by Lisa Lim
“No!” the caller snapped. “Can you tell me how I can get to the Program Manager?”
“Of course, sir. Press the CONTROL and ESCAPE keys at the same time. That brings up a task list in the middle of the screen. Then type the letter ‘P’ and it should bring up the Program Manager.”
“What P?” the caller demanded with a shrill of annoyance. “I don’t see a P.”
“On your keyboard, sir.”
The caller sounded ever more confused. “What do you mean?”
“P … on your keyboard!”
“You SICK, SICK young woman,” scolded the caller, “I’M NOT GOING TO DO THAT!”
Later, after that call had ended, I decided to give Becca a ten minute break from the phones. By the look on her face, she might well have been in danger of committing bloody murder, though given the circumstances, I couldn’t really blame her.
And then I was on to the next call. The agent, Siew Mei, was already halfway into the call.
“Sir,” said Siew Mei. “Let me repeat your password once again. That’s F as in Fried Chicken, A is in AIDS, B as in Botulism, C as in Cancer and Q as in Cucumber?”
I bit back a smile. Siew Mei could sure benefit from using NATO phonetic alphabet.
After the caller had clicked off, I gave Siew Mei the standard drill. “Write this down: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, Juliet, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-Ray, Yankee, Zulu.” I spoke slowly and clearly, pausing to enable her to catch up. “You got all that?”
“I think so,” Siew Mei murmured, madly scrawling away in her notepad.
“Good. In the future, that’s the alphabet code you should be using. Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?” Siew Mei looked at me anxiously.
“Cucumber starts with a C.”
Chapter Fifteen
Carter had kept to his promise. I became his protégé and started attending meetings in his shadow. And it was great to see Carter in his element. He was like Yo-Yo Ma, playing the clients like a concert cellist on an opening night at Carnegie Hall.
As we were heading to the boardroom, Carter turned to me and said, “One of the best ways to impress a client is to take an hour of his time when he’s expecting you to take two. One of the worst is to take three hours.”
“In other words,” I said, “keep it short.”
“Keep it short and you’re giving your client the gift of time.”
I nodded in what I hoped was an intelligent manner. “So who are we meeting today?”
“Tomohisha Sato from Narita Teleservices,” he said briskly. “He just flew in from Japan.”
“Why are you meeting him?”
“We’d like to buy a stake in his company. “
“Why?”
“We’d like to take Lightning Speed Communications to the next level. Become a global telecom provider. And right now, every telecom provider has increased their appetite for Japan’s telecom pie. Lightning Speed, being one of them. And if this deal goes through, we’ll gain a significant foothold in Japan.”
“No. I meant, why you? Why are you heading this meeting? Shouldn’t some executive VP of operations be negotiating this deal?”
“While I’m here in South East Asia, it just makes sense for me to handle it.”
“Mmmm.” I frowned to myself. I had the strangest instinct that I had missed something important but I just could not put a finger on what it might have been. But before I had time to prevaricate, Carter opened the door to the boardroom and stepped back with exaggerated courtesy, waving me to go in front of him.
I stepped inside and found several high-ranking executives seated at the table with their intimidating files in front of them. For the first few minutes, there was a general hubbub of greeting all around and there was much ceremonious handshaking. After the standard formalities, Carter sat down, adjusted his tie, cleared his throat, and then he was off.
Mr. Tomohisha Sato had brought along a translator so Carter spoke slowly and clearly, pausing to enable his interpreter to catch up and accurately translate the conversation.
I sank further back into my seat, painfully aware that I was tossed out of my depth here. As the meeting progressed, I watched Carter with an envy tantamount to awe. He was a masterful negotiator—skilled, focused, professional and confident without being too overpowering. There’s a very fine line between confidence and arrogance and Carter never once crossed that line.
He entertained when it was appropriate and became grave when required. He sang to the tunes Mr. Sato wanted to hear, getting him excited about future projects and prospects. Somehow he even managed to make ‘reluctant’ concessions so Mr. Sato felt like he was walking away with the big prize. It was obvious to all and sundry that Mr. Sato was rice pudding in Carter’s hands.
Konnichiwa and Holy Mochi Balls! Was Carter Lockwood a geisha in his previous life? I half-expected him to kneel before Mr. Sato in a silk kimono and pour him a cup of sake.
“What I hope,” Carter finished, “is to reach an agreement that is mutually advantageous to both parties.” He paused to let that sink in for a moment. “Can I have your commitment?”
A kind of dramatic silence occurred as Carter and Mr. Sato looked at each other to see who was going to respond first. Neither did.
The silence was deafening, but Carter just let it sit there.
Carter didn’t restate his case. He didn’t lobby. He didn’t let Mr. Sato know it was a tough decision. He simply sat there, making a pyramid of his hands, waiting for Mr. Sato to say something.
It was a brilliant and gutsy move. A game of wits, so to speak. Who was going to be the first to lose theirs? I wondered, staying glued to my seat in fascination.
Eventually Mr. Sato began to talk, and he must have talked without pausing for a full fifteen minutes while his interpreter rushed to keep up with him. By the time Mr. Sato was done talking, he had come around. Basically, he had talked himself into agreeing with much of Carter’s position.
Carter met my eyes across the table and regarded me with a complacent grin.
I smiled a wide, relieved smile and wished I could feel that confident in my own abilities.
Suffice it to say, it was a slam dunk.
The deal was sealed.
After the meeting, I hung back while Carter tidied up his files.
“Do you know that Mr. Tomohisha Sato can speak and understand English perfectly well?”
Taken aback, I asked, “Then why did he bring along an interpreter?”
Carter gave a short shrug. “It’s common practice for Japanese businessmen. A translator buys them time. It gives them more time to frame their reaction and form a response.”
“I see.” There was a small silence and then I said, “You sure gave Mr. Sato plenty of time to frame his reaction with all those pregnant pauses.”
He smiled wryly. “Silence is a void and people feel an overwhelming need to fill it. For me, it’s always served one of two purposes: it either lets the other person talk or it forces the other person to talk.”
“And you wanted Mr. Sato to talk,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Of course. I always want the other guy to talk because eventually he may say what I want to hear.”
“Hmmm.” I stared into space with a still expression on my face. “Interesting …”
In the meantime, Carter was already striding out of the boardroom at breakneck speed. I scrambled to my feet, bolted out the door and belted down the hallway. Huffing and puffing, I soon caught up to him. “Must you always walk so fast?”
Carter said with a certain amount of irritation, “Must you always walk so slow?”
“So …” I let out a puff of air and stated the blindingly obvious, “Silence is your weapon.”
“It is. It’s also my defense. When I remain silent, it allows me to collect my thoughts and that lessens my chances of saying a lot more than I need to, mean to, or want to.�
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“I see,” I said needlessly to buy some precious thinking seconds. “But what if Mr. Sato had said no?”
“If people have a need to say no, let them,” Carter said simply. “A few well-placed no’s can create the right environment for a yes.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded to register immense respect for all this information. “So Carter …”
“Yeah?”
I fixed him with a pointed look. “Can I have a pay raise?”
“No.” His refusal was automatic.
“That’s OK.” I smiled sweetly. “I’ll just keep on asking and someday you might just say yes. So …” I cleared my throat and adopted a more serious tone. “Can I have a pay raise?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
I fluttered my eyelids at him. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”
He stayed silent.
“Pretty please with sugar on top and a cherry? And a dollop of cream?”
He still said nothing.
I kept on adding more and more toppings—Reese’s Pieces crumbles, Oreo crumbles, chocolate sprinkles, coconut flakes, nuts, sour gummy worms, mini gummy bears, generally making a total nuisance of myself.
Carter looked pained. “Karsynn?” he said at last.
“Yeah?”
“Please stop talking.”
“OK.” I grinned.
“Thank you,” said Carter with a slight inflection in his voice that indicated that he might have in fact enjoyed our playful banter.
Chapter Sixteen
I stood up, stretching my arms wide to ease my aching back.
I’d spent the last month in a frantic whirl, training the staff, developing schedules, tracking the schedules, controlling quality, creating a budget, sticking to the budget, setting up business liaisons with the software and hardware vendors, estimating all the costs involved with the project, estimating the time involved to complete the project, managing my team, creating processes for my team to follow, ensuring that everyone was working at their full potential… . all this and more, amongst other things.
The only constant was change. I learned to be flexible and I learned to delegate tasks and accomplish objectives through Truong and Inge—my A Team.
Really. I don’t know what I would have done without them. The whole dynamic of this project percolated with enthusiasm because of Truong and Inge.
And Carter.
He was my SME (Subject Matter Expert) and whenever I’d needed his guidance, expertise and know-how, he was there for me. Whenever things went wrong, he was also there for me. And whenever something went right, I felt a compulsion to share my news with him.
Speaking of Carter, Truong and Inge … where were they?
I glanced furtively around. I hadn’t seen them since this morning’s staff meeting, which was rather peculiar.
Then I heard voices. Singing voices.
“Happy Birthday to you, CHA-CHA-CHA! Happy Birthday to you, CHA-CHA-CHA! Happy Birthday dear Karsynn, CHA-CHA-CHA! Happy Birthday to youuuu.”
Before I could utter a big, “Thank you,” I was ceremoniously cut off by a final, “CHA-CHA-CHA!”
“Aww guys,” I gushed. “I can’t believe you got me a cake.”
“He did,” Truong rushed excitedly, shoving Carter forward. “It was Carter’s idea!”
I glanced at Carter in surprise, slightly caught off guard. Usually, (actually, always), I was the person in charge of coordinating birthday “fun.” But when my birthday rolled around, no one ever did anything. Somehow it never occurred to anyone that someone had to actually make the birthday happen. Last year, my birthday was a complete letdown. Everyone just stared at each other like confused armadillos, wondering where the cake and card had come from every other time there’d been a birthday at the office.
Carter was staring intently at me, looking a little sheepish.
With dancing eyes, I mouthed, “Thank you.”
His face broke into a disarming grin. “My pleasure.”
From then on, it became a huge bowl of awkward sauce.
Over fifty corporate drones crowded around me, holding on to their paper plates and plastic forks, all looking at me expectantly.
“Um …” I smiled inanely. “I guess I’ll cut the cake now.”
I had barely cut the first slice when someone shouted, “WHOA! That’s way too big!”
“Yeah!” Another person yelled, “I only want HALF that amount.”
Sheesh. It’s my birthday. Why are they criticizing me for cutting my own birthday cake? Besides, I shouldn’t have to cut the cake. Who the heck came up with that idea? The Cake Boss?
Hullo! The birthday girl shouldn’t be expected to do the grunt work.
Then I overheard someone say, “Who is she? The birthday girl?”
And the response was, “I don’t know. I’m just here to eat cake.”
Truong craned forward and whispered, “Why is a birthday cake the only food you can blow on and spit on and everybody still rushes to get a piece?”
I really had no idea.
I whispered back, “I’ve never seen some of these people in my life. Where did they all come from?”
“Hell if I know.” Truong snickered.
Then it became even more uncomfortable when people I didn’t know started coming up to me to wish me happy birthday and engage me in the smallest of small talk.
“Hi! Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you,” I said politely.
Uncomfortable pause.
“Delicious cake, by the way.”
I smiled at this, not quite knowing what to say in response.
The look on his face was unbearable as he struggled to pretend he was grateful.
Another uncomfortable pause.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Kars, but don’t worry about it. I don’t believe I’ve ever gave it to you.”
And on and on it went. My eyes strayed restlessly around the room until they found Carter. He was standing at the far end of the room, watching me. As our eyes locked, we shared a small, private grin.
Silently, I willed him to rescue me.
He must have read my mind because he cut purposefully across the floor and in several long strides, covered the distance between us.
“Hi again,” he said, standing before me.
“Hi.”
“Want to go get some fresh air?”
“Yes. I’d love that.”
As we threaded our way out of the maze of cubicles, we passed by several agents face down in their keyboards.
We exchanged knowing glances and exclaimed, “Cake coma!”
“It’s such a nice day,” I remarked casually as we started down a well-worn path that curved into a lush garden. We found ourselves surrounded by hibiscus in bloom, hanging orchids and beds of bougainvilleas. The air was heavy with humidity and the heady scent of jasmine.
“It is,” said Carter.
Weeks had passed, and Carter and I had somehow relaxed in each other’s company. I was beginning to think that perhaps for once everything was going right. We were getting along. The job was working out great. I no longer measured the time I spent at work. I enjoyed sinking my teeth into this project, performing tasks that produced tangible results. The entire center was pulsing with potential and running efficiently, due in part because of me.
And Carter, Truong and Inge of course.
“You’ve changed,” I said at last.
Carter looked at me with interest. “How so?”
“You’re more relaxed,” I said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Not so uptight, not scowling as much.”
Our eyes met and I felt a frisson of awareness.
Weird. This peculiar self-consciousness that I felt with Carter, it threw me off my stride. I was accustomed to being in charge of my emotions. But with him …
; “I think it’s this island,” he said by way of explanation. “And maybe it’s you.”
“Me?” I felt the color rising to my cheeks.
“You. You’ve made my job really easy.”
“Oh.” My heart plummeted.
“I like the work you’ve done with the team. With this center. With the entire project. Really Kars, you’ve got this whole place running like a well-oiled machine.”
“Thanks,” I replied, grateful for the recognition. I can’t explain it, but I felt sensitive to his opinion of me.
By now the sun was setting and our shadows were lengthening. Carter stopped mid-stride and gave me a look that did strange things to my equilibrium. “You’ve changed too, Kars.”
“Oh yeah?” I said carefully.
“You seem more,” he paused, seemingly to search for the word, “happy.”
“I am,” I said, lifting my head to the salty breeze. When I turned back to face Carter, he was smiling at me.
“What?” I found myself laughing. “Why are you staring at me?”
“You look gorgeous today.”
Me? Gorgeous?
Carter had called me gorgeous?
I eyed him severely for signs of insincerity. I found none.
“Thanks,” I said, shoving him playfully in the arm. “I thought I was relegated to that corner of the universe occupied by hermaphrodites and black lunged cows.”
“Oh … that.” One of his quick smiles lit his face. “Well I’m sorry I ever called you that. I was only trying to rile you up.”
“Why?”
He gave me a long and lingering look. “I think you’re very attractive when you’re angry.”
My heart did an ungainly flip-flop. “Um … apology accepted, then.”
We fell into a convivial silence as we paraded decorously around the gravel path. I found myself studying a yellow butterfly that was flitting about me. It met up with another and they became a team, flying in tandem.
Sort of like me and Carter, I thought.
“So, any plans this weekend?”
“Work,” he replied vaguely. “I’m always working.”
Apparently. He was at the office all the hours God gave him.
“And what about you?” he asked.
“Anything but work.”