"Well, shit, this meeting's gone to hell in a hurry," I thought as I listened to the wise-assed young buyer in the Bandorette Corporation conference room. He was about twenty five, and was known to the sales department in my company as the "Pink Prick"; "Pink" referred to the pasty complexion under the thin, wispy beard he wore to hide it, and "Prick" for his treatment of suppliers. He was short, soft, and overweight and wore his position like he wore his custom made suits, well fitted, and comfortably, and reveled in his power to send me back to re-quote this job.
The little asshole knew I couldn't give him what he was asking for, at least not if my company was going to stay in business, and he also knew I couldn't just tell him to get fucked and then leave the meeting. I'm forty-five, and I was designing my company's products when he was still sucking his mother's tit; now this babyfaced kid was telling me that our designs were not technologically competitive, and not commercially priced. He smiled sadistically as he made me endure his tirade for another half-hour, and then ended the meeting. He and I were alone by the time I had finished packing my briefcase, and he closed the door to the conference room.
"If you want this business, you'll have to play my game. I'm not going to let some dumb-shit supplier keep me from meeting my cost targets; if you won't do this, there are other companies who will, so don't fuck around with me. Of course, if your company could... shall we say, show it's gratitude for my award of business, I could maybe meet my goals in another way. Come back on Monday, and we'll talk."
A couple of drinks on the plane home did little to relieve my anger, and walking into the empty house did less. Since Pat left, the house had been only a place to sleep, and tonight, I didn't feel tired enough to sleep in the king-sized bed alone. I also hadn't gotten over her enough to find anyone else to share the king. I was still pretty fit at five ten and a hundred and sixty pounds, but I was finding it hard to fit my silvering hair and the crow's feet at my eyes back into the dating scene. All the women I knew were married or attached anyway. I finally sacked out on the couch to an old western, and didn't wake until morning. It was Friday, and I had to think of some way to convince the Prick that Blandorette needed my products as much as we needed their order.
I walked into the building about eight, and went to Harry's office to explain what had happened. As I expected, Harry fumed when I told him the "Prick's" cost targets, and blew up when I told him about the request for a payoff.
"Hell, no, we're not going to pay off the little son of a bitch. Fuck him. If we do, he'll just ask for more on the next program. See what you can do with our design and cost, and get it ready for Monday. If we give him something, even a percent or two, maybe we have a chance."
I walked back to my office, hoping that next week this door would still say "Cliff Marston, VP Technical Sales", and asked Gwendolyn to come in.
Gwendolyn Shaeffer was my assistant. She had worked in accounting, processing credits, until about six months ago, when my former assistant decided to get herself pregnant and quit. Gwendolyn asked for the job, as soon as she knew it was open, and she interviewed really well. I had her transferred to my department, and she immediately went to work correcting all the accounting errors that marketing made, and to taking care of all the financial analysis we had to do.
Gwendolyn was a very different girl, but I liked her for her little quirks. That day, she was dressed in baggy pants and a loose, heavy sweater that made her hips look a little wide but otherwise effectively hid any figure she might have had. Her brown hair was long, but slicked back tightly and rolled up in a bun, and the black rimmed glasses did nothing for her face. Some makeup probably would have helped, but Gwendolyn seemed to prefer the natural look, and her pale nose shined up at me as we talked. She was, all in all, just another plain woman in her late twenties, but she knew everything about costing, and I respected her skills and hard work. I also liked her attitude of "take me as I am, and don't try to change me". I had grown to like her as a person, too. She was always mature and intelligent, but could be witty and humorous when the time was right. We had become accustomed to working together in the last six months, and sometimes it seemed like she knew what I needed before I did.
"Well, Gwendolyn, we'll probably have to work the weekend to finish what I have on my plate for Monday. Is that going to be a problem for you?"
"No, not really, sir. I don't have any plans, so it's all right. What are we going to be doing?"
"Well, we have to figure out design modifications and a pricing strategy that will please Blandorette, and hopefully allow us to make some money in the process. I can handle the engineering stuff; I need you to do the financials, and get the presentation ready."
By about noon, I had begun to appreciate Gwendolyn's skills even more. She had revised my costing detail, finding a couple of errors in the process, and the proposal was looking more favorable. By the end of the day, we had a real start, and the design changes I was proposing would help more.
"Will you be needing me tomorrow, sir?" she asked as we finished for the night.
"Yes, and probably Sunday also. We're getting there, but we still have a lot to figure out, and I have to leave Sunday night."
"That's fine; I'll see you tomorrow then."
Working all day Saturday didn't get us finished, and on Sunday, Gwendolyn discovered some component costs that didn't look right.
"Damnit, we can't get new costs until tomorrow, and the meeting's tomorrow afternoon. Gwendolyn, you'll have bring your laptop and come with me. We'll call Monday morning from the hotel, get the new costs, and update the proposal there. Plan on spending Monday night, also, because we'll be done too late to catch a flight back. Can you call and make reservations for yourself while I finish up here?"
We caught a cab and made a mad dash to the airport, and by seven that night, we were in the air. We checked into the hotel at ten, and agreed to meet at seven for breakfast.
