Who Stole My Life?

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  On Thursday afternoon I meet with Stu and some of his colleagues at the Department of Sport in Whitehall. A low-key meeting, behind closed doors. Again, preparing the way. Before I finally signed the contract over a beer in the pub last Monday night, I had told Stu of the potential move to another agency, and he was comfortable with both the move and the reputation of PHI. So long as it meant I was still the lead man on the project, and that I could guarantee my personal attention and involvement. Which will obviously be one of the conditions I will have to make sure is in the contract with PHI before I sign it.

  So far, I have not mentioned anything to Richard or Claire. As far as I know, no one else at Cohen's knows anything about the Olympics.

  There have been moments during the week when I have worried about the morality behind what I am about to do. When I leave Cohen a lot of people could lose their jobs. With the sudden loss of such important business to a competitor, Cohen Advertising may be ruined. My actions could kill the company.

  The thought plagues me, but then I remember Helen's words, and how unhappy I have been at Cohen's. After all, if it had not been for the concussion I would already have made the move. I have to trust the judgement I had already made. So far, I have been impressed by everything I have found out about my previous decisions. I cannot fault any of my previous business activities, so why should I question this one?

  Several times during the week, I have to avoid conversations with Richard. I no longer trust the man, in fact I now find the way he sneaks passively around the office very annoying. Always smiling. Always joking with the staff. Always screwing them behind their backs.

  In turn, I hear the staff joking about him behind his back, 'Big Dick did this', 'Big Dick did that', 'Did you hear what Big Dick said to what's-his-face the other day?'. Why does no one else stand up to him? A stupid question. He would probably fire them.

  The past couple of days have also given me the opportunity to properly review the rest of the work that is ongoing and on my books. I have a lot more business than I realized. Business which I have been neglecting as of late. Business which has been demanding attention, but which I have not given the proper focus.

  Immediately I set about changing that, and work late, very late, three nights in a row.

  This causes a row with Jane on the Friday morning, and by the time I leave home, I am already stressed. Stress which I could do without.

  I meet with Richard in the morning, very briefly, to discuss some trivial detail on a prospective new client of his, and to approve some expenses on behalf of the company. Then I make my excuses and leave. Helen calls and asks me if I can meet her earlier in the Stock Pot: the contract is all ready for me to pick up.

  We meet at 11 am. A quick coffee. A quick explanation of the offer, and the details of the move. And a quick reassurance that this is the best decision I will have made in years. I nod, almost in quiet acceptance, but I request that once I’ve read the contract, and we’ve agreed the terms, that I get to meet the other partners at PHI before I finally sign it. She agrees to arrange it, sensing that I am very close to signing. “Just give me a call when you’re ready…”

  As I walk back to the office, I am a little scared. So much has happened to me in the past month, so many changes, is there a possibility that this change is the one that will finally break the camel’s back. My back. Will I be able to cope with the stress that this might cause?

  In spite of this thought, I realize that I am enjoying it. It's exciting. Far more exciting than being a Product Manager at Kitte-Kat ever was.

  But, at the same time, underneath all the emotion, there is another feeling: the feeling that I am being a Judas.

  I bury it quickly, and decide that the best way to do this is to get it over and done with immediately. I've spent the past week thinking about it, and I know I've already made up my mind to make the move. All I need to do is to read the contract, to make sure it's okay, and then to meet with the Partners at PHI in person, just to dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s, before I hand it over to them.

  So I duck into a Starbucks, grab a coffee and find a seat downstairs and in a corner.

  I read the contract from start-to-finish four times. It takes two more coffees and some sandwiches before I am happy that I understand it, and that I am almost comfortable with it.

  The only thing that worries me is that once I move to PHI, I am stuck with them for at least five years. There is no way out. Helen was quick to point out the small print that specified how the integration of my current clients onto PHI's books would be handled. Effectively, my clients will become theirs. And I have to sign a separate contract agreeing in advance to paying damage and impossible penalties to PHI, should I attempt to steal clients from PHI in the future. Although from what Helen has told me about what I did in the past, I understand their concerns and I am happy to sign the deal. After all, in a way, PHI are doing me a favour in getting me out of Cohen’s.

  When I walk back into the office, I am ready to face Richard.

  --------------------

  "Richard, can we talk for a moment?" I ask, knocking on his door, and then walking in without waiting for a reply.

  He looks up from his PC.

  "Sure. What's up?"

  I sit down opposite him, nervous, a little shaky, but resolved to do what needs to be done.

  "Richard. There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to get on with it. I've been doing a lot of thinking about my future. About what I want, where I want to go, and what I think is best for me."

  The smile starts to disappear from his face, and the corner of his eye begins to twitch, a nervous twitch similar to what sometimes happens when a person is very tired. The color begins to drain from his rosy cheeks, and he becomes very serious.

  "The thing is Richard. I have decided that it would be best if I were to leave Cohen’s and start a new career elsewhere."

  There. It is done.

  He stares at me for a moment, his mouth half open. The twinkle disappears from his eye, and they glaze over.

  I have never really looked at him before, properly, but now I do I see a very different person. Almost bald, a tired, wrinkled face. At one time in his life he probably smoked heavily, the tell-tale signs of a smoker rippling outwards from the corners of his mouth, the deep, narrow lines which all smokers eventually get from sucking on the nicotine sticks. There is a cut just above one eye, either from a fight or more-likely an accident when he was a child. I cannot tell. Suddenly I do not see a powerful executive in the advertising world, but an old, tired, man.

  He speaks quietly at first. Almost as if in disbelief.

  "Why do you want to leave? Why on earth would you want to leave Cohen’s? Where will you go to?"

  "I can't tell you that just now, but let's just say that I am a little unhappy here."

  "Unhappy? Why? Everyone loves it here. We're the best agency in the country!"

  "That may be, but…" I start to protest.

  He leans forward across the desk, the palms of his hands flat on the oak surface.

  "James, has this got something to do with your concussion? Do you want some time off? A vacation?…"

  "No, Richard, I don't need a vacation. I…"

  "It's PHI, isn't it. They're after you. I knew it! The bastards." He pushes hard down on the desk, and stands up quickly, grabbing the back of the chair with one hand and whipping it backwards away from him. He starts to stride back and forward on the other side of the desk, wringing his two hands together, staring at me as he walks. "What have they said to you? What have they promised you? Are you mad? Why would you want to go and work for them again? They’re the biggest sharks in the business. That's why you left them in the first place. They steal your talent, suck you dry, and then spit out the remains, but only after they have taken every little bit of profit they can from any of the work you have done. You hated it there before… Why go back? I don't understand…"

  That's funny. Coming from him.<
br />
  "Listen, Richard, it's nothing personal. It's just that this is the right thing for me to do, at this moment in time."

  "What? That's great. ‘It's the right thing for you to do.’ You're a bloody partner here now James. You have responsibilities! You can't just walk away from them."

  "I can and you know it. And you only made me a Partner because you were trying to trap me and stop me from leaving."

  "That's rubbish! Rubbish and you know that too. I made you a Partner because you deserved it. And I didn't MAKE you a Partner. I offered it to you, and you accepted. You voluntarily agreed to take on a Partnership role in this company, and all the responsibility that went with it. You can't leave!"

  "I can, and I will. Listen Richard, there is nothing you can do to stop me leaving now. I've made up my mind, and I'm going. So let's just try to make this as smooth as possible for all of us…"

  He stops in mid-step, turns and faces me straight on. He stares at me. I can see the thoughts flooding through his mind, and the sudden change in emotion that seems to engulf him from nowhere.

  He grabs the chair and pulls it back in front of the table. He sits down, and sighs.

  "James, please don't do this. If you leave, most of the business at Cohen's will follow you. That’s more than half of everything on our books."

  "60%" I interrupt.

  "Exactly! 60%. If you leave, …Cohen’s is finished. We won't survive this. We'll go under."

  "You're overestimating this a little Richard. That won't happen." I protest.

  "No. The fact is you haven't thought this through James. If you leave, within a couple of months, almost everyone here in this building will be out on the streets. For goodness sake, they have wives and children, families that depend upon them. Do you honestly want to be responsible for ruining all their lives?"

  "Come on, enough of the dramatics Richard, this is life. It’s the business we work in. It's advertising."

  "I can't believe I'm hearing you say that. That's exactly why you wanted to work here. Because we are not just an advertising agency. We are one big happy family. At Cohen's we care about each other. You sometimes more than others. Don't think I don’t know about you and Alice, and Claire. Anyway, that’s beside the point, the point is that we are different, very different from everyone else."

  He is silent. I have nothing to say. I expected an outburst, and I got one. I'm just a little bit taken aback by the sight of him almost pleading for me to stay.

  Getting up to go, I feel a hand on my arm, and I turn to face him.

  "James. Please, please think about this again. "

  His voice quivers as he speaks, and he coughs. His face has turned red, and as I look at him, I watch in amazement as his eyes begin to well with tears. A sudden turn of events that I find very difficult to deal with. A grown man, about to cry.

  "James, my brother Marty and I started this company forty years ago. We built it from nothing. We have always tried to help people, always tried to encourage people. It's never been just about the money. It's been about the thrill of the ride, the experience, the privilege that everyone here shares to be able to work here in the advertising world and play the game. The advertising game. When you came to me you sat in front of me in this very office, and told me how much you wanted to work for us. There were a thousand CVs already on my desk from about almost every other ad man in the country. I didn't need anyone else. Marty was still alive, and we were doing fine. But I saw something in you that I liked. I took you in. I personally took an interest in you, and helped you grow. I cleaned out the garbage you had learned at PHI and made you into a real ad man. A good ad man. One of the best, if not the best ad man in the business. I'm not saying you owe me for anything, no, everything I did, was because I liked you. The only thing I ever asked from you in return was that you try to be the best, that you try to achieve your potential. You had great potential back then James. Great potential. A potential that you have almost realized now. Sure, in the past year you've won some of the best deals going, but there's still more out there. More that I can teach you. You could be great James. Great. But if you go to PHI, it'll all be over. And everything that Marty and I, and you, and all those people out there in this building have strived for, for almost half a century…it'll all be gone. Gone within six months."

  "...James, if you leave, you'll kill us. Please don’t. I'm asking you to reconsider…please. And if you still feel the same way on Monday morning, I won't stand in your way. But think, man, think! Do you really, really, want to do this?"

  I grab his hand and shake it free from my arm. Without saying another word, I turn and leave, closing the door behind me.

  --------------------

  I walk down to Covent Garden, and sit in the square for a while, watching the buskers and the street theatre. My mind is full of the confrontation with Richard, and I find it hard to shake off the sight of him crying. That is something that I did not expect.

  When I return to the office, Alice grabs me at the door, and pulls me into the room behind her reception area.

  "What on earth is going on? Richard has cancelled all his meetings for the rest of the afternoon and he has told me to make sure that your network privileges are revoked, so that you can't log onto the system anymore. What's happened?"

  "Let's just say for the moment that Richard and I have fallen out."

  "He told me there's going to be some sort of special announcement at the meeting this afternoon, and he asked me to get in a dozen bottles of champagne. Why?"

  Interesting. Is he going to celebrate the fact that I've resigned, or toast the end of the company? It doesn't make sense.

  The rest of the afternoon passes behind closed and locked doors. No one is talking to each other, and a sense of expectation, almost excitement, hangs in the air. The word gets around the office that Richard is going to say something important at the all-hands meeting in the afternoon.

  Without network access there is little I can do, so I start to tidy my desk, and get some of my things in order. I'd already copied and downloaded most of the important documents that I will need when I leave, fully expecting my privileges to be terminated as soon as I resigned. I'm only surprised that Richard didn’t have me marched off the premises straight away.

  Five o'clock comes and the company gathers together on the floor above, in the large open area outside Richard's office. The usual buzz is more electric than usual, and everyone can see the bottles of champagne lined up along the wall on one of the tables, with glasses, peanuts, cakes and some nibbles.

  I'm a little confused. What does he have to celebrate?

  At five o'clock on the dot, the door to Richard's office opens and he steps outside. Everyone goes quiet. Richard stands on one of the chairs and speaks.

  "Thanks for coming everyone. It's good to have you all here again for the All-Hands. It's been a busy week. A few more major deals are in the offing, and some pretty good work has been done by all of us…"

  For the next fifteen minutes he goes through the latest and greatest, handing over where appropriate to different team members of the various projects, giving as many people as possible the opportunity to speak, to voice their achievements or their questions. It turns out one of the other young managers has just won a deal with one of the high street stores. A deal that could bring in five hundred thousand euros. It was unexpected, something that the manager had kept up his sleeve until the last moment. A good achievement.

  One of the young graphic designers also just announced she was pregnant. Everyone knew she had been trying for quite a while…it was no big secret…but everyone was surprised and genuinely pleased for her when she announced she was expecting a boy next summer. A round of applause and congratulations. Almost touching.

  "Which brings me to the last announcement of the day. James…" Richard looks over at me, and my heart freezes. He's going to announce it already... "James…came to me earlier in the week and gave me some very bad news. It seems that Clai
re is going to leave us and set up her own dot.com company. And unfortunately today is her last day. Claire, can you come up front please?"

  Shit. It's Claire's last day. That's what this is all about. And I've forgotten all about it. I can't believe it. I've been so selfish, thinking about me the whole day, that I've clean forgotten to get her a card, or say anything to her. Blast.

  Claire is bright red. She looks briefly over at me, and I smile back at her, inviting her to come up to the front where I am already standing close to Richard. A Partner, after all.

  "Claire first joined us in 2006 when she came over from Peters Hall and Irvine with James. They've always made a good team, and when James left PHI to come to us, she jumped at the chance to come with him. She quickly settled in, and ever since she has been James's right hand man…sorry, even better than that, she's been his right hand woman. I know that James will want to say something in a moment, but before he does, I just wanted to say a few words. Everyone here knows that Cohen's is not a normal run-of-the-mill advertising company. Here we strive to be a closely knit unit, a group of friends all striving together towards a common goal, and sometimes, even though you may think it’s a bit pretentious, I even like to think that we are all a big family. Although getting the deal, and doing a great job are really important,…that goes without saying…what's different about Cohen’s is that I firmly believe that we must have fun in the process. Everyone here enjoys working at Cohen’s, I think…in fact, honestly, let me ask you all, is there a single person here who is not happy with being here?"