, but neither SUE nor his previous employer, Tribe Electronics, were ever consuming fires.
He wasn’t even that keen on being a corporate numbers cruncher but figured it was preferable to preparing taxes. He rarely stayed at SUE past the mandatory 5:00 closing time into the bonus hour and had no interest in showing up on weekends. Steven Riley respected his work and tolerated his occasional oversights, and that was enough for him as long as he was left alone to do his work. He wouldn’t pledge allegiance to the corporation to the exclusion of his personal life. Maybe she’d heard from HR that he was always forgetting his badge, so he was about to join the alumni association.
“Yes, I was in London.”
“Enjoy yourself?”
“Yes, I did.” He wanted to add it was good to get away from SUE for a week, but decided that was better left unsaid.
“I haven’t had a vacation in two years,” she replied, glancing to her desk.”And probably won’t for another two. Sure, I get away to the hacienda for a week here and there, but most of my waking hours are devoted to my jealous mistress Sue.”
This was it, he thought. Tyler would have a field day. He always said Stonetree’s days were numbered.
She crossed her legs, locked both hands around one knee, then leaned forward a bit, regarding him intently.
“I had a conversation with Steve Riley last week, and we spoke about you,” she began
.”Did you know he was back in the hospital?”
“No, I didn’t. When?”
“I believe he was admitted on Friday, possibly Saturday.”
“That’s terrible,” he said.
“Evidently they didn’t take care of all his difficulties in November,” she continued.”I understand his prognosis isn’t very encouraging. In any event, in speaking with Wallace, he indicated Steve wouldn’t be returning for at least six weeks and might possibly resign his position with the corporation.”
“That’s awful.”
“It’s unfortunate,” she agreed.”He’s an asset to the company. He brought you over from Tribe when he came to Technology, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” Stonetree replied.”Not actually with him. I think it was more like a month after he left.”
“And you’d worked with him how long at Tribe?”
“About a year.”
“As I said, it’ll be a loss to the company.”
She looked at him as if waiting for a response, but he said nothing.
“I’d imagine,” she continued, leaning back a bit, “that Mr. Walker will continue his program of promoting from without and will bring in someone from the outside to replace Riley.”
“I don’t know.”
“And as is the case with those of us who acquire new responsibilities, it’s probable the new person might make some alterations in the staff.”
“I guess.”
“Which is not to say that your position would be altered, David,” she said earnestly.”Steve speaks very highly of you. I know Wallace likes your work, too, although he’s much more inclined to the technical aspects of his divisions than the financial ones.”
“Mr. Riley has been good to me, as has Mr. Walker. I don’t have any complaints, at least none that are important.”
“That’s refreshing to hear. Some employees aren’t as pleased with their positions as others are. You know Julie Marx, my lead assistant?”
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