by Susan Wolfe
CHAPTER 3
On Wednesday she stopped by Mail Boxes Etc. and found her first letter from her father. So the mail drop to his lawyer was working. She had to rush to make it to the Lutheran church while they were still serving dinner, and then she needed a place she could park her car for the night. She finally settled on a shabby little two-block residential street called Little Portman Road near the Trimble Road entrance to the freeway. She climbed into the back seat, hung her two shirts on hangers over the rear side windows as curtains, and tore open the typed envelope to find the familiar, handwritten script:
Dearest Georgia,
Congratulations on your new job. Your talent for gaining the confidence of complete strangers has served you well again. It shows you were quite right to strike out on your own for the time being, instead of filling the vacancy created by Robbie’s departure. And you managed to find work in this sorry economy without the assistance of that useless cousin of yours at Apple. I hope you feel proud of what you have accomplished.
She loved that stilted, formal tone of her father’s letters. The proud autodidact, demonstrating facility with diction and grammar far beyond his eighth grade education. She and Katie-Ann both used a similar style for letter writing, because, well, that was just how letters should be.
Now you can provide for Katie-Ann while I am temporarily sidelined, which is a great relief. And you’ll have useful experience when you’re ready to join me in the business. Georgia sighed. Which would be never, right, Daddy? After all, why did he think she was out here? But her father was no fool. Many rockets never achieve escape velocity.
She noticed some cramped handwriting in the margin:
Horrible racket today, replacing the rail around the catwalk where that guard fell during your visit. Still don’t know how he fell. Must mean they still couldn’t ask him. Either that or he was too embarrassed to tell them he’d been shoved while he was busy unbuckling his belt. She shrugged slightly and continued reading.
As for your wish to make yourself indispensable to your new employer, there are bound to be a hundred opportunities if you expand your focus beyond the confines of your current job description. According to the literature, bad product seems like the number one killer of Silicon Valley companies. Bad go-to-market plans are a close second, and then you have lawsuits that just bleed the company dry. There’s also bad sales training, which is either not knowing how to find a mark, or not being able to close with one after you do find him. (Dreadful waste! Heartbreaking, really.) And lurking behind every one of these problems could be a greedy employee, a stupid employee, or a complacent employee who consumes a salary but contributes nothing. Your first challenge is to figure out which of these problems are weighing down Lumina Software.
Well no, Daddy, strictly speaking that was about her third challenge. Number one was to avoid having the cops notice she was sleeping in her rusty Subaru again tonight. In a few minutes she’d be scrunched up inside her hot sleeping bag here in the back seat, trying to conceal her Itty Bitty Book Lite from nosey passersby. Assuming she could even stay here. This street had a good amount of through traffic for safety, but the neighbors might be noticers. Already in fifteen minutes she’d had some driver of a pickup with a missing headlight slow down like a real snoop before turning into the driveway a couple of doors down.
The number two challenge was to remain employed. Some of the legal issues she was hearing about at Lumina Software sounded a little more complicated than they let on at Heber Springs Correspondence School. She’d had to locate and then practically memorize about twenty different articles just in case she needed to help with Due Diligence one of these days. And there were several other subjects lined up right behind that one.
She appreciated her father’s vote of confidence, especially when her finances were so precarious, and he was undoubtedly right about understanding the bigger issues of the business. With a little time she probably could figure out a thing or two that needed fixing, but what made him think a paralegal could just waltz in and fix them? She wasn’t selling herself short, exactly, but before aiming at the stars around here she was going to aim for a tolerable document tracking system and a good night’s sleep.
She arrived early for the legal team meeting in Ken Madigan’s conference room the next morning, and sat right across from the door where she could get a good look at every person who walked in. She was going to meet Zack in person, lay eyes on the rest of the legal team, and see Ken for the second time ever. Too bad she’d cut it so close getting to the Lutheran church last night. By the time she got there, there’d been nothing left but stale rolls and soggy salad. Now she was feeling lightheaded right when she needed to be alert. She blinked and sat up straight to clear her head. With luck, they’d have those big, sugary maple bars, and she could snag one before somebody else beat her to it.
Maggie finished snapping on lights in the yellow-walled, windowless room, and then opened a big pink pastry box in the center of the table in front of Georgia. “Go ahead and help yourself,” she invited, holding out a flimsy white paper plate as she set the rest of the stack on the table. Hopefully Maggie was too busy with the coffee over at the credenza to hear Georgia’s stomach gurgle its loud, descending scale as she triumphantly seized the only maple bar in the box.
Maggie was wearing a bright turquoise cotton blouse and big orange double-hoop earrings. Georgia’s black pantsuit suddenly seemed too formal. She hooked a hand inside each lapel and started to slide the coat back off her shoulders, and then remembered her dark blue shirt had a soup stain on the sleeve. She shrugged the coat back up onto her shoulders and tapped her pen on her yellow pad.
Maggie dialed in the conference phone as people began filing into the room. Georgia stood and shook the hand of a slight Asian man with very thick black hair, who nodded and blinked at her from behind rimless glasses. This guy had to be older than he looked, because he looked like a Cub Scout. She wrote “Quan—lawyer” on her legal pad. Quan sat at the end of the table and busied himself with plugging in his laptop. She felt a surge of energy as donut sugar hit her bloodstream.
Five or six others filed into the room, greeting each other, waving at Georgia or shaking hands as Maggie introduced them. Georgia carefully wrote each name on her legal pad and continued watching the door.
She’d thought about Ken every day since her interview (he was the closest human contact she’d had since she left Piney), and actually seeing him appear in the doorway was startling. He was taller than she remembered, 6'5" at least, and leaner than a greyhound after a hard race. His bow tie was so red it almost glowed. She took in that military posture, thumbs hooked behind each hip and fingers fanned out along the front, and that close-cropped red hair.
“Hey, everybody,” he said, holding up his long, thin fingers in greeting. “Severine, how’s Paris?” he called into the phone. “Ang, you there? Thanks, no, Beatrice, I don’t think I will have a donut, but they do look great.” Georgia was pretty sure Ken Madigan hadn’t eaten a donut in twenty years. “Tell you who isn’t with us today, and that’s Jennifer, because she had her baby about five hours ago.” Exclamations and murmurs. “Yep, his name is Jacob Aaron, six and a half pounds, blue eyes . . . what else, Maggie? Oh yes, he’s bald.” Laughter. “Good to be reminded of what really matters once in a while, isn’t it?
“And I have one other important piece of news before we start. Did you all get a chance to meet Georgia?” He gestured with a sweep of his hand. “She joins us this morning as a much-needed addition to our team.”
“Yay!” called Severine with her French accent through the speakerphone. “We have a fresh troop!” More laughter.
“Georgia spent yesterday in orientation,” Ken continued, “so maybe she can finally orient the rest of us.”
“Actually, Ken,” called Zack’s voice through the phone. So he hadn’t made his 6 o’clock plane after all. “Georgia didn’t get to spend her entire day in orientation, because she was on the phone with me on the sexual hara
ssment matter . . .”
“. . . that of course we can’t really talk about right now,” Ken reminded him.
“No-o,” Zack reined himself in with obvious reluctance, “but I bet Georgia wonders what she’s gotten herself into.”
“I consider it my true orientation,” she assured him, and Zack’s snicker sounded appreciative.
“Okay, our big item today is the SAP litigation, after my update. Anything else?”
Maggie raised her hand. “If there’s time I’d like to bitch about the AP department.”
Surprising somebody said ‘bitch’ around Ken. She made a note: AP?
“Therapeutic complaining,” Ken rephrased with no evident disapproval, “onto the list. Anybody else? Okay, let’s start with the news.”
Georgia wrote one thing about every subject Ken mentioned. Software licensing. Must be what they called selling software. Somebody needed a nondisclosure agreement. Somebody had an ethics issue in China, and nobody seemed surprised.
“And then my last thing,” Ken continued, “isn’t quite news yet, but it’s gonna be. As you know, our Business Development team scouts around for smaller companies to buy that have already created their own software. They’ve identified a little software company in the finance space, and we need somebody to take the lead on it. Could mean spending some time up in Seattle. Any takers?”
“I’ll do it.” Quan looked up from his computer and raised his hand.
“Perfect,” Ken said. “And Georgia, how about if you help us with the NDA and due diligence process. Okay? That’s great.”
Georgia nodded confidently and wrote: “NDA?? Due diligence!”
“And that’s the news. Okay, Zack. Give us an update on the SAP litigation. Maybe we can start with 60 seconds of background for Georgia.” Georgia wrote: SAP?
“Sure,” Zack said. “We bought a company three years ago when it was being sued for patent infringement by a little German company called Eichel. Then SAP bought Eichel, and our little patent lawsuit became a gigantic patent lawsuit with SAP.” Snickers and groans.
“You know who SAP is?” Ken asked Georgia. “They’re basically the German Microsoft. This lawsuit is now probably the single biggest threat our company faces.” He was talking to her as if she mattered. Which was the oldest trick in the book, she reminded herself. Like vodka to an alcoholic.
“We’re in the fight of our life with these guys,” Zack continued. “As of last week they’ve accused us of violating thirteen of their patents, and we’ve asserted ten against them. We have to find some way to get leverage in this case before SAP drives us under with legal fees and pointless BS.”
At least she knew what BS stood for.
“Our one real chance for leverage,” Zack continued, “is our killer patent application that’s been making its way through the Patent and Trademark Office now for almost three years. Called the ’401, Georgia, because the PTO assigned that number to it. That one patent could change the case completely, because we could force SAP to stop manufacturing its own software.” He paused. “That’s the background.”
Georgia wrote “401. Patent and Trademark Office = PTO.”
“So what’s going on now?” Ken asked.
“Well, that’s the problem,” Zack declared. “Absolutely nothing. This patent application is just stuck somewhere in the bowels of the PTO, and I’m going crazy trying to dislodge it and get the patent issued. On Friday, the judge set discovery cut-off for August 31st. If we don’t get the patent before then, we can forget about using it in the lawsuit.”
Georgia flipped back to “SAP” and wrote “Swiftly Acquire Patent” as a memory device. She needed some way to keep these acronyms straight.
“You don’t think it’s too late already?” Quan asked.
“Hard to say. Judge’s discretion, so we won’t know unless we try. And we can’t try, because we don’t have the damn patent.”
“What does Archie say?”
Georgia wrote “Archie?”
“He says what Archie always says. ‘Any day now. You can’t speed it up. If you try to speed it up you might slow it down, blah blah blah.’ At this point I just want to get an outside Washington lawyer who specializes in the PTO who can at least give me confidence we’re giving this our best shot.” PTO, thought Georgia, PTO. Patent’s Terrible Obstacle. She flipped back to “Patent and Trademark Office = PTO” and added “Patent’s Terrible Obstacle.”
“Good idea,” Ken was saying. “We just have to let Archie know. Other comments? Okay, Maggie, tell us about Accounts Payable.”
“What’s going on,” Maggie sighed, “is that three different companies that work for us are threatening to cut us off because they haven’t been paid. I’ve been calling AP for weeks to find out why they haven’t gotten their money.”
Georgia wrote “Accounts Payable = AP.”
“First AP wouldn’t call me back. Then they told me the invoices had been paid. Then this morning they found a whole box of our unpaid invoices that go all the way back to last year. The miracle is that only three vendors are threatening us.”
“So they’re paying them now?” Ken asked.
Maggie arched her back. “No!! They say they’re backed up on current invoices already, and rather than frustrate a new batch of vendors they’ll just have to pay these as their schedules permit. Meaning never. So I went to Holly Foxx with it, and she threatened to throw the invoices out and make me start over, because these invoices are ‘stale.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “I’m sorry to take the team’s time with something so trivial . . .”
“It isn’t trivial,” Zack contradicted, as Georgia wrote ‘Always Pigheaded’ next to ‘AP.’ “I’m pretty sure one of the vendors is the firm defending our patent litigation. That must be why the senior partner tried to reach me yesterday.”
“God bless Holly,” Ken said with a game smile, “and all who are privileged to work with her. Let me talk to her. If I can’t get her cooperation, I’ll go to Cliff.” Georgia wrote, ‘Holly. Cliff.’ “Sorry, Maggie. I don’t know where accounts payable got the idea their job was to not pay bills.
“Okay, that’s it? Well, gang, another fine day to be alive and working in the Lumina legal department. Thanks for your time, feel free to take an extra donut.” He stood up.
Georgia dropped a glazed donut onto a clean plate as she filed out of the room with the others, who were joking and laughing. If that Swiftly Acquire Patent case was the company’s biggest threat, then that’s what she wanted to work on. Make herself indispensable before Mr. Slash-and-Burn CEO decided to fire another 20 percent of Lumina employees. But hey, she already had a company to buy, and a sexual harassment case to think about. That Due Diligence study was about to be put to good use.
On her lunch hour she ducked into the little maroon-walled conference room, closed the door and dialed the phone. “Katie-Ann, can you talk? Is Mama there?”
“I think she’s at work, Georgia. Well, unless she’s sleeping off her Jim Beam in the bedroom. Hold on.” While she waited, Georgia shooed a fly that was sauntering along the laminated tabletop, and it began zigzagging around the room.
“Nope,” Katie-Ann reported after a minute. “She’s gone.”
“So how are you and Mama doing?”
“We’re all right, I guess. Mama’s been very busy being comforted in her time of sorrow by that Reverend Johnny Awknell.”
“Great. Do she and Awknell drink together?”
“Nah, it seems like Johnny wants her to cut back on her drinking. He wants her to go to AA. She doesn’t drink when she’s around him, and just makes up for it later. They do seem to spend a lot of time in the TV room with the door closed, though.”
“The Lord must love hypocrites, to employ them so frequently. Is he leaving you alone?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
Georgia narrowed her eyes. “What’s the less?”
“Well, you know how the top of my baton-twirling uniform has butto
ns down the front? After the 4th of July parade on Saturday he got awfully interested in how smooth those buttons felt.”
“Katie-Ann, I want you to start locking your door before you go to bed.”
“He won’t come in my room. Mama wouldn’t let him.”
“Mama would convince herself he’s coming in to cleanse your soul. That’s what she thinks he’s doing to her in that TV room. Lock your door.”
Katie-Ann expelled a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll lock it.”
“If Johnny knows what’s good for him he’ll make sure the neighbors don’t have a lot to tell Daddy when he gets home.” The fly was back on the tabletop, and she shooed it off again. How had a fly gotten into this airless inner vault, anyway?
“They’re being careful. I think he mostly just comes when I’m here with Mama. He told Miz Gaskell he’s been helping me out with my Bible studies.”
Georgia barked a laugh. “What if Daddy ever tests that by asking you to name an apostle?”
“I know, but can you imagine Daddy if I ever did start naming apostles? Then he’d really take out after Reverend Awknell.”
“Probably true. So, how’s business down at the WhistleStop?”
“Good. Your former suitor stopped by the other day. And guess who he had with him?”
“Don’t want to hear about him, Katie-Ann,” Georgia warned, fighting off a nasty stab of jealousy.
“You sure? Deke’s come way down in the world since he decided he was too refined for a jailbird’s daughter.”
“Whoever she is, she’s too good for him. Let’s talk about something else.” That cheeky fly was back, crawling on the phone this time. Georgia slapped it silly with her notepad and flicked its carcass onto the linoleum floor.
“Up to you,” Katie-Ann said, “but just so you know, this new one looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.” Georgia snickered in spite of herself, but said nothing. After a moment Katie-Ann gave up. “You know what, Georgia? Those government guys were sniffing around here looking for Robbie again.”