Message-ID: <14563eli$9808201615@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Bill Morgan" Subject: {Morgan} Six-month Turnaround M/F Rom. (little sex) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19980818235254.15487.qmail@hotmail.com> Author's note: If you are looking for wall-to-wall sex, look elsewhere. This book is a romance with a business setting. Beyond that, the sex is comparable to - or less than - what one would find in almost any work of popular fiction. Permission is granted to post on any free site, as long as the copyright statement is included. Please advise the author of any such postings. Comments are welcome and encouraged. Please address me at morg105829@aol.com. I hope you enjoy the book. My plan is to post a chapter each weekday; it will take about three weeks for it all to be up. This is Chapter 2 of 16. Six-Month Turnaround Copyright 1992, 1998 by Morgan. All rights reserved. Chapter 2 Cliff Fitzpatrick moved around the room introducing himself and shaking hands with his senior executives. It was clear that each man had his own usual seat at the table and was prepared to take it. Cliff made his way to the end of the boardroom table and sat down. When he did, the rest of the executives took their seats. "Gentlemen, there's a lot of work to be done. As I'm sure many of you know, I have made commitments to the Board of Directors with respect to operating results I expect to achieve within the next six months. I believe you also know that the trends we are following now are not good: Murphy Manufacturing is going downhill. Does anyone care to comment on the present situation?" Several executives started to speak at once. Cliff took control and let them speak one after the other. Although the words changed, each one's message was the same: His unit was doing a fine job but received no support from the others. Cliff noticed some of the executives had no comments to make. When all who wanted to had had a chance to speak, Cliff made his announcement. "Gentlemen, effective tomorrow morning, there will no longer be reserved parking places. Except for the clearly marked handicapped parking and visitors parking, every space will be available on a first-come, first-served basis to all company personnel. Secondly, the executive dining room will be closed as soon as the caterer's contract can be canceled. Mr. Purcell, how soon can that be?" Purcell, an acerbic-looking gray-haired man who appeared to be close to retirement, was speechless. Finally, he managed to say that the contract had run long enough so that it could be canceled with a modest payment after just one week, provided contract termination was to close the room rather than replace the present catering company. Cliff excused him from the meeting with instruc tions to give notice of cancellation immediately. Purcell returned a few minutes later and said verbal notice had been given and a written confirmation had been dictated. Cliff then turned to the principal business of the meeting, the determination of Strategic Business Units (SBUs) and preparation for the planning sessions he was going to lead beginning the following week. "Gentlemen," he asked, "What business or businesses are we in?" A quick answer came back from John Flood, the vice president of marketing. "We're in the auto-parts business, obviously, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Is that a trick question, or something?" "Not at all, John. We produce valves and piston rings. Another company produces spark plugs. Are we both auto-parts suppliers?" "Of course we are! It is a trick question, isn't it?" "No, it really isn't. You said we're both auto-parts suppliers. Do we compete with each other in any significant way?" "Well... no," Flood replied. "I guess not." "We sure don't. The point is, saying we're auto-parts suppliers says absolutely nothing. We can look at a number of elements: price, customers, and a number of other things. We would see that we sell to common customers, but that's about it. We do not compete with sparkplug companies. "However, we also operate a chain of auto-parts stores. Is this the same business as manufacturing valves and rings? I doubt it. There is a completely different set of competitors and a totally different set of customers. It's a wholesale/retail business that happens to deal in auto parts, among other things. "But we sell the parts we make in our own stores! It's got to be the same business," Flood protested. "John, let me try it a different way: What percentage of our stores' sales are sourced from us?" Cliff asked. "One-hundred percent!" Flood answered proudly. "We buy for all the stores right here in Milwaukee." "No, John, that's not what I mean. What percentage of the products our stores sell do we make? And by the way, why do we centralize the store buying here in Milwaukee? I thought our stores were spread all over the country." "Well, I guess the percentage is small, but what difference does that make? And we buy for all the stores here in Milwaukee to make sure they buy the right things." "Okay," Cliff continued, barely able to control his exasperation, "Are there successful auto parts suppliers that *do not* own parts stores? How about Racer Sparkplug, the biggest in the business? Does it have parts stores?" "Of course not, but so what?" "Is Racer harmed by not having its own stores? We sell their spark plugs in ours, don't we?" "I still don't get it," Flood said. "What difference does it make?" "The difference, John, is that they are different businesses. We'll get to the relevance in our meeting next week. We are going to start with a planning session on our manufactured parts beginning at eight o'clock next Monday. There will be a memo out later today with the details and the location. One more thing: Everyone named will be expected to attend unless personally excused by me. Any questions? No? This meeting is adjourned. Mr. Purcell, could I see you in my office at two o'clock, please?" When Cliff and Sandy returned to his office, they found two delivery men were just leaving. Entering they found a very modern- looking Eames chair sitting in his office. Although a beautiful example of modern design, the stainless steel and leather chair looked grotesquely inappropriate in an office which was furnished in 1950's walnut. Seeing a gift tag hanging from its back, Cliff took a look at it. It said, "Best of luck, good wishes, and love, Stephanie." "Who is Stephanie?" Sandy asked. "Stephanie Simpson is my girlfriend in Chicago. What do you suppose I ought to do with it?" Cliff replied. "Since she's your girlfriend, I'm sure I don't have the faintest idea. It is kind of big to be a paperweight, though," she answered while trying to control a grin. At that point the telephone buzzed, and Sandy picked it up. It was Louise, the girl she had asked to cover the phones. "It's a Miss Simpson, calling from Chicago. I told her Mr. Fitzpatrick was in a series of meetings, but she insisted I buzz. What should I tell her?" Sandy put the call on hold, and looked at Cliff. "It's Stephanie. She wants to talk to you. Do you want to take the call?" When he nodded, she passed him the receiver and left the office. "Hi, Steph! I just received your gift. The chair is lovely." "Clifford, you know I detest being called Steph! Why do you keep doing it? I'm glad you like the chair. It's exactly like one in Daddy's office. How is your new job? Have you tired of Milwaukee yet? When are you going to come down to see me? Can you come down tonight?" Cliff thought how typical the conversation was. Stephanie would ask a bunch of questions but seemed completely unconcerned about the answers, except insofar as an answer directly affected her. He replied, "The job's fine, Hon. However, there's a ton of work to do. I don't know when I'll be able to get down, but it won't be tonight." "Oh, pooh! You're no fun. The Graysons are giving a party for Conkie tonight. I told them I was sure you could come. Murphy is such a little company, dear. Surely, it can't keep you that busy!" "Steph," he said, ignoring her earlier protest, "$500 million may be small compared to Ajax's billions, but it's still a lot to handle. Give the Graysons my regrets, please?" "Clifford, you are terrible! I was feeling all romantic, too. I was even thinking of inviting you up to my apartment later. Doesn't that entice you?" "It certainly does, dear. It just shows how busy I am. I have an appointment right now. I'll call you soon, okay? I love you, dear, and I'll have a hard time sleeping tonight thinking of what I'm missing!" She said she loved him and hung up. He thought about Stephanie with a certain amount of irritation. What particularly annoyed him was her use of sex as both a reward and a weapon. However, she was certainly a beautiful girl. Then he realized that Sandy was no longer in his office. He buzzed her on the intercom and asked her to come back in. He looked at the girl when she entered and asked her with a smile, "Is that your no-comment face?" She pretended to be puzzled and said, "I don't understand." "You understand perfectly! You don't like Stephanie, do you?" "Why should I not like her? I've never met her." "But you *don't* like her, do you?" She finally smiled and shook her head, "Since you insist: No, I don't like her. She's a rich bitch who cares only about herself. I'll bet she looks at you in this job as a kid playing in his sandbox. Am I right? As far as being uncaring, did she ever ask to see your new office or ask how it was furnished? I'll make another bet. I'll bet the chair is 'exactly like the one in Daddy's office,' isn't it?" Cliff started to laugh and held up his hands. "I give up! Not only did she say it, you sounded exactly like her saying it. But how did you know?" "Because I went to school with some girls just like her. I didn't like them and I don't like her, either. I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry. Incidentally, what did you think of the meeting? Please be honest." "I think you're going to be hearing from Purcell and Flood. Purcell is close to tears at the thought of losing the dining room. And I don't think Flood liked the way you cut him up." "Those two were obvious. You didn't answer the question, Sandy. I asked what *you* thought." "It isn't the place of a secretary to make comments on things like that," she replied. "Fair enough. We'll change your title then, effective immediately. How does 'Assistant to the President' sound?" She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "May I sit down?" He immediately indicated a side chair next to his desk and they both seated themselves. "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I only met you a few hours ago. I like this company and I like my job. I don't want to hurt the one or lose the other. I don't really know what you want me to say." "Sandy, it's still Cliff. I want to know what you think. And I'm puzzled. You had no trouble telling me what you thought about my fiancee." He noticed that she looked startled at his use of the word. "At least, she refers to me that way to her friends, although I have never spoken to her about marriage. Anyway, that has to be higher risk to you than expressing your opinion about the meeting." She grinned and held up her hands. "I surrender! I was out of line saying what I did about Stephanie. She made me mad, is all. As far as the reactions, if Purcell quits - and he might - it would be a small loss, although I really don't know who else can do the job. I really don't know about John Flood, either. He's only been here a couple of years as you know. I don't think he's the kind of guy Mr. Murphy would have hired." "What about me?" he asked, turning serious. "I think you're the kind of guy Mr. Murphy would like to have running the place. That's why you're here." "Who made that decision, Sandy? I can't believe it was Ezra Stiles. I don't like him - he's a cold fish - and I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me, either. How did I get the job?" "I think it was a family decision. As far as I know, the family still owns 65 percent of the stock. I think Stiles has input, but the decision was theirs. They decided they wanted you in the job - and you're here. My guess is they hired you to exercise your judgment, and you're doing it." "Okay, we'll see what happens next," he said. "Now, who has responsibility for the cafeteria? I want to see him right now." "It's Bill Stevens, vice-president of operations. Or at least it's in his shop. I'll get him up here." She left the office to return to her desk. A few moments later she buzzed to say that Mr. Stevens was waiting. Stevens came in and Cliff shook hands. Bill Stevens impressed Cliff as another old-timer and he said as much. Stevens smiled and said, "I guess I started work here at Murphy when I was about sixteen. And that was almost forty years ago. I started working after school and summers. After the war, I went to school on the GI Bill, and kept on working here. Mr. Fitzpatrick, except for the time in the Army, I've never worked anywhere else." "In other words, Bill, you have been working here longer than I've been alive. What do you think of things around here now? The door's closed and whatever you say is in confidence." "Well, sir, since you asked, the answer is, not much. Things have been allowed to run down and get out of hand. There's no sense of direction anymore. Personally, I think we're trying to do way too many things and doing most of them badly. There are too many people around here who are doing pretty well for themselves, but I'm not sure they're doing much of anything for Murphy. Is that honest enough for you, Mr. Fitzpatrick?" "It's Cliff, Bill," he said with a smile. "And thanks for not calling me 'son,' even though you have every right to." At that comment Stevens smiled. He decided this young man just might make a difference. Cliff continued, "Bill, I want to fix up the cafeteria as nicely as we can and as fast as possible. Do you have any ideas?" "Yes, sir! I sure do. Sandy... Miss Donnell... told me you wanted to talk about it. Here are plans that are all set to go. We did them just before Mr. Murphy retired. Even though we had them all set, the executive committee decided to rebuild the executive dining room instead. We never had one of those when John Murphy was around either, and I don't think we would have one now if he had had anything to say about it. I can get this all reviewed and estimated within a day or two. How fast do you want to move?" "Is the cost going to be under $2.5 million?" Cliff asked. Stevens whistled softly. "Good Heavens! Where did you get that number from? Our estimate is *way* under that." Cliff smiled at the older man, "It's my personal approval author ity. I can authorize spending up to $2.5 million without going to the Board. Bill, on your assurance that the project can be done for much less, I'm authorizing you to move ahead right now. You work out the details with your people. I would also like you to consult with Mrs. Simmons on colors and arrangements, as well as scheduling the work to minimize her disruptions. Finally, please check with Max Kaufman, too. It's the workers' room, basically. They're only letting executives use it. And let me know what the timetable will be." Bill got up to leave when Cliff remembered a point. "One more thing: Be sure to check the sound-deadening materials to be sure they're ample. That damned place sounds louder than a machine shop, and it's supposed to be a place where the workers can relax. Will that cause any problems?" Stevens grinned and said it would be no problem. "Current plans called for a lot of sound insulation, but I'll be sure it's all rechecked." "Thanks for coming in," Cliff said. "I'm sure we're going to be working closely together in the future." Stevens left and went back towards his own office after a few words with Sandy at her desk. When she came into his office, there was a warm smile on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick," she said. "That was one of the nicest things anyone has done for Bill Stevens since Mr. Murphy left." "I don't understand. What did I do?" he asked. He noticed a real warmth in her emerald-green eyes. "Bill Stevens has been fighting for the cafeteria for years, and no one would even listen. He was accused of coddling the workers and toadying up to the union. He told me that you approved his plans without even looking at them or asking for a fixed-price bid. Why?" "Two reasons," he replied. "First, I don't trust myself to read blueprints and Bill indicated he and his people had spent a lot of time on them. Second, I've found that people really respond if they feel you trust them. They do an extra-good job *because* you're not looking over their shoulders. Do I pass? By the way, I want to commend someone for outstanding judgment in putting you in your job. It's pretty obvious you're known and trusted by the good people around here. It speaks very well for you." Sandy blushed. "I think it speaks well for the judgment of the people who hired you, but thank you for the compliment. It's time for your lunch date, and please don't forget Purcell at two o'clock." -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----