Money For Nothing

by Dom Price

  ***

  Chapter Diminishing Options and Barrel Scratching

  ***

  “I hope the management meeting went well Sir. Just to let you know that your sister has been on the phone twice already this morning asking if you got any bites from last night’s networking event.” Laura was a lot fresher than Dave this morning.

  The morning had started early for Dave, and he’d wowed the senior guys at CEC with some quick thinking and sharp talking about his clients, his portfolio and his team. He’d made some pretty punchy promises about possible progress at Food United Group, but Dave knew that he had to keep his stock up and talking a good game was all part of that.

  “But I am confused sir” continued Laura “because I’ve got nothing in your diary about any network event last night. I’m sorry if I messed up or anything sir.”

  “Oh, erm...no, it wasn’t something I’d put in the calendar. Don’t worry about it.”

  “OK sir. Do you have the business cards?”

  “What business cards?”

  “From last night’s event sir? From your networking? Any contact details you want me to add into the database?”

  “Ha! Absolutely not. No-one there that we’d want to do business with. Now can you get my sister on the line and patch her through? Thanks Laura.”

  “So, how many matches did you get?” Anne was very excited.

  “We’ll never know. I didn’t hand my card in. There was no point.”

  “Well that is where you are wrong my favourite brother! I grabbed your completed card off you before we left and gave it to that Margaret lady. So check your e-mail!” Anne waited nervously.

  “Oh dear lord!”

  “What? Tell me? How many? Who? Any good ones?”

  “There must have been a mistake, because I didn’t think I ticked that many, but...”

  “Ermmm. Is it confession time? I thought you were being a little too harsh, so I ticked a few for you to give you a second chance. Well I say a few. Maybe a lot. Maybe all of them?”

  “Are you online now? I’ve just sent through the confirmation of my matches, and also the two e-mails I’ve already received from some of my matches. Have a good chuckle at those.”

  Dave and Anne chatted briefly as they laughed at the emails Dave had received. Chi wanted to say “very thank you very much and welcome meeting you” but little else, and the other email was a mystery. It showed as being from Wendy, who Dave had done the free SWOT analysis for, but for some reason the CEC email firewall had blocked the message for “foul and abusive language”.

  “She did seem a bit full on. Maybe she was being all seductive and stuff in the mail and it got blocked. I’d ring IT and get them to release it, but they’d have to read it first, so might skip that. Look thanks Sis. It was an...interesting night should we say, but that isn’t the scene for me. Have no fear though. Phase 3 is being planned as we speak. Catch you soon.”

  Dave hung up and was concerned. Phase 3 was in its infancy and looking as his desk calendar, time was not on his side. He forced his pen hard onto his pad and etched the words. Plan, Measure, Execute. He’d excelled at everything he’d put his mind to before and he wasn’t planning on learning about second best now.

  The evening was spent planning and brain storming on phase 3. Innovation was an idea close to Dave’s heart, and something that he’d pioneered amongst the old school at CEC. Not everyone in the upper echelons of CEC appreciated Dave’s style, brashness or desire to prove to them that his way and these new management techniques could be effective, but his results had won some of them over. Now it was time for a result and for him to win over a lucky lady.

  Still wearing his suit for effect, Dave was up once again at his home white board. Pen in hand, the scrawling had been uneventful. He started thinking about some of his clients and how he helped them.

  “Barker Constructions”. Dave was trying to source inspiration from his workplace, and Barker had been a great client for them. He scoured his memory searching for a time when he’d helped them with a particularly tough challenge.

  “There was the takeover, but that doesn’t fit. There was the downsizing of one division, and then the operation excellence model that we did at head office. None of that really works. I’ve got it!”

  Dave was getting more and more used to talking to himself. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but it was proving quite revealing and resulted in significantly less stupid answers to when he involved others.

  “They were looking at some growth opportunities and we work-shopped with the senior executives to ask them which other companies they aspired to be like and we teamed with those companies in innovation think tanks. Using the other company as an alliance they ended up changing their construction to suit a different market and did really well.”

  Dave drew up some indiscriminate words, arrows and question marks on the white board, which correlated neatly with the other two doors that were already filled in. On them, he’d earlier completed the “lessons learnt” from Phase 1 and Phase 2 so that he could incorporate them in the plan for Phase 3. With the culmination of arrows, crosses and ticks, the magic words became very apparent at the base of the centre wardrobe.

  Women were still the target and Dave Marsdon was still the product, but a catalyst was required to give Phase 3 every chance of delivering what Dave needed so much. A woman to prove that he could, and to give him the final nod in the push for success and his ultimate prize. He could almost smell the bigger office and new desk. He could see the parking space and smiled as he clicked the central locking on the new car with personalised plates that he’d get as a reward for his efforts.

  Like all of Dave’s best plans, it was simple and consisted of just three bullet points.

  New Market; Women, but new venues required

  New Product; update, re-engineer, polish, make over.

  Alliance; Wing-Man required. Apply within.

  The long drive up to Sheffield on a bright, but brisk Sunday morning gave Dave some excellent and much needed down time with which to think things through. Thinking hadn’t been a forte or a skill that Dave had been required to excel at in his career to date, as with his exceptional educational background and outstanding qualifications, he’d preferred to rely on his business instinct to get by. Like a predatory striker on the football field, history had shown him that thinking and having too much time to think, often led to the goal being missed. Dave’s honed reactions though, had been chiselled and perfected for the business arena, and as he took the turn off for Sheffield and approached home, he was ready to concede that this approach hadn’t worked so far.

  It didn’t quite make sense, but then it didn’t need too. The parallels between being a successful businessman and a successful companion, seemed to exceed the differences, but there was a coefficient. Something that existed that wasn’t measurable, sellable or free for purchase. Tony called it “pizzazz”. Anne called it ‘electricity and spark’ and Laura called it ‘butterflies’. The fact that they’d all come out with such drivel had convinced Dave that whatever it was, couldn’t be described, which made it much harder to locate and lock down. Driving down the road to his parents place, he saw a student, probably returning from a night out, wearing only a t-shirt. The writing on the t-shirt caught Dave’s attention more than the well travelled dreadlocks, international tattoos and diverse piercings that were all on display. It read “Same Same...but different”.

  “If only he knew!” muttered Dave, not realising that in one regard at least, the student was vastly more experienced than Dave. A good few years younger and a damn site poorer financially, but with a wealth of experience under his belt completing the student walk of shame.

  Punctuality was an essential asset of any businessman, so Dave was glad to arrive at the exact time promised for his ‘surprise’.

  “Oh, what are you doing here?” exclaimed Jane, feigning some well planned surprised tones. Derek had briefed her about Dave’s arrival, a
s he’d known from 35 years of marriage that surprising your wife can be a dangerous game. Luckily, the week’s notice about the surprise had provided her with ample time to invest in a new hairdo, new frock, new shoes and even new earrings. Derek merely hoped that some of the items had retained their tags, as there was nowhere on the current radar of restaurants or dinner parties where such attire would be required.

  “Mum, you look wonderful. Happy Birthday. And guess what? I’m taking you out for a spot of lunch, and I’ve booked you somewhere extra special.”

  “Oh, I had no idea duck. There is no need to spoil your old mother like that. We can just have a snack here if you prefer?”

  Derek should have been confused by the complete lies that were idling out of Jane’s mouth, but he knew better. She’d spent a good hour the night before bending Derek’s ear about how little they saw of Dave, how he preferred his work, how they should work on building a normal father son relationship and how it was about time he took them out somewhere nice after all they’d done for him. Of course, such words of whingeing were confined to the bedroom, and the Sunday decorum was for happy families.

  “You alright Dad? Well done on keeping it a secret!”

  “Yes son. Anything for an easy life. Anything for an easy life.”

  “Right, well grab your coats. We’ve got a reservation. Leave your keys Dad, I’ll drive. There is more room in mine and heated seats too.”

  Dave’s ulterior motive for driving was one of timing. He knew that Derek was meticulous with his driving and parking, believing that there was more money to be had out of insurance companies for his exemplary 35 years no claims bonus that he’d accrued. The fact the he drove a car that was barely worth insuring, didn’t phase Derek.

  The superficial chit chat which accompanied the expensive lunch suited all parties just fine.

  For Dave, it gave him a chance to talk at a very high level about work and life in general. His parents certainly couldn’t assist with his current troubles, so there was no point bothering them.

  For Derek, the chat was perfect as he could switch off and enjoy a relaxing Sunday, gazing out of the floor to ceiling windows that adorned the restaurant. His only complaint was the pitiful portions and silly names that all the food had. “What is a Jew doing on the menu?” he asked at one point, before the waiter explained that a ‘jus’ was another name for a sauce.

  “Well why not call it sauce then? Bloody confusing if you ask me.”

  For Jane, it was a rare chance to see her son in the flesh. For all his flowers, towel sets and lavish gifts, she only really craved more time to see him. She knew she couldn’t compete, and whilst there was a fortune of real topics that needed to be discussed, they all knew the taboos by now and they wouldn’t be broached.

  Dave had purposely sat without a view, but within full line of sight of the massive clock on the wall. There were reports that he needed to read, proposals to review and presentations to inspire, so the pleasantries couldn’t last forever.

  Dave was surprised to see his Dad continually checking his watch. Maybe he was craving his afternoon nap.

  “We’ve probably got time for a quick coffee before I drop you off if you want?”

  “Don’t worry son. Save your money. We’ve got some nice cake it back at home and your mum has some decent coffee in the cupboard that we only drink when you’re up.” Looking sternly into Dave’s eyes, Derek made himself clear. “So there will be no dropping off. You’ll be coming in for a cuppa and a slice, won’t you son.”

  Dave didn’t answer, as he knew from his Dad’s tone that it wasn’t a question. Paying the bill, a jolt of nerves hit Dave. His dad wasn’t normally the assertive type, and this wasn’t the first time he’d insisted on afternoon tea. His shoulders suddenly sank as the possibility hit him. “Anne! If she has bloody told them about this, I’ll kill her!”

  “Sorry Sir. Was everything OK wiv your meal?” remarked the restaurant manager in a mock French accent.

  “Yeah, fine. Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you then. It was perfect. Brilliant. Thank you.”

  The cake being slightly stale and overly tasteless wasn’t a shock and there was no surprise in the severe lack of colour or flavour in the ‘fancy’ instant coffee that Dave had been presented. The real surprise was the knock on the door, the chuckle of his father as he opened the door and the sound of another person joining then.

  Dave’s mind raced, and it reached the obvious conclusion. It all made sense. His dad checking his watch, their insistence on afternoon tea and his mum being so glammed up. Anne had clearly told them about his predicament, and they were setting him up. Every inch of Dave’s body was cringed as he sat awaiting his fate and the blind date that would be carried out with guest appearances by his parents.

  “Ah, you must be David? I expected a giant of a man given the way your father speaks so proudly of your work.”

  The voice was gallant and regal, yet oddly local. Certainly not the tone of a woman, and the glimpse of the hand that was out-stretched as part of the introduction, wasn’t that of someone that he’d date.

  Looking up, Dave saw a man of similar age to his father. A slightly larger build and definite stress lines on his face, he was beaming from ear to ear.

  “Oh Jane, is that some of your famous cake I can smell?” he charmed, now with more of a Sheffield accent and less of the formality in his first words.

  Dave sat motionless and confused. Definitely not a date.

  “Dave, this is an old friend of mine, and a true gentleman who frequently lets me beat him at squash. David meet Arthur, Arthur meet Dave.”

  Dave was unamused at the attendance of a random guest. He had a lot to do and pleasantries with his Dad’s squash buddy would only delay the inevitable workload that awaited him.

  Then the halo appeared above Arthurs head, as Dave connected the dots, chewing on a piece of his mothers cake like a cement mixer.

  “Arthur as in...I have your business card but we never actually met.”

  “Yeah, I think you guys started your work and I was the sacrificial lamb or something like that. Apparently the old timers were dragging the place backwards so we were let go. You know Derek, the guy who took my position was young enough to still be learning to drive, let alone be head of bloody finance. Anyway, turned out they did me a favour, as this retirement lark isn’t all too bad is it buddy.” He gave Derek a jovial nudge and the pair giggled.

  “Jane, do you want to grab Arthur a piece of cake and I’ll put the kettle back on. Arthur, please sit down and make yourself at home.” Dave’s parents exited the room and he was sat alone and silent, with the Arthur Clarke, the man who’d been with Food United for 40 years, through many mergers, transactions and buy-outs, not only surviving but prospering through all of them, only to be chopped at the hand of some consultants. His keen eye for detail and personable manner were folk law around the corporate dinner tables of networking lunches, and he was renowned as being the smiling assassin. Brilliant to work for, but awful to cross. “If only he was still there now” thought Dave.

  “So do you still do much of your consulting and advising and strategising at Food United then?”

  “Well, yes and no. We’ve been doing a fair bit there over the last few years and the relationship has been building well, but it looks as if there is another change of management coming in from overseas, and we’re a bit behind the eight ball. It could all be speculation, but new faces tend to like to create some competitive tension by working with people they’ve used before, and given that we don’t know who the new guy is, we’re struggling to find any angles or alliances. Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”

  “Look Dave, I’ll be honest with you. There were a lot of people in that place who worked blood, sweat and plenty of tears to take home their monthly pay packet, and they were loyal too. Those people were the first to be culled and the stigma of consultants is still prevalent today.”

  Dave was immediately subdued. The hel
per who couldn’t help. The wizard without the wand.

  “Now I told your Dad I’d do some fishing around for you when he called me. I’ve got good news for you and bad news. Let’s get the bad news out of the way. I haven’t got a bloody clue who this Patel chap is. I’ve checked with all the old boys, and none of them have heard of him. I’ve even got contacts in the US, and no bites so far.”

  Dave was silent. He hadn’t expected much from meeting his Dad’s squash partner, but hope springs eternal. And he was due some good news.

  “But to put a smile on that sullen face of yours, there is some good news. Do you know Tim Parkin? He’s head of operations for the new division in Food Group, and he looks after all beverage products. It’s a big earner for them, and he’s making some good head way, but he has got a major project on the way, and he is short of people. Now he needs good people, with industry knowledge and he knows what market rate is. He’s been around the block a few times, and he loves a deal, but he is a great guy to work with and might just get a foot in the door for you. Now this isn’t a promise or a guarantee young man.” The elder statesman and parental side of Arthur was now coming through. “You have to work for this, so it’s no gift. I’ve told Tim you’ll give him a call tomorrow morning to get the ball rolling.”

  “Thank you so much Arthur!”

  “You can call me Mr Clarke.”

  “Sorry, yes. I mean no. Erm, thank you so much Mr Clarke.”

  Arthur leaned over, grabbed Dave in a lose head lock and ruffled his hair. “Don’t call me Mr Clarke you daft sod. I was pullin’ ya leg son. Now don’t let us down on this one. I play golf with Tim’s old man, and he’s a whinging sod at the best of times, so I wouldn’t mind you doing a good job on this one, for my sanity and golf handicap if nothing else.”

  Arthur winked, and Dave had just met his first real life role model. There was an admiration and debt in his heart that he couldn’t convey in words. Like the 13 year old boy that they so sadly missed, Dave skipped into the kitchen, excited and almost lost for words. Inaudible noises came from his mouth, along with flapping signs from his hand.