RSS 2.0 FeedLoose Hips, Loose Lips
The airline's VIP lounge still held baggage from the days when smoking was permitted. The smell of stale tobacco, like past sins, was not easily lost. The room was crowded, especially around the bar where a basketball game was on its large-screen TV.
Jan Stirling scanned for a seat as far from the crowd as possible. She needed to relax, even take a little nap, before catching her delayed flight to Chicago. She was tired, no, exhausted, and sick of people and conversation. As CEO of the second largest women's undergarment distributor in the country, Fashionfelt Fashions, she had attended the industry's annual sales convention. Stirling felt it was important for her to be there - a vivid contrast between her and her company's youthfulness and its chief competitor, National Garment Industries, owned by a man in his eighties, Bernie Feldman.
Being forty-five, Stirling had showed him. She'd been on her feet at her company's sales booth for nearly eight hours a day for the last five days, helping her sales people hustle new customers. Stirling was sure the old man couldn't compete with that, and he hadn't, as far as she could tell. No one from her company had seen Feldman at his booth once in the five days.
There was another reason Stirling had her dander up about him. She had heard via the grapevine that Feldman had said that she, "SHE," couldn't compete with him. That was the feedback she had received after lunching with Bernie the day before the convention. He had broached the subject of merging their companies, which at the time was a thought she promptly dismissed. I'll show the old fart, she thought when she first heard the rumor of his crack, but now she didn't care. She was too tired to think about anything, and desperately wanted some quiet time.
Jan nestled into a seat in a nearly vacant section far from the bar. She stretched out her long legs, wide apart, glad for her convention uniform, a navy blue pants suit. Wouldn't want to pull a Sharon Stone, she mused to herself with a weak grin. Her shoes were kicked off with a sigh. She groveled in her brief case for something which would give her the appearance of reading while she napped; the convention newsletter would do. Jan put her head on one of her hands and closed her eyes, feeling the grace of relaxation crawling over her lanky body. Next the rubber band was removed from her drawn-back blond hair, allowing it to fall and cover her blue-green eyes. Now she could safely close them without anyone's noticing she was taking a snooze.
Her mind was the last to seek calm pastures and was about to graze there when someone sat in the seat next to her. She glanced up and grumped, For Christ's sake, there's a whole row of seats across from me, why does she have to sit here? As if in reply, the woman pulled a cell phone from her brief case and punched a number.
Stirling heard someone answer; the woman was not holding the phone close enough to her ear to prevent the world from hearing what was said by both parties. Ah, shit, I guess I'd better move if I want my space. But Stirling didn't. She gambled that the conversation would be short and that she could return to her reverie. She didn't register on the woman's appearance.
"Marcia, where are you?" Stirling heard a woman's voice ask the caller. "I thought you were spending the night with me?"
"I had a better proposition. Whoops. A better opportunity. You know I was out here to interview a candidate for my firm's biggest client and, well, one thing led to another, and, well, you know, since my divorce from Jim, it's been a long, dry spell."
"Was Slick Smitty as good in the sack as he's reported to be?"
"Who's that?"
"Slick Smitty. Charlie Smith. Remember? You said you were going to interview him, and if you liked him, you wanted to talk to me about him. Dummy. Your brains must be in your pants. I told you I used to have the carousel next to his when we worked at National Garment. He got more ass than a toilet seat at that time, and that's how he got his nickname."
"Was he married then?"
"Yeh. Had two kids, but it didn't seem to bother him."
"Well, he's been busy since then. Has three kids now and one on the way." Marcia was silent for a moment. "I confess. I forgot you worked for National Garment and that you knew him. Guess my mind is where you say it is. He still works there, and he's their best salesman. He, let's put it this way, sure knows how to relate to women. Anyway, toots, I'm sorry we missed each other. I need a good woman's talk, but I needed a good man's lay more. We'll connect the next time I'm out here."
After Marcia hung up, Stirling watched her put the phone into her brief case, which had her firm's name on it. Wells, Schmidt, and Putnam. Her eyes focused on the name. That's the headhunting firm we use occasionally. And she's trying to hire the old man's best salesman for a client of hers. Hmm.
Stirling felt blood rush to her face. That goddamned womanizer. Sounds just like my ex Mike; couldn't keep his mind north of his zipper. But a skirt-chaser doesn't act alone. Takes two to tangle. She's not to blame, but not blameless. For these kinds of women.... She felt her heart beginning to pound and her head hurt, but she had one more thought. Let's teach Mike, Charlie, a lesson, maybe something for Marcia, too. Assholes. Her therapist would not have approved, but he would have understood. On the long flight home she gave the topic serious consideration.
On Monday, Jan's secretary connected her with Marcia Fleming. "Hello, Ms. Fleming. I'm Jan Stirling, CEO of Fashionfelt Fashions. We've used your firm in the past, and you've come to my attention as a good recruiter. I'd like to discuss an assignment for you for our company."
"Gee, that's great, and I'm flattered you called me. But you should talk to the partner who handled your business in the past before you talk to me."
"I thought about that, but no one at your firm seems to remember who that was. Plus, I want a woman, and, from what my secretary tells me, you're the only professional woman in the firm. Is that correct?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Then it's settled. Could you be in my office tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. to discuss the matter?"
"Of course. Again, I'm flattered you called me, and thank you. I look forward to meeting you."
Marcia disconnected and leaned back in her chair. A message from heaven. This could be the piece of business I need to show these male pricks that a woman can be a rainmaker. And an assignment right under their up-lifted noses - I'll save my job.
As Marcia entered Jan's office, she extended her hand for Stirling to shake. Despite Marcia's tailored "I'm going to a meeting suit," Stirling could see the package that lay underneath, details she had missed at the airport, details which the likes of Slick Smitty would like to explore. After some small talk about the weather and shopping for the upcoming holiday season, Stirling said, "Let's get down to business. I told you one of the reasons I called you rather than one of your male partners, but there's another one. Since we are in what is essentially a woman's business, I want a woman to represent us in this assignment. I think you know more about women's undergarments than most men." Laughing, she continued, "But, of course, I could be wrong."
"Thank you. There are a few men I could mention but won't," Marcia giggled.
"Now I'm going to be a little inconsistent. Arguably, more than inconsistent. I want to hire a salesperson from our largest competitor, and the salesperson happens to be male. He's in our face on most every deal, and we want him on our sales staff, maybe even lead it. I don't know what he makes as a base salary, but we'll double it and give him any other incentives he needs in order to get him."
"Who does he work for?"
"Nationwide Garment." Stirling answered with a straight face.
Marcia fought a frown and said, "I know a little about the company. Who's the lucky guy?"
"His name is Charles Smith. I don't know which office he works out of, but I'm sure you can find that out."
Marcia felt herself slink into her chair along with her stomach. Oh shit. Not Charlie. I've nearly got him sewed up for someone else. But. But. The commission on this assignment will be almost, hell, more than double that commission, and it'll be my business originization, so what's the problem? If he gives me any grief about his talking to Fashionfelt, I'll remind him of our little roll in the hay."
After formalizing the assignment, Marcia left with a smile bigger than the one Slick Charlie had put on her face last week. She marched back to her office, pranced to the senior partner's office, and announced she had made a kill. And so there, you stuffy old bastard.
When, later that week, Charles Smith walked into Stirling's office, she couldn't remember which movie star he looked like, but his Gentleman's Quarterly attire enhanced his sexuality. The interview went smoothly; Marcia had told him about the compensation package, more than he could dream of getting anyplace else. Then, too, Slick Smitty was smitten in more ways than one.
He had sized up Stirling's athletic body as hidden terrain for future exploration, and concluded she would be ripe for some of his night moves. Jan helped him in reaching that impression. When she crossed her legs, she allowed her skirt to slip up far enough to give him an ogle at her long legs. He was putty for her to mold, and she found out all she wanted, and much more, about National Garment.
Marcia called the next morning to find out how the interview had gone. "He's just what I want," Stirling answered. "I can't talk now, but I will ASAP. I want to move on this matter quickly. I'll call you."
Stirling pulled out her Blackberry and called the crusty old fart. "Mr. Feldman, Jan Stirling here. Rested up from that god-awful convention yet? I sure haven't."
Feldman mumbled something.
She ignored the comment, whatever it was. "I enjoyed our lunch before the convention. I'd like to follow up on some ideas of mine since we talked. How's lunch today?"
"Hell, lunch with a pretty girl is always fine. Anytime. I'll buy. Midtown Club at noon?"
"I'll see you there. Look forward to it."
Stirling was at the Club early. She disliked it immensely. Its mahogany-paneled walls were littered with the pictures of past members, past Presidents, and past tycoons, all who had looked dead even when alive. As one of the new female members, she had the privilege of selecting a corner table where conversations were captured by the walls and kept there.
Feldman spotted her. His short, well-tailored body limped across the room towards her, stopping along the way to shake hands with old cronies. When he finally reached the table where Stirling was seated, he said, "Don't stand," as she pushed back her chair. He shook her hand, sat, took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his bald head. He hadn't been there two minutes when a waiter, dressed in a tux, brought him a martini, straight up with two olives.
"Been around here too long. They know my passions, and they spoil me. What can they get for you?"
"A black coffee would be fine, thank you."
"So you are a member now, too. I remember when they wouldn't even let women dine here, let alone be members."
"Is that a problem for you?"
"No. No. I hope I didn't offend you. Just my old memory coming around the bend to remind me where I'm at. Can't remember what happened thirty minutes ago, but I can remember everything that happened thirty years ago like it was yesterday. Anyway, I bet we're off the track. You didn't come here to talk about my memory or the Club. What do you have on your pretty little mind?"
Stirling tightened her grip on her cup at the "pretty little mind" comment, hesitated and answered, "You're right, Mr. Feldman."
"Bernie," he interrupted.
"Thank you, Bernie. The last time we met, we danced around merging our two companies. You probably noticed I wasn't enthusiastic about the idea. Well, I confess I was wrong. I thought you were losing money and were in bad financial shape. My financial backers would never let me merge if that was the case."
"What's changed your mind?"
"To make a long story short, I found out that your salesman, Charles Smith, was interviewing for a job at a company that competes with both of us. So, I maneuvered a little and interviewed him as if I wanted to hire him. He spilled the beans about your company. Seems that you and your family take a lot of money out of the company to make it appear that it's losing money, at least to the IRS. By the way, if that's true, the practice irritates him as well as some of your other key employees."
"Let me interrupt, please. Thank you for the input. I'm afraid your information is correct. I've got every Tom, Dick, and Harry from my family on the tit, and I'm goddamned sick of it. They're leeches. Think they're entitled to more money, more of whatever, without lifting a goddamned finger. I broached the merger idea with you 'cause you're a real comer. You could take charge, fire all my parasite relatives, and keep the good people who've built the company and who I love. The company is very profitable, but I don't want a lot for it. I have all the money I could possibly need; no tag days for Bernie. If I can cash out and merge, I can reward my loyal employees for their contributions and give myself time to devote to the charitable foundation I've set up."
Stirling was taken aback by Feldman's frankness. Things had gone way beyond her wildest expectations. She was thrilled.
"How do we make this happen, young lady?"
"Before we go there, I've heard from the grapevine that after our last lunch you told everyone that I couldn't compete with you. Is that true?"
"You know, I don't really remember, but I probably did. What the hell do you think I'm going to say, you're better than us? We compete, don't we? Anyway, that's not true. You've done a great job, and I think you can do an even better one if you have our muscle in the market. Enough said?"
Stirling gulped, explained how the merger would probably work, and how they could get the deal done to their mutual satisfaction. Shortly thereafter, they left, almost holding hands.
When Stirling got back to her office, she listened to her voice mail and noted that Marcia had called four times, each call inquiring about the status of Charles Smith.
Stirling grinned as she reached for her phone and dialed Marcia.
Marcia's caller ID promised her the caller she wanted so desperately to talk to. Her partners were bugging her, as she described it to her friends, about the big deal she was working on and when the firm would get the fee she had bragged about more often than she should have. She answered with a big, "Jan. How are you? I hope everything is going as we planned?"
"Well, I don't know whether the use of 'we' is appropriate."
Marcia said, "I apologize, I guess I was a little presumptuous."
"Perhaps. But to answer the question I know you're dying to have answered, Charles Smith will not be hired by our company, and, furthermore, I hear he's been fired by National Garment."
Stunned, Marcia gulped, "But why?"
"Dear, as if you already don't know from personal experience, Slick Smitty has a well-known reputation for being a big time womanizer. I don't think I need to elaborate why we would never hire such a person and, I might add, be associated with anyone who has been a part of his unacceptable conduct. To be even clearer, if you haven't caught on by now, I want you to know that we are terminating your assignment as of this day. I'll be writing a letter to your firm to outline our displeasure with your lack of professionalism."
Marcia sat stunned but managed to mutter, "You're making accusations about me you can't possibly substantiate. I'll sue you for slander or whatever."
"Sue if you like, but my position is simple. When you use a cell phone in a public place, the Las Vegas airport comes to mind, consider who's sitting next to you. Remember the old saying, 'Loose lips sink...'
Marcia interrupted, "Ships!"
"You're getting warm, real warm," Jan Stirling whispered, and hung up.