Indiscretion. M.G. Crisci
you’re married and bald.”
“So, why are you here?”
“I find you kind of sexy,” she purred.
I wanted to reach across the table and kiss her. Instead, I wrote a poem on a napkin and handed it to her. “Here’s a memento of the evening. Thanks for the time.”
She opened the white cloth napkin and read the title out loud, Should, Shouldn’t. “Sounds interesting. I’ll read it in bed later.”
Lights, action, camera.
Unreal set,
Noisy, crowded bar.
Surreal situation,
Dead silence.
Consuming dilemma
Can, can’t
Should, shouldn’t…
I paid the check. We got our cars from the valet. I kissed her gently on the cheek and we drove our separate ways.
~
A few minutes later, my mobile rang. It was 9:30 P.M. Lauren asked, “Are you all right? I was starting to worry.”
“God, baby, I’m so sorry I forgot to call. Two of our top advisors, Dave Lineman and Jim Cleveland, just dropped in out of nowhere, looking for a free dinner. Dawson was busy and I was standing nearby. Next thing you know, I’m the evening’s master of ceremonies.”
“No, you were asked because you’re his top schmoozer. And he knows you’ll do anything for AFA. Just be careful and don’t fall asleep; I want you home in one piece.”
“I should be home in about a half-hour; I’m just leaving downtown.”
As I drove, I wondered which was worse: lying to Lauren for the first time in 35 years, or the fact that she believed me, implicitly.
When I arrived home, Lauren was sleeping peacefully. I slipped in bed next to her soft, warm body. Instinctively, she knew I was there. She rolled over and kissed me gently on the lips.
12.
The inappropriate acquisition.
It was no accident that the weekly sales production board resided in a place of prominence. We all believed that good salespeople were very competitive and very sensitive. The production board served two purposes.
First and foremost, posting weekly results stimulated sales activity. Every account manager wanted to be at or near the top of the board every week; it was a public disclosure of their success with assigned advisors, and how much they made.
Second, the board was a slump-reducer. When an account manager was in a sales slump, their sensitivity meter would kick in and they would break their tail not to be near the bottom. We had an unofficial slogan: “Middle means slump, top means drinks for all.”
Alexandria had been mired in the lower half for eight straight weeks.
One late afternoon, I happened to be looking at the latest posted numbers on the way to my car.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not worried,” said Alexandria softly from behind. “A lot of my guys have been on vacation. It’s summertime. They’ll roar back in the fall.”
I nodded.
“There’s also something else I want to talk to you about that could be gigantic for the company… and for yours truly. Dan Whitman has been perfecting it for some time, so it’s field-tested.”
“Are you going to give me a hint?” I replied.
“No, we’re going to do this your way. I have some interesting materials, and I made a date with Courtney. Surprised?” She batted her eyes ever so slightly and slithered away.
~
I knew Alexandria wanted something when she appeared right on time, an unusual occurrence. She started with a few pleasantries. “I enjoyed the other night, and the poem was in-ter-est-ing. Nobody ever wrote me a poem.” Then she headed into her pitch. “What’s a financial advisor’s most important asset?”
I thought to myself, Who gives a damn? She turns me on.
Alexandria answered her own question. “Their time. That’s why an AFA-ContactPro partnership.”
“Contact who?”
“ContactPro. Don’t worry; we’ll get to that part in a minute. First, you need to understand their patented software package. It’s all based on the concept of merging toll-free telephony with the 24/7 capability of memory-based remote servers.”
I began to smirk.
“Why the shit-eating grin?” she asked, half-kidding. “This girl’s trying to make some money. I want you to listen!”
I couldn’t resist responding. “How does a woman who prefers phone calls to email suddenly know about the capability of memory-based remote servers?”
“Okay, okay, so Dan helped me with my presentation. But this thing is cool. ContactPro is a small technology company based in southern Litchfield, about thirty miles north of here. They’ve created a single-point communications application software designed for the road warrior. The advisor calls his own dedicated 800 number from anywhere in the United States, day or night, seven days a week, to access his emails, telephone messages, databases, client profiles, and whatever else he so chooses to have programmed into ContactPro servers.”
I asked a few basic questions. How long have they been in business? Who are their corporate clients? How many financial advisor subscribers do they have? How does the information get programmed? Can calls be forwarded from the client’s office to the 800 number? Is there firewall protection?
She smiled. “I don’t know. That’s what you’re supposed to figure out. I just talked to the president and negotiated the revenue-sharing deal. We get ten percent of the first month revenues for every advisor that signs on to the system. Then we get five percent for the next eleven months, and yours truly gets a nice commission from AFA on every sale. So, everybody wins.”
I had quite a dilemma. The concept was irrelevant to our current business model, and she had absolutely no authority giving third-party vendors the impression she spoke for the company. On the flip side, I didn’t want to dampen her business enthusiasm in case I was wrong, or squelch what I perceived might be a budding personal relationship.
“I know. You’re skeptical. That’s why I arranged a meeting with the president, Gil Rodman. He’ll give you a complete demo and answer all your questions. He sounded very nice on the phone. Plus, I checked where you live. They are less than three miles from your home.”
“Alexandria, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but…”
She had anticipated my next objection and was ready with the appropriate retort. “I made the meeting late in the day, on your way home. I was thinking that maybe after the meeting you could buy this girl a little dinner, since I’ll have to drive back to the city. You wouldn’t want me to do that on an empty stomach?”
“Okay, okay. But for Christ’s sake, don’t tell Courtney.”
13.
The first lie.
ContactPro Ltd. was in the middle of one of the picturesque Litchfield’s hottest office complexes, called Technology Center Research Park. The mirrored facade of the ultra-modern ContactPro building was a vibrant crimson and dark gray. However, once inside, there was an eerie silence, as if everyone had been evacuated. The feeling reminded me of the late nineties dot-com boom, which left venture capitalists with bankrupt internet businesses and empty re-wired landmark buildings up and down Manhattan’s Silicon Alley (West Broadway between Houston and Canal Streets).
There was no receptionist, just a set of locked double-glass