The Job (34 page)

“We did pretty well out of the initial public offering on Micromagna,” Jerry said.

“Anyway, it’s now up to you to use owr contacts to find us the hot new companies of the future.”

The Excalibur Fund sales brochure was the key document in the search for new investors. Jerry had shown it to me when we returned to the loft after the Bouley Bakery dinner.

“We recently had this printed,” he said, opening his briefcase and handing me the sales brochure.

“I wrote it myself. I’ll disappear for a half hour, grab a shower. Read it through, see what you think.”

During the next half hour I read this document several times (I wanted to be well up on the workings of the fund before I played tennis with Ballantine the next morning). It was an exceedingly smooth piece of salesmanship, opening with a “mission statement”:

In today’s dynamically charged financial world, where the serious investor has a myriad of potential investment opportunities, a well-balanced portfolio is a crucial commodity. Opt for maximum safety and you will never achieve any substantial return on your capital. Opt for maximum risk, and you can end up playing a dangerous game of financial roulette.

This is why most fund managers today suggest a sensibly diversified portfolio, in which secure low-yield investments are offset against more speculative ventures. But even those investors with a venturesome spirit do not want to engage in reckless gambles. They want a financial investment that is designed to maximize profitability, yet provide potential long-term stability.

In short, they are looking for the exciting, yet discerning, investment opportunities that THE EXCALIBUR FUND can provide.

The sales brochure then went on to explain the “dynamic potential” of private equity funds-how, if properly skippered and managed, they could provide the serious investor with an equity stake in some of today’s hottest new companies on the brink of “going public.”

Of course, your investment counselor may point you in the direction of many private equity funds that promise high return, but whose investment strategy is uncertain. After all, the key to all high-yield investments is choosing the right venture to back-which is why you need the expertise of the Excalibur Fund.

Excalibur, according to the brochure, had its finger on the pulse of the most vibrant, lucrative industry today: information technology. Through its in-depth knowledge of the software and computer businesses, the fund was able to target emerging new companies with cutting-edge credentials. The brochure then detailed the sole enterprise it had backed to date: Micromagna, an American-owned, Budapest-based software manufacturing company that had “achieved phenomenal success” selling low-cost, high-grade word processing programs within the emerging eastern European market.

There were graphs and charts explaining how the fund operator! There was a detailed examination of the fund’s structure-how it was registered offshore, and divided into three active divisions: the North American (incorporated in Bermuda), the European (registered in Luxembourg), and the South American fund (incorporated in Nassau, the Bahamas). Each division had a talent spotter (based in New York, Luxembourg, and Sao Paolo), an “international investment specialist” who was actively engaged in discovering the best in new information technology enterprises.

“You didn’t tell me you already had people working for the fund in Europe and South America,” I said to Jerry when he walked back into the living room after his shower.

“They’re strictly freelance talent spotters. But if they start finding us solid investment possibilities, I’ll probably hire them both full time. And, I’m telling you, if the returns we’ve seen on Micromagna are a barometer of the future, by this time next year you won’t just be in a bigger office-you’ll also be employing a couple of assistants.”

Naturally I bombarded Jerry with questions. I was a little concerned about the complex structure of the fund-the way it was registered in three different offshore locales.

“Believe me, it’s a standard setup when you’re dealing with a geographically diversified fund,” Jerry said reassuringly. Wouldn’t an emerging American info-tech business worry about having unknown Latin American or European investors buying up equity in their company?

“Only if they allow those investors to take a fifty-one percent controlling stake in their business. The fact is, Ned, a bunch of struggling computer nerds in a basement aren’t going to give a damn who’s giving them the money. As long as the cash is helping them develop their product, they’re going to be happy. Especially since they know that Excalibur is going to make them rich once we take them public.”

I then articulated my most pressing worry: How in the hell was I going to find exciting new companies in the first place?

“Well, you’ve got a lot of contacts in the computer business, right?”

“Yeah, but most of them are on the media sales side of the business.”

“Well, what you’re going to have to do, I’m afraid, is start from scratch and research potential investment possibilities. Track down the names of the people running the product search divisions at every computer company worth dealing with. Hit them with a sales brochure and an introductory letter, then talk your way into a meeting with them, pump them for information, and find out what emerging companies are worth betting on. I know it’s not the easiest sort of talent spotting …”

“Not easy?” I said.

“Jerry, what you’re asking me to do is the toughest thing imaginable. Especially as the Excalibur Fund has no track record, and no identifiable names attached to it. At least if I could mention that Mr. Ballantine has given the fund his imprimatur-” “You know that’s impossible. And I’m going to need your assurance that you will never mention his name in connection with-” “Jerry, I get the message. Jack Ballantine has nothing to do with Excalibur. All I’m saying here is this: I want to do a good job for you. I want… need to make this a success. But, quite frankly, I’m scared shitless about the prospect of cold-calling even minor computer companies, trying to sniff out hot new investment prospects.”

“I hear-and appreciate-what you’re saying. You want to do well. We want you to do well, too. And we also don’t expect you to be an overnight miracle worker who’s going to discover us the next Netscape by the end of next week. We know that this sort of intelligence gathering is a gradual operation. Just like we also know that once you’ve found your investment for us, the force will be with you-and you’ll find yourself on a roll.

“But, trust me here, we really are taking a long-term view on Excalibur. As far as Mr. Ballantine and I are concerned, you’ve got six months to feel your way into this business and score your first significant investment contract. In the meantime, you’re assured of your base salary-that’s eleven-fifty a week-and free rent. Not a bad deal, if I say so myself.”

No, it wasn’t a bad deal at all, considering that my other employment prospects amounted to zilch. And I was reassured by the fact that Jerry and Ballantine both understood that this really was a start-from-scratch operation.

Of course, I still had major apprehensions and misgivings about this nebulous, embryonic product. But when you’re desperate, you will certainly try anything, no matter how dangerous it might seem. Especially if the man dangling the carrot is the legendary Jack Ballantine. So every time I questioned my ability to sell Excalibur, I remembered that Ballantine himself created a real estate empire out of nothing.

So I decided to put all my reservations regarding Excalibur on hold and go to work, telling myself-in true Ballantinian style-that the only thing standing between me and success was my own sense of doubt.

And nothing-not even that god-awful toilet of an office-was now going to dent my belief in the fund. Because it was my potential salvation.

So I hit the ground running. After leaving Kinko’s I returned to my office, called Janovic Paint on West Seventy-second Street, and asked them to deliver three gallons of off-white emulsion, a half gallon of white gloss, a roller and tray, two brushes, a can of turpentine, and some drop cloths. When they demanded a credit card, I convinced them to accept payment COD.

The paint arrived at four that afternoon. It was Friday, and since I wanted to have the office painted by first thing Monday, I picked up the phone and called Jerry, explaining about’ the paint job and asking him if I might be able to get a building key from him for the weekend.

“No problem,” he said.

“I’ll call the super and ask him to drop one by you. But it’s one hell of a way to spend your weekend, Allen.”

“It’s cheaper than hiring someone to do it. And you know what they say about a fresh coat of paint….”

“Let me guess. It makes everything seem brighter?”

“And it allegedly covers all the cracks.”

“Believe me, there’s only one thing that really covers all the cracks, and that’s money. Something you should be making a pile of soon enough.”

“Speaking of money … if I have any business expenses…”

“Just put them on your own credit card and then we’ll reimburse you.”

“Well, there’s a small problem with my credit cards,” I said.

Jerry needed no further explanation.

“How much do you need?” he asked.

“A thousand would liberate my MasterCard.”

“Done,” he said.

“I’ll leave the cash at reception on my way out.”

“Are you going to be around for a beer later tonight?”

“No can do. Mr. B. just told me he wants me to fly to L.A. tonight and sort out some problems we have with the West Coast segment of his upcoming book tour.”

“I wish I was en route to Los Angeles,” I said absently.

“Don’t think about her, Ned.”

“Easier said than done. Have a good weekend.”

“You, too. Try not to paint too hard.”

But, of course, I did paint hard, because I was hoping that work would somehow keep my mind off Lizzie. So I threw myself into redecorating the office. I arrived at eight o’clock Saturday morning and left at ten that night. On Sunday I put in a thirteen-hour day-and by the time I headed out into the night, my little room appeared twice its size, thanks to a fresh coat of white paint. The following morning my new desk and chair arrived, along with all the Comp USA equipment-and my office suddenly looked like a stylishly small business operation. I got down to business. Working my way through my address book, I made around three dozen calls to assorted contacts in a wide range of computer companies around the country. Every call was a strikeout. Either my contact was “in a meeting,”

“out of town,” or simply “unavailable right now.”

Trying not to be dismayed, I got my IBM computer up and running and went on-line, using Yahoo to find the names of every computer company in the country. Amazingly, there were over 12,500 listings. Over the next three days, I systematically worked my way through this list, narrowing down the field to around six hundred companies that might be worth pursuing. Another three days were spent phoning each of these companies to find out the name of the individual in charge of research and development. Once this task was completed, I spent the next two days sending out over six hundred sales brochures, each with a cover letter (on the new Excalibur Fund stationery) in which I introduced myself and Excalibur, informed the recipient that we were on the lookout for exciting new info-tech investment prospects, and said that I’d be calling to set up a one-to-one meeting shortly.

It was slow, tedious work-but at least it did make me feel pro wanted it to do: block out all thoughts of Lizzie. I was still missing her terribly. It had been nearly two weeks since she had flown back to the coast, and I had been phoning Los Angeles daily, calling both her office and her hotel room. But she wouldn’t take my calls. At first her secretary, Juliet, kept telling me the same thing: She was in a permanent meeting. After a few days of this “otherwise engaged” crap, Juliet finally came clean: Lizzie didn’t want to speak with me, and was also screening all her calls at the Mondrian to make certain she didn’t inadvertently get connected to me.

This freeze-out treatment didn’t stop me from faxing her a long, pleading letter-in which I essentially called myself a jerk, told her she was the best thing that had ever happened to me, said I couldn’t live without her, and comprehensively begged for forgiveness.

The letter had been sent over a week ago. To date, Lizzie’s answer had been a devastating one: total silence. A silence which let me know that she wasn’t in the market for a reconciliation.

With typical salesman’s persistence, I kept up the barrage of phone calls-hoping against hope that, in time, the Berlin Wall she had constructed between us would finally crumble. Now it was late Friday afternoon, I had just returned to the office after sending out the last one hundred Excalibur sales brochures to assorted companies, and decided it was time to steel myself for the daily call to L.A.

“Hello, Lizzie Howard’s office.”

“Hi, Juliet, it’s-” “Oh… Mr. Allen.” Her tone said it all: Leave me alone, you loser.

“Is she in?” I asked.

“No-she’s gone out of town for a few days. But she did-” “She’s away on business?”

“Of course.”

“Where, exactly?”

“Mr. Allen, I am not in a position to say…”

“Okay, okay. Could you just give her a message that-” “You’re at 212-555-7894, and during office hours your number is 212-555-9001.”

That stopped me short.

“Yeah. Those are the numbers. And please. please tell her that all I want is five minutes on the phone.”

“I do have a message from Lizzie for you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, that’s what I was trying to tell you….”

“So tell me now.”

I could hear her reaching for a notepad. Her voice assumed that official intonation, much beloved of court stenographers.

“Lizzie asked me to inform you that she’s been appointed acting head of the L.A. office for the next six months, and that you will be hearing from the law firm of Platt and McHenry regarding your legal reparation….”

“What legal separation?”