She shakes her head, pulls away. I follow her into the kitchen. She stands with her back to me.
"Everything is for your job," she says. "It's all you think about. I can't even count on you for dinner. And the kids are asking me why you're like this-"
There is a tear forming in the corner of her eye. I reach to wipe it away, but she brushes my hand aside.
"No!" she says. "Just go catch your plane to wherever it is you're going."
"Julie- "
She walks past me.
"Julie, this is not fair!" I yell at her.
She turns to me.
"That's right," she says. "You are not being fair. To me or to your children."
She goes upstairs without looking back. And I don't even have time to settle this; I'm already late for my flight, I pick up my bag in the hall, sling it over my shoulder, and grab my brief- case on my way out the door.
At 7:10 the next morning, I'm waiting in the hotel lobby for Jonah. He's a few minutes late, but that's not what's on my mind as I pace the carpeted floor. I'm thinking about Julie. I'm wor- ried about her... about us. After I checked into my room last night, I tried to call home. No answer. Not even one of the kids picked up the phone. I walked around the room for half an hour, kicked a few things, and tried calling again. Still no answer. From then until two in the morning, I dialed the number every fifteen minutes. Nobody home. At one point I tried the airlines to see if I could get on a plane back, but nothing was flying in that direction at that hour. I finally fell asleep. My wake-up call got me out of bed at six o'clock. I tried the number twice before I left my room this morning. The second time, I let it ring for five minutes. Still no answer.
"Alex!"
I turn. Jonah is walking toward me. He's wearing a white shirt-no tie, no jacket-and plain trousers.
"Good morning," I say as we shake hands. I notice his eyes are puffy, like those of someone who hasn't had a lot of sleep; I think that mine probably look the same.
"Sorry I'm late," he says. "I had dinner last night with some associates and we got into a discussion which went, I believe, until three o'clock in the morning. Let's get a table for breakfast."
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I walk with him into the restaurant and the maitre d' leads us to a table with a white linen cloth.
"How did you do with the measurements I defined for you over the telephone?" he asks after we've sat down.
I switch my mind to business, and tell him how I expressed the goal with his measurements. Jonah seemed very pleased.
"Excellent," he says. "You have done very well."
"Well, thanks, but I'm afraid I need more than a goal and some measurements to save my plant."
"To save your plant?" he asks.
I say, "Well. . . yes, that's why I'm here. I mean, I didn't just call you to talk philosophy."
He smiles. "No, I didn't think you tracked me down purely for the love of truth. Okay, Alex, tell me what's going on."
"This is confidential," I say to him. Then I explain the situa- tion with the plant and the three-month deadline before it gets closed. Jonah listens attentively. When I've finished, he sits back.
"What do you expect from me?" he asks.
"I don't know if there is one, but I'd like you to help me find the answer that will let me keep my plant alive and my people working," I say.
Jonah looks away for a moment.
"I'll tell you my problem," he says. "I have an unbelievable schedule. That's why we're meeting at this ungodly hour, inci- dentally. With the commitments I already have, there is no way I can spend the time to do all the things you probably would ex- pect from a consultant."
I sigh, very disappointed. I say, "Okay, if you're too busy-"
"Wait, I'm not finished," he says. "That doesn't mean you can't save your plant. I don't have time to solve your problems for you. But that wouldn't be the best thing for you anyway -"
"What do you mean?" I interrupt.
Jonah holds up his hands. "Let me finish!" he says. "From what I've heard, I think you can solve your own problems. What I will do is give you some basic rules to apply. If you and your people follow them intelligently, I think you will save your plant. Fair enough?"
"But, Jonah, we've only got three months," I say.
He nods impatiently. "I know, I know," he says. "Three months is more than enough time to show improvement... if
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you are diligent, that is. And if you aren't, then nothing I say could save you anyway."
"Oh, you can count on our diligence, for sure," I say.
"Shall we try it then?" he asks.
"Frankly, I don't know what else to do," I say. Then I smile. "I guess I'd better ask what this is going to cost me. Do you have some kind of standard rate or something?"
"No, I don't," he says. "But I'll make a deal with you. Just pay me the value of what you learn from me."
"How will I know what that is?"
"You should have a reasonable idea after we've finished. If your plant folds, then obviously the value of your learning won't have been much; you won't owe me anything. If, on the other hand, you learn enough from me to make billions, then you should pay me accordingly," he says.
I laugh. What have I got to lose?
"Okay, fair enough," I say finally.
We shake hands across the table.
A waiter interrupts to ask if we're ready to order. Neither of us have opened the menus, but it turns out we both want coffee. The waiter informs us there's a ten-dollar minimum for sitting in the dining room. So Jonah tells him to bring us both our own pots of coffee and a quart of milk. He gives us a dirty look and vanishes.
"Now then," Jonah says. "Where shall we begin..."
"I thought maybe first we could focus on the robots," I tell him.
Jonah shakes his head.
"Alex, forget about your robots for now. They're like some new industrial toy everybody's discovered. You've got much more fundamental things to concern yourself with," he says.
"But you're not taking into account how important they are to us," I tell him. "They're some of our most expensive equip- ment. We absolutely have to keep them productive."
"Productive with respect to what?" he asks with an edge in his voice.
"Okay, right... we have to keep them productive in terms of the goal," I say. "But I need high efficiencies to make those things pay for themselves, and I only get the efficiencies if they're making parts."
Jonah is shaking his head again.
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"Alex, you told me in our first meeting that your plant has very good efficiencies overall. If your efficiencies are so good, then why is your plant in trouble?"
He takes a cigar out of his shirt pocket and bites the end off of it.
"Okay, look, I have to care about efficiencies if only for the reason that my management cares about them," I tell him.
"What's more important to your management, Alex: efficien- cies or money?" he asks.
"Money, of course. But isn't high efficiency essential to mak- ing money?" I ask him.
"Most of the time, your struggle for high efficiencies is taking you in the opposite direction of your goal."
"I don't understand," I say. "And even if I did, my manage- ment wouldn't."
But Jonah lights his cigar and says between puffs, "Okay, let's see if I can help you understand with some basic questions and answers. First tell me this: when you see one of your workers standing idle with nothing to do, is that good or bad for the company?"
"It's bad, of course," I say.
"Always?"
I feel this is a trick question.
"Well, we have to do maintenance-"
"No, no, no, I'm talking about a production employee who is idle because there is no product to be worked on."