Clockworkers

by Ramsey Isler

  “So,” Jess said, “are you going to do this or not?”

  “Fine,” Sam said, “but I swear if anybody tries to put makeup on me, they’re going to lose a limb.”

  * * *

  Jess scheduled the interview immediately, and by the end of the day she and Sam had an itinerary for a trip to Atlanta. The next morning, they were on a plane destined for Georgia.

  It had been years since Sam had been in that city. She first visited the Big Peach on a high-school trip when she was a key member of her school’s robotics team. In her senior year they’d made it all the way to the national competition hosted in Atlanta. They won, of course.

  “We’ll just be in and out,” Jess said as the plane rose into the clouds. You do the interview, we go back to the hotel, sleep, and we’re back in Michigan in the morning. It’ll be like we never even left.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “Sure.”

  The plane ride passed by without any trouble. Sam slept through most of it, and only awoke when the flight attendant came by to cajole her into restoring her seat back to its upright position for landing.

  Once the plane was back on the ground, Jess hurried Sam through the airport and into a long black sedan that was waiting for them outside. In a few minutes, they were at a shining modern media center of glass, steel, and concrete with sparkling gypsum.

  “They just built this place,” Jess said as they slowly ascended in an elevator with glass walls. “I don’t even want to think about what it cost, but it’s beautiful. We should take some notes for the next Better office.”

  “Getting a little ahead of yourself,” Sam said.

  “Corporate vision is part of my job.”

  “Uh huh,”Sam said.

  “You look miserable,” Jess said.

  “Wonderful powers of observation you have there.”

  “Sam, I know this isn’t your thing. But it will go by really fast. Just give them ten minutes. Fake it if you have to. Find your happy place.”

  “My...happy place?”

  “Yes,” Jess said. “Imagine the place where you’re most happy, doing the things that make you most happy. Pretend you’re not really here.”

  They reached their floor and the elevators opened, revealing a large antechamber decked out in the kind of modern, oddly-shaped furniture that Jess had in her condo. Jess chatted with the wispy young man at the front desk for a minute, and then he escorted Jess and Sam to the set.

  The studio was all bright lights, shiny floors, and vibrant shades of blue and red with a touch of black to bring it all together. Walls of glass surrounded the elaborate set and served as a border between the on-camera areas and the more functional spaces of the studio. A custom crafted desk sat in the middle of the scene, and behind it was a slender young Asian woman with flawless plucked eyebrows.

  “Amy,” Jess said to her, “this is Samantha Chablon.”

  Amy stood up and extended a hand. “Ms. Chablon, I—”

  “Call me Sam.”

  “Okay, Sam. How are you?”

  “In a bit of a hurry,” Sam said as she sat down. “Sorry to rush you, but could we speed this up?”

  “Uhm...sure,” Amy said. She looked at Jess, who just shrugged and walked away.

  A handful of studio minions descended on Sam as soon as she sat down. One gentleman deftly attached her mic and asked her to say a few words for a sound check. Another man held a device to her face and colluded with a camera man about lighting. A woman approached her with a makeup kit in her hands. Sam gave a fierce glare, and shook her head once, slowly. The woman and her makeup kit disappeared behind the set.

  Once all the preparations were made, the studio minions scampered off and left Sam and Amy alone on that stage behind the big shiny desk with three cameras pointed at them and hot lights beaming on them like artificial suns.

  Somewhere in the shadows, beyond the scrutiny of the lights and cameras, a voice said, “Happy place!”

  Sam turned and found Jess standing far away, making a U-shape with her hands. Sam forced a smile. It was the hardest thing she’d done in recent memory.

  “We’ll start in a bit,” Amy said, “are you comfortable?”

  “Of course,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

  “Just treat it like a casual conversation,” Amy said as she shuffled a few pages of questions in front of her. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “We’re ready to go,” a man with with huge pair of headphones said. “You’re on in five. Four. Three. Two...”

  Amy perked up and spoke boldly to the camera. “The hottest tech company in the country is, oddly enough, selling an old piece of technology. The luxury wristwatch industry is experiencing a revival thanks to an innovative design by Better Timepieces. We’re here with Samantha Chablon, CEO of the company and the brains behind the amazing new mechanical design that has the luxury goods market shocked, and has left companies like Rolex and Swatch watching their backs. Thanks for joining us, Samantha.”

  “No problem,” Sam said.

  “Your company has made a big stir in the industry with incredible sales, even in a down market for luxury items. What makes your product so different?”

  “Well,” Sam said, “anyone can stick a few diamonds on a watch and put a ludicrous price tag on it. That doesn’t make it special. Our watches aren’t just jewelry. They are engineering marvels. When you wear a Better Timepiece, you’re wearing a testament to technological advancement.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that they’re gorgeous either,” Amy said.

  “True. We do value aesthetics. Art and engineering combined.”

  “Let’s talk a little bit about that engineering,” Amy said. “I’m sure you’re aware that there are some videos on the Internet showing people trying to disassemble your timepieces.”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “I’ve seen them. I’ve bookmarked a few so I can watch them when I need a good laugh.”

  “You find it funny?”

  “Of course I do. I mean, if someone wants to buy a twenty thousand dollar watch just to see what makes it tick, so to speak, then yes that’s something I find a lot of entertainment value in. I encourage these guys to buy as many of our products as they need until they get the answers they’re looking for.”

  “You bring up an interesting point,” Amy said. “I’ve watched a lot of those videos too, and everybody gets stuck when they try to open that little cookie-shaped gray thing at the bottom of the assembly.”

  “That’s the main system core,” Sam said.

  “Right,” Amy said. “Seems awfully hard to get into it. What’s it made out of?”

  “Titanium, amongst other things.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Amy said.

  “No, it’s true.”

  “I’m sure that accounts for a bit of the cost,” Amy said. “But why do it?”

  “Protection of the core parts, for one,” Sam said. “But also for protection against tampering.”

  “Ahh,” Amy breathed emphatically. “And I’m sure it’s to protect some of your engineering secrets as well.”

  “That’s an added bonus,” Sam said.

  Amy nodded. “So let’s talk about all this secrecy surrounding you and your company. For all your talk of protection of intellectual property, it’s odd that your company hasn’t filed for a single new patent beyond the original one you and your father received years ago.”

  “The patent on the Chablon Method is all we need,” Sam said. “Besides that, new patents would require detailed information to be made available to the public. I think you can understand why that wouldn’t appeal to me.”

  “Yes,” Amy said, “the secrecy surrounding your company is becoming something of a hot topic. How are you keeping your internal affairs so quiet?”

  “We have an extremely loyal team that loves our product and our brand,” Sam said. “That’s all we need.”

  “Speaking of this team, where are all your employees?”

  “We h
ave a small group based in Michigan and we outsource some of the customer service and order fulfillment tasks.”

  Amy leaned in. “Yes, but what about your manufacturing team? I’ve researched your company thoroughly and, oddly enough, I’ve never heard a word about anyone working in your factories.”

  Sam gave Amy a cavalier smirk. “The sensitive nature of our manufacturing process requires that we keep information about our employees under wraps. You know, there are a lot of other companies just dying to poach one of our employees, and non-disclosure agreements are hardly worth the paper they’re printed on.”

  “This is a lot of secrecy for a company that just makes watches,” Amy said.

  “You have to understand,” Sam said, “we’re in a very competitive market with major players who are very unhappy that a newcomer has been able to gain so much market share. Our competitors are huge brands with household recognition. Can you blame us for protecting whatever advantage we can keep to ourselves?”

  “I guess not,” Amy said. “So what about the manufacturing process. Is it by hand, is it machinery?”

  “A mix,” Sam said.

  “And it’s a process that can’t be replicated?”

  “Correct,” Sam said. “You’ll notice that there’s no market for imitations or fakes of Better Timepieces, and that’s because no one can come close to mimicking our unique transforming watch face.”

  “I see,” Amy said. “It would seem the steps you’ve taken to keep your secrets are working out well. The reputation of the enigmatic young Samantha Chablon is well-earned.”

  Sam laughed. “Enigmatic? Where did you get that?”

  “Well, you’ve earned a reputation for avoiding the press, and this is the first media interview you’ve done. Thanks again for giving us the chance to be the first, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sam said.

  “But it seems it’s not just the media you’ve been avoiding. Some of your biggest business partners say they’ve never even met you.”

  “I’m busy,” Sam said.

  Amy laughed. “That’s it? Just busy.”

  “Just busy,” Sam said. “I’m also not the best at doing the whole face time thing. Our Chief Marketing Officer, Jessica Horner, is fantastic at it though. She’s charming and brilliant, and she represents our company well while I stay at the office and make plans for our next products. I’m a tinkerer and a planner, and that’s what I stick to.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned planning,” Amy said as she leaned back and placed an elbow on the desk, “because that’s what I want to talk about next. Where is the company going in the future? There has been a lot of speculation that you’ll take on more investment money to increase production and compete with the European watchmakers.”

  “That’s only half true,” Sam said. “We are indeed increasing production, but we’re not taking on new investment partners. The demand for our products is high and our profits are good, so we can totally fund our own expansion efforts.”

  “And those expansion plans include what, exactly?” Amy asked.

  “Well, we’re definitely going to go more aggressively into new global markets. We’ve had great success in North America and Japan already, but the rest of the world is still ripe for conquest, so to speak. So we’re definitely going to increase our marketing efforts to take on the old watch brands, which is really what’s required to break into the other global markets. Then, we’re going to release a new line of Better Timepieces with lower retail prices. I never liked the fact that your average Joe from a household like the one I grew up in can’t afford our watches, so that’s going to change.”

  Amy leaned back and her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. “Really? Aren’t you concerned that cheaper products might dilute your standing as a luxury brand?”

  “First of all, we’re not a luxury brand. I know that’s the popular narrative, but it’s not true. It just so happens that I sell products that cost a ridiculous amount of money because they’re top-of-the-line machines, but I don’t build timepieces for the purpose of being luxurious. I don’t go into work everyday trying to figure out how best to impress millionaires and trust fund babies. I’ll be honest, we’re never going to sell a watch that costs less than two thousand dollars, but we are going to target consumers who don’t mind saving up for a nice Father’s Day gift, or celebrate a graduation or wedding with a truly memorable and masterful machine.”

  “You seem quite fearless,” Amy said. “Your competitors better look out.”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “They better.”

  * * *

  Once the interview was over, Jessica kept her promise and escorted Sam to a car that went straight back to the hotel. They spoke very little during that trip, but Jessica’s relentless smile and furious typing on her phone told Sam that she’d done a good job, at least by Jessica’s criteria. Jess had only one question: “When were you going to tell us about this low-price product line?”

  “Honestly I hadn’t even really decided on it myself until I was sitting in that chair,” Sam replied. “Something about Amy and her pretentious little face made me want to say something to challenge her ideas about what we do.”

  “You took it personally, eh?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Sam replied.

  “Well, I’m fine with it,” Jess said as she checked her phone. “But, judging by this email I just got, Hamilton isn’t.”

  Sam felt her phone buzz and heard a little chime. She knew she’d just received the same email. “I’ll read it later.”

  * * *

  Sam never read Hamilton’s email.

  When they got back to the hotel, Jess insisted on a fancy celebratory meal. Sam obliged, and indulged in a few pre-dinner cocktails. By the time their meals came, Hamilton was completely erased from her list of concerns. The food was decadent and delicious, and the desserts were elaborately designed sugary treats. “I’m literally about to have an orgasm right now,” Jess said when she finished hers. She asked their waiter to introduce them to the pastry chef. The waiter obliged, and came back with a tall, sandy-haired man named Taylor. Jess gave him her card, a smile, and an obvious flirtation.

  Sam watched with amusement, and once dinner was done the ladies went to their plush hotel rooms for rest. Sam shed her clothes and went to sleep in nothing but her underwear so she could fully enjoy the feel of the luxurious sheets with an incredible thread count. Despite her initial reservations, it felt like quite a fun and productive trip.

  But the fun ended the next day, during the weekly executive status meeting.

  Hamilton strode into the office with a quick pace and a deeply embedded frown that looked like he’d had his face stuck that way for hours. When he made his way into the conference room, Sam, Jess and Yusef were already there. He shoved the door closed and took a seat, glaring at Sam like she had said something bad about his mother.

  “Good morning,” Sam said to him.

  “There’s nothing good about it,” Hamilton said. “What the hell were you thinking with that little stunt?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Sam said, “I’ve pulled a lot of stunts recently.”

  “Don’t play coy with me,” Hamilton replied. “That damn interview yesterday.”

  “Oh,” Sam said. “You didn’t like it?”

  “I hated it. You think you can just say whatever you want without considering the consequences?”

  “I just did it to keep the press from wildly speculating. This will keep them off our backs for a bit.”

  “Oh, that’s what you think you did?” Hamilton said. “The bloggers are already having a good old time with some of your little quotes. What was it you said again? ’I’m not here to impress millionaires and trust fund babies?’ What the hell was that? Those trust fund babies have gotten you where you are, girl. Maybe I need to familiarize you with a saying you’re probably too young to know—you don’t shit where you eat.”

  “Nobody’s goi
ng to care,” Sam said. “Besides, that demographic isn’t going to be our core customer for much longer anyway.”

  “Did anybody else know about this?” Hamilton asked as he glanced to Jess and Yusef. They just shrugged and shook their heads.

  Hamilton rubbed his temples and spoke in a carefully measured tone. “You should have told us about this grand plan of yours before you put it out to the press. Didn’t you think we might want to have a say in this? You’re cutting us out of the loop.”

  “It is a little frustrating,” Yusef said. “I mean, switching gears to put out a whole new product line, while continuing to produce the high end models, and continuing to do research and development? All that activity will put a strain on that secret little factory of yours.”

  “I’ve got a plan for all of that,” Sam said. “But come on, guys. If you just gave this a little thought you’d see it was the next logical step. The high-end market helped us create a name for ourselves while getting a lot of media attention fast and making some quick cash. But we can’t survive on that alone. That market is too fickle, and too small. We risk saturating it in a hurry. We have to diversify if we want to become a household name that can compete against the famous watch companies. They’ve got decades of brand recognition and millions of dollars in advertising and sponsorships behind them. We need to get our product in more hands if we’re going to solidify a reputation as the best timepieces in the world.”

  “She’s right,” Jess said. “The high-end market for timepieces is volatile. Most of the Swiss watchmakers wouldn’t survive if they weren’t part of larger companies or didn’t make other products.”

  “Regardless,” Hamilton said, “you should have included your partners in this decision before you made it public to the whole damn world. You’re getting awfully egotistical, Sam. I couldn’t help but notice you used the words ’I’ and ’my’ quite frequently during that interview. I thought this was a team effort.”

  Sam closed her eyes for a moment and took two deep breaths. “Hamilton, I’m sure you have better things to do than bother yourself with the number of self-referential terms in my interview....an interview that I only did to get the press off my back.”