The Job (9 page)

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, still sounding breathless.

“I didn’t realize …”

The Euro gave me a nonchalant shrug, followed by an unctuous little smile.

Chuck said, “Ned, I want you to meet Klaus Kreplin.”

“I have heard much about you,” Kreplin said, his English frighteningly precise.

“Have you really?” I said, shooting Chuckie a look that essentially said, Who is this joker?

“Of course I have heard of Ned Allen,” Kreplin said, motioning for me to sit down.

“You ask anyone at CompuWorld, Who is the number one regional manager, the advertising wizard-and it is your name which they say.”

“That’s, uh, nice to know,” I said, sliding into the chair and giving Chuck another bemused glance. But Chuckie kept his eyes firmly fixed on his mate of nan cakes Kreolin keot talk ins

“Naturally, in our company, we are always keen to let talent prosper..

.”

Our company. My pulse jumped a notch or two.

“.. . and we believe in rewarding the supernormal… sorry, sorry, my English… the cut above, the superior. Men like yourself.”

I addressed the next question to Chuck Zanussi.

“He’s bought the magazine?”

Kreplin led out a strained laugh.

“No, no, no, it is not I who has bought CompuWorld, much as I would find such a prospect amusing. It is my company that has purchased your magazine.”

“And every other title in the Getz-Braun group,” Chuck added.

“Klaus is with Kiang-Sanderling.”

“You have heard of us?” Kreplin asked.

They were only one of the biggest infotainment multinationals in Europe-and a major player in the expanding communications markets of Asia and South America.

“Who hasn’t?” I said.

Another smarmy smile from Klaus Kreplin.

“We have been looking for a North American platform for some time,” Kreplin said.

“And we saw Getz-Braun as the perfect milieu in which to reside on this side of the Atlantic.”

The perfect milieu. Kiang-Sanderling probably gobbled up Getz-Braun for over $3 billion, but Kreplin made it sound as if they’d just changed interior decorators.

“And what’s your role in this new milieu?” I asked.

“Klaus is our new publisher,” Chuck said.

“No, no, no,” Klaus said.

“As I told you, Chuck-you are still the publisher of CompuWorld. I am simply the wfoer-publisher of all Getz-Braun audio and computer titles. But…”

He addressed me directly now.

“… please let me assure you: The individual sovereignty of each magazine will be respected. This is what I told Chuck on the plane back from Chicago yesterday evening….”

“When you called me,” I said to Chuck. Kreplin jumped in again.

“When I asked Chuck to call you and set up this meeting. And the reason why I wanted to meet you without delay, Ned, is because

Kiang-Sanderling puts great faith in the idea of ordered continuity. We have great experience of this sort of transitional corporate situation, and we pride ourselves on causing as little interference as possible in the ongoing affairs of a viable title such as your own.”

“You mean, I can tell everybody on my team that their job is safe?” I asked.

“Without question. And, by the way, I admire a manager who is protective of his underlings.”

“They are not underlings, Mr. Kreplin.”

I felt a shoe hit my shin. Chuck’s way of telling me to back off.

“Of course, of course. My English again.

“Colleagues,” yes?”

“You’ve got it. And the best sales team in the business.”

“Well, again, let me assure you, your team will remain your team. And please-my name is Klaus, okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Mind if I get some coffee here?”

“My God,” Kreplin said, “how rude of me.” He snapped his fingers at the waiter.

“Coffee and…”

“Just coffee,” I said.

“Surely you must eat some breakfast?” Kreplin said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Chuck?”

He stared down at his stack of pancakes.

“I’m doing fine, Klaus.”

Kreplin consulted his watch, then pulled a small cellular phone from his briefcase.

“I must call the head office in Hamburg. You will excuse me for a minute?”

We both nodded and he headed out to the lobby. There was a long silence, during which Chuck continued to stir his lagoon of maple syrup. After Kreplin was well out of sight, Chuck motioned me forward and whispered, “What sort of aggressive asshole behavior was that?”

“Asshole? Asshole?” I hissed back.

“You’re the total asshole here, Chuckie. Dropping me in this without a warning.”

“You think I find this fun? I only got crash-landed with this scenario at five last night.

“Hey, Chuckie, how ‘bout stopping by Chicago on your way back from Seattle for a little late lunch?” And then, bad da-bing, bad da-boom, here are a couple of heavy-hitting Krauts, announcing they’re running the show now.”

“You still should’ve called me…”

“Cut me some slack here, huh? I had Mr.

“Master Race’ Kreplin baby-sitting me all the way back to La Guardia-and as soon as we land, he has to hit the town. All I want to do is catch the airport limo to Larchmont and call it a night, but the guy’s insistent. And since he is suddenly my boss, what am I gonna do? Tell him to go blow a chicken? Sonofabitch keeps me out until one-thirty. Insists on dragging me to some strip joint on Seventh and Forty-ninth where the champagne’s one-fifty a pop. Ever see a girl with a glass eye twirl a couple of tit tassles counterclockwise? Kreplin’s idea of a good time. Didn’t get home until nearly three, two and a half hours’ sleep and I’m back into this crap again. Wondering whether Kreplin is leveling with us, or speaking with forked tongue.”

“You think we’re toast here?”

“Put it this way: I’m scared… but not shitless.”

“Terrific.”

“Look, Neddie-I want to believe the Kiang-Sanderling line that we’re gonna remain one big happy family… but, hey, when was the last time you ever believed any shit from a suit?”

“

“Transitional corporate situation… supernormal.” The guy’s a goddamn Nazi.”

“Lower the volume, huh? Kreplin hears you, you’ll be shining shoes at Grand Central.”

“

“Ve respect individual sovereignty.” Wasn’t that the same line Hitler used on the Czechs in thirty-nine?”

“Neddie, Neddie, listen to me-we’ve got a situation here. A no-win situation-because, let’s face it, Kiang-Sanderling now holds all the cards. So getting all hot under the collar against Kreplin …”

“I wasn’t getting hot under the collar.”

“You were flirting with sarcasm-which is probably not the most politic of moves right now. Especially since we know that our new ‘uber-publisher can toss us both on the street in a heartbeat.”

He had a point. I shrugged in weary agreement.

“Listen, Neddie-you know you’re our top guy on the sales front. You could charm the shit out of Saddam Hussein. Now all you have to do here is make Kreplin like you. I mean, he’s heard all the good buzz about you around the company. And I think he’s a smart enough cookie to realize that, by and large, CompuWorld is a lean, mean operation-so why install a new regime when this one delivers the goods? Just sell yourself to the asshole, okay?”

“All right, all right,” I said.

“The charm offensive starts now.”

“Smart guy. And believe me, I’m in shock, too. I mean, with three kids to support, a mother of a mortgage, bills up the wa zoo and the annual Christmas spending spree about to kick in, this little turn of events is making me more than a little nervous.”

“Does anyone else know about the change of ownership?”

“Not yet-but you can bet that the grapevine is already humming. So when we get back to the office, I want you to get on the horn and personally inform everyone on your team of what’s happened-and try to reassure them that it’s simply business as usual.”

I thought about my late-night message from Ivan Dolinsky. The poor guy was going to be mainlining Prozac when he heard the news.

“Another thing you’ll have to explain to them … ,” Chuck said, his voice tense once again, “… is the way their bonuses are going to be paid out from now on.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I said, inadvertently raising my voice, “don’t tell me they’re going to fuck with our bonuses.”

“We would never do such a thing.”

I looked up. Klaus Kreplin was back at our table, beaming with pleasure at my gaffe.

“I do apologize, Mr. Kreplin,” I said, attempting to sound contrite.

“Please, you must call me Klaus.”

“I didn’t mean any offense, Klaus.”

“None taken, Ned.”

“But please do understand …”

“I know, I know. You think you have just been landed in a danger zone. New management, a new corporate order. And you naturally worry, “Will they terminate us all?”

I stopped myself from responding with a “Ja” (kill the sarcasm, Ned), and simply nodded.

“These concerns I understand,” Kreplin continued, “and respect. Because they reflect wider concerns about the future of those who work with you. But, please-you have my assurance: As long as the productivity of your division remains high, there will be no terminations.”

“I appreciate that,” I said.

“And as to the matter of the Christmas bonus: Everyone will be paid exactly what they are entitled. Our problem-and it is not precisely a problem, more a small accounting detail-is that Kiang-Sanderling’s end of fiscal year is January thirty-first, and we never pay bonuses until this time. However, respecting the American tradition of the bonus before Christmas, what we propose is this: fifty percent of the bonus on the last Friday before Christmas, and the remaining fifty percent of the bonus on thirty-first January. A good arrangement, yes?”

No, it wasn’t. Especially to someone as deep in debt as me. Or to Debbie Suarez, who was counting on all the bonus cash before the New Year to pay for her kid’s tuition. Or to Dave Maduro, who was juggling two alimonies. Or to just about everyone else I could think of in Northeast sales, all of whom were paragons of fiscal irresponsibility (Well, you show me a salesman who lives within his means). So, sorry, Herr Kreplin-but this is a totally shitty arrangement.

I glanced over at Chuck. His eyes said it all: Don’t argue with the bastard. We have no leverage here. I mustered a workmanlike smile.

“It sounds like a perfectly reasonable compromise to me.”

“Wonderful,” he said, happy to have “terminated” that piece of grim business.

“Now, if your schedule will allow it, Ned, I would like you to accompany me to dinner tonight. And then, maybe you can show me this SoHo and Tribeca scene we have read so much about in the German press.”

I felt Chuck’s shoe rap my shin again.

“Sure, Klaus. I’ll just have to call my wife and-” “Excellent. I will make reservations at eight-thirty for this amusing new restaurant I have read about on Lafayette Street.”

“You mean Pravda?” I asked.

“Most impressive,” Kreplin said.

“And do you also know what pravda means in English?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Truth.”

Krenlin excused himself to work the transatlantic nh one lines in his suite upstairs at the Waldorf Towers. Chuck and I headed back to the office. It was only a five-minute walk. We said nothing until we reached Third Avenue and Forty-eighth, where a Salvation Army Santa was ringing his bell and shouting “Happy holidays” in a reedy voice.

“I think I’ve just lost my Christmas spirit,” Chuck said.

“Like you said… Why should he waste us when he knows that we’re more than meeting the bottom line?”

“I keep telling myself, Don’t panic. And I’m finding it real hard to follow my own advice. But listen: When we get to the office, the two of us have got to break the news nice and calmly. It’s business as usual. Right?”

However, when we walked into the office, calm was not exactly the order of the day. Chuck was immediately cornered by his secretary, Louise. She looked stricken.

“Mr. Zanussi, the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I’ve got about twenty urgent messages for you. You’ve gotta tell me: Do I still have a job here?”

“Louise, there is nothing, nothing to worry about,” he said, shepherding her into his office and mouthing Good luck to me as he shut the door.

I turned and headed down the corridor toward Northeast sales. I didn’t get very far. A frantic Debbie Suarez blocked my path.

“They’re not paying us our bonus?” she said, raw fear in her voice.

Trust Debbie to be first with the late-breaking news.

“Debbie…”

“That’s what they told me this morning….”

“Who told you?”

“People.”

“What people?”

“People in the know. And they said some Germans bought us, and that they’re gonna throw us out on the street. And …”

“Hang on now …”

“They’re gonna pocket my goddamn bonus, the assholes.”

Everyone with an office along this corridor was now standing at the doorway, watching this outburst. They all looked apprehensive.

“Debbie, please. Easy.”

“I’ve got to have that money, Mr. Allen.”

“I know you do,” I said quietly as I steered her back toward her cubicle.

“And you will get it.”

She stopped and looked at me.

“You’re on the level here?”

“Believe me, I am. And your job’s secure, too.”

“You’re not saying that just to shut me up?”

I managed a laugh.

“Listen, why don’t you get everyone from Telesales together now in my office, and I’ll explain exactly what’s going on.”

“Mr. Dolinsky’s in your office.”

I glanced over at my little glass-fronted work space. There indeed was Ivan Dolinsky, standing by the window, gazing blankly out at the street.

“He say what was going on?”

“Nothing-except he said he had to see you, pronto. He looked real bad to me, Mr. Allen.”

He was probably just as shaken as everybody else. Or, at least, that was my best case scenario. I needed Ivan right now like I needed a colostomy. So I asked Debbie to get him a cup of coffee (and three Valiums, if she had any handy) and say I’d be with him in ten minutes-after I briefed all the Telesales people in the conference room.