Drew Pettit, vice president and senior art director, was on Aaron’s left. He was a handsome thirty-one-year-old workaholic whom Aaron had brought in six years ago as a layout and paste-up person. Drew was ambitious and Aaron envisioned ringing him in as a senior partner as soon as Jerry’s ass was out of there. Who knew, Drew might even be slotted for the top spot if Aaron himself wanted to ease off in another ten years. Much as he loved Chris, he wouldn’t hand the spot over to him. Chris would have to compete for it.
Next to Drew was Julie Thurow, the first woman to be a partner of Paradise/Loest. An incredible amount of Madison Avenue experience, and a lot cheaper than men with the same background. But no real excitement there.
Then Phil Connell, a stocky, athletic guy who seemed to Aaron to have no visible sense of humor, hut he came up with absolutely deadon copy that made for effective print campaigns.
Jerry cleared his throat and Aaron spoke quickly to head him off.
”Okay. You all know the reason I’ve called this meeting. As I stated in my memo last week, we have, to speak plainly, some management difficulties that need to be ironed out.
“When this agency was founded, back when the eighties were young, it was as an equal partnership. Frankly, I feel that for a long time noW it hasn’t been that. I know it is not only my impression that I have carried the bulk of the burden of management for as long as …
well, for as long as some of you have been here.” He glanced quickly at Jerry.
“I feel that the organization as it’s now structured is obsolete.”
Aaron paused and looked around the room.
He was more nervous than he had thought he would be. Strangely, he couldn’t catch anyone’s eye, not even Chris’s. But he did notice some signs that he interpreted as favorable. Dave Stein was looking at the opposite wall and nodding his head up and down very slowly. Maybe the pencil counter would fall into line. If that was the case, it was going to be a landslide. Jerry was looking down, defeated already, Aaron thought.
“Of our twelve major money-making accounts, I’ve brought in nine.
Karen, of course, brought in Planet, and Drew and Julie brought in the other two.” Aaron went on, “I feel that I have assembled a dynamite staff, and as I see it, Paradise/Loest has a great future, a really great future. But we can’t have a troubled management. And we have that now.
Again, Dave stein nodded. Okay, Dave. Aaron smiled and flashed them all a grin.
“Jerry, I don’t think you can disagree with me. It’s painful, I know, but I think the time has come for us to part ways. I would like to buy you out.” He paused. Complete silence reigned. Well, of course.
Partnerships were tricky to break up. Maybe he’d been too abrupt.
“Sorry, Jerry. No hard feelings.” His son flashed him a look. Maybe I should have prepared Chris for this, he suddenly thought. No, he told himself, let him learn how business is done.
Aaron looked up at Jerry and smiled again. Then the fucker smiled back.
”I agree with you, Aaron, about the management problem,” Jerry began.
“Somehow, Aaron, I think you and I parted ways a long time ago. I’d have to agree with that. We haven’t been able to pull off a united effort for years. But I don’t see myself leaving. In fact, I’m buying you out.”
Aaron was astonished. “Get serious, Jerry. I am the firm. If you’ll excuse the pun, you’d just be Loest without me. And you haven’t brought a major account in here in years.”
”Well,” Jerry said, “I was going to make a couple of announcements at this meeting. One of them is that during the last two months I’ve negotiated for three very big accounts and I’ve gotten them.” He looked at Drew, Julie, and the rest. “With a lot of help from my colleagues, of course.”
Aaron sat motionless, frozen in shock. Three new accounts! In the last two months! It took years to bring in major accounts. Yes, and schmoozing and lots of work. Jerry was famous for having spent two years on Snapple only to lose the bastard. How could Jerry have done it? Without Aaron’s even knowing about this? Impossible. It must be a desperate lie. “What are they?” he snarled.
”Van Gelder International Bank, Bloogee Industries, and Benadrey Cosmetics.”
Jerry had stood up as he spoke and walked to the door. With his hand on the door handle, he continued, “And my guess is that the combined annual billing is worth over twenty-five million dollars.”
“The only way we’re going to be profitable, Aaron, is if we CUt expenses as well as bring in accounts,” Dave Stein said. “I’d like to mention that your new business costs, including a suite at the Carlyle for most of last year, ate up the profits.”
“Jesus Christ, Dave. Don’t tell me how to spend my money.”
“Our money,” Jerry reminded him. He paused, and at last looked genuinely uncomfortable. “It’s not just the money, Aaron. When we started, we agreed we wanted to be more than client ass-kissers like most of the guys in advertising. Frankly …” He stopped.
“When have I kissed ass?” Aaron demanded hotly.
“Frankly, Herb Brubaker’s butt still has your lipstick blots,” said Julie.
Christ, was thae feminist bitch still holding a grudge?
“It would be best to let us buy you out,” Jerry added.
“Yeah, well, where are you getting the money to do it?” Aaron asked.
Jesus, he wasn’t going to roll over for peanuts, and that’s all these guys had.
“From Cushman,” Jerry said.
“Cushman?” Aaron said, incredulous. “Morty Cushman is loaning you the money to buy me out?”’ And not giving me back the money he promised?
Aaron added silently.
“Not Mory Cushman,” Jerry said. “Brenda Cushman.”
Jerry now opened the door to the outer room and said, “Won’t you come in now?”
Brenda walked into the room and, without looking around, sat in the seat indicated by Jerry.
Jerry stood beside her, his hand on the back of her chair, and said to everyone assembled, “I’d like to introduce you to the Cushman who is going to help us straighten out our problems, Ms. Brenda Cushman.”
The other partners, except for Aaron, broke into cheers. Dazed, Aaron stared at Brenda, trying to interpret the bland look on her face.
“Drew, Julie, Phil, thanks for helping to ensure that the partnership will be in the black for a long time to come,” Jerry said.
Turning his attention to Aaron, he said, “I’m ready to buy you out.”
Aaron sat back in his chair, stunned. Brenda Cushman, Morty’s exwife, Annie’s friend, just sat there, looking at him, then she grinned like the Cheshire cat. Aaron looked around the table at the other partners.
They all had their eyes on Jerry and were ignoring Aaron. What had happened? It felt unreal. Aaron out and Jerry in!
How could they do this? After he’d hired them, given them a chance, given them their head.
Aaron felt an actual pain in his chest. How could they? Why would they? Over the silly La Doll incident? Over his expenses? Because Jerry had given them the spotlight? Because they’d helped bring in the bacon? Aaron knew how eXCiting it was to pitch, how exhilarating to win an account. He had always pitched the new business. And he knew how much fun it was to take potshots at your boss. So, these little fuckers had been doing all this behind his back. Jesus Christ!
“You can’t make it without me,” he told them.
“I’d like to remind you,” Dave said, “that for some time I’ve been concerned about the expenditures for some of the work we do. For example, last year alone, the four hundred thousand we spent on speculative new accounts that we ultimately lost would have increased bonuses by almost a hundred percent. I feel, Aaron, you’ve been reaching too far, spending too much, and not targeting enough. Brenda Cushman agrees and will be in charge of monitoring new business expenditures. Then there was the loss of Federated Funds. But there were no cutbacks to match it.”’ Dave took a breath. “Lastly, we are going to have to relocate by the end of next year or pay double the rent, reducing profits even further. And, I might add, it appears that the Madman account is in turmoil. We still have no written authorization for the new campaign work we’ve done. I hope we don’t end up eating it.”
”Knowing Morty, you probably will,” Brenda cracked.
Aaron glared at her, at Dave, then at Jerry, who looked back mildly.
“Sorry, Aaron. No hard feelings,” he said.
“No hard feelings? Are you crazy?”
Aaron stood up and started for his office. As he passed Chris’s chair, he paused and made a slight indication for Chris to walk out before him. Obviously, his career here was over. But unbelievably, Chris turned his head away and faced Jerry. Et tu, Brute, Aaron thought, and continued out the door. There was nothing he could think of to say right now. He needed to be alone. No one spoke to him. At least they were letting him cope with his humiliation in private.
As he walked down the long hall to his office, he made a move to loosen his tie, but found that he already had. He felt constriction in his throat and pressure in his chest. Ah, the final indignity, a fatal heart attack in his own hallway. Fuck them—no way. He’d be damned if he’d let them inherit the key-man insurance.
He finally reached hie office, collapsed into the chair in front of the desk, got the bottle of Chivas out of the lower drawer, and poured himself a drink. All the little bastards had turned on him. It was unbelievable. He’d hired them—all of them, even Chris—nurtured them, made them what they fucking were. Christ, it was unbelievable. And then, to have his betrayal witnessed by Brenda Cushman, Annie’s friend!
He stopped for a moment. Could Annie have had anything to do with this? he wondered.
He shook his head. Christ, he was getting paranoid! Annie couldn’t even balance her checkbook, he reminded himself. But he hoped she’d never hear of his humiliation. He was shocked to find that tears were stinging his eyes.
Look what those bastards have done to me, he thought. I haven’t cried since I was sixteen. He wiped at his eyes with the scratchy fabric of his new, ridiculous sweater sleeve.
Babes in Boyland.
Annie was thrilled by Elise’s offer of a trip to Japan, after all, when would she ever get the opportunity to fly via private jet and be introduced to Japan by Bob Bloogee’s “man in Kyoto.”
“Now, Tanaki is a difficult man,” Bob explained once the steward had helped them settle into their glove-leather easy chairs and had served them a glass of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin (though Elise didn’t drink hers, Annie noticed).
“Why should he be difficult? We’re doing him a big favor. We’re warning him of a hostile takeover in time for him to stop it,” Brenda pointed out.
“Ah. Yes. Well, in the States that might have a predictable response, But in Japan … well, it’s different.” Bob looked around the luxurious interior of the plane as if the rubbed teak or the velvety carpet held an explanation. Apparently they didn’t, for he sighed before he continued.
“I’ve known Tanaki for almost twenty years. We’ve done half a dozen deals together. But the Japanese are a very private people. He’s never invited me to his home or said a personal word. I’ve never met his family.
He’s oldfashioned Japanese. That’s why he located Mai beibi headquarters in Kyoto. No airport, no subway, but it’s the most Japanese of cities.”
“Why should all this affect his reaction to the takeover news? Isn’t business business?” Elise asked.
“Well, not exactly.” Uncle Bob paused again. “Do you know the story of the forty-seven samurai?” Brenda and Elise shook their heads, but Annie knew it.
In the 1700s, Kira Yoshinaka, a royal retainer, insulted Asano Naganoni, Lord of Ako. Asano drew his sword to retaliate, a major sin because they were on the grounds of the imperial castle. Asano, for his transgression, was expected to commit seppuku, ritual suicide, and he did.
“You mean the guy offed himself when all he’d done was try to defend himself?”
Brenda asked.
“Honor demanded it,” Uncle Bob explained. “It protected his family.
But that left his samurai without a leader. And their loyalty to their lord was so strong that they plotted for months on how to kill Kira, while they pretended to accept the situation. At last they found their chance, killed Kira, cut off his head, and placed it on Asano’s grave.”
“Yech!” Brenda exclaimed.
“Well, that didn’t end it. The forty-seven samurai were now all ronin, leaderless knights, and honor demanded their own suicide. So they did it.”
“What? All forty-seven of them?”
“All of them. It was an incredible gesture. There is a temple built to their honor in Tokyo.”
“Ridiculous!” snorted Brenda. “Only men would pull that shit.”
“Their memories are still worshiped,” Uncle Bob pointed out mildly.
“ell, but what has that to do with Tanaki and the takeover?” Elise asked sensibly.
“Oh, yes. Well. Tanaki is a particular devotee of the forty-seven ronin. Many traditional Japanese are. He supports performances of Kabuki when they play Chushingura,’ their story. And he makes retreats to the Sengakuji temple where they are buried. When he hears that some of his stockholders have been disloyal, he will lose face. He may be upset.”
“Upset enough to off himself?” Brenda asked.
”Well, not that extreme, bt perhaps enough to retire, to step down.
And then Gil will step right in. So this has to be done … well
.
. . in the right way.”
“Will it make it more difficult to have us at the meeting?” Annie asked. She knew that women were given a very small business role in corporate Japan. They were called “office flowers” and often expected to quit when they married or turned thirty.
“Oh, surely you won’t attend the meeting. No. We’ll all meet Tanaki for a dinner, a sort of banquet that he’ll host, and then I and my man in Kyoto will meet With him alone, the following day.”
“Forget it,” said Elise.
“Excuse me … ?” Uncle Bob paused.
“We aren’t going all this way to be window dressing,” Elise said.
“This is, after all, our caper.”
“Not window dressing, but perhaps not really beneficial to …”
“Because we’re women? Ridiculous, Uncle Bob. This is the twentieth century.”