Doing Lunch

by Doing Lunch Free(Lit)

  The dilapidated office building was the headquarters for Aeroflot, the national airline of Russia. The peeling paint, the broken windows, the scratches in the walls, made Mikhail feel like he was inside one of Aeroflot’s planes, not their headquarters. While he had planned to talk to these people with Allison, they had missed their appointment the day before when he left B. Czar’s palatial estate because the plane that the top executives were returning from London on was late, more than five hours late. Of course it was an Aeroflot. Mikhail was convinced that he could use this point to drive home the idea of just how important customer service was for repeat business.

  Climbing the stairs because the elevator was broken and had been for several months, Mikhail suddenly found a need for the gym that Orlina intended to open. Reaching the fourth floor with three flights to go, Mikhail decided that the first thing that was going to be up and running at Aeroflot was the elevator. He had wished Allison were with him, but during the middle of the night she had received a call from Orlina, who had an idea for another business, women’s clothing.

  Orlina, between her visit to the United States and the success she had with her workouts, now had a whole new way of looking at things, very capitalistic. She figured that with more Russian women slimming down, style might take over. Her thoughts often went back to the day that she came home with more bread, butter and eggs than she had ever expected just for a few scarves. While not being involved in the business world, she was still able to grasp some of the things that were going on around her from her conversations with Alexi. She was aware there was a huge black market for denims. She reasoned then that with more people slimming down, there would be greater demand for them. She was a shrewd woman, figuring that she could make money, getting people into the jeans, then she could sell them the jeans to get into.

  Reaching the seventh floor, Mikhail found that the environment of the building changed considerably. Instead of cracks in the walls fighting their way through the peeling paint, Mikhail found freshly painted walls and newly tiled floors. He stopped to think that management was universal, top management got top billing and all the perks that went with the top spot. Staring straight down toward the end of the short corridor, he saw the double glass doors that led to the president’s office.

  Reaching the office and passing through the double doors, Mikhail found that the luxury had increased. The carpeting was thick and the receptionist’s desk was solid, hand carved oak that curved around at the corner, giving the receptionist plenty of working area. The receptionist, being only in her mid-twenties at best, was a very attractive woman. Certainly, Mikhail thought to himself, this woman did not get the job based on seniority, and it was not like Aeroflot was a startup. Looking around at the walls, Mikhail noticed that the artwork that hung on it was of a very expensive nature. Some of the culture that Allison had tried to bring to Mikhail’s life had paid off, because he remembered something.

  “Is Mister Lebitov in?”

  “You must be Mikhail Debenov?” The receptionist’s reply made Mikhail believe that she learned her office demeanor by watching nineteen sixties American movies with Rock Hudson.

  “Yes.”

  “Go right in, he’s expecting you. They are in the conference room.” Passing through another set of double glass doors, Mikhail noticed the sign marked the “Conference Room”. As he got closer to the door, his nose caught the aroma of a scent he adored, Smoked Sturgeon. Opening it, his eyes beheld a sight he would not have expected from an airline that was having trouble financially, having trouble getting off on time, trouble finding countries that would allow it to land. Looking at the enormous room, there was a chef preparing meals at a grill with all sorts of appetizers to go along with the fish, including vodka.

  “Mister Debenov?” came a voice from near the buffet table.

  “Yes, Mister Lebitov?” asked Mikhail, merely wanting to confirm that he was talking to the man that he had the appointment with.

  “Yes, yes. Grab something. Sturgeon is excellent. You missed the crab legs by a day.” The young entrepreneur immediately thought that if only this place had a better ambiance than being located in an old dilapidated building, it would be the ideal place to take Allison for lunch. He started worrying about what these people were serving on their flights. Maybe that was where they could start cutting their overhead. Could Aeroflot’s food cost them more than their fuel?

  “I’d like to, but I want to get right down to business, Mister Lebitov. I have a busy day in front of me.”

  “Yes, yes, I can understand. Gentlemen, let’s get this meeting started.” The others in the room, all men, quickly finished filling their plates and taking seats. Mikhail sat down at the opposite end of the long table from Lebitov to insure that everyone would have to speak up to be heard, since he was aware that he and Lebitov would be the center of conversation. Mikhail figured that there had to be at least thirty people seated at the table and he wanted everyone involved, or at least to believe they were part of the process.

  “Well I guess I should start introducing you to everyone, Mister Debenov.” As Mikhail looked around the table and then looked at his watch, he knew that knowing everyone by name was impossible.

  “These are the people that run the different departments, am I right?”

  “Yes, yes that is right.” With corporate America having a vice-president for everything, it was difficult for Mikhail to believe that was another part of the American culture that was becoming universal, top executives. Global top executives found that with more people around them, they created a greater buffer zone between them and termination. This buffer zone made them harder to get to. The young mover and shaker knew that Lebitov must have felt like he lived in an echo chamber with that many yes men around. The word yes must have reverberated off the walls of Lebitov’s skull like a racquetball.

  “Let’s get right down to business, I have a lot to do today and memorizing the Moscow telephone directory isn’t one of them.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. You are right, we should get right down to the matter at hand, and that is improving the airline. We are open to suggestions.”

  “Good, because I brought plenty. This airline flies over water on some of its routes, doesn’t it?”

  Lebitov looked toward a middle aged, balding man and Mikhail’s eyes followed that lead.

  “We do fly over water, do we not, Vladimir?” asked Lebitov.

  “Of course.”

  “Then why haven’t you changed the name of the airline?”

  “What is wrong with Aeroflot? It has had that name since I have been here,” responded Vladimir to Mikhail’s question. He was more concerned with his sturgeon than what the airline flew over.

  “It’s the last part of the word, flot,” answered Mikhail, getting hungry as he watched the others eat. “It could scare people to death.”

  “But the part you talk of is flot, not float,” answered Vladimir.

  “I know that, but it doesn’t take much for most people to become confused. And don’t forget about the people who are going to think that maybe there’s a hidden message in there. The whole thing is in the marketing. Marketing! Marketing! Marketing! That’s the whole key to private enterprise.”

  “Yes, yes, your point is well taken, Mister Debenov. That is certainly something that we must look at,” chipped in Lebitov.

  “What kind of routes do you have?” was Mikhail’s next question. As he watched Lebitov turn his head to the other side of the table, Mikhail took the cue and followed. His eyes found themselves looking at an older man, late fifties, early sixties who had a nicely groomed head of white hair.

  “Boris?”

  “We have flights to all the major European cities, one flight a day to each.”

  “What about Asia?” asked Mikhail.

  “We have flights to Tokyo.”

  “Nothing to Hong Kong, Beijing, Bangkok, Manila?”

  “We didn’t think we could do the business.”

&
nbsp; “Well we are going to have to change. Russia is going global. We’re starting a resort city near the Caspian Sea. We plan to have the airport completed by the end of the summer, two runways. We’re not putting in runways and not have any planes landing. We want to try and get some of the wealthy people from the Pacific to come to our resort city. We figure between Europe and Asia, we could do okay.”

  “Yes, yes, that is important, isn’t it?”

  “What’s important?” queried Mikhail.

  “Having planes on the runway.” Lebitov’s response started Mikhail wondering which of these “yes” men were going to ascend to the president’s position, because it was pretty obvious that Lebitov was flipping out.

  “Yes. We also need planes that could use the runway to take off from. We’re going to need to begin scheduling planes in there as soon as the city is prepared to handle people.” With Lebitov readjusting his sights on another man, Mikhail’s eyes gave chase and finally stopped at a man that he believed was the one in charge of scheduling.

  “Victor, can we accommodate?”

  The elderly man, probably in his late sixties, early seventies, with very thin white hair, sagging skin and a drawn, pasty white look, tried to straighten himself in his chair. Victor hesitated in saying anything but his mouth appeared to be moving in an attempt to form words. Mikhail demonstrated considerable discipline and patience in not interrupting the attempt. He did, however, begin to start wondering just what Aeroflot’s schedule looked like and he now wanted to look at their on-time record.

  “I think that maybe we could fit in a plane to cover the route but we will have to cut back on our flights to London.”

  “How many flights do you now have going to London?” asked Mikhail, wanting to pay close attention to every detail.

  “Two.”

  “Two! We take one away; we cut the route in half. What other routes does Aeroflot have that have more than one plane?”

  “London is our best route,” came the waning voice.

  “You mean Aeroflot only has one plane for all its other routes?”

  “Yes, that is what I mean,” stated Victor. Mikhail suddenly realized that this was going to be a bigger struggle than he thought. He had figured that the airline would be of sufficient size because Russia, a rather large nation, ran it. Now he was getting the impression that the size of the company reflected an enterprise being run by a country the size of Rhode Island.

  “I want a schedule of all the routes that Aeroflot runs. We were going to need at least three planes a day running in and out of our new city.”

  “We will not be able to do that without canceling some flights,” advised Victor.

  “Then we’ll just have to find some routes that aren’t profitable and cancel those.”

  “Oh, then we will have no problem.” Victor had just shed a ray of hope to the situation, because Mikhail knew that only in a state run enterprise would a losing route be kept. In the private business enterprise of global economies, it would have been abolished or sold off to another airline for consolidation. Since Russia had previously been part of the Communist State of the Soviet Union, they were not about to sell anything to anyone.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Victor, since he did not see the solution that Mikhail found right before his eyes.

  “Simple, Victor, simple. We are going to cancel out some of the routes.”

  “But what about the travelers that use them? What about the travelers?” Hearing Victor become redundant, Russia’s economic savior had to figure that if he lasted long enough, Victor would have a good shot at replacing Lebitov, the double “yes” man.

  “You should not worry about the travelers, Victor. These routes would not be losing money if there were enough of them.” Folding his arms and dropping back into his seat, disgruntled, Victor was unaccustomed to business decisions. It was something that, although he was unaware of at the present time, he was going to have to get use to.

  “Another thing, the colors. What’s with this dark blue?” Lebitov again moved his eyes, this time looking at a man in his early thirties with bright blonde hair. Mikhail, looking straight at the young man, had thought when he first viewed this man that he had transcended time and space. Mikhail believed that he was a relic of nineteen sixties Southern California.

  “Alexander, what do you say about the blue?”

  “It was the color of the airline when I got here. I just figured if it was good for Goodenov, it was good for me. Nobody complained until this guy showed up.”

  Sensing the displeasure and resentment of Alexander, Mikhail knew that he had to stand up to him. Just his words had told Mikhail that the man was complacent, that he would go with the status quo as long as he could get away with it.

  “Have you ever had to answer to anybody?” Alexander appeared puzzled by the question and Mikhail believed that the question was very straightforward. Maybe the man was so stupid; he only knew one color.

  “What’s the problem here, do you answer to anyone?”

  “He answers to me,” interjected Lebitov. That said it all to the guest speaker.

  “When was the last time you changed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well then, we’re just going to have to remake this entire airline. The color goes, the name goes and some of the routes go,” declared Mikhail, his voice firm and steady so that he could make himself convincing.

  “Well what about changing the color to white?” Mikhail looked at Alexander with dismay, knowing that the comment was made not just without forethought, but without any thought at all.

  “We’re not trying to hide in the clouds. No, we need something with pizzazz, something that has a little life in it, something that raises the spirits.”

  “How about pink?” came a suggestion from the other end of the conference table. Before Mikhail could tell the man that the company should stay away from trendy colors like hot pinks and lime greens, the great color scheme debate was on. Suddenly Mikhail felt as if he were right in the middle of a meeting at some Madison Avenue advertising firm. The free market spirit was alive and well in Russia.

  “How about red?” came another suggestion.

  “No reds, whites, dark blues or blacks,” replied Mikhail.

  “How about yellow?” asked another.

  “We’re not a Banana Republic. Castro starts an airline, he can use yellow.” Within twenty minutes just about every color known was mentioned. Mikhail had gotten the feeling that these men had read just about every interior-decorating magazine published. He started to think that they probably did their reading at the airport waiting for their delayed flight. Having heard so much negative material about Aeroflot’s on time performance, he failed to understand why they had someone in charge of scheduling.

  “How about orange and aqua?” was the suggestion offered from an unknown.

  “Can’t use that, we might get sued by the Miami Dolphins.” Mikhail’s response drew blank expressions from those in the room. He quickly decided that if he could arrange a National Football exhibition game in Moscow, the Miami Dolphins would have to be one of the teams.

  “How about forest green and orange?” inquired Vladimir.

  “Nice!” was Mikhail’s response, the glow in his eyes a reflection of his satisfaction with the suggestion. “How does forest green and orange sound?”

  In almost no time at all forest green and orange were voted on and approved as the new colors of Aeroflot. Now to find a way to finance the paint so they could make the change, not just talk about it.

  “Now let’s get to the food. What type of food are you people serving?” The silence that met Mikhail’s question, accompanied by the look that everyone gave one another, let him know that there was a problem here.

  “Don’t you serve food?”

  “Well no,” advised Lebitov.

  “Not even from Moscow to London?”

  “No. We serve no food.” Mikhail looked around at the gourmet food t
hat sat at the conference table and then turned his attentions toward the buffet table. He found the situation to be a non sequitur.

  “Well that is another thing that we are going to have to work on, service.” The look that was generated by the word service was something that had been expected by Mikhail. With the government running the airline, who ever heard of a government giving service?

  “By the way, what was the name of this new city that we will be flying to?” asked Alexander.

  “Good question. We don’t have a name for the city yet. Maybe we ought to hold a contest or something.”

  The possible names for cities started flying off the walls with everyone knowing they had just the right name. Ending the conversation about what they were going to name the new city, stating that was a government prerogative, he returned the discussion to service, where he was the sole owner of any knowledge on the subject. Hanging around for another twenty minutes discussing service, Mikhail sensed that the day was going to be too long with these men. He had to excuse himself because he was meeting Allison to audition music groups.

  The music hall was packed with young people, many with instruments. This was another idea that the California duo had concocted to try to bring in foreign money. While realizing that they were not going to find another group as the Beatles, they still figured they could start a new form of Russian invasion similar to the British music invasion of America in the middle nineteen sixties.

  There were all types of musicians with all sorts of appearances. Long hair, short hair, All American look, grunge look, it was all in the music hall along with every type of music: classical, jazz, contemporary. It was all there.

  Sitting there for several hours along with Boris Semanov, the head of the music department at Moscow University, disappointment was setting in. Of the more than fifty acts they had heard, there were only three they felt they could promote. All three agreed that even the three groups needed a great deal of work and preparation before they could begin touring in the hopes of bringing money into Russia.

  Mikhail was pleased that when they were attempting to find hockey players to export with a licensing agreement attached, they had been much more successful. The next move in the area of hockey was to apply to the National Hockey League for a franchise. If that did not work, Mikhail was planning on getting a league started in Europe that would compete with teams from the National Hockey League in a world competition. He had vowed to himself not to let a Russian asset go without profit, and that included hockey players.