Loved Me Once (Love, Romance and Business)

by Gail Hewitt

  The focus-group facility was exactly what she'd hoped it would be — modern and efficiently organized. The first group that the coordinator had put together was evenly matched between male and female parents. Maggie went through the scenario as Tom and Halbrooks watched from the observation room, Jack Holt at the door.

  She thought the result was exactly what was needed. The group had been reasonably predictable, confirming, for example, some of TTI's current assumptions about community attitudes. There were, however, surprises. There was more resistance than anyone expected to allying TTI with the interests of local government. At least according to some of these participants, that attitude had been fostered in part by the recent election results.

  Unlike her fellow New Yorkers (and, from the news reports, much of the country), several of those in this group were feeling pessimistic, convinced that government was being turned over to an inexperienced celebrity, who only incidentally happened to look different from any previous president.

  Maggie suppressed the irritation she felt at this unfair, or at least premature assessment – group moderators who got off on their own viewpoints seriously compromised their effectiveness.

  At least that was one thing about Tom, she thought: he appeared to have no racial bias. He had, in fact, been a serious Obama supporter. Miles, like Maggie herself, had favored Hillary. They'd discussed her attributes at some length, back when they still talked. She knew that Tom was going to Washington for the Inauguration. She wondered if Miles were. Then she realized that she'd missed the last few minutes of discussion, and forced her attention back to the present. The national political scene was not the immediate issue.

  Following the morning group, the focus facility had pizza brought into the observation room. Maggie had expected to be quizzed about the session, but both men seemed to be avoiding the topic, speaking instead of the day's financial news, especially the fact that yet another European speculator was claiming spectacular losses in the Madoff scandal.

  That afternoon the group was made up of teachers and counselors, whose primary concern turned out to be that nothing would interfere with their control — physical and psychological — over their students. Maggie thought this was a great clue. Tom disagreed with that as he did with everything else Maggie had turned up. In the limo, on the way to the airport, he protested her findings. In the 767, on the return to New York, he continued to dispute her insistence that they'd heard input that would help TTI stage a meaningful launch. Halbrooks, Maggie noticed, avoided the conversation altogether, excusing himself from the plane's conference area, leaving her and Tom to hash it out.

  As the plane flew north, Maggie found herself increasingly puzzled by Tom's attitude to everything she said. His resistance was so obvious that she was tempted to comment on the weather, if only to see what objection he would have to that observation. Back in New York, two limos were waiting, one to take Tom and Jack Holt to a meeting and the other to ferry Maggie and Halbrooks back to TTI headquarters.

  Now that it was just the two of them, Halbrooks tried to make her feel better about the day's results. "For what it's worth, Maggie, I thought you did brilliantly. After he's had a chance to think it over, I'm sure Merriman will come around. Frankly, I don't understand his problem with the findings. They make perfect sense to me."

  "He just doesn't want any research done," Maggie said, suddenly very tired. "At least not by me. I'm beginning to wonder if I made a mistake taking this job."

  "Don't even think it," Halbrooks protested. "It's seemed to me for some time that we've been spinning our wheels. You're exactly what we need to jump-start us."

  "I appreciate your saying that, Jameson, but I just don't know."

  When she returned to her office and checked emails, Maggie was relieved to see that the house sale closed on schedule and the check for the first installment had been deposited in her account. Feeling restless in spite of the good news, she made out a list of what she needed to do the next day. First, she'd call Amanda and see what progress she'd made in connection with the estimates on the house repairs. Next, she'd call Dr. Fowler's office and tell them that her mother would continue as their private patient and that — once Medicare was no longer a factor — all bills should come to her in New York; that was a call she'd particularly enjoy. Then she needed to put her father's watch in the safe deposit box at the bank. As for the disastrous outcome of the day's focus groups (for she considered Tom's reaction made it no less), she had to decide if there was anything she could do to salvage the research and, if not, what her next step was.

  Her cell rang. It was Ann Longstreet. "If you were here, Maggie, I'd take you out to a celebratory dinner. Everything went like clockwork this morning. There was one funny thing. It turns out that the mystery outfit buying up Buckhead properties for intermediate-term holding isn't the one that bought your place. I gather from something the buyer's agent said that it's an individual who did this as a one-off transaction."

  "Well, whoever it was, I am eternally grateful," Maggie told her old friend. "You don't know how this simplifies planning for my mother's care."

  "I'm glad you're pleased," Ann told her. "If there's anything else I can do for you, you have my cell."

  "I do, Ann. I appreciate everything."

  Maggie leaned back in her chair and thought about what Ann had just told her. She wasn't sure why, but she'd be willing to bet that Tom was behind the one-off transaction. He'd checked her out. He knew how badly she needed the money. He'd rescued her regarding the job. It wasn't a stretch to think that he'd rescued her regarding the house. A wave of gratitude washed over her, and she felt worse than ever that she didn't seem able to do anything he considered worthwhile regarding TTI. But everything she said, he seemed to oppose simply on the grounds that she was the one saying it. Did he have that small a regard for her abilities? Or had he miscalculated her skills in relation to what he wanted for the role in which he'd envisioned her? She just wished she could figure it out, for then she'd know what could be done to make him change his mind.

  Tom's Agenda

  The day after the problematic trip to Georgia for the first focus groups, the New York news was full of Bernie Madoff 's being allowed once again to return to the luxury of his Upper East Side penthouse instead of being put in jail as his lawyers attempted to work out a plea bargain for the massive fraud he'd perpetrated. At least, Maggie thought, one thing about not having had any investments for so long was that there was no danger of having lost anything in this kind of mess. Still, it was nice to know that it would not be too long before she could begin to replace what she'd had to cash in the last few years to keep her mother in the West Paces Ferry house. As if to remind her of the need to remain focused on business, the PeopleMatters personnel-recruitment director called Maggie to say that they had three resumes which they were about to email. With everything that was going on, she had almost forgotten that she was supposed to select an assistant by the end of January. She clicked onto the first of the attachments, then the second, then the third. All three applicants sounded overqualified, if anything, with solid degrees and significant amounts of experience. All three had recently lost long-time jobs in general downsizings related to the deteriorating economy. Reading these histories of professional achievement come to unhappy endings was a sobering experience, one she didn't think she was up to at the moment. If it weren't for Tom, she could easily have been one of those applicants.

  She clicked out of the resumes and saw that she'd had an email from Julia Clifford, a friend who lived on the coast. She was getting married in May and wondered if Maggie would be able to fly west to serve as an attendant. Maggie grinned, forgetting for the moment her own situation. So hyperefficient Julia had finally met a man who lived up to her standards? That would be worth going to see, and at least now there was no question of being able to afford it. She emailed back, saying she'd love to and asking for details. She allowed herself a few minutes of amusement trying to picture Julia getting
ready for a wedding in anything less than a year and wondering how many wedding planners she would run through before finding one with enough mental stamina to complete the event.

  She spent the rest of the day listening to the tapes of the Georgia sessions and beginning to summarize her impressions of how parents and teachers felt about the job market in relation to the children for which they were responsible and also what their concerns were likely to be in regard to the TTI goals. When she left work to go home that night, Maggie realized that it was the first time during her TTI tenure that she felt she had actually accomplished something.

  It was a pleasure to return to her condo, take off jacket and boots, pour a glass of wine, and stretch out on the sofa to watch the evening news, which — particularly in relation to the financial climate — seemed to get grimmer and grimmer. Depowering the TV, she called Café Viva and ordered in a small Caprina, and then did a few chores while she waited for the pizza to arrive. When her cell rang, she jumped. It was Amanda Perry calling from Atlanta; she'd found a roofer with excellent references and a reasonable-sounding price in relation to the other quotations she'd gotten. He said he could salvage the part of the roof on the side conservatory, which had been replaced just five years earlier, and could match the new roofing to the old. Maggie agreed he sounded fine, asked after her mother, and reminded Amanda that she was supposed to be looking for someone to help her.

  Shortly after that, the pizza arrived, and it was pleasant to sit at her tiny dining table and watch the lights of the city as she ate. She went to bed early, slept well (and dreamlessly), and woke the next morning more rested than she'd felt in a long time.

  At the TTI office, she printed out the resumes that PeopleMatters had emailed the day before and sat down to read them in earnest. When she'd been asked the specific qualifications the job required, she'd given her usual shopping list: purpose-educated or at least experienced in the field; excellent work history; self-motivating; and flexible as to hours. All three seemed to meet those criteria and then some. Still, there was something about one of the resumes that particularly drew her: that of a young man whose Master's thesis was entitled Research as a Strategy Tool. She called PeopleMatters and asked them to set up an appointment in the next few days, preferably around three in the afternoon. She always liked to do interviews at that time of day. The attitude and body language of the applicant as the standard quitting time approached told her a lot about how truthful the person's answer had been as to hours flexibility.

  Feeling that she'd made a good start on today, she began to re-read the previous day's work, and was feeling reasonably satisfied with the usable material she'd gleaned from the mass of verbiage. The next day, Saturday, she worked at home, thinking of ways to streamline the research process. Maybe Tom would be more positive about it if it weren't drawn out more than a couple of weeks. Sunday, she felt she'd made enough progress that she took the day off, slept late, spent a couple of hours in the gym, and called in a pizza, which she ate as she watched a DVD of The Painted Veil, sent her by a media-savvy friend who vowed it was one of the most romantic movies ever. The grim, self-righteous expression of the male lead when he confronted his unfaithful wife reminded her so much of the way Miles had looked at Lake View when he'd told her she couldn't work for TTI that she felt some of her anger return. She wished he could see how much like a bad boss Tom was acting.

  Of course, there was the personal encounter here in the condo on New Year's Day, but that had been no more than impulse, on her part as much as his, no more than propinquity, a by-product of time and place. Tom had made no effort to take advantage of it since, and — all things considered — she was just as glad that he had not. It was as if they'd taken a time trip together and were content to leave it at that.

  She awoke on Monday morning, excited like the rest of the country by the upcoming Inauguration. In spite of the fact that she'd been a Hilary supporter, she thought this man would be all right. At least he seemed to be trying to surround himself with good people. She wasn't the only one in a better mood. The people she passed on the street on her way in to work looked happier. It was clear that everyone was ready for a change. As for her professional situation, she knew she still had some work to do to convince Tom to allow the focus groups to go forward, but after what she'd accomplished with her analysis of the first two groups, she was feeling optimistic.

  She was, in fact, feeling positively cheerful when she arrived at work to find her phone ringing. It was Alysha, calling to tell her that she was to be in Mr. Scott's office at 9 a.m., February 9, for a meeting with Mr. Scott and Mr. Halbrooks. She was, Alysha told her, to be prepared to justify the continuance of the research in the nine Georgia counties that TTI was targeting. Maggie asked if she could have a few minutes with Mr. Scott before then to get clarification on the kind of information that would be helpful.

  "I'm sorry, Miss McLaurin. He's already left for Washington," Alysha said. "And when he finishes there, he flies directly to the Coast, and then to China. But he's checking in regularly. I'll give him your message."

  Maggie hung up, feeling thoughtful and not in a good way. So Tom was already on his way to the Inauguration? Probably attending some pre-Inaugural party, she thought, or meeting with the new power players. For a moment she debated texting him and simply asking him directly what he wanted from her, but decided against it. Somehow, the idea of interrupting him in the midst of such momentous events with this purely personal conundrum seemed inappropriate, like something to be hazarded by a crybaby — or a woman whose bare legs had recently been wrapped around her boss's neck. That encounter, she knew, really shouldn't enter into it. It had nothing to do with work and this offputting piece of news.

  And it was definitely offputting. A meeting announced by Tom's assistant, three weeks in advance, for the purpose of justifying herself, did not sound like a good sign. She wished that Tom would call and give her a clue. Meanwhile, her first impulse, as usual, was to make a list of information that could buttress her case, but then she stopped. That kind of reaction was what had, somehow, undermined her credibility with Tom in the first place.

  So the question became what to do next. She decided to play a game to which she'd been exposed in a seminar that she'd audited: (1) turn the issue into a metaphor; (2) ask what was likely to guarantee that the issue would fail and then flip it; and (3) identify resources capable of helping her find a solution.

  First, of course, she had to define the issue. That was simple — it was the need to learn how best to launch TTI for a fast and positive result. So what was a good metaphor? That was easy too. She knew Tom followed space shots with interest; it was rumored around the office that he'd even talked to Richard Branson about going along for the first Virgin Galactic flight. Knowledge about weather conditions was crucial when launch decisions were being made. So she'd compare the need for on-the-ground research re the TTI launch with the continual monitoring of weather conditions prior to a space launch.

  As for things that could make the TTI launch fail, that was pretty much a no-brainer: (1) launch is ignored by target population; (2) launch meets active resistance; (3) launch attracts a lot of buzz but follow-through is inadequate; (4) right applicants aren't attracted; (5) teachers and counselors resist student participation; (6) parents fear what will happen to their children; and (7) present-day economic powers are wary of cooperating with anything that could bring competing employers into area.

  To prevent failure, then, TTI needed to: (1) get plenty of the right kind of PR up front; (2) determine in advance where opposition was most likely to arise and defuse it before the fact; (3) have 1-2-3 what-happens-next plan in place; (4) take the existing profile of the most-desirable applicant type and determine what is necessary to attract that type; (5) determine where teacher/counselor resistance is likely to arise and provide incentives capable of neutralizing it; (6) determine the nature of parental apprehension and defuse it up front; and (7) identify advantages to existing indu
stry of TTI plan and show them how to capitalize on having this pool of talented youngsters in place, as well as how to benefit from incoming new industry.

  As for resources that could help her resolve the core issue, which was how to neutralize the source of Tom's opposition to her ideas, she knew that what she needed was someone to analyze why she lacked credibility where he was concerned and then to suggest how the lack might be remedied.

  Obviously, there had to be some shift in how she was presenting her ideas. What she needed was an advisor capable of understanding Tom's psychology and perspective. She knew she could call on some of the men she'd worked with at WHT, but she was reluctant to involve them in her new situation, much less to discuss Tom with them. Going further afield, there was the CEO of a Midwestern utility with whom she'd served on a Conference Board panel the year before. They'd stayed in touch, even had lunch a couple of times. She knew he'd help her, but the guy had wandering eyes and, occasionally, hands and she wasn't in the mood to play that game. Normally, she'd have considered Julia Clifford, but the highly focused bride-to-be almost certainly had a brain full of bridal priorities. Other friends with the knowledge and willingness to help were scattered all over the world, and this was something that needed to be done in person, and done quickly.

  Of course, she thought, there was always Miles. If this were a month ago, before the debacle at Lake View, he would have been her first choice. Circumstances made him her last. Would Miles be willing to help? All that evening and into the morning of the Inauguration, she debated the pros and cons of contacting Miles and decided that the pros were slightly ahead. Taking a deep breath, she took out her personal Palm and texted him. "Miles - I nd ur hlp, ASAP pls. U chse tme, plce. Thnks. Maggie"