The Boardroom

by Robert Drake

“Sir, there are some people wanting to meet with a Paul Renard….”

The girl paused.  I understood.  She wasn’t sure whether I was Paul or, even if I was, would I want to meet with group that asked for me.  I could hardly blame her.  They didn’t look like the sort anyone would want to meet with and I wouldn’t be caught dead in their company unless I absolutely had to be, which I did today. 

“They are associates of mine.” 

The girl nodded and returned to the restaurant.  I had been watching this girl for the last few hours.  She was by far the most competent waitress here and apparently the manager knew it.  He had her serving tables both outside and inside.  She was timely and polite and had a certain charm that no doubt helped when it came to tips.  

I turned to look towards the inside of the restaurant.  I saw the waitress being followed by seven bodies.  Wait…seven?  A second glance caught a woman wearing a flimsy thing that would have passed, albeit barely, as a business suit or a dinner dress.   I turned back to the laptop in front of me and shut it down, but not before mentally marking the chapter I had read up to.  I don’t know what most people use their laptops for, but I download books.  It has allowed me combine my interests in traveling and pedagogy with enough ease to keep me well experienced in both fields.

 

“Paul! What the hell are doing out here?  It’s cold.”  The voice came from James Gothe.  He was standing behind the waitress whose nametag I noticed for the first time, Lizzie. 

“Can we pull over some chairs?”

She smiled, “Yes.  Can I get you drinks?”

My…seven…associates took seats and ordered. To my left was Jack Phelps who ordered Sprite.  He has been pretending to a teetotaler as long as I’ve known him, but I regularly see him get drunk at parties.  To his credit he at least has the good taste to get sick each and every time. 

To Jack’s side was Oren Darmoth who, out of all of us, I would have accepted as a teetotaler, but he wasn’t.  He ordered vodka. 

At Oren’s left was Blair Simotelli.  I don’t like Blair.  He made a great show of asking the waiter what liquors were available, making highly knowledgeable comments on all of them, and then ordered rum and coke.  I was already drinking the same thing.  All I had to say was ‘Rum and Coke please’ to get my drink.  I don’t like Blair.

Next to Blair was Ian Johnson, James Gothe, and Jon Ash, who each ordered beer.  The circle was almost back to me, but there was one person left.  To my right was the woman I didn’t know.  She ordered a wine cooler.  I’m glad she didn’t order beer.  I hate when a girl orders beer.  It’s so…unladylike.  Beer is such a crude beverage.  Too crude for a group of businessmen let alone a lady who, while not overly delicate, was fairly petite.

The waitress left to get the drinks and I placed my laptop in its case at my feet.

“Good to see you again Paul.”

I nodded, “Yep.  It’s been awhile.”

Blair smirked, “Are you going to ask about the beautiful angel next to you?”

I managed to swallow my disgust, “I assumed someone would introduce me.”

Jon Ash broke in, “She’s my sister Jennifer.  She’s come to live with me for a few weeks and I wanted her to meet all of you.”

I turned to the Ms. Ash, “Good to meet you.  I’m Paul Renard.”

“I know.  My brother has told me a lot about you.  He said you were unfriendly, but really smart.”

I chuckled, “I suppose so.”

Jon nodded, “Paul is our advice guy.”

James cut in, “Which is why we are meeting here.  It’s been months since we all sat down to decide things.”

Blair swung his arms out in a large embrace and grinned widely, “Even longer for Paul.  You’re always away.  It’s good we can discuss.  This company won’t run itself.”  Luckily the waitress came with the drinks and we were all saved from a long-winded inspirational speech from Mr. Blair Simotelli. 

 

Did I mention I hate Blair?  It’s an odd circumstance of fate that I now find myself working with any of these people.  Normally I wouldn’t bother telling it, but I’ve got plenty of time.  This conversation won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.  Poor…what did he say her name was...Jennifer?  With her here they’re all being so polite you’d think we were all good friends.  No one here expects me to banter along with them.  They only meet with me when there’s real business involved.

It’s strange to think that just three years ago I didn’t know any of these people.  I was the head of a small consultancy firm.  In practice all I did was travel around and give speeches, but some old friends from college formed my “company” and secured computer networks throughout all the big cities. 

It was during one of my speeches that I met a Michael Hewitt.  He was an aging businessman who sought my advice on his companies’ security.  I got a contract from him and for three months my small firm ran amok his networks.  My presence amongst the company middle management became somewhat infamous…I guess.  Jon Ash tells me that the bosses still shudder at my biweekly password changes and “zealous” network auditing.  What can I say?  Having employees randomly browsing the internet is not to my liking. 

Anyways, after our contract was fulfilled Hewitt brought me into the boardroom to discuss my continued involvement with the company.  Two months later my firm was purchased for a fair amount and the stock options I received got me an honorary seat in the boardroom.  Little did I know that not a single member that sat beside me would be there just a year later.  Nor did I know that an obnoxious over-ambitious assistant who I prided myself on avoiding would sit beside me.  I’m sure you can all guess who that was.

I really should be thankful for Blair.  Without him I’d be stuck at each of these meetings.  As it is I spend five out of every six weeks enjoying the added pay I get as company ambassador.  Travel here, travel there, occasionally meet someone, more often talk to this group.  It’s a good job and keeps me away from the boardroom.  

When I was first promoted to the board my presence was graciously acknowledged, but not fondly looked upon.  The boardroom classically had six people who had risen through the company and I had jumped ranks with my merger.  While the company had purchased dozens of separate businesses only I had gained a seat and everyone, but me, knew why.  The boardroom was currently a battleground.  Michael Hewitt was retiring and the dogs were beginning to bite at their master’s heel to promote their friends.  Mr. Hewitt raised an outsider instead and no one knew what to think, least of all me. 

About that same time I met Blair, who was the assistant to a Mr. Rick Wolfe who was just as big an ass.  Michael Hewitt finally retired and the board nominated Blair to fill his spot.  I took the opportunity to ditch the boardroom and go back to the trenches for a few weeks.  When I returned to the board the Wolfe allies had a majority and forced two members out.  They were replaced by Jack Phelps and Ian Johnson. 

They were both upper management and apparently acquaintances of Blair who about that time noticed he almost had a majority on the board.  When the quarterly budget was put to a vote Blair made a noticeable breach from the ranks to vote against Rick Wolfe.  Ian and Jack joined Blair’s power struggle.  Rick was, perhaps understandably, furious and, in perfect theatrical form, declared that if the budget failed he’d quit and make damn sure his fellow companies (whoever the hell they were) would refuse to do further business. 

The two remaining members voted for Wolfe and it came down to me.  Somehow the new guy from tech support had the deciding vote.  I’d like to say I voted to get rid of Rick.  I’d have no qualms taking credit for that, but I that’s not why I voted against Wolfe’s budget.  I looked at the numbers and picked the best proposition.  Since then I’ve never forgiven myself for supporting Blair. 

What followed after that is what ultimately put me here.  Wolfe retired and I was now considered part of the Blair camp.  My voting based on the numbers earned me some respect within the company.  Despite being the third senior member at that time and the most senior now I’m still considered the outsider because…well…I am and I intend to stay that way.

Wolfe’s replacement was a Jon Ash who I had actually met when working on the networks.  He was a good guy who was also friends with Ian and Jack.  Blair must have been sleeping when he let Jon’s nomination slide in.  Ash promptly joined the former Wolfe faction and its two remaining members Francis Dunne and Aeron Queens.  Ian and Jack were friendly with Jon and that further weakened Blair’s position.  He might have been forced out if Ian, Jack, or Jon had been power-hungry, but they weren’t and their opportunity fell through soon enough. 

Aaron Queen got an offer from another company and left.  Francis Dunne saw the writing on the well and resigned soon after.  The two members voted in their place are the remaining members sitting beside me today, Oren Darmonth and James Gothe.  They weren’t hard-line Blair supporters, but were friendly enough with Jon and Jack and Ian that Blair wasn’t strong enough to vote against them. 

It had only been six months since I had been promoted and the entire boardroom was refilled.  It has stayed fairly stable for the last two and a half years.  I’m not sure how much longer that will last.  The company has been going through some rough straights these last couple months.  I suppose I should pay attention.  It sounds like Jon is done introducing off his sister. 

 

“So will you?”  Jon looked right at me.

I met Jon’s eyes, “Yeah?”

The entire table stared at me.  Jon spoke with obvious surprise, “You will?  You’re actually willing to show my sister around Phoenix?” 

Blair cackled, “My god, Jon.  Your sister must be have found Paul’s weakness.”

The table laughed politely as Jon turned to his sister, “Paul is never friendly.  I honestly didn’t expect him to accept, but he’s the only one who knows this town.” Jennifer Ash nodded and thanked me with a smile and twinkling eyes.

I managed to choke down my surprise.  I think Oren realized I hadn’t a clue what was going on.  I really should pay more attention.  Now I’m stuck showing this girl around.  Blair would have offered if I had refused so at least I ruined one of his plans.

Oren managed to get the meeting underway, “We should get to business.”

“Yes, we should.  Me and my boys have got the factories in china working triple time.”

“That’s great Blair, but we aren’t selling as much as before.”

“And the price is being driven down by all the supply.”

“We need better advertising.” Blair pointed at James, “That’s your job.”

“The last campaign was the most successful yet.  Customers responded to it in droves.”

“Then why did our profits fall.”

“Because you overproduced and drove down the price.”

“That’s ridiculous.  We’re the only supplier.  We dictate the price.”

“Fewer are buying, but it’s not because of advertising.”

“Oh.”

“It’s shipping.  It’s unreliable and there are reports of objects being broken on arrival.”

“That’s true.  Replacement is costing us a fortune.”

“We need to rethink our policy.  We don’t have to pay for the replacement shipping every time.”

“It’s the least we can do.  Would you prefer we charged the customer double shipping rates because they received a broken object?  You think our profits are low now? That would kill us!”

“Who’s in charge of shipping?”

Jack Phelps growled, “I am, but shipping is the same as it has always been.  The product is getting crappier.  Blair’s got the manufacturing so cheap we’re producing trash.  The quality is so poor we’d have to wrap everything in silk to keep it from breaking.”

“I’m right here, Phelps.  Our quality is still assured to the high level it has always been.”

“We don’t need the party line.  We need to know why our profits are falling.  Has the quality been lowered?”

 

From there the discussion became a riot of yells and dirty looks.   Miss Jennifer Ash attempted to restrain her normally passive brother, but failed and joined me silently on the wings. I felt rather bad for her.  Jon shouldn’t have brought her here.  Jon Ash is a decent enough guy, but he doesn’t think things through all the way.

Speaking of Jon, I might as well describe everybody.  Jon’s got brown hair and stands about five and half feet tall.  He’s fairly average looking with rather bland features with the exception of a nose that’s a tad bit pointed.  He’s a moderately athletic guy who rowed in college…or something. 

I’ve known him for a few years now and he has my undying respect for throwing that wrench in Blair’s plans back when this boardroom was still getting populated.  He’s the head of the finance department which is a good field for him.  Jon works well with numbers.  He gets a printout, sees if the line goes up or down, and tells the rest of us.  He’s fairly thorough and has enough of a spine to be truthful in his reports.  That’s not to say they’re completely reliable though.  I’ve never known a man more prone to exaggeration and absurdity in my life.  We had a shortage of advertising clerks once and he blamed it on Irish competition.  

Jon’s a friendly sort and is one of the boardmembers who insists on getting my advice for any big decision.  That, of course, infuriates Blair, but I think even he would agree that Jon should always get advice before a decision.  Oren told me a story about how Jon was sent to find a warehouse within the city.  This was years before I joined the company.  Jon found a warehouse and gave Shipping the address.  What they found wasn’t a warehouse at all.  It was the third floor of an apartment building that was all opened up.  The apartment manager had decided that it’d be cheaper to sell the floor as storage than to rebuild the apartments.  Shipping was understandably none-to-pleased about the idea of transporting heavy goods up to the third story of an apartment building. 

Many people who look at this board think that Blair and Jon are the leaders here, but it’s actually not Jon, but his friend Oren who heads the not-Blair party.  Oren is probably the only person on the board I actually like.  He’s definitely the smartest one here…except me of course.  Ahh I joke.  Not really, but he’s pretty sharp.

He’s also pretty tall.  Oren is six and a half feet at least which gives him about half a foot over me.  He has brown hair, brown eyes, and olive brown skin.  I asked where he was from once.  Apparently his heritage is Italian and Polish, but somehow his last name is Darmoth.  Oren’s a former runner and weight lifter.  He also has sharp features and a chin that could have been ripped from superman. 

Despite being the most physical imposing of any of us, he’s quite passive.  He almost never participates in these arguments and, like me, he loathes coming to the board meetings.  Oren is the head of research and development.  He runs a good shop and likes working with the scientists.  Unlike the rest of the people here, me included, Oren got his job by being the most competent at his position.  Unfortunately he lacks any diplomatic finesse.  He’d have this board at his finger tips, but he’s rabidly antisocial and doesn’t possess the “anti-charisma” that I seem to.  I think it’s because Oren is a man completely devoid of a sense of humor. 

At first I thought it was shyness, but it’s not.  He’s quiet, but he’s not shy.  He tends to talk to the individual boardmembers alone and convince them to do what he wants.  Pretty clever really.  I should do that.  Instead I let them argue for a bit and then once they get tired force my opinion onto them.  I give it another ten minutes before I jump into the ongoing flurry.  It’s too soon right now.  Blair is still trying to find the weak link on the board and stack the blame onto them.  If he succeeds that person will either retire or become a loyal supporter.

It won’t work.  Not this time anyway.  Oren and Jon, his two main rivals, are quite secure.  Finance and R&D can’t be blamed for falling profits unless he accuses them of corruption.  That might fly with Jon, but if he points his finger at Oren he’ll get laughed off the stage.  Jon’s ditsy enough to stumble, but the money is split for each department at the beginning of the year. Declining quarterly profits won’t land on Jon either.  They might land on Blair if he’s not careful.  This isn’t the first time he went on an inquisition and had it bite him in the ass.

Blair is the definition of a yuppie.  He has sparkling blond hair and bright blue eyes and has a close enough to a perfect physique that he can look dashing effortlessly.  He’s a tad short, but by the time you’ve noticed you’re staring at his broad smile.  If he ended there he’d probably be a decent companion, but he’s pure evil.

Blair is, aside from being just generally obnoxious, a fairly talented individual.  He’s normally quite capable of most tasks, but there’s an ego the size of Jupiter there that tends to turn a good employee into a royal pain in the ass.  It’s not that he refuses authority, on the contrary he loves it.  He ingratiates himself with everyone.  That lasts just as long as it takes for him to get their job. 

Ambition is an interesting adjective in that it can be both very positive or very negative.  It’s very negative with Blair.  Everything, but everything, is a competition and to lose results in such a violent mood change that more than a few people have forfeited any discussion just to let him win.  Did I mention the mood swings?  His calm and controlled facade breaks so often you’d think he was the car I owned in high school.  He jumps between being furiously angry and these temper tantrums a five year old would be ashamed of.  That would be enough for him to secure my never-ending disdain, but he offends my own sense of arrogance and pride, which is quite considerable. 

You would hope that the people at the highest levels of any organization would be sufficiently mature for decisions to be made intelligently.  I wish to inform anyone who is unaware, that is not true.  About two years ago we tried to engage the services of this other company.  It fell through.  Blair, outspoken as always, demanded to find fault which led to the most theatrical speech I’ve ever seen.  I remember this in particular because I, as the company’s ambassador, was the chief suspect in his little trial.  Unfortunately for Blair four of the other boardmembers knew why it had failed; the other company went bankrupt.  Blair didn’t know that.  All he knew was a good deal had fallen through.  For a full hour he stood at the podium screaming his head off in full blown tantrum mode. 

I don’t know what finely made him sit down, but I took the opportunity to calmly walk to the podium. I apologized for the failure of the deal and just before I took complete responsibility and offered my resignation, reminded everyone that the company had gone bankrupt.  Jon laughed.  He hadn’t been in the know.  Ian thanked me for my candor and tried to calm the situation.  Blair stormed out with his regular histrionics, but the inevitability of the deal’s failure saved my job.  It’s not to my credit, but I consider that high on my list of accomplishments.

I should talk about Ian.  He’s a loyal Blairian, but he’s a meek man.  He’s short and has mousy features.  You’d think a man with red hair, even a brownish red, would have at least a little bit of fire in his blood, but he doesn’t.  He’s about as shy as they come and detests conflict.  I have to wonder if he doesn’t side with Blair just so he doesn’t get on the receiving end of a fiery diatribe.  It wouldn’t surprise me. 

I admittedly don’t talk with Ian much, but he’s always been reasonable and thoughtful when I’ve been around him.  In the meetings he’s receptive to ideas and tries to make everyone happy.  That always fails, but he tries hard enough.  Ian’s not the smartest man to walk the earth, but he’s one of the best customer service department managers a company could have.  Unlike the rest of the board here he actually cares about pleasing the customers.  He’s got a really genius setup for customer service.  I don’t keep up on it, but the gist of it is he doesn’t hire any outside customer service people.  He only hires people from the other departments so they actually know something about the company’s inner workings.  I’ve never personally called our support service, but rumor has it they are actually helpful.  I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, but I’ve never heard of any other support service acquiring a positive reputation before so that’s something.

Now Ian, as a supporter of Blair, tends to mimic his master.  In all the months I’ve been here I don’t think he’s ever broken ranks, but for him it’s just his personality.  Ian doesn’t challenge Blair because he has a fear of confrontation not from stupidity.  He’s not a genius, but he’s not dumb.  Ian’s best friend, Jack Phelps, on the other hand, is dumb. 

Jack is at least four upgrades away from being a working human being.  I’m still not sure how he got to be the shipping department head.  He’s got an obnoxious streak, but it’s his incessant whining that grates on the nerves. “But we have to, you must, we gotta, you should, but why not, I can’t believe you’re not.”  He argues the most asinine points to the death unless Blair is against them.  Jack rightly attributes his being on the board to Blair and manages loyalty as one of his decidedly few assets. 

If you can catch him alone he’s actually pretty funny.  He’d make a perfect assistant.  He is naturally a follower and really doesn’t know how to take charge.  Last meeting he was trying to defend flying some businessman in the Concord to impress them.  I don’t know who suggested that ridiculous idea.  I don’t know even if there are any Concords still flying, but that’s just dumb.  Those things can’t even fly over land.  How the hell are we suppose to impress businessmen by flying them from San Francisco to Phoenix or Atlanta without ever going over land.  If he’d only suggested the idea I’d forgive him, but he spent twenty minutes insisting we prove him wrong.  It didn’t take long, but it’s such a damn nuisance.  I think that day he even got on Blair’s nerves.  If I was Blair I’d have kept him at my heel, given him praise every four seconds, and let him go about his way.  Of course, then he wouldn’t have another yes man on the board.  

The last man here is James Gothe.  He has the misfortune of being our advertising chief.  He’ll be fighting with Blair until this meeting ends.  Luckily Gothe is, if nothing else, a fighter.  He’s a short guy and doesn’t have an aggressive personality, but he’s got an ego and he’s more than willing to defend his pride if he feels it’s been slighted.  Of all the people here I bet he annoys Blair the most not because they disagree that often, but because Gothe will argue with Blair, unlike Oren and myself, and can hold his own, unlike Jon. 

Gothe has black hair and what he calls a Mediterranean tan.  I’m not sure what that means, but he’s definitely darker than my perfectly chalk white skin.  He has sort of a big pug nose and a round face, but fierce hazel eyes especially when he’s pissed.  He’s not a firebrand and keeps himself in check most of the time, but he’ll go at it on occasion.  Today would be one of those occasions.  He’s probably yelled Blair down and sent him into a tantrum two or three times already. 

So far I’ve been fairly complementary towards James.  I don’t mind him overall, but he’s not good at his job.  He’s not creative and he tends towards being impulsive.  Neither attribute serves him real well as the head of advertising.  He really should be in shipping.  He’d be perfect at that he really would, but he stays in advertising and he has his guys working tight shifts and toeing the line, but he stifles any creativity they might have.  I guess I can’t say that.  I don’t really know, but I can’t imagine him not.  Whenever I’ve met with him at his office his workers have been in cubicles facing forward typing at the regulated words per minute.  James is fantastic with organization, but he’s not good around the artist types he employs. 

I remember the first of the advertising campaigns James presented.  It was the words, “Buy Great Value” surrounded in a blue rectangle with small red circles at the corners.  It was possibly the worst advertising slogan ever unleashed upon the unsuspecting capitalist market.  I have to hand it to James, he said exactly what he wanted to say.  It wasn’t catchy, it didn’t look good, it sure as hell said nothing about the company or the product, but that aside, it was straight to the point.  That last comment could probably describe Gothe as well.

I’m not sure why I’m running through these people in my mind.  It’s not like I’ve haven’t had this meeting a few hundred times before.  I’m not describing these people to anyone.  Maybe it’s just to keep my mind off that waitress.  She really is fantastic at her job.  She’s kept our drinks refilled and filled Oren’s order for a sandwich without provoking Blair.  I’d rather be showing her around Phoenix than this sister of Jon’s.  Of course this waitress probably knows Phoenix just fine.  I bet she’s lived here all her life.  I shouldn’t complain.  Jon’s sister might be very entertaining.  She certainly is beautiful, absolutely stunning really.  I wonder if she enjoys jazz? 

Uh oh.  Blair just moved his seat back from the table and crossed his arms.  That’s my cue.  I’ll be playing my role here real quick.

 

“If we don’t make changes this company is going to collapse.  Is that what you want?”

“Look at this rationally.”

“You look at this rationally!”

“Calm down.  We’re not losing money.  We have plenty of time.”

“Not if you keep botching everything.”

“You don’t mean that.  No one is botching anything.”

“Shut up.”

Jon waved his hand and spoke loudly, “You’ve been awfully quiet Paul.  You’ve listened to all this.  What do you think we should do?”

And there it is.  Thank you Jon.  Lovely introduction.

 

I rubbed my hands slowly and swiveled to meet each eye in turn.  “You need a new product.  It’s not shipping or manufacturing or advertising or customer service.  The product has been sold to everyone who wanted to buy one.  The company needs to sell something new.  You’d be wise to up the budget on R&D and make sure to keep those guys well paid.  You don’t want chase off the talent.”  I slumped back into my chair. 

Blair opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.  Ian and James nodded and Oren voiced his agreement.  Jon turned to his sister, “That’s why we only make decisions with Paul around.”  

 

The meeting continued.  My participation was no longer required.  It’ll be another twenty minutes before they finally make a decision.  I’m guessing that they’ll put money in R&D and raise the salaries for each of the technicians.  Blair will then offer to hire in more talent, most likely over-priced con artists with impeccable credentials and not a single talent between them.  The board will hem and haw for a minute or two before agreeing.  It really doesn’t matter.  I’ve filled my role.  I won’t have to come to another one meeting for a while. 

I guess I’m not completely done though.  I still gotta show Jon’s sister around Phoenix.  She seems bored.  Not as bored as she should be though.  She doesn’t look half as bored as Oren and he’s the head of R&D.  He should be surging with excitement right about now.  I wonder if she actually enjoys watching this farce? 

What was her name again?  Jennifer that’s it.  Now where the hell am I going to take her?  I’m really not good with this sort of thing.  I could always cancel.  That wouldn’t surprise anyone.  Hmm.  No.  I can’t do that.  I’d love to see their faces if she actually had a good time.  I wouldn’t mind seeing her face either.  She really is gorgeous.  She doesn’t seem as smart as that waitress though.  I wonder if she knows any places to take a girl.  Screw it.  I got twenty minutes.  I’m gonna order another drink and enjoy these last couple minutes.

“Waitress.  Another rum and coke please.”

 

Copyright 2005-2008 Robert Drake