39
In the morning I flew to Chicago with one of our junior sales reps, Wayne Fallon, for a quick morning meeting to try to nail down the big hospital contract. I met in a conference room of Chicago Presbyterian with the Assistant Vice President for Communications, a guy named Barry Ulasewicz. He was a top administrator who was in charge of the hospital’s media services-everything from photography to satellite teleconferencing to their TV studio. We’d been going back and forth on prices and delivery dates for months now. He wanted fifty-inch plasmas for their one hundred operating rooms, plasmas and projectors for more than a hundred conference rooms, and a bunch more for their waiting rooms and lobbies. Wayne was there to observe, mostly, and he watched the jousting match between me and Ulasewicz with fascination.
I didn’t like the guy, but that wasn’t important. Just so long as he liked me. And he seemed to. We started at ten in the morning and met with a parade of administrators and techies. He even brought in the CEO of the hospital for a grip-and-grin.
Around one in the afternoon, when I was feeling squeezed out like a lemon and was in desperate need of lunch and a caffeine fix, Ulasewicz suddenly pulled out a proposal he’d gotten from Royal Meister that was identical in every way except for the prices, which were about ten percent lower. I’d given him the lowest price I could get away with-really cut to the bone-and this pissed me off. He yanked the RFP out with a theatrical flourish, like some cheesy actor in a bad dinner theater doing Hercule Poirot or something.
And he expected me to cave. Because I’d put in months and months, and flown to Chicago, and I thought it was a lock. I’d almost caught the mechanical bunny rabbit. Ulasewicz figured that at this point I’d do anything to save the deal.
But he didn’t realize that I had flow. I once read an article on the Internet by some guy with an unpronounceable name about something he called “flow.” It’s the way a painter gets so absorbed in his canvas that he loses track of time. The way a musician disappears into the piece she’s playing. Happens to athletes and surgeons and chess players. You’re in this state of ecstasy where everything comes together, you’ve got the juice, you’re in the zone. The good neurotransmitters are flooding your synapses.
That’s what had happened to me. I was in the zone. I had flow.
And I was doing it on my own, without Kurt’s poisoned candy.
I calmly looked over the Royal Meister proposal. It was full of tangled and hidden clauses, all kinds of smoke and mirrors. The delivery dates were estimates. The prices could change due to fluctuations in the euro. I don’t know who wrote this contract, but it was brilliant.
I pointed this out to Ulasewicz, and he began to argue.
And then I stood up, shook his hand, and packed up my leather portfolio.
“Barry,” I said, “we’re not going to waste any more of your time. I see where this is headed. Obviously you prefer the uncertainty of Meister’s terms, and you don’t mind their higher failure rate. You don’t mind the fact that you’ll probably end up paying more for an inferior product that you won’t get when you want it and that won’t get replaced if anything goes wrong. And that’s okay. So I want to thank you for considering Entronics, and I wish you the best of luck.”
And I picked up our contracts and left the room. I was able to sneak a glimpse of Barry Ulasewicz’s stunned expression, which almost made it all worth it. Wayne grabbed me in the elevator, panic-stricken, and said, “We just lost it. We just lost the deal, Jason. Don’t you think you should have negotiated? That’s what he wanted to do, I think.”
I shook my head. “Just be patient,” I said.
By the time we got down to the parking garage, my cell phone was ringing. I looked at Wayne and smiled. His look of panic had changed to wide-eyed admiration.
I flew back home with executed copies of the agreement.
40
I went straight from the airport to the office.
There was a Hardygram waiting for me in my e-mail-“Great job in Chicago!” Dick Hardy wrote. Joan Tureck congratulated me, too, which was gracious of her, considering that I’d outsold her.
A little too gracious, I thought. The graciousness of a victor, maybe.
I considered, then rejected, e-mailing Dennis Scanlon. I knew Kurt was able to read my e-mail and everyone else’s. I didn’t want to take that chance. Instead, I called Scanlon. Got him on the second try. I asked him to come to my office.
Dennis Scanlon always reminded me of Mr. Toad of Toad Hall. His shirt and tie were so tight around his neck that I worried he was going to lose circulation and pass out in front of me. He was sweaty and eager to please and had a funny sort of speech impediment.
I told him I wanted to speak in absolute confidence, and then I told him that I had some concerns about one of his employees, Kurt Semko.
“But-weren’t you the one who recommended him?” he said.
“I think frankly I may have made a mistake,” I said. “I didn’t know him well enough.”
He ran a hand over his damp face. “Can you give me any specifics? As to your concerns, I mean. Has he been causing problems of any sort?”
I folded my hands and hunched forward. “I’ve been hearing complaints about Kurt from some of my employees. Little pranks he’s pulled. Harassment.”
“Pranks? Not good-natured pranks, I’m assuming.”
“Bad stuff. Destructive.”
“Can you give me specifics?”
I could give him all sorts of specifics. Many of them just allegations. But did I really want Scanlon investigating whether Kurt had tampered with Brett Gleason’s computer? How far did I want to go with this? Should I tell Scanlon about all the e-mails Kurt had accessed?
No. Any or all of it could come back to bite me in the ass. Kurt would fight it. Might even say that I’d asked him to get me information-after all, it only benefited me, not him. I couldn’t take that chance.
“I don’t know all the details,” I said. “But it’s my strong feeling-and, again, it’s of the utmost importance that this conversation remain strictly confidential-that Kurt should be let go.”
Scanlon nodded for a long time. “Are you willing to file a complaint report?”
I hesitated, but only for a second. “Not with my name on it, no. I think that would get too complicated. Especially given the fact that I mistakenly recommended him in the first place.”
He nodded some more. “I can’t just let him go for no reason. You know that. You’ve got to paper the file. Would any of your employees be willing to file complaints with me, then?”
“I’d rather not ask them. Plus, I don’t think anyone would want to stick their necks out. You understand, I’m sure.”
“You sound like you know something.”
“I’ve heard things, yes.”
“He says you and he are good friends.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Listen, Jason. Kurt is one of the best hires I’ve ever made. The fellow can do anything.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t want to lose him. But I also don’t want any of my employees causing trouble up here. So I’ll look into this.”
“That’s all I ask,” I said.
I called Kate at work and was told she’d taken the day off. I called her at home, and woke her up.
“You still have cramps?” I said.
“Yeah. I thought I should stay home.”
“What did DiMarco say?”
“Just lie down until they pass.”
“Is it-anything? Anything serious?”
“No,” she said. “He says it’s normal. Just take it easy.”
“Good idea. I wanted to remind you that I have a business dinner tonight.”
“Oh, right. The hospital people?”
“Airport. Atlanta airport. But whatever.”