Storiesonline.net
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                          Six-Months Turnaround
                                by Morgan

© 1992, 2007, 2012 by Morgan. All rights reserved.


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Description: He was hired for six months to turn the company around. Getting there he found more than just a company, he found a lifetime commitment and love. 

Codes: MF slow rom cons het
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Copyright© 1992, 1998, 2001, 2005, 2007 by Morgan. All rights reserved.

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Chapter 1



Clifford Fitzpatrick eased his car into the parking lot at the headquarters of Murphy Manufacturing Company in the outskirts of Milwaukee. He saw a parking place immediately adjacent to the building entrance with a newly-painted sign reading President and immediately below the title, C J Fitzpatrick. He pulled into the spot and parked.

Cliff Fitzpatrick was a trim six feet two with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He looked like an athlete and moved like one. As he got out of the car, he looked down the row of what were obviously executive parking spaces and saw that most were still empty. It was eight-fifteen on a Monday morning in early April but Cliff was not surprised. Although he had been told that working hours at Murphy Manufacturing began at eight o'clock, the late arrival of executives was just one more sign of a general slackness in the operation.

Normally an early starter, Cliff had waited a few extra minutes this morning, his first at Murphy and his first as its president. He wanted to give the other people a chance to arrive before him. He noticed there was a row of signs similar to his own running down the line of preferred parking spaces. Clearly, the sequence of names was the corporate pecking order presented for all the world to see.

Cliff entered the building and was greeted by name by the receptionist. Obviously, she had been told to expect him and had been watching for him. Going up to the second floor, which served as the executive offices of the company, he went around to the corner where he knew his new office was. He found his secretary, Sandra Donnell, sitting expectantly at her desk awaiting his arrival.

She rose from her chair and held out her hand. "Good morning, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Welcome to Murphy Manufacturing!"

Cliff was surprised at the firmness of her grip. "Good morning, Miss Donnell, could you arrange for someone else to cover our phones for a while? I want to talk with you and I don't want us to be disturbed." While the girl made arrangements Cliff entered his office and sat down in the big chair behind the desk.

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Cliff Fitzpatrick was thirty-two years old, five years out of Harvard Business School and two days out of Cumings & Company, one of the world's preeminent management consulting firms. He had accepted the position of president of Murphy while recognizing the risks. He had agreed with Ezra Stiles, the trustee of the Murphy estate, on specific performance objectives to be achieved by September 30 ... just six months away. At the same time he recognized that, had he been unwilling to accept the very ambitious targets he would not have been offered the position.

Cliff was relying on being able to make dramatic improvements in operations, even if not quite up to the objectives he had agreed to. Privately, he believed them to be unattainable, but he thought he could get close enough to have his contract renewed anyway.

He thought about the decision he had made. Murphy was in the Fortune second 500 in size with sales of about $500 million a year. It was an old-line automotive supplier with a good reputation in the industry. However, Cliff's investigation before taking the position showed conclusively — to him at least — that the company was in trouble. It was a victim of dry rot on the inside. The numbers were all trending in unpleasant directions although the trends were not yet apparent to the outside.

He reminded himself that he had an appointment with a securities analyst from Chicago who was scheduled to visit him on Friday. Cliff suspected that the analyst who claimed to follow Murphy had noticed the trend in the numbers. He knew it would take some fast talking to avoid a very negative report which would be followed by a sharp drop in Murphy's stock price. Because of the ownership position of the Murphy estate — about 65 percent of the shares — the stock did not qualify for a listing on the New York Stock Exchange and so was traded on the American Stock Exchange instead.

Cliff was a man in a hurry. He recognized that the odds against a successful turnaround — achieving the promised operating results in just six months — were very high. Weighing against those odds, though, were two other factors. First, he had saved some money while he was with Cumings, and had received a big jump in salary — to $200,000 a year — when he joined Murphy. Second, there was Stephanie Simpson. Stephanie was the beautiful dark-haired daughter of George Simpson, Chairman, Chief Executive Officer and largest individual shareholder of Ajax Industries, Inc.

When they were together in bed Saturday night, she again tried to get him to refuse the Murphy position and join Ajax instead. He was madly in love with Stephanie — or thought he was — so he could not really sort out his feelings. From the first time he mentioned to her that he was thinking of leaving Cumings and going into private industry, she had been after him to join Ajax as a staff vice president. He reflected that she had almost run through the full gamut of her emotions as she tried to persuade him, stopping just short of rage.

Cliff examined the relationship he enjoyed with this beautiful girl who had a successful career of her own in public relations, although, he admitted, she was working on the Ajax account. She was five feet six inches tall with dark hair and a voluptuous figure. He reflected that she was soft all over. Occasionally, as a great favor she would permit him to share her bed as she had on Saturday night.

Thinking about the offer from Ajax, Cliff decided that it was more a gift to a prospective son-in-law than a real job. He didn't like the idea of being a kept man, even though Stephanie had been introducing him to her friends as her fiancé.

Cliff wanted to make it on his own in a company he was running. He recognized that only the problems at Murphy, coupled with his performance objectives and the very short time horizon to reach them, had made this opportunity possible. He was objective enough about his position to know that the situation he faced was the only one in which an ex-consultant with no direct management experience would have possibly been considered. Well,  Cliff thought, there was my time as Gunnery Officer on a destroyer. That was managing something. Murphy with its eight hundred employees was only his second shot.

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Cliff looked at Sandra Donnell as she entered his office. She was a tall girl — about five feet eight, he thought — with a lovely face and a very trim figure. She was conservatively dressed in a tweed skirt and a loose fitting beige sweater worn with a single strand of pearls. The tan color set off her hair which was a lovely shade of auburn. He noticed that she did not have the very fair complexion that normally accompanied the hair color. In fact she had a tan suggesting she had vacationed in the sun recently. She had her stenographic notebook with her and took a seat next to his desk. Her pencil was poised for dictation.

"Do you go by Sandra, Sandy, or something else?"

Startled, she looked up and then smiled, "My friends call me Sandy."

"May I call you Sandy, then? And I would appreciate it if you would call me Cliff. I'm used to informality even though I gather it's not the style here at Murphy. In fact, I haven't encountered such formality since I worked on a consulting assignment for an old-line insurance company. There — if you can believe it — even in internal memos an executive was referred to as 'Assistant Secretary Smith'."

"Of course you may," she replied with a quick smile. "And you're right. Things have become rather formal around here lately. I haven't been here that long myself on a full-time basis, but I gather things were more informal when Mr. Murphy was still active in the company. I hope you don't mind, but I scheduled a staff meeting for you at ten in the board room to meet the senior executives. Do you have some dictation for me?"

"No, Sandy, I don't. I want to level with you. This is going to sound strange since we only really met a few minutes ago..." Then he remembered. "But you were present when I met with Mr. Stiles, weren't you?"

She smiled, and he noticed again how her smile lighted up her face. He also noticed laugh lines suggesting that she smiled often. "I was here hiding in the corner. I'm surprised you even noticed me. I never did learn why Mr. Stiles wanted me to be in the room, though."

"At any rate, I'm the stranger around here and I need all the help I can get. Sandy, let's be honest. If you don't like me, you can cut my throat ... or rather, just watch as I cut my own. I have several changes in mind, beginning right now. I would like to sound you out first and get your thoughts on the probable company reaction. Would you mind?"

Sandy looked a bit skeptical. "That wouldn't make me a spy, would it?" she asked.

"I certainly hope not!" he retorted. "I just want your opinion. I have the feeling that you know a lot about this place. Am I right? After all, you have been the president's secretary for quite a while, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir. I worked for poor Mr. MacDougal for three years after I got out of school. Is the staff meeting at ten o'clock okay?"

"That's fine. Now, some basics: First, where does a guy go for coffee around here?"

Sandy reddened. "I'm sorry, sir! I forgot to ask if you wanted any. Mr. MacDougal ended the coffee service on the executive floor over a year ago. I think someone spilled coffee on some business papers or something. But I could get some for you from the cafeteria if you would like?"

"Why don't we both just take a walk? I never did have much of a chance to look around." He smiled and added, "But you're going to have to lead. I don't have the foggiest idea where things are around here yet."

As they walked through the building, Sandy pointed out the executive dining room. They stopped and he looked inside. It was really quite elegant, paneled floor to ceiling in oak. There were a number of tables and what was obviously a head table placed across the end of the room.

"Your place is at the center of the head table as you probably guessed," she said blandly.

"Who operates the dining room? Company employees?"

"No, sir. There's an outside caterer who is supposed to be quite good. His people operate the whole thing. The company people who used to run it before the renovation — the ones who are left from Mr. Murphy's time — are now down in the employees' cafeteria. That's where we're headed."

They entered the cafeteria which was off the factory floor. The first thing Cliff noticed was all the noise from the plant floor spilling through the paper-thin walls. The second was how rundown everything looked. Some of the people were valiantly trying to clean but without great success. Sandy introduced him to Janet Simmons, the manager. Mrs. Simmons was a strikingly handsome woman who seemed out of place in the cafeteria. She shook hands and welcomed him to Murphy.

Sandy seemed a bit embarrassed to have Cliff with her. "I'm sorry, Janet, but Mr. Fitzpatrick insisted on coming with me. I didn't have a chance to warn you we were on our way."

Cliff didn't say anything but was puzzled by the comment. He bought four coffees and insisted on carrying them back upstairs while Sandy opened doors. When they returned to his office and closed the door, he looked at the girl and said, "I did something wrong, didn't I? I can see it in your eyes. What was it?"

"Cliff, that wasn't nice to Janet. You embarrassed her."

"I'm sorry. But what did I do?" he asked contritely.

Sandy smiled at him and grimaced. "You didn't do anything. I did something. I had promised that I would warn Janet if any executives headed towards the cafeteria. You see, she managed the executive dining room before the caterer came in. She's more than a little upset about meeting you under these conditions."

She looked at him steadily and then continued, "While we're on the subject, you have just seen a union grievance: The union doesn't think it's right for the executives to eat subsidized meals while the workers who make much less than they do have to pay full price."

"I don't think it's right either. Is it true?"

Her eyes were downcast, but he saw her briefly nod. Her head came up, she looked up at him and replied, "Actually, its truer than they know. The executives pay one dollar apiece for their lunches. I think the company's direct subsidy is about ten dollars apiece, and that doesn't cover the maintenance of the dining room or kitchen."

Cliff again noticed how tall she was. He was used to towering over women, but wearing her pumps she was only a few inches shorter than he. "Sandy, I said at the beginning I wanted to use you as a sounding board. Here comes the first idea: This company is in tough shape. But working here, I'm sure you already know that."

Sandy looked like she was about to protest, but then merely nodded. "Things are not too good," she reluctantly agreed.

"We're agreed on that, anyway. Now, if we're going to get this company turned around at all — let alone within the six-month period I agreed to in my contract — everybody has got to pull his weight. We can't afford grievances, and frankly, I can't afford prima donnas in the executive suite either. I gathered from your comment that executives are rare on the factory floor?"

"Rare?" she exclaimed. "I'm not sure how many of them could find the factory floor. As far as the cafeteria is concerned, forget-about-it! That's strictly for the peons."

"Do you eat there, Sandy?" he asked quietly.

Her chin came up and she looked right at him. "Yes, I do. I used to bring my lunch and most of the other secretaries on this floor still do. But when Janet was kicked out of the dining room and booted downstairs, I started eating there. The food's surprisingly good, by the way."

"Great! Tell Mrs. Simmons I'll be eating lunch there today."

"You're going to do what?"

"I'm eating in the cafeteria. What's the big deal? Since we're closing the executive dining room as soon as the contract can be canceled, there's no sense in getting used to the food. Who looks after the contract, by the way?"

"Mr. Purcell. That's Charles Purcell, the treasurer," she replied, trying vainly to choke off a giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, puzzled.

"I was just wondering what he is going to do all day without his dining room to fuss over. The secretaries joke about him living on the phone with the caterer planning menus. The joke among the girls is the reason we're charged so much for the executive meals is Purcell takes so much of the caterer's time, the poor man can't get any other work done." She stopped giggling, and tried to look repentant. "I'm sorry. That was a very nasty thing to say."

"Probably true, though." He grinned at her and she smiled back. "Now, the second thing: Who takes care of the parking lot and space assignments?"

"Plant operations, I think." She suddenly looked horrified. "Is there a problem with your space? They didn't misspell your name, did they? I typed it in all capital letters so they would be sure to get it right!"

"They got it absolutely right. That's not the problem. I want you to write a memo for my signature. You can bring copies to the staff meeting. Effective at midnight tonight, there will be no assigned spaces for anyone. I want all of the executive signs removed by the end of the day today. There will be a number of handicapped spaces, but all the rest will be regular spaces. If an executive feels the need to have a space close to the entrance, he can arrive early enough to get one. It seems that the parking lot is far larger than the number of cars in it. There is no space shortage, is there?"

She looked at him quizzically. "You're serious, aren't you? You are really going to eliminate the reserved executive spaces? Except yours, of course." Sandy almost jumped at his reaction. She instantly saw steely overtones in his blue eyes. He's mad! she thought. Oops! I really put my foot in it.

"There are no exceptions! Particularly not me. Now, what do you think?"

"How important are the executives to making your plans work?" she asked, avoiding a direct answer to his question.

"Very important. Vital, in fact! However, I'm assuming that the guys who are focused on making the business work don't give a damn about parking spaces. The guys who do care have to be question marks ... at best."

He reflected for a moment and then continued, "I met the chairman of a Fortune 100 corporation at his headquarters in New York. His office was up high — about the fortieth floor — with a view across to New Jersey and up to the George Washington Bridge. He said his problem was 'there are too damned many people in this organization looking inside, and not nearly enough looking outside.'

"To him, the inside-outside metaphor was simple: 'Outside' included the customers, competitors, and markets. 'Inside' was the zingy memo, the pithy comment in the staff meeting ... that sort of thing. Inside activities cost money, they don't make money. You don't make money inside. Did I answer your question? The damned dining room and reserved parking spaces are inside activities at their worst."

She smiled at him and pretended to size him up. Although she was playacting, she knew she liked what she saw and had from the first time she had seen him. Finally she said, "I guess you're strong enough. Do you want me to see if I can borrow a hardhat for you to wear? There are going to be a few guys coming in here screaming with blood in their eyes. Do you want me to get rid of them for you?"

Now it was his turn to regard her speculatively. "You would, wouldn't you? You would take all that heat? What in hell for?"

"Because," she replied quietly, "it's my job. A good executive secretary is supposed to take heat off her boss, not add to it."

"Thank you," he said, simply. "I'm sure you could and would, and I certainly appreciate the thought. This time, though, I want to see how the guys who scream operate. I'll see them myself. One more thing: our working relationship. What time do you arrive and what time do you leave at night? I did hear Miss Donnell, didn't I?"

"It's Miss" she confirmed. "I try to arrive before you do so I can get things organized, and I normally leave just a little after you. What hours do you plan on working, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

"It's Cliff, and now you're creating a problem for me. I normally get in early and stay until all hours. It's my consulting background, I guess. We used to say we were paid to work, not to sleep. Besides, the joke among the associates was that if you didn't work at least eighty hours, the firm couldn't make any money. You worked eighty, but only charged forty to clients. That was to ensure clients got their money's worth."

He grinned and then continued, "Anyway, what are we going to do? Why don't you plan on leaving no later than five-thirty? How's that?"

"We'll see," she answered, smiling enigmatically. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. Your steno pad," he said.

She looked at her pad, turned it over, looked puzzled and looked up at Cliff. "It's an ordinary steno pad. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing at all if you like taking notes in it. But I have a problem with my dictation. Could we try some?"

Sandy's pencil was poised over the pad as Cliff started to dictate a series of notes and short letters to friends telling them about his new job. He watched her pencil fly across the pad. Since one of his consulting skills was his ability to read upside down, he could see that Sandy was using a form of self-developed speedwriting and was barely keeping up with him. When he stopped dictating abruptly, she blew a stray strand of hair out of her eye and looked at him. He could see a faint look of chagrin in her eyes ... and hurt.

"I apologize, Sandy. That was cruel and unkind. I think you're an outstanding secretary. How fast do you take shorthand? Honestly."

She grinned. "An apology is uncalled for. You caught me out. I guess I can manage 100 words a minute or so. I faked the test years ago at 140 or something stupid like that."

"Do you know why you function so brilliantly as a secretary?" he asked. She just shook her head. "First, I'll bet you handle the important parts of your job very well. As for dictation, it divides basically into three groups: letters that should never be dictated at all, those that can't be dictated, and junk. I was just dictating junk.

"The first category are really form letters. The person dictating is saying essentially the same thing over and over. A smart secretary just notes down the variables and sticks them in her standard letter. If her words aren't exactly what her boss dictated, he doesn't know the difference. And hers are probably better, anyway.

"The material that shouldn't be dictated would be something like a plan document. Since so much thought is required, the biggest problem the secretary faces is trying to stay awake between words. Shorthand? You could probably write that stuff in calligraphy, complete with curlicues. Do you, by the way?"

Her head was down, but he saw her nod vigorously while she went back through the pages of her steno pad. With her head still down, she held up a page of beautiful calligraphy.

"Finally, Sandy, there's the junk I just gave you. If I ever do send out such drivel, we'll either set up a form letter or I'll just give you a list of names and addresses and ask you to compose one. Dictating is a colossal waste of time! Does what I've been saying make any sense to you?"

Sandy raised her head, and Cliff laughed. It was obvious that she had been giggling and then laughing hard, while trying to control herself. "That was unfair!" she said with a grin. "It's absolutely true, but unfair. Bosses aren't supposed to know things like that!"

"Sandy, there are two people I would like to see quickly. The first is whoever runs our systems unit. Who is he, and is he any good?"

"His name is Kevin O'Rourke. He's young, but I think he's very good. He's one of the guys who isn't listened to much around here but I think he's got a real contribution to make. Why?"

"Can you get him in here? Now?"

"Just a moment. I'm sure I can."

She picked up the phone on Cliff's desk and dialed a number from memory. When it was answered, she told the other party that Mr. Fitzpatrick wanted to see Mr. O'Rourke in his office at once. A few moments later there was a knock on the door. Sandy opened it, intending to leave the two men alone, but Fitzpatrick called her back saying she was involved in the meeting.

"Hi, Kevin, I'm Cliff Fitzpatrick. I'm delighted to meet another Irishman. But then the place seems to be lousy with them. On the other hand, with the name, Murphy Manufacturing, I guess it comes with the territory."

They shook hands, and Cliff told Kevin he wanted one personal computer installed in his office and one for Sandy. If they shared a processor, it was okay, but not essential. He wanted a system in which they could each access and work on the same set of files.

"I do my own correspondence in my own inimitable style. With this system, when Miss Donnell reads what I wrote and tries to translate it into English, I won't have to listen to her laugh at me from across the desk. Can you get a big IBM system with lots of hard disk storage and RAM?"

Kevin nodded. "Can do. They have several very good systems. I assume you know how to use it from consulting days. But what about software?"

Cliff told him what he wanted, and then asked Sandy, "Do you have experience with computers, Miss Donnell?"

"Yes, and I need WordPerfect software for word processing, and I think we ought to have a laser printer if we're going for a powerful system. Can we do that, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

The deal was set, and O'Rourke said he would try to have it installed in the afternoon. He would check with suppliers, but thought the units would be available from stock.

"Now, who else did you want to see?" Sandy asked. "You only have a few minutes until the staff meeting."

"Murphy is a union company. Who's the president of the union local, and how long would it take to get him up here? I would like to meet him before the staff meeting if it's possible."

The union president, Max Kaufman, appeared within a few minutes, still wiping his hands with a rag after coming up from the shop floor. Cliff introduced himself and told Kaufman about closing the executive dining room and eliminating assigned parking spaces. Finally, he said that he hoped they would be able to work together.

However, he indicated one concern: "Mr. Kaufman, the most important problem we may have to face is work rules. I don't care very much about the hourly wage rate, or some other things like hours, vacations and so forth. But I care a great deal about work rules. I need the flexibility to reassign and realign jobs if we're going to get this company moving again. I'll want to meet with you and your people to discuss ideas before any changes are made, of course. And with your knowledge of what really happens on the shop floor, I'm sure you and your people can improve on our ideas. Can we work together?"

Kaufman, a burly man who appeared to be in his middle fifties, looked at Fitzpatrick carefully. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I certainly hope so. We had great relations with Mr. Murphy, but since he died things have really gone downhill." Then, changing the subject, he asked, "Do you have any plans for the cafeteria?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. Kaufman. Renovations will begin as soon as possible, possibly as soon as this afternoon. The first thing to do is to put sound insulation in so we're not eating in a machine shop. And could I meet you for lunch today, by the way? I can eat whenever it's convenient for you."

Kaufman stuck out his hand. "You sure can, Mr. Fitzpatrick! I eat at noon, if that's okay with you?" They agreed on the time, and Cliff looked at his watch. Kaufman went back to work, leaving Cliff and his secretary alone again.

"Sandy, there's one more thing. I hate to admit it, but I have the world's lousiest memory for names. It's a hell of a thing for an ex-consultant to say. I would like you to join me in the staff meeting and make a little chart for me with the names of the people matching where they're seated. Also, I would like you to keep your eyes open for reactions. Will you do that?"

She agreed with a little grin on her face and they walked together towards the board room.



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Chapter 2



Cliff Fitzpatrick moved around the room introducing himself and shaking hands with his senior executives. It was clear that each man had his own usual seat at the table and was prepared to take it. Cliff made his way to the end of the boardroom table and sat down. When he did, the rest of the executives took their seats.

"Gentlemen, there's a lot of work to be done. As I'm sure many of you know, I have made commitments to the Board of Directors with respect to operating results I expect to achieve within the next six months. I believe you also know that the trends we are following now are not good: Murphy Manufacturing is going downhill. Does anyone care to comment on the present situation?"

Several executives started to speak at once. Cliff took control and let them speak one after the other. Although the words changed, each one's message was the same: His unit was doing a fine job, but received no support from the others. Cliff noticed some of the executives had no comments to make.

When all who wanted to had had a chance to speak, Cliff made his announcement. "Gentlemen, effective tomorrow morning, there will no longer be reserved parking places. Except for the clearly marked handicapped parking and visitors' parking, every space will be available on a first-come, first-served basis to all company personnel. Secondly, the executive dining room will be closed as soon as the caterer's contract can be canceled. Mr. Purcell, how soon can that be?"

Purcell, an acerbic-looking gray-haired man who appeared to be close to retirement, was speechless. Finally, he managed to say that the contract had run long enough so that it could be canceled with a modest payment after just one week, provided contract termination was to close the room rather than replace the present catering company.

Cliff excused him from the meeting with instructions to give notice of cancellation immediately. Purcell returned a few minutes later and said verbal notice had been given and a written confirmation had been dictated.

Cliff then turned to the principal business of the meeting, the determination of Strategic Business Units (SBUs) and preparation for the planning sessions he was going to lead beginning the following week. "Gentlemen," he asked, "what business or businesses are we in?"

A quick answer came back from John Flood, the vice president of marketing. "We're in the auto-parts business, obviously, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Is that a trick question, or something?"

"Not at all, John. We produce valves and piston rings. Another company produces sparkplugs. Are we both auto-parts suppliers?"

"Of course we are! It is a trick question, isn't it?"

"No, it really isn't. You said we're both auto-parts suppliers. Do we compete with each other in any significant way?"

"Well ... no," Flood replied. "I guess not."

"We sure don't. The point is, saying we're auto-parts suppliers says absolutely nothing. We can look at a number of elements: price, customers, and a number of other things. We would see that we sell to common customers, but that's about it. We do not compete with sparkplug companies.

"However, we also operate a chain of auto-parts stores. Is this the same business as manufacturing valves and rings? I doubt it. There is a completely different set of competitors and a totally different set of customers. It's a wholesale/retail business that happens to deal in auto parts, among other things.

"But we sell the parts we make in our own stores! It's got to be the same business," Flood protested.

"John, let me try it a different way: What percentage of our stores' sales are sourced from us?"

"One-hundred percent!" Flood answered proudly. "We buy for all the stores right here in Milwaukee."

"No, John, that's not what I mean. What percentage of the products our stores sell do we make? And by the way, why do we centralize the store buying here in Milwaukee? I thought our stores are spread all over the country."

"Well, I guess the percentage is small, but what difference does that make? And we buy for all the stores here in Milwaukee to make sure they buy the right things."

"Okay," Cliff continued, barely able to control his exasperation. "Are there successful auto parts suppliers that do not own parts stores? How about Racer Sparkplug, the biggest in the business? Does it have parts stores?"

"Of course not, but so what?"

"Is Racer harmed by not having its own stores? We sell their sparkplugs in ours, don't we?"

"I still don't get it," Flood said. "What difference does it make?"

"The difference, John, is that they are different businesses. We'll get to the relevance in our meeting next week. We are going to start with a planning session on our manufactured parts beginning at eight o'clock next Monday. There will be a memo out later today with the details and the location. One more thing: Everyone named will be expected to attend unless personally excused by me. Any questions? No? This meeting is adjourned.

"Mr. Purcell, could I see you in my office at one o'clock, please?"

When Cliff and Sandy returned to his office, they found two deliverymen were just leaving. Entering, they found a very modern-looking Eames chair sitting in his office. Although a beautiful example of modern design, the stainless steel and leather chair looked grotesquely inappropriate in an office which was furnished in 1950's walnut. Seeing a gift tag hanging from its back, Cliff took a look at it. It said, "Best of luck, good wishes, and love, Stephanie."

"Who is Stephanie?" Sandy asked.

"Stephanie Simpson is my girlfriend in Chicago. What do you suppose I ought to do with it?" Cliff replied.

"Since she's your girlfriend, I'm sure I don't have the faintest idea. It is kind of big to be a paperweight, though," she answered while trying to control a grin.

At that point the telephone buzzed, and Sandy picked it up. It was Louise, the girl she had asked to cover the phones. "It's a Miss Simpson, calling from Chicago. I told her Mr. Fitzpatrick was in a series of meetings, but she insisted I buzz. What should I tell her?"

Sandy put the call on hold, and looked at Cliff. "It's Stephanie. She wants to talk to you. Do you want to take the call?" When he nodded, she passed him the receiver and left the office.

"Hi, Steph! I just received your gift. The chair is lovely."

"Clifford, you know I detest being called Steph! Why do you keep doing it? I'm glad you like the chair. It's exactly like one in Daddy's office. How is your new job? Have you tired of Milwaukee yet? When are you going to come down to see me? Can you come down tonight?"

Cliff thought how typical the conversation was. Stephanie would ask a bunch of questions but seemed completely unconcerned about the answers, except insofar as an answer directly affected her. He replied, "The job's fine, hon. However, there's a ton of work to do. I don't know when I'll be able to get down, but it won't be tonight."

"Oh, pooh! You're no fun. The Graysons are giving a party for Conkie tonight. I told them I was sure you could come. Murphy is such a little company, dear. Surely, it can't keep you that busy!"

"Steph," he said, ignoring her earlier protest, "$500 million may be small compared to Ajax's billions, but it's still a lot to handle. Give the Graysons my regrets, please?"

"Clifford, you are terrible! I was feeling all romantic, too. I was even thinking of inviting you up to my apartment, later. Doesn't that entice you?"

"It certainly does, dear. It just shows how busy I am. I have an appointment right now. I'll call you soon, okay? I love you, dear, and I'll have a hard time sleeping tonight thinking of what I'm missing!"

"I love you, Cliff," she said and hung up.

He thought about Stephanie with a certain amount of irritation. What particularly annoyed him was her use of sex as both a reward and a weapon. However, she was certainly a beautiful girl. Then he realized that Sandy was no longer in his office. He buzzed her on the intercom and asked her to come back in.

He looked at the girl when she entered and asked her with a smile, "Is that your no-comment face?"

She pretended to be puzzled and said, "I don't understand."

"You understand perfectly! You don't like Stephanie, do you?"

"Why should I not like her? I've never met her."

"But you don't like her, do you?"

She finally smiled and shook her head, "Since you insist: No, I don't like her. She's a rich bitch who cares only about herself. I'll bet she looks at you in this job as a kid playing in his sandbox. Am I right? As far as being uncaring, did she ever ask to see your new office or ask how it was furnished? I'll make another bet: I'll bet the chair is 'exactly like the one in Daddy's office', isn't it?"

Cliff started to laugh and held up his hands. "I give up! Not only did she say it, you sounded exactly like her saying it. But how did you know?"

"Because I went to school with some girls just like her. I didn't like them and I don't like her, either. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Incidentally, what did you think of the meeting? Please be honest."

"I think you're going to be hearing from Purcell and Flood. Purcell is close to tears at the thought of losing the dining room. And I don't think Flood liked the way you cut him up."

"Those two were obvious. You didn't answer the question, Sandy. I asked what you thought."

"It isn't the place of a secretary to make comments on things like that," she replied.

"Fair enough. We'll change your title then, effective immediately. How does 'Assistant to the President' sound?"

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "May I sit down?"

He immediately indicated a side chair next to his desk and they both seated themselves.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick, I only met you a few hours ago. I like this company and I like my job. I don't want to hurt the one or lose the other. I don't really know what you want me to say."

"Sandy, it's still Cliff. I want to know what you think. And I'm puzzled. You had no trouble telling me what you thought about my fiancée." He noticed that she looked startled at his use of the word. "At least, she refers to me that way to her friends, although I have never spoken to her about marriage. Anyway, that has to be higher risk to you than expressing your opinion about the meeting."

She grinned and held up her hands. "I surrender! I was out of line saying what I did about Stephanie. She made me mad, is all. As far as the reactions, if Purcell quits — and he might — it would be a small loss, although I really don't know who else can do the job. I really don't know about John Flood, either. He's only been here a couple of years as you know. I don't think he's the kind of guy Mr. Murphy would have hired."

"What about me?" he asked, turning serious.

"I think you're the kind of guy Mr. Murphy would like to have running the place. That's why you're here."

"Who made that decision, Sandy? I can't believe it was Ezra Stiles. I don't like him — he's a cold fish — and I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me, either. How did I get the job?"

"I think it was a family decision. As far as I know, the family still owns 65 percent of the stock. I think Stiles has input, but the decision was theirs. They decided they wanted you in the job ... and you're here. My guess is they hired you to exercise your judgment and you're doing it."

"Okay, we'll see what happens next," he said. "Now, who has responsibility for the cafeteria? I want to see him right now."

"It's Bill Stevens, vice president of operations. Or at least it's in his shop. I'll get him up here."

She left the office to return to her desk. A few moments later she buzzed to say that Mr. Stevens was waiting.

Stevens came in and Cliff shook hands. Cliff recognized Bill as one of the executives who hadn't said much at the earlier meeting. Bill Stevens impressed Cliff as another old-timer and he said as much.

Stevens smiled and said, "I guess I started work here at Murphy when I was about sixteen. And that was almost forty years ago. I started working after school and summers. After the war, I went to school on the GI Bill, and kept on working here. Mr. Fitzpatrick, except for the time in the Army, I've never worked anywhere else."

"In other words, Bill, you have been working here longer than I've been alive. What do you think of things around here now? The door's closed and whatever you say is in confidence."

"Well, sir, since you asked, the answer is ... not much. Things have been allowed to run down and get out of hand. There's no sense of direction anymore. Personally, I think we're trying to do way too many things and doing most of them badly. There are too many people around here who are doing pretty well for themselves, but I'm not sure they're doing much of anything for Murphy. Is that honest enough for you, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

"It's Cliff, Bill," he said with a smile. "And thanks for not calling me 'son', even though you have every right to."

At that comment Stevens smiled. He decided this young man just might make a difference.

Cliff continued, "Bill, I want to fix up the cafeteria as nicely as we can and as fast as possible. Do you have any ideas?"

"Yes, sir! I sure do. Sandy ... Miss Donnell ... told me you wanted to talk about it. Here are plans that are all set to go. We did them just before Mr. Murphy retired. Even though we had them all set, the executive committee decided to rebuild the executive dining room instead. We never had one of those when John Murphy was around either, and I don't think we would have one now if he had had anything to say about it. I can get this all reviewed and estimated within a day or two. How fast do you want to move?"

"Is the cost going to be under two-and-a-half million?" Cliff asked.

Stevens whistled softly. "Good heavens! Where did you get that number from? Our estimate is way under that."

Cliff smiled at the older man, "It's my personal approval authority. I can authorize spending up to two-and-a-half million without going to the Board. Bill, on your assurance that the project can be done for much less, I'm authorizing you to move ahead right now. You work out the details with your people.

"I would also like you to consult with Mrs. Simmons on colors and arrangements, as well as scheduling the work to minimize her disruptions. Finally, please check with Max Kaufman, too. It's the workers' room, basically; they're only letting executives use it. And let me know what the timetable will be."

Bill got up to leave when Cliff remembered a point. "One more thing: Be sure to check the sound-deadening materials to be sure they're ample. That damned place sounds louder than a machine shop, and it's supposed to be a place where the workers can relax. Will that cause any problems?"

Stevens grinned and said it would be no problem. "Current plans called for a lot of sound insulation, but I'll be sure it's all rechecked."

"Thanks for coming in," Cliff said. "I'm sure we're going to be working closely together in the future."

Stevens left and went back towards his own office after a few words with Sandy at her desk. When she came into his office, there was a warm smile on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick," she said. "That was one of the nicest things anyone has done for Bill Stevens since Mr. Murphy left."

"I don't understand. What did I do?" he asked. He noticed a real warmth in her emerald-green eyes.

"Bill Stevens has been fighting for the cafeteria for years, and no one would even listen. He was accused of coddling the workers and toadying up to the union. He told me that you approved his plans without even looking at them or asking for a fixed-price bid. Why?"

"Two reasons," he replied. "First, I don't trust myself to read blueprints and Bill indicated he and his people had spent a lot of time on them. Second, I've found that people really respond if they feel you trust them. They do an extra-good job because you're not looking over their shoulders. Do I pass?

"By the way, I want to commend someone for outstanding judgment in putting you in your job. It's pretty obvious you're known and trusted by the good people around here. It speaks very well for you."

Sandy blushed. "I think it speaks well for the judgment of the people who hired you, but thank you for the compliment. It's time for your lunch date, and please don't forget Purcell at one o'clock."



-------

Chapter 3



Cliff returned to his office at one o'clock to find Charles Purcell pacing the floor waiting for him. Sensing a confrontation, he asked Sandy to join them. Cliff was right: Purcell was loaded for bear. He immediately launched an attack on the decision to close the dining room and Cliff heard him out.

When he finally ran out of steam, Cliff explained, "There are two reasons for closing the dining room. First, it is a luxury benefitting only the highest-paid people in the organization. As such, it's a luxury we can't afford. Second, it's a source of antagonism to the workers. If they're against us, this company is in deep trouble. The room is closed and so is the subject.

"Now the real reason I wanted to see you was to inquire about our banking situation. How many banks do we use and how many accounts do we have? What is our average book balance, bank balance and float?"

Purcell looked at Cliff as if he were speaking Greek. "I don't understand. I can get my assistant to give us our balance at our principal banks. That's all we look at. The rest are nickels and dimes. But what do you mean by 'bank balance'? That's the banks' business, I presume."

"How many principal banks do we have, Mr. Purcell? Which is our primary bank?"

"We don't have a primary bank," Purcell replied proudly. "We spread our business around. It's the smart thing to do!"

"I'm sorry to disagree," Cliff countered. "It's a dumb thing to do. We are not nearly large enough to be an important customer to a substantial number of banks. I want us to be important to a good bank and I expect you to take immediate steps to ensure that we become so."

For Purcell, this was the last straw. He liked having a number of bankers for him to visit and to call on him. Coming on the heels of the decision to close his dining room — and he thought of it as his own — it was too much. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I cannot honor your request. I am the treasurer! Bank relationships are my responsibility, not yours. I will do no such thing! If you persist in this ... this invasion of my authority, I will be forced to resign!"

Cliff looked at him with a steady gaze. "Is that your last word on the subject, Mr. Purcell? You feel I am overstepping my authority to look into treasury matters?"

Purcell smirked, thinking that he had forced Fitzpatrick to back down. The sense of victory was in his voice as he said, "That's absolutely right! It is none of your affair!"

"I'm sorry to disagree with you again, Mr. Purcell. It is my affair. This company operates on money. It's our life's blood. You control it. It was obvious to me by your reaction to my questions that you know nothing about developments in corporate cash management over the last thirty years. Accordingly, I am accepting your resignation as treasurer, effective immediately." Turning to Sandy he said, "In my letter be sure to say it is accepted with regret, Miss Donnell."

Purcell was stunned. "But ... but ... I didn't resign!"

Sandy had been taking notes as they were speaking. Cliff looked at her, "Miss Donnell, is there something in your notes to the effect that I was overstepping my authority and if I persisted Mr. Purcell would be forced to resign?"

Sandy carefully reviewed her notes as she struggled to maintain a straight face. Finally she said, "Yes, sir, it's right here," and read the lines back.

"To save you the embarrassment, Mr. Purcell, Miss Donnell will type up your resignation. It appears that you have both the age and length of service to qualify for retirement. Wouldn't early retirement within the terms of our retirement plan be a more appropriate way for you to leave?" Cliff asked innocently.

Purcell was beaten and knew it, so he just nodded. Cliff told him he could consider himself retired effective immediately.

Purcell left to clean out his desk and Cliff called Ezra Stiles. "Mr. Stiles, Cliff Fitzpatrick. Charles Purcell has asked to take early retirement, effective immediately and I have approved it. I am appointing my assistant, Sandra Donnell, acting treasurer until the Board can act to make her appointment permanent. I would appreciate it if you would poll the Board by telephone. Then, of course, we will need Board resolutions to change the signatories on all of our bank accounts."

Stiles was stunned. Purcell had been his ally, confidant, and one of his listening posts within the company. "Sandra Donnell as treasurer? Mr. Fitzpatrick, are you sure this is wise? I mean..."

"Do you object to Miss Donnell, Mr. Stiles?"

"Why, of course not! I mean—"

"That's great! Then I'll tell her it's all set. Thank you, sir, for your support!"

Cliff hung up the phone and put out his hand. "Congratulations! As the new treasurer, it ought to be worth another five dollars a week ... maybe even ten!

Sandy had been stunned when she heard herself named as treasurer. "You're serious, aren't you? Making me treasurer? But Cliff, I don't know a thing about being treasurer!"

He grinned at her. "I know you don't. Almost no one does. The only corporate position that is less known than that of the treasurer is corporate secretary. No one knows what the secretary does. Actually, though, it's easy. I'm serious when I say that after we get the system overhauled, I would be amazed if the job took you even thirty minutes a day.

"There's one thing that surprises me, though. I expected more of an argument from Stiles about naming you Purcell's replacement. Well, Madam Treasurer, let's start by listing the information you're going to need to do the job. First, check and see if we have facsimile numbers for our major banks. We do have a fax machine, don't we?"

She shook her head and smiled. "I don't think they were in general use when Mr. Murphy left, and nothing much has changed since."

"Call Kevin right now. He can have one delivered along with the computers today. We do have a spare phone outlet, don't we?" Again she shook her head. "What's Kevin's extension?"

She told him and he dialed the number. Kevin answered. "Kevin, this is Cliff Fitzpatrick. How long will it take you to have this office wired for a fax phone line and have a unit in here? Take all the time you need, as long as it's working by five o'clock today. Can do?"

"Can do! My God, sir, you're the first executive I've met around here who seems to know how to use a phone. It'll be installed by five!"

They hung up, and Cliff glared at Sandy. "Miss Donnell! You've been holding out on me," he said, accusingly.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what you're referring to," she said, trying to sound innocent.

"Miss Donnell, this is a company that plays telephone tag, isn't it? Where it's a status thing to see who waits for whom? Let's say I want to talk to Flood. You call him, and his secretary answers. You tell her, 'Mr. Fitzpatrick for Mr. Flood, ' or some such nonsense. Since I'm senior, he seethes but picks up his phone. You buzz me on the intercom and I pick up. Four people and I don't know how much time to complete one lousy internal phone call. Am I right?" he demanded.

She was giggling so hard, she couldn't talk. She just nodded her head vigorously, doing very attractive things with her auburn hair. Finally she spoke. "Forget the money for acting as treasurer. I want hazardous-duty pay for being your assistant! You know too damn much about what we do. It's just not fair!"

He grinned, but ignored her comment. "How do we stop it? And I want it stopped now! If we have enough secretaries around here to play those kinds of games, we have too many with not nearly enough to do. Do you suppose you could quietly put that word out? Since my secretary — excuse me: the assistant to the president — is now doubling as treasurer, there's not much they can say, is there?"

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, you are a piece of work," she said with a cute grin. "You have only been here about half a day, and already you're shaking the place to its foundations. The next thing you know, you'll be talking about typewriters and copying machines!" she added shrewdly.

"I'm not as dumb as I look," he said with a smile. "I saw the typewriters. They look like refugees from IBM's museum. The company is going to get word processing equipment, probably PCs similar to what we're getting. I wasn't kidding, though. I detest the idea of secretary-as-status-symbol and from what you tell me I'm sure many are. Who runs administration, by the way?"

"Mr. Purcell, to the extent anyone did. Do you want me to do that, too?" she asked skeptically.

"What about Kevin? Could he handle the additional work? It's about to become a real job, though."

Just then there was a knock on the door. It was Kevin with some technicians to install the computers. They discussed where to place them, and Kevin called for a computer table for Cliff's office. Another computer was going behind Sandy's desk. When the men had started to work connecting up the equipment, Cliff asked Kevin to join them for some coffee. The threesome trouped down to the cafeteria. It was Cliff's third visit of the day.

He was greeted by Janet Simmons who had tears in her eyes. "What's wrong?" Cliff asked anxiously. "I thought you would be pleased! Why the tears?"

Mrs. Simmons tried to smile through the tears. "I'll bet you're here for coffee, aren't you? Could I have it brought over and join you for a couple of minutes?"

"We would be happy to have you join us, but I can carry my own coffee," Cliff protested.

"I know you can, sir," she insisted, "but not today!" She motioned to one of the workers who brought over four cups of coffee and set them on a table in the far corner as far from the noise as possible.

When the four sat down, the older woman smiled warmly and said, "Mr. Fitzpatrick, this has been the best day I have had at this company in years! Bill Stevens came down here earlier and he couldn't believe what you had said. You did say we can go ahead with the renovation, didn't you?" Anxiety was apparent in her voice as she spoke the last words.

"Consistent with minimizing disruption to you and your people, Mrs. Simmons, I would like it completed as soon as possible. I also asked Bill to consult with you on the details and possible equipment updates. I gather the plans were prepared several years ago."

"It's truly a miracle! Thank you so much! I guarantee you'll never regret it."

Sandy spoke up quietly, "Janet, when are you and Bill Stevens going to get married? Isn't it about time?"

Cliff was surprised to see the older woman blush like a young girl ... a beautiful young girl, at that. "Sandra Donnell, you stop that! It's none of your business what Bill and I do on weekends." She blushed even deeper at her admission and hurriedly excused herself.

Sandy shrugged. "She's a widow and Bill's a widower. It's funny, really, to see those two together. They're like a couple of kids. I guess it will happen one of these days."

Cliff turned to Kevin O'Rourke and explained the administration situation. "Kevin, is this one of the places where the powers can tell to a hundredth-of-a-cent what it costs to make a copy of something, but totally ignore the cost of the people walking to and from the copiers, waiting in line and that sort of thing?"

"You got that right!" Kevin replied. "It's even worse, though: To get the lowest possible cost per copy, you get successively higher-capacity machines. That means one big new one replaces two, three or even four smaller, older ones. Distances to walk increase, but that's not all: Even the best are mechanical and they do break down sometimes. Only now a breakdown — even with quick-response service — is a minor disaster. What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Will you take over administration? I'm interested in lowest total cost — not per-copy cost. Interested?"

"Yes, sir! When do I start?"

"Right now. However, I want to talk about word processors first." They continued the conversation, and Cliff said that it was unlikely the replacement would be one-for-one. He indicated his belief there were some secretaries-as-status-symbols who would be leaving first. Kevin said he would look into additional computers as soon as possible.

When they returned to their offices, Cliff found a message saying that the Board had been polled by phone and had elected Sandra Donnell the new treasurer.

He smiled, shook hands with Sandy and said, "Congratulations! That was one of the shortest acting appointments on record. Now I want you to get a list of all of our banks, starting with the largest in importance to us. Send a copy of the Board resolution and indicate that a formal copy with the corporate seal will follow by mail. We want an activity analysis for every account as soon as possible."

He explained that an activity analysis was a bank's way of keeping score. Although there are several ways of presenting it to customers, it basically shows the type and amount of different types of activity Murphy uses, and finally indicates the extent to which the relationship is considered profitable. He concluded by saying, "Given the kind of guy Purcell was, I'm sure Murphy Manufacturing will turn out to be very profitable."

He then asked her to get copies of the bank-book ledger sheets and bank statements. When she returned with a supply, he went to his new computer, brought up a spreadsheet program and showed her how to set it up. The columns going across were Date, Bank Balance, Book (or Murphy's) Balance, and Difference.

He pointed out that interest is earned on weekends and holidays, so he reminded her to be sure to record a Friday balance as the balance for Saturday and Sunday as well. "It's remarkable how many people forget to do that. They take the bank balance numbers, add them up and then divide by the number of entries. Companies can lose a lot of money that way."

After he made sure that the two computers were linked so data could be easily transferred between them, Sandy went back to her desk and went to work. Although she did not have Cliff's familiarity with the spreadsheet software, she was much faster at data entry so their speeds were comparable.

Later, Cliff was pounding away on his keyboard when there was a knock at his door. He called, "Come in!" and continued to pound away.

He heard Sandy's voice: "I need help! Could you open the door, please?" He got up and went to the door. Sandy was standing there with a large pizza box and four bottles of beer.

"I know you're planning to work me all night," she said with a grin, "but there's no need to starve, too."

He looked at his watch and was shocked to find it was eight forty-five and the office was completely dark. "My God! Why didn't you tell me? Or better yet, why didn't you just go home? If I'm too dumb to know what time it is, there's no reason for you to be, too."

"You were busy and I like pizza. I hope you like pepperoni and mushrooms? That's what I bought, so let's eat. I'm starving to death." She opened the box on his coffee table and pulled out a stack of napkins. "Thinking ahead, sir, I hope you noticed that the beer bottles have twist-off caps. Would you mind opening two, please?"

Cliff quickly shut down his computer and opened the beer. He pulled his chair around and put his feet up on the desk. Sandy put the pizza on his coffee table and they started munching in companionable silence.

"This is very good, Sandy. Thanks so much. I've nearly forgotten how good a pizza can be. Stephanie doesn't like it. I guess she thinks it's plebeian." He raised his beer bottle in a toast, "Cheers!"

Sandy raised her bottle to return the salute. "Please excuse me, Cliff. If there's a dainty, ladylike way to eat pizza, I haven't found it yet. I hope you'll forgive me for looking like a slob."

"Sandy, why do I think you're fishing for a compliment? You are the most un-slobby individual I've met in years. Incidentally, what did you do before you joined Murphy? As usual, I'm a day late and a dollar short. I should have read your personnel file before I came in today."

Then he grinned and added, "While I'm on the subject, would you please enter your birthday on your calendar with a note to yourself a few days earlier to buy yourself a nice birthday gift, and then wrap it nicely so I can present it to you? I read somewhere that top executive secretaries are great at that!"

He grinned and ducked when she took a mock swing at him. "Assault! Sexual abuse! I've been threatened by a person of the opposite sex. I would take it up with Personnel, except I have a funny feeling they're in the same class with Purcell. Am I right?"

Once more she grinned and nodded. "I'm afraid so. They're really not much good. By the way, there's a regular meeting of the Grievance Committee tomorrow. Purcell was chairman. Who do you want to take his place?"

Cliff looked puzzled. "I don't understand the question. It's the treasurer's function. You're the treasurer. Therefore, obviously, you're the new chairman ... chairwoman ... chair ... Whatever."

"According to the International Association of Parliamentarians or some such, the position is chairman. As a woman, I'm addressed as madam chairman. Do I get an extra dollar or two a month for the additional responsibility? My God! Two raises in a single day! I can't stand it!"

Cliff tried to look pensive. "Well, let's see. How often does the grievance committee meet?"

"There's a regular meeting once a month, and often special meetings," she replied.

"I don't know, Miss Donnell. A whole dollar for only one meeting a month sounds excessive. How about twenty-five cents?" he asked brightly.

"And how about if I throw a shoe at you, sir?" She grinned at him. "You sure know how to flatter a girl. You really do."

Cliff reached into his pocket for his wallet. He took out a twenty-dollar bill and gave it to her. "Seriously, Sandy, this is the best dinner I've had in ages. Thank you for being so thoughtful. I don't know what the company policy on supper money is, but it's the least I can do. Okay?"

"Not okay. Do you have a five hiding in there? I'll take that for your share, but that's absolutely all. I had to eat anyway."

He took back the twenty and gave her a five, reluctantly. "You still haven't told me about yourself. How old are you, and what did you do before you came to Murphy?"

"I thought I got you off that," she replied with a wry grin. "I'm twenty-six years old, my teeth are sound, I'm single — as you know — and I've been working here for years. I started working vacations and summers when I was sixteen, so depending on how you count, I'm getting as old as some of the office equipment." She looked at her rear end and grimaced. "For that matter, if I don't start getting some exercise, I'm going to be as broad as one of our ultra-high-capacity copiers!"

"There you go, fishing for compliments again. Except this time it won't work." Cliff had already noticed that Sandy had very slim hips and lovely legs. Her rear end was not nearly as voluptuous as Stephanie's. "Nevertheless," he continued, "you are getting a bit broad in the beam. I think exercise would help!"

Sandy stood up and twisted around. Her conservatively cut skirt was hanging the way it always did. There were no bulges or straining seams. She glared at Cliff. "I hate you," she stated matter-of-factly. "You are a bastard. Your parents never married, I can tell! That was mean, nasty, unkind, and ... and ... untrue. I am not broad in the beam!"

"I was just trying to be agreeable" he said, holding up his hands. "And besides, my parents were too married. They told me so!"

He smiled at her and added, "I think it's about time to knock it off, don't you? Sandy, seriously, I apologize for being so thoughtless. If there is a next time, just leave. And thanks so much for the pizza — it was one of the nicest dinners I've had in months. Can we declare a truce and get out of here?" He smiled and held out his hand.

She smiled back and took his hand. "It's a deal. I'll see you tomorrow."

-------

Cliff was at the office at seven-thirty the next morning. He was pleased to see that all the executive parking signs had been removed and there were a few cars that appeared to belong to workers in some of the former executive spaces. He went up to his office and found Sandy at her desk. Entering his office he wondered again what to do with Stephanie's chair. Moments later Sandy came in with a large cup of coffee for him.

He looked at her with bleary eyes. "Where's yours?" he asked.

She came back a few minutes later with her own cup and her notebook. He regarded her carefully and said with a grimace, "There ought to be a law ... probably is, as a matter of fact. People shouldn't be allowed to look as cheerful as you do so early in the morning, particularly before having coffee. How do you do it? And what time did you get in here, anyway? And where did the coffee come from?"

Sandy smiled brightly. "I got in awhile ago and the coffee came from the machine Kevin's people installed yesterday afternoon. I told him the very survival of the company depended on the availability of coffee. And it only takes me three hours at home in the morning to look cheerful by the time I get in."

He sipped his coffee in silence, finished the first cup, and then went looking for the coffee pot. He refilled his cup and Sandy's and returned to the office. "In spite of rumors to the contrary, I can function in the morning," he said. "Now we have to prepare for next week's planning session. I got the impression yesterday that the members of the executive committee don't expect to see nonmembers present. Am I right?"

"You're absolutely right. They like to think they know all there is to know about the business. Are you suggesting we should have a larger group?"

"Much larger, and I'll tell you why: I want more people from sales — people who are in day-to-day contact with customers. I don't know much about Flood, but he strikes me as one of those potentially dangerous guys who sees only what he wants to see. The type who, when he travels to visit customers, only sees the company's friends: the guys who will say what a great job Murphy is doing. I have no problem with friends, but I want to know how we're really doing. Particularly, I want to hear about problems. How wrong am I about Flood?"

"I don't think you could be any 'righter'," she replied. "I'll give you a short list of people. Can women attend?"

"You are attending, and you appear to be female. Why?"

"I have an idea. There is a saleswoman, Jane Miller, who is a hot ticket." She giggled softly.

"What's so funny about Jane Miller?" Cliff asked.

"Last year we had some Murphy Manufacturing T-shirts made. Although Jane only has small accounts, she really hustles. She went into one company and the purchasing manager said that if she would wear the T-shirt wet, he'd give her an order. She went out to her car, put on a T-shirt, stood in a sprinkler, then went back in and got the order. And she's well built, too."

"Sounds like the kind of person we need in the meeting, particularly with her small-account experience. I would like to have someone who can talk about them from firsthand experience."

"Why am I attending the session, by the way? To take notes?"

"As treasurer. We're going to be talking about competitors, and I've found that banks know a lot about what's going on. It's not that you'll have the answers, but I think you'll put together a good set of questions. Similarly, we want someone knowledgeable from Purchasing. Often, the same salesmen who call on us call on some of our competitors. Moreover, salesmen love to talk. It's amazing to me how much purchasing people know about what competitors are doing, but no one ever thinks to ask them."

They spent the next hour discussing people, and then moved on to discuss facilities. "It sounds like we'll have a group of about twenty or so. We want a hotel facility that will take some work to get right. Sandy, I don't mean to sound patronizing, but too many hotels only hear 'business meeting' and 'twenty people'. Regardless of what else you may have said, you find one of those tacky green-topped tables set for twenty in a 'U', a 'T', or something similar. The chairs are those horrors beloved of hotel banquet departments, primarily because they stack.

"I want comfortable chairs and small tables — only to hold coffee cups and that sort of thing. We need two easel pads and lots of wall space. By the time we finish the three-day session, there will be about forty pages of notes hung on the walls. Can you line something up?"

"I'm sure I can. Now, were you serious last night when you said I was going to be on the Grievance Committee?"

"I didn't say you were on the Grievance Committee. I said you were Chairman of the Grievance Committee. By the way, where and when does it meet?"

"It meets in the board room in ten minutes. That's why I asked," she said.

She looked like there was something else on her mind, and Cliff asked her about it. "It's the matter of meeting in the board room. Purcell set it up there a year or so ago. I think he did it to put the union at a psychological disadvantage. I was wondering ... Could we move the meeting to the cafeteria after it's fixed up? I would do it now, but it's much too noisy."

"It sounds good to me. Shall we go?"

They entered the board room and Cliff was introduced by Max Kaufman to the other union members of the grievance committee. The union people looked uncomfortable wearing suits and ties. In addition to Cliff and Sandy, management was represented by Bill Stevens from operations and Clarence Budd, Director of Personnel.

Cliff opened the meeting. "Gentlemen, I'm sure you know Sandra Donnell. She was elected treasurer by the Board of Directors yesterday, succeeding Charles Purcell who decided to take early retirement. I have appointed Miss Donnell to replace Mr. Purcell as chairman of this committee. Does anyone have any problems with her serving in this capacity?"

Cliff noticed that Sandy was warmly received by both the union and by Bill Stevens. The only one who looked uncomfortable was Budd. Since he reminded him of Purcell, Cliff wasn't surprised.

They moved to the agenda. There was no old business so they immediately turned to new grievances. Max Kaufman spoke first. "Madam Chairman, welcome! On behalf of my associates and myself, I would like to say we're looking forward to working with you.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick," he said, addressing Cliff with a hint of a smile, "you're a dirty guy! We spent most of the last week preparing for this meeting. Our primary grievance this morning is the condition of the employee cafeteria and the basic unfairness of a heavy subsidy to the executive dining room while the workers pay full price. Then you come in and double-cross us.

"Before we even have this meeting, the word's all over the plant that the executive dining room is closing and the cafeteria is being completely renovated. I ask you, Mr. Fitzpatrick, how do you think it makes us feel? Like a bunch of horse's asses, is how! We prepare all the facts and figures — and we're not used to doing that, you know — and don't even get a chance to use them. The members are going to start wondering what they need a union for if you just give them things before we get a chance to demand them.

"And then there's that parking thing. That was really nasty. We never even thought to ask about that one, and you just go and do it." Max's smile was broad by now. "It's obviously a vicious management plot to break the union! Right, boys?" The other union members all loudly agreed with their president, with broad smiles on their faces.

"Seriously, Mr. Fitzpatrick and Miss Donnell, thank you! I think it's going to make a real difference. And I want you to know we appreciate Bill Stevens asking our opinion about the plans for the cafeteria. We know it isn't required and damned seldom happens. I almost fell over when I asked him where the executive section was going to be and was told there won't be one. He said you were adamant on that point, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Is that true?"

"It's true, Max. Look, this company is in trouble, and I think we all know it. We can't afford any internal bickering because the problems we're facing in the market are big enough. We spoke yesterday about changes in the plant. I don't have a clue what they might be, but I'm certain there will be some.

"I authorized Bill to get going on the cafeteria for two reasons: First, it was long overdue. It's not a luxury. Second, I wanted to do something tangible to show that I'm not anti-worker. We'll probably have some good fights in the future over work-rule changes. I can't be sure. I can be sure that I'm going to want to do things that I believe to be in the best interest of this company and its workers.

"Let's face facts: I haven't bothered to look at the collective bargaining agreement yet. They're usually pretty fat documents written by lawyers. However, regardless of the agreement and what it may say about job security, the only security that really counts is the economic health of this company. If Murphy Manufacturing turns turtle, that contract will be worth its weight as scrap paper! He looked at Sandy. "Do we have anything else to discuss? Madam Chairman?"

Sandy spoke up in her capacity as chairman. "Is there any other new business? Hearing none, is there a motion to adjourn?"

The motion was made, seconded and carried. The union men gathered around Sandy to shake her hand and wish her well while Max went over to Cliff.

"Thanks, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I can't make any promises about the changes you may have in mind, but I will promise we'll give you a fair hearing, okay? You know, some of the guys were shook up when they heard the new president was a young ex-consultant. Frankly, some of them are scared. They do see the troubles in the company. I can't see how you could have got a better start with them. Even the chronic gripers aren't saying much, and you know as well as I, those guys can always find something to bitch about." He extended his hand and said, "Good luck! We're pulling for you."

They shook hands and Cliff and Sandy returned to his office. Finding a message on his desk to call Stephanie he picked up his phone and dialed her number. Sandy sat down in a chair this time, with a quirky little smile on her face. He reached Stephanie's office, then her secretary and finally Stephanie.

"Cliff, darling! I'm making plans for the weekend. You are coming down, aren't you? I've organized a little dinner party Saturday night for just a few friends. And Cliff, if you're real nice, you might not even have to rent a hotel room," she added coyly. "You just might find yourself staying overnight! What do you think about that? Of course, it depends on how well you behave. You'll be here at six, sweetness?"

He agreed, made kissing sounds into the phone, and felt more than a little silly as he looked at Sandy who still had the same little smile on her face. He hung up the phone and looked at her.

"Okay, say it," he said to her.

"Say what?" Sandy asked innocently. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Say what you're thinking. There's obviously something on that mind of yours besides very lovely hair."

"Okay. But remember, you asked for it. There are two things: First, I notice that you haven't made much progress with Stephanie on the secretary-as-status-symbol thing. Have you?"

Cliff reddened. "It's different for a woman. Steph says she has to have her secretary answer her phone in order for her to be taken seriously."

"Do you really believe that, Cliff? And I'll bet you five dollars she hates being called 'Steph, ' too."

"No, I guess I really don't. As a matter of fact, Steph treats her secretary like dirt. It's embarrassing, sometimes. I gather the girl is very well paid, but anything that ever goes wrong is the secretary's fault. Steph doesn't hesitate to blast her regardless of who's around, either. I was in her office one day when she went off. She ripped that girl to shreds with me sitting there watching. That girl is brave. She just stood there and took it, even though I could see tears starting to flow. She just said, 'I'm sorry, Miss Simpson.' I wouldn't have blamed her for throwing something."

He reached into his wallet and took out a five-dollar bill. "And she hates 'Steph.' But how did you know, and what's the other thing?"

"Call it a good guess. I'm sure I'm underrating the woman, but she seems to fall right into the pattern. As far as the other thing, I hate to see a man led around like he has a ring through his nose. Let me guess: There's a cross between a hint and a promise that you'll be spending Saturday night between her satin sheets. Am I right? That's, of course, assuming that you are 'good', whatever that translates into.

"I ... I ... I think I hate her!" Sandy finished vehemently. She stormed out of the office before Cliff could respond.

He thought about what she had said, and realized, painfully, that she was right. In fact,  he thought, she's more right than she could know. He thought back to the occasion he had described when Steph had been berating her secretary in his presence. It was almost as if the girl had been stripped naked in front of a stranger. Worst of all, it was obvious to Cliff that the fault was Stephanie's, not the secretary's.

He wondered why the girl didn't just tell Steph off and quit. Then he remembered a comment Steph had made about the money being very good, and that the girl couldn't afford to quit.

He also thought about Sandy in juxtaposition with Stephanie. Why is it that I think Sandy would spend the night with a man in a much more honest way, without using sex as some sort of reward for good behavior?



-------

Chapter 4



Cliff drove in to the plant on Saturday morning. He knew it wasn't operating; the current volume of business was not nearly big enough to justify Saturday operations. When he arrived, he was greeted by the gate guard and parked his car close to the plant entrance. Since it was a warm day in early April in Milwaukee, Cliff was wearing an old pair of Levi's and a golf shirt. He left his windbreaker in the car and walked into the plant, turning toward the factory floor. When he entered the plant he was surprised to see people working. Bill Stevens was there along with Janet Simmons and Sandy.

He joined them. "What brings you all in on Saturday? It's such a beautiful day, I thought I would be the only one here." Turning to Bill, he said, "I guess you and Mrs. Simmons must be working on the cafeteria plans. But Sandy, what brings you in? Don't you have a home?" He noticed that Sandy had beautiful legs which were shown off by the tight-fitting Levi's she was wearing along with a University of Michigan sweat shirt.

She gave him a welcoming smile and said, "Force of habit, I guess. It's been a long, cold winter with nothing better to do, so I guess I hung out at the plant."

Cliff asked Bill if he would show him around. When they reached the shipping area, he noticed some particularly heavy packing crates that seemed to be ready for overseas shipment. They were an export shipment headed for South America.

Bill sounded puzzled when he said, "Cliff, I just make the parts, but this doesn't make a lot of sense to me. Believe it or not, these parts are priced and sold FOB our shipping dock. The shipping people even bitch about the extra packing required for overseas shipment. I understand that we make good money on these orders but we make the buyer handle all the export paperwork. Does that make sense to you?"

"No, Bill, it sure doesn't. Have you ever been to South America?"

Stevens shook his head, no.

"It's the place old American cars seem to go to die. Particularly in countries like Venezuela, it's like going back in a time warp to the 1960s. You find all these huge American cars with their monstrous V-8 engines. With the country a major producer of crude oil and local fuel prices nationally subsidized, gasoline is still very cheap down there. Those engines were well-built, too.

"It seems logical we would have a big export business, though. Those engines will run a couple of hundred thousand miles before they need major engine work — and that's where a lot of them are when the odometer rolls over the second time. I guess we'll find out more about our export business starting Monday morning.

"In the meantime, what's all this other stuff?" Cliff was pointing to lines of stacked pallets with product on them. Judging from the weathering and the accumulated dust, the crates appeared to have been there a long time.

Bill frowned and replied, "It's quite a collection, isn't it? It really drives my people crazy. Looking at it, some of it looks like it's been here as long as we've been in the building. Honestly, Cliff, I would be afraid to ship any of this stuff without opening up the crates and inspecting it first. We're not even sure any of these things are usable."

"What do the auditors say?" Cliff asked. "They often get pretty tough on valuation of unsalable inventory for the balance sheet."

"Frankly, I'm not sure they even notice it. Some of these crates are like the plant walls: they're just here. Every time I raise a question, though, the finance types go through the ceiling — something about an inventory write-down. Frankly, I think we've got a product line that's much too broad. If the 80-20 rule generally holds — 80 percent of the sales come from 20 percent of the products — I'm not sure we don't run at 90-10 or even 95-5!"

Cliff did not like much of what he saw during his inspection. When they finished their tour, he noticed it was nearly one o'clock. Sandy was still out front talking with Janet Simmons. Bill and Janet went off together leaving Sandy alone with Cliff.

She looked at him thoughtfully and said, "From the look on your face, you didn't enjoy your tour with Bill, did you?"

"No, I didn't. We're going to have a lot to discuss starting Monday morning. Are the arrangements all in place?"

She nodded. "I even went over to the hotel yesterday afternoon to be sure. So far, so good."

"How about having lunch with me? I haven't eaten at all except for coffee. How about you?"

"I would love to. There's a place around the corner where a lot of the men eat. With the plant closed today, it should be pretty empty."

They went around the corner and entered a small café where Sandy was greeted by name.

"Does everybody know you around here, Sandy? I don't think I've seen you fail to be greeted by name yet." She just smiled and they ordered hamburgers with everything and Cokes.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she remarked. "I thought this was the big night with Stephanie. You should be down in Chicago panting at her doorstep. And remember, if you're very, very good, she may even allow you to share her bed."

Cliff just looked at the girl across the table. Finally, he said, "I apologize for what I said last week."

"What did you say last week?" she asked.

"I seem to recall saying you were getting broad in the beam. I apologize. You're not. Seeing you in those jeans convinced me." He continued to study the girl. He realized she was wearing no makeup at all. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing an oversized sweatshirt, she appeared to be about sixteen.

He told her so, and she stuck out her tongue at him. "That's the story of my life!" she said with a grimace. "I always remind guys of their best friend's kid sister. If I tried to act seductive, the guy would laugh and think I'm going to trip him or something. Please, Cliff, let me take back everything I said about Stephanie. It's just my jealousy showing, and I have absolutely nothing to be jealous about. She certainly got to you before I did."

Cliff just looked at her, realizing what a beautiful girl she was. "Would it have made a difference if you had seen me first?" he asked.

Her eyes flashed with green fire. "It certainly ... No, it wouldn't," she finished quietly. "Remember me? Everyone's kid sister? No, I'm afraid not. I apologize again. I guess I'm just overmatched and know it."

They finished their meal in silence and then Sandy quickly excused herself. Cliff was thoughtful as he drank his second cup of coffee alone.

He went back to the plant, got his car and drove back to his apartment. After he showered and shaved, he put on his best suit. Packing some things in his overnight bag, he left the apartment and headed south for Chicago. Stephanie's posh apartment building was on the Near North Side overlooking Lake Michigan. After parking in the garage he went up to her apartment, arriving a little before five.

Stephanie greeted him at the door, still in the process of dressing for dinner. As he went to kiss her she turned her face away saying he would smear her lipstick. He kissed her on the cheek and lightly caressed her voluptuous body. He noticed that she resisted for an instant but then allowed her body to melt under his hands. It was a reminder that she didn't seem to really enjoy close physical contact. Rather, she seemed to tolerate it, but only under certain conditions — conditions inevitably of her own choosing. Her unthinking reaction was typically one of resistance.

Since there was nothing for him to do, he just wandered around the apartment while she finished dressing. The dinner was being catered and the caterer was present with his staff. Cliff thought of getting a drink for himself but decided against it. It amused him that to Stephanie more than a single drink was a clear sign of early-stage alcoholism. Since it was early evening, he enjoyed the view of Lake Michigan from the apartment. Although it was still early in the season he could see people working on their boats in a marina down below.

Steph rejoined him and began telling him about her activities at the public relations agency. He never ceased to be amused that she never made a connection between her job at the agency and the fact that Ajax Industries was the agency's principal client. Since her salary and expenses were billed to Ajax, she was really on daddy's payroll one step removed. She filled him in on the evening's guest list: it was a Who's Who of Chicago's yuppiedom.

Cliff did not like the term, yuppie, but had to admit it fit. He was a young urban professional whether he liked it or not. As he reflected on the term, he realized it wasn't the acronym itself that bothered him as much as what was so often inferred from it: young people who were acquisitive self-centered airheads. Unfortunately, he had to admit, there was all too much truth in the characterization and most of the people coming to dinner personified that subspecies.

Guests began arriving and Stephanie began running off to greet them and allow herself to be kissed. Cliff allowed himself to be drawn into a conversation on the relative merits of BMW versus Porsche. While listening to the talk, he quickly realized that he didn't give a damn. As a supplier to the U.S. auto industry, he noted that American-built cars simply did not enter into the conversation. It wasn't that they were rejected or even dismissed out of hand. Rather, they were not even considered.

Cliff confined his drinking to Perrier with a lime and a glass of wine with dinner. Stephanie didn't like the smell of alcohol on his breath. Idly, he wondered what her reaction would have been had she come into his office Monday night and found him eating pizza and drinking beer. She detested beer — any beer. Moreover, the idea of drinking it from a bottle would have been abhorrent.

The dinner was good if one liked French nouvelle cuisine: very light, with different taste combinations. Cliff didn't really care for it, preferring classic haute cuisine. Finally, about eleven the guests started to leave, and the last were gone by midnight. The caterer and his crew had already left leaving Cliff and Stephanie alone in the apartment.

When they went back toward Stephanie's bedroom, Cliff reached for the girl, reflecting that this would be two weekends in a row. She turned away from him, saying he would ruin her dress, and asked him to wait a few minutes until she called him. This was an aspect of Stephanie that really annoyed Cliff: she wanted to set the stage. He knew that when she called she would be arranged in bed with a single soft light which she would extinguish before things got too passionate. She didn't like him to see her in the light, she said. Cliff idly wondered why his feelings towards her seemed to have changed so much in just the last seven days.

He heard her summons and went into the bedroom. She had a single bed light turned low. As he expected, she was wearing a very expensive black lace nightgown. Cliff had already loosened his tie; he was soon undressed and in bed beside her. He started running his hand over her body and again sensed rather than felt a momentary resistance on her part. He moved his hand under her night dress and ran it up her soft inner thigh. He had moved close to her, took her into his arms and kissed her on the lips.

She moved closer and he slipped off her nightgown. As he ran his hand over her soft full breasts, he could feel her nipples begin to harden. Then he returned his hand to between her full thighs and felt her spread her legs slightly to provide him easier access to her moistness. She caressed him and he could hear her sounds of rising passion. Finally he entered her and heard an intake of breath as she felt him penetrate. He started moving inside her, and in a few minutes he achieved release. He could feel her passion ebb as she came down from whatever peak she had reached. Soon they were both asleep.

-------

Cliff awakened early on Sunday morning. For reasons he did not fully understand, he quietly dressed and left her in bed, still sleeping. He knew that she didn't like him to see her awaken. As he looked at her in the early-morning light, her face appeared pale and puffy.

He went down to the garage, retrieved his car and headed north towards Milwaukee. As he drove, he thought about the night and his relationship with the beautiful Stephanie. While he had been making love to her, instead of her large brown eyes, he kept seeing brilliant green ones looking at him reproachfully. It was only a week ago that he thought Stephanie was the epitome of young womanhood. Now he wasn't so sure.

Then he focused his thoughts on Sandra Donnell. She is so different from Steph. She seems to be involved in problems of other people, while Steph is wrapped up in herself. That's it! he thought. She is wrapped up with her own interests and is only interested in others to the extent they interact with her.

He compared the girls in his mind and began to realize the extent to which he was involved with — in love with? — Sandy. She was trim while Stephanie was voluptuous. Why was it that he felt that Sandy's lovemaking would be more full of giving? He had the feeling that with her it would be joyous, not some reward for good behavior or some kind of bribe. He continued to think about Sandy until he reached his apartment in Milwaukee.

-------

Cliff entered the hotel room at seven-fifteen Monday morning. The meeting was scheduled to begin at eight. Sandy was in the room waiting for him and looked him over carefully when he came in. "You didn't have a good time Saturday night, did you?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked, puzzled.

"It's obvious looking at your face. You don't glow. You don't have that cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look," she replied calmly.

"And do you moonlight as Dear Abby?" he asked.

She smiled, "No, I flunked out. To write an advice column, the writer has to have her own life squared away. We talked about me on Saturday. My love life is hopeless!"

Changing the subject she asked, "Are the arrangements okay?"

"They're fine. We'll have coffee here before eight, won't we? This business of the first coffee being served at the ten o'clock break is for the birds. There are normally far too many guys who don't wake up until the third cup."

"It was promised for seven forty-five," she said.

"How about joining me for coffee downstairs? There's nothing for us to do here for a while."

They found a booth in the coffee shop and ordered two coffees. Sandy looked at him and asked, "What's going to happen this morning? Should I expect fireworks and a whole new strategy for our automotive-parts business?"

"Far from it. You'll see two reactions: The first is, 'When do we get to the strategy stuff?' and the second is, 'Why didn't we have all this information ahead of the meeting and save time?' But I think some surprises will emerge by the end of the day, anyway."

When they returned to the room, it was obvious that some of the senior executives were uncomfortable with juniors present. Cliff was wearing a golf shirt and slacks. Although casual dress had been stressed in the meeting announcement, it was obvious that several senior people didn't believe it. They were wearing their normal business suits and ties.

Cliff started promptly at eight noting that John Flood had not yet arrived. The first thing he did was record on a flipchart the vital statistics of the valve and ring business: sales, assets employed, and profits. He then began work on a product-competitor matrix, with products listed down the side and competitors listed across the top. He recorded sales by product type by competitor.

Before he had gone very far it was clear that Ajax Industries was the leader in the business: It had the largest share of market of any competitor, and its share was increasing. Murphy Manufacturing ranked a rather weak third. If the trends continued, Murphy would be overtaken by the fourth-place company, Precision Parts, within twelve months.

He turned to factors affecting growth in the industry. Except for Sandy and a few others, there was a baffled silence. "Come on, folks! Factors affecting growth, up or down? How about number of motor vehicles manufactured in a year? Could that relate to the number of valves and ring sets sold?"

John Flood, who had finally arrived, spoke up. "Of course not! It has to do with position with the various companies. You have to get in with them first."

"John, we're talking about the industry,  not about Murphy. We're talking about how much the entire industry will provide. And that includes all suppliers, most particularly including Japanese outfits supplying the U.S. plants of Japanese car companies.

Flood protested, "That's ridiculous, Cliff! That business isn't available to us. The next thing you know you're going to include captive parts suppliers: the ones owned by the automobile manufacturers."

Cliff smiled. "You're right, John. I sure am. We are all in the same industry. Keep in mind: Nothing is forever. A company may source captive today and go outside tomorrow. Moreover, we need to look at captive business to find out why a company does it that way. How many of you think a company would source everything from captive sources if it could? Raise your hands."

A large number of hands went up, not including Bill Stevens', Jane Miller's, or Sandy's.

"Jane, why do you disagree? Why wouldn't a company source everything inside if it could?"

He noticed that Jane looked in John Flood's direction before answering. Flood glared at the girl, but she spoke up anyway. "There's no percentage in it: In the first place, it's very hard to exactly match the capacity of a component plant to the engine plant it feeds. Second, if production at the engine plant scales down, the company has excess capacity in two places, not just one. Third, the smart companies that do source internally try to do it by scaling component manufacture to a level they're confident they can maintain ... say 60 percent of their requirements. Then they hope to run the component plant steadily and make up the balance of their requirements through outside sourcing."

"Do you think it works, Jane?" Cliff asked.

"Sort of, sir. I get the feeling sometimes they would do better with more outside sourcing. What kind of a price are we going to quote knowing we're just getting surge orders — the stuff their captive plant can't handle? Their engine line slows, and our orders are canceled. Not cut back; canceled."

John had been glaring at Jane while she was speaking. "Cliff, I want to take a recess. I have to talk to a few people," he said.

"Fine, John. Folks, we're taking a ten-minute break. But, John, I want to talk to you first."

Cliff moved over to a vacant corner, and Flood joined him. "John, there are two things: First, when I call a meeting for eight o'clock, I mean eight o'clock. Where were you?"

Flood was taken aback. "I ... I ... I had to check the office first. Surely, you didn't mean that to apply to senior executives! We set our own hours!"

"Not anymore, Flood. I've noticed your 'own hours' start late and end early. I don't give a shit what hours you work if the work's done. I don't think yours is. Furthermore, it's obvious you intend to present a departmental party line in this planning session. I saw you glaring at Jane Miller. I won't allow it! Understand?

"Let me make myself absolutely clear: If, after this talk, you say one derogatory word to Jane Miller it will be considered an act of willful insubordination. That is grounds for immediate termination for cause! Clear? And frankly, Flood, I really hope you do! I think Jane Miller would be an outstanding manager, don't you?"

Flood had turned pale listening to Cliff's words. "Surely you can't be serious?" he protested. "Of course we discussed this in advance. I want to be sure that there is a coherent story told."

"John, I don't give a damn about coherence. That's my job. I just want people to give me their honest answers to whatever question is asked or subject is being discussed. Understood?"

Sandy had been standing just out of earshot. She joined him and they went to get coffee which had been brought into the room. Returning to where Cliff had been standing with Flood he asked, "Sandy, do me a favor? At lunch, go into the dining room with Jane Miller. I'll lag a bit. I would like to sit next to her, so could you just get up and move when I come in?"

She pretended to frown. "Is that a not-very-subtle hint that I shouldn't eat lunch? 'Broad in the beam, ' I think you said?"

He grinned at her. "I thought we settled that on Saturday? Seriously, though, it is sort of a dumb idea. I want to sit next to her without it being too obvious. Why don't you arrange to sit next to Bill Stevens? Ask him to save you a place. Then just hang over the place next to Jane's so no one else will take it. When I come in, you join Bill. Better?"

"Much better!" she replied with a grin. "This way, I get to eat, too. May I say something that's probably as out of line as what I usually say? I get the strong impression that Mr. Flood is not long for our little world. Am I wrong?"

"Would you — or the other people who make things work around here — care if he disappeared? Would the company be hurt?"

"Cliff, if I remember correctly, in the Mikado the Lord High Executioner 'had a little list; t'will none of them be missed'. I think it's safe to say that Flood is on that little list. Personally, I think he's a disgusting pig!"

Cliff was surprised at the vehemence with which she uttered the last statement, but did not comment. Instead, he went back to the easel pads to resume the session. "When we took our break, we were talking about key factors affecting industry growth. What are some of them? Anyone?"

Jane Miller spoke up again. "The number of motor vehicles built each year?"

"That's good," Cliff responded. "What about the number, Jane? Is it growing, shrinking, or staying about the same?"

"I think it's cyclical, but fairly level here in the States."

At this point John Flood jumped in again. "That's bullshit! It's growing. The market for Murphy Manufacturing is unlimited for anyone who'll get off her dead ass. Jane, take that back!"

"John," Cliff said quietly, "Jane's absolutely right. Unless you have seen data different from what comes out of the Department of Commerce, production of motor vehicles is cyclical with the economy but fairly flat."

He looked out at the group and said, "Okay, other factors? Folks, this is a game any number can play. I hope Jane isn't the only one in this room who's ever given any thought to our market potential. Sandy?"

Sandy had her hand up: "Scrap rate: the number of cars broken up each year; the average age of the automotive fleet. Those are two more factors affecting replacement parts sales."

John Flood was enraged. His rage was overcoming his natural caution and was coupled with a gross underestimation of Cliff who was younger than he by fifteen years. "This is the most ridiculous waste of time I've ever sat through in my entire life! I thought we were here to discuss strategy. All I hear are a couple of dumb broads who shouldn't be here in the first place. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. There's only one thing that counts: new production. Period!"

"John, this is getting boring. You're wrong ... again! And that's twice you have abused Miss Miller, and now you have added Miss Donnell. I ignored it the first time, but I can't ignore it any longer. An apology is indicated. Now!"

"I'm damned if I'll apologize to a couple of dumb broads! This is a disgrace!" Flood exclaimed in an outburst of uncontrolled rage.

"People, I suggest we break for lunch now." Focusing on Flood he added, "It's clear that your usefulness to the session is over. I will see you back in my office at one-thirty. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry. Lunch will be served in the room next door in a few minutes. We'll reconvene at eight o'clock tomorrow. I'm sorry for the delay."



-------

Chapter 5



Cliff excused himself, went down the hall and came back to the room a few minutes later. As he expected, Sandy was talking to Jane Miller. When he came in, Sandy waited until he was almost upon them before she left to take a seat next to Bill Stevens.

"Jane, we've never formally met, but I've heard a lot about you. May I join you?" Cliff asked.

"Of course, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Please do. Sandy has told me so much about you."

Cliff shook hands with the other people sitting around the table. The meal was a cold buffet served with soup. He had found that it was the ideal meal for these occasions, although the hotel banquet departments always tried to load up the menu with more elaborate dishes.

He addressed himself to Jane speaking in a low tone of voice. "Why is it I get the feeling that you're not John Flood's favorite salesperson? I could be wrong, of course, but I do get that impression."

Jane Miller was a very attractive dark-haired girl who appeared to be about the same age as Sandy. He noticed she was very well built. "I'm not John's favorite person," she said quietly. "Least favorite, perhaps, but certainly not most favorite."

"Why are you still here then? Jane, on behalf of Murphy Manufacturing, I would like to offer you an apology. Flood's behavior was uncalled for and unnecessary. There's no need for you ever to take such abuse. And you shouldn't. Why do you?"

"Because of Sandy. She said it would get better. She was one of my best friends in graduate school and..." Jane's eyes suddenly flared and she said, "Forget I said that Mr. Fitzpatrick. Please?"

Cliff looked the girl right in the eyes. She could feel his blue eyes boring right through her lovely brown ones. "Jane," he said softly, "you were talking about graduate school. What graduate school?"

The poor girl looked flustered and, Cliff noted, very pretty. "Please, Mr. Fitzpatrick, I can't. I promised."

"Jane, it's Cliff, not Mr. Fitzpatrick. Young lady, we are very much of the same generation. And John Flood is really much too crude. I don't yell and scream, but I was thinking how beautiful that picture of you wearing the wet T-shirt would look in our company magazine. You know ... as part of a story on the dedication of our hardworking sales force?"

Jane turned bright red. "You wouldn't! Cliff, it shows everything. My God, I would be mortified. You couldn't be so cruel... ! Could you?"

"Jane Miller, I have given you a perfect out for Sandy. You were blackmailed with that picture. You do have a beautiful figure, by the way! No wonder the buyer wanted to see you with a wet T-shirt! And you got the order."

"Okay, I know when I'm licked. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about Sandy."

"Well, she and I roomed together at Michigan. I was majoring in marketing, and she had a combined major in finance and manufacturing. Cliff, why in hell is the girl who graduated number one from University of Michigan Graduate School of Business working as a secretary ... in a company she owns, for chrissakes?"

Cliff was dumbstruck at the revelation but his consulting experience stood him in good stead: He was able to keep his face impassive as he absorbed the stunning news. Jane continued. "Anyway, she said there would be opportunities here at Murphy. She said there was a lot of dead wood. All we needed was a guy to take charge — that's you — to get the place going again. It's a funny deal that I think relates to her age. I think she officially takes control of all of the stock on October 1, or something like that."

Cliff appeared to ignore the revelation about Sandy's ownership of the company. Instead he asked, "Jane, what happened between you and Flood? What did he think of the wet T-shirt idea? Incidentally, I think it's great, even though I wouldn't ever think to ask, and I would expect to get my head handed to me if I ever did. Thanks for the dedication. But what did Flood say?"

She looked at him speculatively, as if considering something. It was obvious that she gave herself an affirmative answer to her unspoken question, and then answered Cliff's. "He was appalled," she answered in a very flat tone of voice.

"Flood was appalled? I find that hard to believe," he said.

She gave him a wry smile. "Not for the reasons you're thinking. He said I should have taken him to a motel somewhere and fucked him. The T-shirt was bad for the company image, but working between the sheets is not only fine, he said he expects it.

"I guess one of the reasons I never got a raise is because he keeps wanting to try out the merchandise, and I keep telling him where to head in. He's tried to fire me a couple of times, but Sandy has always managed to get him overruled by somebody."

She grinned, "Anyway, I'm still here ... and I like what you were doing this morning. It's the first time since business school that I have ever actually seen these concepts applied. Thanks, Cliff."

"Jane, I have a favor to ask: Will you please come over to the office and be there ahead of my one-thirty meeting with Flood? I have an idea I want to work out with Sandy. Are you willing?"

She gave him a very warm smile. "Of course! But will you do me a favor, Cliff? Will you promise to put some ointment on my body after Sandy skins me alive? I can handle Flood, but I can't handle her. Promise?"

He looked up at the ceiling, and then back at her eyes. He looked very serious as he said, "Well, okay. I guess I can do that, but on one condition." The serious look gave way to a quick grin. "I get to watch!"

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, you're terrible! But if you insist, it's a deal!" She grinned, stuck out her hand, and he gripped it.

Sandy approached their table. Most of the people had finished and had left to return to the office after the truncated meeting. Jane looked very sheepish as Sandy sat down on a now-vacant chair.

Sandy looked at Jane closely and demanded, "Jane Miller, what have you been telling Cliff?"

"All of it," the dark-haired girl responded in a very low voice. "But I had to, Sandy. He blackmailed me!"

"He did what?" Sandy exclaimed. "How?"

"He threatened to publish that picture of me wearing the wet T-shirt! And it shows everything!" she wailed.

Cliff found a very interesting pattern in the wallpaper to study. Sandy glared at him and then back at her ex-roommate. "What picture? There is no picture!"

The two girls turned on Cliff who was still studying the wallpaper design. In unison they said, "Clifford Fitzpatrick!"

Cliff grinned at the two girls. "It would have been a great picture for the company magazine, don't you think? Our dedicated sales force and all that stuff? Jane certainly thought so."

He turned and glared at Sandy, "And as for you Miss Donnell, no wonder the Board so quickly approved you as treasurer. Two-thirds of the money is yours! What am I doing here, anyway? Coaching you to take over my job?"

Cliff had gotten over the initial shock and was waiting for an explanation. He was glad he had heard it first from Jane: It had given him the opportunity to get used to the idea before confronting Sandy.

"No, Cliff," she answered quietly. "I never lied to you, but I certainly didn't tell you the whole truth. I'm sorry if you feel deceived. I was instrumental in getting you in at Murphy. I was certain you were the guy I was looking for. Over the last week, I became 99 percent certain, and after this morning I'm 110 percent sure.

"Cliff, I have a great favor to ask: Please, can I continue to work as your assistant? I had to lean on Stiles to get you in. He controls the stock as trustee until October 1, my birthday. Then I turn twenty-six and take over the stock. You see, a little more than 65 percent of the stock is owned by the Murphy family. In spite of the more usual situation among the Irish — large families, I mean — the Murphy family is now just me.

"The company was founded by my grandfather. When he died, his stock was divided between my mother and Uncle John. Then my parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was twelve. I guess the arrangement with me is similar to the one my parents had. If grandfather had died earlier, they would have been unable to vote the stock until they reached the age of twenty-six.

"Anyway, Uncle John, who was a bachelor, adopted me as his daughter but I didn't change my name. When he died, I was left all of his stock, too.

"Cliff, only a handful of people in the company know who I am, and I would like to keep it that way. I would understand if you just told me to go to hell, jump in Lake Michigan, or do something even more extreme, but I hope you won't. In return, I'll do anything you ask, including telling you anything else about me and my background. No more secrets. Fair?"

He studied the young girl and realized she had beautiful emerald-green eyes. They were looking into his intently. When he suddenly smiled at her, he saw her relax.

He put out his hand and she took it in her firm grip. "It's a deal, Sandra Donnell. I always like to be in a position where I can keep a close eye on the controlling shareholder.

"Now, Sandy, your 'little list' is about to get shorter. We're never going to get through even the first planning session at this rate. Flood will be numbered among the missing this afternoon. Unlike Purcell, he's not nearly close to retirement. I'm firing him for cause: sex discrimination and sexual abuse. Did you know about it?"

Sandy shook her head, looking puzzled. They both looked at Jane who looked down at the table. Sandy said, "Jane Miller! What haven't you told me!? I am about to skin you alive!"

Jane looked at Cliff. "I told you she would skin me alive. Don't forget your promise!" She then quickly told Sandy what she had earlier told Cliff.

"That snake!" Sandy exclaimed. "Now I see ... I think ... Cliff, I'm almost certain he's been bedding his secretary! And I'll lay money he has made it a condition of her employment." She looked up at Cliff and Jane, "Now, what's this promise you extorted from Cliff, Jane Miller? Out with it!"

Jane looked and sounded very innocent as she spoke. "It's very simple: I asked Cliff to put some ointment on my body after you skinned me alive. I told him you would. He promised, too!" she said, making a face. "But only on the condition he could watch you do it. I think you're both sadists! That's what I think."

"No, Jane. I'm sorry. You're a masochist. You would enjoy it too much, so I won't."

Cliff was delighted to see the extent to which the threesome had now relaxed.

He continued, "Sandy, here's what I want to do: Can you call Kevin, fast? There is a squawk-box-type intercom on the desk. It looks like an antique. Does it work, and is there one on your desk? I would like you to have Kevin wire it to the next office ... No! To Purcell's old office that you're using, Sandy. I want the two of you there. I'll leave the intercom on. If it works like all the ones I've seen, you'll be able to hear every word. Okay?

"Oh, one more thing: I think I know what I'll see, but I want to look at Jane's personnel file and the relevant sales performance reports. And I need the material fast!"

-------

At one-thirty, John Flood entered Cliff's office. All the arrangements had been made: It turned out that the intercom was in working order, and changing the location took only a few minutes.

Although Flood had cooled down from the morning, he was still in a belligerent mood. "What's this all about, Fitzpatrick? Why did you break off the meeting this morning?"

Cliff ignored Flood's tone. "I called a halt because of two things: First, your attitude was poisoning the session. Second, your ignorance of our market is appalling. I didn't want you to continue to make a fool of yourself. There's more, but it came up later. Why hasn't Jane Miller received a raise?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it? She doesn't perform!"

"Perform what?" Cliff asked quietly. If Flood had known him better, he would have been concerned at Cliff's mild tone of voice. "According to the sales results of the last two years, she's the top-performing salesperson in the company! Just what is it she doesn't perform?"

"Grow up, Cliff! You know damn well what she doesn't perform. Can you believe a girl having the nerve to show off her boobs — great ones, too — to a purchasing agent? But she won't put out for me so she doesn't get a raise."

"I see," Cliff said in the same quiet tone. "What about the men on your staff? Do you go both ways?"

"What in hell are you saying? Are you saying I'm gay!"

"No, John. I'm saying you're fired! Now! It is a termination for cause: sexual harassment and sex discrimination. If word of this got out, we would be through.

"However, before you get any more bright ideas, it can easily be shown that you were terminated in a matter of hours after your activities came to the attention of top management. Flood, you are the most despicable man it has ever been my misfortune to be associated with.

"Should I ask your secretary, Betty Ames, to join us? I understand you made her sexual favors a condition of her continued employment. She is a widow trying to raise two small children. John, I think that could get you a felony prosecution. Should I ask our lawyers? You will be paid through today. Miss Donnell has your final check ready. I suggest you take it and get out."

Flood's face had been running a gamut of emotions starting at belligerence then changing to disbelief, to rage, to shock and finally to utter defeat. He turned and left the office.

"You can come in, now." Cliff said. Jane came right in followed a few minutes later by Sandy. Sandy had a small deck of cards in her hand. "What are those?" he asked.

She smiled brightly and said, "Someone has to think of the company. I have his company charge cards, the keys to his company car, his ID ... all the stuff on the termination checkout sheet that us overworked secretaries have to take care of for our irresponsible bosses."

"Thanks, Sandy ... again. Now could you ask Betty Ames to join us? Jane, I want Sandy here, but under the circumstances I think we should minimize the audience."

Betty Ames came into the office and looked bewildered when Cliff asked her to sit down. Sandy was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, sitting in a corner behind Mrs. Ames and well behind her sight line.

Cliff introduced himself and then began, "Mrs. Ames, as you may know, John Flood has just been fired from the company for cause. One of the reasons is his sexual abuse of you." Cliff was speaking as gently as he could to try to lessen the woman's shock.

He was surprised to see her face light up. He realized she was a lovely woman. "He's ... He's gone?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's gone ... for good."

Suddenly the woman folded up in her chair and began weeping. Sandy was expecting it and jumped out of her chair to comfort the woman. When she reached her, she and Cliff were surprised to see the woman was weeping for joy! "Oh, thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick! I'll clean out my desk and..."

"You'll what!" Sandy and Cliff exclaimed in unison.

Betty Ames appeared surprised. "Well, I would like to take my things. Can't I?"

"But why do you want to leave?" Cliff asked. "There will be a reduction in the number of secretaries, but Sandy tells me you're one of our very best. I thought you needed the job?"

She sat up straight in her chair. "You can't mean you want me to stay? After the things I did with Mr. Flood?"

Sandy spoke. "Betty, I've seen you come out of Flood's office looking like you wanted to throw up. You did it because he made you, didn't you? If you didn't, you would have been fired? There would be no raises and no employment recommendation? And you have two children to think of."

Betty Ames had been nodding at each of Sandy's questions. Sandy concluded, "Flood's a snake. Betty, Mr. Fitzpatrick wanted me to ask you for a favor. He doesn't want to ask you himself for fear you might take it the wrong way, but Betty, he would like to make a payment to you equal to one year's salary to try to make up for what you have suffered.

"You have a real cause of action to sue the company if you choose. He hopes you won't, even though you have every right to do so. Would you accept his offer? Please?"

"You want me to stay? And take money? I couldn't. It's not right!"

"Betty," Cliff said, "I know it's not right. It's not adequate, but it's an effort on our part. Please say yes. I know you can use it, can't you?

"Sandy, could you please cut a check? Call it a settlement for damages suffered. That way it's not income and not taxable to you. Mrs. Ames, isn't this the week of spring vacation?" Betty nodded indicating that it was. "Great! Why don't you take the rest of the week off and celebrate with your children? Please?"

The woman smiled and thanked them. Sandy got her the check, and she left for home still shaking her head in amazement.

Then Jane rejoined them and Cliff turned to Sandy. "Thanks again. That was a very kind and generous thing you did for her. My God! That poor woman has been tortured all this time!

"And thank you, Cliff, for picking up on the idea and figuring out how she could get it all tax free. Now, what are you going to do for a vice president–marketing?"

"Who do you think should get it? Jane?" Cliff asked.

"I think the best guy we've got is Steve Muller, but he isn't even here. Flood has him on some cockamamie assignment in the Stores Division. Personally, I think he wanted him out of town. I don't think John and Steve agreed on the time of day, let alone anything else!" Jane answered.

"Miss Donnell, how does the cash management project look? Do you think we can spare some back pay for your friend? The way I see it, her salary should be doubled, and we owe her a bonus of at least $25,000. That is roughly what I estimate she was cheated out of by our late unlamented friend. Can we afford it?"

Sandy smiled and nodded. "Wait a minute, Cliff. That's $25,000 less $17.95 she still owes me on our last phone bill at school. And to show you I'm a real sport, I'll even waive the interest."

Jane was grinning at the two of them. Suddenly her jaw dropped. "Wait a minute. You are kidding aren't you? You can't be serious?"

Cliff looked at Sandy maintaining a very serious expression. "Miss Treasurer, I never joke about money, do you?"

Sandy responded with an equally serious look, "Mr. President, have you ever known a treasurer to joke about anything,  least of all about money? Of course I'm serious."

They looked at Jane and said in unison, "We're serious!" after which they all laughed.

"On the other hand," Cliff said, "Jane is now being paid an awful lot just to be a salesman. I'll talk to Steve about making her Key Accounts Manager."

"There's just one more thing, Jane," Sandy added. "We're going out tonight to celebrate your raise, bonus, and promotion. And you're buying."

Sandy went off to try to locate Steve Muller. When she finally tracked him down in Spokane, Cliff spoke to him for a few moments. "Steve, I'm sorry we haven't met, but I suppose you have heard of me. Your boss, John Flood, is now history. Would you accept the position of vice president–marketing at Murphy?"

There was silence on the phone for a few moments. Then Muller spoke. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, it's a good thing Sandy Donnell tracked me down. If you had called, I wouldn't have known your voice and would have been sure it was a joke. Yes, sir! I accept with pleasure. How soon do you need me in Milwaukee?"

"That's the bad news, Steve. Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock we reconvene our planning session. We need you as soon as you can get here. I'm looking forward to seeing you when you get in." He told him the name of the hotel, and Muller went off to see about planes.

Cliff and Sandy spent the rest of the afternoon on the cash management project. They had identified over $25 million in balance reductions in major accounts alone. There were still some unexamined major accounts — activity analyses hadn't yet been received — and a host of nominally smaller accounts which Cliff expected to yield proportionately much greater sums of cash.

That evening Cliff took the two girls out to dinner to celebrate. They were about to order dinner in a German restaurant that Jane recommended when a tall good-looking young man came up to the table, kissed Jane and sat down. He stuck out his hand to Cliff, "I'm Steve Muller. I guess you must be Cliff Fitzpatrick. Is this fast enough?"

Cliff grinned. "Steve, you're a man after my own heart. I was hoping you would be here by the end of lunch tomorrow! How did you find us?"

"A formerly underpaid salesperson, now a lofty manager who should remain nameless, left a message on the machine at my apartment. Not only did she say where you would be, but she also indicated she was very warm for my body. What else could I do?"

Cliff and Sandy laughed while Jane blushed. Then she hit Steve hard on the arm. "Big mouth! That was for you, turkey, not for rebroadcast."

They spent the rest of the evening reviewing the events of the day with Steve and briefing him on the planning session. As it was getting time to leave, Steve said, "Cliff, I'm reasonably sure John gave me the job in Stores to get me out of town. However, I'm one of those dumb guys who'll create a job even where there isn't one. Tell me, isn't there some basic strategy of cutting back geographically?"

"Sure," Cliff replied. "It's called market rationalization. But why do you ask?"

"Because that's the strategy for our western stores, anyway. Cliff, it's the dumbest thing I've ever seen. Here we sit 2,000 miles to the east trying to determine stock for those stores. No way! Then we're much too thin on the ground. It's impossible for us to have the kind of store density we need to advertise effectively in any of the big western markets. If we run an ad, we're lucky if 10 percent of the people seeing or hearing it are within reach of one of our stores.

"The reason I asked is I talked to some people out there. There's a good-sized western chain of auto parts stores that wants to grow. They would like to buy all our western units for cash. Might we be interested?"

"Steve, we haven't looked at the Stores Division yet. I'm going to try to start next week. How anxious are they, and have they made a firm offer?"

"They're anxious, Boss, but there's no firm offer. They would like to look around, though."

"Sandy, you had better listen to this. I'm not ready to sell our western stores, but I would certainly listen to an offer, particularly if it's all cash. I would like Steve to call the people tomorrow and give them permission to look around at our units and look at our numbers. What do you think?"

"Let's do it, Cliff." She grinned at him, and added, "The way you have been giving away money today, we better do something to get some coming in!"

Surprisingly, the restaurant had a small combo playing on a Monday night. When Jane got up and motioned for Steve to dance with her, Sandy looked up in mild surprise. "Jane, you're going to dance? I didn't think you liked to."

The dark-haired girl grinned. "You had it right this afternoon: I'm a masochist. With Steve stepping on my feet, it feels so good when we stop." They went off together to the small dance floor leaving Cliff and Sandy alone.

They sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes before Cliff spoke. "What a day! I can live nicely without too many more like this one, though. I get rid of a senior vice president, settle a potentially very nasty discrimination action and find out my secretary is my boss!"

He looked at her and smiled. "I know you told me you're every guy's best friend's kid sister, but would you like to dance, sis?"

Sandy smiled and got up. The combo was playing dance music from the '40's and '50's. When they got to the dance floor, he took her in his arms. He was surprised at the way she moved on the floor. Cliff never thought of himself as a good dancer — barely adequate would have been his optimistic assessment. Nevertheless, he found that he and Sandy were moving around the floor as if they were on a cloud. She seemed absolutely weightless. He contrasted this feeling with his experience with Stephanie and didn't understand what was happening. Steph was an extraordinarily good dancer — at least that was what everyone said. Yet dancing with her was like moving a truck. He had always blamed his own incompetence.

Sandy felt as if she were floating, too. She didn't know what to do except she hoped the music would never end. Her plans had gone down the drain even though she admitted to herself they weren't very good plans. She had had some vague idea in the back of her mind about maintaining her ownership interest as a secret until at least October 1.

It wasn't to be, and she had known it deep down. There were too many people who knew the truth, and the truth would have come out sooner or later. She was honest enough to admit that sooner was better. She had noticed Cliff's quick reaction — she had hired him to train her — and realized the later he found out the truth, the angrier he would have been. Since it came out only a week after starting work, it hadn't done too much damage.

Then her thoughts turned to their dancing. She had always thought of herself as clumsy and gawky on the dance floor. She had been a girl who reached her full height when she was young and still thought of herself as towering over the boys. She suddenly realized that, compared to Cliff, she was almost short. She found it so easy to move with him on the floor. Finally, the music stopped as the musicians took a break. They found themselves just standing alone on the floor together.

"It stopped," Cliff said softly in her ear. She gave a little start and looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said. "That was fun. You're a very good dancer. Usually, I feel as clumsy as a trained bear trying to walk on its hind legs."

They were walking back to the table as she said it. Cliff stopped abruptly and looked at her, "Stop teasing, Sandy. If you're a trained bear, a dolphin would look clumsy by comparison! You were a feather!"

He noticed the real surprise in her eyes but couldn't understand it. They returned to the table and quiet applause from Jane and Steve. "Have you two been rehearsing?" Jane asked. "Trying to generate a little money for Murphy by moonlighting as a dance team?"

Both Cliff and Sandy reddened at her comments. Later the four left the restaurant, with Steve and Jane going off together. Sandy blushed and said, "Cliff, could you do me a favor? Would you mind driving me back to my apartment? Jane drove me over, but I guess she forgot. I'm afraid her mind is on other things right now."

They went to his car and she gave him directions to her apartment. He walked her to the door and unlocked it for her. Turning towards him, she raised her head and pulled his face down to hers. She gave him a soft kiss, murmured a hurried "Good night," and ducked into the apartment.

Cliff stood there still feeling the power of her kiss. He had never experienced anything quite like it and he liked to think of himself as experienced with women. He thought to himself that if all kid sisters kissed like that he'd been wasting his time in all the wrong places.

Meanwhile, Sandy stood with her back to the door. She had kissed him on sudden impulse, intending it to be light and friendly, and in one sense it was. But it was so much more. Sandy realized she was leaning against her front door because she did not trust her legs to support her weight. She could still hear the bells and feel the electricity that had jolted her during that one quick kiss.

She went to her bedroom and got ready for bed.



-------

Chapter 6



At eight o'clock the next morning Cliff was pleased to see everyone was present in the meeting room for the planning session. Moreover, everyone was wearing casual clothes. He announced that John Flood was no longer with the company and was pleased when he saw no looks of either surprise or dismay.

"When we ended the session yesterday, we were talking about factors affecting the growth of the market. Has anyone thought of any others?"

There were additional mentions which the group discussed. After each, Cliff noted on the chart whether the net effect on market growth was up, down or neutral. He was pleased to see that participation, particularly from the sales and marketing people, had increased substantially.

Then he turned to competitor strengths and weaknesses. The first company they looked at was Ajax Industries. He explained that he was looking for three things: general characteristics and strategic thrust, strengths, and weaknesses. He defined a strength as putting a company in the top 25 percent of competitors, and a weakness, in the bottom 25 percent. The middle 50 percent would be listed, if appropriate, as a general characteristic of competitors.

One of the salesmen offered a strength for Ajax: "Strong prices."

Once again Cliff was grateful for Sandy. She had neatly sketched out a seating chart with names and organization unit shown. The speaker was a salesman named Don Peters. "Don," he asked, "what do you mean by 'strong prices'?"

"Sir, they're not one of those scuzz-bag operators always chiseling off their posted prices. Ajax sticks to its price list. They call the tune in our business, particularly to OEM — original-equipment manufacturers."

"Okay, Don, I'll record that Ajax is the price leader. Folks, what I heard Don say is that Ajax establishes prices, and everyone else prices off them. Does anybody disagree?"

Jane Miller spoke up. "I disagree! Ajax never leads. They just follow on price moves. There's no way they're the price leader!"

Cliff smiled at the girl. He noticed that she looked like she had not had much sleep the night before. For that matter, Steve Muller looked like he was in real pain. It appeared to be a combination of the fast trip from the Coast with a two-hour west-to-east time change, coupled with very little sleep the night before.

"Jane, I'm sorry. I'm afraid you're wrong for a change, and Don's right. A price leader is the guy who determines if a price change sticks. Do you remember the primary steel industry years ago before steel imports and electric furnaces started to eat their lunch? In those days, U.S. Steel was the price leader. The company almost never initiated a price move. Moves were usually initiated by small mills. But everyone watched what U.S. Steel did.

"If the small company put prices up and U.S. Steel followed, all the others moved, too, and that became the new industry price. If Steel didn't move, the smaller company quickly retreated. Now, Jane, who was the price leader? The little company that changed the price first or U.S. Steel?"

"I was wrong," Jane responded. "I guess I'm not awake yet this morning. It's obviously Steel, and I agree with Don. Ajax is the price leader."

"Don," Cliff said, "I want to come back to something else you said. I didn't record a strength for Ajax for 'strong prices, ' and I want to talk about that. First, I should have stressed something at the outset. Everything on these sheets we're working on is from the point of view of the market, not us or our competitors. Unless we're dealing with a weird market like high-end perfume, the market always prefers low prices to high prices. How the seller makes money — or if he does — is his problem. It may not be nice, but if the buyer can get what he wants free, he'll grab it in an instant.

"I once had a client in a chemical business. He was demolishing his two competitors, primarily with low prices, and they didn't have the first clue how he could do it. The answer was very simple, but they didn't know it. My client was known to use a totally different process to produce the same product all three sold. What they didn't know was that my client's raw material was a waste product generated in the production of a best-selling antibiotic. While they paid for their raw materials, my client was paid five dollars a ton to take his, with the antibiotic's manufacturer paying for transportation besides!

"By the way, the pharma company thought it was getting a great deal, too. Before my client came along they had to pay twenty to twenty-five dollars a ton, plus transportation, to get rid of the stuff. They were delighted. Now, put yourselves in the shoes of my client's competitors: How can you compete on price when you're buying your raw materials against a guy who is paid to take his? The answer is: not easily. They're likely to be at a major cost disadvantage. Do you all see what I mean?"

The group had listened to Cliff with some surprise. Finally, they conceded that high prices for Ajax was a weakness, not a strength. The discussion moved ahead and covered the other competitors in the market including captive producers and U.S. plants of overseas-based companies.

They had taken a break at ten o'clock and finally reached the lunch hour. Cliff was very pleased with the progress that had been made. He smiled to himself when he went into the same private dining room. The cold buffet was the same as the day before. The only change was the kind of soup offered.

After he took a seat Sandy sat down beside him. "Cliff," she said, "if I understand this process correctly, we're going to move from this discussion to find out what we need to do to win in the business we're in. Then we try to figure out what changes have to be made to do it. Is that right?"

"Sandy, that's exactly right. What we're really doing is stripping away all of the tinsel and ornaments to see what the tree — the basic structure of our industry and our company — is really like. Operationally, we're always bogged down in detail and day-to-day crises, so we almost never look. We're looking now."

The meeting reconvened and Cliff shifted the subject to the basis of competition: How does a company win the game. He explained there are usually a small number of factors — normally only three to five — that determine success.

"Folks," he explained, "this section is absolutely critical! If we don't get this section right before we set our strategy, everything is wrong. We won't win and can't win because we will be focusing on the wrong things. When we complete it, the list will tell us what we need to do. Our strategy will be the things we intend to do to make it happen. Again, as in the discussion of strengths and weaknesses, it's from the point of view of the market!

"So I don't want to hear 'high profits.' The market couldn't care less about our profits. If they can get a better price from us, they would just as soon we didn't make any. This is the list of things to be done. How we achieve them — and make a profit — is what our strategy is all about. Understand? Now who wants to start?"

Steve Muller offered the first suggestion, "Cliff, how about low prices?"

Cliff grinned at Steve. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm afraid I set you up for that with our earlier discussions. But let's talk about it: We said customers prefer lower prices to higher prices. However, we also see Ajax winning the game: They have the leading market share, they're gaining share and they're the price leader, yet we dinged them for high prices.

"Are you starting to see how this process works? We're trying to get concepts to add down and add across in the same way an accountant works to get his numbers to add down and across. Clearly, we're missing something. It's axiomatic that a company can't be winning if it's doing important things wrong. So how is Ajax winning with high prices?"

At this point, Bill Stevens spoke up. "I think what we're missing is the price-quality equation. When we talk price we're assuming the products are equal in quality. I don't think they are. I think Ajax delivers consistently high quality that can create savings for the buyer. He can save on quality assurance, component testing, warranty claims, and his general reputation.

"Let's face it: If one of our valves fails in service, who takes the hit with the customer? It's certainly not us. Most people don't even know we exist. Magna Motors, or whoever we sold our valve to, takes the heat. It's their engine, after all, not ours. Does this make any sense, Cliff? I don't know a damn thing about strategy. I can't even spell it, for God's sake!"

"Thanks, Bill," Cliff responded, "I appreciate the comment and what you just said certainly does make sense. There's one point I want to pick up on, and that's participation in these sessions. The reason you're all here is I believe you all have something to contribute ... and I know you have a lot to learn. When we finish, you need to know what our strategy is.

"More important, you need to understand it! You can only develop that understanding through this kind of participation. If I didn't stress it enough before, I'll do it now. No one is being graded in this session. The grades come afterwards, when you're out performing in the factory, with customers ... wherever.

"One more thing: there are no dumb questions. The only dumb question is the one that isn't asked. If you're confused, it's entirely possible it's because we're not clear ... or our bright idea may not be nearly as bright as we might like to think it is. Now, what about Bill's idea of a price/quality relationship?"

The discussion continued through the afternoon, looking at price history, market segments — it turned out that the export market was growing rapidly but Murphy was ignoring it — production facilities and other factors. Cliff finally turned his attention to Murphy Manufacturing. As they looked at the company's position in the industry over time, the erosion of its position became very clear. Cliff adjourned the meeting when he got to Murphy's strengths and weaknesses.

Sandy came up to him and said, "Cliff, you look absolutely beat. It's obvious to me what you're doing up there is tiring as hell. It's really the mental equivalent of patting your head and rubbing your belly, isn't it? It's really a hell of a lot tougher than it looks! Could I buy you dinner? Please?"

Cliff had collapsed into a chair after standing all afternoon. He pretended to prop up one eyelid, and smiled at her. "Sandy, you're great. I scarcely have the energy to get down to my car. I'd love it!"

She smiled at him and said, "There's an ulterior motive. Jane drove me in this morning and then went off with Steve. I think they're both so tired they may actually sleep tonight. Anyway, I need a ride home ... again."

"It's a deal!" Cliff said, "provided you drive." Reaching into his coat for his car keys, he put them in her hand.

He was asleep almost as soon as he got into the car. The next thing he knew his shoulder was being shaken. "We're here," Sandy said, "but I'll be damned if I'm going to carry you up to my apartment. Feel better?"

Cliff blinked and smiled. "Much better, thank you. Now where would you like to eat?" He looked at himself and suddenly remembered he was wearing casual clothes. "I'm afraid it can't be too swanky, though, with me dressed like this."

"Come on in," she said. "We'll figure out something."

They went up to her apartment. Cliff was very impressed. Although it was only a fraction of the size of Stephanie's he liked it much better, but he couldn't quite figure out why. In addition to its larger size, Stephanie's had its magnificent view over Lake Michigan, while Sandy's, a low-rise, just looked out on a quiet residential street.

Suddenly, he understood. Stephanie's was decorator-dramatic: beautifully done by an expensive decorator for a dramatic effect which had been achieved. Sandy's, on the other hand, was also exquisitely decorated but with an eye to comfort. He asked about drinks and made two while she went to her bedroom to change. He sat down on the sofa with his drink.

The next thing he knew, Sandy was shaking his shoulder again. "Dinner's ready," she announced.

Cliff looked up at her and realized she was again wearing what she had worn the previous Saturday — tight Levi's and her Michigan sweatshirt. Once again, her lovely auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

"I'm sorry, Sandy. That was awful! I just sat down ... and that's all I remember. Please believe me! It's a tribute to the comfort of your furnishings, not a comment on the hostess." He noticed that his untouched drink was now water.

She smiled at him. "It's just as well," she said. "It kept you from being underfoot while I got dinner ready. I hope you're not tired of steak? That's about the extent of my culinary ability, except for opening cans."

Sandy had set the table in her small dining area. It was apparent to Cliff that she was using her good china, crystal and silver. He supposed she inherited it from her family. The table was beautiful. Sandy brought out jumbo shrimp cocktail with Arnaud's sauce and Cliff expressed his surprise. "This is the strangest looking steak I've ever seen. And this is Arnaud's sauce from New Orleans, isn't it?"

She nodded and poured a bottle of chilled white wine. Cliff noted it was a vintage French Chablis which was magnificent with the shrimp. She cleared the plates and returned with two beautiful boneless sirloins served with sauce Périgord, and Cliff could see she had a heavy hand with the very expensive truffles slivered into it. The steak was served with thinly sliced french fries and a salad. She poured from a half bottle of chateau-bottled vintage Bordeaux that had been opened earlier to breathe.

He noticed that her portion was virtually the same size as his, and she ate it. He couldn't help contrast this girl with Stephanie. Stephanie was always chasing the latest in food fads, but as far as he could tell didn't enjoy eating anything. She merely picked, yet always seemed to be fighting her weight. Sandy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy food and eating, yet complained of being too thin.

She served coffee and cognac in the living room. "Cliff, there's a good movie on cable tonight. Would you like to watch?" He nodded agreeably and sat down on the sofa while she tuned the set to a pay channel.

When she sat down beside him on the sofa, he put his arm around her shoulders and she snuggled close beside him. He enjoyed the movie, but didn't know what to do. Sandy had almost immediately fallen asleep in his arms. He went to remove his arm but she had her hand on it and wouldn't let go.

The movie was action-adventure, and the noises of the final scene woke her up. He smiled down at her bright green eyes and asked, "Did you enjoy the movie?"

She smiled sleepily at him, "More than any movie I've seen in years. It was great!" she said softly.

Then he tipped her face up and kissed her gently. He could feel her lips open under his and felt her tongue dart out. His hand went under her sweatshirt and he felt one of her beautifully shaped breasts in his hand. He cupped it and his hand was caught and held by hers from outside the sweatshirt.

"Cliff," she said very softly, "no further, please. I only have the willpower to say it once. But it feels so wonderful! Please don't stop."

He went back to kissing her. My God! he thought. We're necking after a movie! He realized he hadn't done that in about fifteen years, and it was wonderful. Whenever she kissed him, it was like receiving a jolt of electricity. He realized he was in love with this girl he had known for only ten days!

Sandy was in heaven. She could feel his strong hand cupping her breast. For the first time in her life she didn't even feel inadequate! She realized, although she was not big-chested, her breast filled his hand. His kisses were wonderful. Then she felt his hand moving under her sweatshirt caressing her upper body. She stretched and lay back against him, savoring the feeling of being loved.

Finally he pulled away, looked at her and saw her brilliant green eyes glowing with love. He slowly withdrew his hand, gathered her in his arms and kissed her again. He realized it was getting late and there would be another big day tomorrow. He got up from the sofa and helped her up. She just snuggled against his chest with her arms around him.

"Sandy," he said softly, "I'm going to bed. You used up your willpower awhile ago. I don't know when I used up mine, but there's none left. I would love nothing better than to go to bed with you, but we both know we shouldn't. Right?"

He could feel her head making a tiny nod on his shoulder. She looked up at him and said, "Thanks so much, Cliff! This was the nicest date I've ever had."

He smiled at her and gave her a soft kiss. "Sandy, that was the best meal I've eaten in ages. Since it was just pot luck, promise to invite me when you decide to cook a real meal?"

She just smiled and nodded. He slowly released her and went down to his car.

Meanwhile, Sandy turned off the lights and got ready for bed. Once in bed, she shivered remembering the feel of his hands running over her body and the thrill of his lips on hers. She tried to make sense of her thoughts but couldn't. She only knew he was the man for whom she had been waiting her entire life.

As he drove back to his apartment, Cliff thought about Sandy and Stephanie. The two girls were a study in contrasts. And in every one Stephanie came up short. He was amused thinking about Sandy saying she could "only cook a steak." The way it was cooked would have done a master chef proud. In contrast, Stephanie could not have possibly cooked anything like it if her very life depended on it, and could not have boiled water with the ease with which Sandy prepared the full meal.

Moreover, there was a contrast in living styles and in friends. He didn't care much for Stephanie's, but he realized he didn't know any of Sandy's except Jane whom he liked. He guessed her friends would be an eclectic group, centered on Murphy Manufacturing. But having come to that conclusion he realized he had no basis for it. Finally, he thought about the movie. He couldn't be sure if she liked those movies or if she thought he would.

He did know he couldn't remember having more fun even though they hadn't shared a bed. He remembered fondly how she had snuggled close to him and slept with his arm around her, and wouldn't let him move it. He could still feel her bare skin under his finger tips, and how, with his hand cupping her breast, she had placed her hand to keep it there. And her kisses made his toes curl! All of this, while wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, which made him feel far more romantic than he ever did with Stephanie and all her stage management.

-------

The next day they began on Murphy's strengths and weaknesses. The picture that emerged was not bright. The only significant strengths were the company name — although it wasn't nearly as good as it once was — and skilled workers. Weaknesses included high prices lethally coupled with poor quality. The product line was rated the broadest in the industry. Initially, some had argued it to be a strength yet discussion revealed that individual customers used few products, but typically in high volume.

They looked at many other facets of the business and then examined market maturity. The market was rated classically Mature: growth was slow, the market cycled, no new entrants, little untapped potential.

The competitive position exercise labeled them Weak, i.e., currently unsatisfactory performance with opportunity for improvement. It is an inherently unstable position. A Weak company must improve to at least Satisfactory or become Nonviable, i.e., dead. They finally arrived at strategy formulation. Cliff initiated the strategy discussion: "Can anyone tell me the difference between a goal and an objective?" he asked.

Sandy spoke up. "I think I heard somewhere that an objective is a special class of goal that's achievable, measurable and time-bound. A goal isn't necessarily any of those things. Cliff, it's well known around the company that you gave the board specific objectives to be reached by October 1. They're measurable — stated in dollar terms, and time-bound — by October 1. We all hope they turn out to be achievable." She looked at Cliff and asked, "How's that?"

Cliff was smiling broadly as he answered, "That's an 'A+' answer! It's perfect! Now, Miss Donnell, the $64 question ... No! We'll make it for dinner Saturday night. What is the goal for Murphy Manufacturing?"

"There can be only one goal: the maximization of long-run profits. Do I get a dinner? My choice of places?"

"You sure do! Now, since you're obviously hitting on all cylinders — equipped with Murphy rings and valves, we hope — would you explain to the class for extra credit..." He grinned and indicated the people in the room. " ... why it's a goal, not an objective, why it's the only appropriate goal, and what it means?"

Sandy was smiling and obviously enjoying herself. It was apparent that the other people in the room were reacting with varying degrees of surprise except for Jane Miller who expected Sandy to be correct.

Sandy explained. "First, why it's a goal, not an objective: It's not time-bound. What does 'long-term' mean? It's not measurable. It's impossible to prove, even long after the fact, if profits were in fact being maximized. Finally, it may not be possible to do. It doesn't meet any of the tests of an objective.

"It's the only possible goal, because as a profit-making company, it's our reason for being here. Everything else — fair wages, good employee relations, good corporate citizenship — whatever that means — being environmentally sound — all play off the profit maximization concept.

"For example, if the company pollutes the lake, the State of Wisconsin, the Feds, or both, close us down. End of story. We certainly didn't maximize profits long term. If we have lousy relations with our employees, the good ones quit and we can't replace them. We're through ... again.

"What it means is this: We do the best job we can, balancing long- and short-term requirements in an optimum fashion. Mr. Fitzpatrick, I think I explained it. Doing it, sir, is your job!"

"Another 'A+' answer. Sandy, that was the best answer I've ever heard anywhere. As a reward, while I try to figure out how I'm going to pay for dinner, you get to stand up here, marker in hand, and discuss objectives and goals. You can get the ink on your fingers. I'll rest my feet and heckle." He grinned and handed her his felt marker.

Sandy was startled but went up to the charts and asked, "Does anyone have any questions or comments?"

Kevin O'Rourke spoke up. "Sandy, what should our objective be? Better yet, what's our strategy?"

Sandy looked a little flustered and looked at Cliff. Avoiding her eyes, he studied the carpet pattern. "Kevin, I think it's pretty straightforward. Putting together all the material Cliff dragged out of us — there are over forty sheets papering the walls — I think it's fairly simple.

"Incidentally, I'll try to write big. I heard a rumor that we can't get out of the room if there's one square inch of wall not covered with these sheets.

"First, we strip down the product line to about 5 percent of the products we're offering now. I guess we'll work out the numbers between now and the next session. According to Cliff's little strategy cards, that's called Product Rationalization.

"Second, we streamline our manufacturing process. We clean up the line layout, knock off a bunch of inspectors, and insist that the guys making the products get it right the first time. We debug the whole process to make it as easy as we can to do it right. I think that's Production Rationalization.

"While I'm borrowing his marker, I guess it's fair to steal his stories, too. He told me about a Japanese auto executive he was talking with who was very puzzled. 'Missa Fitzpatrick, I do not understand Americans. You pay one man do, another man undo, and third man redo. Much cheaper to do it right, first time!' Anyway, Cliff thought the Japanese made sense, and I know he did. Does anyone here care seriously to argue that it doesn't?" No one spoke. "I didn't think so.

"Third, we have to build our export business, with a special focus on South America.

"That's enough, and it's a lot. I would like to say one more thing: What's an assistant doing setting strategy, you wonder. Well, so do I. I can't even spell strategy the same way twice, and that is my job. I've worked at Murphy for more years than I care to think about, but I've learned more about our ring and valve business in the last three days than I learned in the previous ten years. After what we learned, I think our direction is obvious. What do you think?"

Sandy conducted the remainder of the meeting. Cliff was impressed. Not only did she show an in-depth understanding of all the material, she had an instinctive grasp of all the interactions. He also found that she used her knowledge of the people to draw them all into the discussion. He particularly noticed that no one challenged her rôle as leader nor tried to blow one by her. By the time she wrapped up, every person in the room had talked about the strategy. Finally, she tried to hand him the marker, but he refused.

"Folks," he said, "I know when I've been upstaged. Great job, Sandy. You close!"

"You heard the man. We're all done for now. There will be memos out scheduling our next meeting dates. We're adjourned."

Cliff was pleased to see the people crowd around Sandy to congratulate her. Others came over to thank him for the opportunity. Finally he and Sandy were alone. The girl glowed. They were both straddling chairs looking at one another.

Cliff looked at her and asked, "What did you think about it?"

"Cliff, it was the greatest day of my life! I loved it! But you made it possible. I was being absolutely truthful. I did learn so much! Thank you." She tipped her chair forward, intent on kissing him. He leaned forward, too, to close the distance. The kiss with both of them balancing on tipped chairs was breathtaking. The only contact was with their lips. Sandy was trying to convey the depth of her love through her lips and did. Cliff was rocked to his shoes.



-------

Chapter 7



They spent the next two days on the cash management project and preparations for the session on the retail business beginning the following Monday. Sandy was funny. Now that she was recognized as the company treasurer by bankers, O'Rourke's people ran a phone line through another secretary to answer "Miss Donnell's office" if she were out, to a button on her phone which she picked up if she were in. The same line ran to Purcell's old office which she used in her capacity as treasurer.

Cliff noticed she kept a beautifully tailored suit on a hanger in her new office. If a banker came to see her she quickly changed into her "treasurer's suit" and greeted them. He had asked her about Saturday night. Finally, she told him where he was taking her. The selection was her choice.

-------

Cliff was wearing a dinner jacket when he went to her apartment to pick her up. Although he felt strange bringing her a spring-flower corsage, he thought it was very pretty. He rang her bell and the door opened moments later. Cliff was stunned. Sandy was wearing a silk chiffon strapless cocktail dress, and she did a little pirouette to show off the skirts. The dress was the same shade of emerald green as her eyes. She looked gorgeous.

"I would whistle, Sandy, but my mother told me it isn't polite. But you are simply breathtaking!" He presented her with the flowers, feeling sheepish as he did so.

He saw her eyes start to tear, and she gave him a quick, light kiss on the lips. "Thank you so much! Cliff, this is only the second corsage I've ever had! The first was for my high school senior prom ... and he was a drip."

She looked at him seriously. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I cook? I feel I cheated, somehow, because I work for you."

"Sandra Donnell, not on your life! You bought the dress specially for tonight, didn't you?" She nodded her head shyly. "But you would give it all up and cook, wouldn't you?" Again she nodded. "No way! The reservations are made, the champagne is being chilled, the band is warming up and I even put on a tux, for heaven's sake!"

"Cliff, you look very handsome in a dinner jacket. I have to tell you that today is the proudest day of my life! I've never felt so good about myself before, and it's all your fault. I shouldn't say it, I suppose, but this is the first time I have ever had the courage to wear a strapless dress. Would you believe it? I'm almost twenty-six years old! The other night you convinced me that maybe there's enough of me to hold it up."

Cliff left the car with the valet parking attendant and escorted Sandy to the dining room. The maître d'hôtel greeted him and showed him to a reserved table. He enjoyed watching the heads turn at Sandy's auburn-haired beauty.

When they were seated, he looked at her. "I can't imagine a girl looking more beautiful than you do now. I guess you may have taken ten or fifteen minutes to get ready?"

She smiled softly. "Ten or fifteen hours, maybe. Do you like my hair? It was countless hours of torture to get it right. I think I'll wear a hair net to bed, or something equally romantic-looking to keep it this way."

The band was playing, so Cliff asked her to dance. Again, he was startled by the way she floated in his arms. When they sat down again, he called for the champagne he had ordered earlier. He was disconcerted by the way she was studying his face.

"Tell me about you," she asked. "You know about all there is to know about me. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have an older sister, Susan. She lives in L.A. with her husband and ... I guess it's five and two-thirds nieces and nephews, now. I'm sure you'll like her, and I know she'll love you! She's two years older than I am and is constantly pregnant. I asked her one time, and she says it saves money to buy maternity dresses by the dozen.

"Another time I asked her if she and her husband ever did anything other than make love, and she looked at me deadpan. 'I beg your pardon, ' she said. 'Charley and I have made love seven ... no, eight times. I remember it distinctly. It was twice on our honeymoon, and then there was the time I miscarried. That's eight. He's just more effective than most men.'

"Can you believe it? The funny thing is I saw her last summer in a bikini, and she looked like her daughter's older sister. If you told someone she had given birth to five children, he would say you were crazy. I guess we're not much of an Irish family, with only two children, so Sis says she has to make up for lost time.

"The funny thing is she and Charley have five of the nicest kids I've ever seen. Of course, that's an unbiased uncle's point of view."

"I can't wait to meet Susan!" Sandy said, taking his hand in hers. "I hope I will someday."

"I was thinking about you the other night," he said. "I was contrasting you with Stephanie. Incidentally, I'm breaking it off with Stephanie for good. I thought I should tell you."

He smiled at her and squeezed the hand that was still in his. "You are truly beautiful. You know that, don't you? I have never seen such a gorgeous combination of eyes, hair and skin as you have. You are extraordinary."

Cliff had ordered Dom Pérignon which they were sipping. The dinner was superb, and they both enjoyed the dancing until they left at closing time.

Finally, they arrived back at her apartment. He stood at the door and she said, "Cliff, please come in. I would like to make us some coffee to go with some special cognac I've been saving. Could you handle some?"

He smiled and went in. She had the coffee maker primed and turned it on. A few minutes later he helped her with the coffee cups and the cognac. He recognized it from its Baccarat decanter as Rémy Martin's Louis XIII.

As they sat together on the sofa sipping their coffee he asked, "Sandy, tell me about yourself. I don't even know who your friends are other than Jane Miller. I gather you have no family left?"

"I guess I am the last of the Murphys. Most of my friends are in the company. Being away at school for six years and working the rest of the time in the plant, I guess that's what happens sometimes."

He took her in his arms and kissed her. She instantly responded with a passion that surprised him. When he ran his fingers over her bare back he found her skin was like satin to the touch. She spoke softly into his shoulder, "Do you remember giving me a question for extra credit? And I got it right? Cliff, for my prize I want you to stay with me tonight. Please?"

He looked at her and could see that her eyes were glowing. "You're serious, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"I've never been more serious in my life! I should warn you, though: I have next to no experience with men. I guess I was always a tomboy and then I was the kid sister. Until you came along, I always thought of myself as a graceless geek.

"I've only been with a man once in my life, and it was awful. He was as inexperienced as I was, if you can believe such a thing happening these days. We didn't know what we were doing, and it hurt terribly. You hear so much about the sexual revolution, but I guess I've always been hiding behind a door or something. Can you help me, Cliff? Please?"

Cliff felt very humble as he followed her into her bedroom. It was beautifully furnished and yet was different, somehow. As he looked around, he realized what it was. Here was a stark contrast to what he had become used to with Stephanie. Steph had a stage setting for seduction. Sandy's room was ready to go to bed. He noticed the bedspread was off the bed, and the covers were turned down — on both sides — on the very comfortable-looking king-size bed.

As they stood together in the room, it was all Sandy could do to keep her knees from knocking. She was so scared! Her one previous experience she had mentioned to Cliff had been far worse than she admitted. She was correct about one thing: Neither of them had had any experience. But she hadn't told him that the boy had just lost control. It had ended up as a rape, with Sandy screaming in pain while he forced his entry and ended with her lying on the floor with her body huddled in a ball as he left.

She prayed she wouldn't make a fool of herself tonight. But she didn't have the slightest idea what to do and Cliff was being too considerate. He was taking no initiative. She swallowed hard and realized she would have to take the lead if anything was going to happen.

So she moved close to him, kissed him softly and then helped him off with his dinner jacket. Then she untied his bow tie, took off his cummerbund and began to unbutton his shirt. He had a very hairy chest and wasn't wearing an undershirt. She kissed him softly on his nipples. His braces were already hanging down, and he had slipped off his shoes. She unhooked his waistband and let his trousers fall. He stepped out of them, and was now clad only in his briefs and socks. He pulled his socks off and flipped them towards a corner, leaving only his briefs. He was so muscular and handsome it took her breath away.

She was still fully clothed. Still without saying a word, she turned her back to him. Please, God! she prayed. Don't let him laugh at me. She could feel him unhook the top of her dress and slide the zipper all the way down. She stepped out of her shoes and held up the front of her dress. Then she turned towards him again and just let the dress fall to the floor. Now all she was wearing were bikini briefs which she pulled down quickly and let drop.

Cliff watched the lovely girl as she let go of the dress. He couldn't make out the expression in her eyes as she just stood with her arms at her sides and her shoulders back. My God! he thought. She's afraid I'll laugh! But she's magnificent! He reached out his arms and she came to him.

He didn't laugh! she thought. Thank you, God. He didn't laugh! When he held out his arms, she moved closer and mashed her breasts against his chest. She moved her body against his to feel her nipples chafe against the hair on his chest. It felt marvelous!

He put his hand around her small ass and squeezed a cheek. She could feel her fluids start to gush and she felt her knees almost buckle. At the same time she could feel a pressure on her abdomen where his sex made contact with her body. She steeled herself, bent down, and pulled down his briefs releasing his magnificent weapon. She just looked. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. It was so huge! I can't do this,  she thought. It's so big it will tear me in half! But I must! If Stephanie can, I will.

He took her to the bed, pulled down the covers, placed her on her back and got in beside her. He noticed the sheets were new, very crisp, and held a faint trace of her perfume. She made no move to turn down the lights as he began to caress her body.

She steeled herself and moved her hand toward his cock. She found it, touched it gingerly and decided she liked its feel. Then she began to caress it as he continued stroking her body. His hand moved down to her legs and started lightly to caress her thigh. She parted her legs to give him access, and his hand moved up to her pussy.

She felt herself impaled as his finger moved inside her and contacted her clitoris. Her fluids had been flowing, and she could feel her warm wetness around his finger. Meanwhile, her hips had started to move, seemingly of their own volition. She was simultaneously scared and wanting.

She had steeled herself to take him, and she seemed to understand that her body wanted him more than her brain feared him. "Please, Cliff, now!" she whispered. "Please..."

He moved on top of her. Using her hand to guide him to her vaginal opening, she lifted her hips to try to make his entry easier. He moved forward and she felt a small pop as the head of his cock entered her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and felt him move deeper inside her. He withdrew and went in again, and yet again. Suddenly she realized he was in to his full length. And it hadn't hurt! She felt stretched. She thought she could feel him all through her insides as she wrapped her legs tightly around him. She lay back on the bed to enjoy the feeling of having him inside her.

Cliff looked down at her. As he entered her, he saw her head toss from side to side, and her hands alternately caressed him and pressed flat against the sheet. He could feel her strong legs wrapped around him, and when he had entered her fully, tighten around his hips.

At that instant her eyes opened, and he saw a look of pure joy. "You're in me," she whispered.

"Of course I am. Are you surprised?" He leaned forward and kissed her while she continued to hold him with her legs. Slowly he started to move in and out.

She picked up his timing and started to move her hips in tempo. Sandy was startled when she felt an involuntary spasm in her vagina. Could this be an orgasm? she wondered. She could hear herself making involuntary sounds as he used long strokes that seemed to last forever. His tempo speeded up, and hers did, too. She could feel herself being taken up to a peak. When she reached one, she felt the sensuous spasm again, and yet again, each stronger than the last.

She tried to grip his sex with her vaginal muscles. He was so large inside her she fit him like a very tight lubricated glove. She could feel herself climbing again, higher and higher. Her pelvis now had a life of its own as she continued to bump and grind against him. She was taken higher, higher and higher still. Suddenly she exploded and then fainted as her nervous system overloaded and cut out.

Cliff reached his peak as he worked within her. Her head tossed faster and faster and her involuntary sounds increased in intensity. Then she experienced a series of orgasms, each more intense than the last. Still they had moved together in a way he had never experienced before. He could sense it as she approached her climax and then he exploded, bringing her over with him. His fluids pumped into her as her vaginal muscles contracted violently to squeeze him dry. He saw her go limp as he collapsed on top of her.

Sandy slowly regained consciousness. She had never felt like this before. As sensation returned, she realized she was on her back, with her side molded to a wonderfully warm body. Then she realized an arm was over her holding her tightly while its hand was holding her breast.

She nestled closer and the hand started to move. Quickly, she took it in hers and kept it pressed to her breast. With her head resting on his shoulder, Cliff heard her whisper, "Please!" He kept his hand in place, and they fell asleep.

-------

Daylight coming through the blinds finally awakened him. He realized he had his arm around this lovely girl nestled against him. When he softly squeezed the breast he was holding, he heard a warm sound from deep in her throat. She rolled over on her side and faced him with her arm coming around and over him. He could feel her long fingers stroking his chest. Looking over, he saw a pair of lovely green eyes regarding him.

This is heaven! she thought as his hand gripped her breast. She rolled over in bed and put her arm over his body. She looked intently at his face and whispered, "Good morning, darling! What happened last night? The last thing I remember was going higher and higher, and then everything exploded. I never dreamed it could be like that."

She looked at him with concern showing in her eyes. "Was I all right?" she asked anxiously.

"It was perfect, Sandy!" he said. "I've never experienced anything like it. Ever!" He suddenly realized how beautiful she looked even though she had just awakened. He ran his fingers over her body and felt her satin skin under his fingertips. He ran his hand through her hair and tousled it. She just shook her head under his fingers and smiled. Cliff realized again how unlike Steph she was. Stephanie would have had a fit if he messed up her hairdo. Sandy seemed to relish the feeling.

Sandy threw off her covers and ran into the bathroom. Moments later she went off toward the kitchen, and Cliff got out of bed to go to the bathroom. As he was coming out, she came back into the room. She looked at him and decided he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

She went up to him and shyly took his flaccid prick in her fingers. "It doesn't look nearly so terrifying this morning," she said softly.

He lifted her chin to look straight into her eyes. "Was it terrifying last night?"

She buried her face in his shoulder which muffled her reply: "I was certain it would rip me in half."

Again he lifted her chin. He could see that she was very serious. "Why did you let me do it, then?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

She didn't lower her gaze. "Because I wanted to. Honey, I was determined if Stephanie could take you inside, I could, too ... Regardless. I so desperately wanted it inside me, I didn't care if you ripped me open to make room. Could you feel my ... cunt... ? flowing with moisture? My body thought it could take you inside, even if my brain didn't believe it. Then it just went in with a little pop, and it was all over. You can't believe how wonderful you felt. You're so big!

"Now I feel so wonderfully sore down there ... and we only did it once. Can we do it again, soon?" She had been concentrating on his eyes so much she wasn't aware that his cock had become rigid again. As he pulled her closer, it bent back between them.

Her hand went down to caress it and then asked, "Do you mind?"

For an answer he just smiled and put his finger in her now-moist slit. "Do you?"

"That feels so good! But you're ready again." She took his hand and led him to the bed. "Can the girl ever be on top?" she asked shyly.

He turned on his back, and said, "Of course, honey!" He watched as she carefully straddled him.

"Am I doing this right?" she asked.

"You're doing just fine!" he replied as he cradled her ass cheeks in his hands and stroked them with his finger tips.

She positioned herself over his cock and allowed her body to settle slowly. Again she was surprised at how easily his huge sex penetrated her. She rotated her hips and used her vaginal muscles to pull him into her. She was trying to do it all in a single stroke. Finally, she could feel him all the way inside. He moved his hands and grasped her beautiful breasts which were bouncing slightly in front of him.

"God, they're lovely," he said as he played with her small pink nipples and watched as they became erect. She leaned further forward and he lifted his head and shoulders off the bed to kiss her. She put one of her hands behind his head to pull him closer to her. It felt so marvelous to kiss her like this with his hands holding her breasts while his cock was being caressed by her vaginal muscles.

Slowly, she started to move up and down on the bar of his sex that impaled her. Her hips rotated as she moved up and down. The feeling in her sex was exquisite. Again she heard herself moan as her passion built to a small orgasm; she paused for a moment and continued. Now she could feel her passion rise higher than the first time to a peak followed by yet another orgasmic release.

She focused her eyes on Cliff's face as he tried to maintain control during her orgasm. It built to a stronger climax again, followed by another and yet another. Finally she heard herself cry out as her cunt exploded, triggering Cliff's release as well. Her hips jerked uncontrollably as if they had a life of their own. She collapsed on his chest and could feel her cunt continue to pulsate to extract the last bit of semen from the cock inside it.

She lay with her head on his chest as her breathing slowly returned to normal. Finally she raised her head and looked at him proudly. "I didn't faint! I was conscious the whole time!" She looked at him with a question in her eyes, "Cliff, is it always this good?"

He put his arms around her and pulled her close. Then he pulled the covers up over them, stroked her hair, and ran his fingertips over her back. "No, it's not. It's never been this good before. Ever! Sandy, you're marvelous!"

He continued to stroke her and heard her make soft mewing sounds as she gently caressed his chest with her breasts.

"Does that feel good to you?" she asked, pushing herself away from his chest so she could see his eyes. "It feels so wonderful to chafe my nipples on your chest!"

He just smiled and nodded.

Then she grinned. "Come on! The coffee's ready."

Cliff was torn. On the one hand it felt so great to just hold this lovely girl. On the other, the coffee smell, now wafting into the bedroom, was wonderful. With a groan he got out of bed and followed her into the kitchen. He again contrasted her behavior with Stephanie's. Not only did Sandy not mind him seeing her naked, she seemed to revel in it.

When he got into the kitchen, Sandy had already poured two cups of coffee and was making preparations for a big breakfast. He sat on a chair and watched her move about the room so gracefully. Finally he asked, "Sandy, how did you know I would be staying last night?"

She looked up in surprise, then smiled. "I didn't know, Cliff, but I was hoping." She looked at him abashed, and asked diffidently, "Was everything all right? Was the bed okay? I guess I shouldn't have been so obvious, should I?" He had looked around the apartment and noticed everything was spotless.

"Sandy, you said last night you had spent hours getting ready. Looking at how beautiful you look this morning with no makeup, and seeing how beautiful your apartment looks, I have to believe it was about thirty minutes for you and ten hours for the apartment."

"Don't you like it?" she asked anxiously.

"It's not as pretty as you are, but it's a lovely apartment." She had made bacon and eggs with toast and hash browns. She brought two plates and sat down facing him at the breakfast table. After they had eaten, she poured more coffee.

He looked at her as she sat across from him. "You know, you look awfully cute sitting there. You have beautiful tits. They stand up so proudly with their lovely little nipples."

She looked down at her breasts and then back at him. "Aren't they kind of small, though? I thought men liked girls with big boobs — the kind you can mash your face into."

"Now why would you think a thing like that? I thought you were the kid sister?"

She smiled. "That's just it: I am. But you know what? Guys tell their fantasies to their kid sisters sometimes. I guess when I'm not being the kid sister, I'm the one they come to cry on. Honestly, I felt like crying more times than I can count. One time, a guy who I thought was pretty attractive broke up with his girlfriend and came to me to cry about it. Of course, it never occurred to him to ask me out. I can't tell you how often that scene has played.

"I guess that's how I developed a taste for beer. Whenever it happened, I would walk the guy to the nearest bar and let him cry in his beer. It never occurred to them to look at me. But in the meantime the guy would wax poetic about what gorgeous boobs the girl had. Once a guy went into raptures telling me about his ex-girlfriend's lovely cunt ... in graphic detail, yet."

She looked at him, "It hurts, Cliff. It really does. So if you think I lack self-confidence, there's a reason for it."

"What fools!" he exclaimed. "Honey, I know it hurt. On the other hand, you would have been married long ago if they had eyes in their heads, so it's a break for me. You are absolutely perfect!"

"I suppose there were compensations," she said with a wry smile. "I never would have made Phi Beta Kappa if I dated. All I ever did was pick up the pieces every once in a while. Cliff, you can't believe how bad it was. Once I was invited by one of those guys to his wedding. He wanted me there because I restored his self-confidence. Can you believe it?"

He leaned across the table and softly kissed her. "It's their loss. Sandy, you seem very unconcerned around me. You make no effort to hide your body. If you're so ashamed of it, why don't you?"

She was puzzled and then shook her head. "Because I love you. I'm not much, Cliff. But I don't want you to be fooled ... to think you might be getting something you're not. Do you really like me?"

"Darling, no! I love you! And I think you have a perfect body."

"What do you want to do now?" she asked.

"I want to get to know that luscious body of yours better. May I?"

"Honey, if it's in my power to give, you can have it. What do you want to do?"

"Shouldn't we do the dishes first?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? The dishes are always here. This is the first time in my life I ever spent a night with a man. Cliff, you can't believe how wonderful the night was, or how great I think the man is! What would you like me to do?"

He led her into the bedroom and he got on the bed. She got on the bed, too, and knelt on the bed near him. She was kneeling back on her heels. "Do me a favor?" he asked.

"Anything!"

"Put your hands on your thighs, and kneel up straight. You can't take your hands off your legs. Okay?" She instantly agreed. He moved her a little closer to him so he could reach her easier. Then he began slowly to stroke her legs. Sandy could feel her body tingle as his fingers went over her body. He caressed her breasts, and then stroked her belly and abdomen. She could feel herself vibrating as he focused on the inside of her thighs. She spread her knees wider and lifted herself slightly to give him unobstructed access to her cunt.

Finally, she felt his finger move inside her slit. It gathered some of her secretions from her vagina to moisten it. She shuddered as his finger found her clitoris and began to tease it. In the meantime she watched his massive prick become erect and begin to vibrate. She wanted it desperately, but he had asked her to keep her hands on her thighs. She could feel her hips move on their own and again she started to moan as the pressure built in her cunt.

The clitoral stimulation was driving her crazy, but she held on. She was astonished to feel herself building towards another massive orgasm while she just watched his massive sex. Suddenly, she climaxed. Her syrup poured out in a flood, and he had his hand cupped to catch it. Still she fought to remain upright, and just managed. She had screamed, her heart was pumping furiously and sweat was pouring from her body. Slowly, she returned to normal, still maintaining the requested pose.

"Sandy, you are incredible! I didn't think it was possible for you to hold on, but you did. I thought I could bring you to orgasm, but there was no way you could hold your pose if I did. I did, but you did, too. How?"

"Cliff Fitzpatrick, Jane's right! You are a sadist! That was the most excruciating agony I've ever been through in my life. Just look!" She moved her hands and he could see finger marks that were likely to become black-and-blue where she had been gripping her thighs.

"Why did you do it, then?" he asked, amazed at her fortitude.

"Because you asked me to," she replied simply. "I said I would do anything you asked if it was in my power. This was ... just! Cliff, will you hold me now? Tightly?"

He reached out his arms and she dove into them. He rolled her on her back and entered her moisture-laden cunt. "Oh, God! That feels so good!" she exclaimed. "Is there anything I can do to increase your penetration ... to get everything in?"

"Put your legs over my shoulders," he said. She immediately did, and maximized the penetration. She could feel him go in and out, as again she built towards a peak of sensation. Finally, he let go and carried her over the edge. She exploded when he did. He unwound her legs and lay down beside her. They lay there quietly for a time while they regained their breath.

"How do you feel?" he asked. There was no response, just a murmur approaching a purr, as she snuggled closer to him. They both slept.

-------

Sandy awakened first. "Come on, let's take a shower," she said, pulling him out of bed. He followed her into the bathroom and watched as she adjusted the shower control. She got in and he followed her. They were like two kids playing under a hose. He hugged her tightly and loved the feel of her wet body. They soaped each other, and Sandy particularly enjoyed soaping his sex organs. Finally, he got out of the shower while she washed her hair. He dried off and went back to the bedroom. She found him asleep when she came out of the bathroom after having washed her hair. She joined him in the bed and was almost instantly asleep as well.

When she awakened she was in his arms. She started to run her fingers over his body, exploring it. He awakened and looked at her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm exploring ... and it's fun. I never had my own man to explore before."

He started to run his finger tips over her body. She stopped and looked at him. "And what are you doing?"

"I'm exploring, too. I never had a girl of my own to explore before, either." He grinned at her.

"Cliff, are all men like you? You're so big! Of course, I have no basis of comparison. I guess I never looked at magazines like Playgirl,  so I just don't know." She looked at him and changed the subject. "Cliff, do you like a girl to go down on you? Isn't that what they call taking a man's sex in your mouth?"

"Do you want to?" he asked. "You're so interested in what Stephanie and I did, but that's not a question you ever asked. Do you think she ever did?"

"No, it's not. I know the answer to that one: The answer is no. But you didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I did. I asked if you want to."

She had been watching his face carefully. Instead of answering, she just smiled and moved down on the bed. His prick was semi-flaccid, and she stroked it with her long fingers. It started to stiffen, and the process fascinated her. Before it reached its fully-engorged size, she took it in her mouth, licking the tip first. As she opened her mouth to get it in, she could feel it continue to grow in size.

She maneuvered her body to try to create a line for his monstrous cock. As she licked and sucked, she could feel it like a piece of iron. Using one hand to caress his balls, the other manipulated his cock. He was near an orgasm. When she could feel him start to explode, she took it into her mouth as far as she could and the warm spend spurted into her mouth. Cliff could see her breathing through her nose and swallowing as fast as she could. Some still squirted past her lips.

As the spurting stopped, she lifted her head and started licking his prick. When she had taken it all into her mouth, she moved up beside him. "Yum!" she said. He bent to kiss her, but she tried to stop him. "I don't think you want to do that," she said. "I still have a mouthful of your cum."

He put his lips over hers and ran his tongue in her mouth. "Why did you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Swallow it."

"I needed to. Please don't ask me why. I knew what was going to happen, and I could feel you trying to pull me off. But I wanted to. Do you mind?"

"Of course not, silly."

"I adore you, you know," she said matter-of-factly. "You can't know what it's like when you have always been on the sidelines watching other people ... and suddenly, it's happening to you! Cliff, I hope you're not mad at me. I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you. I think, deep down, I was hoping this would happen when we hired you.

"Cliff, I'm not part of the deal. I need you to run Murphy. But dear God, I think I need your cock inside me even more! Honey, would you like to just scrub the whole thing and sell off Murphy? I have more money than we can possibly spend, and it's all yours. I'll give it all to you. I just need you so badly." She rolled on top of him and crushed her breasts against his chest.

They spent the rest of the day becoming better acquainted with each other's bodies on her king-sized bed.



-------

Chapter 8



Cliff didn't see Sandy at her desk when he got to the office Monday morning. He smiled to himself, figuring he had worn her out. He felt very tired but wonderful. Sunday had been a physically exhausting day. She had been variously joyful, impish, questing, loving, funny, romantic, and, it seemed, all possible combinations of them. The one thing she had never done was take herself seriously after her first disclosures. He had returned to his own apartment late Sunday night.

Going into his office he found Sandy sitting with her coffee, waiting for him. There was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him on his desk. He stopped abruptly when he saw her. "How did you know I would be here right now?" he asked in surprise.

"A bird at the gate told me," she answered with a warm smile. "Cliff, I'm worried about you. You look worn out. I was reading an article last night that said girls reach their peak of sexuality in their late thirties, while men do at nineteen. Now I've been saving up for nearly ten years and have years to go. You, on the other hand, are over thirty! Honey, are you sure I'm not too much for you? I would hate to see anything happen to you." While the tone of her voice was very serious, he could see the impish laughter in her eyes.

Cliff rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "As if it isn't bad enough in a planning session, now I have to get it in the bedroom, too! These damned kids get one thing right and it goes to their heads. Everybody's got to be an expert!" He grinned at her. "Seriously, honey, how do you feel? You look absolutely fabulous. But how in hell can you look so good with so little sleep?"

"I feel so great, it's sinful! Now I know why Jane reacts the way she does when I kid her about never getting any sleep when Steve Muller's around."

She changed the subject. "I've got a couple of bankers coming in today. May I bring them by to give them the thrill of meeting our new president? It would really make their whole day, I'm sure. I'm starting to talk with our major banks as we discussed, so I wanted to check with you to be sure we're both on the same page. We intend to pick a single major bank to be our primary bank. It will get essentially all of our business. We're going to combine the five or six relationships into a single one.

"Cliff, I thought I would explain the idea to each of them, spell out what specific services we require, then leave the rest up to them. I'll ask them to get back to us with a specific proposal laying out what they expect from us, and what they propose to provide to us, most particularly including a line of credit. How does that sound?"

He looked at her thoughtfully and responded in his most serious voice, "About what I would expect from the girl I love who's going to be the mother of my children. Speaking of which, might that process have started yesterday?"

Her face saddened, "No, worse luck! I heard somewhere that birth control pills help in bust development, and I've been trying! I hope you noticed that the dress I wore Saturday night didn't fall off even once!"

The phone on Cliff's desk rang, and Sandy picked it up. "Mr. Fitzpatrick's office, Miss Donnell speaking." She listened for a moment and grinned. "He's in his office. You may put Miss Simpson on."

She was making excited motions, obviously relishing the telephone one-upmanship Cliff hated. "Just a moment, Miss Simpson. Mr. Fitzpatrick will take your call."

It was all Cliff could do to control his laughter. Not only was Sandy speaking in her haughtiest voice, but she was going the full route, putting Stephanie on hold.

He picked up the phone and punched the line button. Quickly he held the phone out at arms length as Stephanie screamed into her instrument, "Clifford Fitzpatrick, don't you dare do that to me again! You be on the phone when I pick it up, do you hear?"

Cliff ignored the outburst. "Hi, Steph. What's on your mind so early Monday morning? I'm surprised you're in the office so early."

Her voice tone abruptly changed. Now she sounded like a little girl. "Cliffie, I missed you! Didn't you miss me? I was thinking about keeping you warm Saturday night, but you didn't even call. What were you doing?"

"Steph, I'm glad you called. I was out Saturday night with the young lady I'm planning to marry. Obviously, it wasn't you. I'm sorry to have to tell it to you this way, but I guess I don't know an easy way to do it." He yanked the instrument away from his ear, prepared for the explosion to follow. He wasn't disappointed.

"You what!" she screamed. "You can't do that to me! I won't allow it! Daddy won't allow it! Why that's ... that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. No one leaves me! No one! I won't stand for it!" They could both hear her start to cry — and they were obviously tears of rage.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Stephanie. I was hoping we could remain friends." He rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he said the last words, and Sandy almost choked trying to control her laughter. "There's nothing more to say except goodbye. So goodbye." He hung up the phone before she had a chance to respond.

A few moments later the phone rang again. Sandy picked it up. After identifying herself, she listened for a moment and then said, "I'm sorry. Mr. Fitzpatrick is in conference. He is not available to Miss Simpson. Goodbye."

She looked at Cliff fondly. "Am I to interpret that statement as a proposal of marriage? When you said you were out with the girl you intend to marry? If so, I accept. These days, where proposals are concerned, a girl has to take whatever she can get!"

"Sandy, will you marry me?" he asked. "My God! I can't believe it! Do you realize I only met you two weeks ago today, and yet I've never been so sure of anything in my life as I am about wanting you to be my wife?"

She got up from the chair and went to him. He took her in his arms and kissed her softly. At least it was intended to be soft. Their love for each other just flowed between them. "Of course I'll marry you, Cliff. You have made me the happiest person alive. But I don't think we should make it official until after October 1, if that's all right with you.

"I'm a little concerned about that girl, though. She went berserk! Is she in any position to cause you trouble? I mean, can she sue you for breach of promise, or palimony or something?"

"Sandy, I give you my solemn word — even though you don't need it — I have never spoken of marriage to that girl in my life! I think I told you that she introduced me to some of her friends as her fiancé, but I never talked marriage to her and never used the term. I can honestly say I thought I loved her until I met you. Then she just went in the tank.

"And as for you, young lady, I have some bones to pick. First, it was nasty to play telephone games with her. It hurt her feelings. Although the way you did it was as good as I've ever seen. The other thing is, how did you know I didn't want to speak to her when she called the second time?"

Sandy held her head up and spoke in the same haughty tone she had used with Stephanie. "I beg your pardon? A wife is certainly within her rights not taking calls for her husband from his former mistress. I mean ... really!"

Sandy left for the ladies room to change into her "treasurer's suit."

Twice during the morning she brought in bank calling officers. Cliff noted that one of the major Chicago banks had sent both a senior vice president and a vice president and it was obvious they were impressed with Sandy. When the senior vice president asked if he could speak with Mr. Fitzpatrick alone, Sandy and his associate went back to her office.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick, I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your new treasurer. I understand she's new in the job, but you certainly couldn't prove it by me. She's as knowledgeable as any treasurer I've ever met. My bank intends to make a major commitment to Murphy to get your business. Had your former treasurer, Mr. Purcell, still been in that position it would have been out of the question.

"We like to think we offer superior banking services to superior corporations. Obviously, there are limited avenues available to us to form such judgments, but one is the quality of the treasurer. If the treasurer is not handling his company's money wisely, you can appreciate why we're not very interested in giving him some of ours to mishandle, too. We are very impressed with what Miss Donnell has accomplished in just a couple of weeks.

"I hope you will select us as your primary bank. We want your business and my colleagues and I are going to put together what we expect to be a very attractive proposal to get it."

Cliff saw from his business card that he represented Bank of Chicago, one of the nation's largest banks, and his name was Thomas P. Morris. "Mr. Morris, thank you for your very kind comments about Miss Donnell. With your permission, I would like to tell her what you said. I'm sure she will be very pleased to receive such praise from a senior executive of a bank such as yours.

"Beyond that, I can't make any promises. I will say two things, however: First, it's clear you understand what we're looking for in a primary banking relationship. There are some bankers who don't seem to understand the concept. Second, I appreciate your comment about preparing a very competitive proposal for us. Knowing your reputation, I'm sure it will be a very good one. I'm looking forward to seeing it, and thank you for saying what you did."

After showing them out, Sandy changed again and came into his office. "Sandy, that was great!" He told her what Morris had said, particularly stressing the importance of the quality of the treasurer to the bank. "Honey, you hit a home run! You were brilliant!"

They were about to go down to eat when they heard a commotion out front. Suddenly, the door burst open. It was Stephanie. "Clifford, you bastard!" she screamed. "Who do you think you are? You can't just tell me it's all over! I decide when it's over!"

Sandy started to leave, when Stephanie grabbed her by her blouse and ripped as hard as she could. The cotton blouse was shredded from her body. "I'll just bet this is the little bitch," she sneered.

She swung on Sandy, but that was as far as it went. Sandy ducked, and the force of her swing caused the bigger girl to lose her balance and fall on her face. As she hit the floor, a security officer ran in followed closely by two Milwaukee police officers. They had seen Stephanie swing at the taller girl as they came in.

One of the police officers was a woman who took Stephanie in hand, putting her in handcuffs with her hands cuffed behind her back. If anything, this enraged Stephanie even more.

The officer escorted the girl out of the office, screaming obscenities, while her partner shook his head. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Sandy was standing wearing only her bra and shreds of her blouse. It didn't appear to bother her in the slightest. "Officer, that was Mr. Fitzpatrick's former girlfriend. She's from Chicago. This morning she called Mr. Fitzpatrick who told her their ... relationship ... was at an end. Clearly, she's not used to taking no for an answer.

"She appeared a few moments ago, stormed into the office screaming at Mr. Fitzpatrick and then swung at me. I think you saw her try to hit me as you arrived. One thing you should know, officer, for your own protection: She's the daughter of the chairman of Ajax Industries. I wish to press charges for assault and battery and anything else I can cool her off with. I am Sandra Donnell, by the way. I am Mr. Fitzpatrick's assistant and treasurer of the company."

"Miss Donnell, how long have you known the other woman? What's her name, by the way?"

"This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on her. I'm not sure if I've ever spoken to her. Wait! I spoke about five words to her on the phone this morning. I think that's all. Her name is Stephanie Simpson."

The officer took down the information and took statements from other people in the office. Sandy left, changed clothes and returned to Cliff's office.

He looked concerned. "Sandy, I'm sorry about that. It was totally uncalled for. And I just sat there like a lump while she swung at you. Are you okay?"

She smiled and said, "I'm fine, except she owes me a new blouse. Good heavens! I just realized I was standing there with just my bra and some shreds of blouse. What will people think!?"

"Several things," he said, seeming to be thoughtful. "First, don't mess with you ... you're too quick. Second, you have a beautiful body. But anyone with eyes knew that, too. Third, they would see more of you in a bathing suit. Okay?

"What do you think we should do now? About Stephanie, I mean. Are you going to prosecute? I think you should, and I think we should ask for a restraining order. It keeps her away from us."

"I guess I will prosecute," Sandy said. "I'm curious about one thing, though: How many guys has she gone through, do you suppose?"

Cliff was startled by the question. "I don't have a clue," he finally answered, "but why do you ask?"

"Darling, there's one thing about that girl that worries me. I think she always got whatever she wanted. Always! Today she really went berserk. I've never seen anyone so totally out of control. You may have been the first person ever to tell her to buzz off."

Then she smiled, "With me it's different. I've been told to buzz off, drop dead, go play with someone else, make way for a real woman, etc., etc., more times than I can count. Maybe that's why I am the way I am with you. I love you so damned much I'll do anything to keep you. I think you're making a big mistake, but I'm working as hard as I can to keep you from opening your eyes."

He realized she was deadly serious. He was awed. She was such a wonderful person, yet she refused to believe it. He decided he was one of the luckiest guys in the world. "And you're doing a good job. If you keep it up, my eyes will never open. Whenever I'm away from you, I'll be sound asleep. Wench, you are insatiable!"

"Can I change the subject?" Sandy asked. "What about the sessions with the stores? We're supposed to start that on Wednesday. Incidentally, you've got a rare treat in store. You'll meet JL Wilson. He's from Charlotte, and is really one of the good ol' boys.

"The best way I can describe him is to say John Flood hated his guts, and JL didn't like Flood nearly that much. Incidentally, he really is a true Southern boy. His name is 'J' 'L'. If he were in the service, it would be written in quotes. It's 'J' for nothing and 'L' for nothing. There's a lesson here, someplace. He started work for my uncle ... or my father, I guess. JL is a guy with intense personal loyalties. Whenever I see him, which isn't very often, I am reminded that his ancestors — commonly referred to as poor white trash — were the backbone of the Confederate army. If you are their friend, they can't ever do enough for you. On the other hand, don't ever cross 'em. They can be implacable enemies.

"Incidentally, I hear that some of the accountants are getting very upset about the analysis being done on the rings and valves. They're about to cry at the thought of losing revenue. I hear the numbers are pretty devastating, though. Do you want me to do anything?"

"Yes, I do," he replied, "but not about that. I think I'm going to make use of your young legs, starting on Wednesday. We old men — you said earlier today I was over the hill — have to get our rest. Seriously, Sandy, I've never seen anyone do a better job than you did last week leading the discussion on strategy. Would you work with me and help run the sessions?"

"You are serious, aren't you? I would love to, Cliff, but I can't. I don't know a thing about it!"

"Young lady, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a girl who's always fishing for compliments! Your figure couldn't be more perfect, but you keep saying it's ugly and inadequate. Now, after costing me a small fortune for a dinner and an ex-girlfriend, you try to act like you're incapable of doing it.

"Sandra Donnell, you are the best damned natural-born leader I've ever met. That's the end of the compliments for at least the next hour, or until I want a kiss, whichever comes first."

He grinned at her, and she came over, took his face in her hands and kissed him. He smiled at her and continued, "That's what gives women in business a bad name. Just when you make a great point, they come up, sexually assault you, melt you down to warm mush, and then walk away.

"No, damn it, I wasn't kidding! I'm using you, so you'd better be well rested. You're going to be on those little feet for quite a while, beginning Wednesday morning! Hear?"

-------

On Wednesday morning, they were back in the same hotel room. Cliff thought wryly they were also back to the same cold cuts for lunch. Many of the participants were the same, but there was a new group representing the Stores Division.

Cliff began with the same introduction. Then he turned the session over to Sandy who began with a matrix of competitors by region of the country. Cliff admired the way she handled herself and handled the group. It was a replay of the previous week. But because she knew the people, she was much better than he was at inducing participation from the people in the room.

A bleak picture quickly emerged. JL Wilson and his boys in the Southeast were doing a fine job. The rest of the country was breakeven or worse. The company had been dealing with the stores as if they were a single entity, and it was obvious they were not. The competitive situation was dramatically different from region to region. The Southeast — roughly starting at North Carolina, then swinging southwest through South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, and west through Tennessee — seemed to be the only part of the country in which Murphy had a viable retail presence.

The problems in the rest of the country appeared to be either or both of two types. Either there were a significant number of stores — the Northeast, for example — but not nearly as many as better positioned competitors, or isolated stores that couldn't be supported well from the warehouse or with affordable local-market advertising — the West.

Cliff addressed the situation: "Business strategy is closely allied to military strategy. I think what we're seeing here is an armored division that's been broken up into little pieces and scattered along a very broad battle line. We have a lot of troops, but they're so spread out they can't be effective. In fact, in all too many of the areas we're terribly exposed. We have isolated outposts. At each, there are nowhere near enough troops to attack, and not even enough to adequately defend. We just sit in place and hope the other guys leave us alone. If they don't — if competition in any of these markets intensifies — we're in trouble. Worse yet, in looking at these market areas I see a number of them where there are two or three much more important players who look like they're about to disrupt the status quo.

"We're getting ahead of our story, but it seems we are competitively weak in most of the markets. Moreover, there are several in which a couple of competitors have been rated Strong. A number of you were here last week for the discussion of competitive position. For those of you who weren't, a Strong position is one in which two or more competitors have a sort of shared dominance. You remember the worst possible position to be in is to be Weak when there are Strong competitors.

"There are people who would have you believe that when the big guys start to fight, the little guys just stand aside and watch. Unfortunately, the world doesn't work that way. When the elephants start to fight, some mice accidentally get trampled. And I mean accidentally. The big guys are going after each other, not the little guys. Unfortunately, the activities they initiate to take business from the other big guy generally results in killing us first. It has happened in the last few years in both the beer and coffee businesses. What about it folks? What do you think we should do?"

Steve Muller spoke. "If I understand all this, what we have to do is concentrate our efforts. To follow your analogy, we've got a bunch of little outposts that are too weak to support us, and too far out for us to support them. We have to bring them in so we can get some market impact somewhere. It seems pretty clear to me."

Cliff saw Jane, Sandy, Bill, and a few others nod agreement.

Jeff Stover, the company controller, spoke up. "Wait a minute!" he said. "If I understand what you're proposing to do, you're going to chop off nearly half our sales and a good chunk of our profit. We lose a lot more in sales than we do in profit, of course, but we're still going to lose a good deal. Cliff, we can't afford it!"

"Thanks, Jeff. You have just raised a very interesting point. Do you have the store financials with you, by any chance?" Stover said he did. "Okay, let's take a look at the Western Region. Steve says it's a good area to sell off."

Then Cliff used a flip-chart sheet to construct a simplified profit & loss statement. He recorded data for the preceding year, starting with sales. He then subtracted cost of goods and store operating expenses to get an operating profit number. From this he subtracted a series of below-the-line costs including transportation, advertising, and general & administrative expenses. The final line, profit, was a positive number.

"See, Cliff," Stover said, "it's not a lot of money, but it's certainly something. Why should we give it up? I'll concede we're not in good shape out there if someone comes after us, but they're not doing it now. Why don't we just leave it alone and keep our fingers crossed?"

"You make good points, Jeff. But let's take a look at these numbers, particularly the ones below the line. First, let's recognize we're talking allocations, not hard numbers. It's not a criticism; it's reality. To the Board and the shareholders it ultimately makes no difference. The costs are real and they're charged against revenue. But in planning, it does make a difference. The total may be accurate — and I'm sure it is — but the assignment to divisions can be very wrong and therefore strategic decisions made using them are very wrong, too. Let's look at transportation, Jeff. How is it assigned?"

"We take our total transportation bill and prorate it against sales. How else could we do it? We can't take every stinking bill of lading and assign it to a region. It would take forever, and would cost more to do than the money we're allocating!"

"Okay, good answer ... and good logic. But let's look closer. Is transportation really a function of sales? Or is it a function of distance and volume? I'll bet you, Jeff, that we get hit two ways out to the West Coast. First, the distances from Milwaukee are enormous. That's got to cost a ton! Second, we're small out there, so I'm sure most, if not all, of our shipments are Less-Than-Truckload. I haven't looked in a while, but LTL is far more expensive per unit of shipping weight than truckload, isn't it?"

Stover nodded slowly, "Yes, sir, it sure is."

"So our transportation allocation to the Western Region is lower than it should be, so someone else is paying too much. I suspect, Jeff, it's the South. Distances are shorter, and volume is much larger. We're more likely to be able to ship full truckloads. Right?"

"Yes, sir, that's right, too."

"Okay, let's take a look at general and administrative — G&A charges. Are they assigned by sales, also?" Stover said they were. "Here we go again. First, it includes store supervision. Steve, you just got back from Spokane. What were your travel expenses for the trip running?"

Steve grinned and rolled his eyes. "Sir, we've got a nasty new treasurer. If I owned a house, I would be thinking about taking out a second mortgage to cover this month's American Express bill! We think distances are pretty good here in the Midwest, but they're nothing like what you get out there! Take a look at Salt Lake City on a map sometime. That's nowhere. The nearest city to the east is Denver, and that's nearly 400 miles in a straight line. Only you've got to get across the Rocky Mountains that stand in between! Cliff, I didn't figure out my travel cost on a per-store-visited basis, but I could. The number I would come up with would make Sandy's hair turn white!"

"Jeff," Cliff continued, "you see the point. We're allocating on sales, but expenses aren't incurred that way. Moreover, because of the problems in the Western Division, I'll bet it gets a far higher proportion of management visits than it's proportion of our Store Division sales. Right?" Again heads nodded.

"Guys, I don't want to sound like I'm picking on Jeff and his people. As he said earlier, the costs are real and they have to be assigned somewhere. The way he's doing it is reasonable. However, it can produce some pretty poor management decisions. Now, Jeff, what do you think about the profits in the Western Region? How much do you think we're going to lose?"

Stover smiled and raised both hands in a sign of surrender. "I give up. The profit number is so small to start with that any swing on the expense allocations we've been talking about would cause it to disappear and turn into red ink. I can also see that we've been systematically understating Southern Region profits. What do you want us to do now?"

"Jeff, I would appreciate it if you could have one of your guys take a crack at last year's numbers in light of the discussion we've just had. Let's see if we can come up with some better numbers in time for the next session. And I mean approximations. I certainly agree with your earlier comments: I don't want your people going over every bill of lading and expense account. Okay?"

The group broke for lunch, and Cliff took the opportunity to talk with Sandy. "I'm going to take advantage of your good nature," he said with a smile. "I want you to lead a discussion of warehousing. Since there's going to be a lot of shooting, I would rather they shoot at you. Besides, if worse comes to worse and they take it out on us, they're less likely to shoot a woman."

"Golly," she said with a grin. "I can hardly wait! Are you prepared to notify my next of kin? Although, come to think of it, I don't have any!" Her eyes warmed suddenly, "I may get my revenge, Clifford Fitzpatrick. You're my heir, as of Saturday. I finally wrote a will, so if anything happens to me, this whole mess gets dumped in your lap ... permanently. Then won't you be sorry... !"

Cliff sat in the back of the room as Sandy led the warehousing discussion. As he suspected, it emerged there was a sort of staff mentality present at headquarters. Essentially, there was an unexamined belief that people in the field couldn't find their way to the lavatory unless there was a staff memorandum on the subject. By the time she had finished, there wasn't a single good reason left for centralizing purchasing and distribution in Milwaukee and dozens of reasons for moving the activities to the field. Without asking Cliff, Sandy moved ahead to what became a rather funny discussion of computerizing point-of-sale activities.

One of Kevin O'Rourke's people, Jamie Carothers, responsible for data processing in the Stores Division, said it was unaffordable. Sandy, drawing on her knowledge of new personal computers and off-the-shelf software, didn't understand why. Jamie acknowledged that the software existed, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was the cost of telephone line charges.

"Line charges?" Sandy asked. "What line charges?"

"The line charges to link all the point-of-sale computers to the mainframe in Milwaukee," Jamie replied.

"Why do they need to be linked?"

"How else can we know how much they're selling, and of what?"

"Jamie, I think we just agreed central warehousing doesn't make sense. Even if it did, why do we need a minute-by-minute report of sales? What would we do with it?"

"Well!" he began. "It permits us to ... to ... monitor..." He grinned. "I'm sorry, Sandy, it must be that staff mentality you referred to. As a matter of fact, if we were updated once a day in the middle of the night, we'd be far better off than we are now. Frankly, I'm not sure we need to know here in Milwaukee more often than once a week, if even that often." Everyone laughed when he added, "Where do I get one of those Kick Me signs to hang on my back? I'm sorry!"

Sandy led the meeting on to a discussion of strategy. "It looks like the strategy is pretty simple. We're closing out all the regions except the South. I guess that's Market Rationalization. Distribution Rationalization covers the new Southern warehouse idea. Finally, we have Methods and Functions Efficiency covering the new point-of-sale computers. It looks to me like we've got a lot to do before the next session. Anyone have anything else? No? We're adjourned."

That evening, after another one of Sandy's lovely dinners, Cliff massaged her feet and legs while she lay face down on the bed. A short time later, she awakened as he reached more interesting places. Again that night they didn't get much sleep.



-------

Chapter 9



Three weeks later, the second session of the rings and valves meeting was convened. In the meantime, copies of all the notes from the first session had been circulated to the participants. Cliff presided as they reviewed the notes page by page. When they reached the basis of competition, no one had more than minor word changes. Additional material on Murphy and its position in the business was added to the notes based on work done by participants between the two sessions.

Then, after lunch, they turned their attention to strategy. Cliff said, "Now the fun begins. I always find this part amusing. For some reason, it's seldom very hard to select an appropriate strategy. The problem arises when it comes time to look at the ramifications of it. For some reason we often encounter problems right here. Keep in mind, strategy is like a spear. It can be thrown in any direction: 360 degrees on a circle. Pick one!

"The strategy is our direction. It tells us where we're going, and, by elimination, where we're not going. Before we finish this session, I want agreement from you, or at least understanding — some of you may not agree — on where we're not going. If we decide to eliminate products from our line, they're gone — they're history. Everyone understand?

"Okay. Specifically, we agreed last time that a major element of our strategy is Product Rationalization. We talked about cutting our product line by up to 95 percent in terms of number of items. Let's see what we've come up with since the last session."

Bill Stevens and his operations people, Jeff Stover and his accounting people, and Steve Muller and his marketing and sales people had all done analyses. The groups went at it hot and heavy. Stevens and the manufacturing people gave the impression they wanted to make a single piston ring and a single valve, thus maximizing economies of scale. Muller and his people had reluctantly given up about 60 percent of the items. Cliff knew Steve had faced down a near-mutiny to get his guys to agree to those cuts, while to the accounting people, every item, no matter how small a seller, generated some revenue.

At the afternoon break, he took Sandy aside. She came up to him and formed her lips into a kiss while her back was to the rest of the group. "My God, honey!" she whispered, "Is it always this tough? This is brutal! There are guys here who are saying, in effect, that the company is out of business if we give up one stinking ring ... even if we've only sold one set in the last year and a half!"

"Sweetheart, this is easy! Honest. Every guy in the room really accepts the fact we have to cut the line — even the accountants, for chrissakes. What you're seeing is an incredibly healthy process at work. I guess we have done a pretty good job ... particularly you! No one is hanging back or acting like this is a sterile exercise. They know it's not. These guys are fighting for their customers ... for what they believe in.

"There's not a single person in the room who's not involved, most particularly your ex-roommate, fighting for some of her former small customers. It may seem like a war, but let me tell you, when we get finished, we can be confident we didn't throw anything away by accident.

"What you're seeing is a very basic difference between the process we're using and a more straightforward consulting assignment. The guys at Cumings are smart as hell. They really are. The problem is they can meet a guy who doesn't know all the fancy B-school buzzwords, but who really has a good point to make. Since he doesn't present it the way they would have in business school, the consultants dismiss it. That's how big mistakes are made.

"We're not going to make those mistakes. Not only are the guys all talking, people are listening. It may sound weird, but I'm relaxed. I don't think we're going to drop an important product by accident. Now it doesn't mean we'll necessarily come up with all the right answers. But it does mean we'll have made the decision after hearing all the relevant information. On this basis, we can't be too far wrong."

He smiled warmly at her. "And as a reward for doing such a fine job — and as a punishment for not letting me watch you skin Jane alive — you get to play lion-tamer for the rest of the day! Aren't you lucky?"

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, Jane was right! You are a sadist!" she said with a grin. "At least the lion-tamer has a whip, a chair, and a gun! All you let me have is this dumb felt-tip marker! There's one thing, though. You have to promise to pick up all the pieces of me before you go home tonight. Promise? Maybe you can glue most of them back together."

Sandy called the session back to order, and continued the process. As Cliff had known it would, things did get worse. The first cuts were relatively easy: there really wasn't any reason for continuing the product. But as the afternoon wore on it got progressively tougher. The products being discussed did generate some sales. So the fight turned on whether they paid for their house room. Cliff finally called a halt to the meeting at six-thirty.

When the last participant left, Sandy fell into his arms. "Don't forget your promise. There are pieces of me in every corner of this room, Cliff. I know what you got paid at Cumings and you earned every penny! That was grueling!"

He kissed her softly on the mouth and said, "And you were brilliant, as usual. But did you see what I meant when we talked at the break? Those people are engaged! It isn't an academic exercise; it's their livelihood. They're fighting for it, and I think everyone will benefit.

"Sweetheart, I would offer to cook dinner tonight," Cliff said with a small smile, "but after what you've been through, I'm not sure you're in condition to handle my poison. How about going out? Better yet, why not eat here at the hotel? I have it on good authority they do have something on the menu besides cold cuts. What do you say?"

She smiled at him, and went limp in his arms. She was relying on his reflexes to catch her and he did. When she lifted her face, he kissed her softly. "Honey," she said, "if you intend to make love to me tonight, you're going to be doing all the work! Let's eat!"

They went down to the main dining room where they were recognized by the maître d'hôtel as regular patrons of the hotel. Cliff asked for a quiet banquette table, and they were quickly seated with Cliff sitting next to Sandy rather than across from her. Again, she let her body go limp and sagged against him.

She lifted her face, and he gave her a quick kiss. "Now I know when the honeymoon is over. It's when your husband lets you fall on the floor in a restaurant!"

A waiter came over and they ordered cocktails. Cliff was surprised when Sandy ordered an extra-dry Beefeater martini on the rocks.

He ordered one, too, and looked at her. "Sandra Donnell, what are you doing? You never order a martini. I thought you were the beer and wine girl."

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, I am going to the dogs ... or the cats ... or something! Besides, they haven't killed you ... yet!" She daintily stuck out her tongue at him.

The drinks came, and after Sandy had a tiny sip she made a little face. "Cliff, it tastes like ... like ... I don't know what it tastes like, but it's strong!"

"You're right, it is. But why did you order it? Seriously, sweetheart, you look like you're exhausted. Are you?"

Just then a small band began playing and she visibly perked up. She got up from the table, held out her arms, and said, "Off your ass. We're dancing."

"I thought you were so tired, you couldn't even stand up," he protested. "How can you possibly dance?"

"It's different," she claimed.

He got to his feet and followed her out to the dance floor. As she turned and came into his arms, he noticed she was wearing sneakers. Without heels the top of her head barely reached his cheek. In spite of the sneakers, he still had the impression of holding a feather. She raised her face, and he kissed her softly on the lips.

"Cliff, you can't believe how good this makes me feel. I love you so much. When I'm in your arms like this, it's almost like you've been giving me a massage. I'm really not tired anymore."

When the music stopped they returned to their table, and Cliff returned the conversation to the session they had just been through. "What did you think of the results? It's your company, but you were totally dispassionate this afternoon. I'm very serious when I say I couldn't have done what you did. That's your money they were talking about."

"Cliff, I think we're on the right track. But what are the risks? It can't be quite this easy."

"Very good question. Tomorrow, we'll take a look at a risk analysis. We use risk as a measure of uncertainty, rather than in some more abstract form. Frankly, I see the greatest uncertainty relating to our timing. We'll be taking a big risk. Right now, our reputation for quality is not good. What we propose to do is sharply cut the number of products, upgrade our production facilities — we haven't talked about that yet, nor about inspections — and produce a much higher-quality product.

"The problem is that for a short space of time we're very exposed. We will have cut out the rinky-dink products that only we sell, but will not yet have reestablished a quality reputation with our major customers. Until we reestablish a quality reputation, we are highly vulnerable.

"Sandy, we could be in tough shape if something happens while that window is open. We'll be walking away from some revenue in hopes of getting a lot more later. But there has got to be a 'later'. Worst case, we're in big trouble. I can't minimize it. What do you think? It's your company,"

"No, Cliff. It's our company. I want to do what's right, and I'm convinced we're on the right track. Let's go for it! Honey, believe me. I do understand the risks. I'm thinking about the guys and gals in the plant who are counting on us. I want to do what's best for the company because it's what's best for them. Does that make any sense?"

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "Have I told you how much I love you in the last five minutes or so? Sandy, you are absolutely the best thing that's happened to me in my entire life. Okay, let's go for it!"

He stuck out his hand, and she gripped it with hers.

"We're going for it! Can I have another martini, now? You have to promise to carry me home, okay? If you do, you can have complete access to my body, such as it is, as a reward."

"Sandra Donnell, when are you going to quit knocking that exquisite body of yours? Do you really want me to list all your bodily assets?"

She rapidly nodded her head with a big grin on her face, so he did.

-------

The next morning Cliff presided. They were at the point in their rationalization discussion where real pain was being inflicted. Tempers were still frayed from the day before so there was little safety margin left. At one point, Jane Miller jumped up and said, "I don't give a damn what the volume on 4606 is! Willoughby Motors has got to have it! It's the only ring that fits their engine. We have an obligation!"

Cliff stepped into the discussion. "Jane, I have a question: How much is Willoughby paying for those rings? And where did the price come from?"

Jane looked in her book and answered the question. It was about the same price Magna was paying and Cliff pointed this out. "But Cliff, it's almost the same ring Magna's buying. The steel is the same, the weight's about the same, so the price should be the same."

"Why should it be, Jane? How about the cost to us of setting up for a short run? Jane, have you ever asked Willoughby about taking a price increase? I'll make a deal with you: Get them on the phone right now and explain what we're doing. Tell them it's not a choice between cheap rings and expensive rings. It is expensive rings or no rings from us. Do you want to give it a shot?"

The group continued the battle on other items while Jane made her call. Fifteen minutes later she returned to the room. Instead of retaking her seat she went up to the front where Cliff was standing. Jane had a comedienne's natural sense of timing. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, would you please give me a swift kick, right here. Please?"

She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, and was bent over pointing to her rear. The group in the room howled with laughter. Aside from anything else, Cliff realized she had discharged the tension that had reached dangerous levels. He wound up to give her a big spank, but didn't touch her, stopping his hand a fraction of an inch from her pants.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I can't. Steve is bigger than I am and he might object. What did the people at Willoughby say?"

"That's the point, Cliff. They just said, 'How much?'. I tripled the price but told them our quality assurance would be far better. You know what they said? They said the cost of our rings is so small, they can't even find it in the cost of one of their engines. Then they asked if we might be interested in their valve business, too. Is that what you expected?"

"Let's say I'm not as surprised as you are. Folks," he said, addressing the entire group, "there's a lesson here for all of us. Instead of thinking go-no go, we should put price into the equation. Let's face it: We may be losing money on a product now, but could still make good money if we got a steep price increase.

"I'll be honest. Jane should have kicked me. I just remembered an experience I had a few years ago with a manufacturer of very high-quality stereo speakers. They had one speaker model, the top of their line, a technological marvel that sold for about $1,500 a pair. They sold in very limited quantities to real audiophiles. The problem was the company was losing its shirt even at that price, so they decided to drop it.

"On word of discontinuation, orders came pouring in, along with letters of complaint from many of its best dealers. So they kept it in the line ... for a while. They tried to discontinue it a year later and got the same reaction. That was when I came in. I suggested a price increase and was told it was impossible. The speaker was already one of the highest-priced units on the market. I pointed out that they received files full of complaint letters each time they went to discontinue it and no one had ever mentioned price. Besides, they wanted to kill the product anyway, so what difference did it make if the orders just dried up?

"As far as I know, they're still making the speaker. The last I heard the price was up to $6,000 a pair. They don't sell quite as many as they did, although unit sales didn't fall by very much. However, now they're minting money on the deal.

"This is basically what Jane did with her rings. Now, are there any products we canned earlier we might want to try a major price move on? Actually, it's a good tactic. We're not pulling the plug on a customer who needs a particular ring. It's still available if he wants to pay the price. What about it?"

The rest of the product discussion went smoothly. The tension had been relieved and the alternative of a price increase satisfied the remaining concerns.

The discussion moved to product quality and the production line. Bill Stevens and his people had worked out new line arrangements to streamline work flow but had encountered another problem. "Cliff, I don't like to be the bearer of more bad news, but I have no choice. We're going to have to spend big money on our machines.

"Of ten major production units, there are two that cannot produce product to specified tolerances. They've gone so long without major maintenance, they just can't do the job. I can't tell you yet whether we're looking at scrapping them or if they can be overhauled. Then there are three others that are marginal at best. The other five need work, too, but can still produce reliable product. I'm sorry.

"The problem is deferred maintenance, and its impact is not well understood. Let's say a machine needs maintenance at a cost of about 10 percent of its price each year. If no maintenance is done for three years, it doesn't cost 30 percent of the value to catch up, it's much more. The reason is the wear and tear compounds. In my illustration, you might be looking at a third-year cost of 50 percent or more.

"Cliff, we haven't been doing the maintenance we should have, and it's caught up with us. It's just that simple. I'm sorry."

"I am, too, Bill," Cliff responded, "but I can't say I'm terribly surprised. It's worse than I thought, but not by a lot. It seems that our product rationalization program may provide us with some breathing space because of reduced sales volume. What we need to do is set up a program to get these machines back up — at least eight of them, anyway. How long will it take to get a fix on the problem?"

"There's a guy due in tomorrow from the machine manufacturer who's going to look them all over. What I would like to do is get started immediately on the five operating units. Take one out, get it fully up to spec, then move to the next. Meanwhile, we'll be getting a look at the others."

"Okay, Bill. That sounds good. Now, about quality. Clearly, we can't produce products better than our machines can turn out. However, we can sure turn out products a lot worse than they are capable of making." He changed his tack. "Bill, it seems to me we have far too many inspectors. What's the story?"

"The previous management thought they could inspect their way to quality," Bill replied. "Every time we got a quality complaint, the reaction was to do more checking. I think everything we produce is inspected at least twice, and some more than that. Frankly, it's never made much sense to me."

"Me, neither," Cliff said. "I want to go to on-the-line quality control. As my Japanese friend said, let's do it right the first time. Then we can couple that with statistical quality assurance and get a better-quality product. Right now, it seems we have the worst of both worlds. Our materials utilization and scrap rates are ridiculously high. Sales allowances resulting from poor quality are eating us up. And to top it all off, the labor cost of multiple inspections kills us. Outside of that, we're in great shape. Anyone have any thoughts?"

"I don't understand," Jeff Stover said. "How can we cut the cost of quality control and improve quality? It just doesn't make any sense."

"Spoken like a good accountant, Jeff," Cliff replied. "And I'm teasing you, really. I understand your question perfectly. It appears to make no sense to cut quality assurance costs and yet at the same time expect to get a higher level of quality, because in accounting there's an underlying assumption you get what you pay for — no more and no less. But it doesn't always work that way, particularly where people are concerned.

"There was a situation in an insurance company where twenty-four people in succession each checked a particular piece of paper: the policy data sheet. After all twenty-four checks, believe it or not, over 96 percent of the policies were wrong in some material respect because the data sheet was wrong. We changed the system to have only the first person checking. She was told if it was wrong leaving her desk, it would stay wrong. The error rate dropped below 1 percent.

"Why? Simple. When checking was the job of twenty-four people in a row, it was no one's job. The first people weren't careful because they knew there were fifteen or more people who would pick up anything they missed. On the other hand, the people at the end of the line didn't check, because they couldn't believe there could be any errors after fifteen or more people had already checked.

"What I propose to do is make each production worker responsible for his or her own quality assurance, backed up, as I said, with statistically-based sampling. It works for the Japanese using American-developed systems we couldn't be bothered using ourselves. Can we make it work for us here? The one problem I see is with the workers.

"Bill, you understand what I'm talking about, don't you?" Bill said he did, and smiled. "Do you think you can lay out a plan? I'll particularly need to know the impact of the changes we're talking about on our manning levels. How long will that take?"

"I have a couple of guys working on it right now," Bill replied. "I hope to have some answers by the middle of next week. One thing I am sure of, Cliff: We're looking at serious money."

"Okay, guys," Cliff said, "last question: What are we going to do with all the junk lying around? The junk I'm referring to is ostensibly finished product in crates all over the factory floor. Jeff, I have a question for you: Have our auditors ever questioned the salability and hence the asset valuation of our inventory?"

"Last year one of the juniors on the audit did," Stover said sheepishly. "I guess I overawed him by asking him what he knew about valves or piston rings. I had my fingers crossed because if he'd opened one of the crates, it would have been all over! We've checked a few boxes, Cliff. Every one we checked was heavily rusted. I don't think it's usable. What do you think, Bill?"

"I think you have it about right. Let me put it this way: I wouldn't put one of those rings in my lawn mower, let alone in my car, but there's a lot of money involved. Sandy, what does treasury think?"

Sandy smiled at Bill and said, "Treasury is wondering what the value of that stuff is as scrap steel? And will the buyer get it out of our plant without us having to pay for trucking? As far as treasury is concerned, it's worth its weight as scrap metal."

"Okay, folks," Cliff said, "it looks like it's going for scrap, unless, of course, any of the guys in the plant want a paperweight or rings for a lawn mower engine. Does anyone object? Okay. Bill, do you have any idea of the scrap value? Sandy's question is a good one. I certainly don't want to spend a fortune to get rid of the stuff."

"I think it's actually worth money. It's very high-grade steel. Do you want me to check around?" Bill replied.

"I sure do. Guys, I think we're off and running. Bill, let me know about the manning levels and the repair costs on the machines as soon as possible. Now let's all go home. I think we've done enough damage for one day."

When the people had all left, he looked at Sandy and let his knees fold. "Whew! Survived another one. Can I buy you a drink downstairs?"

"Yea! I was afraid you'd never ask. Incidentally, Cliff, what are the stages of becoming an alcoholic? I'm going to the dogs. I decided I like martinis. Can I have another?"

They went down to the cocktail lounge and found Steve and Jane at a table. Steve waved them over to join them. When they were seated Cliff took the opportunity to speak to Jane. "I didn't have a chance before, but thanks for the comic relief today. It really helped a lot."

Jane looked at him intently, "You're really serious, aren't you? You're not teasing me. But thanks for what?"

"Jane, I suspect you didn't even think about what you were doing. You do have natural comedy talent, you know? You really do. Things were getting very tense today. People were still strung out from yesterday, and the decisions were getting tougher. When you bent over and pointed plaintively at your rear end, the tension just evaporated in laughter. Didn't you notice it?"

"I sure did!" Steve interjected. "But I'm not sure I appreciate the future mother of my children as a comedienne, though."

Jane wheeled on Steve. "Thanks a hell of a lot! Sandy, let this be a lesson to you. I think I just moved from being his mistress to being his concubine. I'm not sure in which direction. If I remember correctly, the difference between the two is a concubine is expected to produce children. Thanks a lot, Mr. Muller. I'll send you a memo when — and if — I'm ever speaking to you again!"

"Cliff," Steve said plaintively, "do you ever get the feeling men can't win? Can't win, hell! We can't even score a point. Here I was trying to propose matrimony — in the nicest way I can think of, I might add — and I'm accused of insulting her. There's just no justice!"

"Sandy," Jane said, "do you have a pad or something to take a memo for me?"

Sandy, having an idea of what was coming, took a tiny pad from her purse along with a pencil. She set the pad on her leg as if it were her steno pad, poised her pencil in the most approved secretarial-school manner and said, "Of course, Miss Miller."

The men sat watching the two girls with amusement. Cliff decided that Sandy, too, had great comedy instincts.

"To: Vice President–Marketing," Jane began. "From: Key Accounts Manager. Subject: Matrimony. Paragraph. It has come to my attention that an insulting remark you made earlier was intended to be a backhanded proposal of marriage. Period. I do not accept backhanded proposals. Period. Paragraph. However, to facilitate communications, this is to advise you that I am again speaking to you. Period. Sandy, I'll even sign it personally." While she was pretending to take the memo, Sandy was struggling to maintain a straight face. She was suppressing giggles at the end.

Steve looked at Cliff and shrugged. "Jane, since you're speaking to me again, may I take advantage of this narrow window of opportunity to ask you to marry me? Please?"

Jane looked at Steve intently. "I'll have to think about that a bit. You're a terrible cook. I think that's deliberate, though, just so you don't have to do it. On the other hand, you're reasonably good at washing dishes. You're not too messy. And you're great in bed." She looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "Okay, I'll marry you."

Then Steve took her in his arms, and Sandy and Cliff watched as they kissed long and passionately.

When they moved apart, Jane's eyes were swimming. "Wow! Steve Muller, there's one problem. How's it going to sound for me to be Jane Miller-Muller — it sounds like a spaghetti company, for chrissakes. So that's out. I'll have to be just plain Jane Muller. And I had my heart set on a hyphenated last name! Sandy, do you think they'll throw me out of National Organization for Women?"

The two girls grinned at each other while Steve felt for something inside his jacket pocket. Cliff had an idea what was coming, and called over the cocktail waitress. He whispered something to her, and the girl grinned, nodded quickly and disappeared.

Meanwhile, Steve had found what he was looking for and looked at Jane. "I have something for you. Here." he said. His hand was over hers, palm down. He released something from his hand into hers. Jane was stunned. It was a solitaire diamond ring with a large diamond, over one-and-a-half carats. The diamond reflected the light brilliantly.

"Oh, Steve! It's gorgeous." Jane went into his arms and melted in a passionate kiss. There was no joking this time.

The waitress returned with a wine bucket, four glasses, and a bottle of the best champagne the hotel had. She opened the bottle and poured.

"Congratulations and very best wishes for a long and happy marriage. Steve, it's about time you made an honest woman out of her." Cliff then ducked as blows rained on his head.

Jane had been looking intently at Sandy. "And, Miss Donnell, speaking of honest women, where have you been sleeping lately?"

Sandy spoke in her haughtiest voice. "In a bed, of course. Where else would one sleep?"

Jane grinned knowingly, "Okay, in a bed. Whose bed, and with whom... ? or who... ? or whatever."

Sandy just grinned back. Then she took the girl and gave her a hug. "Jane, I'm so happy for you! I've learned something from you that I'll tell you about some day. When is the happy event going to be now that you're engaged?"

Jane pretended to yawn. "There's no hurry. I've got my diamond. Isn't that all a girl really needs?"

"As a matter of fact, no." Sandy replied. "You need someone to use to warm your feet on when you're in bed."

"Golly, Sandy, you're right! I never thought of that. Maybe it'll be earlier than I thought." Both of the girls smiled while the guys just shrugged.

"You can't win, you know," Steve said to Cliff. "I think it's one of the basic ground rules. You know, like Catch 22? You go all through the rules and then you get to the end. The last rule says, 'Regardless of anything stated or implied in any prior rule, the guy loses.' I hope you have accepted it, Cliff."

The foursome sipped their champagne, and Sandy and Cliff both inspected Jane's beautiful engagement ring. Then the conversation swung back around to the company.

"Steve, how does it look with our major customers? I know you haven't had a chance to do much except plan, yet," Cliff said, "but do you have any feeling? I'm particularly concerned about Magna Motors. You look at that account and the quality we're giving them — or not giving them — and you wonder why they're still buying from us at all. Have you heard anything?"

"No, I really haven't. And frankly, I'm worried, too. If Ajax really made a run at our piece of the Magna business, there's no reason for them not to get it. Their quality is much better than ours and their pricing is only a little higher. I suspect that they are a lower-cost supplier to Magna on an all-costs-in basis," Steve replied.

"Jane, have you ever called on the Japanese? I really feel stupid asking, because of the cultural differences. Because if a girl ever wants to feel good about the position of women in the United States, all she needs to do is spend some time in the Orient. In general, women don't count for much there." Steve looked at her. "The reason I'm asking, though, is Kaga Motors has a plant across the lake in Michigan. Have we ever called on them?"

Jane looked thoughtful as she answered, "I don't think anyone from Murphy ever has. You know how Flood was ... how we all were up until the last couple of weeks. We considered Japanese business to be out of the question. Would you like me to take my lovely new ring across the lake? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"Would you mind taking a crack at it?" Steve asked. "It certainly can't hurt, although some of what Bill was saying this afternoon about the state of our production machinery was scary. It seems like the best bet would be to make it strictly exploratory. What specific types of rings and valves do they use? What sort of delivery are they accustomed to? Is it as good as they would like? That sort of thing. Does it make any sense?"

"Sandy, my future lord and master has decreed that I cross the great waters! Let's keep our fingers crossed!"



-------

Chapter 10



On the following Monday, Sandy came into Cliff's office carrying a stack of papers and looking puzzled. "Cliff, there's something wrong here. I need help. I've been going over the Stores Division local-store accounts and I can't figure it out."

"Let me guess," Cliff replied. "We've got too much money in the store accounts?" She looked at him, amazed. He just grinned and continued, "We've got about seventy-five stores around the country, each with its own account. They're run on an imprest basis at amounts ranging from $2,000 to $5,000. That means they run like petty-cash accounts. The balance we carry on our books is fixed, and we balance it against deposits and payments. I guess the large majority are around the $2,000 level, so our total book balance on the accounts is around $200,000 or so. Am I close?"

"It's $225,000," Sandy supplied, still puzzled.

"Okay," he continued. "Each store deposits its receipts into its account each day. We clean out the accounts from here. So I guess you're puzzled because you found about $25 million or so in accounts that are supposed to have about one-tenth of that?"

Sandy looked stunned. "It was over $30 million! Didn't I do something wrong?"

"Not at all. You just found the money to pay for reconditioning our production equipment and then some." His smile widened into a grin. "Now what do I get for solving your problem? Something nice, I hope?

"Sandy, I've been teasing you. I did a little checking awhile ago and expected about what you found. It works this way: First, the $2,000 level is fixed. The people in accounting who balance our bank statements never look at the absolute numbers, they just reconcile them. Our typical store does about $50,000 a week in volume but we only clean out the accounts and bring the money in once a month. Assuming four-week months — and there are 4.3 weeks, actually — an account with a nominal $2,000 has about $200,000 at the end of the month.

"Then with the usual accounting delays, it's probably mid-month in the following month before a check is written to bring the account back to its imprest level. But by that time, there's another two week's deposits, or $100,000. Keep in mind, I'm rounding low. First, there are 4.3 weeks, not four, and I'm not allowing for clearing times. We could easily be three weeks into the new month before the check hits the bank. So, when our accounting says an account is back to $2,000 it is really still greater than $150,000. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like I hope our children get their brains from their father, not their mother!" Suddenly, Sandy glared at him. "Clifford Fitzpatrick, you are a beast! You can access all my data on your computer screen and probably did. You knew I was going over and over these numbers, and you never said anything! You just wanted to see me suffer. I hate you!"

"Golly!" Cliff said with a grin, "You didn't hate me last night. In fact, I would have to say you were ... quite affectionate."

She put her nose in the air. "That was different. I was so frustrated, I needed some affection. You lured me to your bed under false pretenses! It doesn't count."

He tried to look puzzled but his grin kept breaking through. "Lured? Gee, I sort of remember being attacked by a slim young woman who wasn't wearing many clothes ... any clothes at all, as a matter of fact. I guess it must have been someone else."

She gave him a light kiss. "It had better have been me! Anyway, Clifford Fitzpatrick, back to the mundane. Given the glint I saw in your eye, there's an easy way to handle the problem. What is it, so I don't have to reinvent the wheel."

"There are a couple of things we need to do first. Number one: How are we coming on the proposals from the big banks? Number two: I've got to check with Steve Muller on that West Coast store chain that's interested in buying our units."

"As far as the banks are concerned, I've received proposals from all except one," she replied. "As it stands now, the best offer by far is from Bank of Chicago. They're committing to a $50 million line of credit, as well as being prepared to work with us on our cash management program."

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Cliff said. "We'll get depository transfer checks and shift the store accounts to deposit only. When the store manager makes his deposit, the form he uses combines a deposit slip with a no-signature transfer check. There's a postage-paid envelope he uses to mail the check to a regional clearing bank. The regional bank wires each day's collections to our principal bank. This way the full amount of the deposit is taken out each day. We could even fine-tune it after it's up and running, by running a negative book balance with the deposit banks depending on how good or bad the mail service is. But that comes later.

"Miss Treasurer, it sounds like you just picked up about $30 million. There's one more thing: For any local payments the store manger writes checks on a zero-balance account at Bank of Chicago; for payroll, we'll do something similar, although we'll need local paying banks to cash the paychecks. Several states don't look kindly on what they see as playing games with their voters' paychecks." He looked at her and smiled. "How does it sound to you?"

"It sounds like we're in some money."

Just then there was a knock on the door. Bill Stevens came in with a load of papers. "Cliff, I got the information you asked for. The machine tool company's estimate just came in. It came to just under $6 million! Now where in hell are we going to get that kind of money?"

"Our esteemed treasurer has already taken care of your problem. The key question now, Bill, is how long is it going to take for repairs, particularly for the five operating machines?"

"Cliff, you're serious about the money, aren't you?" Bill said. Sandy and Cliff both nodded in unison. "What do I need to do to get the authority to move ahead? I've got a couple of my guys working on an investment proposal, but as financial writers, they're pretty good operating people."

"What investment proposal?" Cliff asked. "Those guys will take more time writing the proposal than it will take to overhaul the equipment! Have you combed through the estimate? Do you have other quotes?"

"Yes, sir! The estimate is complete. The one we want to accept is from the people who built the machines. We got four other prices, three of which were higher. The fourth is a little lower but we're not satisfied the company knows how to handle the equipment we have. It's at least semi-custom stuff, and I don't think this is a time to learn-while-you-earn, particularly when they would be learning on us."

"What do you say, Sandy? Go for it?" Cliff asked.

She put her thumb up. "Let's do it. Bill, could you get me the name of Micronics financial type? That's the company isn't it? I may be able to save a few more dollars on payment terms. I understand they're about three times our size and very highly rated for credit. You wouldn't have any problem with at least a partial prepayment, would you?"

"Not at all! Anything that moves the project along faster has to help. I'll be right back." Bill went back to his office, made a phone call and came back with a slip of paper which he gave to Sandy. She looked at it and went to her office.

Thirty minutes later she came back with a big grin on her face. Bill and Cliff were reviewing the staffing proposals: Neither were happy with the picture that emerged. They both looked up when Sandy returned.

"I think I just saved between $120,000 and $150,000," Sandy said proudly. "I agreed to a $2 million payment up front, in return for a four-percent credit. Then we're getting 2 percent for cash on the balance. I agreed to pay invoices within ten days by Federal Reserve wire. And I was invited to join the Association of Corporate Treasurers. Bill, the slip you gave me said M. A. Kahn. It turns out the M is for Marcia."

She glared at Cliff and added, "And as for you, you have been holding out on us again. It seems Marcia is a fan of yours, having read several cash management articles you wrote ... which, of course, you neglected to mention."

The glare changed to a grin. "She asked me to give you her very best wishes for a great success at Murphy, and she's delighted we're working with her company again. Incidentally, Bill, she's going to get her people on this right away. It seems there's nothing like a chunk of cash up front to stimulate a supplier's interest. A crew could be here as early as this afternoon. Are you ready for them?"

"I'll call off my guys who are sweating on that investment proposal. We should be all set. Sandy, I think you ought to know what we've been talking about. There are going to have to be major work realignments on the shop floor. Over the last few days a junk dealer has been taking away that dead inventory. It'll mean an asset write-down on the balance sheet, but actually, we're way ahead. Incidentally, you'll be getting a big check from the scrap company. We don't have the final numbers, but they've been hauling it out as fast as they can load trailers. We're getting about 30 tons to a trailer, and I suspect we're already over 500 tons. The price per ton isn't bad at all.

"The problem, though, is all the quality checkers. Believe it or not, it turns out we really do have two people checking for every person making! It is far worse than anyone thought. Cliff and I agree there will have to be a major layoff. There's just no way normal attrition will take the work force down to where it needs to be.

"Cliff, how about if Sandy calls a meeting of the Grievance Committee? Normally, we only have the regular meetings plus any the union asks for. But we have the right to call for one ourselves, although I don't think we ever have."

"It makes a lot of sense to me, Bill," Cliff replied. "Sandy, why don't you check with Max and explain what we want to talk about. He may want to bring a somewhat different group of people with him."

Sandy agreed and went off in the direction of the shop floor.

When she returned, Cliff was alone in his office reviewing customer reports and planning on a trip to visit key customers starting with Magna Motors. He didn't like what he was seeing. A major change from the Flood days was that the sales reports read very differently now. It was clear Flood didn't like to receive bad news. As a result, the sales reports used to read as if Pollyanna herself had written them: "Every day, in every way, things are getting better and better!"

Following the planning meeting, it was clear the sales force had taken to heart the need for accurate market intelligence. There had been a sudden and dramatic change in the tone of the reports. The one on Magna, particularly, scared him. The list of product complaints was way too long, particularly coupled with Murphy's prices, which, while a bit lower than Ajax's, were not low.

Before turning to Sandy and the union, he called Bill Stevens again. "Bill, it's Cliff. I'm going to visit Magna Motors in the next couple of days. What can I tell them about product quality? How soon will we be able to make promises?"

"I'm not sure, Cliff," Bill replied thoughtfully. "What does Sandy say about meeting with the union? It's largely up to the workers ... and I'm not confident about their attitude at all!"

"Last question," Cliff continued. "When will the revamped cafeteria be ready? With the upcoming layoff, it's more important than ever."

"With a little overtime, we can be all set on Monday. How's that?"

"That's great, and do it. I'll get back to you after Sandy and I talk."

Sandy was seated in a chair waiting for him to get off the phone. When he hung up, she said, "Cliff, they can meet at four this afternoon and I set it up. I heard you ask about the cafeteria. Could we hold the meeting there? I'd like to get the workers as comfortable as possible, because the subject matter is going to be rough."

Cliff called Bill again. "Can the cafeteria be in shape for a union meeting at four? We could start with a little show-and-tell. If we can reopen formally on Monday, we ought to be in pretty good shape now."

"Can do, Cliff. You might pass the word to the union folks, though, so they don't bother to dress up."

Sandy made the call and was back quickly. "What are we going to tell them, Cliff? There are some people who are going to be very upset."

"I wish I knew." He smiled at her. "Trust me? I don't have the faintest idea what either one of us is going to say. I do know the situation we're looking at is real. We're not trying to pull a fast one on anybody. Care to wing it with me?"

Instead of answering, she climbed on his lap, put her arms around his neck and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

-------

They were waiting in the cafeteria when the union representatives came in. Clarence Budd was obviously nervous, not knowing what to expect from the meeting. Bill and Janet Simmons gave a tour of the revamped facility. Since it had been in operation while the renovation was in progress, Janet focused on the behind-the-scenes changes that they were less likely to be aware of. Kaufman liked what he saw and said so. Janet's people had set up a table for them in the back of the room, and they all sat down while Janet went in back to rejoin her staff.

Sandy opened the meeting. After the formal segment, she turned her notes face down on the table. "Max, we've got a problem. Its dimensions just became clear this morning and we wanted you and your people to hear it from us as soon as possible. This is the Grievance Committee, and I'm not even sure it's the right forum. That's why I talked with you this morning about the subject matter."

Sandy had already noticed that the union group had five more people than it had had the previous time. "It's not a grievance, it's a layoff. Bill will explain it to you."

Stevens reviewed for the union people the findings of the planning session. They had all seen the stale product being trucked out and a crew from Micronics was already busy dismantling one of the good machines. This brought Bill to individual responsibility and inspections. "Guys, believe it or not, we really do have twice as many people inspecting as we have making. There are some companies that brag about things like that. We are no longer among them. What we want to do is make each person responsible for his own quality. We're building up the maintenance staff so we're not going to have the equipment problems we have all been living with for so long. Things should be a lot better for all of us."

Then he explained how the statistically-based quality control system would work, and finally came to the layoffs: "What it means is nearly half the work force is looking at a layoff. We can't figure out a productive way to use them. What we've been doing is living with poor raw-materials utilization and terrible scrap rates, combined with lousy delivered quality. The company can't survive that way."

Bill looked very unhappy as he said, "How do you want to proceed now?"

Kaufman looked around the table at his people. They were visibly upset by the news they had just received. He asked if they could meet alone at the table for a few minutes.

Cliff rose to his feet, followed by the other management participants. "Max, we're going to get some coffee and take it out on the floor. Why don't you ask one of your people to come and get us whenever you're ready? There's no rush. Take as much time as you need. Come on, folks."

Cliff got a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup and left followed by the others. He was amused to see Budd scurry off in the direction of his office. "I wonder who he's going to call? I'll bet it's the estate trustee, Ezra Stiles. Sandy, what about Stiles? We've still got about five months to go."

"I don't know, Cliff. I don't think he's going to like what he hears, but I think your contract is solid. I don't think there's anything he can do."

They walked around the plant and spent some time watching the technicians from Micronics working on a machine tool. Bill talked with the crew chief and came back to report they had found the machine in better shape than they expected so the price would be adjusted downward, at least for the first unit.

Then they just continued to walk around the floor. At one point they were near the cafeteria and even with the new sound insulation they could hear the sound of angry voices coming from inside. "I don't like the sound of that," Bill said.

Cliff shrugged his shoulders. He didn't, either, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Sandy was looking very worried. "I'm scared," she said finally. "It's taking much too long. They've been going at it for over an hour." They walked out to the parking lot in time to see Clarence Budd scurrying towards his car. Cliff noted it was well in back on the lot indicating he hadn't arrived very early that day.

"I don't like to see that, either," Sandy said. "And he doesn't look like he's going home." She turned to Cliff, "I hope your agreement with Stiles is as solid as I think it is!"

Suddenly, she grinned at Cliff and added, "Just because I own this joint is no reason you need to pay any attention to me, but I think Mr. Budd is about to be numbered among the missing, too."

Bill Stevens had looked at her in astonishment when she referred to her ownership. He knew it, of course, but didn't know Cliff did. "How long has this young man known about you, Sandy?"

"Since he was here about a week," she replied with a smile. "Jane spilled the beans, and frankly, I'm delighted she did." She took Cliff's arm in hers and squeezed. "I've developed a close working relationship with my new chief executive officer!"

Bill kissed her on the cheek. "I noticed the way your eyes glow whenever Cliff's in range. But I always assumed the way he looked at you was a function of a weak mind. But I guess love is like that sometimes."

He looked at the couple standing arm in arm. "You know, the Murphys would be very proud. The two of you are going to be taking this company places ... very good places." He put out his hand to Cliff. "Congratulations. I assume this is your secret, so of course I'll maintain it. Nevertheless, I think you're a very lucky guy. She's a very special girl. But looking at you, I think you already know that."

"Thanks, Bill. I appreciate that. As far as being lucky, I certainly know that, too."

He looked around, saw they were alone, and kissed her soundly. She ignored Bill and wrapped her arms around Cliff's neck and melted into his arms.

Bill tapped them on the shoulder. "Someone's coming."

Cliff checked his watch. It was five-thirty; the union people had been meeting alone for nearly an hour and a half. He saw it was Max, coming alone. The union leader looked like he had been through a fight, and from the sounds they had heard, he had been.

He joined the three of them. "Can we find a place to sit for a few minutes? I want to rest, brief you, and let my guys cool off a bit."

They found a couple of small stacks of lumber to sit on, and Cliff noticed that Sandy didn't even bother to look before she sat down. Obviously she felt this was no time to be dainty.

Max wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and looked at the three of them. "Where's Budd? Is he going to be in the next meeting?"

Sandy said, "No, Max. And — for you, alone — I think he'll soon be numbered among the missing. Does that bother you?"

The union leader smiled for the first time. "Not at all! It makes it simpler, in fact. I'm going to level with you: The people trust Bill and they trust Sandy. Cliff, you're the new kid: We don't know you. On the other hand — and I said this to you at the time — you sure started off right. They're prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But they don't trust Budd nearly as far as they can throw him ... and at about 250 pounds, that's not very far.

"I've got a deal to offer. It's not a very good deal, but it's the best I could get. I guess you know we had a war in there. It was the old-timers like me against the kids. You know unions: They are political organizations. I'm kind of proud of our local. We are pretty democratic. But there are times — like right now — when I wish we weren't. I trust you people. I'm convinced we're on the same team.

"The problem is talking to my people. With seniority rules, they say it's easy for me to trust you. I've got more than enough seniority to keep my job. The kids don't. They want to hit the bricks. We said the only thing that would get them is the prospect of being the highest-paid people in the unemployment line.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick, there are some of us who have learned to read financial statements, too. We also see the conditions: the lousy product we ship, the machines that are so worn out they can't maintain tolerances. Yes, and the absurdity of two people inspecting a single person's work. We know we can't survive that way.

"We heard a lot about what went on in the planning meetings. It wasn't supposed to be a secret was it?"

Cliff shook his head, no.

"Everything we heard made sense," Max continued. "If this can be made to work, this company is going to survive and then prosper. It will be a much better place for us to work, and for the next generation, too. I don't disagree with a single damned thing you're doing. I only wish it had been done years ago.

"The kids don't understand, though. Some of them don't know the difference between a real job and make-work. Worse, many of them are economic illiterates. If they see a number on a balance sheet in seven digits or more, it's more money than the Mint. They don't realize how fast it can blow away in a big company. Anyway, you know there's been a fight in there.

"The best I could come up with is this: We will allow you to address a general meeting of the membership, any way you want. Give a speech, make a presentation, answer questions ... whatever. It's up to you. Then we put it to a vote and see what happens. What do you think?"

Bill Stevens was the first to speak. "I guess that's what we'll do then. Max, I'm going to impose on you one more time. Who do you think should speak?"

"Bill, I think you all should. Look, I know there are only a few of us who know who Sandy really is. I'm going on what you've told me. The company's back is to the wall. I believe you. The kids think this is an impersonal big corporation like Magna Motors and Ajax Industries. I think we just have to let it all hang out. Let them know there is a Murphy that owns this company. Let me ask you, what are the risks of doing it?"

Sandy swallowed hard. "Max, when is the meeting? You're putting me on the spot, you know. This is for your ears only: The problem is, I don't control the Murphy stock formally until October 1, and that's almost four months away. Right now, Ezra Stiles votes it as trustee. While you were meeting, Budd scurried out to his car and went off ... somewhere. We're pretty sure it wasn't home, and our guess is it was to see Stiles. I know Charles Purcell was a Stiles informant in the company. He and Budd were as thick as thieves, so I wouldn't be surprised if he is, too.

"The problem is, we don't know what Stiles could do! Frankly, the answer could be nothing, but it could be a lot. I had my personal lawyer review Cliff's contract. He considers it unbreakable. However, it can be litigated, and that could be just as bad, or possibly worse. If Stiles got some friendly judge to issue a restraining order, even if we ultimately win in court we're tied up in the meantime. And we can't afford to be distracted right now, let alone tied up. Max, it's the company I'm worried about, not me. Can I think about it and talk it over with these guys first?"

"When is the meeting, Max?" Cliff asked. "I would like to get it over with as soon as we can."

"How about Thursday evening? I think that's about as soon as we could schedule it. Sandy, please think about what I said. Everyone knows and trusts you. I understand your problem. I just hope you'll be able to find a way."

The group went back to the cafeteria. It was obvious to the three management people that tempers on the union side had not completely cooled down. They had a very brief meeting with Max formally presenting the union offer of a meeting which was accepted for Thursday evening.

The meeting adjourned, and the three went back to Cliff's office. "May I ask Janet to join this seance?" Bill asked. "It seems to me there are two things to think about: The first is how important Sandy's participation will be to the workers. I think Janet could be a big help. She has a good feel for things like this. The second is Stiles, and neither of us can comment on that one."

"It makes sense to me, Bill," Cliff replied. "What do you think?" he asked Sandy.

She nodded agreement and Bill went off to get Janet.

Then Sandy picked up the phone and called Ezra Stiles. As she guessed, he was still in his office. "Hi, Uncle Ezra!" she said. Although her voice was bright, she made a face to Cliff. "We had an interesting meeting with the union today."

She listened for a few moments. "My, you get your information quickly! I'm impressed." She made a thumbs down sign to Cliff as Stiles continued to talk. Finally he stopped speaking and she continued, "The reason for the call concerns my inheritance. I haven't said anything, but you know quite a few people know that the Murphy family is only me. Is it supposed to be a secret? I can't recall ever asking you before."

She had earlier motioned to Cliff who had picked up the phone on her desk. When Bill returned with Janet, on impulse he turned on the speaker feature on the phone so all three could listen. The speaker was on as Sandy had asked her last question.

"No, Sandy," Stiles replied. "There's absolutely nothing in the will or anything else I know of regarding maintaining your inheritance as a secret. It's just something we've done going back to when you went to work for MacDougal. If I remember correctly, it was your idea, wasn't it?"

"I think so, Uncle Ezra. As a matter of fact, I'm sure of it now; I didn't want the word out that MacDougal was actually working for me. I only wanted to check to see if there was a more compelling reason, and you say there's none at all, right?"

"That's right, Sandy. There's none at all."

She concluded the conversation and hung up as the others came into the room. "I'm glad you were listening. Did you all hear his reply?" she asked. They all said they had. "I don't know why, but I have a feeling it's important that you all heard it. Particularly Bill and Janet; you're impartial.

"That's one thing out of the way, though. I can talk. Now should I? Cliff, I'm most concerned about you. I would rather cut off my arm than do anything that would be seen as undermining your authority. What do you think?"

"None of us have had a chance to talk about what Max said, but personally I agree with him. I would like you to speak. You're a real person: the owner. I'm the boss: hired help. I think they'll listen to me, but I think you can swing them. My vote is for you to speak. Janet, Bill had the excellent idea of asking you to join us. What do you think?"

"Sandy, I agree with Cliff. Bill told me some of what Max told you earlier. You can't believe how economically ignorant some of these kids are! If an amount is more money than they ever carry in their pocket,  for heaven's sake, it's more money than the Mint. 'The union will take care of me. We have a contract!' As if the contract will magically produce the money to fund it. I think you should."

Janet continued, "I have a question, though: What's the risk? Aside from Stiles, I mean. Maybe I'm missing something."

Bill spoke up: "I think Janet has said it all, and raised the real question: Why not?"

Sandy looked at Cliff speculatively. "I don't think it will change the way you feel about me. I guess there is no reason. I just had this idea of playing secretary to try to learn how a company works. I guess I ought to see about joining the Junior League or something. Okay, I'll do it." As she spoke the words she looked very dejected.

Cliff thought the time had come to let the cat out of the bag a little more. "Darling, I hope you'll stay. You are not just Assistant to the President, you're the assistant general manager. Everyone sees it. I've heard it said that we seem to be two people sharing a single brain. I've had the eerie experience of starting a sentence and having you finish it ... in the same words I would have used. Do we have to cripple the company? Can't the Junior League wait awhile?"

She had been looking at him as he spoke. By the time he finished, she was beaming. Instead of answering, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him slowly and lovingly. When they finally broke, Janet gave Cliff a kiss and then kissed Sandy.

Cliff was surprised to see tears in the older woman's eyes. She had her arm around Sandy's waist as she looked at Cliff and said, "I've been a widow a long time, Cliff. I remember when Sandy's parents were killed. My God! That was nearly fourteen years ago.

"You probably gathered that Sandy grew up at the plant. I tried to be a mother to her, and I still think of her as my little girl. She even used to bring her report cards to me. I've been waiting so long for the right guy to come along. Cliff, she's really a one-man woman, and I think you're the lucky man. I think of her as my daughter, and I'm so proud of her ... of both of you."

"Mom," Sandy said after kissing the woman, "when are you going to let Bill Stevens make an honest woman out of you? Will you do it if I tell you Cliff and I are going to be married? We are."

"Looking at the two of you together, that's certainly no surprise! Cliff, please take care of my little girl."

"Little girl, indeed!" Sandy said, feigning indignation. "I'm a five-foot eight-inch woman!"

"I certainly will," Cliff replied to Janet. "I guess we're agreed, then. Sandy will give her talk. Now the question is what kind of talk do we give? My thought is we keep it simple. I think anything elaborate — a slide show, for example — will make the suspicious ones think we're trying to put something over on them. I think we do it best by keeping it as simple as possible. What do the rest of you think?"

"Let's do it!" Bill and Sandy said in unison. Everyone laughed at that point.

Cliff and Sandy went home to Sandy's apartment. Cliff had moved in, but had installed an unlisted phone number of his own. The phone in his apartment used the call-forwarding feature to divert any calls for him to his phone in Sandy's apartment. He used to tease Sandy about "his and hers" telephone answering machines.

In bed that night he noticed Sandy was more relaxed. He asked her about it. "I guess it's the fact that more things are coming out into the open, Cliff. I'm beginning to understand that, deep down, it's bothered me to have to play a rôle."

"Does that extend to playing wife?" Cliff teased.

She ran her hands over his body, and snuggled closer. "I can live with that," he heard her murmur, "And I plan to, for a long, long time!"

-------

Thursday morning there was more news from Max Kaufman. The meeting was scheduled for eight that evening. And in spite of their differences, the union people had united in keeping the subject quiet. They didn't want the press to hear of it. It was scheduled at a nearby hall the union often used for membership meetings.

Bill, Sandy and Cliff went over to the hall together. Sandy had given a lot of thought to her clothing for the evening, and finally wore a simple beige dress that looked very good on her. Max called the meeting to order. They had agreed that Bill would speak first, followed by Cliff, and ending with Sandy.

Bill explained the situation in the plant quickly and succinctly. Then Cliff got up and spoke about the layoffs. He finished his speech by saying, "I'm sorry about this. It's certainly not your fault, but it isn't mine, either. I came in and found the mess. We just can't survive if we try to have one person producing and two people inspecting what he's produced.

"We're going back to the way things used to be. You people are craftsmen! You're good. You know how to do it right, and we're upgrading the equipment to make it possible. Why in hell do we need two people looking over your shoulders? It wasn't that way when John Murphy, Sr., founded this company. And it's not going to be that way when his granddaughter, Sandra Donnell, gets control of her stock.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think you all know Sandy. Not many of you know she owns this company! Or at least, two-thirds of it. Sandy?"

Sandy got up and went to the podium. Cheers, particularly from the old timers, rang out in the hall. She had no prepared speech, so she just waited for the hall to quiet down. Finally, it did.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here tonight for two reasons: First, to say that I've been involved every inch of the way in the decisions Bill and Cliff reviewed with you. I don't like it any more than you do.

"But my job is to save this company! We are in tough shape right now. If our competitors had the slightest hint of how bad things are, I would fear for all your jobs. Some of you think owning a company is easy: All the owner does is cash the dividend checks. It's never that easy. I started to work in this plant ten years ago when I was only sixteen. I have a union card. I operated machine tools ... although not even Cliff knows that. I've personally performed just about every job there is in this plant, certainly all the grubby ones. There are a lot of familiar faces here who can tell you that what I just said is true.

"Well, what I'm telling you now is true, too: We have to have these layoffs. It's why managers get paid what they do. It's not to make the easy decisions. It's to make the tough ones. This is a tough one, believe me. It's got to be. For those of you directly affected, I'm sorry. With luck, we'll build this company back to where it ought to be and you'll all be rehired. That will be one of the happiest days of my life.

"Until then, let's hope. Let's work to make it happen! Let's work to re-create all those jobs!" There were tears visibly running down her cheeks as she finished.

She stood up straight looking out over the hall as some men rose and started to applaud. The applause spread. Soon, the entire hall was on its feet applauding the young owner. There were no cheers, no whistles. They were applauding someone they felt was on their side.

They had been prepared to spend most of the time fielding questions. Max joined Sandy at the podium and waited as the applause wound down. "Are there any questions?" he shouted. There was silence in the hall. "This meeting is adjourned!" he declared.

As he held Sandy's arm to guide her back to the others, he could see the tears still rolling down her cheeks. She went into Max's arms and he held her. "Sandy, thank you. No one else could have done what you just did. It worked because there are too many guys out there who know you and know it's true. I had forgotten, but now I remember you on your hands and knees scrubbing wash rooms. You did do all the grubby jobs. Did you ever wash dishes in the cafeteria, though?"

Sandy smiled through her tears and held up her hands, "How do you think they got this awful?"

Max took them in his. "They look awfully good to me. I guess you recovered."

He looked at the others. "We scheduled a vote for tomorrow but I think you won it tonight. Sandy, let's get those jobs back. Okay?"

Cliff had loaned her a handkerchief, and she was drying her eyes. She gave him back his handkerchief and put her hand out to Max. "It's a deal! Let's make it happen quick."

-------

The vote the next day was a formality. The strike vote was heavily defeated. Subsequently, Sandy got a call from Ezra Stiles. He pointed out to her that she had revealed herself as the Murphy heir, and that was contrary to the spirit, if not the letter, of the will.

Again, Cliff was listening as she responded, "Mr. Stiles, that's interesting. I asked you that very question a few days ago. You said there was no problem. It's curious, too, Ezra. There were three other people who heard you tell me that, so I would suggest you not try to make an issue of it.

"Incidentally, it has become necessary to terminate Mr. Budd as personnel director. We were planning on giving him six-months pay in lieu of notice. Do you think that's fair enough?" Stiles agreed that it was. He hung up, obviously miffed that his plan had been thwarted.

Cliff pretended to be stern. "Miss Donnell, hiring and firing are the prerogatives of the chief executive. Are you presuming to encroach?"

Before she could say anything, he had her in his arms, and kissed her. She could feel her knees buckle as she clung to him. When they separated, her eyes were glazed. Although Cliff tried teasing her again, all he got from her was a loving murmur.



-------

Chapter 11



Cliff was visiting Jack Crowther, vice president of purchasing at Magna Motors in Troy, Michigan. The meeting was not going well. Crowther had reviewed the business Magna had given to Murphy and the reasons for it. Then he dropped the bomb: "Cliff, I'm sorry you came over today. You would have received the word in Milwaukee tomorrow. We're cutting off Murphy as a supplier, effective at the end of your current order. I guess that's in about three or four weeks. I'm sorry, Cliff, but your quality is not nearly good enough.

"Until now your prices were lower than Ajax, so we still gave you some business. But Ajax has just informed us they will meet your prices and deliver their quality. I can't fight that. Their quality is substantially superior to yours. I appreciate what you told me about the upgrading you have in process, but I'm afraid it's too late. Ajax quality is here now. It's a known quantity.

"You hope to get there, and frankly, I hope you do, too. We like to have at least two suppliers for important products like those you supply. But I can't live with the level of rejects you've been shipping me over the last few years."

The two men were alone in Jack's office. Nevertheless, Crowther looked around and then continued in a confidential tone, "Cliff, we have done business with Murphy since your company got started. We feel we owe you, so I'm going to tell you something that could get me fired. We're alone, so if you even hint at it, I'll flatly deny anything was ever said.

"Cliff, did you have something going with George Simpson's daughter?" Cliff admitted that he did. Crowther nodded and continued, "Simpson hates you with a passion! We were told that price was not an issue. Ajax would match your price at any level. Then the son of a bitch starts yelling that no one could say goodbye to his daughter." He looked at Cliff thoughtfully, "Did you?"

Cliff didn't know what to say. He found Jack to be a very straightforward guy, a guy he would like to work with. Since he knew much of the story anyway, Cliff saw no harm in telling him the rest. "Jack, she referred to me as her fiancé. I never proposed marriage — or anything else — to her. Then I met Sandra Donnell. Jack, I'm madly in love with her. She's ... Well, she's going to marry me."

Then commenting on the cancellation, he added, "Jack, I can say just one thing: We're going to beat Ajax on price and on quality. I've been at Murphy for less than two months. My people know you're right ... unfortunately. I'm sorry this has happened, but I understand. I hope you'll see me when I come back in a few weeks with guaranteed higher quality. Will you?"

"I sure will, Cliff. Just between us, George Simpson is an insufferable son of a bitch. I don't like him, but more important, we don't like him. He does deliver reliable quality, though. But do you hear what I'm saying?"

Cliff nodded, left the office and went to a pay phone. He called Sandy back in Milwaukee. "Hon, the roof just fell in. We just lost the Magna Motors business. I don't have to tell you where that leaves us."

There was silence for a few moments. Then Sandy said, "Cliff, I'll tell Steve immediately. I guess we'll just have to hustle for business to try to make it up. Darling, I love you and miss you. Please, may I pick you up at the airport tonight?"

"Honey, I would love it. You have the flight information. I'll call you at the office or at home if anything changes."

When Cliff hung up, Sandy called Steve Muller. "Could you come in here right away?" He said he'd be right there, and moments later was.

Meanwhile Sandy was on the phone to the Bank of Chicago, and Charley Adams. "Charley, this is Sandy Donnell. I'm calling to alert you that we're going to be drawing into our line next Monday. The first take-down will be $25 million. Does that cause you any problems?"

"Of course not, Sandy. And since you called, I want to thank you again for your business. You and Cliff told me what you would do, and you're doing it precisely as you laid it out. I appreciate it and so does the bank's top management. I also appreciate the courtesy of the phone call. You'll have the $25 million in your account on Monday morning."

She went into Cliff's office and went behind his desk with Steve following. She felt it was time to act like the alter ego Cliff had said she was. "Steve, I've just had terrible news from Cliff: Magna has canceled it's order. The business we ship on the present contract is the end. You know as well as I do that it's over 50 percent of our volume.

"Fortunately, we're in an excellent cash position. I just picked up another $25 million from the bank. Along with the savings from the layoffs, the cash management pick up, and the money from the sale of our stores, we're in good shape that way. But, Steve, we've got to get some new business."

She avoided a grim facial expression as she spoke to him. "I wanted to tell you alone. Now what do you want to do? My inclination is to have a council of war in the board room with whichever senior people you have in the office today. Do you agree?"

As Steve looked at her, he realized three things. First, she wasn't panicking. Second, she was doing exactly what he figured Cliff would do if he were here. Finally, she owned the place, but most importantly, she knew it. "Let me get the guys together, Sandy. Could we meet in thirty minutes? I may be able to reach some more people who aren't in the office right now. And thanks for telling me alone. I appreciate it."

Thirty minutes later Sandy was standing in the board room with an easel pad set up. Steve and Jane came in. Jane told her how sorry she was. Looking into Sandy's eyes she saw that her former roommate was quite calm. Jane gave her hand a warm squeeze and took a seat. In a few minutes there were seven senior sales and marketing people in the room.

Sandy began with her voice grim, "I just received very bad news — the worst possible news. Magna Motors has canceled its contract with us. With the cancellation goes over half our volume. I'm sorry to tell you so baldly but there's no way I know to sugarcoat news like this. All we can do is pull up our socks ... or our stockings," she said, smiling at Jane, "and get more business. But where are we going to get it?"

Jane was the first to speak. "Sandy, I have an idea but it's so far out, I need some help. Could we get Bill Stevens and Max Kaufman in here, quick?"

Sandy didn't ask questions. She called the shift superintendent and said she needed to see Max Kaufman in the board room immediately. She then called Bill's office. In moments the two men arrived in the room. Sandy quickly briefed them on Cliff's message.

Then she turned back to Jane and said, "Okay, roomy. You have your audience. What now?"

Jane plunged right in. "Last week I met with Kenichi Saito, the general manager of the Kaga Motors plant in Michigan, along with his top people. It was a fascinating meeting. At the beginning, I didn't know whether to bow or shake hands and neither did they. It was odd. As you know, we've never called on them before. It turns out no other American parts supplier has either. The result was I didn't see the junior purchasing guy I had an appointment with. Instead, I saw Mr. Saito himself and his entire executive staff!

"They were surprisingly pleased to see me. It seems they have two major problems: The first is the distance from their suppliers in Japan. The lead times for ocean transport are murderous. The result is there are a lot of parts shipments that come by air: JAL [Japan Airlines] to Anchorage and then on to Detroit. I don't have to tell you what that costs! The second problem is the very strong Japanese yen. They are producing cars here to avoid getting killed by incurring yen costs and selling in dollars. Net, they're very interested in working with us.

"But there's a very big 'but': They are used to zero defects and just-in-time shipments. The way it's supposed to work is that when they're down to the rings and valves to assemble about two more engines, a truck drives up with more rings and valves. I'm exaggerating obviously, but not by very much.

"Frankly, the service and quality they're used to is what Cliff is trying to gear the company to provide to all our customers. The question is, Mr. Stevens and Mr. Kaufman, dare we try for it now? I can virtually guarantee us an order. One! Can we produce against it? It's scary. I didn't even tell this to the father of my future children."

She looked at Steve and said plaintively, "I'm sorry, honey. I was scared. I thought I would put it on the back burner and save it for when we were really doing what we all know we can and should do.

"Dare we go for it now? Remember, this is all or nothing. I don't see us getting two trips to the plate. We get a hit or we forget it."

Sandy's face had been impassive throughout Jane's recital. When Jane finished, she looked at Bill Stevens. "Bill, you heard our Key Accounts Manager. We have a shot at a major new account. What's the status of our production equipment right now?"

Bill swallowed hard and said, "We've got six machines in A-1 condition: better than new. I'll have a seventh next week and could have the eighth the week after. Whether we'll need all ten, I don't know. But Sandy, we have an important friend at Micronics. If we ordered new machines, I think we could get two brand new ones in one hell of a hurry. Our statistical quality control is in place ... on paper. We've done it for practice, but I've been waiting for Cliff before we shift over. I guess that's about it."

"Thanks, Bill. Make the move to the full-bore statistical control effective with the next shift. Now, Max, it comes down to the people. It's up to the machine operators. They've got to do what we all know they can do. They'll be making different valves and rings, but they still power internal-combustion engines," she said with a grin, "so they can't be that different.

"You know, Max, there's a lesson here for all of us. Sales has teed up the ball. The company has upgraded the tools to a produce at a level of precision we haven't had in years. I guess I'm saying management has done all it can. Now the question is do the workers want their jobs? If they do what they're capable of doing, I think we'll make it. If they don't, we're in deep trouble. We may fold. We've just lost over half our sales volume. What do you say, Max?"

Max smiled at her. "I say what I said a few weeks ago. All the Murphys would be proud ... real proud. Would you like to talk to the men, Sandy?"

"No, Max. Thank you. There are two reasons: First, if anyone from management talks to the people, it has to be Cliff. Second, I don't think it should come from us at all. It isn't an order. It can't be. I think it should come from you and your people in the local."

Max was initially stunned by her reaction. Then he realized the significance of what she was saying. He looked at her with deep respect in his eyes. "Thank you, Miss Donnell. You're saying the union represents the workers. It's our job to make them see where their own interests lie — their personal interests. I like that, Miss Donnell. I sincerely hope we make it. This is becoming a very interesting and a very good company to work for.

"Bill, could we have a special break so I can talk to the people right now? I assume Miss Miller is waiting to call Kaga, pending the outcome, right?"

Sandy nodded, and Bill called the superintendent. Moments later, the plant whistle blew signaling stop work. Max went down to the shop floor followed by the rest of the people who had been in the meeting. While a portable PA system was being set up, Max hurriedly briefed the other officers of the local before he went to the podium and started speaking.

"Brothers and Sisters! A few weeks ago we had a meeting. We talked about the changes that were coming. We heard that under the new arrangement the workers would be responsible for quality, not a bunch of inspectors. We heard the owner, and we believed her.

"Today, the company received terrible news. Our contract to supply Magna Motors has been canceled. That's over 50 percent of the company's sales. It was canceled because of very poor quality, by the way — the very thing the new program is designed to address.

"We can't blame management. Mr. Fitzpatrick identified the problems and moved to solve them faster than anyone would have thought possible. He was unlucky. Magna didn't give him the time to get our quality back to where it should be. He's doing all the right things, but he didn't come in here last year or the year before. He only came here a couple of months ago. Nevertheless, he has done what he said he would do: Our production equipment is better than it's ever been. Our floor layout makes sense for the first time in years.

"Now it's up to us. It's really up to us!

"We have one of the finest industrial sales organizations in American industry. The company's top salesman ... saleswoman, Jane Miller, has developed an opportunity for us. I've heard you all bitching about the damned Japanese. How they work for coolie wages ... even when we know it's not true. The fact of the matter is we're jealous! They build first-rate automobiles. The fit and finish are beautiful. They don't rattle or fall apart. They are very well made is why. We wish we could do as well, and we know damned well we don't.

"Jane Miller has provided us with a new opportunity. We have the opportunity to supply rings and valves to Kaga Motors at its plant in Michigan. Now the question is, can we? Are we good enough craftsmen to build precisely to specification every damned time? Are we? The equipment Miss Donnell has given us to work with can.

"But are we good enough? There's a big risk. I can't stress this too much. We have only one chance! If we blow it, it's gone for good. If we make it, we've saved the company, saved our jobs, and started on the road to more jobs to rehire our brothers and sisters who were laid off.

"Today, I asked Miss Donnell to address you people. She refused. She said the union speaks for the workers. That's what we're here for. It's clear that management has done everything it can. Are we going to work to save our own jobs? Are we going to accept the challenge? Can we perform as well as Japanese workers? Well, can we? What do you say?"

There was a moment of quiet as the amplified sound of Max's voice reverberated around the plant. Then a cheer began. It built as more workers picked it up and made it louder. In moments the roof was shaking from the roar of noise.

At that point, Sandy went up to the podium. She took Max's hand and raised it up with hers. She hit the PA's volume control and yelled into the mike, "That's the answer I wanted to hear! We're going for it!"

Max took her around a corner where they could be heard. The cheering continued unabated. "Sandy, you are a piece of work. I don't know what to say, except I'm very proud to be working for you." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and went back up to the office and the board room.

Everyone was present except Jane who came in a few minutes later and said, "Sandy, you're going to have good news for Cliff. I'm going over first thing in the morning to work out the details of the first order. Incidentally, they didn't even ask about price. Their concerns are quality and shipment reliability. It's not Magna's volume, but it's a start."

They spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing their position customer by customer. By the end of the day, including an estimate of Kaga's initial volume, they had recovered about half the lost Magna volume from other customers. The sales people were set to move the next morning to convert the potential to actual orders.

-------

Sandy was waiting at the security barrier when Cliff came up the concourse. Her heart fell as she saw how defeated he looked. She spoke softly, "Hi! Looking for a hot date for the evening, mister?"

Cliff heard her and immediately perked up. "I might be interested. Are you giving samples?"

She went into his arms and melted him with her kiss. Passers-by turned and gaped at the tall couple locked in a passionate embrace. Cliff gently eased her away to catch his breath. "The sample was okay — no, to be fair, it was better than okay. It was ... It was almost good."

He smiled tiredly, "It was great! I must have looked about knee-high to a snake's belly coming up the concourse. At least, that's how I felt. How did you make out after my call?"

"Make out how? I only make out with you, Clifford, and you weren't even here," she replied with a grin.

"Sandra Donnell, I think I shall strangle you. But I will give you one more chance. I can tell you what you did: You called Steve and told him. Then you had a meeting in the board room with all the sales and marketing people. Then what happened?"

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Because it's what I would have done if I had been there, so I know it's what you did. Now quit screwing around and tell me what happened."

"Can we stop in the bar so I can tell you in a more private setting?"

They found a quiet table in the cocktail lounge, which was very quiet now that the evening peak for flights had passed, and they ordered beers. Sandy told him about Jane's meeting with Kaga and its requirements. Then she told about the meeting with Bill and Max, and finally Max's meeting with the membership. Finally, she told him about the Kaga order and the others that she thought looked pretty good.

Cliff nodded and shook his head. "I think it's a good thing you told me here at the airport. This way I can stay and get the next connection to Hawaii. You sure don't need me around the office. Honey, you were brilliant. I love you dearly, but I don't need a beer, I need you ... badly! Let's just go home, okay?"

Sandy looked worried. "Cliff, you're not too mad, are you? All I did was what I thought you would want me to do. Was it all right?"

"Honey, it was perfect!

"You know, I just had a thought: Neither you nor Jane are bra-burning women's libbers, although neither of you needs the bras you wear. Nevertheless, you are sure advancing the cause of women in business. I'm particularly impressed with what Jane did with Kaga. That was absolutely brilliant. Can we go home and go to bed now? Please? Otherwise, I'll check around the airport and see if I can get some better offers."

-------

Sandy had to pull Cliff out of bed the next morning to get ready to go to work. Neither had gotten any sleep to speak of. Whenever one had been about to fall asleep, the other would initiate another round of lovemaking. It had been a wonderful, if sleepless, night.



-------

Chapter 12



Early the next week, Cliff had a rare staff meeting to review the company's condition subsequent to the Magna cancellation. He was surprised to find that things were as good as they were. The sale of stores had progressed far faster than he had expected. They had concluded the sale of the western stores and a surprising number of buyers — three — were interested in all or parts of their northeastern properties.

The search for new business had gone remarkably well. They had made up almost half the lost volume. But Cliff realized their success was highly dependent on the success of the Kaga work. With the hoped-for Kaga volume added to the other new business, they would have made up all of the lost Magna volume. Everyone had his fingers crossed on that one.

He turned to Jeff Stover. "How do things look to you, Jeff?"

"Very good!" was the reply. "We seem to be cutting raw material waste to the bone. Of course, we're saving big money on personnel due to the staff reduction in production. We hope to cut sales allowances, too. Then we've done a pretty good job on below-the-line costs, as well. We've shed some fairly high-priced executive payroll. Finally, Sandy's cash management program has succeeded far beyond anything I would have believed possible. Between the sale of property and the cash freed up there, we may even be cash ahead.

"Cliff, the key to this whole thing is the effect it's having on our cost position. When we looked at the business in the planning session we were cost disadvantaged against Ajax and had inferior quality. I think we may now be the low-cost producer. I'm sure we're lower-cost than Ajax, at any rate. Now the question is product quality."

"Yeah," Cliff said, "Product quality. Bill, what about it? How are we doing?"

"Cliff, we're doing better than I could possibly have hoped. My people have their fingers crossed. We think the statistical system for quality assurance is working, but we can't really tell until the customers use the stuff. But we couldn't have a better attitude on the floor than we do now. What we can't be sure about is whether we can maintain it. There's still a sense of euphoria from the meeting Max ran. The people still seem all charged up.

"What we're hoping is that as the euphoria wears off — and it has to — it will be replaced by a sense of accomplishment as they see what they really can do on their own, without a battalion of inspectors looking over their shoulders. If a sense of accomplishment comes, that can be maintained. Let's hope!"

Bill continued, "Cliff, I have a question. You're the one guy around here who doesn't seem to be surprised at our accomplishments. We always worked on a basis of redoubling our inspection efforts and clearly that wasn't the way to go: We had the wonderful combination of sky-high costs and lousy delivered quality. Why did you think this approach would work?"

"First, Bill — your choice of words is apt: 'You think'. I would have used the word 'hope' myself. However, there are two parts to the answer: First it works elsewhere, and in places requiring less skill than we require. Second, but related to it, is the idea people want to do a good job. We spend a lot of our time working. We do a hell of a lot better if we do something we like, something that gives us satisfaction. I'm relying on these people to derive personal satisfaction from a job well done.

"You can see that having bunches of people looking over your shoulder can be counterproductive. You feel that you aren't being trusted. And you know what? You aren't! It's easy for a person to get the feeling that it doesn't matter whether his work is good or bad. Then it gets bad because he doesn't care anymore. Let's keep our fingers crossed and hope the experiment works."

Then he turned to Sandy and asked, "Do you want to summarize? How does the position of the company look to you?"

"I think it looks about as good as it possibly could under the circumstances. In fact, based on what Jeff says, I'm going to pay down the $25 million we borrowed from the bank. Strangely enough, Charley Adams will love us. There's nothing quite like having a customer paying interest on a loan when the money never even left the bank. From the sound of it, we lost revenue but reduced our expenses even more. Is that right, Jeff? Do you think profits may be ahead of where they were?"

Jeff nodded and smiled. "That's exactly the way I see it, Sandy. I didn't really say it very clearly because I know what a shock the loss of the Magna business was. And I also know how tenuous our position is with Kaga. But the fact is, right now, I believe our profits are up. If we lose out on the Kaga order, though, things could change for the worse in a hell of a hurry.

"Also important is how well we do with our stores in Southern Region. We're spending a lot of money on warehousing, new inventory and store upgrading. Basically, that's marketing spending. As Cliff stressed in the meeting, the reason Market Penetration as a strategy is considered high risk is the activities have little or no salvage value. If we can't build volume through the stores as a result of improving their physical appearance, the money is essentially down the drain."

"Good point, Jeff," Cliff agreed. "Steve, with your permission and Jane's, I would like to visit Kaga Motors. What's the general manager's name? Saito?"

"That's right," Jane responded. "I'm sure he would be very pleased to see you. I'll set it up. When would you like to go?"

"When is the first trial order scheduled to be shipped?"

"Tomorrow night to arrive at ten o'clock Thursday morning. You're not thinking... ?"

"I sure am thinking," Cliff smiled. "What do you think about the idea of being at their plant to welcome the first shipment of Murphy Manufacturing's parts? Would Mr. Saito allow it?"

"I'm almost certain he would," Jane replied. "In fact, I think he would consider it an honor. You know how so many Japanese in the States feel that they aren't really welcome? I think he would be very pleased. Can I call him now?"

"Please do! Let's see if we can make this work."

Minutes later Jane returned to the room grinning from ear to ear. "Mr. Saito asked me to say that he would be most honored if the president of a major United States auto parts supplier condescended to visit his humble facility. And Cliff, that's more or less a direct quote. He was so excited, he referred to welcoming Fitzpatrick-san to his plant. Boss, you started me thinking. Would it be overkill if we tried to get a banner made or something. You know, 'First Shipment of Murphy Manufacturing Company Parts to Kaga Motors USA'. Something like that?"

Bill Stevens jumped on the idea. "I think it's great. And I have an idea I want to bounce off Max Kaufman if you approve the banner idea." Cliff grinned at his colleagues and was delighted at their enthusiasm. Plans went forward, although Bill never told him what he wanted to see Max about.

It was about six-thirty in the evening when Cliff and Sandy walked through the plant on their way to his car. Sandy had decided that everyone knew where they were sleeping and no one seemed to care, so her contribution to the economy drive was her gas money. They both felt good about the way the whole facility was starting to look. Not only were the production machines sparkling after their overhaul, but getting rid of dead inventory had freed up a lot of space. They had noticed that a lot more attention was being spent on housekeeping to make the place look like the precision manufacturing facility it was.

Then Cliff was surprised to see working lights still on in the area of one of the production machines. They walked over and found Bill Stevens with a machine operator.

Bill was looking at a bright set of rings he was holding carefully in his hand. "Cliff, I don't think you've ever met Jim Wozlowski. He's one of our machinists producing rings. He talked to his supervisor, and I'm really glad he did. Jim has been working on the Kaga order. He has the idea that they could get better engine performance if they used a different metallurgical formulation for the ring metal. This is another benefit of your talk, Sandy. Everyone took it to heart, and the communication both ways has never been better.

"At any rate, Jim has been working on his own time to machine a set of rings to Kaga specs, but using the different metal. Our tech people agree with Jim, by the way. Of course, we don't know nearly enough about the internal arrangement of their pistons, operating temperatures, pressures and so forth. We produce to a specification, but we seldom know how the specification was derived. But what do you think?"

Cliff looked at Sandy and winked, then looked back at Bill and Jim. "I think it's great. Jim, you probably know I'm going over to meet the first shipment when it arrives at Kaga. Do you suppose we could get a fancy box — you know ... like a jewelry box? — and put a set of rings in it? I would like to present it to Mr. Saito. And Jim, let's enclose a card. I would like you personally to sign it. Sandy, could you help with the wording?"

As they continued their walk to the car, he said, "It's working. Damn it! It's working! Let's pray it's good enough."

-------

Jane and Cliff drove up to the entrance of Kaga Motors in a rental car at nine-thirty Thursday morning. He didn't know what to expect except he knew they were most welcome. When they arrived at the main entrance to the plant office, they found Mr. Saito and all his senior plant staff waiting outside to greet them. There followed the usual East-meets-West fumbling. Neither group was quite sure whether to bow or shake hands so they ended by doing a bit of both. The one constant was the very rapid dealing out of business cards among the people.

When they finished, Mr. Saito led them up to his office. Cliff had done business in Japan, and it was easier when there were only three of them in Saito's office. He bowed gravely to Mr. Saito and presented him with a box wrapped in gay floral paper.

At the same time one of the general manager's senior assistants appeared with two boxes which he placed on his boss's desk. Saito — he informed Cliff his name was Kenichi, so please call me Ken — opened the box and saw the set of beautifully machined rings. Neatly folded on top was the letter Jim Wozlowski and Sandy had prepared. He unfolded it, carefully read it through, and then read it again. Then he carefully studied the rings without touching them. Finally, he presented gifts to Jane and Cliff "as a small remembrance of your visit."

After they took seats Saito looked thoughtful and said, "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I am very impressed with this gift. Would it be possible to get eleven more sets for testing? They would be shipped by air to our research center in Japan. As you may know, we work differently with our suppliers than your auto companies do here. We look for commitment. We look for ideas. It never occurred to me that your people could possibly care enough about us to think seriously about our requirements.

"I was wrong. Mr. Woz ... Wozel ... Jim ... thought a great deal. He is apologetic that he doesn't know our pressures, temperatures, and so forth. I will make sure you have a full set of our technical data to bring back with you to Milwaukee. This counts for a very great deal with us. Thank you very much, and please thank him."

Just then they heard the loud squawk of a diesel tractor's air horn. Cliff glanced at his watch, and noticed Saito did, too. They both smiled. It was exactly ten o'clock as the truck with the big red Murphy banner rolled into the yard.

Saito smiled and said, "Score another for your company, Mr. Fitzpatrick. It's clear you understand the way we work. Ten o'clock is ten: not eleven, but not nine-thirty, either."

"Ken, I would appreciate it if you would call me Cliff. Everyone does. Now shall we go and inspect the shipment?"

It was obvious to Jane and Cliff that things at Kaga were going as well as they possibly could for them. Clearly, the things the Murphy people had done were being received in the spirit intended. When they reached the truck, Cliff was amazed to see Max Kaufman standing with the driver.

He presented him to Saito. "Mr. Saito, it's my pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Max Kaufman. Mr. Kaufman is president of the union at Murphy Manufacturing. Frankly, I have no idea what brings him over today. Max, this is Mr. Kenichi Saito, general manager of the Kaga Motors plant."

Cliff and Jane watched in amazement as Max made a deep bow to Mr. Saito who gravely returned it. Max then took a large scroll and presented it to Saito who untied the ribbon securing it and unrolled it. Cliff was in a position to see it over Saito's shoulder. It was a handsomely prepared scroll that said the workers at Murphy Manufacturing believed they were as dedicated to quality as they knew the people at Kaga were. Accordingly, each of the production workers involved in the trial order from Kaga had signed below, indicating his personal dedication to producing the quality he knew Kaga expected and needed.

Meanwhile, the truck had backed up to the receiving dock and the unloading had begun. Cliff saw quality control inspectors selecting random boxes to be opened for checking. This was the moment of truth. Ken asked Max to join them and asked if he could give them a tour of the plant, an invitation they gladly accepted. First, Cliff was interested, and second, it beat sitting and chewing his nails while waiting for the inspection report.

The facility was as clean, neat and organized as Cliff had expected it would be. Finally, they went back to Saito's office. There was a piece of paper in the center of his desk: the verdict. Saito studied it carefully. "The shipment meets our specifications. Thank you very much."

He then reviewed the report with Cliff and Max. It met spec ... but just. They talked about ways to improve, and Cliff was pleased to see Max was taking very careful notes. Afterward, they went to the cafeteria to eat. As at Murphy, everyone in the facility ate in the same place.

They returned to Ken's office and prepared to leave. Then Saito asked if Murphy had a fax machine, and Cliff said they did and gave him its number. He said it was the preferred method of communication in his company.

Finally he said, "Thank you, Cliff, and you, Max, for coming over. It is premature, perhaps, but not by much, for me to tell you that I sent a fax to Japan recommending that Murphy Manufacturing be accepted as a regular supplier. Jim's rings are now on their way by air to Japan. I will file a full report with my headquarters. I will tell you, though, they will be very impressed. The new metallurgy, whether it works or not, counts for a great deal. It demonstrates you are very interested in us.

"I gather, Cliff, you did not know Max was coming or that the workers prepared the lovely scroll for us. That, too, says something very important to me and to Kaga Motors. It says that your people care about us as customers. It says they care deeply about Murphy, as well. It is a tribute to you and your management.

"Finally, may I congratulate you on being represented by Miss Miller? She has done the best job of any salesperson calling on us in terms of taking the time to understand our requirements and the reasons for them, and, in turn communicating these requirements in Milwaukee. We hope she will continue to call on us. Thank you so much for coming. May I visit you, someday, in Milwaukee?"

Cliff assured him he would be welcome at any time, and they went back to the car. When they were driving toward the airport, he was the first to speak. "Are you taking the plane? If the wind weren't in the wrong direction, the way I feel I could just float back to Milwaukee. Jane and Max, you've just saved the company. That's all I can say."

Jane smiled at them both. "Max, do me a favor? Give me a big whack on the back to start me breathing again. Cliff, that has to go down as the best day of my business career, bar none, and at the same time, the most nerve wracking. I feel like laughing and crying at the same time ... and if either of you even thinks 'emotional woman, ' I'll kick you in the balls!"

"I know just how you both feel," Max said. "You know, what came to my mind was when my wife had our first child. It was great when it happened, but it was agonizing right before!

"I want to say something else: Cliff, I was right about you ... more right than I knew. You came into Murphy and did all the right things from the very beginning. Even some things, like chopping the product line, that scared hell out of me. The boys and me ... Well, we know about your contract. We know it has performance requirements in it, although we don't know what they are.

"Frankly, we don't give a shit. I also know you and Sandy have been coming and going in the same car, and I don't think it's a car pool. We do care about that. We love it! With you two together, we really feel good about Murphy. Damn, it feels good to win one once in a while!"

"Max," Cliff said, "let's drink to that! I'm buying when we get to the airport."



-------

Chapter 13



Three weeks had passed, and they were good ones for Murphy Manufacturing. As expected, two days after the visit to Kaga, Cliff received a firm order for production quantities. Quality of production was even better as the crew got used to the new system. Finally, the previous Friday they had heard that the preliminary tests on the new piston rings were very promising.

Cliff had asked for the PA system to be set up as it had been when the Kaga order was first discussed. He addressed the workers this time. "Folks, I have a letter I want you all to hear. It's from the managing director of Kaga Motors in Japan. He is writing to inform me we have been selected as the first American auto parts supplier to be designated a preferred provider for their company. He continues by saying this selection is based on a number of criteria:

"The first is product quality. The trial quantity met their specifications. The first production shipment exceeded them ... substantially. The second is timely delivery. He says they do not get as good service from their long-term suppliers in Japan. But the final criterion is attitude. Mr. Saito, general manager in Michigan, sent to company headquarters near Tokyo the scroll you people signed and sent with the first shipment. That's dedication, the very best possible attitude. He wants me to tell you that he and his fellow directors in Japan are most impressed.

"Finally, and this is the real reason for calling you all together. I am now quoting from his letter: 'Please extend our deepest appreciation to Mr. Jim Wozlowski of your company. Preliminary tests indicate the rings Mr. Wozlowski fashioned may be significantly superior to the ones we are now using. My technical people express their astonishment that Murphy Manufacturing could possibly have workers who are so good and so dedicated that they can improve on our design without even knowing the technical specifications of our engine. Nevertheless, he seems to have done so.

"'Mr. Fitzpatrick, this indicates dedication to your company's interests and to ours. This is the finest possible attitude. Needless to say, if Mr. Wozlowski's ring is adopted, Murphy Manufacturing will be the preferred worldwide supplier for them. In addition, we will, of course, pay you a royalty on all rings we use made from that design produced by any other manufacturer.'

"Folks, all Miss Donnell and I can say is, thank you. You are doing what you set out to do. Incidentally, where's Jim Wozlowski?" Jim waved his hand. "What are you standing there for, for chrissakes? Your plane for Orlando leaves in only three hours, and I hope to hell you're not going to go looking like that. As a very small expression of the company's appreciation, we have first-class tickets for you and your entire family to Florida and an all-expense paid trip to Disney World. And Jim, you'll get a significant piece of any royalties the company receives. Now get the hell out of here!"

There was a great cheer as Jim ran out to his car.

"Before you all go, there's just one more thing I wanted to say. Miss Donnell and I recognize that dedication is a two-way street. Jim demonstrated it, and we're trying to reward him for it. The same thing applies to all of you. Once again, thank you all. You're really doing the job I knew you would!"

Sandy was sitting in his office and they were drinking their coffee. "I guess the honeymoon's really over," Cliff sad sadly, "when a guy has to subsist on company coffee instead of a hearty breakfast."

Sandy glared at him while trying to hide a grin. "If you were closer I would kick you, and you know where. First, it takes a damned crane to get you out of bed, and then you sexually assault me in the kitchen while the eggs burn. Then you have the gall to complain about no breakfast. The nerve!"

Cliff tried to look innocent. "Now wait a minute! The reason it takes a crane is you sexually attack me all night long! And maybe I wouldn't assault you in the kitchen if you had more clothes on ... if you had any clothes on!"

They both grinned and Sandy stuck out her tongue at him. He changed the subject. "How do you feel about coming down to Charlotte with me? There are some bankers down there to see, and I know JL and his boys would love to see you, too. This is the second big bet. What do you think about the prospects for our renovated auto parts business?"

"I have my fingers crossed," she replied. "But I would love to, even though Charlotte can get pretty hot this time of year. Do you want me to make plans to come with you?"

"I sure do! We might as well both be hot. Sandy, this is a stupid question, I know, but do you play golf?"

"I thought you would never ask! Yes, I play golf. And God knows, it took you long enough to get around to it." She grinned and added, "Are you thinking of taking up an outdoor sport? I thought you were ... Never mind what I thought you were. But why do you ask?"

"Because they take their golf seriously down there, and JL asked me to bring my clubs. Do you have any to bring? If not, we can always rent you some."

"Yes, smarty, I have clubs. I also have a handicap. I will also beat the pants off you. Want to bet?"

"Sure, I'll bet. What's your handicap, by the way?"

"I'll tell you when we play. I don't want to frighten you off too soon."

They caught a United flight to Charlotte and were met by JL at the airport. Jeff Stover was right. This was a big risk. In the planning session JL Wilson and his people sounded like they knew the business and knew their market. Everyone would soon know if they really did. With the Kaga business, Murphy was out of the tank. But if the Southern Stores project really bombed, they would be right back in it again. They went to claim their baggage and JL was surprised that there were two golf bags.

"Sandy Donnell, you've been holding out on me again!" JL said, "I never knew you played golf."

"Come on, JL!" she replied with a grin. "A girl's got to have some secrets."

They went to the hotel, checked in, and then went out to one of the renovated auto parts stores. It was a unit Cliff had seen on his first visit but now he didn't recognize it. The lighting had been vastly improved, and was very effective after dark, giving the store a bright, attractive appearance. JL told them they had extended the hours of operation and were using numbers of permanent part-time people to handle it. They walked in and were surprised at the weekday evening activity.

"How long has this place been reopened?" Cliff asked.

"We re-opened ten days ago," JL replied. "It sure looks good to me. How does it look to you?"

"It looks like you're doing a land-office business. Sandy, what do you think?"

"Hell," she said, "I'm only the treasurer. What do I know? JL, how are the numbers? Or do you know yet?"

"Ma'am, they are just great! One of Kevin O'Rourke's guys was down and set up our accounting system on one of those personal computers. It works great! We're running 300 percent of last year. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great to me," Sandy replied, "but as I said, I'm only the treasurer. What do you think, Cliff?"

"Any time sales increase by a factor of three, I'm in favor." he replied. "What do we do now?"

"How would you like some real Carolina barbecue? It's not like anything you ever get up north. Care to try?" JL asked.

They both agreed, and JL took them to a family barbecue restaurant. JL ordered for the table. What they received was barbecued pork, not the spare ribs they had expected. There were a bunch of other dishes with it. JL was a little concerned, with Sandy present, that the place only served beer and soft drinks.

Before she had a chance to answer, Cliff spoke for her. "Sandy is a beer drinker from way back. Remember, she's from Milwaukee, the home of a whole bunch of beers and a whole bunch of beer drinkers."

They had a very pleasant evening together. JL dropped them off at the hotel, and they went up to their rooms. Then Sandy took a coin from her purse and looked at Cliff. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads," he said.

She flipped the coin, caught it, and placed it on the back of her left hand. Making sure Cliff was looking, she removed her right hand covering the coin. "It's tails. You lose."

"What did I lose?" Cliff asked.

"We sleep in my bed, not yours," she answered dryly. "Get your razor, and let's get to bed." Once in bed, Sandy molded herself to his body and fell asleep.

-------

They spent the next day visiting other stores in varying stages of renovation. Two were complete, although they had not yet had their official "Grand Re-Opening" celebrations. Sales in all the units were going very well. When they returned to JL's office, Cliff asked him what he thought the cause was.

"Well, sir, I'll tell you. I think about 40 percent is the new merchandise assortment, 40 percent is the store renovation and improved layout, and the last 20 percent is better employee morale. They feel like they belong, not like they're a bunch of stepchildren. I'll tell you, it hasn't been like this in a long, long time."

They went over the sales reports for the entire Southern Division, store by store. Finally, Cliff looked at the other two and said, "Damn! I think it's going to work. It's really going to work! Congratulations, JL, this is even better than we hoped for. You and your people are doing a great job!"

That evening JL and his wife, Marlene, took them to a fine place for dinner and dancing. During the evening, Sandy learned that Marlene was an avid golfer. "Hey, guys!" Sandy said. "Marlene and I are taking you on in golf tomorrow. Full handicaps, of course. JL, Cliff and I have a little side bet, but Marlene and I will play you two in a $20 Nassau, okay?"

"You're on, little ladies," JL answered. He looked at his wife affectionately. "But damn! Marlene and I were counting on trimming the damnyankees again, too!"

The next morning, JL picked them up at the hotel and drove them out to his club. They had a nine o'clock tee time, and arrived at the club early. Sandy and Cliff went to the practice tee to warm up. Cliff hadn't swung a club in over a year, and was pretty sure Sandy hadn't played in months, at least. He did some limbering exercises and then started hitting balls, beginning with his very short irons.

Meanwhile, Sandy had gone to the opposite end of the practice tee. Cliff could have been a very good golfer if he played more. After taking a few shots with various clubs, he got up to his driver. He started pounding out shots that appeared to be carrying 250 yards or more. His notorious slice seemed to have disappeared.

Then he looked up and watched Sandy. It came as no surprise to him that she had a very graceful, fluid swing. At 5 feet 8 inches, she was a tall girl, and she used her height effectively. She was not as long as he was, but was far longer than any woman he had ever played with.

They went to the first tee. Cliff played to a USGA handicap of sixteen. On this course, it became a playing handicap of eighteen. He asked Sandy what her handicap was and was told it was a twelve on the course. He was getting six strokes, but was giving her the distance between the men's and women's tees.

"What's our bet?" he asked Sandy.

"I'll tell you when we're done," she replied with a grin.

The men teed off from the white tees. Cliff's layoff of nearly a year showed on his first drive. The slice that had disappeared on the practice tee came back with a vengeance on his first tee shot. Although he sliced it into the woods, it seemed to be close enough to the fairway to still be in play. JL obviously played a great deal. He wasn't as long as Cliff, but a lot straighter. Marlene hit her tee shot off the forward tee short and straight.

Then Sandy addressed her ball and swung with the very fluid, graceful swing Cliff had seen on the practice tee. She hit the ball beautifully. It landed just to the right of the fairway centerline with a slight draw on it. The draw — really top-spin — caused the ball to roll, adding to its distance. She was almost 200 yards out in the middle of the fairway. Cliff had been watching the women tee off. After Sandy hit, he turned to JL and said wryly, "Why is it I think this is going to be a very long and expensive morning?"

The front nine became a match between Sandy and JL. The man was sweating. He was far more practiced than she was, and it was his home course which gave him another advantage. For her part, she was nearly as long off the tee as he was, and was deadly inside 125 yards. Her short game and putting were devastating. As they made the turn, the women were up by two holes.

"Cliff, do you feel rich and foolish?" JL asked. "How about pressing them on the back side?"

"Let's do it," Cliff replied. "It doesn't matter if I don't have any money to live on for the next six months. There's a lesson here somewhere I need to learn."

The match had evened by the time they reached the 18th hole. On a par three, Cliff had put his tee shot just a few feet from the pin and won the hole with a birdie. On the top handicap hole on the back nine, Cliff and Sandy both had pars, but he won it because of the stroke she gave him. If the men won the last hole, they would be the winners.

Although they had lost the front nine, the back nine was worth twice as much because of the press, and they would win the match. If the hole was even, they would be even on the nine, even on the match, and down $20 for the front nine. The way the day had gone, losing only $20 would be a moral victory.

The last hole was 475 yards for men, but only 400 for the women, played to an elevated green. The hole was a par-5, and the 8th handicap hole for men. Cliff didn't get a stroke. During the round Cliff had finally controlled his slice. His tee shot was his best of the day. He got his full power into the ball and powered it over 250 yards. JL hit his usual straight ball but not nearly as far. Marlene hit, and finally Sandy.

She, too, had her best drive of the day. The ball traveled over 225 yards. Playing from the forward tee, her ball was ahead of Cliff's on the fairway. As they walked down the fairway, JL was shaking his head. "I used to say my mommy didn't raise any dumb kids, but now I just don't know. Why is it I feel this young lady is sandbagging us? You know, Cliff, she is good — I mean real good! You mean to say she hasn't been practicing all summer?"

Cliff grinned at the older man. "JL, I can assure you she hasn't had a club in her hand since I joined the company on April 1. I wouldn't say it to her, but it's fun watching her swing. I agree. She is very good and beautiful to watch."

JL grinned back. "And that's not limited to her swing, either!"

It was a very warm day in July, with the temperature in the nineties. Because they had chosen to take caddies not carts, all four were feeling the heat. JL and Marlene hit their second shots well, but it didn't look like they would be in contention on the hole.

It was Cliff's turn to hit. He looked at his partner and said, "How about if I go for it? I don't think we're going to win if we play it safe."

JL gave a rebel yell that startled some golfers on an adjacent hole. "That's what I like to hear! Go for it!"

Cliff forced himself to relax as he addressed his ball with a 3-wood. He caught it beautifully. The ball hit just in front of the green and bounced up moving to the right of the pin. Sandy had watched him and then went to her ball. She also took a wood, grinned at Marlene, and hit her ball. It, too, hit just at the crest of the hill and bounced over, going straight for the pin. Cliff and JL looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Damn!" JL exclaimed. "This is the last time I play against a treasurer. They just can't stand to give up any money!"

By the time they reached the green, JL had to sink a very long putt for a par, and Marlene was playing for a six. Cliff was just past the pin in distance, but on the right edge of the green. He had a very long putt — 60 feet or so. He lined it up and stroked it. It was long and very difficult because the green sloped down back-to-front. He had a good line but not quite good enough. The green broke more than he had estimated and his ball rolled below the cup, leaving him a four-footer coming back.

Sandy's ball had rolled past the cup and was about twenty feet away with a downhill putt. She didn't hesitate. She looked at the line for a moment, stood over the ball and stroked it. Her putt was perfect, rolling right for the center of the cup and dropping in for an eagle three. She and Marlene hugged each other, and then went to shake hands with the men.

Cliff ignored Sandy's hand. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her soundly. Then he released her, took his putter and sank his own putt for a birdie four, even though the match was over.

"I just had to do that," he said. "It's the first time in my life I ever had two birdies in a single round!" They walked back to the clubhouse and went to the terrace for lunch.

"Gee, guys," Sandy said after they were seated, "I hate to bring it up, you understand, but that's $100 you owe each of us. The way I count, it was $20 on the front, $40 on the back, and $40 for the match. Then there's Cliff's side bet with me."

Marlene was laughing while Sandy was speaking. JL asked her, "What's so funny?"

"Before I answer, JL, I want to ask Sandy something. Sandy, JL subscribes to a lot of golf magazines including one that reports on all kinds of tournaments. Watching you today bothered me. There's something in the back of my mind I just can't reach. Tell me, did you play tournament golf?" Sandy nodded. "Of course! I seem to recall some mentions of amateur tournaments in the Midwest. College, too, maybe?" Again Sandy nodded.

Cliff watched in amazement. "Sandra Donnell! You promised me: no secrets!" he said accusingly.

Sandy grinned sheepishly. "We were talking about the company and about us. We never spoke about golf. This doesn't count."

"Sandy... !" he exclaimed.

"Well, I played a little golf when I was younger," she admitted.

"And what's 'a little golf'?" Cliff persisted.

"I was captain of the Wisconsin women's golf team and runner up in the Wisconsin and Midwest women's amateur championships," she said in a very small voice.

"And your handicap? Is that real?"

"It sure is!" she said. "I didn't play much at all for the last couple of years. You can't keep a handicap in single digits unless you play a lot."

Cliff spoke to JL. "We were had! Remember the strategy discussions in Milwaukee? I feel like a damn fool. I broke the very first rule in the strategy book: Know the competition. JL, I feel I ought to pay your share, too. It was my blunder."

"No, sir!" JL replied emphatically. "It's my fault more than yours. I've known this girl a lot longer than you have. And I hope you noticed my wife knew. And she knew from reading magazines with my name on them! No sir! There's more than enough blame to go around!"

They ate lunch, and JL asked if they would like to go swimming in the club pool. Everyone was in favor, but Sandy said she hadn't brought a bathing suit.

JL grinned. "This is my lucky day! We hate to let that money get out of state. As it happens, the pro shop sells bathing suits, too. Now why don't you just take some of that money and buy one? I know Marlene would love to help you pick one out."

The girls went off to the shop, while JL and Cliff went to the locker room to change. "I wouldn't say it with the girls around," JL said, "but that was the best damned match I've played in years. And you know what else? There's no way I mind losing if the opponent shoots an eagle to win. Cliff, we didn't lose. They won. There's a difference."

They went out to the pool deck and sat in the sun. Cliff closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard a sound, like a collective indrawn breath, from the people on the deck. He turned and saw Sandy and Marlene. Marlene had insisted that Sandy buy a white bikini which was spectacular on her. With her auburn hair, green eyes, and light tan, coupled with her perfect figure, she was breathtaking.

Cliff just said, "Wow!"

Marlene grinned, while Sandy looked like she wanted to hide. The older woman said, "What do you two think? There's a funny side to this bathing suit. It's been in the shop for months. Everyone has been looking at it but no one had the nerve to buy it. I think it's perfect on Sandy, don't you?"

JL said appreciatively, "I think Sandy would look perfect in a potato sack, but it sure does look great."

They swam, soaked up the sun, had a snack, and finally JL took them back to the airport to get a late flight home. When they were seated on the plane, she looked at Cliff, "Are you mad at me?"

"Why in hell should I be mad at you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Because I cheated you in the match and embarrassed you with the bathing suit, is why," she whispered.

"You did not cheat! You just won. As far as the bikini is concerned, you don't know much about men. You looked spectacular, honey. All I could think of was all those poor guys eating their hearts out 'cause you're mine. You are, aren't you?"

"Sure am!" she whispered, and kissed him softly.



-------

Chapter 14



It was late July and a very hot summer day in Milwaukee when Cliff got a call from Steve Muller. Steve sounded excited and asked if he could come over to see him. Cliff told him to come anytime and a few moments later he came into the office followed by Sandy Donnell and Carlos Murphy.

Carlos was their find of the year. He was a third-generation Argentinean, educated in the States. Despite its spelling, his last name was pronounced Mur-pee; Carlos spoke of his grandmother, a native-born Argentine, who never spoke a word of Spanish in her life. And, he claimed, never understood what she called "that heathen tongue," referring, of course, to Spanish. Carlos was from a town in Argentina named Murphy, as well.

Steve was never sure if they found Carlos or he found them. He was only twenty-six years old and had earned his MBA from Babson College. He had joined the company to lead its drive to increase export sales and had just returned from his first sales trip to South America.

One look at their faces told Cliff the trip had been a success. He whispered something to Sandy who grinned and left the office. "Carlos, how did it go?"

"Well, Boss, they loved our special Latin American program!"

The young man grinned broadly as he said it. The special Latin American program consisted of the most elementary things: translating the packaging materials and instructions into Spanish, preparing normal export documentation, and accepting export letter-of-credit financing. Murphy Manufacturing had never done any of those things before. Moreover, as far as anyone in the company knew, Carlos's trip was the first time anyone from Murphy had ever visited Latin America on business.

"I only went to Mexico and Venezuela on this trip. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. My first stop was Mexico City. I had a couple of names and telephone numbers of companies that had bought from us in the past on our usual export terms. I called the first name on the list."

The "customary terms" had been cash in advance, with buyer taking delivery at the Murphy shipping dock. Any special export arrangements were the buyer's problem. The only thing Murphy did was provide heavier-than-normal crating, and even that had been provided with great reluctance.

"At any rate, I introduced myself and asked for an appointment. I thought the guy was going to faint when I said I was down from Milwaukee and actually spoke Spanish. Anyway, he wouldn't hear of me coming out to see him. He came dashing down to meet me at my hotel. I guess he made a call or two before he left his office, though.

"I wasn't off the phone five minutes when it started to ring. Other auto supply people heard I was in town. Anyway, the first guy, Señor Gonzalez, arrives at the hotel, and I met him in the bar.

"Cliff, I never got out of the damned bar. And I didn't even pay for a drink. Incidentally, you know what impressed them the most? The fact that Murphy Manufacturing had an export sales manager, and was actually interested in supplying them on a consistent basis. Their history with us — and a bunch of other American auto parts companies, apparently — is we only sell them if, as, and when we have a little extra capacity. They're typically turned off more than they're on.

"Anyway, here's what I got." He took a stack of signed orders out of his briefcase.

Sandy noted that every one had a letter of credit attached. She noted, "These are prepaid orders, if I understand this stuff. Moreover, every one of the LCs is on an American bank. As I understand it, we ship the stuff. When it's received in Mexico, the LC is released and we have our cash. Right?"

"Right! Then I went to Caracas, and the same thing happened, only more so. They have more money and more big US-built cars. We haven't totaled it all, but it could total almost as much as the first Kaga order!"

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Sandy got up. She returned to Cliff's desk with a brown paper bag that had been handed to her. Then she took out a cold six-pack of beer and opened cans for everyone. "This calls for a celebration! It's hot, this is a manufacturing company — we get our hands dirty — so beer's in order. Cheers, Carlos, and congratulations!"

That afternoon, Sandy buzzed to say there was a Kelly Cameron to see them from Snyder Securities in Chicago.

"Oh, shit!" Cliff said. "I completely forgot, and the tone of your voice says I never mentioned it to you, either. Cameron is a securities analyst. I think he's the only one who follows Murphy. I was supposed to see him in April but I ducked. I guess we have to see him. Do you have time to put on your treasurer's suit?"

"Sure. I'll ask Betty to go bring up Cameron, and I'll join you in a few minutes."

Betty Ames was looking beautiful when she showed Kelly Cameron into the office. Cliff was surprised to find that Kelly was a girl, and his surprise showed on his face. The young woman appeared to be under thirty and was very attractive. She was five feet four, with short, dark hair.

She smiled and introduced herself. "I apologize for the misrepresentation, although it really isn't. My name really is Kelly. My interest is manufacturing companies, particularly automotive-related ones. A lot of your colleagues in the industry don't like dealing with women, so I guess I go out of my way not to mention that I'm female."

When Sandy entered the office and introduced herself, Kelly looked at her closely. "Miss Donnell, you're the Murphy family of Murphy Manufacturing, aren't you?"

Sandy was startled, but decided the meeting was essentially on the record. Lying to an analyst wasn't smart and could possibly cause problems with the SEC. "Yes, I guess I am, if you mean the family stock is mine. It is ... or will be in a couple of months."

Cameron took a seat and started right in. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, Murphy hasn't been going anywhere to speak of. I estimate your current sales are in the range of $500 to $600 million. For the last few years — too many years — the company has been earning about 1 percent on sales, net. That generates five to six dollars in earnings per share on the one million shares outstanding. With no growth and uninspired profits the market has been giving you a multiple of about five. The trading range for the last few years has been $20 to $30 per share.

"I recently received a tip there are major problems here and came to find out about it. First, I will tell you what I have heard, and then you can comment. Number one: You have been cut off as a supplier to Magna Motors. That was reported on the broad tape. It's about half your valve and ring business, maybe more. I would estimate the loss at about $200 million a year in sales.

"Number two: You have sold off a whole bunch of your auto parts stores. I would guess maybe two-thirds of them. That's another drop in sales of about $65 million or so.

"Add those together, Mr. Fitzpatrick, and Murphy has lost about 50 percent of its sales give or take a bit. I'm looking for your profits to drop like a stone. How am I doing? Oops! One more thing: the word around is George Simpson of Ajax hates your guts and wants to destroy you. Comment?"

"With no flattery intended, I'm impressed. You obviously know the businesses you follow and not all of your colleagues do. Let me take your comments in order. First, the history is obviously correct: the level of sales, profits, number of shares, and so forth. With respect to Magna, you are also unfortunately correct. We lost the business because of poor quality."

Kelly's eyebrows rose on his admission. "However, I have a letter I would like to show you. We have been named the first mainline American supplier to Kaga Motors' plant in Michigan. I have a letter here from the managing director in Tokyo I will share with you. In fact, I'll give you a copy if you promise not to show it to anyone until I can get express permission from Japan to give it to you." He took out the letter from his file and gave it to her.

She read it and let out a low whistle. "Mr. Fitzpatrick—"

Cliff interrupted. "Please call me Cliff. We're very informal here, and I tend to do a double-take and look for my father when someone says, 'Mister Fitzpatrick.' Will you?"

"Sure, and please call me Kelly. I don't think I'm letting down the bars too much. Anyway Cliff, if I understand this letter correctly, although you lost the Magna business on quality, that's the very basis on which you got the Kaga business. And with all due respect to our friends in Troy, Kaga would throw out what Magna terms 'commercially-acceptable quality' as totally unacceptable. What happened?"

Sandy entered the conversation. "Cliff Fitzpatrick happened. He junked a ton of old, unsalable product. There's a significant asset write-down I guess you didn't hear about, also. It's a write-off of finished goods inventory. He found that two of our ten production machines were incapable of producing parts within required tolerances and three others weren't a whole lot better. We had far more people inspecting than we had making. We don't any longer. We have had a huge employee layoff and almost took a strike that would have buried the company. Cliff persuaded the workers they could produce product every bit as good as the Japanese. The rest of the letter speaks for itself."

Cliff smiled at the two young women. "As usual, Sandy fails to mention her critical rôle in all of this. She is the one who spoke to the workers. The union president was certain the people were going to walk out. Sandy spoke to them as the owner, and they believed her. They voted to stay. I think the letter from Kaga speaks for itself.

"Incidentally, that's half of the lost Magna volume now and growing. The latest word is the new ring our guy made is going to become Kaga's standard, so there will also be royalty income we have never seen before."

"Could I go down to the factory floor?" Kelly asked. "When I visited several years ago, I was strongly discouraged from doing so."

"Of course! We would be delighted. I hope you don't mind wearing a hard hat? Oh ... there's something else. We've got coats for visitors, too." He looked at Sandy who went out and came back with a white coat with MURPHY in red capital letters across the back, and a neatly stitched badge saying Visitor on the breast. The hard hat was adjustable and from the way Kelly went to work to size it, this was a familiar process to her.

She noticed that Cliff and Sandy had their own coats with Fitzpatrick and Donnell lettered on them. Kelly decided that Sandy looked very good in her coat with the red hat that matched the lettering. She was impressed with the coats, both in terms of Sandy's appearance and because it suggested they often visited the shop floor. When they reached the floor, she was dazzled. Every worker was also wearing a MURPHY coat. Obviously there were three colors — workers, supervisors, and managers.

It was as smooth running as any manufacturing facility she had ever visited. The production machines looked brand new, and she could see where two new ones were being installed. There appeared to be substantial room for expansion.

Cliff pointed out a small quantity of Spanish-language packing materials, and then took her to the cafeteria. When they closed the door, the room was silent. Kelly noted that both Sandy and Cliff were greeted by first name by everyone. No one seemed at all impressed by the fact they were on the floor. Clearly, it was routine. They got coffee and took a table in the rear.

"We closed our dining room, so everyone eats here, now," Cliff told her.

"This is the nicest looking plant cafeteria I've ever seen!" Kelly said.

Sandy noticed that the girl looked hungry. "Kelly," she said, "do I detect skip-lunch-diet hunger pangs? If we don't feed you, you look like you'll eat the table, and I'm not sure if it's paid for yet."

The girl grinned and accepted the invitation. They went through the line again, because Sandy and Cliff hadn't eaten either. When they returned to their table, Kelly was even more impressed. "Who runs this place for you?" she asked.

"We do it ourselves," Cliff said. "We have an outstanding manager, Janet Simmons, who's been with us for years.

"Incidentally, I showed you the Spanish-language packaging. I'm going to tell you a competitive confidence. We have a new export sales manager who just returned from South America. He only returned this morning, and we're still totaling the orders he brought back with him. It appears, however, that we have enough business — paid in full, with accompanying irrevocable letters of credit — to increase our total sales volume significantly in spite of the loss of Magna. I mentioned it's in confidence. The confidence doesn't extend to the income effects, but I would just as soon not advertise to our competition how good Latin American business can be."

When they returned to the office, Kelly said, "Cliff, I'm impressed. What you're telling me is you have more than covered the loss of the Magna business, and, I infer, although neither of you said anything, at substantially higher margins. There's been an asset write-down, but that was junk, anyway.

"Would I be way off base if I guessed your costs are way down, too? For example, I don't see the normal piles of scrap lying around. I would guess your raw-material utilization is very high, and your rejects are very low. I would estimate you may be looking at a 10 percent pretax profit now. Would that be close?"

Sandy and Cliff looked at each other. Cliff shrugged and Sandy said, "If we think in terms of a reasonable range, I think you're in the ball park." Sandy continued, "Now, you mentioned our Stores Division. You're right, we did get rid of over two-thirds of our units. We got an excellent price for them, by and large. It seems they're worth a lot more to some other people than they were to us.

"The result is we plowed some of the money back into our Southern Division which is all we have left. We moved the buying function down to Charlotte for the division, changed our merchandise assortment, extended hours and renovated all the stores. Within sixty days, our sales per unit have tripled with profits up much more. The result is, Kelly, we haven't lost any sales from Stores to speak of, and are looking for substantially higher numbers next year. Our profits are ... very pleasant." Sandy finished her comments with a grin.

Kelly had been listening carefully and was now wide-eyed. "What I'm hearing is that miracles have occurred here at Murphy. You will have sales roughly even with last year or better, but with much higher profits. If nothing at all happens next year, sales will be up substantially. Moreover, I saw the new machines being put in place. That looks like a 20 percent capacity increase to me. By the way, you mentioned worn-out production equipment. That's the most un-worn-out stuff I have ever seen!"

Sandy grinned. "The folks at Micronics who built it just finished reconditioning the last machines. They tell us they're better than brand-new and our machinists agree. That's where some of the money went."

Cliff picked up the narrative. "Then, of course, we have the confidential activities of our brilliant treasurer, Sandy, who installed a new cash management system. I think it's all in now. She picked up about $75 million so we're in better shape on the balance sheet than we've been in years. There's essentially no debt. The cash pickup paid for the modernization."

"One last question," Kelly said. "Where do you stand with Magna Motors right now? I will make an observation, and I'm not asking for comment. I think you are the low-cost producer in this industry right now. Based on the Kaga letter, I have to believe you couple that with the highest quality. When I was in business school, lowest costs and highest quality were a very tough combination to beat. That's my observation. Now back to the question. What about Magna? Do you think you'll get back in?"

Cliff answered. "Yes, Kelly, I do. But you know them far better than we do. They are very slow to move ... in any direction. I believe we will get back in, but I couldn't guess when it will happen. Fair?"

"More than fair. Now one more question, completely off the record. When are you two going to get married?"

Sandy and Cliff both started to laugh. She answered, "Does it really show that much? Of course, I do worship the ground he walks on, but I didn't think it was so obvious. The answer is we haven't set a date. And this whole thing is very much off the record, please?"

Kelly grinned and nodded. "It certainly is. I'll be honest, though. I intend to send you a very nice wedding gift when you do because I am going to make an awful lot of money on Murphy stock. There's something else, though. I wasn't just being nosy. To a person like me who tries to figure out what makes a company tick, it's very important because I know you are both vital to the company. You are also great people. This has been the most enjoyable visit I have had in years, and it's going to be the most profitable one as well.

"Cliff and Sandy, do you follow the market closely?" They both shook their heads. Kelly grinned. "That's great, because if you did that, too, I would be in trouble."

Her face became serious. "The reason I asked is because something strange is going on. It was the reason for my comments at the beginning. I'm here because of an anonymous tip. You both know what the short interest is, don't you? The extent to which shares of a company are being sold short?" They both nodded.

"Well, the short interest in Murphy is big and getting bigger. I thought I had it all figured out, and was toying with the idea of joining the bears — the folks selling the stock short expecting its price to drop like a stone. You know, I think we're seeing a bear raid."

"I've heard of them," Sandy said, "but I never knew exactly how they worked. Money is made when a stock's price drops, but it never seemed like a lot of money. After all, if a stock trades at 50 and then the price falls to 40, all the short seller made was ten points. There's a lot more room on the upside."

Kelly smiled at the question and explained, "Your numbers are correct, Sandy, but you're overlooking something. Big money is made because the deal involves massive leverage. Let's take a guy with $1,000 and your example. If the guy bought the stock at 50 he would have 20 shares. Selling at 40, he loses $10 a share, or $200. To keep it simple, I'm ignoring transaction costs.

"Now take a short seller. What does he do? First, he sells 1,000 shares at 50. But he doesn't have 1,000 shares; he has none in the classic situation. What he does do is borrow the 1,000 shares to deliver against his sale, paying interest on the borrowed shares. Now the stock price drops to 40. He buys 1,000 shares at 40 using the $40,000 of the $50,000 he got when he sold the 1,000 shares. After returning the 1,000 shares he's just purchased to the owner of the borrowed shares, he's made $10,000 less the interest expense that he paid to borrow the shares in the first place. He's made a profit of nearly $10,000 on virtually no investment. His ROI is enormous." Looking at Sandy she asked, "Did you follow that?"

"I sure did," Sandy replied. "But what's a bear raid?"

"That occurs when an individual or a group starts selling lots of shares in a company short, betting the price will fall. First of all, the mere act of selling lots of shares serves to drive the price down, other things being equal. But couple that with the expectation of bad news about the company, and the share price can drop like a stone. Clearly, that's what the bears expect," Kelly explained. "But guess what? Based on what I just learned from you and Cliff, the raid is almost certain to fail. And you know something else? I'm buying. Could I use a phone outside, quick? Then I'll tell you more."

Kelly left the room, and Sandy looked at Cliff thoughtfully. "Now who do you suppose would be doing that?" she said. "It bothers me — although not for the usual reasons of ego. One of the finance department classics is a bit of doggerel: 'He who sells what isn't his'n pays the price or goes to prison.' It refers to short sellers.

"The bothersome thing is there is so little float in the stock. There are only one million shares out, and the family has more than 65 percent. It's a prescription for a classic squeeze on the shorts. They borrow the shares they sell against the prospect of a price decline. When the price drops, they buy the shares in to replace the shares they borrowed from the original owners at a lower price.

"However, what happens if the price rises ... sharply? The short-sellers get killed: They have to buy the shares at a higher price, and lose their shirts! And I think that's what's about to happen as a result of Kelly's report. Honey, would you humor me if I do something dumb? Like losing a ton of money? It is mine, though."

He grinned at her and said, "Darling, I never mentioned it, but I bought 10,000 shares of Murphy Manufacturing before I even started work here at prices that average about $22 a share. It represents just about every dollar I have been able to beg, borrow, or steal. We've never talked about money, but you must get a pretty nice income from your stock. Do you, or does it go somewhere else?"

"Mostly it comes to me. You can see I don't spend a lot. And we've been saving on entertainment by mostly spending weekends in bed! No, I'm okay. Cliff, one thing: Would you please humor me and ask Bill to beef-up security? I'm thinking of getting a big agency like Pinkerton to send some plainclothes people in. What do you think?"

Before she even finished, as soon as she mentioned the word security, Cliff was on the phone. "Bill, it's Cliff. Here's the story: Someone is selling our stock short, and it's about to start moving up strongly. It's a classic situation for industrial sabotage. See about getting a big security team in for the next eight weeks. No, make it ten weeks. I want to be sure the extra coverage extends past October 1st.

"And Bill, I want it to start right now! They may want a short-notice premium for a few days, but I don't care." He hung up the phone and said to Sandy, "Is that enough humoring for you? I think you're absolutely right."

Kelly returned to the office with a big grin on her face. "I have a question: Have either of you sold any stock?" They both shook their heads. "How about buying?"

Sandy said, "Cliff bought 10,000 shares before he joined, and I have been buying off and on for years. I don't remember when the last transaction was. Is it important?"

"Not really. I just sent out a bulletin on the company, and on to Dow-Jones for the broad tape. My prediction is for earnings higher than last year's. Cliff, I took the liberty of using your name. I said you had announced today that Murphy had been designated the first American preferred supplier to Kaga Motors. The selection had been made on the basis of quality of product. I know you didn't announce it before, but technically you should have.

"Did you buy any stock, or did anyone else in the company buy between the Kaga letter and today? Actually, I don't think it matters because the price has been slowly drifting down. If they bought, they sure in hell didn't tell their friends. Or else their friends are as financially naïve as you two!"

She grinned broadly as she said the last words, but Cliff and Sandy were both chagrined. They knew about insider trading, but it had never occurred to them to make an announcement. Yet they both knew they should have.

"I'm sorry, Kelly, and thanks a lot. For that matter, I guess we should have announced the loss of the Magna business, too. That was certainly material."

"It was, but don't worry. Ajax did that for you. Anyway, there's no harm done. Incidentally, I'm liquidating everything I own to go against the short sellers. I can see a classic squeeze coming. There won't be any shares to buy to cover their short position.

"I remember reading a case in Financial Markets on a flooring company. In fact, I think it was quite similar. Like Murphy, most of the stock was held by the family. I think it started with the shares trading around $10. When the squeeze hit, trading was suspended at about $25. When it reopened, it jumped to about $60 in thirty minutes or so and was suspended again. At that point, I think the two sides negotiated surrender terms. The shorts were wiped out."

She smiled and added, "I have always remembered that story. It always seemed like a great way to make big money, so I'm going to try it with you. Do you mind?"

Sandy looked at Kelly thoughtfully. "You are a registered rep, aren't you? You can handle customer's accounts directly?"

Kelly nodded. "I sure am. I don't have many, though, but I am trying."

Sandy avoided Cliff's eyes. "Kelly, do me a favor? I propose to call my bank and ask them to send you $2 million to open an account in my name. Could you do that?"

Kelly's jaw dropped. "Sandy, you're saying you want to open an account with me at Snyder Securities for $2 million! Cash?"

Sandy grinned. "My, you're a fast learner! That's exactly what I said. Is that enough for an account with Snyder?"

"Enough? You're joking! Just a minute." She picked up the phone on Cliff's desk and called her office and asked to speak to her manager. She told him she was being given $2 million to open an account for Sandra M. Donnell, the Murphy Manufacturing heiress. There was silence from Kelly for a few minutes. Then she essentially repeated the story for someone else. Finally, she spoke again, "I'll ask her, sir. I don't think there's a problem. Just a minute." She turned to Sandy, "This is Jack Snyder, the managing partner of Snyder Securities. He would like to speak to you, if he may."

Kelly appeared very nervous as Sandy took the phone. "Hello, Mr. Snyder, this is Sandra Donnell." She listened with a smile on her face for a few moments, then said, "I only met Miss Cameron this afternoon, and I'm absolutely delighted to have had the opportunity. I invest money from time to time, and was most impressed with her knowledge of our industry and my company."

Kelly and Cliff laughed at the face she made when she said "my company." She continued, "Miss Cameron makes a great deal of sense to me. I was prepared to wire money to you now, but I will be happy to give her a check to bring back."

There was a period of silence while Snyder was talking. She ended by saying, "Thank you, Jack. I look forward to meeting you in Chicago, soon."

She hung up the phone and looked at the others. "He welcomed me as a customer of the firm." She rummaged through her purse, took out her checkbook, wrote a check, and gave it to Kelly.

The girl looked at it in awe. "My God! Two million dollars! I sweat more than that writing a check at the supermarket! Sandy, thank you! Now, whom do I have to kill?"

"Kelly, there are only two strings: First, for now it's a treasury for you to use to buy into the bears' selling. The market is still open. Can we start right now? I don't want to move the price a lot. I just want to keep it from going down. The buying will come from others, and we may push it up to ... What do you think? Thirty? Maybe thirty-five?"

Kelly just grinned and picked up the phone again. This time she asked for the trading desk. "Bill, it's Kelly. I have a good one for you. Buy Murphy Manufacturing on the Amex. We have two and a quarter million dollars to use. At today's prices that's about 90,000 shares. Just push, Bill. I don't want to see a down-tick. Regardless of the money you have placed, stop buying at thirty-two if it gets that high. If it does, put a buy in with the specialist for the balance of the money at thirty-two coming down. Okay? I think we're going to have some fun.

"And Bill, this is most important: time-stamp the order right now! For you privately, this is insider money. An announcement went out about thirty minutes ago on the broad tape. It's essential that we are all covered on this. Buying came after the public announcement. Bill, I'm in Milwaukee imposing on some folks. Call me at this number if it starts to move, or if anything interesting seems to be happening. In any event, call me after the close and let me know what happened." She hung up the phone.

"Kelly," Sandy asked, "are you a beer drinker?"

"I sure am, but don't you have a bar?" She looked around. "No," she answered her own question, "not in this place. This is the home of precision parts, and alcohol doesn't mix well with precision."

Sandy left the office, and Kelly followed her out. "Sandy, I have a favor to ask? Could your secretary make a hotel reservation for me here in Milwaukee for tonight?"

Sandy laughed, and picked up the phone. She made a reservation for that night and guaranteed it to Murphy for late arrival. "Kelly, since you know everything else, you ought to know I am Cliff's executive assistant, otherwise known as his secretary. I would invite you to stay with Cliff and me, but ... Well, things get a little rowdy once in a while."

"You're a very lucky girl, Sandra Donnell. I think you caught one of the live ones." Kelly looked at Sandy carefully, then grimaced. "What a stinking shame. I couldn't even give you a fight. My God! To have your looks and money on top! It's just not fair."

Then she grinned and added, "On the other hand, maybe it's a good thing. You're a one-man woman, and it's obvious he's a one-woman man. So he's out of action, but so are you. I guess that's some consolation for a working girl. And besides, you two are going to make me rich!" The two girls shook hands, and went back to the office after Sandy made another call.



-------

Chapter 15



When they reentered the office and sat down, Cliff told Kelly about the increased security. He grinned at her. "I might as well tell you about it, since you're one of the family now. By the way, Sandy said two million, and I heard you tell Bill two and a quarter. Where's the rest of the money come from?"

Kelly blushed prettily. "That's mine. All I can say is that's every dime I've got ... and then a few. You two have a hell of a business going here. There aren't too many opportunities in the Rust Belt."

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. Sandy brought back another brown paper bag and opened three cans of beer. "Cheers!" she said. "Kelly, this is twice today. The first time was just before you came when we found out about the South American orders."

"Damn!" Kelly exclaimed, "I forgot to mention that earlier. I also added in the announcement that 'other full-price orders' had been received fully covering the lost Magna Motors business. Anyway — even though us investment types aren't supposed to drink beer — cheers! You know," she said with a grin, "I much prefer pizza and beer to white wine and Brie."

Sandy and Cliff looked at each other, made a thumbs up sign, and laughed. They were still chatting when Cliff's private line rang. It was the number Kelly had given her trader.

Cliff answered the phone and passed it to her. "Hi, Bill, what's up?" She listened intently and nodded her head. She took out a pad and started writing down numbers as a big grin started spreading across her face. Finally she said, "Thanks, Bill. Keep me posted."

She hung up the phone and exclaimed, "Damn! It's moving. There's heavy action, with a lot of selling. Bill thinks it's more short selling. It's trading at twenty-seven now, up a point and a half. The important thing is, other people are starting to buy, too. We're going to win this one. I can feel it."

"What do we do now? Just wait?" Sandy asked.

"I guess so. Incidentally, you have invested about $200,000 at this point, Sandy. Why don't we fill out these dumb forms I need to open an account while we wait for the closing?"

She took forms from her attaché case, and Cliff went down the hall to Steve Muller's office.

Betty Ames gave him a big smile as he walked in. Cliff noticed how beautiful and happy the woman was now that John Flood was gone. Steve was on the phone. He waved and gave Cliff a big grin. "Yes, sir, I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you. In fact, he just walked into my office."

He put the phone on hold and said, "It's Jack Crowther at Magna. He said he just received a report on the broad tape — what's a broad tape? — of our contract with Kaga. I told him it was true. He wants to talk to you. Do you want to take it?" Steve Muller paused and then added, "But since I blew it by telling him you're here, I guess you have to."

Cliff took the instrument, and Steve punched the line button. "Hi, Jack! This is Cliff Fitzpatrick. What can we do for you?"

"I just saw on the Dow-Jones broad tape an announcement of your selection as the first American prime supplier to Kaga USA in Michigan. Is that true?"

"Yes, it is, Jack, I'm proud to say. We also developed a ring for them that seems to be on its way to becoming their new world standard. Of course, we get all the business on that we want and a royalty on the rest."

"But, Cliff!" Jack exclaimed, "I shouldn't say this, but their quality standards are light-years ahead of ours! And you meet them?"

"No, Jack. We don't meet them, we exceed them. Based on information faxed to us today, we are now the top-quality supplier to Kaga USA. That, of course, is a field made up almost entirely of Japanese suppliers. I am delighted to tell you we are entering discussions at long distance about our ability to supply their domestic production. I don't expect much, honestly, but it's an honor to be considered. Then, of course, there is the very strong yen..."

Crowther had obviously been doing some fast thinking as Cliff spoke. When Cliff finished he said, "How soon could you ship trial quantities of rings and valves? I'm sure you still have the specs and everything."

"I'll have to check with our production people, Jack. How fast would you like to have them, when, and where?"

Crowther responded quickly, "Cliff, could you call me tomorrow with availability? I'll have the rest of the information for you then. And of course, I will need a price quote."

"We will be happy to quote, Jack. What quantities?" Crowther told him the quantities, and Steve saw Cliff's eyebrows raise. "Thanks, Jack. I'll call you in the morning."

Cliff hung up the phone. "Steve, the low number he quoted for quantities was our old production number. The high number is triple!"

The two men cheered and started dancing around the office. Betty came in to find out what had happened. When they told her, she joined the dance. Bill picked up the phone to call Bill Stevens. He asked Bill to get Max and join him in Steve's office. Moments later the two men arrived. As Cliff told him what had happened, Bill's eyes widened. When he told them the quantities, they both cheered.

Cliff said to Max, "I would like you to use our handy portable PA system, Max, and tell the guys what's happened. It's strictly your show. Without the quality those guys have been turning out, it couldn't have happened. Do you mind?"

"Mind? My God, this is the best news in weeks, and you want me to announce it? Not you or Sandy?"

"No, Max. This is yours. Bill, how soon could we add machines to double our capacity? And Max, I don't have to tell you this is a quality sell. Our quality can't slip ... not the tiniest bit. What about people?"

Max beamed. "That's not a problem. Guaranteed. When can the machines be in?"

"Bill?" Cliff asked.

"I'll have to check with Micronics, but largely due to the way Sandy has been handling things, they honest-to-God love us! I don't know how long it will take, but I double-your-money-back guarantee, no one — no one — could get them faster. What about the trial order? How soon, and how much?"

"I'll know tomorrow for sure, Bill. But you know Magna's trial quantities. What do you think?"

Bill looked at Max and held up five fingers. Max nodded. "I can have normal trial quantities in five days. The quality will blow them away. They have never seen stuff as good as they will be getting."

"Okay, guys. It's a deal. Bill, did you speak to Max about security? He and all the people need to know. Why don't you brief him, and he can add it to his speech?"

Bill quickly reviewed the short selling of Murphy stock and the fear that someone — about to lose a fortune — might stoop to industrial sabotage to prevent Murphy from performing on its contracts. He ended by saying, "Max, I think we have a real family here. The nice thing is everyone pretty well knows everyone else. You and your people will be alerted to the Pinkertons. You will know who they are. If anybody sees anyone he doesn't recognize — whether he's acting suspicious or not — we want the Pinkertons alerted."

Max laughed loudly. "What's that saying, 'Things that go around, come around?' The irony is wonderful. Pinkerton really grew as a company of strikebreakers one-hundred years ago or so. Now they are on our side. I think it's great! But you know what? I'm afraid it is one only a few of us old-timers will appreciate. Cliff, I'll do it! And, I don't need to tell you this, but I will anyway. It's our company, too."

Cliff went back to his office. Checking his watch he found it was nearly quitting time. Then he told the girls it was time to pack it in but didn't tell them about the talk with Crowther at Magna.

As usual, they went out through the plant. His timing was perfect. Max was just about to start his speech, and Sandy stopped to listen. They heard Max tell about the test order from Magna. "We got it, folks! We really got it! Now all we have to do is give them our usual product. Those turkeys will freak out when they see the quality we routinely ship to Kaga."

He went on and ended by telling the workers about the chance of sabotage. He finished by saying, "Remember, those clowns are out to destroy our jobs! We know one another. You'll know the Pinkertons. Anyone else — and I mean anyone else — tell the Pinks. Any questions?"

There were a few, but the thing Cliff noticed immediately was they understood the threat to their jobs. The noises he heard were ugly. He wouldn't want to be a person found trying to tamper with the machines.

They walked on out to the car, leaving Kelly's rental in the lot. "Cliff," Sandy said sweetly, "you are a bastard. We hear we're back in at Magna — at up to triple the old volume — from our union president, for chrissakes! Just for that, you get the check tonight. We are celebrating with dinner and dancing. Kevin O'Rourke is joining us. I may — or may not — be speaking to you!"

Cliff just grinned and said nothing. They went to Kelly's hotel, and she checked in. He smiled at Sandy while they waited for her to wash up. Sandy tried to glare at him, but without great success. When Kelly returned to the car, Sandy was in his arms.

"Golly, folks," Kelly said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Sandy stretched broadly and gave Cliff another kiss. "Nope. He wasn't very nice, so it's too early to go to bed with him. Are you all set? And are we corrupting your morals?"

"Corrupting, no. Jealous, yes. Let's go. Who is Kevin, by the way?"

"Kevin O'Rourke is a delightful guy. Of course, you'll have to talk to him in equations or hexadecimal language. I think that's what computers speak, isn't it Cliff?" Sandy asked. "Anyway, it's something like that. Maybe you can baffle him with some interesting regression equations on earnings growth or something," she finished airily.

"Sandra Donnell, I thought I liked you, but now the real you comes out. You are hateful! Just because you have captured a girl's dream is no reason to rub it in. I'll have to think about it for a while, but I'm pretty sure I am not speaking to you ever again. Or at least tonight. Or at least until we get to where we're going," Kelly said with the grin audible in her voice.

When they arrived at another hotel, Kelly was surprised. "Why am I not staying here?" she asked.

"Because I thought as a young professional woman you would be interested in getting your rest. This place has rooms that are reputed to be noisy: the guests running from room to room and that sort of thing," Sandy replied.

"Now I know I hate you," Kelly said in a very flat voice. "You didn't mention that my hotel serves tea to maiden ladies at four-thirty every day. I missed it, by the way."

"Kelly, dear, I just wanted you to feel secure," Sandy replied.

Cliff was finding it was all he could do to try to keep a straight face as they went to the main dining room where a combo was playing. From the girls' banter, it was obvious they liked each other a great deal. Kevin was sitting at the table waiting for them, and he rose as they approached.

Cliff heard Kelly say in a whisper to Sandy, "I don't care if he only speaks Gaelic! My God, where has he been all my life?" It hadn't occurred to Cliff that Kevin was also six feet three with brilliant blue eyes and very dark hair.

Kevin was introduced to Kelly and it was obvious he liked her immediately. "With a name like Kelly, there's got to be some Irish in the family, Miss Cameron," he said.

Kelly smiled at him warmly. "My mother's maiden name was Kelly. Indeed there is. I must get my interest in finance from my father who is a Scot, as I am sure you guessed."

The combo was playing, and Sandy and Cliff got up to allow the other two to become acquainted. Every time he held her in his arms on a dance floor, Cliff was dazzled. She just seemed to float. He whispered in her ear, "A penny for your thoughts?"

"Darling, I am so happy, it's sinful. This was such a wonderful day! First, the South American orders, then Kelly, then Magna, and finally getting her together with Kevin. Would you care to bet they spend the night together? Unless Kevin's fifty times dumber than I think he is, of course. That girl is in love!"

As she said it, she saw Kevin and Kelly on the dance floor together. Because of the height difference, even with high heels she scarcely reached above his chin. But the look on her face was one of rapture. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, you didn't respond. Do you care to lose some money? Ten dollars, perhaps?" She whispered up to his ear as she felt herself floating around the dance floor.

"Sandra Donnell, you are impossible! My meager fortune is tied up in this company, but you insist on having everything. If I end up working nights as a gigolo, just remember it's all your fault!"

They went back to the table and their drinks. Kelly and Kevin joined them a few minutes later. Even Cliff, who was normally impervious to such things, could see the stars in both of their eyes. Without saying anything, he took out his wallet, folded up a ten-dollar bill and passed it under the table to Sandy.

She took it and quietly smiled at him. "Thank you, dear," she whispered.

It was obvious Kelly had explained the short sale and its implications to Kevin. Cliff looked at the young analyst and said, "I assume that news of the Magna work will really cause problems for the short sellers. Am I right?"

"You certainly are," Kelly replied. "In the vernacular, they're in deep shit! As usual, the rule of the day is 'bulls make money and bears make money and pigs get slaughtered!' Nevertheless, I'm sorry we didn't buy even more than we did. By the way, Sandy, with all that garbage we were fooling with this afternoon, I forgot a basic question. I have been assuming you want the stock you buy in street name, that is, the registered owner will be Snyder Securities?"

Sandy let out a little yelp. "Good grief, yes! Absolutely! I have a feeling ... Cliff, if I had to bet money, I would bet it's Ezra Stiles who's behind all this. Incidentally, Kelly, I will make arrangements to transfer all my holdings at the other broker to you tomorrow. There's just one thing: On September 30, I'll need something very official from Snyder Securities saying I am the beneficial owner of X–thousand shares of Murphy Manufacturing."

"Sandy, I have a question," Kevin O'Rourke asked. "How big a percentage of the company are you going to inherit?"

"About 66 percent. Why?" she answered.

"What's the percentage to change the bylaws of the corporation? To call a special election, or to change the term of directors?" Kevin continued.

"I can answer that," Cliff interjected. "Before I became ... familiar ... with Sandy I read that stuff. It's two-thirds."

"That's sixty-six and two-thirds," Kelly said, excited now. "Sandy, you said you bought stock off and on in the past. How much do you have?"

"I'm not sure. About seventy- or eighty-thousand shares. Something between seventy and eighty, I'm sure. Why?"

"Bingo! We've won already," Kelly said elatedly, "and those turkeys don't know it. Your other shares are in street name, Sandy?" she asked.

"Yes, but I don't understand ... Oh, yes I do! If it's only 70,000 shares — and I'm sure it's more — that's seven percentage points! Along with the family's sixty-six, that's 73 percent! My God! Cliff, you will support me, won't you?"

"Only if you give me my ten bucks back," he replied loftily.

She reached in her purse and took out his ten-dollar bill and handed it to him. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. Nevertheless, Cliff kept a straight face. "Since you asked so nicely, the answer is yes."

Kelly looked puzzled. "What is the ten dollars for?" she asked.

"Oh ... nothing!" they replied together.

Then they started laughing. Their laughter grew in intensity to the point they ended hugging each other to keep from falling off their chairs. Kelly and Kevin looked at each other and then looked at the other two. They didn't understand a thing.

Sandy regained control and said, "So it's over?"

"I really think so," Kelly replied. "What I heard from Cliff is your attorney, Stiles, may be trying to pull a fast one. Didn't I hear something about Cliff having performance targets to reach?"

"You sure did ... or at least, you could have. They exist, and it doesn't look like there is a snowball's chance in hell of reaching them. Although the way things are going, we might reach them a couple of months after the deadline. But why did you ask?"

"Cliff, as a schemer, you're a great business strategist," Kelly replied. "Let's say I'm shorting the stock. It starts to rise on the basis of a complete operations turnaround. Then the word gets out that the guy who made it all happen is out and some of the turkeys who caused the problems in the first place are back in. What does the stock do?"

"Yeah, I know: three guesses, and the first two don't count. It goes in the tank. But what can we do?" he asked.

Kelly smiled at Cliff affectionately. "It's a damn good thing you are going to have a very smart wife. Just remember to do what she tells you. Cliff, with 70 percent of the stock, you can do anything! For example, you can call a special meeting of stockholders to elect all the directors. Does Murphy have staggered terms for directors, by the way?"

"Yes," Cliff answered, "it does. As a matter of fact, it's over a four-year span. Only 25 percent of the board is up for election each year. In fact, the numbers are two, one, two, and two."

"We're there! That's it, I'm sure. Sandy, even if you wanted to use the family shares to throw out the Board, it would take four years to do it, and three years to get a simple majority. But with 70 percent, you're there!"

"Of course!" Sandy picked up. "I can call a special meeting of the Board to consider bylaw revisions, and use my 70 percent to waive notice of the meeting. I then use it to amend the bylaws to have all directors serve one-year terms. Then I call for a special election of directors, and replace them all!"

Kelly stuck out her hand. "I love a smart woman! Damn it, Sandy, this smells right! One more thing: Do you know how a corner on a stock works? Or should?"

Sandy's face fell. "I have no idea. How does it work?"

"Let's look at the Murphy situation because the numbers are so easy: First, let's say you own 78 percent of the stock — that's 780,000 shares. Now, there are two kinds of shorts: The first are the ones who sold Murphy, rented stock from an owner — usually an institution or a brokerage firm — and delivered the rented stock to the buyer. He must replace the borrowed stock.

"The second type — a naked short — is what it looks like we're seeing now. These are people who put in sell orders assuming they can borrow shares to deliver. But we are already pretty sure that the total number of shares sold exceeds the total number of shares outside the family holdings. Murphy will almost certainly be in that position in a day or so if things don't change. They can't deliver. It's numerically impossible!

"Now here's where the fun begins. It's really the same in both cases. The short seller must deliver shares to the buyer or to the owner from whom they were borrowed or the value of the shares. We have some free shares — more than you need for your control positions. We can sell those shares at any price. And the price at which we sell becomes the market. We have the only shares available to anyone at any price. The price we set becomes the settlement price for those who need to settle their positions in cash.

"Sandy, you never sell your stock to the shorts. You ransom their position. In other words, instead of selling them enough stock to cover their position, you get a huge price from them to repay their lenders. The important thing is to never let the shorts actually get their hands on the shares. They must go from you to the lender: the one who loaned shares to the short to deliver against his original sale. Understand?"

"Of course! If the short has the shares, for even a couple of hours, he can use them for their votes. And what you're saying, Kelly, is a burned lender is unlikely to make the shares available to the same person again. Right?"

"Absolutely!"



-------

Chapter 16



The next morning Cliff and Sandy were having their usual morning coffee when Kelly arrived. They looked at her carefully. Cliff reached into his wallet and extracted the still-folded ten-dollar bill and gave it to Sandy. "You won it fair and square."

Kelly was bleary-eyed, but her eyes glowed. "What is that bill you two keep passing back and forth? You were doing it all last night, too."

Cliff looked at her and said, "You obviously need coffee badly. How do you drink it, Kelly?"

"Just black this morning, please."

Cliff was already on his feet and headed for the coffee pot, leaving the girls alone.

"Kelly Cameron, how does Kevin look this morning? Better than you do, I hope."

"He's worse! He couldn't ... Sandra Donnell, what are you saying?"

"Oh, nothing," she said blithely. "You asked about the ten dollars, though, and I was just answering you. It was a small wager I made with Cliff. I just said you two would spend the night together and obviously you did. That's all."

Kelly tried to glare at Sandy, but ended up grinning. "Sandra Donnell, I would like to hate you but it's very hard. Yesterday was absolutely the greatest day of my life! It started off well with you and Cliff and just got better. And the way it ended ... Wow! Professionally, financially, and personally!

"Sandy, Kevin has a real brain! And he's not frightened of me. I have spent my entire social life on the sidelines, just watching. I have always been so jealous of the airheads who go gaga over any guy who just opens his mouth. I've even tried it, but can't make it work. Sooner or later I'll say something — or show I know something — that's out of character, and I'm dead. But not last night."

Sandy got up and shook hands with the other girl. "I know just what you mean. With me it's the same result but for a different reason. I was always a tomboy, so I ended up every guy's best friend's little sister. It's a great prescription for romance! The guys pat me on the head and ask me if I want to throw a football around."

"Oh, I see!" Kelly said brightly. "That's what you and Cliff do all night! Throw a football around? Of course. Sandy, I FedEx'd your check down to Chicago last night. Now I'm going to call the office and put out the word on the broad tape about Murphy getting a trial order from Magna. I hope you don't mind me cluttering up your office, though?"

"Not in the least! You have done a tremendous amount for the company in the last twenty-four hours. Kelly, I'm not sure either of us said anything but we certainly recognize that the call from Magna came as a direct result of your broad-tape release. Thank you."

Cliff returned with the coffee, and the girls took theirs. Kelly got on the phone and called her office. She spoke to several different people, one after the other, and finally hung up. "That was funny. I sent your check to Jack Snyder, and FedEx did its thing. He was still staring at it when I called. His reaction was identical to mine: He's never seen a personal check for two million dollars. I gave them your fax number so they can send us a copy of the broad tape piece on Murphy and Magna when it runs.

"Then I talked to Bill. Trading has just opened in New York, and it's looking very interesting." She changed the subject. "Sandy, were you at Michigan in the MBA program?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because I think I remember seeing some reference to you in the alumni bulletin. I guess I must have been ahead of you by a couple of years. This is what I always dreamed of. Securities can be pretty dull sometimes, but now you can feel a real dynamic at work. You can feel the market. And Murphy is small enough, and the stock float is small enough— Wait a minute!"

She picked up the phone again and called Bill on the trading desk. "Bill, I forgot something. No one knows this, but watch the Murphy volume! Because of the family control of the company, they never paid much attention to the stock or the stock price. They never traded it. But Bill, there are only one million shares, and — this is the secret — Sandra Donnell already owns or controls about 75 percent of it.

"There are only about 250,000 shares out of the family's hands. What happens if a panicked short sells and can't deliver? If there just aren't any shares to be had? Let's face it: You guys don't normally think about the total number of shares outstanding." She listened for a few minutes and grinned. "Thanks, Bill. Keep in touch."

She hung up the phone. "Bill thinks it may have started already. He's started pushing, and the stock is at thirty-two. He thinks volume has already been as much as 100,000 shares this morning! He can't be sure, of course because it's hard to get the total shares by issue until the exchange closes. But guys, there were 60,000 shares traded yesterday. And that's the official number. "If Bill is anywhere near right, all but about 90,000 shares of tradable stock have changed hands in less than twenty-four hours! He asked me to thank you, too."

"What do we do now, Kelly?" Cliff asked.

"We wait and keep the pressure on. If I'm right, Murphy Manufacturing will be suspended from trading within a couple of days. There are five days to settlement, the day the seller has to deliver the stock he sold. If he doesn't have it, he has to get it ... at any price! Do you follow me?"

"I sure do!" Sandy said. "The next few days are absolutely critical. Let's just enjoy the coffee, shall we?"

She grinned and took the cups for refills. She came back later and dashed back out again. When she returned the second time she had papers in her hand. "I think this is what we've been waiting for," she said as she gave copies to the other two. She had made copies of the faxed Dow-Jones news wire and they all read the release.

A moment later Cliff cheered. "I think this is going to do it! I just wonder ... Kelly, do you know George Simpson of Ajax Industries?" he asked.

"Sure do," she replied, making a face. "Why?"

Cliff explained his former relationship with Stephanie and the circumstances surrounding the loss of the Magna business: Ajax breaking its policy and cutting price to meet Murphy with the private understanding they would meet any Murphy price.

"Kelly, let's say you're George Simpson. You see on the broad tape that Magna is receiving test quantities from Murphy. What do you do, if anything?"

"I just might go berserk! I just might call Magna and tell them they can't buy from Murphy." Kelly replied looking very thoughtful. "Excuse me again. Do I have to leave quarters with the treasurer for all of these phone calls? I'm really sorry. I should be using my credit card."

"You do and I'll kill you!" Sandy said quickly. "You're making money for us in big bunches."

Kelly looked in her notebook and dialed a number in Chicago. The phone was answered moments later. "Hi, Bill. It's Kelly Cameron from Snyder Securities. I just saw a piece on the broad tape that Murphy Manufacturing is shipping test quantities of valves and rings to Magna. I thought you folks at Ajax had all that business, or at least all of yours plus what used to be Murphy's. Do you have a comment?"

She listened for a few moments and then spoke again. "Thanks, Bill, but I'm not in my office. I just called in, and they told me. Can I call you back in ... say, an hour? Thanks a lot. I'll do that." She hung up the phone.

"I think I just waved the red cape in front of the bull. Bill is in financial public relations at Ajax. George Simpson can't react to what he doesn't know. He'll know in a matter of minutes. Do you mind if I take a walk so you people can get some work done?"

Sandy grinned at her friend and said with a wink, "Kevin's office is down the hall on the right. I hear his couch is very comfortable."

"Sandra Donnell, you are terrible!" Kelly said. But she went down the hall looking at offices on the right.

Forty minutes later Cliff's phone rang. It was Jack Crowther calling from Magna. "Hi, Jack, how are you? I've got the answers for you, I think. My people tell me if you want normal trial quantities we can ship in five days. Is that good enough?"

"That's great, Cliff." He gave Cliff the plant location to which the test quantities were to be shipped. "There's something else, though. I guess I stuck my neck out to my top management a few minutes ago. I'm taking your personal assurance on the Kaga quality thing."

"I'm glad you reminded me, Jack. What's your fax number? I received the permission from Japan I expected and will be happy to fax you a copy of the managing director's letter to me. You can have it in seconds." Cliff jotted down the number, and Sandy went to the fax machine. "It's on its way. Now what's this business about sticking your neck out?"

"Cliff, this is all in confidence, okay? I'll tell you what you can use later. Apparently George Simpson at Ajax just went berserk. I gather there was a broad-tape announcement that you had been asked to submit test quantities of rings and valves."

"I hope that wasn't premature?" Cliff asked.

"According to our general counsel, you had to make the announcement. Obviously, it doesn't amount to much at our end, but it certainly does at yours. No, he says what you did was not only correct, it was legally required. That's not the problem."

Crowther paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and then continued, "Cliff, in some ways we're a strange company. People think we're slow moving, and I guess it's generally a fair comment. However, we don't like to be pushed around. Simpson went right to our Chairman. He told him if we bought ten cents worth of product from Murphy, Ajax would cut us off across the board. It's fair to say our Chairman was not pleased. I gather he told Simpson some unpleasant places he could go and said we buy from the most qualified supplier. Period!

"Just a minute, Cliff. I just got the Kaga letter, and I want to read it." There was silence on the phone for a few minutes. Then Cliff heard Jack yell "That's it!" and tell his secretary to make a copy of the fax and hand-carry it to the Chairman immediately.

"Thanks, Cliff. My neck's off the block. That letter says exactly what you told me and a lot more. I just asked my secretary to take it to the Chairman personally. Here's the deal: I told him you were now a fully-qualified supplier of top-quality components ... based on the letter I hadn't seen until just this minute. He instructed me to set up a phase-in schedule for Murphy parts, scaling up to a volume that would be your old volume plus all of Ajax's. As a purchasing officer, I feel like a fool, but can you do it for approximately your old price? Let's say the old price, plus 5 percent?"

"That's a fair price, Jack. Yes, we can handle the work. I'll get you the timing as soon as possible. Obviously, the key consideration is availability of machine tools from Micronics. Now, Jack, what announcement can I make? Your counsel nailed it: It may not be material to you, but it sure as hell is to us. What you're talking about will triple Murphy's gross sales. Hell, we'll be over a billion in sales! Now what am I authorized to say?"

"You can say you have received a letter of intent from Magna Motors to purchase parts at a volume equal to triple your former level. You'll have the letter in less than five minutes on your fax. The order is guaranteed for twenty-four months from the date of achieving full-scale production. In other words, Cliff, the time it takes you to scale up to our production requirements doesn't count against the contract term. Murphy is price-protected with prices scaled to the Department of Commerce Producer Price Index. Is that fair?"

"That's more than fair, Jack. It's a deal, and you're going to be amazed at the quality you get. Our people tell me you have never seen product as good as we'll be shipping. Thanks for the confidence. I'll be back to you as soon as we know about the production scaling."

He looked up at Sandy. "Did you get the drift of the call? We're back in with Magna at a scale triple our old volume at a five-percent price increase, with price protection, and a twenty-four month supply contract! It's absolutely unheard of. It's just never done!"

Kelly had returned to the office to call Ajax back. Cliff briefed her on his call from Crowther at Magna. "Do you know what you have done, young lady? In less than 24 hours — on your initiatives — we've gone from no place to Magna's top supplier. And Kelly, in confidence I'll tell you our costs have come down to such an extent, we will absolutely mint money on this contract!"

Sandy had left the office. When she returned, she again had papers in her hand. They were copies of the Magna letter that had just been received.

Kelly read it and then read it again. "This is unreal! Letters like this are just not sent in the automotive industry. Orders are forward rolling with some leads, but they are almost never long term. Well, it's back to the telephone."

Again she called her office in Chicago.

While she did, Cliff and Sandy talked. Finally, Sandy grinned and nodded. She tapped Kelly on the shoulder and asked to speak to Jack Snyder before she hung up. Kelly nodded and continued to dictate an announcement of the Magna contract. She asked for Jack Snyder and passed the phone to Sandy.

"Jack, this is Sandy Donnell again. Kelly tells me you got my check this morning. Jack, I have a request to make. Kelly doesn't know anything about this. You have two million dollars of my money. I don't know if you're aware of the fact she put in $250,000 of her own. I know a broker is always supposed to execute a client's order ahead of his own. I want to change that: On the Murphy purchases, I'm going fifty-fifty with Kelly until she runs out of money. Of course, anything beyond that is obviously mine. I want that to be effective with the first orders yesterday. If you need something in writing, just fax me up what you want me to say, and I'll sign it.

"Jack, I can't tell you how important Kelly has become to me. She's certainly worth a lot more than the commission she'll get on my trades. Understand? Incidentally, she's handling my entire portfolio which is in process of being transferred to you. Okay? Thanks so much." She hung up and laughed at Kelly whose jaw had dropped.

"Sandy, that's too much. I mean ... things just don't happen like this. You're in a rough, tough, dirty-fingernails kind of business. You're not supposed to behave this way!"

"Kelly," Cliff interjected, "let me tell you something about Sandy. The company means everything to her. Money doesn't. I really think she sweats Monopoly money in the board game more than her own. We've been living together for months now. I can tell you she lives on her pay as a secretary, for God's sake. Believe it or not, I never thought of her dividend income until you mentioned it yesterday. I suspect the only time she does, either, is at tax time. Strange, perhaps, but very true.

"Of course the real reason she did it is when Murphy stock goes in the tank, you two go together. Sandy's a cautious investor. She likes her broker to be in it with her." He grinned with the last words.

Kelly just shook her head and picked up the phone and called Ajax. "Bill, it's Kelly again. Any reaction? By the way there is something that just came to our office from Murphy. They announced a two-year supply contract from Magna Motors. Apparently it's all of their old volume plus all of yours." She listened for a few moments. "I'm sure it will be on the broad tape."

She continued listening and then said, "I understand, Bill. Look, I'm not going to use what you just said. Why don't you go back to Simpson ... No, wait a minute. I like you, and I don't want you to get fired. Give me your fax number and I'll have the office fax you a copy of the broad-tape announcement when it comes over. I'll call you late this afternoon. Thanks."

She leaned back in Cliff's chair, then sat bolt upright. "My God, I'm dumb!"

Sandy and Cliff looked at her in bewilderment as she grabbed her attaché case and took out her financial calculator along with a pad of paper. She started going over her numbers, checked them again, and picked up the phone. "Kathy, it's Kelly. Get out a flash to all our customers and put it on the broad tape if Dow-Jones will take it.

"I am predicting earnings for Murphy Manufacturing of at least $30 per share pretax for next year, rising to $100 pretax the year following. The basis is estimated sales well above $1 billion within two years, coupled with substantially improved operating margins. I think 10 percent pretax on sales is possible. And for God's sake, bury anything at all negative on Murphy I ever wrote. I'm a raging bull! Okay? Thanks."

She hung up the phone and grinned. "My God, what a jackass! It hadn't even occurred to me, and that's what they pay me for! You people are about to mint money! The present stock price is ridiculously low against your earnings prospects. Sandra Donnell, your damned stock will be trading around five-hundred in a year or so! My God, that's a value to you of over three-hundred million dollars!"

Sandy looked very thoughtful. "Cliff, could you loan me twenty dollars? Kelly says I'm rich, so we ought to eat steak tonight." She looked at Kelly quizzically. "How about if we go shopping? I don't think you want to wear those same clothes all week."

The girls left and Cliff immediately called a staff meeting. He was chagrined to realize how much had happened this morning, and no one knew it but himself, Sandy, Kelly, and the rest of the financial world via the broad tape, but not his own people.

They assembled in the board room. Again, he had asked Max to join them. Only this time he had asked him to bring his executive committee or whomever else he might want. With all the people present, the room was crowded. Cliff was amused to see Kevin looking much the worse for wear, but with a very different look in his eyes. He rapidly brought them up to date. When he concluded the update, he grinned at the group.

"Guys, I think we're out of the woods, but we've got a lot of work to do. First, Max, how do you want to handle the announcement? It's up to you, but I was thinking about the speech Sandy gave when she said it would be our objective to provide new jobs for all the people who were laid off. I think we may be in a position to do that and maybe go beyond. All I can say is if you and your people hadn't done the job they did, this could not have happened.

"I want you to know we know it, appreciate it, and want to do something about it. Specifically, we're thinking of a profit-sharing program for the whole company. With the results we're expecting, beginning next year, there should be some real profits to share. At any rate, Sandy made the first speech. Do you think she might be the one to announce the rehiring?"

Max looked at his people and saw grins and nodding heads. "Yes, sir, I certainly do. Incidentally, Peter Schmidt has something he'd like to say. Could he?"

"Of course, Max. What's on your mind, Peter?" Cliff asked.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick, I just wanted to say publicly that you and Max were right, and I was wrong. I was one of the guys who said we should go out on strike. Max said it would bury the company. There is no question Miss Donnell's talk turned things around. We were going out until she spoke, and I still voted to walk. That was probably the dumbest thing I ever did in my life. You know something? You and Miss Donnell had more confidence in us and our ability to produce than we did ourselves. Thank you, and thank you for giving us the tools to work with. I agree completely with Max. She should talk to the workers."

The discussion moved on to scheduling and new equipment. Cliff was amazed at the scale-up speed Bill and his people had in mind. He looked at Steve Muller who had been shaking his head, and said, "Cliff, I have been wondering what I'm doing for a living. I feel like the guy sitting on top of Old Faithful, just getting shot up in the air. I feel like I'm just along for the ride!"

"Don't worry about it, Steve. That's the way I feel all the time. There's just one more thing, guys," Cliff said.

He then briefed them very quickly on the possible corner in the market for Murphy stock. "We believe there are people who have sold shares who will not be able to get the shares to deliver against their sales. Don't ever forget the rat! It's most dangerous when it's in a corner with no place to run. I think our rats are in a corner, and like the four-footed ones, are very dangerous. I'm very serious. People will do desperate things if they're facing financial ruin ... and I think some people are."

Cliff's talk sobered up the people in the room who had been euphoric at the company's prospects. "Guys, let's make damned sure the prospects become reality. Okay?"

When the two girls returned in time for lunch, Kelly was wearing a new dress. She had obviously come back by way of her hotel to clean up. He briefed Sandy while Kelly went off to lunch with Kevin.

-------

When they all returned to his office after lunch, Cliff's private line was ringing. It was Kelly's trader, Bill, for her. She listened on the phone for a few minutes, then said, "Are you absolutely sure? You are? My God! We did it! Thanks Bill, that's great news. Keep buying if there's anyone selling, okay? Great!" She hung up the phone.

"Obviously, that was Bill. He's confident that trading over the last two days has hit 300,000 shares — the price just hit forty! There aren't 300,000 shares to trade! It's a damned corner, and I think we're the only ones who know it!"

Sandy was thoughtful for a moment and then spoke to her new friend. "I just want to be sure I understand something: There have now been more shares sold than there are to be sold. It's possible someone sold today what he bought yesterday — some canceling trades — but let's say there are just a few. What exactly happens?"

Cliff quietly left the office before Kelly replied.

The broker said, "In the vernacular, the shit hits the fan. Remember the doggerel! Within a matter of hours, the sellers are going to find there are no shares to deliver. It's not a matter of price, either. The shares simply do not exist! God! I almost feel like flying to New York just to see what happens on the floor. I would, too, except this is so arcane, no one would know what he was seeing!

"Sandy, do you and Cliff mind if I stay around for another day or so? Needless to say — although maybe I should have said it — Jack Snyder wants me to do anything — everything! — to keep you happy. In case you didn't know it, you are our firm's largest account by far. Incidentally, we've received your securities portfolio. Again, thank you for your business."

"Kelly, would you like an office? An apartment? I have already provided a lover, so that's taken care of. By the way, that glow in your face doesn't look like the gleam of avarice. It predates the invention of money by quite a few millennia! That wouldn't be in your thinking about staying over, would it?"

"Would it matter?" Kelly asked in a small voice.

"Of course not! I think you're going to find out something, if you haven't already. When you're loved — and I mean really loved — it's so damned great, you want everyone to know it and feel it themselves. And I'm so desperately in love with Cliff I can't stand it sometimes. I just want to hold him and be held. Do you understand?"

"I don't think I would have twenty-four hours ago, but I certainly do now! Sandy, is it always this good? I mean ... Kevin and I ... It was all night,  for God's sake. I didn't think it was physically possible for a man..." She had reddened, but still grinned. Sandy grinned back.

"I guess sometimes it is. Of course, with Cliff and me, since we've been together so long ... I mean we don't do an all-nighter more than three or four nights a week anymore. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, though. We try, but just collapse.

"By the way, you're invited for dinner with Kevin if you would like to come and if he's available. Would you care to?" Kelly accepted and went off to ask Kevin.

Just then Cliff returned with a tall young man Sandy didn't recall ever seeing before. "Sandy, this is Sam Johnson. Sam, I would like to introduce you to Sandra Donnell who owns the company. Sandy, Sam is the director in charge of the Pinkerton detail, and I wanted to be sure he and his people are fully briefed. Where's Kelly?" Just then Kelly returned, beaming. She was introduced to Johnson. Cliff asked her to brief him about the market.

"Sam, have you ever heard of a corner in the stock market?"

"Vaguely," he replied. "I thought it was something involving the robber barons that went out at the turn of the century or something."

Kelly grinned and said, "It sort of did. The only way it can happen is the way it's happening now. Not many shares of stock, and the bulk of it in a single pair of hands. But it needs something else: There must be short sellers. There can't be a corner if people are buying and selling what they own. If they do, and there are a lot more people who want to buy than want to sell, then the price just goes up fast.

"This appears to be a classic corner. As of two days ago, there was a very large short interest. These were people who had sold short, borrowed stock to deliver, and are waiting for the price to drop to cover their positions. Within the last twenty-four hours, though, there have been more shares sold than there are shares. Now, there can always be some day trading: someone buys at ten o'clock, say, and sells at two. There can be some of that contained in the numbers.

"Nevertheless, there's a devastating picture for someone. First, it appears shares have been sold that cannot be delivered. Second, there are the shorts from two days ago who delivered borrowed stock they will have to replace. There just aren't enough shares in existence. Do you see the problem?"

Johnson had been listening intently. "I sure do! Am I correct in assuming these people benefit if something bad happens to Murphy Manufacturing? Something that would cause a lot of shareholders to want to sell?"

"Absolutely right!" Kelly replied.

"And conversely, anything good that's announced just pulls the noose tighter around their necks, right?" She nodded. "Then am I correct in assuming the time of peak danger to the company is the next seven days? After that it's probably too late to help the shorts."

"You're there, Sam," Cliff said. "That's why we're meeting right now. I wanted to be sure you fully understand the problem. The other thing is we want to do everything possible to protect ourselves. Bill Stevens made the arrangements with your people. He couldn't have explained this to them because we didn't know it ourselves until a few minutes ago. Now, do you have all the manpower and equipment you can use, and, if not, what more do you need and how fast can you get it?"

"May I use your phone, please, sir? I want to talk to my regional director."

"Of course!" Cliff replied.

Johnson picked up the phone and dialed a number. He asked for a name Cliff didn't pick up and then started speaking. "Boss, it's Sam. I'm at Murphy Manufacturing, and they have a very dangerous situation over here." He quickly explained the reasons for the danger. Then he listened intently and started taking notes. Finally he said, "Thanks, Boss. That sounds like it ought to do it." and hung up.

Turning back to Cliff he said, "I don't want to pat myself on the back, sir, but I think it's a good thing you called us. We're big, and have a lot of resources we can deploy on short notice. I should warn you, though, this isn't going to be cheap. What we're proposing is this: First, we would like to put an armed guard in every truck leaving Murphy and have it trailed to its destination with an unmarked car to cover against hijacking. Next, we're going to get some teams here and put them on the roof tonight. We have special infrared equipment that can light up the surrounding area so it's like daylight if you have the right glasses. Finally, we propose to double the plain-clothes detail in the plant during working hours, and put attack dogs in the plant at night."

He grinned, and continued, "All I can say is I wouldn't care ever to meet one of those damned dogs in a dark plant. Only you don't meet just one. They run in packs. I went in one night after the dogs trapped an intruder. They're trained to hold a person who's still. They don't attack, then, they just hold. This poor clown was scared stiff. Even with the dogs gone, he literally could not move. He was taken to jail on a stretcher. Anyway, how does the program sound? We'll plan on seven days and see what happens."

Sandy nodded, and Cliff said, "It's fine. When do you start?"

Johnson smiled again. "Before I hung up the phone. By now, your place is going to be crawling with our people. I better dash and get them all deployed. It's been delightful meeting you all. Let's keep our fingers crossed!" He shook hands all around and left.

It was time for Sandy to give her speech so they went down to the plant. Cliff was very pleased to see faces he didn't recognize spotted around the plant pushing brooms, and apparently handling boxes, but in all cases being very alert. A broom-pusher stopped near by and spoke to Cliff without looking at him. It was Sam. "I just heard about the speech to the workers. Obviously, my people are on the alert, because this would be the perfect time for someone to move. All the workers are in one place with the machine tools uncovered."

Sandy was introduced and started speaking: "Ladies and gentlemen, we may be out of the woods. This morning we received an order from Magna Motors. It is for three times the volume we used to have! As soon as equipment can be installed, we'll be expanding production and rehiring. A few months ago I stood here and said I recognized an obligation to the people we were forced to lay off. We have the obligation, and we have not forgotten: With luck, they will all be back at work within ninety days. I want you to know it was your work that created these jobs. The quality of product we're shipping now is the best it has ever been in the company's history. We're rebuilding this company on quality: the quality you're producing.

"I can only say, please don't stop. Personally, I don't think you will. I learned something from Cliff Fitzpatrick. He said workers want to do a good job. I hoped he was right, but I wasn't sure. Now I am sure! You're doing it. Thank you for your support."

The workers cheered. She waved, and they cheered louder. Then she brought Max and Cliff to the podium, and they cheered even louder.

Finally, Max waved for quiet. "Thanks, Sandy! Brothers and Sisters, that is all I can say or need to say. Management — ownership — kept it's word. Sandy said if we did the job, we would have the jobs back. She was dead right. I'm proud as hell, and I know you are, too.

"There's just one more thing: I can't go into the details, but you must be on your guard for the next seven days. You know the Pinkertons are here. There are people who we are almost certain will try to sabotage our operations here within the next five days. If you see anyone — and I mean anyone — you don't recognize, notify a Pinkerton immediately. They know their jobs, but they don't know our people. You do. You point them to the stranger, and they'll do the rest.

"The owner took care of us as she promised she would. I promised her we would take care of her plant. That's my promise and the union's promise to her. Make damn sure we deliver on that promise! Now let's all get back to work!"

They went back to Cliff's office and Sandy took off her white coat that she had worn for the speech. Kelly said, "I wish I could have heard your previous speech to the workers, Sandy. My God! I have never seen anything like it. You could have heard a pin drop while you were speaking. They believe in you! They really do, and it's so great to see."

There was a message waiting for her to call her trader which she did immediately. "Bill, it's Kelly. What's up?" she said. She listened and quickly made a thumbs-up sign for the others to see. "My God! you're kidding! It's at forty!" She continued to listen, and then thanked him and hung up.

"Murphy closed at forty. Bill's certain there's a corner. It jumped beginning thirty minutes before the close. He doesn't think they'll be able to open trading in the morning."

Then she dialed another number. It was the financial public relations man at Ajax. "Hi, Bill. It's Kelly again. Do you have any word for me?" She listened intently, and finally said, "Thanks, Bill. I know it's not for publication, but let me know as soon as you have anything official. You know how to reach me."

She hung up and leaned back in the chair. "Folks, the champagne is on me tonight. Where can I get some Dom Pérignon?

"Sandy, based on your instructions, Bill got us another $300,000 in Murphy averaging about thirty-five. I guess our shares have an average cost of about thirty over the two days, so that's a total of 1,600 or 1,700 shares. I'm out of money, but the damn stock is now at forty! I have made eight thousand dollars in one day!"

They went back to the apartment, and Cliff helped Sandy with preparations for the dinner. He continued to be impressed at how organized she was. At seven-thirty, the doorbell rang. It was Kevin and Kelly with two bottles of champagne. He put one in a wine cooler and put the other in the refrigerator. Then Kevin started opening a bottle which was already chilled. Sandy came in with hors d'oeuvres as Kevin poured the champagne.

Cliff looked at his glass and then looked at Kelly. "I don't know which is bubbling more, Kelly, you or the champagne. I think you are."

The dinner was a smashing success with Sandy serving a roast sirloin of beef. After coffee and cognac, Kevin and Kelly excused themselves, mumbling something about it being a very long day. Sandy didn't even tease them about the longer night to follow.



-------

Chapter 17



It was Tuesday morning following a very eventful week. Kelly's estimate from a week earlier proved to be correct. First the financial papers, then the business sections of the daily press, and finally the general-interest press including TV and the news weeklies, discovered Murphy Manufacturing Company and the first corner on a securities market since the Hunt brothers tried to corner silver. But unlike the Hunt situation which even experts argued over, Murphy was easy to understand.

As one anchorwoman said, "It's nice of them to have an even one million shares. It makes the percentages so easy to calculate." And it sure did. It now appeared that there were nearly 100,000 shares sold which couldn't be delivered — nearly 10 percent of the company's stock. One thing had not happened: The sellers of the shares had not yet surfaced. Today was the settlement day for Tuesday's trades, so it was only a matter of hours.

As Bill had predicted, they had tried to open the stock the previous Wednesday, but ultimately could not. The specialist on the floor reported to the exchange governors that he had bids in his book as high as sixty, but there were no sellers. He had sold out his own position the previous day. When he was criticized for his failure to make an orderly market in the stock, he pointed out how thin the market for the stock was and how few shares were normally traded. The inventory of shares he had would have lasted two to four weeks at any time over the previous three years. Now they went out in a matter of a couple of hours as he tried to make a market.

The governors asked around but could not find any shares for sale even at a hypothetical $100 a share. They gave up and formally suspended the stock from trading. Now they watched and waited.

So far the company security was holding solidly. Too solidly for a couple of kids who were taking a shortcut through a previously unnoticed hole in a fence, and too solidly for a poor pizza delivery man who sheepishly showed the guards surrounding him a large pepperoni pizza he was delivering.

Sandy was sitting across from Cliff with her coffee, giggling to herself. He looked at her strangely. "What's got into you? I didn't think you were the giggling type."

"I was just thinking about yesterday in the cafeteria. You missed the funniest scene in years. I didn't want to embarrass the other two by telling you yesterday afternoon while they were around, and last night we had other things to do. Anyway, you know how in a crowded place, every once in a while there's a moment of quiet?

"Well just as one occurred, everyone in the place saw Kelly standing against Kevin's chest and heard her screaming up at him, 'I can't marry you! I refuse to be Kelly O'Rourke!' The whole place just broke up. It's been the talk of the plant. They all think it's great. They were wondering who that beautiful dark-haired girl is. Now they know."

She looked up just as Kelly came in. "And speak of the devil! Here she is!"

"Would you two please do something about this ... this Irish wolfhound who keeps following me around!" She came in followed by Kevin, who grinned at the two of them and winked at them over Kelly's head. "Sandy, do something! You own this joint. Can't you get him to do some work or molest a secretary or something?"

"Kelly, you must be thinking of two other people. All I do is get the coffee. No one reports to me. I don't even get to share a secretary. Wait till I address the Midwest Women Financial Executives meeting in Chicago in November! (I didn't tell you, Cliff, but they invited me down as the featured speaker.) Wait until I tell them that I do your correspondence, get your coffee, and perform ... other personal services. Boy, are they going to hear about it!"

"But what about your treasury duties?" Kelly asked. "Who does those?"

"I do those, too. Cliff says that once a good cash management system is up and running, all you have to do is watch the wheels turn."

"So what do you do?" Kelly persisted.

Sandy shrugged. "I watch the wheels turn," she replied with a grin. "You'll have to ask Cliff about Kevin. He's the CEO."

"Okay, Cliff, you do it!" Kelly demanded.

Cliff pretended to look puzzled. "Do what?"

"Damn it! Tell this big lug to get to work and quit bothering me. That's what!"

"Oh, dear!" Cliff said plaintively. "I can't do that. Kelly, I guess you don't know much about systems people, do you?"

"I guess not, Cliff," she replied sarcastically, "but I sure know when I'm being conned! But please continue."

"Kelly, they're very scarce. Good ones are nearly impossible to get, and unfortunately, Kevin's one of the very best. Hell, I can't tell him to do anything. Ask Sandy. She'll tell you that it takes at least an hour of discussion to try to figure out what sort of mood he's in. We have to wait for just the right time, or he'll get mad and sulk ... Or something worse."

He smiled at her. "Actually, Kelly, I want to thank you. His mood has been so much better since you have been around. He hasn't smashed a computer since you have been here and that's almost a full week now!"

By this time everyone in the room including Kelly was laughing. She and Kevin collapsed in the sofa. "Okay then, both of you: Just tell Kevin I can't possibly marry him because the name, Kelly O'Rourke, sounds absolutely ridiculous. It's really a stupid name, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I think it sounds very nice ... a bit ethnic, but nice," Cliff said with a straight face.

"A bit ethnic, my ass! Kevin O'Rourke, if you persist, so help me I'll have the map of Ireland tattooed on my chest, right over my boobs. What do you think about that?"

Kevin looked thoughtful, and then visibly brightened. "I think it's a fine idea. A bit dramatic and not really necessary, but a fine idea. What do you two think?"

By this time, Sandy was laughing too hard to do anything except slowly shake her head. Cliff just held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "You keep us out of this! I have one question, though. Kevin, you're Catholic, aren't you? How about you, Kelly?"

"My father is Presbyterian. Only my mother is Catholic," she said.

"What about you?" Cliff persisted.

"I'm Catholic," she replied reluctantly.

"Great! When is the wedding?"

"I'll think about it," she mumbled.

Then she turned on the sofa, grabbed Kevin, and melted into his arms. Awhile later she came up for air. They heard her whisper, "Of course I'll marry you, you big lug. I feel sorry for you. And I love you so damned much. But Kelly O'Rourke, indeed!" She went back into his arms.

Just then Cliff's phone rang. Again, it was Bill from the Snyder trading room for Kelly. She reluctantly pulled away from Kevin, straightened her clothes ostentatiously, and took the phone.

"What's up, Bill?" She listened for a while, while she was looking at Sandy. "Bill, exactly how many shares do we have now? Okay, but you know the drill: Placed back with the original owners, with the voting rights retained by us until October 15. If they don't like it, tough. It's a condition of the sale."

She hung up the phone and looked at the others. "The pot is starting to boil. Bill says he's never had so much fun — or so many phone calls. Suddenly, Snyder Securities is famous as the only place in the country with a known holding of Murphy Manufacturing shares outside of the family. The phone is ringing off the hook, and we're about to ransom some positions. Sandy, we bought 16,000 shares Monday and Tuesday. So far we've only received 7,000. I propose to do this: We will ransom the 7,000 shares back to known lenders. They must establish prior ownership. You heard me tell Bill we retain voting rights until October 15. The price is $1,000 a share."

Sandy was aghast. "You did say $1,000 dollars ... per share... ! Didn't you?"

Now it was Kelly's turn to tease. Her face fell and she looked as if she was going to cry. "It's not enough? You're convinced I'm leaving money on the table. Well, Sandra Donnell, I have to live with myself. Any more than... $2,000 a share... ? would be cruel! Don't you agree, Cliff? Cliff... ?"

"Don't bother me, Kelly. I'm too busy dreaming. I own ten thousand shares, remember. Cameron, that's ten million dollars! Would you like to sell one thousand shares for me? Then I can get out of hock to the bankers, and maybe have enough left to buy my future bride an engagement ring. A pretty one."

"Are you serious, Cliff?" Kelly asked.

"I sure am!" he replied, "But it's on the same basis as you're doing it. Kelly, it's time for me to join the crowd. Where are the forms for me to sign to make you my broker, too? I'll arrange for my shares to be transferred to Snyder. One thing more: What about the eight thousand shares you haven't received?"

Kelly grinned again. "It's simple. The seller buys out of the contract at the present market price for Murphy shares — $1,000 — unless, of course, Bill's greed gets the better of him and he pushes the price up higher. He is greedy, too. I think $1,000 is just a start. But do you see what's happening? These little deals are the market. The fact that the stock's listed on the AMEX has nothing to do with nothing. These sales will be duly reported to the Exchange and go out on the tape. We are the market! We have the only shares available at any price.

"Whoops, I nearly forgot. I have to call my friend at Ajax Industries. He's been trying to reach me." She picked up the phone and dialed the number. "Hi, Bill. It's Kelly Cameron. I heard you've been trying to reach me."

She listened, and made noncommittal noises of comprehension on the phone, but it was obvious she was extremely excited. She was jumping in her chair although her voice remained impassive. Finally she said, "Thanks Bill. When will this be on the wire?" She nodded, and said "Thanks for the confidence. I appreciate it! Stay in touch."

She hung up and exclaimed, "George Simpson is out at Ajax! The Board demanded his resignation. Apparently, some Board members were advised by Magna of what Simpson had done. They confronted him and he admitted telling the Chairman of Magna that Ajax would cut them off if they bought from Murphy. That's an antitrust felony, and Magna threatened to sue for treble damages in an antitrust action. The Board had no choice, so Simpson is history."

Sandy excused herself to make a phone call while the others considered the effect of the action. Cliff said, "I think that makes it easier for us. We have reason to believe Ajax has rather high total costs. They carry a corporate overhead charge that won't quit, including a whole fleet of corporate aircraft. I don't think they can come after us on price, and I don't believe they can do it on quality either. My God! I think, we're home free!"

Just then the plant's emergency whistle screamed. Cliff and Kevin raced for the door with Cliff grabbing his hard hat on the way out. They raced down to the plant floor. As they reached it, they heard screaming police sirens coming their way. At one of the production machines a man they didn't recognize was lying face-down on the floor covered by Pinkerton guns.

He recognized Sam Johnson quickly securing the man's hands behind him with handcuffs. "What happened, Sam?" Cliff asked. He could see other Pinkertons roping off a clear area for the police, while others went back on patrol. A few minutes later, police started to arrive on the scene.

"We caught this guy starting to tamper with the machine. Look." An inspection port was nearly off the machine. Sitting nearby was a bag of what appeared to be very fine-grain sand. The police were about to help the man up when Johnson's walkie-talkie squawked. He had an earpiece so others couldn't hear. Suddenly his face became grave.

He turned to a police sergeant who was obviously in charge of the detail. "Sergeant, you better take a couple of men along the back fence. You'll see a couple of my men about halfway along. This is now a murder investigation: One of my guards is dead!"

Sandy and Kelly had just come up to them and overheard what Johnson had said. Cliff saw them both go pale. Sam spoke quietly into his microphone, obviously giving out the news and new orders. Cliff realized that things had taken a sudden, very deadly turn as he saw the Pinkertons checking their weapons and arming them.

The sergeant returned and went to his radio car where he called for homicide detectives and the morgue wagon. When he rejoined Sam, he extended his hand. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I knew your man when he was on the force. He was a damned good cop. I think we ought to let our friend lie there until the detectives arrive. From the looks of Jack's head back there, I think we're going to find a blackjack or something similar on this joker. And you know what? Our lab is going to send him to the chair with the forensics."

The detectives arrived and searched the man. As the sergeant had predicted, there was a sap filled with lead shot in his pocket. It was wet with blood on one side. The police crime lab people were soon on the scene.

Bill asked if he could have a small sample of what was in the bag. The material looked like fine-grain sand, and they gave him some in a small plastic bag. As the technician did so, he suddenly became interested in the material himself. He warned Bill to be careful with it. "I don't know exactly what this stuff is," he said, "But I have a hunch it's not just sand."

A now-somber group went back up to Cliff's office, accompanied by Sam Johnson. Sam was the first to speak. "I just talked with my office, Mr. Fitzpatrick. This changes things for us ... dramatically. We tend to take it very personally when one of our men is killed in the line of duty. It's not you and them any more, sir. It's them and us! I have been asked to advise you of a proposed change in arrangements. The Pinkerton Detective Agency proposes to work at our cost until this is cleared up. Clearly, it isn't yet. Is our proposal satisfactory?"

Cliff looked at Sandy who was nodding her head. "It's very satisfactory. There's only one thing, Sam. We're called Sandy and Cliff around here. I'm sure you noticed, and we'd appreciate it if you would call us that, too."

Sam smiled and said, "Sure, Cliff. One thing I should mention to you: This is the finest, most cooperative groups of workers it's ever been our good fortune to work with. We couldn't ask for better cooperation. And your people know our history. They kid us about it, in fact. Anyway, I want you to know we appreciate it.

"There's one more thing: It may sound personal, but it's professional. Sandy, what happens to the Murphy stock if something happens to you? What if you're hit by a truck? Who inherits?"

"Sam, I don't know for sure. After October 1st, it's Cliff. Between now and then, I really don't know. Specifically, I don't know if the shares are mine to bequeath now. If they are, the answer is Cliff again. If not, I don't have a clue.

"While we're all being so forthcoming, there's something else you should know. Cliff and I suspect that the trustee of the estate, Ezra Stiles, may be behind this. We don't have one tiny shred of evidence, though, but it's the only thing that seems to match up with behavior we've observed." She went on and explained the theory of the corner on the market and the two-thirds voting at the meeting October first. Sam grinned when he heard Sandy already owned over 74 percent of the stock, so any such plan was already doomed to defeat.

He picked up the phone and called a number. He explained what he had just learned and hung up. "I'm sorry," he said, "we don't like playing target. This gives us a place to start looking, and we're really very good at looking.

"The answer to the question I asked about the stock is you don't know and believe you can't ask. I agree. Under the circumstances, we propose to cover you with bodyguards. I know it sounds melodramatic, but they work sometimes. Will you allow us to do it, please, Sandy?"

"My God! I guess so. But it sounds so ... so creepy!"

"Okay, then. I'll be running the bodyguard detail because we know one another, assuming that's all right with you?" Sandy instantly agreed and Sam said, "Well, I'm off."



-------

Chapter 18



It was a Monday evening in late August. Cliff was trying to watch a preseason Monday Night Football game while Sandy was trying to distract him. They were both having fun when Sandy's phone rang. It was Sam Johnson calling from his car out front. There was trouble at the plant, and he wanted them to return there with him at once. He offered to take them in his car. Sandy put her clothes back on with some reluctance, and Cliff rearranged his.

As they drove towards the plant Sam explained what had happened. One of his rooftop teams had seen two men cutting through the wire in the rear of the plant. They were allowed to come through the fence and move well away from the wire before the floodlights were turned on. The men were told to stand still while guards were called. Instead, they drew guns and started shooting.

Sam said, "It wasn't their brightest idea. The guys I have on the roof are all veteran snipers from Vietnam days. As one of them told me one time, he's heard enough incoming rounds to last him. Anyway, my men smoked them. I think one is dead and the other was hit pretty hard. We'll see."

When they reached the plant, there seemed to be dozens of police cars with their emergency lights casting blue and red beams of light all around. As they reached the location where police cars were concentrated, they found the patrol sergeant calling for the bomb squad. The lawmen knew each other. The sergeant greeted Sam and introduced himself to Cliff and Sandy.

Smiling at Sandy he said, "You look even better in person than you do on TV. I saw you interviewed about that stock corner thing. I'm very pleased to meet you. The guys who are down apparently have enough explosives with them to level this place. Miss Donnell, someone doesn't like you very much."

Meanwhile, Sam checked his men. They were all in position and very alert. Sam looked on while his men gave their statements to the police. When they finished up, Sam took one more look around and then drove them back to the apartment. Sandy asked him if he could join them for a beer. He grinned and accepted.

They entered the apartment and saw the football game was still on. Sandy said, "I know when I'm not wanted!" She brought out beer and pretzels, and went back for cheese and crackers.

Green Bay was playing the Jets in a preseason game at the Meadowlands and the Packers were actually winning. In spite of what she said, Sandy was an avid football fan. All three were watching the game closely right to the end which came about eleven. The Packers had hung on to win.

Sandy produced more beers and the three relaxed. Cliff was the first to speak. "Sam, it never occurred to me to ask: Were those guys you picked up tonight identified?"

"I didn't make them," Sam replied. "And that reminds me: As far as I know, there's no make on that killer from last month, either. This whole deal bothers me. For that matter, I haven't heard of an identification of that substance he had. Last I heard, it was being sent to the FBI crime lab. One thing is for damn sure: somebody doesn't like you a whole lot!

"But there's something in our favor: There have been two attempts in thirty days. Both attempts left bodies on the ground. It sounds weird, I know, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier to keep my men on their toes. There's nothing quite like shots being fired to maintain a guy's concentration."

He got out of his chair. "I had better get back to the car. Thanks very much for the beer, Sandy. I enjoyed it. Good night, folks."

-------

On Saturday morning, Sandy had an early appointment at the beauty parlor. She was going to sneak out but decided it would get the detectives on duty in trouble. She had learned that Sam was an ex-major in the Marine Corps. She decided he could strip flesh from bones with his voice, and she didn't want to be the cause of it so she called the number she had been given.

The voice at the other end said very pleasantly, "Please wait, Miss Donnell." A moment later, the voice came back and said, "You will be taking your car from the garage, ma'am?" Sandy said she would be, and the voice said it was clear to proceed.

Sandy thought it was a lot of cloak-and-dagger nonsense, but she played the game. Her beauty parlor was located in a shopping mall. After parking in the large parking area she walked towards the entrance.

Suddenly, an arm grabbed her around the neck from behind, and she felt something sharp at her back. Then she heard the word she had been told to expect: "Drop!"

She did exactly what she had been told. Letting her body go limp she dropped straight to the ground while ignoring the sharp object. Instantly, shots rang out and a heavy body fell on top of her. Even covered as she was by the body on top, she could still hear more shots fired, then the squeal of tires followed by the sound of a car crash. Seconds later, the body lying on top of her was pulled off.

Again it was Sam Johnson. Although she was starting to shake, she managed a grin. "For Heaven's sake, Johnson, don't you ever go home? And what did I do this time?"

He looked her over and whistled softly. "Sandy, I'm afraid you're going to need a new blouse. And maybe we better get you to a hospital. I think he nicked your back with his blade."

Sandy glanced at the body lying on the ground and quickly turned her head away. Magnum bullets had torn the assailant to shreds. "Sam Johnson, we will do no such thing! I'm fine, and ... Holy cow! I'm late for my appointment. They'll cancel me."

Sandy sprinted off. Sam waved and two Pinkertons, one of them a woman, ran after her. Sam was both concerned and amused. Sandy had done it perfectly even though he had been unable to get her to rehearse. He smiled as he thought about the police reaction. He could hear sirens already racing to the scene.

The man who had grabbed Sandy was dead. Three Pinkertons had been shooting, including himself. Sam knew he and at least one of the others used .357 Magnums so the assailant was in pieces. My God! he thought, She didn't even blink. This is a girl worth guarding!

When the police arrived, they took the two men in the getaway car into custody while the morgue wagon was on its way to retrieve the assailant. On this investigation, the patrol sergeant quickly gave way to a lieutenant of homicide, Lemuel Collins. Clearly, the Milwaukee Police Department was getting tired of the attacks involving Murphy Manufacturing.

Sam explained what had happened. He said he was in charge of a bodyguard detail covering Miss Donnell and told how she had been grabbed from behind. "Lieutenant, it looked like a kidnaping. It's the only reason I can think of for two guys in the getaway car. We yelled at Sandy to drop, and she did. I think her back was cut by his knife on the way down. As soon as she was out of our firing line, three of us cut loose. I think we may have overdone it a bit. The guy is shot to rags. Anyway, we have the other two. Now I would love to know where they intended to take her."

"Where is Miss Donnell now? At the hospital?" Collins asked.

Johnson grinned and shook his head. "No, sir. At the beauty salon over there. That's why she's here. She ran in, afraid she would lose her appointment."

Collins looked at him strangely. Finally, he decided Johnson wasn't kidding. "Shall we have a talk with the intended victim?"

They walked over to the beauty parlor and waited while the operator finished with Sandy. Finally she emerged from the shop. As they walked over, the female Pinkerton was assuring her that Cliff would love her hair.

Sam introduced her to Lieutenant Collins who walked around her looking and then said, "Tell me I'm seeing things. Miss Donnell, is your blouse being held together with Scotch tape?"

Sandy smiled at him, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but it's the best we could do. Does it really look that bad? It's not bleeding through the fabric, is it?"

Collins started to laugh. "Miss Donnell, you absolutely take the cake! You're the victim of an attempted kidnap. The assailant is shot to pieces right on top of you. And then you use Scotch tape ... and Band-Aids... ?" Sandy nodded as Collins continued, " ... to fix the damage."

Sandy looked at Sam. "Would it be an awful lot of trouble to swing by a hospital on the way back? I think Cliff would kill me if I didn't at least go through the motions of being checked."

Collins asked, "Miss Donnell, would you mind if I joined you? This whole thing is becoming a major-league embarrassment to our department, and we don't like being embarrassed."

Sandy agreed and a caravan, led by Lieutenant Collins with his flasher on, drove up to the emergency room of a nearby hospital. In addition to Collins there was a patrol car and two cars of Pinkertons. Collins escorted Sandy in, explained the situation and turned Sandy over to a nurse. The female Pinkerton, Sally Ellsworth, accompanied Sandy into the examining room. A doctor came into the room and told Sally that relatives had to wait out front.

Sally said, "I am not a relative. I'm police and I'm staying here!"

The doctor was startled, but acquiesced. Sandy carefully took off the remains of her blouse and then the doctor looked at the long scratch. "What did you scratch yourself on?" he asked.

Sally answered: "She didn't scratch herself. An assailant, now very dead, did it to her this morning. It was a knife or an ice pick. I didn't stick around to find out which."

The doctor visibly paled but regained his composure. He asked Sandy about tetanus shots and, when she couldn't recall when she last had one, gave her another. He put some antiseptic on the scratch and smiled. "Young lady, I gather you were very lucky. There shouldn't be any mark at all, and you probably won't even get a scab. The only possible risk is tetanus, and we've taken care of that."

Sandy put her bra back on and carefully put on her shredded blouse. She thanked the doctor, and she and Sally went back outside. When the whole crew went back to the apartment, Sandy asked if they would give her a few minutes alone with Cliff. She told Sam she would call him on his car phone.

When she let herself in, Cliff was still sleeping so she shook him awake. He peered up at her, bleary-eyed. Suddenly, the events of the morning hit her, and she started to cry.

Instantly Cliff was wide awake. "Honey, what happened? What's the trouble?" She went into his arms and continued to cry. As he held her, he felt the Scotch tape holding her blouse together.

Finally, she regained control and told him about the events of the morning. "Cliff, Sam and the police are outside waiting. Would you mind letting them in while I clean up a little?"

He got dressed quickly and let the others in while she went to the bathroom to clean up. Cliff called Sam, and a few minutes later he arrived and introduced Lem Collins. Cliff had made coffee for the group when Sandy joined them after washing her face and putting on a new blouse.

Collins started off: "Mr. Fitzpatrick, frankly, we're baffled. I have never seen a case with more people in custody and less knowledge on our part. We have the guy who killed the Pinkerton man and tried to sabotage your machine. We have the survivor of the two who tried to blow up your place. We have two guys from the getaway car today. In addition, we have two fresh bodies in the morgue. But we haven't identified anyone! They're all still carried as John Does.

"I have been on the force for over twenty years, and this has never happened before. More to the point, I can't find any indication of it ever happening anywhere before. Not even the FBI has been able to get a make on these clowns! Do you or Miss Donnell have any ideas? Any place to start?"

"We have a suspicion, that's all. We don't have a shred of evidence," Sandy said. "We suspect Ezra Stiles, the attorney who is trustee of my estate until the first of October. As I said, there is no evidence. However, Cliff and I and some of our friends came to the conclusion by working backward from a motive. He's the one we came to. He knows the company."

She explained the Board meeting on October first and the corner in Murphy stock. She finished by saying, "Lieutenant, let's be honest: Murphy Manufacturing is a small company. We've been listed on the exchange for a lot more years than I've been alive. Similarly, there have been one million shares outstanding since before I was born. Why the movement now? What's different? The only thing different is Cliff Fitzpatrick."

She then explained the loss of the Magna business, the Kaga contract, and Kelly's input. "So you see, a short sale was a pretty good move ... if you didn't know about the Kaga contract, our export developments, and the Stores Southern Division. Finally, we have reason to believe Stiles was blinded when we fired the treasurer, Purcell, and then the personnel director, Budd. Worst of all, from his position, the loss of his eyes couldn't have come at a worse time. He had knowledge of the losses, but he didn't know about the offsetting gains." She looked at the two detectives and asked, "Does that make any sense to you?"

"Miss Donnell, it's scary. Have you mentioned your suspicions to anyone else?" Collins asked.

"Yes, Lieutenant. To Sam Johnson. Sam, have your people found anything yet?"

"Sandy, I'm embarrassed. My people keep running into blind alleys. I agree with the Lieutenant: We've never encountered anything like this before. And we're not alone. Lieutenant, you might as well know that the FBI is on the case, too. The SEC brought them in because of possible Federal securities law violations. The last I heard, there is still no word on who is caught in the corner on Murphy stock.

"I understand they tracked a huge chunk of the short sales to a bank in the Cayman Islands. All anyone could get is it is acting as the agent for a Cayman Islands Trust and cannot reveal the names of the principals because of the country's banking secrecy laws. In some cases they're tougher than the Swiss, and this is apparently one of those cases. The Swiss will give the government a hard time on tax cases, but they are murderous on securities fraud. In fact the Swiss are a hell of a lot tougher than we are. Over there, you go to jail and they throw away the key.

"Lem," Sam said, "what about the guys you've got in custody? It's utterly inconceivable there are no records — not even a traffic ticket, for chrissakes. Those guys aren't amateurs, I guarantee it. Why, in hell, can't we get a make?"

The phone rang and Sandy answered it. "Lieutenant, it's for you." She gave him the phone and he identified himself. Then he listened and a smile started to appear for the first time. He thanked the caller and hung up.

"This may be the break. Remember that material the first guy had? The stuff that looked like very fine-grain sand but wasn't? My God," he reflected, "it's been like everything else in this case ... in our hands but we don't know what we have. Anyway, that was the lab. They just heard from the FBI. Incidentally, the Feds must be taking this case seriously, too, if they're working Saturdays. It seems that is very nasty stuff. It comes from a very small company in Minnesota. Mr. Fitzpatrick, do you have a Bill Stevens working for you?"

Cliff was immediately concerned, "Yes, of course. Why?"

"No trouble, sir. The lab says they gave him a small quantity of the stuff, and they need it back. The Feds want it, and they want it all! Apparently it's a very rare material: There's only one company in the world known to make it. For purposes of sabotage, it couldn't be better. It is gritty and will chew up machinery like sand. But it can become explosive. In the spot where the guy was going to put it there's apparently an oil sump. This stuff — and they didn't even tell us its name — blends with the oil and starts wearing at the bearings and such. But then, when the machine is going flat out and heating up — high production volumes — the stuff, mixed with oil, becomes explosive. Very nasty stuff.

"There are two points here: First, there is only one known producer. Second, this is very sophisticated stuff. For security reasons — and I'm damned if I know what it's made for — no mention has ever appeared in a general interest magazine or anywhere else. In other words, some joker didn't just happen to find out about it. He had to look and look very hard. We just may have a break.

"Sam, one final question: How hard are you folks riding Stiles? This is absolutely off the record, but you private investigators have been known to do things that get us civil servants cut off at the knees.

Sam smiled. "We're riding him hard, and about to ride him even harder. Lem, my people — the top management of the agency — are taking this case very personally. We come out of a long tradition, too. We were President Lincoln's intelligence service, remember. But let's put it this way: We'll be able to tell you the brand of cigarettes he smokes, if he ever smokes. Last question for you, Lem. When do you think someone will have something on the stuff? And who's chasing it? The FBI?"

"I guess so. Hell, I hope so. I don't really know. Sam, let's get out of these people's hair. Thanks very much for your time, and Miss Donnell, that was a remarkable bit of work this morning. Sam told me about it. It is absolutely the correct procedure, but it almost never works in real life. I'm sure glad it did this time!"

"Lieutenant," Cliff said, "before you leave, I have one more question. In your opinion — and in yours, too, Sam — was this a kidnaping or a murder attempt? Your answer is important."

"Sir, I think it was a kidnaping. How about you, Sam?"

"I agree. Why, Cliff?"

"It may relate to the voting rights question with the stock. We suspect Ezra Stiles, and we told you why. As a result, we haven't asked him about the will provisions. Lieutenant, wills are on file at the courthouse. Could you find out what the will provisions are with respect to ownership — and most particularly voting rights — on the Murphy stock? Let's face it: The stock has got to be the key."

"I understand. I'll see what I can do. Let's go, Sam."

"Are you in a rush?" Sandy asked. "I have a brainstorm I would like to try out on you. And since it's probably nothing but a waste of time, I'll even throw in lunch. Can you stay awhile?"

Lem shrugged and said, "This is my only case. They're very serious about it downtown. I have time. How about you Sam?"

Sam chuckled, "I'm the bodyguard detail. This keeps me closer to the body I'm supposed to be guarding. What's your idea, Sandy?"

"First, let me review a few things you guys have said or inferred: Sam, your people are on Ezra like a blanket but you haven't found anything to link him to the crime. Has there been anything at all suspicious?"

"Not really, Sandy. No."

"What do you mean by 'not really'? It sounds like something isn't quite right," she persisted.

"Well there are a few strange-sounding phone calls, but they're all to other directors. It could be we just don't know your business as well as we should."

Sandy beamed. "Perfect! Now listen: What if Stiles plays the rôle with others that Purcell and Budd were playing for him? An information source ... a go-between? What if it's a group of directors? Murphy has a small board. There are only seven members.

"Now, in the years Stiles has been running things, there have been three new directors elected: Homer Cartwright, Palmer Metcalf, and Luke Foster. They're all from out of town. Foster is in Chicago, and Metcalf is in Minneapolis. When Sam mentioned Minnesota as the location of the company that makes the stuff, it started me thinking. Finally, Cartwright is in Miami. What if there's a real cabal rather than a single mastermind? Does any of this make sense?"

She had an additional idea. "One more thing: The car this morning. Where did it come from?"

She smiled at Cliff and said, "Honey, could you lend me twenty dollars?"

Cliff grinned and gave her two tens. "Now you guys see why she's so rich and I'm so poor! She only spends my money!"

Sandy ignored his jibe. "I'll bet you each ten dollars that the car was stolen — probably from some suburban driveway — this morning. Further, if your guys look, Lieutenant, they'll find a rental car parked less than a block away. Remember, you have to have some kind of identification to rent a car. All their ID will be in the rental car, probably in the glove box. If my guess is correct no one had any ID, right? None of the others did."

Sam and Lem looked at each other and shook their heads. Each reached into a pocket and took out his shield case and handed it to Sandy.

"What's this all about?" she asked.

Lem spoke for both of them. "Since you're the only one using a brain around here, you ought to have the badges, too. Just a second. I want to show my people how smart their lieutenant is!"

He picked up the phone and made his call. "Sergeant, it's Collins. Did you get a trace on the car used this morning? Fine. Send a cruiser out to that area. Have the boys start at the house and just go around the block. I'll bet there will be a rental car — they're all marked — within less than a block. It will probably be up the block on the next cross street. When they find it, tell them not to do anything except radio their report. You can call me at this number. Thanks."

Collins hung up the phone and turned to Sandy. "You asked if your idea makes sense? Make sense! Sandy ... may I call you Sandy... ? it's absolutely brilliant! Now let's see what happens."

In the meantime Sam was on the phone requesting that the three men be checked out. "Jack, pay particular attention to Metcalf. That strange stuff came from a very small place in Minnesota. See if there's any connection."

Sandy prepared soup and sandwiches for lunch. While the foursome were eating, Sandy's phone rang. "Lieutenant, it's for you."

The officer took the phone and identified himself. As the person on the other end spoke, he started smiling and reached for his wallet. Finally he said, "Great work, Sergeant. Now, fax all the ID material we have on our John Does to Miami P.D. See if they know these guys. You can reach me at the same number for a while longer. I'll call or radio when I leave."

Lem had taken a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and given it to Sandy. Sam did the same. Sandy took the money she had borrowed from Cliff and returned it. "Thank you, dear. Now I want you both to see I pay my loans back, so you won't pay attention when he bleats about it again."

She grinned at Cliff and thanked the officers. "Now tell us what happened," she said.

"You called it, Sandy. The car was stolen this morning from a suburban driveway. You did everything except give us the damned street address. The cruiser found a rental half-a-block away. And guess what? It was rented early this morning at the airport. There aren't many flights at that time because of noise rules. The only flight — and the one named on the car-rental reservation — came in from Miami.

"I have some guys out there now. They're waiting for a guy from the rental company with another set of keys. I'm sure you've heard Miami has become something of a crime capital. I'll bet we get a make on most of the guys from the Miami police. Give us a chance to get our money back, Sandy?"

"Of course, Lem. Are you in, too, Sam?" He nodded.

Minutes later the phone rang again. Collins took the call. "Bingo! It's all there in the glove compartment. ID on all three guys. We don't know if it's real, but we will in a very short time. There's something a little odd, though. The car was rented for a week on a prepaid basis. The week isn't odd, but the prepay is. It came from a travel agency in Chicago, of all places.

"What if we find our friend..." Lem checked his notebook and continued, " ... Foster ... made the reservations? It's possible that all the care was taken at this end. In other words, very careful about Milwaukee contacts — code communication between Stiles and the others, for example — but no particular care beyond that.

"Sam, did your people tape the calls?"

"They sure did! Just give me a minute." Sam picked up the phone and called his office. He asked for the technical center, spoke to the supervisor, and explained what he wanted.

Then he hung up and returned to the table. "They're going to sift over the tapes and put all the strange-sounding calls on a single tape. I suspect they're going to make a hell of a lot more sense now that we know what we're listening for. Incidentally, you'll be happy about one thing, Lem: We didn't use phone taps. Instead, we used ultra-sensitive noninvasive listening devices ... all very legal."

Lem picked up the phone and called another number. He identified himself and waited. He finally spoke to someone named Bill and asked if he would care to join them. He gave the address and hung up.

"Who was that?" Cliff asked.

"That's Bill Owen in the local FBI office. He's on the case from the Federal side. They are now very interested. There's something about the stuff that has their interest, there's the securities angle and now there's attempted kidnaping. Ever since Lindbergh, they've been death on kidnaping. He's coming right over. I hope you two don't mind?"

A short time later the FBI agent arrived. They briefed him on the progress they had made, with Lem stressing it all came from Sandy's idea.

"Do you folks have any plans for today?" Owen asked Cliff and Sandy.

"I have taken care of my only date this morning, Bill. I had my hair done," Sandy said with a grin.

"Sam, I hate to impose, but I would really like to hit the ground running on Monday," the FBI agent said. "The other thing is the possibility of getting a break by locating the place they intended to take Sandy. My guess is it's in or near Chicago. That makes our participation very official.

"At any rate, Sam, could all of us go to your place and listen to the tapes? I think we have to have Cliff and Sandy. You said your people weren't sure what they were hearing. With these two listening we can drop obvious business calls and concentrate on what can't be more than a few others. They probably have a pretty simple code if there's any at all. And my folks in Washington love to break codes! Cliff, are you willing?"

"Are you kidding? We're the targets! Of course we're willing! By the way, Sam, I didn't have a chance to thank you for taking care of Sandy this morning. From what Lem said, it must have been pretty hairy."

"It was all Sandy. She did it just right. Bill, I yelled, 'Drop!' and she just dropped like a stone. The guy just stood there like a silhouette target on the pistol range ... and that's how he ended up. I'm going to call our lab and see how they're coming."

He picked up the phone and made the call. "They'll be ready for us in less than an hour. That's about the time it will take to get there. Shall we go?"

-------

The group was set up in a conference room at the Pinkerton office with a technician present to handle the special high-speed tape recorder. He put on the first tape and explained what they were going to hear. "We have Stiles' office covered like a blanket. You'll hear sound shifts and changes in background sounds depending on which sound source we used for a sound bite. We have at least three to choose from on each. There's one thing more: The voice on the other end is going to sound strange. We use a special mike and a computer to reconstruct sounds. You can hear the words okay, but it does sound a little weird."

The first tape was made on the morning before trading was suspended in Murphy stock. They heard him talk to Miami. Cliff was the first to speak. He motioned to the technician to stop the tape. "My God, Sandy, you are brilliant! He's talking to Cartwright in Miami, and I think that's a reference to the Cayman Islands trust. I'll bet Cartwright is the contact!"

As the afternoon wore on, they heard veiled references to all of the things they were concerned with most particularly including the sabotage, the attempted bombing, and the kidnap attempt. Although Cliff and Sandy recognized them, it was easy to see why the Pinkerton agents had missed the connections.

Owen was quickly on the phone, ordering an FBI raid on the suburban Chicago Northside location where they planned on holding Sandy. He then called the office and was connected to the Special Agent In Charge, the SAIC in the FBI's lexicon. He asked for the U.S. Attorney to request court permission to put taps on the phones of the four men as soon as possible.

Because of security laws, interstate kidnaping, and the mysterious stuff, there was no lack of Federal jurisdiction. Based on the tapes, there was strong evidence of a federal criminal conspiracy. When it was all over, they leaned back in their chairs. The law enforcement officers were all smiles.

"Sam," Owen said, "your people have been doing an absolutely outstanding job on this case. Between the Pinkertons and the Murphys, the paid law-enforcement agencies have been getting a free ride. By the way, that fact is not lost on my SAIC. He's more than a little chagrined. As a result, he's been on the horn to Washington to make damn sure we get into this act in a big way and fast!"



-------

Chapter 19



Several weeks later, all of the pieces were fitting into place. There was a conference in progress in Cliff's office. Sandy had made some changes in the executive office layout. In just a couple of weeks she would be elected Chairman of the company and an office was being built for her next to Cliff's.

Cliff had teased her because her furnishings were quite modern. He pretended to grump, "It's going to cost us a fortune to redecorate the entire executive floor. No one cared as long as everything was 1950's business traditional, but now you've gone and started something."

They also had a new secretary. Sandy had hired Stacey Evans, Stephanie Simpson's former secretary. Sandy had called the girl as soon as she heard about George Simpson's termination at Ajax. It turned out the girl was married to a graduate student and lived in Kenosha, Wisconsin, closer to Milwaukee than Chicago. She was delighted to leave Stephanie. With Simpson out at Ajax, they doubted if Stephanie was still with the public relations firm but no one cared enough to find out.

Stacey brought in a tray with coffee for the group that included Sandy, Sam Johnson, and Kelly. Sam was briefing them on results. "It looks like the turkeys are ready for roasting. It's remarkable what a little knowledge can do to get people to talk. It's also clear, Sandy, that your theory of the cabal was accurate. There was great care taken in Milwaukee but apparently nowhere else. When the FBI raided the house near Chicago where they were intending to take Sandy, the people there were cooperative.

"It turns out Metcalf was the link to the stuff as we suspected. He's a friend of the president of the little company. In fact, we understand he had been invited to join its board. Cartwright has the Cayman Islands contacts. Apparently he's been shuttling back and forth, and there are dozens of telephone calls from his office to the Cayman Islands bank that's the source of so many of the uncovered short sales. He also has the Miami underworld contacts that provided the manpower.

"We're not certain about that, and it doesn't matter a whole lot, but the contacts for the people could have been initiated in the Cayman Islands. There's a lot of drug money down there. Foster in Chicago seems to be the guy with most of the money. He doesn't seem to have taken as active a rôle as the others, although he was pulled in because they needed a place within reach to keep Sandy. That still puzzles us a bit. We have been unable to figure out what they were intending do with her. They still haven't covered their short position, so they are financially destroyed, or soon will be.

"This brings me to the reason for our visit: The police and FBI are ready to move on the gang now. However, they recognize the case would still be open if it weren't for your cooperation and your idea about the cabal. Actually, they did an excellent job of screening themselves here in Milwaukee. If it hadn't been for Sandy, I don't know where we would be. On the other hand, they did next to nothing out of town to cover their tracks, so we worked the case from the outside in.

"Anyway, we're ready to move. When would you like us to? Our thought is to wait until the voting rights are signed over to you and then arrest them. We would hate to see the company tied up in knots because the voting trustee is in jail leaving no one with the power to act. We're willing to wait until October 1 to make the arrests. How does that sound?"

Cliff looked at Sandy, who shrugged. "Why don't you do it then," Cliff said. Sam got up to go.

Stacey saw the meeting was breaking up and brought in the mail. There was a very large Federal Express mailing tube for Cliff, marked "Personal & Confidential". He opened it, curious about its contents and found that it was a large calendar, along with a rather lengthy letter from JL Wilson. Cliff glanced at the letter, then unrolled the calendar. He asked Sam if he had a minute, and asked Kelly and Stacey to come and look also.

"Sandy, this is a secret ... at least for a few more minutes. I want these people to look first."

The three gathered behind Cliff's chair and looked over his shoulder. Auto parts suppliers specialize in cheesecake calendars they distribute to garages, service stations, and service departments of car dealerships. This calendar, JL's letter said, was not for distribution. There had been a very limited run, just enough for the stores. It showed Sandy wearing the white bikini she bought in Charlotte and lying on her back resting on her elbows. With her back arched, her breasts were prominent, and her auburn hair was hanging down loose. Cliff recalled the pose because she was looking at him when it was taken. She looked gorgeous.

In large letters below the picture were the words, "Our Owner." Below the picture, in very small type, was the identification, "Sandra M. Donnell, majority stockholder, Murphy Manufacturing Company, the owner of Southern Auto Parts."

The girls pretended to study it carefully. Kelly was the first to speak. "Stace, don't you think it's a little too ... conservative?"

Stacey cocked her head. "Well ... a little, maybe."

Then Sandy came over, her curiosity getting the better of her desire not to give Cliff the satisfaction of seeing her acting curious. As she came toward the desk, Cliff laid the calendar out flat and turned it around to face her. After placing some weights on the corners to keep it flat, he began to read JL's letter carefully.

"My God!" Sandy exclaimed. "This is awful! Where did it come from? It had to have been taken when we were in Charlotte, but I don't remember any cameras. I know we didn't have one, and the Wilsons didn't, either. Cliff, I feel awful!"

"Maybe this will make you feel better," he said. "JL writes that a member of his club had a camera with a long lens and took it. He gave the picture to JL who later got the negative." Cliff glanced at the calendar itself and continued. "You can see the calendar itself is different. The dates begin with August of this year and run through December next.

"JL got the idea because he heard how effective your speech to the workers was here in Milwaukee. He felt it was even more important to his people because they're scattered all over the South and aren't in parts manufacturing at all. Furthermore, he feels that his people tend to be a lot more motivated by personal loyalty than by loyalty to some big company.

"He kept the whole thing a secret from us and apologizes to you, Sandy. However, he wanted to see what would happen. What happened was sales in the units nearly doubled. He sent this Federal Express because he said some time this morning Kevin O'Rourke or Jeff Stover will be running in with the sales results."

There was a knock on the door. "Speak of the devil! Stace, you want to see who's there?" Kevin and Jeff were at the door. Jeff was holding a stack of papers. As they walked in, Cliff removed the paperweights and allowed the calendar to re-roll. The two were obviously agitated.

"What's the problem, guys?" Cliff asked.

Jeff replied, "Our computers have gone crazy. It's Southern Stores. Jamie Carothers is beside himself! He's afraid you're going to fire him because he didn't insist on using the mainframe here in Milwaukee."

"You still haven't told us what happened. What did?" Cliff persisted.

"Cliff, you know how our sales through the stores nearly tripled because of the upgrades, and the rest? Well last month they almost doubled again off the higher base! At least that's what the numbers say. The puzzling thing is, though, they actually add up. There are significant out-of-stocks for the first time, and there are also major increases in warehouse movement.

"What should we do?" Jeff asked.

Sandy's face was impassive as she said, "Why don't you send them a fax for retransmission to all the stores saying something like, "Last month's results were the best in history. Thanks guys, and keep up the good work! Sign it Sandy Donnell, Owner."

Kevin and Jeff looked at each other, utterly baffled. Cliff unrolled the calendar for them. "Here's the secret weapon. It's called motivation! He picked up his phone and called JL in Charlotte. When JL came on the line, he activated his speaker phone. "JL, it's Cliff. Sandy's here with me. While she was trying to recover from a galloping case of embarrassment, Kevin and Jeff came in with the sales results. They're here, too. I got the letter, obviously, but we wanted to hear it from you. What's the story?"

JL laughed. "Folks, in the South we call it motivation. I don't know what you Yankees call it. Sandy, I surely hope it wasn't too embarrassing for you. But what it's done for my people! Wowee! I don't know how much you know about our business, but the big traffic location is the parts counter. Well, folks, the fairly typical arrangement is to have that calendar right behind the parts counter protected by acetate, and in at least one store, by Plexiglas. When we sent it out ... Well, I have never seen anything like it.

"Sandy, it was a good thing you came down with Cliff and visited some stores. There were a lot of our people who got to meet you. Well, their phones were ringing off the hook. The guys who hadn't ever met you were calling their friends who had. They got the same answer, every time: 'Yes, sir. That's our owner, Miss Donnell! Ain't she a beauty?'

"I don't know if you noticed, but our guys did. There's a tiny line that says 'unretouched photograph, ' and by God, it surely is. Well, folks, that calendar has been the biggest sales motivator I could possibly imagine. And it's given me another idea: We're going to have a convention in Hilton Head in late February. We've never had one before, so it would be wonderful if you all could come down. After the way things are going, Sandy, I know those boys would just love to meet you in person. Do you think you could make it?"

"JL, if I possibly can, I will. Could we maybe bring some other Milwaukee people down with us? I think it would be a good idea if our people got to know one another. And there are a lot fewer of us than there are of you. Besides, JL, there's something you should know: One of my ancestors fought for the South in the Civil War. I guess they didn't get up to Milwaukee till after the turn of the century. If anyone's interested, I'll try to find out his name and unit. It was my great-great grandfather, plus or minus a great. Any interest?"

"Of course I'm interested," JL replied. "But I'm just a little concerned. Sandy, my boys would go to hell and back for you right now! If I told 'em you're a daughter of the Confederacy, I'm not so damn sure they might not start marching on Washington! But I would sure love to see it."

Cliff said, "JL, I need to talk to the people here for a bit. Are you going to be in your office for a while?" JL said that he would. "Good. I'll try to get back to you later today."

Cliff hung up. "Sandy," he said, "something just occurred to me. Would you have a big problem if we restructured the Southern operation? I'm thinking we ought to make it a subsidiary of Murphy, rather than a division. We could incorporate it as Southern Auto Parts, Inc. My idea is we retain 80 percent or so of the stock. We let JL and his key people buy the other 20 percent. Furthermore, we structure the stores in the same way as subsidiaries of Southern.

"Then the local manager and his key people have an equity interest in their unit. If they do a good job, they share in the profits, regardless of how well any of the other units do. This has been used very effectively elsewhere. There's a baking company in the South that runs this way. The real motivation comes from the minority interest. What do you think? How would you like to be Chairman of Southern Auto Parts, Inc.?"

"Cliff, I think it's super! Kelly, you're our financial advisor. What do you think?"

"Sandy," the girl replied, "it makes all kinds of sense to me." She smiled at Sandy, "That photograph of you — it's really gorgeous, by the way — proves the power of motivation. I'm all for Cliff's idea."

"Does anyone object? Kevin? Jeff? No? Okay, it's a done deal. Hang on a minute, and I'll call him and see what he thinks." Cliff placed the call and again talked with JL.

At first, JL was speechless. Finally, he found his voice. "Do you mean to say we would be partners? Me and my boys would be owners? Cliff, I'll tell you what I think. I think me and my people are so damn sure it would work, we would give you a profit guarantee. If we don't make more money for you, we won't take any. How's that for sure?"

"JL, keep it under your hat for now. We have to do it after the October Board meeting. But consider it done, okay? I guarantee it will happen. And you know something else? Sandy will announce it — with your permission, of course — at the meeting in February. Fair?"

"Fair isn't the word," JL responded. And you say Sandy's going to be Chairman and I'm president. What are you going to be? We need you, Cliff. Will you be a director?"

"Sure will, JL. And we're counting on a golf game when we're down there. Is it a deal?"

"It sure is. Folks, you'll never regret this. I absolutely guarantee it!"

Cliff hung up the phone, and the group went down to the cafeteria for lunch. Sandy was still a little embarrassed thinking of herself as a pin-up in auto parts stores throughout the South, but finally decided that the men seemed to love it and it was sure helping sales.

After lunch, Kelly joined them in Cliff's office. They still had not fully settled the personal financial impact of the corner on Murphy stock. However, Cliff had received a check for over $1 million, and Sandy and Kelly had divided over $10 million between them.

Steve and Jane Muller joined them, having recently returned from their honeymoon. Jane had just returned from a visit to Kaga, and Steve had been over to Troy to see Jack Crowther at Magna. Together, they went over the present position and near-term prospects for Murphy. The present situation was excellent and prospects were even better. There were now twenty-five production units including seventeen brand-new ones.

Steve reported on something Crowther had told him during his visit: "He told me he had visited one of the Magna plants the day before and saw a forklift operator moving a flat of parts out to the production line. A supervisor asked him if they had been checked by quality assurance. His response was, 'They're Murphy parts.' Clearly, that was all the supervisor needed to hear. Cliff, they have never seen the quality we're giving them. They have all kinds of ideas for other machined parts they would like us to consider making for them. We're the geniuses of precision parts as far as they're concerned. The situation for us couldn't be better!"

Jane reported that the Wozlowski ring was about to become the Kaga Motors' world standard. "Cliff, they want to know how much of the world production we would like. I never thought I would see the day. This is tough selling! I admire my tan, mentally calculate commissions, and try to figure how much of their business we want. It's absolutely ridiculous! What should I tell them? It's all open to us, up to 100 percent of world requirements. Whatever we don't take, we get a royalty on. Sandy, have I told you lately what hell it is trying to make a living in sales?"

Bill Stevens came in, and they spent the rest of the day trying to work out the production schedules and plant expansion requirements. At the end of the day Jeff Stover came in with the latest forecast numbers for the end of September. Cliff and Sandy laughed at how close to his financial commitments the company was going to be. Jeff said, "Actually, we are so damned close I could make them come out! And you know what else? Sales and profits are growing so damned fast, by the end of October, no one could know the numbers had ever been fudged."

As they left the building, Sandy asked Kelly a question. "Kelly, I would like you to serve on my reconstituted board of directors. Will you?"

Kelly was delighted. "Sandy, thank you. It's a real honor. I'll try to advise you on the market, but for the life of me, I don't think you need it. Nevertheless, I consider it a very special privilege. Thank you."

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October 1st was a brilliantly clear day in Milwaukee. The Board was scheduled to meet at ten o'clock. Everyone was present including Bill Owen with a couple of FBI agents, as well as Lem Collins with a plainclothes group of three Milwaukee police officers. Sandy, Cliff, and Sam were in position at the table when the directors started to arrive.

Stiles took his usual seat at the head of the table and called the meeting to order. There was no old business. There were only two items on the agenda, the first of which was Cliff's report to the Board. He passed out copies and reviewed it. He stressed that while the objectives had not been met because of the need to sacrifice some volume before moving the company sales ahead, the company's present growth track was far steeper than had been originally projected.

Stiles looked at him sourly. "Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I assume you have your letter of resignation prepared?" Cliff passed it to him. "Thank you."

"The next order of business is to elect a new chairman," Stiles continued. "Sandra Donnell is the nominee, succeeding Mary Small who has resigned as a director. Are there any other nominees for the position of chairman? Hearing none, all in favor say 'Aye'."

Sandy was elected unanimously. Stiles started to rise to give her the seat at the head of the table, but she waved him back and just took the gavel. "Mr. Stiles, I assume I receive the voting rights to the Murphy shares today. You have the papers with you?"

Sandy had been in touch with Stiles ahead of the meeting about the voting rights. Stiles produced the papers from his briefcase, and she looked them over carefully, putting them under a file she had in front of her.

Sandy took the gavel and said, "The next order of business is to request the resignation of Messrs. Stiles, Cartwright, Metcalf, and Foster from the board of directors. Gentlemen, it has come to our attention that the Federal Government and the State of Wisconsin are having a dispute over where you'll be spending the next twenty to forty years. Gentlemen?"

Sandy spoke the last words loudly enough to reach the law enforcement officials waiting outside. Moments later FBI agents and Milwaukee police took the four men into custody. They were in a state of shock as they were led away. The remaining directors also resigned on the spot. Within less than thirty minutes, things had returned to normal. Sam Johnson shook hands and excused himself to organize the departure of the Pinkerton task force.

Sandy sat at the end of the board table now feeling suddenly drained of energy. She hadn't realized the extent to which she had been keyed up until now that the excitement was over. When she glanced at Cliff, he looked the way she felt. Finally, she spoke to her lawyer, Tony Doyle, who was present and serving as a new director and corporate secretary.

Tony had prepared the legal script for the special election of directors, and so forth. She said to him, "Tony, could you just prepare the Board minutes with all of this garbage in them. We promise we'll swear it all happened, but frankly I just don't have the energy even to go through the motions.

"Whoops!" she amended. "There's just one thing. Add that Cliff Fitzpatrick's letter of resignation has been rejected. He's stuck with us."

Tony grinned, nodded, and gathered up his papers. The other new directors were Kelly, Cliff, and Bill Stevens, and there were two Board vacancies. Stacey Evans knocked on the door. "There are some people here, Cliff. Can they come in?"

Cliff grinned and told her to ask the Chairman. Sandy, still relaxed at the end of the table said, "Sure, Stace. Just leave the door open and come in yourself. I think it's fair to say the Executive Offices of Murphy Manufacturing are closed for the day. As a matter of fact, before you come back in, tell the rest of the people they can go home."

Steve and Jane Muller came in. They were soon followed by Janet Simmons and then Max Kaufman. When Max came in, Sandy got up and went to him. She gave him a kiss and teased him about being away from the floor. "Max, we're not doing a damn thing, but someone's got to work to support us in the style to which we would like to become accustomed!"

Suddenly, Kelly Cameron said loudly, "Damn!"

The others were startled. Cliff said, "What's the trouble, Kelly? Did we forget something?"

The girl grinned broadly. "No, I'm afraid not. I just thought how dull things are going to be. This has been the most exciting and eventful few months of my life. You folks have done such a spectacular job, about all that's left for me to do is count the money.

"Cliff, I do have one question, though. Does planning always work out this way? It seems like it's being done with mirrors. In business school I always thought a strategic plan was full of high-sounding words and brilliantly innovative stratagems. With all due respect, friends, this is just plain vanilla."

Cliff laughed. "Just remember, Kelly, for all the attention given to zingy flavors like pistachio and butter walnut, over 65 percent of all ice cream sold is just plain vanilla. That's where the money is. You're right, though. Our strategy is plain vanilla. And because it is, it's easy to understand for the folks who have to make it work.

"The secret is simplicity. The problem with the super-sophisticated strategies isn't that they're wrong. Often they're very good. The problem is the only person who really understands it is the guy who wrote it, and unless it's an awfully small company, he can't execute it all by himself. If the guys who have to make it work don't understand it, it won't work. It can't work! Remember the Army training axiom, KISS: 'Keep It Simple, Stupid!' That's what we did. Satisfied?"

Kelly grinned, "I guess so. But it still sounds too easy!"

Sandy sat down again next to Cliff who reached into his pocket and took something out. "Sandy, am I correct in assuming we're not in session? We're trying to gather enough energy to get out of our chairs and go home?"

She nodded, yes. Suddenly, she felt totally exhausted.

"Sandy, will you marry me?"

Her eyes popped open. "Of course, darling. Now it can be anytime you want. But why did you ask me now? Isn't it a little ... public?"

"Sort of, I guess. But Sandy, not only are these the people who are putting Murphy on the map, but I happen to know they're also your very best and oldest friends. So I think it's appropriate. Besides, I have something for you. Can I borrow the third finger of your left hand?" he asked. Sandy held out her finger, and Cliff took the ring he was holding and slipped it on.

She looked at it, dazzled. Suddenly everyone in the room was gathered around. Stacey quickly left and returned moments later.

Kelly was the first to speak, "My God, what a stone! Sandy, he sold some stock and said it was to pay off the bank and buy you a ring. I thought he was kidding, but looking at that diamond, I don't think he was. It's the most magnificent diamond I've ever seen!"

Sandy pushed her way through the group to Cliff who was standing by this time. She kissed him and held him in her arms. "I have just one question, darling. When?"

By this time a caterer had entered and set up champagne and food for the impromptu engagement party that followed.



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Epilogue



Cliff and Sandy returned from their honeymoon just in time to go down to Hilton Head for the Southern Auto Parts meeting. It was planned as a three-day affair. The first day was devoted to meetings on elements of store operations while the second day began with JL explaining the new corporate structure of Southern Auto Parts. The general meeting was followed by individual meetings to review the business implications of the local subsidiary structure and indicate specific steps for each unit and its manager to take.

The big dinner was scheduled for that second evening. A whole contingent of people came down from Milwaukee including Bill and Janet Stevens, who, along with Kelly and Kevin O'Rourke, had been married in the meantime. Jane and Steve Muller completed the contingent along with Sandy and Cliff Fitzpatrick.

Before their wedding Cliff teased Sandy about all the time she was spending on arrangements for the convention with JL. She replied that since she was no longer working her fingers to the bone as his secretary, all she had to do was watch the cash management wheels turn. "Besides, Cliff," she concluded, "you warned me months ago of the temptation to over-engineer a good cash management system. This keeps me out of trouble."

When they went in for dinner, Cliff — who had now been filled in on Sandy's plans — and Sandy were wearing their Milwaukee coats. When they returned from their honeymoon, there were two brand-new ones. The lettering on the breast now read S FITZPATRICK and C FITZPATRICK.

Dinner was served early, with JL mumbling something to his people that the bar would be open afterwards. "There's something about clearing the room or something," he said.

When the people entered the hall there were assigned seats and tables. The seating was by state, with an appropriate state flag in the middle of each group. All were states of the Confederacy. During dinner, a glee club from a South Carolina college sang songs of the South from the Civil War period. At the end of dinner, JL introduced Sandy as the featured speaker.

"Gentlemen," he concluded, "it gives me great pride and pleasure to introduce to you a true daughter of the Confederacy. Her great-great granddad fought with Stonewall Jackson and was wounded at Chancellorsville where General Jackson was killed. Gentlemen, the Chairman of the Board of Murphy Manufacturing Company, the owner and our boss, the Chairman of Southern Auto Parts, Sandy Fitzpatrick!"

The men in the room stood instantly and cheered their boss. The applause reverberated from the ceiling while she waved to the crowd. When they quieted and were seated again, she began her speech. She thanked them for the brilliant performance of the previous six months. Sales were almost triple the best full year the company had ever had. She talked about the reasons for the new organization, and how it was thought that additional motivation would make things better still.

Cliff was amused because, in addition to wearing her plant coat, Sandy had her auburn hair up in a bun and was wearing horn-rimmed glasses that he knew had clear lenses. She didn't wear glasses.

As she got to the end of her speech, she commented on her attire. "In Milwaukee, everyone in the plant recognizes me in this coat. It's like the one everyone else in the plant wears. It's come to my attention, though, that I'm recognized somewhat differently down here."

With that, she stepped out from behind the podium, took off the glasses and the lab coat and yanked out a pin that had been holding up her hair. Her auburn hair flowed free and she was standing there, tanned from her honeymoon, wearing her now-famous white bikini. There was a stunned silence in the room for a few moments and then a thunderous roar. The men were standing on their chairs cheering. Sandy stood with her arms up, waving for quiet. Finally, the group quieted down.

She turned to JL who had been leading the cheers and who was now grinning broadly. "JL, you were right. They do recognize me quicker this way!" Again there were cheers from the floor. "Guys, I have something for each of you.

At that point, large envelopes were delivered to each table. There was an envelope for each person. Inside was a new pin-up picture of Sandy with a personalized inscription to the man and his store.

Before there could be more cheering, JL went to the microphone. "There are three people who don't have envelopes, GC Mitchell, Tom Casey, and Billy Joe Jenkins. The reason is we have something different for you all. These men had the largest percentage sales increases in the company last year. We have something special if you all will please come up. In addition to the special award, there's one more thing: Tomorrow, we're having a golf tournament. These three are playing with our Chairman, Sandy Fitzpatrick. Now Sandy was captain of the University of Wisconsin golf team and did very well in regional tournaments. I happen to know she played a lot of golf on her honeymoon. She has something else to say while we're waiting for the boys to join us."

"Guys," Sandy said, "there's someone else I want you to meet. He's the love of my life, and the man whose ideas permitted the success Southern Auto Parts is now enjoying. I want you to meet the president and chief executive officer of Murphy Manufacturing, and a director of Southern Auto Parts, my husband, Cliff Fitzpatrick!"

Cliff came over and joined Sandy who gave him a kiss to further cheers. He whispered in her ear, "Darling, you are brilliant. Do you have any more?"

She winked and showed him crossed fingers. Cliff spoke a few words of congratulations. By this time the three top-performing managers were on the stage. Sandy greeted each of them and gave them very large tubes. Each was about three feet long. JL took Mitchell's and opened it. He withdrew a roll of paper and gave one end to Mitchell while he unrolled the other. It was over six feet long and nearly three feet high. When it was fully unrolled, they flipped it so it could be seen by the whole room. It was a true life-sized picture of Sandy lying down still wearing the white bikini. It was autographed to GC Mitchell and all the people in Batesville who set the record for the greatest increase in sales in company history and it was signed, Sandy Fitzpatrick.

JL went to the microphone. "There are no promises, but Sandy says she may do this again for the top three stores this year. But if you want one for your store, you're really going to have to work! Do you want one?"

Again the cheers thundered out. While she waited for the room to quiet down a band had entered, and the members arranged themselves in the back of the room. Finally, the room was quiet as they waited for her to speak again.

Instead, there was the sound of a pitch pipe and then she sang a capella in a very clear voice, "Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten, look away ... look away ... look away, Dixie land..." There was a momentary silence in the room as the band came in on the next bars, "for I wish I was in Dixie, away, away..." The room exploded as everyone in it was on his feet and joining the singing.

The room rocked as men removed the state flags from their rests and waved them in the air. When they finished, the band started over. When it ended, there were thunderous cheers.

JL came up to Sandy as the room started to quiet a bit. "By God, Sandy, you were right! If we don't beat last year's numbers by the end of next month, some people here are dead! And I sure don't think they are!"

Cliff came up and gave his bride a big hug. "Honey, that was marvelous! I didn't know you could sing."

She hugged him tight and whispered in his ear, "I didn't think I could. That's why my fingers were crossed. Did it sound all right?"

"All right? Honey, those men worship the ground you walk on. But what caused the change? I knew what was going to happen, but you stood there in the bikini looking so happy and proud, when you used to be so down on yourself and your appearance. What caused the change?"

"You did. I guess I finally decided I glow with love for you so much, maybe I am pretty. And you've been brainwashing me, besides. Darling, maybe I am pretty good at motivating people to do the things you figured out they can do.

"How's that for a division of labor?"


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The End
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Posted:  2001-08-17
Last Modified: 2012-05-05 / 10:10:15 am
Version: 1.20
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