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Message-ID: <32041asstr$998147403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Bill Morgan" <morg1058@chartervt.net>
Subject: {ASSM} rp/rev SIX-MONTH TURNAROUND 1 of 2  from MORGAN M/F Rom
Date: Sat, 18 Aug 2001 11:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "6month 1.txt" begin>

The following is a work of fiction regarding sexual
relationships.  If you feel that it is illegal, immoral, or
otherwise improper for you to read this, then *Don't Read It.*

*  *  *

*Six-Month Turnaround*

Copyright (C) 1992, 1998, 2001 by Morgan.  All rights reserved.

Please note the original copyright date.  This story was
basically written nine years ago and was originally posted in
1988.  As a result, you will likely find obsolete references. 
I'm afraid you'll just have to live with it; it's too tedious
trying to keep up with the latest and greatest.  It was
previously posted on ASSM in 1998, but not since then.

Incidentally, you will find occasional entries, _word_.  The
reason for this is that MS Word's Auto Format function puts a
word preceded and followed by an underscore in italics; that's my
intent.  Similarly, *word* results in the word appearing in bold
face.  If you use Word's Auto Format, it will take care of
things; if you don't, you at least know why it's there.

More of my works are posted on my site <www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Morgan/www> 
If you like it -- or if you don't -- please let me know at
morg105829@aol.com.

*  *  *

*Chapter 1*

Clifford Fitzpatrick eased his car into the parking lot at the
headquarters of Murphy Manufacturing Company in the outskirts of
Milwaukee.  He saw a parking place immediately adjacent to the
building entrance with a newly-painted sign reading President and
immediately below the title, C J Fitzpatrick.  He pulled into the
spot and parked.

Cliff Fitzpatrick was a trim six feet two with sandy brown hair
and blue eyes.  He looked like an athlete and moved like one.  As
he got out of the car, he looked down the row of what were
obviously executive parking spaces, and saw that most were still
empty.  It was eight-fifteen on a Monday morning in early April
but Cliff was not surprised.  Although he had been told that
working hours at Murphy Manufacturing began at eight o'clock, the
late arrival of executives was just one more sign of a general
slackness in the operation.

Normally an early starter, Cliff had waited a few extra minutes
this morning, his first at Murphy and his first as its president.
 He wanted to give the other people a chance to arrive before
him.  He noticed there was a row of signs similar to his own
running down the line of preferred parking spaces.  Clearly, the
sequence of names was the corporate pecking order presented for
all the world to see.

Cliff entered the building and was greeted by name by the
receptionist.  Obviously, she had been told to expect him and had
been watching for him.  Going up to the second floor which served
as the executive offices of the company he went around to the
corner where he knew his new office was.  He found his secretary,
Sandra Donnell, sitting expectantly at her desk waiting for him.

She rose from her chair and held out her hand.  "Good morning,
Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Welcome to Murphy Manufacturing!"

Cliff was surprised at the firmness of her grip.  "Good morning,
Miss Donnell," he replied.  "Could you arrange for someone else
to cover our phones for a while?  I want to talk with you and I
don't want us to be disturbed."  While the girl made arrangements
Cliff entered his office and sat down in the big chair behind the
desk.

* * *

Cliff Fitzpatrick was thirty-two years old, five years out of
Harvard Business School and two days out of Cumings & Company,
one of the world's preeminent management consulting firms.  He
had accepted the position of president of Murphy while
recognizing the risks.  He had agreed with Ezra Stiles, the
trustee of the Murphy estate, on specific performance objectives
to be achieved by September 30 -- just six months away.  At the
same time he recognized that, had he been unwilling to accept the
very ambitious targets, he would not have been offered the
position.

Cliff was relying on being able to make dramatic improvements in
operations, even if not quite up to the objectives he had agreed
to.  Privately, he believed them to be unreachable, but he
thought he could get close enough to have his contract renewed
anyway.

He thought about the decision he had made.  Murphy was in the
_Fortune_ second 500 in size with sales of about $500 million a
year.  It was an old-line automotive supplier with a good
reputation in the industry.  However, Cliff's investigation
before taking the position showed conclusively -- to him at least
-- that the company was in trouble.  It was a victim of dry rot
on the inside.  The numbers were all trending in unpleasant
directions although the trends were not yet apparent to the
outside.

He reminded himself that he had an appointment with a securities
analyst from Chicago who was scheduled to visit him on Friday. 
Cliff suspected that the analyst who claimed to follow Murphy had
noticed the trend in the numbers.  He recognized it would take
some fast talking to avoid a very negative report which would be
followed by a sharp drop in Murphy's stock price.  Because of the
ownership position of the Murphy estate -- about 65 percent of
the shares -- the stock did not qualify for a listing on the New
York Stock Exchange and so was traded on the American Stock
Exchange instead.

Cliff was a man in a hurry.  He recognized that the odds against
a successful turnaround -- achieving the promised operating
results in just six months -- were very high.  Weighing against
those odds, though, were two other factors.  First, he had saved
some money while he was with Cumings, and had received a big jump
in salary -- to $200,000 a year -- when he joined Murphy. 
Second, there was Stephanie Simpson.  Stephanie was the beautiful
dark-haired daughter of George Simpson, Chairman, Chief Executive
Officer and largest individual shareholder of Ajax Industries,
Inc.

When they were together in bed Saturday night, she again tried to
get him to refuse the Murphy position and join Ajax instead.  He
was madly in love with Stephanie so he could not really sort out
his feelings.  >From the first time he mentioned to her that he
was thinking of leaving Cumings and going into private industry,
she had been after him to join Ajax as a staff vice president. 
He reflected that she had run through the full gamut of her
emotions as she tried to persuade him, stopping just short of
rage.

Cliff examined the relationship he enjoyed with this beautiful
girl who had a successful career of her own in public relations.
Although, he admitted, she was working on the Ajax account.  She
was five feet six inches tall with dark hair and a voluptuous
figure.  He reflected that she was soft all over.  Occasionally,
as a great favor she would permit him to share her bed as she had
on Saturday night.

Thinking about the offer from Ajax, Cliff decided that it was
more a gift to a prospective son-in-law than a real job.  He
didn't like the idea of being a kept man, even though Stephanie
had been introducing him to her friends as her fiance.

Cliff wanted to make it on his own in a company he was running. 
He recognized that only the problems at Murphy, coupled with his
performance objectives and the very short time horizon to reach
them, had made this opportunity possible.  He was objective
enough about his position to know that the situation he faced was
the only one in which an ex-consultant with no direct management
experience would have possibly been considered. _Well,_ Cliff
thought, _there was my time as Gunnery Officer on a destroyer. 
That was managing something._  Murphy with its eight hundred
employees was only his second shot.

* * *

Cliff looked at Sandra Donnell as she entered his office.  She
was a tall girl -- about five feet eight, he thought -- with a
lovely face and a very trim figure.  She was conservatively
dressed in a tweed skirt and a loose fitting beige sweater worn
with a single strand of pearls.  The tan color set off her hair
which was a lovely shade of auburn.  He noticed that she did not
have the very fair complexion that normally accompanied the hair
color.  In fact she had a tan suggesting she had vacationed in
the sun recently.  She had her stenographic notebook with her and
took a seat next to his desk.  Her pencil was poised for
dictation.

"Do you go by Sandra, Sandy, or something else?" Cliff asked.

Startled, she looked up and then smiled, "My friends call me
Sandy," she answered.

"May I call you Sandy, then?  And I would appreciate it if you
would call me Cliff.  I'm used to informality even though I
gather it's not the style here at Murphy.  In fact, I haven't
encountered such formality since I worked on a consulting
assignment for an old-line insurance company."

"Of course you may," she replied with a quick smile.  "And you're
right.  Things have become rather formal around here lately.  I
haven't been here that long myself on a full-time basis, but I
gather things were more informal when Mr. Murphy was still active
in the company.  I hope you don't mind, but I scheduled a staff
meeting for you at ten in the board room to meet the senior
executives.  Do you have some dictation for me?"

"No, Sandy, I don't.  I want to level with you.  This is going to
sound strange since we only really met a few minutes ago..." 
Then he remembered.  "But you were present when I met with Mr.
Stiles, weren't you?"

She smiled, and he noticed again how her smile lighted up her
face.  He also noticed laugh lines suggesting that she smiled
often.  "I was here hiding in the corner.  I'm surprised you even
noticed me.  I never did learn why Mr. Stiles wanted me to be in
the room, though."

Cliff continued, "At any rate, I'm the stranger around here and I
need all the help I can get.  Sandy, let's be honest.  If you
don't like me, you can cut my throat... or rather, just watch as
I cut my own.  I have several changes in mind, beginning right
now.  I would like to sound you out first and get your thoughts
on the probable company reaction.  Would you mind?"

Sandy looked a bit skeptical.  "That wouldn't make me a spy,
would it?" she asked.

"I certainly hope not!" he replied.  "I just want your opinion. 
I have the feeling that you know a lot about this place.  Am I
right?  After all, you have been the president's secretary for
quite a while, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir.  I worked for poor Mr. MacDougal for three years after
I got out of school.  Is the staff meeting at ten o'clock okay?"

"That's fine.  Now, some basics:  First, where does a guy go for
coffee around here?"

Sandy reddened, "I'm sorry, sir!  I forgot to ask if you wanted
any.  Mr. MacDougal ended the coffee service on the executive
floor over a year ago.  I think someone spilled coffee on some
business papers or something.  But I could get some for you from
the cafeteria if you would like?"

"Why don't we both just take a walk?  I never did have much of a
chance to look around.  He smiled and added, "But you're going to
have to lead.  I don't have the foggiest idea where things are
around here yet."

As they walked through the building, Sandy pointed out the
executive dining room.  They stopped and he looked inside.  It
was really quite elegant, paneled floor to ceiling in oak.  There
were a number of tables and what was obviously a head table
placed across the end of the room.  

"Your place is at the center of the head table as you probably
guessed," she said blandly.

"Who operates the dining room?  Company employees?" he asked.

"No, sir.  There's an outside caterer who is supposed to be quite
good.  His people operate the whole thing.  The company people
who used to run it before the renovation -- the ones who are left
from Mr. Murphy's time -- are now down in the employees'
cafeteria.  That's where we're headed."

They entered the cafeteria which was off the factory floor.  The
first thing Cliff noticed was all the noise from the plant
spilling through the paper-thin walls.  The second was how
rundown everything looked.  Some of the people were valiantly
trying to clean, but without great success.  Sandy introduced him
to Janet Simmons, the manager.  Mrs. Simmons was a strikingly
handsome woman who seemed out of place in the cafeteria.  She
shook hands and welcomed him to Murphy.

Sandy seemed a bit embarrassed to have Cliff with her.  "I'm
sorry, Janet, but Mr. Fitzpatrick insisted on coming with me.  I
didn't have a chance to warn you we were on our way."

Cliff didn't say anything but was puzzled by the comment.  He
bought four coffees and insisted on carrying them back upstairs
while Sandy opened doors.  When they returned to his office and
closed the door, he looked at the girl and said, "I did something
wrong, didn't I?  I can see it in your eyes.  What was it?"

"Cliff, that wasn't nice to Janet.  You embarrassed her."

"I'm sorry.  But what did I do?" he asked contritely.

Sandy smiled at him and grimaced.  "You didn't do anything.  I
did something.  I had promised that I would warn Janet if any
executives headed towards the cafeteria.  You see, she managed
the executive dining room before the caterer came in.  She's
still more than a little upset about meeting you under these
conditions."	

She looked at him steadily and then continued, "While we're on
the subject, you have just seen a union grievance.  The union
doesn't think it's right for the executives to eat subsidized
meals while the workers who make much less than they do have to
pay full price."

"I don't think it's right either.  Is it true?"

Her eyes were downcast, but he saw her head briefly nod.  Her
head came up, she looked up at him and replied, "Actually, its
truer than they know.  The executives pay one dollar for their
lunch.  I think the company's direct subsidy is about ten dollars
apiece, and that doesn't cover the maintenance of the dining room
itself."

Cliff again noticed how tall she was.  He was used to towering
over women, but wearing her pumps she was only a few inches
shorter than he was.  "Sandy, I said at the beginning I wanted to
use you as a sounding board.  Here comes the first idea:  This
company is in tough shape.  But working here, I'm sure you
already know that."

Sandy looked like she was about to protest, but then merely
nodded.  "Things are not too good," she agreed reluctantly.

"We're agreed on that, anyway.  Now, if we're going to get this
company turned around at all, let alone within the six-month
period I agreed to in my contract, everybody has got to pull his
weight.  We can't afford grievances, and frankly, I can't afford
prima donnas in the executive suite either.  I gathered from your
comment that executives are rare on the factory floor?"

"Rare!" she exclaimed.  "I'm not sure how many of them could
_find_ the factory floor.  As far as the cafeteria is concerned,
forget it!  That's strictly for the peons."

"Do you eat there, Sandy?" he asked quietly.

Her chin came up and she looked right at him.  "Yes, I do.  I
used to bring my lunch and most of the other secretaries on this
floor still do.  But when Janet was kicked out of the dining room
and booted downstairs, I started eating there.  The food's
surprisingly good, by the way."

"Great!  Tell Mrs. Simmons I'll be eating lunch there today."

"You're going to do _what?"_ she exclaimed.

"I'm eating in the cafeteria.  What's the big deal?  Since we're
closing the executive dining room as soon as the contract can be
canceled, there's no sense in getting used to the food.  Who
looks after the contract, by the way?"

"Mr. Purcell.  That's Charles Purcell, the treasurer," she
replied, trying vainly to choke off a giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, puzzled.

"I was just wondering what he is going to do all day without the
dining room to fuss over.  The secretaries joke about him living
on the phone with the caterer planning menus.  The joke among the
girls is the reason we're charged so much for the executive meals
is Purcell takes so much of the caterer's time, the poor man
can't get any other work done."  She stopped giggling, and tried
to look repentant.  "I'm sorry.  That was a very nasty thing to
say."

"Probably true, though."  He grinned at her and she smiled back.
"Now, the second thing:  Who takes care of the parking lot and
space assignments?"

"Plant operations, I think."  She suddenly looked horrified.  "Is
there a problem with your space?  They didn't misspell your name
did they?  I typed it in all capital letters so they would be
sure to get it right!"

"They got it absolutely right.  That's not the problem.  I want
you to write a memo for my signature.  You can bring copies in to
the staff meeting.  Effective at midnight tonight, there will be
no assigned spaces for anyone.  I want all of the executive signs
removed by the end of the day today.  There will be a number of
handicapped spaces, but all the rest will be regular spaces.  If
an executive feels the need to have a space close to the
entrance, he can arrive early enough to get one.  It seems that
the parking lot is far larger than the number of cars in it. 
There is no space shortage, is there?"

She looked at him quizzically.  "You're serious, aren't you?  You
are really going to eliminate the reserved executive spaces? 
Except yours, of course."  Sandy almost jumped at his reaction. 
She instantly saw steely overtones in his blue eyes. _He's mad!
she thought. _Oops, I put my foot in it._

"There are _no_ exceptions!  Particularly not me.  Now, what do
you think?"

"How important are the executives to making your plans work?" she
asked, avoiding a direct answer to his question.

"Very important.  Vital, in fact!  However, I'm assuming that the
guys who are focused on making the business work don't give a
damn about parking spaces.  The guys who do care have to be
question marks."

He reflected for a moment and then continued, "I met the Chairman
of a _Fortune_ 100 corporation at his headquarters in New York. 
His office was up high -- about the fortieth floor -- with a view
across to New Jersey and up to the George Washington Bridge.  He
said his problem was 'there are too damned many people in this
organization looking inside, and not nearly enough looking
outside.'

"To him, the inside-outside metaphor was simple:  'Outside'
included the customers, competitors, and markets.  'Inside' was
the zingy memo, the pithy comment in the staff meeting... that
sort of thing.  Inside activities _cost_ money, they don't make
money.  You don't make money inside.  Did I answer your question?
 The damned dining room and parking spaces are inside activities
at their worst."

She smiled at him and pretended to size him up.  Although she was
playacting, she knew she liked what she saw and had from the
first time she saw him.  Finally she said, "I guess you're strong
enough.  Do you want me to see if I can borrow a hard hat for you
to wear?  There are going to be a few guys coming in here
screaming with blood in their eyes.  Do you want me to get rid of
them for you?"

Now it was his turn to regard her speculatively.  "You would,
wouldn't you?  You would take all that heat?  What in hell for?"

"Because," she said quietly, "it's my job.  A good executive
secretary is supposed to take heat off her boss, not add to it."

"Thank you," he said, simply.  "I'm sure you could and would, and
I certainly appreciate the thought.  This time, though, I want to
see how the guys who scream operate.  I'll see them myself.  One
more thing: our working relationship.  What time do you arrive
and what time do you leave at night?  I did hear 'Miss Donnell',
didn't I?"

"It's Miss" she confirmed.  "I try to arrive before you do so I
can get things organized, and I normally leave just a little
after you.  What hours do you plan on working, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

"It's Cliff, and now you're creating a problem for me.  I
normally get in early and stay until all hours.  It's my
consulting background, I guess.  We used to say we were paid to
work, not to sleep.  Besides, the joke among the associates was
that if you didn't work at least eighty hours, the firm couldn't
make any money.  You worked eighty, but only charged forty to
clients.  That was to ensure clients got their money's worth."

He grinned and then continued, "Anyway, what are we going to do?
Why don't you plan on leaving no later than five-thirty?  How's
that?"

"We'll see," she answered, smiling enigmatically.  "Is there
anything else?"

"Yes.  Your steno pad," he said.

She looked at her pad, turned it over, looked puzzled and looked
up at Cliff.  "It's an ordinary steno pad.  What's wrong with
it?"

"Nothing at all if you like taking notes in it.  But I have a
problem with my dictation.  Could we try some?"

Sandy's pencil was poised over the pad as Cliff started to
dictate a series of notes and short letters to friends telling
them about his new job.  He watched her pencil fly across the
pad.  Since one of his consulting skills was his ability to read
upside-down, he could see that Sandy was using a form of
self-developed speedwriting and was barely keeping up with him. 
When he stopped dictating abruptly, she blew a stray strand of
hair out of her eye and looked at him.  He could see a faint look
of chagrin in her eyes -- and hurt.

"I apologize, Sandy.  That was cruel and unkind.  I think you're
an outstanding secretary.  How fast do you take shorthand? 
Honestly."

She grinned.  "An apology is uncalled for.  You caught me out.  I
guess I can manage 100 words a minute or so.  I faked the test
years ago at 140 or something stupid like that."

"Do you know why you function so brilliantly as a secretary?" he
asked.  She just shook her head.  "First, I'll bet you handle the
important parts of your job very well.  As for dictation, it
divides basically into three groups: letters that should never be
dictated at all, those that can't be dictated, and junk.  I was
just dictating junk.

"The first category are really form letters.  The person
dictating is saying essentially the same thing over and over.  A
smart secretary just notes down the variables and sticks them in
her standard letter.  If her words aren't exactly what her boss
dictated, he doesn't know the difference.  And hers are probably
better, anyway.

"The material that shouldn't be dictated would be something like
a plan document.  Since so much thought is required, the biggest
problem the secretary faces is trying to stay awake between
words. _Shorthand?_  You could probably write that stuff in
calligraphy, complete with curlicues.  Do you, by the way?"

Her head was down, but he saw her nod vigorously while she went
back through the pages of her steno pad.  With her head still
down, she held up a page of beautiful calligraphy.

"Finally, Sandy, there's the junk I just gave you.  If I ever do
send out such drivel, we'll either set up a form letter or I'll
just give you a list of names and addresses and ask you to
compose one.  Dictating is a colossal waste of time!  Does what
I've been saying make any sense to you?"

Sandy raised her head, and Cliff laughed.  It was obvious that
she had been giggling and then laughing hard, while trying to
control herself.  "That was unfair!" she said with a grin.  "It's
absolutely true, but unfair.  Bosses aren't supposed to know
things like that!"

"Sandy, there are two people I would like to see quickly.  The
first is whoever runs our systems unit.  Who is he, and is he any
good?"

"His name is Kevin O'Rourke.  He's young, but I think he's very
good.  He's one of the guys who isn't listened to much around
here but I think he's got a real contribution to make.  Why?"

"Can you get him in here?  Now?"

"Just a moment.  I'm sure I can."

She picked up the phone on Cliff's desk and dialed a number from
memory.  When it was answered, she told the other party that Mr.
Fitzpatrick wanted to see Mr. O'Rourke in his office at once.  A
few moments later there was a knock on the door.  Sandy opened
it, intending to leave the two men alone, but Fitzpatrick called
her back saying she was involved in the meeting.

"Hi, Kevin, I'm Cliff Fitzpatrick.  I'm delighted to meet another
Irishman.  But then the place seems to be lousy with them.  On
the other hand, with the name, Murphy Manufacturing, I guess it
comes with the territory."

They shook hands, and Cliff told Kevin he wanted one personal
computer installed in his office and one for Sandy.  If they
shared a processor, it was okay, but not essential.  He wanted a
system in which they could each access and work on the same set
of files.

"I do my own correspondence in my own inimitable style.  With
this system, when Miss Donnell reads what I wrote and tries to
translate it into English, I won't have to listen to her laugh at
me from across the desk.  Can you get a big IBM system with lots
of hard disk storage and RAM?"

Kevin nodded.  "Can do.  They have several very good systems.  I
assume you know how to use it from consulting days.  But what
about software?"

Cliff told him what he wanted, and then asked Sandy, "Do you have
experience with computers, Miss Donnell?"

"Yes, and I need WordPerfect software for word processing, and I
think we ought to have a laser printer if we're going for a
powerful system.  Can we do that, Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

The deal was set, and O'Rourke said he would try to have it
installed in the afternoon.  He would check with suppliers, but
thought the units would be available from stock.

"Now, who else did you want to see?" Sandy asked.  "You only have
a few minutes until the staff meeting."

"Murphy is a union company.  Who's the president of the union
local, and how long would it take to get him up here?  I would
like to meet him before the staff meeting, if it's possible."

The union president, Max Kaufman, appeared within a few minutes,
still wiping his hands with a rag after coming up from the shop
floor.  Cliff introduced himself and told Kaufman about closing
the executive dining room and eliminating assigned parking
spaces.  Finally, he said that he hoped they would be able to
work together.

However, he indicated one concern: "Mr. Kaufman, the most
important problem we may have to face is work rules.  I don't
care very much about the hourly wage rate, or some other things
like hours, vacations and so forth.  But I care a great deal
about work rules.  I need the flexibility to reassign and realign
jobs if we're going to get this company moving again.  I'll want
to meet with you and your people to discuss ideas before any
changes are made, of course.  And with your knowledge of what
really happens on the shop floor, I'm sure you and your people
can improve on our ideas.  Can we work together?"

Kaufman, a burly man who appeared to be in his middle fifties,
looked at Fitzpatrick carefully.  "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I certainly
hope so.  We had great relations with Mr. Murphy, but since he
died things have really gone downhill."  Then, changing the
subject, he asked, "Do you have any plans for the cafeteria?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. Kaufman.  Renovations will begin as soon as
possible, possibly as soon as this afternoon.  The first thing to
do is to put sound insulation in so we're not eating in a machine
shop.  And could I meet you for lunch today, by the way?  I can
eat whenever it's convenient for you."

Kaufman stuck out his hand.  "You sure can, Mr. Fitzpatrick!  I
eat at one o'clock, if that's okay with you?"  They agreed on the
time, and Cliff looked at his watch.  Kaufman went back to work,
leaving Cliff and his secretary alone again.

"Sandy, there's one more thing.  I hate to admit it, but I have
the world's lousiest memory for names.  It's a hell of a thing
for an ex-consultant to say.  I would like you to join me in the
staff meeting and make a little chart for me with the names of
the people matching where they're seated.  Also, I would like you
to keep your eyes open for reactions.  Will you do that?"

She agreed with a little grin on her face and they walked
together towards the board room.*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 presentsituation?"

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 instructions 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 sparkplugs.  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 are 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
sparkplugs 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!"

"I love you, Cliff," she said 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
authority.  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."*Chapter 3*

Cliff returned to his office at two o'clock to find Charles
Purcell pacing the floor waiting for him.  Sensing a
confrontation, he asked Sandy to join them.  Cliff was right: 
Purcell was loaded for bear.  He immediately launched an attack
on the decision to close the dining room and Cliff heard himout.

When he finally ran out of steam, Cliff said, "There are two
reasons for closing the dining room.  First, it is a luxury
benefitting only the highest-paid people in the organization.  As
such, it's a luxury we can't afford.  Second, it's a source of
antagonism to the workers.  If they're against us, this company
is in deep trouble.  The room is closed and so is the subject.

"Now the real reason I wanted to see you was to inquire about our
banking situation.  How many banks do we use, and how many
accounts do we have?  What is our average book balance, bank
balance and float?"

Purcell looked at Cliff as if he were speaking Greek.  "I don't
understand.  I can get my assistant to give us our balance at our
principal banks.  That's all we look at.  The rest are nickels
and dimes.  But what do you mean by 'bank balance'?  That's the
banks' business, I presume."

"How many principal banks do we have, Mr. Purcell?  Which is our
primary bank?"

"We don't have a primary bank," Purcell replied proudly.  "We
spread our business around.  It's the smart thing to do!"

"I'm sorry to disagree.  It's a dumb thing to do.  We are not
nearly large enough to be an important customer to a substantial
number of banks.  I want us to be important to a good bank and I
expect you to take immediate steps to ensure that we become so,"
Cliff stated firmly.

For Purcell, this was the last straw.  He liked having a number
of bankers to call on and to call on him.  Coming on the heels of
the decision to close his dining room -- and he thought of it as
his -- it was too much.  "Mr. Fitzpatrick, I cannot honor your
request.  I am the treasurer!  Bank relationships are my
responsibility, not yours.  I will do no such thing!  If you
persist in this... this invasion of my authority, I will be
forced to resign!"

Cliff looked at him with a steady gaze.  "Is that your last word
on the subject, Mr. Purcell?  You feel I am overstepping my
authority to look into treasury matters?"

Purcell smirked thinking that he had forced Fitzpatrick to back
down.  The sense of victory was in his voice as he said, "That's
absolutely right!  It is none of your affair!"

"I'm sorry to disagree again, Mr. Purcell.  It _is_ my affair. 
This company operates on money.  It's our life's blood.  You
control it.  It was obvious to me by your reaction to my
questions that you know nothing about developments in corporate
cash management over the last twenty years.  Accordingly, I am
accepting your resignation as treasurer, effective immediately."
Turning to Sandy he said, "In my letter be sure to say it is
accepted with regret, Miss Donnell."

Purcell was stunned.  "But... but... I didn't resign!"

Sandy had been taking notes as they were speaking.  Cliff looked
at her, "Miss Donnell, is there something in your notes to the
effect that I was overstepping my authority and if I persisted
Mr. Purcell would be forced to resign?"

Sandy carefully reviewed her notes as she struggled to maintain a
straight face.  Finally she said, "Yes, sir, it's right here,"
and read the lines back.

"To save you the embarrassment, Mr. Purcell, Miss Donnell will
type up your resignation.  It appears that you have both the age
and length of service to qualify for retirement.  Wouldn't early
retirement within the terms of our retirement plan be a more
appropriate way for you to leave?" Cliff asked innocently. 
Purcell was beaten and knew it, so he just nodded.  Cliff told
him he could consider himself retired effective immediately.

Purcell left to clean out his desk and Cliff called Ezra Stiles.
"Mr. Stiles, Cliff Fitzpatrick.  Charles Purcell has asked to
take early retirement, effective immediately and I have approved
it.  I am appointing my assistant, Sandra Donnell, acting
treasurer until the Board can act to make her appointment
permanent.  I would appreciate it if you would poll the Board by
telephone.  Then, of course, we will need Board resolutions to
change the signatories on all of our bank accounts."

Stiles was stunned.  Purcell had been his ally, confidant, and
one of his listening posts within the company.  "Sandra Donnell
as treasurer!?  Mr. Fitzpatrick, are you sure this is wise?  I
mean..."

"Do you object to Miss Donnell, Mr. Stiles?" Cliff asked.

"Why, of course not!  I mean..."

"That's great!  Then I'll tell her it's all set.  Thank you, sir,
for your support!"

Cliff hung up the phone and put out his hand.  "Congratulations!
As the new treasurer, it ought to be worth another five dollars a
week... maybe even ten!

Sandy had been stunned when she heard herself named as treasurer.
 "You're serious, aren't you?  Making me treasurer?  But Cliff, I
don't know a thing about being treasurer!"

He grinned at her.  "I know you don't.  Almost no one does.  The
only corporate position that is less known than that of the
treasurer is corporate secretary. _No one_ knows what the
secretary does.  Actually, though, it's easy.  I'm serious when I
say that after we get the system overhauled, I would be amazed if
the job took you thirty minutes a day.

"There's one thing that surprises me, though.  I expected more of
an argument from Stiles about naming you Purcell's replacement. 
Well, madam treasurer, let's start by listing the information
you're going to need to do the job.  First, check and see if we
have facsimile numbers for our major banks.  We do have a fax
machine, don't we?"

She shook her head and smiled.  "I don't think they were in
general use when Mr. Murphy left, and nothing much has changed
since."

"Call Kevin right now.  He can have one delivered along with the
computers today.  We do have a spare phone outlet, don't we?" 
Again, her head shook.  "What's Kevin's extension?"

She told him and he dialed the number.  Kevin answered.  "Kevin,
this is Cliff Fitzpatrick.  How long will it take you to have
this office wired for a fax phone line and have a unit in here? 
Take all the time you need, as long as it's working by five
o'clock today.  Can do?"

"Can do!  My God, sir, you're the first executive I've met around
here who seems to know how to use a phone.  It'll be installed by
five!"

They hung up, and Cliff glared at Sandy.  "Miss Donnell!  You've
been holding out on me," he said, accusingly.

"I'm sorry, sir.  I don't know what you're referring to," she
said, trying to sound innocent.

"Miss Donnell, this is a company that plays telephone tag, isn't
it?  Where it's a status thing to see who waits for whom?  Let's
say I want to talk to Flood.  You call him, and his secretary
answers.  You tell her, 'Mr. Fitzpatrick for Mr. Flood,' or some
such nonsense.  Since I'm senior, he seethes but picks up his
phone.  You buzz me on the intercom and I pick up.  Four people
and I don't know how much time to complete one lousy internal
phone call.  Am I right?" he demanded.

She was giggling so hard, she couldn't talk.  She just nodded her
head vigorously, doing very attractive things with her auburn
hair.  Finally she spoke.  "Forget the money for acting as
treasurer.  I want hazardous-duty pay for being your assistant! 
You know too damn much about what we do.  It's just not fair!"

He grinned, but ignored her comment.  "How do we stop it?  And I
want it stopped now!  If we have enough secretaries around here
to play those kinds of games, we have too many with not nearly
enough to do.  Do you suppose you could quietly put that word
out?  Since my secretary -- excuse me: the assistant to the
president -- is now doubling as treasurer, there's not much they
can say, is there?"

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, you are a piece of work," she said with a
cute grin.  "You have only been here about half a day, and
already you're shaking the place to its foundations.  The next
thing you know, you'll be talking about typewriters and copying
machines!" she added shrewdly.

"I'm not as dumb as I look," he said with a smile.  "I saw the
typewriters.  They look like refugees from IBM's museum.  The
company is going to get word processing equipment, probably PCs
similar to what we're getting.  I wasn't kidding though.  I
detest the idea of secretary-as-status-symbol and from what you
tell me I'm sure many are.  Who runs administration, by theway?"

"Mr. Purcell did, to the extent anyone did.  Do you want me to do
that, too?" she asked skeptically.

"What about Kevin?  Could he handle the additional work?  It's
about to become a real job, though."

Just then there was a knock on the door.  It was Kevin with some
technicians to install the computers.  They discussed where to
place them, and Kevin called for a computer table for Cliff's
office.  Another computer was going behind Sandy's desk.  When
the men had started to work connecting up the equipment, Cliff
asked Kevin to join them for some coffee.  The threesome trooped
down to the cafeteria.  It was Cliff's third visit of the day.

He was greeted by Janet Simmons who had tears in her eyes. 
"What's wrong?" Cliff asked anxiously.  "I thought you would be
pleased!  Why the tears?"

Mrs. Simmons tried to smile through the tears.  "I'll bet you're
here for coffee, aren't you?  Could I have it brought over and
join you for a couple of minutes?"

"We would be happy to have you join us, but I can carry my own
coffee," Cliff protested.

"I know you can, sir," she insisted, "but not today!"  She
motioned to one of the workers who brought over four cups of
coffee and set them on a table in the far corner as far from the
noise as possible.

When the four sat down, the older woman smiled warmly and said,
"Mr. Fitzpatrick, this has been the best day I have had at this
company in years!  Bill Stevens came down here earlier and he
couldn't believe what you had said.  You did say we can go ahead
with the renovation, didn't you?"  Anxiety was apparent in her
voice as she spoke the last words.

"Consistent with minimizing disruption to you and your people,
Mrs. Simmons, I would like it completed as soon as possible.  I
also asked Bill to consult with you on the details and possible
equipment updates.  I gather the plans were prepared several
years ago."

"It's truly a miracle!  Thank you so much!  I guarantee you'll
never regret it."

Sandy spoke up quietly, "Janet, when are you and Bill Stevens
going to get married?  Isn't it about time?"

Cliff was surprised to see the older woman blush like a young
girl -- a beautiful young girl, at that.  "Sandra Donnell, you
stop that!  It's none of your business what Bill and I do on
weekends."  She blushed even deeper at her admission and
hurriedly excused herself.

Sandy shrugged.  "She's a widow and Bill's a widower.  It's
funny, really, to see them together.  They're like a couple of
kids.  I guess it will happen one of these days."

Cliff turned to Kevin O'Rourke and explained the administration
situation.  "Kevin, is this one of the places where the powers
can tell to a hundredth-of-a-cent what it costs to make a copy of
something, but totally ignore the cost of the people walking to
and from the copiers, waiting in line and that sort of thing?"

"You got that right!" Kevin replied.  "It's even worse, though:
To get the lowest possible cost per copy, you get successively
higher-capacity machines.  That means one big new one replaces
two, three or even four small, older ones.  Distances to walk
increase, but that's not all:  Even the best are mechanical and
they do break down sometimes.  Only now a breakdown -- even with
quick-response service -- is a minor disaster.  What do you want
me to do?" he asked.

"Will you take over administration?  I'm interested in lowest
_total_ cost -- not per-copy cost.  Interested?"

"Yes, sir!  When do I start?"

"Right now.  However, I want to talk about word processors
first."  They continued the conversation, and Cliff said that it
was unlikely the replacement would be one-for-one.  He indicated
his belief there were some secretaries as status symbols who
would be leaving first.  Kevin indicated he would look into
additional computers as soon as possible.  

When they returned to their offices, Cliff found a message saying
that the Board had been polled by phone and elected Sandra
Donnell the new treasurer.

He smiled, shook hands with Sandy and said, "Congratulations! 
That was one of the shortest acting appointments on record.  Now
I want you to get a list of all of our banks, starting with the
largest in importance to us.  Send a copy of the Board resolution
and indicate that a formal copy with the corporate seal will
follow by mail.  We want an activity analysis for every account
as soon as possible."

He explained that an activity analysis was a bank's way of
keeping score.  Although there are several ways of presenting it
to customers, it basically shows the type and amount of different
types of activity Murphy uses, and finally indicates the extent
to which the relationship is considered profitable.  He concluded
by saying, "Given the kind of guy Purcell was, I'm sure Murphy
Manufacturing will turn out to be _very_ profitable."

He then asked her to get copies of the bank book ledger sheets
and bank statements.  When she returned with a supply, he went to
his new computer, brought up a spreadsheet program and showed her
how to set it up.  The columns going across were Date, Bank
Balance, Book (or Murphy's) Balance, and Difference.

He pointed out that interest is earned on weekends and holidays,
so he reminded her to be sure to record a Friday balance as the
balance for Saturday and Sunday as well.  "It's remarkable how
many people forget to do that.  They take the bank balance
numbers, add them up and then divide by the number of entries. 
Companies can lose a lot of money that way."

After he made sure that the two computers were linked so data
could be easily transferred between them, Sandy went back to her
desk and went to work.  Although she did not have Cliff's
familiarity with the spreadsheet software, she was much faster at
data entry so their speeds were comparable.

Later, Cliff was pounding away on his keyboard, when there was a
knock at his door.  He said, "Come in!" and continued to pound
away.

He heard Sandy's voice: "I need help!  Could you open the door,
please?"  He got up and went to the door.  Sandy was standing
there with a large pizza box and four bottles of beer.

"I know you're planning to work me all night," she said with a
grin, "but there's no need to starve, too."

He looked at his watch and was shocked to find it was eight
forty-five and the office was completely dark.  "My God!  Why
didn't you tell me?  Or better yet, why didn't you just go home?
If I'm too dumb to know what time it is, there's no reason for
you to be, too."

"You were busy and I like pizza.  I hope you like pepperoni and
mushrooms?  That's what I bought, so let's eat.  I'm starving to
death."  She opened the box on his coffee table and pulled out a
stack of napkins.  "Thinking ahead, sir, I hope you noticed that
the beer bottles have twist-off caps.  Would you mind opening
two, please?"

Cliff quickly shut down his computer and opened the beer.  He
pulled his chair around to the front of his desk and put his feet
up on the desk.  Sandy put the pizza on his coffee table and they
started munching in companionable silence.

"This is very good, Sandy.  Thanks so much.  I've nearly
forgotten how good a pizza can be.  Stephanie doesn't like it.  I
guess she thinks it's plebeian."  He raised his beer bottle in a
toast, "Cheers!"

Sandy raised her bottle to return the salute.  "Please excuse me,
Cliff.  If there's a dainty, ladylike way to eat pizza, I haven't
found it yet.  I hope you'll forgive me for looking like aslob."

"Sandy, why do I think you're fishing for a compliment?  You are
the most un-slobby individual I've met in years.  Incidentally,
what did you do before you joined Murphy?  As usual, I'm a day
late and a dollar short.  I should have read your personnel file
before I came in today."

Then he grinned and added, "While I'm on the subject, would you
please enter your birthday on your calendar with a note to
yourself a few days earlier to buy yourself a nice birthday gift,
and then wrap it nicely so I can present it to you?  I read
somewhere that top executive secretaries are great at that!"

He grinned and ducked when she took a mock swing at him. 
"Assault!  Sexual abuse!  I've been threatened by a person of the
opposite sex.  I would take it up with Personnel, except I have a
funny feeling they're in the same class with Purcell.  Am I
right?"

Once more she grinned and nodded.  "I'm afraid so.  They're
really not much good.  By the way, there's a regular meeting of
the Grievance Committee tomorrow.  Purcell was chairman.  Who do
you want to take his place?"

Cliff looked puzzled.  "I don't understand the question.  It's
the treasurer's function.  You're the treasurer.  Therefore,
obviously, you're the new chairman... chairwoman... chair... 
Whatever."

"According to the International Association of Parliamentarians
or some such, the position is chairman.  As a woman, I'm
addressed as madam chairman.  Do I get an extra dollar or two a
month for the additional responsibility?  My God!  Two raises in
a single day!  I can't stand it!"

Cliff tried to look pensive.  "Well, let's see.  How often does
the grievance committee meet?"

"There's a regular meeting once a month, and often special
meetings," she replied.

"I don't know, Miss Donnell.  A whole dollar for only one meeting
a month sounds excessive.  How about twenty-five cents?" he asked
brightly.

"And how about if I throw a shoe at you, sir?"  She grinned at
him.  "You sure know how to flatter a girl.  You really do."

Cliff reached into his pocket for his wallet.  He took out a
twenty-dollar bill and gave it to her.  "Seriously, Sandy, this
is the best dinner I've had in ages.  Thank you for being so
thoughtful.  I don't know what the company policy on supper money
is, but it's the least I can do.  Okay?"

"Not okay.  Do you have a five hiding in there?  I'll take that
for your share, but that's absolutely all.  I had to eatanyway."

He took back the twenty and gave her a five, reluctantly.  "You
still haven't told me about yourself.  How old are you, and what
did you do before you came to Murphy?"

"I thought I got you off that," she replied with a wry grin. 
"I'm twenty-six years old, my teeth are sound, I'm single -- as
you know -- and I've been working here for years.  I started
working vacations and summers when I was sixteen, so depending on
how you count, I'm getting as old as some of the office
equipment."  She looked at her rear end and grimaced.  "For that
matter, if I don't start getting some exercise, I'm going to be
as broad as one of our ultra-high-capacity copiers!"

"There you go, fishing for compliments again.  Except this time
it won't work."  Cliff had already noticed that Sandy had very
slim hips and lovely legs.  Her rear end was not nearly as
voluptuous as Stephanie's.  "Nevertheless," he continued, "You
_are_ getting a bit broad in the beam.  I think exercise _would_
help!"

Sandy stood up and twisted around.  Her conservatively cut skirt
was hanging the way it always did.  There were no bulges or
straining seams.  She glared at Cliff.  "I hate you," she stated
matter-of-factly.  "You are a bastard.  Your parents never
married, I can tell!  That was mean, nasty, unkind, and... and...
untrue.  I _am not_ broad in the beam!"

"I was just trying to be agreeable" he said, holding up his
hands.  "And besides, my parents were too married.  They told me
so!"

He smiled at her and added, "I think it's about time to knock it
off, don't you?  Sandy, seriously, I apologize for being so
thoughtless.  If there is a next time, just leave.  And thanks so
much for the pizza -- it was one of the nicest dinners I've had
in months.  Can we declare a truce and get out of here?"  He
smiled and held out his hand.

She smiled back and took his hand.  "It's a deal.  I'll see you
tomorrow."

* * *

Cliff was at the office at seven-thirty the next morning.  He was
pleased to see that all the executive parking signs had been
removed and there were a few cars that appeared to belong to
workers in some of the former executive spaces.  He went up to
his office and found Sandy at her desk.  Entering his office he
wondered again what to do with Stephanie's chair.  Moments later
Sandy came in with a large cup of coffee for him.

He looked at her with bleary eyes.  "Where's yours?" he asked.

She came back a few minutes later with her own cup and her
notebook.  He regarded her carefully and said with a grimace,
"There ought to be a law... probably is, as a matter of fact. 
People shouldn't be allowed to look as cheerful as you do so
early in the morning, particularly before having coffee.  How do
you do it?  And what time did you get in here, anyway?  And where
did the coffee come from?"

Sandy smiled brightly.  "I got in a while ago and the coffee came
from the machine Kevin's people installed yesterday afternoon.  I
told him the very survival of the company depended on the
availability of coffee.  And it only takes me three hours at home
in the morning to look cheerful by the time I get in."

He sipped his coffee in silence, finished the first cup, and then
went looking for the coffee pot.  He refilled his cup and Sandy's
and returned to the office.  "In spite of rumors to the contrary,
I _can_ function in the morning," he said.  "Now we have to
prepare for next week's planning session.  I got the impression
yesterday that the members of the executive committee don't
expect to see nonmembers present.  Am I right?"

"You're absolutely right.  They like to think they know all there
is to know about the business.  Are you suggesting we should have
a larger group?"

"Much larger, and I'll tell you why:  I want more people from
sales -- people who are in day-to-day contact with customers.  I
don't know much about Flood, but he strikes me as one of those
potentially dangerous guys who sees only what he wants to see. 
The type who, when he travels to visit customers, only sees the
company's friends: the guys who will say what a great job Murphy
is doing.  I have no problem with friends, but I want to know how
we're _really_ doing.  Particularly, I want to hear about
problems.  How wrong am I about Flood?"

"I don't think you could be any 'righter'," she replied.  "I'll
give you a short list of people.  Can women attend?"

"You are attending, and you appear to be female.  Why?"

"I have an idea.  There is a saleswoman, Jane Miller, who is a
hot ticket."  She giggled softly.

"What's so funny about Jane Miller?" Cliff asked.

"Last year we had some Murphy Manufacturing T-shirts made. 
Although Jane only has small accounts, she really hustles.  She
went into one company and the purchasing manager said that if she
would wear the T-shirt wet, he'd give her an order.  She went out
to her car, put on a T-shirt, stood in a sprinkler, then went
back in and got the order.  And she's well built, too."

"Sounds like the kind of person we need in the meeting. 
Particularly with small-account experience.  I would like to have
someone who can talk about them from firsthand experience."

"Why am I attending the session, by the way?  To take notes?" she
asked.

"As treasurer.  We're going to be talking about competitors, and
I've found that banks know a lot about what's going on.  It's not
that you'll have the answers, but I think you'll put together a
good set of questions.  Similarly, we want someone knowledgeable
from Purchasing.  Often, the same salesmen who call on us call on
some of our competitors.  Moreover, salesmen love to talk.  It's
amazing to me how much purchasing people know about what
competitors are doing, but no one ever thinks to ask them."

They spent the next hour discussing people, and then moved on to
discuss facilities.  "It sounds like we'll have a group of about
twenty or so.  We want a hotel facility that will take some work
to get right.  Sandy, I don't mean to sound pompous, but too many
hotels only hear 'business meeting' and 'twenty people'. 
Regardless of what else you may have said, you find one of those
tacky green-topped tables set for twenty in a 'U', a' T', or
something similar.  The chairs are those horrors beloved of hotel
banquet departments, primarily because they stack.

"I want comfortable chairs and small tables -- only to hold
coffee cups and that sort of thing.  We need two easel pads and
lots of wall space.  By the time we finish the three-day session,
there will be about forty pages of notes hung on the walls.  Can
you line something up?"

"I'm sure I can.  Now, were you serious last night when you said
I was going to be on the Grievance Committee?"

"I didn't say you were on the Grievance Committee.  I said you
were Chairman of the Grievance Committee!  By the way, where and
when does it meet?"

"It meets in the board room in ten minutes.  That's why I asked,"
she said.

She looked like there was something else on her mind, and Cliff
asked her about it.  "It's the matter of meeting in the board
room.  Purcell set it up there a year or so ago.  I think he did
it to put the union at a psychological disadvantage.  I was
wondering...  Could we move the meeting to the cafeteria after
it's fixed up?  I would do it now, but it's much too noisy."

"It sounds good to me.  Shall we go?"

They entered the board room and Cliff was introduced by Max
Kaufman to the other union members of the grievance committee. 
The union people looked uncomfortable wearing suits and ties.  In
addition to Cliff and Sandy, management was represented by Bill
Stevens from operations and Clarence Budd, Director ofPersonnel.

Cliff opened the meeting.  "Gentlemen, I'm sure you know Sandra
Donnell.  She was elected treasurer by the Board of Directors
yesterday, succeeding Charles Purcell who decided to take early
retirement.  I have appointed Miss Donnell to replace Mr. Purcell
as chairman of this committee.  Does anyone have any problems
with her serving in this capacity?"

Cliff noticed that Sandy was warmly received by both the union
and by Bill Stevens.  The only one who looked uncomfortable was
Budd.  Since he reminded him of Purcell, Cliff wasn't surprised.

They moved to the agenda.  There was no old business so they
immediately turned to new grievances.  Max Kaufman spoke first. 
"Madam Chairman, welcome!  On behalf of my associates and myself,
I would like to say we're looking forward to working with you.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick," he said, addressing Cliff with a hint of a
smile, "You're a dirty guy!  We spent most of the last week
preparing for this meeting.  Our primary grievance this morning
is the condition of the employee cafeteria and the basic
unfairness of a heavy subsidy to the executive dining room while
the workers pay full price.  Then you come in and double-cross
us.

"Before we even have this meeting, the word's all over the plant
that the dining room is closing and the cafeteria is being
completely renovated.  I ask you, Mr. Fitzpatrick, how do you
think it makes us feel?  Like a bunch of horse's asses, is how! 
We prepare all the facts and figures -- and we're not used to
doing that, you know -- and don't even get a chance to use them.
The members are going to start wondering what they need a union
for if you just give them things before we get a chance to demand
them.

"And then there's that parking thing.  That was _really_ nasty. 
We never even thought to ask about that one, and you just go and
do it."  Max's smile was broad by now.  "It's obviously a vicious
management plot to break the union!  Right, boys?"  The other
union members all loudly agreed with their president, with broad
smiles on their faces.

"Seriously, Mr. Fitzpatrick and Miss Donnell, thank you!  I think
it's going to make a real difference.  And I want you to know we
appreciate Bill Stevens asking our opinion about the plans for
the cafeteria.  We know it isn't required and damned seldom
happens.  I almost fell over when I asked him where the executive
section was going to be and was told there won't be one.  He said
you were adamant on the point, Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Is that true?"

"It's true, Max.  Look, this company is in trouble, and I think
we all know it.  We can't afford any internal bickering because
the problems we're facing in the market are big enough.  We spoke
yesterday about changes in the plant.  I don't have a clue what
they might be, but I'm certain there will be some.

"I authorized Bill to get going on the cafeteria for two reasons.
 First, it was long overdue.  It's not a luxury.  Second, I
wanted to do something tangible to show that I'm not anti-worker.
 We'll probably have some good fights in the future over
work-rule changes.  I can't be sure.  I can be sure that I'm
going to want to do things that I believe to be in the best
interest of this company and its workers.  Let's face facts:  I
haven't bothered to look at the collective bargaining agreement
yet.  They're usually pretty fat documents written by lawyers. 
However, regardless of the agreement and what it may say about
job security, the only security that really counts is the
economic health of this company.  If Murphy Manufacturing turns
turtle, that contract will be worth its weight as scrap paper! 
He looked at Sandy.  "Do we have anything else to discuss?  Madam
Chairman?"

Sandy spoke up in her capacity as chairman.  "Is there any other
new business?  Hearing none, is there a motion to adjourn?"

The motion was made, seconded and carried.  The union men
gathered around Sandy to shake her hand and wish her well while
Max went over to Cliff.

"Thanks, Mr. Fitzpatrick.  I can't make any promises about the
changes you may have in mind, but I will promise we'll give you a
fair hearing, okay?  You know, some of the guys were shook up
when they heard the new president was a young ex-consultant. 
Frankly, some of them are scared.  They _do_ see the troubles in
the company.  I can't see how you could have got a better start
with them.  Even the chronic gripers aren't saying much, and you
know as well as I, those guys can _always_ find something to
bitch about."  He extended his hand and said, "Good luck!  We're
all pulling for you."

They shook hands and Cliff and Sandy returned to his office. 
Finding a message on his desk to call Stephanie he picked up his
phone and dialed her number.  Sandy sat down in a chair this
time, with a quirky little smile on her face.  He reached
Stephanie's office, then her secretary and finally Stephanie.

"Cliff, darling!  I'm making plans for the weekend.  You are
coming down, aren't you?  I've organized a little dinner party
Saturday night for just a few friends.  And Cliff, if you're real
nice, you might not even have to rent a hotel room," she added
coyly.  "You just might find yourself staying overnight!  What do
you think about that?  Of course, it depends on how well you
behave.  You'll be here at six, sweetness?"

He agreed, made kissing sounds into the phone, and felt more than
a little silly as he looked at Sandy who still had the same
little smile on her face.  He hung up the phone and looked at
her.

"Okay, say it," he said to her.

"Say what?" Sandy asked innocently.  "I wasn't going to say
anything."

"Say what you're thinking.  There's obviously something on that
mind of yours besides very lovely hair."

"Okay.  But remember, you asked for it.  There are two things: 
First, I notice that you haven't made much progress with
Stephanie on the secretary-as-status-symbol thing.  Have you?"

Cliff reddened.  "It's different for a woman.  Steph says she has
to have her secretary answer her phone in order for her to be
taken seriously."

"Do you really believe that, Cliff?  And I'll bet you five
dollars she hates being called 'Steph,' too."

"No, I guess I really don't.  As a matter of fact, Steph treats
her secretary like dirt.  It's embarrassing, sometimes.  I gather
the girl is very well paid, but anything that ever goes wrong is
the secretary's fault.  Steph doesn't hesitate to blast her
regardless of who's around, either.  I was in her office one day
when she went off.  She ripped that girl to shreds with me
sitting there watching.  That girl is brave.  She just stood
there and took it, even though I could see tears starting to
flow.  She just said, 'I'm sorry, Miss Simpson.'  I wouldn't have
blamed her for throwing something."

He reached into his wallet and took out a five-dollar bill.  "And
she hates 'Steph.'  But how did you know, and what's the other
thing?"

"Call it a good guess.  I'm sure I'm underrating the woman, but
she seems to fall right into the pattern.  As far as the other
thing, I hate to see a man led around like he has a ring through
his nose.  Let me guess:  There's a cross between a hint and a
promise that you'll be spending Saturday night between her satin
bed covers.  Am I right?  That's, of course, assuming that you
are good, whatever that translates into.  I... I... I think I
hate her!"  Sandy finished vehemently.  She stormed out of the
office before Cliff could respond.

He thought about what she had said, and realized, painfully, that
she was right. _In fact,_ he thought, _she's more right than she
could know._  He thought back to the occasion he had described
when Steph had been berating her secretary in his presence.  It
was almost as if the girl had been stripped naked in front of a
stranger.  Worst of all, it was obvious to Cliff that the fault
was Stephanie's, not the secretary's.

He wondered why the girl didn't just tell Steph off and quit. 
Then he remembered a comment Steph had made about the money being
very good, and that the girl couldn't afford to quit.

He also thought about Sandy in juxtaposition with Stephanie. _Why
is it that I think Sandy would spend the night with a man in a
much more honest way, without using sex as some sort of reward
for good behavior?_ he wondered.*Chapter 4*

Cliff drove in to the plant on Saturday morning.  He knew it
wasn't operating.  The current volume of business was not nearly
big enough to justify Saturday operations.  When he arrived, he
was greeted by the gate guard and parked his car close to the
plant entrance.  Since it was a warm day in early April in
Milwaukee, Cliff was wearing an old pair of Levi's and a golf
shirt.  He left his windbreaker in the car and walked into the
plant, turning toward the factory floor.  When he entered the
plant he was surprised to see people working.  Bill Stevens was
there along with Janet Simmons and Sandy.

He joined them.  "What brings you all in on Saturday?  It's such
a beautiful day, I thought I would be the only one here." 
Turning to Bill, he said, "I guess you and Mrs. Simmons must be
working on the cafeteria plans.  But Sandy, what brings you in? 
Don't you have a home?"  He noticed that Sandy had beautiful legs
which were shown off by her tight-fitting Levi's she was wearing
along with a University of Michigan sweat shirt.

She gave him a welcoming smile and said, "Force of habit, I
guess.  It's been a long, cold winter with nothing better to do,
so I guess I hung out at the plant."

Cliff asked Bill if he would show him around.  When they reached
the shipping area, he noticed some particularly heavy packing
crates that seemed to be ready for overseas shipment.  They were
an export shipment headed for South America.

Bill sounded puzzled when he said, "Cliff, I just make the parts,
but this doesn't make a lot of sense to me.  Believe it or not,
these parts are priced and sold FOB our shipping dock.  The
shipping people even bitch about the extra packing required for
overseas shipment.  I understand that we make good money on these
orders but we make the buyer handle all the export paperwork. 
Does that make sense to you?"

"No, Bill, it sure doesn't.  Have you ever been to South
America?"  Stevens said he had not.  "It's the place old American
cars seem to go to die.  Particularly in countries like
Venezuela, it's like going back in a time warp to the 1960's. 
You find all these huge American cars with their monstrous V-8
engines.  With the country a major producer of crude oil and
local fuel prices nationally subsidized, gasoline is still very
cheap down there.  Those engines were well-built, too.

"It seems logical we would have a big export business, though. 
Those engines will run a couple of hundred thousand miles before
they need engine work -- and that's where a lot of them are when
the odometer rolls over the second time.  I guess we'll find out
more about our export business starting Monday morning.

"In the meantime, what's all this other stuff?"  Cliff was
pointing to lines of stacked pallets with product on them. 
Judging from the weathering and the accumulated dust, the crates
appeared to have been there a long time.

Bill frowned and replied, "It's quite a collection, isn't it?  It
really drives my people crazy.  Looking at it, some of it looks
like it's been here as long as we've been in the building. 
Honestly, Cliff, I would be afraid to ship any of this stuff
without opening up the crates and inspecting it first.  We're not
even sure any of these things are usable."

"What do the auditors say?" Cliff asked.  "They often get pretty
tough on valuation of unsalable inventory for the balancesheet."

"Frankly, I'm not sure they even notice it.  Some of these crates
are like the plant walls.  They're just here.  Every time I raise
a question, though, the finance types go through the ceiling --
something about an inventory write-down.  Frankly, I think we've
got a product line that's much too broad.  If the 80-20 rule
generally holds -- 80 percent of the sales come from 20 percent
of the products -- I'm not sure we don't run at 90-10 or even
95-5!"

Cliff did not like much of what he saw during his inspection. 
When they finished their tour, he noticed it was nearly one
o'clock.  Sandy was still out front talking with Janet Simmons. 
Bill and Janet went off together leaving Sandy alone with Cliff.

She looked at him thoughtfully and said, "From the look on your
face, you didn't enjoy your tour with Bill, did you?"

"No, I didn't.  We're going to have a lot to discuss starting
Monday morning.  Are the arrangements all in place?"

She nodded.  "I even went over to the hotel yesterday afternoon
to be sure.  So far, so good."

"How about having lunch with me?  I haven't eaten at all except
for coffee.  How about you?"

"I would love to.  There's a place around the corner where a lot
of the men eat.  With the plant closed today, it should be pretty
empty."  They went around the corner and entered a small cafe
where Sandy was greeted by name.

"Does everybody know you around here, Sandy?  I don't think I've
seen you fail to be greeted by name yet."  She just smiled and
they ordered hamburgers with everything and Cokes.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she said.  "I thought this was
the big night with Stephanie.  You should be down in Chicago
panting at her doorstep.  And remember, if you're very, very
good, she may even allow you to share her bed."

Cliff just looked at the girl across the table.  Finally, he
said, "I apologize for what I said last week."

"What did you say last week?" she asked.

"I seem to recall saying you were getting broad in the beam.  I
apologize.  You're not.  Seeing you in those jeans convinced me."
 He continued to study the girl.  He realized she was wearing no
makeup at all.  With her hair pulled back in a ponytail and
wearing an oversized sweatshirt, she appeared to be about
sixteen.

He told her so, and she stuck out her tongue at him.  "That's the
story of my life!" she said sadly.  "I always remind guys of
their best friend's kid sister.  If I tried to act seductive, the
guy would laugh and think I'm going to trip him or something. 
Please, Cliff, let me take back everything I said about
Stephanie.  It's just my jealousy showing, and I have absolutely
nothing to be jealous about.  She certainly got to you before I
did."

Cliff just looked at her, realizing what a beautiful girl she
was.  "Would it have made a difference if you had seen me first?"
he asked.

Her eyes flashed with green fire.  "It certainly...  No, it
wouldn't," she finished quietly.  "Remember me?  Everyone's kid
sister?  No, I'm afraid not.  I apologize again.  I guess I'm
just overmatched and I know it."

They finished their meal in silence and then Sandy quickly
excused herself.  Cliff was thoughtful as he drank his second cup
of coffee alone.

He went back to the plant, got his car and drove back to his
apartment.  After he showered and shaved, he put on his best
suit.  Packing some things in his overnight bag, he left the
apartment and headed south for Chicago.  Stephanie's posh
apartment building was on the near North Side, overlooking Lake
Michigan.  After parking in the garage he went up to her
apartment, arriving a little before five. 

Stephanie greeted him at the door, still in the process of
dressing for dinner.  As he went to kiss her she turned her face
away saying he would smear her lipstick.  He kissed her on the
cheek and lightly caressed her voluptuous body.  He noticed that
she resisted for an instant but then allowed her body to melt
under his hands.  It was a reminder that she didn't seem to
really enjoy close physical contact.  Rather, she seemed to
tolerate it, but only under certain conditions, conditions
inevitably of her own choosing.  Her unthinking reaction was
typically one of resistance.

Since there was nothing for him to do, he just wandered around
the apartment while she finished getting dressed.  The dinner was
being catered and the caterer was present with his staff.  He
thought of getting a drink for himself but decided against it. 
It amused him that to Stephanie more than a single drink was a
clear sign of early-stage alcoholism.  Since it was early
evening, he enjoyed the view of Lake Michigan from the apartment.
 Although it was still early in the season he could see people
working on their boats down in a marina below.

Steph rejoined him and began telling him about her activities at
the public relations agency.  He never ceased to be amazed that
she never made a connection between her job at the agency and the
fact that Ajax Industries was the agency's principal client. 
Since her salary and expenses were billed to Ajax, she was really
on daddy's payroll one step removed.  She filled him in on the
evening's guest list: it was a Who's Who of Chicago's yuppiedom.

Cliff did not like the term, yuppie, but had to admit it fit.  He
_was_ a young urban professional whether he liked it or not.  As
he reflected on the term, he realized it wasn't the acronym
itself that bothered him as much as what was so often inferred
from it: young people who were acquisitive, self-centered
airheads.  Unfortunately, he had to admit, there was all too much
truth in the characterization and most of the people coming to
dinner personified that subspecies.

Guests began arriving and Stephanie began running off to greet
them and allow herself to be kissed.  Cliff allowed himself to be
drawn into a conversation on the relative merits of a BMW
compared to a Porsche.  While listening to the talk, he quickly
realized that he didn't give a damn.  As a supplier to the U.S.
auto industry, he noted that American-built cars simply did not
enter into the conversation.  It wasn't that they were rejected
or even dismissed out of hand.  Rather, they were not even
considered.	

Cliff confined his drinking to Perrier with a lime and a glass of
wine with dinner.  Stephanie didn't like the smell of alcohol on
his breath.  Idly, he wondered what her reaction would have been
had she come into his office Monday night and found him eating
pizza and drinking beer.  She detested beer -- any beer. 
Moreover, the idea of drinking it from a bottle would have been
abhorrent.

The dinner was good if one liked French nouvelle cuisine: very
light, with different taste combinations.  Cliff didn't really
care for it, preferring classic haute cuisine.  Finally, about
eleven the guests started to leave, and the last were gone by
midnight.  The caterer and his crew had already left leaving
Cliff and Stephanie alone in the apartment.

When they went back toward Stephanie's bedroom, Cliff reached for
the girl, reflecting that this would be two weekends in a row. 
She turned away from him, saying he would ruin her dress, and
asked him to wait a few minutes until she called him.  This was
an aspect of Stephanie that really annoyed Cliff.  She wanted to
set the stage.  He knew that when she called she would be
arranged in bed with a single soft light which she would
extinguish before things got too passionate.  She didn't like him
to see her in the light, she said.  Cliff idly wondered why his
feelings towards her seemed to have changed so much in just the
last seven days.

He heard her summons and went into the bedroom.  She had a single
bed light turned low.  As he expected, she was wearing a very
expensive black lace nightgown.  Cliff had already loosened his
tie; he was soon undressed and in bed beside her.  He started
running his hand over her body and again sensed rather than felt
a momentary resistance on her part.  He moved his hand under her
night dress and ran it up her soft inner thigh.  He had moved
close to her, took her into his arms and kissed her on the lips.

She moved closer and he slipped off her nightgown.  As he ran his
hand over her soft full breasts, he could feel her nipples begin
to harden.  Then he returned his hand to between her full thighs
and felt her spread her legs slightly to provide him easier
access to her moistness.  She caressed him and he could hear her
sounds of rising passion.  Finally he entered her and heard an
intake of breath as she felt him penetrate.  He started moving
inside her, and in a few minutes he achieved release.  He could
feel her passion ebb, as she came down from whatever peak she had
reached.  Soon they were both asleep.

Cliff awakened early on Sunday morning.  For reasons he did not
fully understand, he quietly dressed and left her in bed, still
sleeping.  He knew that she didn't like him to see her awaken. 
As he looked at her in the early-morning light, her face appeared
pale and puffy.

He went down to the garage, retrieved his car and headed north
towards Milwaukee.  As he drove, he thought about the night and
his relationship with the beautiful Stephanie.  While he had been
making love to her, instead of her large brown eyes, he kept
seeing brilliant green ones looking at him reproachfully.  It was
only a week ago that he thought Stephanie was the epitome of
young womanhood.  Now he wasn't so sure.

Then he focused his thoughts on Sandra Donnell. _She is so
different from Steph.  She seems to be involved in problems of
other people, while Steph is wrapped up in herself.  That's it!_
he thought. _She is wrapped up with her own interests and is only
interested in others to the extent they interact with her._

He compared the girls in his mind and began to realize the extent
to which he was involved with -- in love with?  -- Sandy.  She
was trim while Stephanie was voluptuous.  Why was it that he felt
that Sandy's lovemaking would be more full of giving?  He had the
feeling that with her it would be joyous, not some reward for
good behavior or some kind of bribe.  He continued to think about
Sandy until he reached his apartment in Milwaukee.

* * *

Cliff entered the hotel room at seven-fifteen Monday morning. 
The meeting was scheduled to begin at eight.  Sandy was in the
room waiting for him and looked him over carefully when he came
in.  "You didn't have a good time Saturday night, did you?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked, puzzled.

"It's obvious looking at your face.  You don't glow.  You don't
have that cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look," she replied
calmly.

"And do you moonlight as _Dear Abby?"_ he asked.

She smiled, "No, I flunked out.  To write an advice column, the
writer has to have her own life squared away.  We talked about me
on Saturday.  My love life is hopeless!"

Changing the subject she asked, "Are the arrangements okay?"

"They're fine.  We'll have coffee here before eight, won't we? 
This business of the first coffee being served at the ten o'clock
break is for the birds.  There are normally far too many guys who
don't wake up until the third cup."

"It was promised for seven forty-five," she said.

"How about joining me for coffee downstairs?  There's nothing for
us to do here for a while."

They found a booth in the coffee shop and ordered two coffees. 
Sandy looked at him and asked, "What's going to happen this
morning?  Should I expect fireworks and a whole new strategy for
our automotive-parts business?"

"Far from it.  You'll see two reactions:  The first is, 'When do
we get to the strategy stuff?', and the second is, 'Why didn't we
have all this information ahead of the meeting and save time?' 
But I think some surprises will emerge by the end of the day,
anyway."

When they returned to the room, it was obvious that some of the
senior executives were uncomfortable with juniors present.  Cliff
was wearing a sport shirt and slacks.  Although casual dress had
been stressed in the meeting announcement, it was obvious that
several senior people didn't believe it.  They were wearing their
normal business suits and ties.

Cliff started promptly at eight noting that John Flood had not
yet arrived.  The first thing he did was record the vital
statistics of the valve and ring business: sales, assets
employed, and profits.  He then began work on a
product-competitor matrix, with products listed down the side and
competitors listed across the top.  He recorded sales by product
type by competitor.

Before he had gone very far it was clear that Ajax Industries was
the leader in the business:  It had the largest share of market
of any competitor, and its share was increasing.  Murphy
Manufacturing ranked a rather weak third.  If trends continued,
Murphy would be overtaken by the fourth-place company, Precision
Parts, within twelve months.

He turned to factors affecting growth in the industry.  Except
for Sandy and a few others, there was a baffled silence.  "Come
on, folks!  Factors affecting growth, up or down?  How about
number of motor vehicles manufactured in a year?  Could that
relate to the number of valves and ring sets sold?"

John Flood, who had finally arrived, spoke up.  "Of course not! 
It has to do with position with the various companies.  You have
to get in with them first."

"John, we're talking about the _industry,_ not about Murphy. 
We're talking about how much the entire industry will provide. 
And that includes all suppliers, most particularly including
Japanese companies supplying the U.S. plants of Japanese car
companies.

Flood protested, "That's ridiculous, Cliff!  That business isn't
available to us.  The next thing you know you're going to include
captive parts suppliers: the ones owned by the automobile
manufacturers."

Cliff smiled.  "You're right, John.  I sure am.  We are _all_ in
the same industry.  Keep in mind, nothing is forever.  A company
may source captive today and go outside tomorrow.  Moreover, we
need to look at captive business to find out why a company does
it that way.  How many of you think a company would source
everything from captive sources if it could?  Raise your hands."

A large number of hands went up, not including Bill Stevens',
Jane Miller's, or Sandy's.

"Jane, why do you disagree?  Why wouldn't a company source
everything inside if it could?"

He noticed that Jane looked in John Flood's direction before
answering.  Flood glared at the girl, but she spoke up anyway. 
"There's no percentage in it:  In the first place, it's very hard
to exactly match the capacity of a component plant to the engine
plant it feeds.  Second, if production at the engine plant scales
down, the company has excess capacity in two places, not just
one.  Third, the smart companies that do source internally try to
do it by scaling component manufacture to a level they're
confident they can maintain... say 60 percent of their
requirements.  Then they hope to run the component plant steadily
and make up the balance of their requirements through outside
sourcing."

"Do you think it works, Jane?" Cliff asked.

"Sort of, sir.  I get the feeling sometimes they would do better
with more outside sourcing.  What kind of a price are we going to
quote knowing we're just getting surge orders -- the stuff their
captive plant can't handle?  Their engine line slows, and our
orders are canceled.  Not cut back: canceled."

John had been glaring at Jane while she was speaking.  "Cliff, I
want to take a recess.  I have to talk to a few people," hesaid.

"Fine, John.  Folks, we're taking a ten-minute break.  But, John,
I want to talk to you first."

Cliff moved over to a vacant corner, and Flood joined him. 
"John, there are two things:  First, when I call a meeting for
eight o'clock, I mean eight o'clock.  Where were you?"

Flood was taken aback.  "I... I... I had to check the office
first.  Surely, you didn't mean that to apply to senior
executives!  We set our own hours!"

"Not any more, Flood.  I've noticed your 'own hours' start late
and end early.  I don't give a shit what hours you work if the
work's done.  I don't think yours is.  Furthermore, it's obvious
you intend to present a departmental party line in this planning
session.  I saw you glaring at Jane Miller.  I won't allow it! 
Understand?

"Let me make myself absolutely clear:  If, after this talk, you
say one derogatory word to Jane Miller it will be considered an
act of willful insubordination.  That is grounds for immediate
termination _for cause!_  Clear?  And frankly, Flood, I really
hope you do!  I think Jane Miller would be an outstanding
manager, don't you?"

Flood had turned pale listening to Cliff's words.  "Surely you
can't be serious?" he protested.  "Of course we discussed this in
advance.  I want to be sure that there is a coherent storytold."

"John, I don't give a damn about coherence.  That's my job.  I
just want people to give me their honest answers to whatever
question is asked or subject is being discussed.  Understood?"

Sandy had been standing just out of earshot.  She joined him and
they went to get coffee which had been brought into the room. 
Returning to where Cliff had been standing with Flood he asked,
"Sandy, do me a favor?  At lunch, go in to the dining room with
Jane Miller.  I'll lag a bit.  I would like to sit next to her,
so could you just get up and move when I come in?"

She pretended to frown.  "Is that a not-very-subtle hint that I
shouldn't eat lunch?  'Broad in the beam,' I think you said?"

He grinned at her.  "I thought we settled that on Saturday? 
Seriously, though, it is sort of a dumb idea.  I want to sit next
to her without it being too obvious.  Why don't you arrange to
sit next to Bill Stevens?  Ask him to save you a place.  Then
just hang over the place next to Jane's so no one else will take
it.  When I come in, you join Bill.  Better?"

_"Much better!"_ she replied with a grin.  "This way, I get to
eat, too.  May I say something that's probably as out of line as
what I usually say?  I get the strong impression that Mr. Flood
is not long for our little world.  Am I wrong?"

"Would you -- or the other people who make things work around
here -- care if he disappeared?  Would the company be hurt?"

"Cliff, if I remember correctly, in the _Mikado_ the Lord High
Executioner 'had a little list; t'will none of them be missed'. 
I think it's safe to say that Flood is on the little list. 
Personally, I think he's a disgusting pig!"

Cliff was surprised at the vehemence with which she made the last
statement, but did not comment.  Instead, he went back to the
easel pads to resume the session.  "When we took our break, we
were talking about key factors affecting industry growth.  What
are some of them?  Anyone?"

Jane Miller spoke up again.  "The number of motor vehicles built
each year?"

"That's good," Cliff responded.  "What about the number, Jane? 
Is it growing, shrinking, or staying about the same?"

"I think it's cyclical, but fairly level here in the States."

At this point John Flood jumped in, again.  "That's bullshit! 
It's growing.  The market for Murphy Manufacturing is unlimited
for anyone who'll get off her dead ass.  Jane, take that back!"

"John," Cliff said quietly, "Jane's absolutely right.  Unless you
have seen data different from what comes out of the Department of
Commerce, production of motor vehicles is cyclical with the
economy but fairly flat."

He looked out at the group and said, "Okay, other factors? 
Folks, this is a game any number can play.  I hope Jane isn't the
only one in this room who's ever given any thought to our market
potential.  Sandy?"

Sandy had her hand up: "Scrap rate: the number of cars broken up
each year; the average age of the automotive fleet.  Those are
two more factors affecting replacement parts sales."

John Flood was enraged.  His rage was overcoming his natural
caution and was coupled with a gross underestimation of Cliff who
was younger than he was by fifteen years.  "This is the most
ridiculous waste of time I've ever sat through in my entire life!
 I thought we were here to discuss strategy.  All I hear are a
couple of dumb broads who shouldn't be here in the first place. 
That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.  There's only one
thing that counts: new production.  Period!"

"John, this is getting boring.  You're wrong... again!  And
that's twice you have abused Miss Miller, and now you have added
Miss Donnell.  I ignored it the first time, but I can't ignore it
any longer.  An apology is indicated.  Now!"

"I'm damned if I'll apologize to a couple of dumb broads!  This
is a disgrace!" Flood said in an outburst of uncontrolled rage.

"People, I suggest we break for lunch now."  Focusing on Flood he
added, "It's clear that your usefulness to the session is over. 
I will see you back in my office at two-thirty.  Ladies and
gentlemen, I'm sorry.  Lunch will be served in the room next door
in a few minutes.  We'll reconvene at eight o'clock tomorrow. 
I'm sorry for the delay."

Cliff excused himself, went down the hall and came back to the
room a few minutes later.  As he expected, Sandy was talking to
Jane Miller.  When he came in, Sandy waited until he was almost
upon them before she left to take a seat next to Bill Stevens.

"Jane, we've never formally met, but I've heard a lot about you.
May I join you?" Cliff asked.

"Of course, Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Please do.  Sandy has told me so
much about you."

Cliff shook hands with the other people sitting around the table.
 The meal was a cold buffet served with soup.  He had found that
it was the ideal meal for these occasions, although the hotel
banquet departments always tried to load up the menu with more
elaborate dishes.

He addressed himself to Jane speaking in low tones.  "Why is it I
get the feeling that you're not John Flood's favorite
salesperson?  I could be wrong, of course, but I _do_ get that
impression."

Jane Miller was a very attractive dark-haired girl who appeared
to be about the same age as Sandy.  He noticed she was very well
built.  "I'm not John's favorite person," she said quietly. 
"Least favorite, perhaps, but certainly not most favorite."

"Why are you still here then?  Jane, on behalf of Murphy
Manufacturing, I would like to offer you an apology.  Flood's
behavior was uncalled for and unnecessary.  There's no need for
you ever to take such abuse.  And you shouldn't.  Why do you?"

"Because of Sandy.  She said it would get better.  She was one of
my best friends in graduate school and...."  Jane's eyes suddenly
flared and she said, "Forget I said that Mr. Fitzpatrick. 
Please?"

Cliff looked the girl right in the eyes.  She could feel his blue
eyes boring right through her lovely brown ones.  "Jane," he said
softly, "you were talking about graduate school.  What graduate
school?"

The poor girl looked flustered and, Cliff noted, very pretty. 
"Please, Mr. Fitzpatrick, I can't.  I promised."

"Jane, it's Cliff, not Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Young lady, we are very
much of the same generation.  And John Flood is really much too
crude.  I don't yell and scream, but I was thinking how beautiful
that picture of you wearing the wet T-shirt would look in our
company magazine.  You know -- as part of a story on the
dedication of our hardworking sales force?"

Jane turned bright red.  "You wouldn't!  Cliff, it shows
_everything._  My God, I would be mortified.  You couldn't be so
cruel!?...  Could you?"

"Jane Miller, I have given you a perfect out for Sandy.  You were
blackmailed with that picture.  You do have a beautiful figure,
by the way!  No wonder the buyer wanted to see you with a wet
T-shirt!  And you got the order."

"Okay, I know when I'm licked.  What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about Sandy."

"Well, she and I roomed together at Michigan.  I was majoring in
marketing, and she had a combined finance and manufacturing
major.  Cliff, why in hell is the girl who graduated number one
from University of Michigan Graduate School of Business working
as a secretary -- in a company she _owns,_ for chrissakes!"

Cliff was dumbstruck at the revelation but his consulting
experience stood him in good stead:  He was able to keep his face
impassive as he absorbed the stunning news.  Jane continued. 
"Anyway, she said there would be opportunities here at Murphy. 
She said there was a lot of dead wood.  All we needed was a guy
to take charge -- that's you -- to get the place going again. 
It's a funny deal that I think relates to her age.  I think she
officially takes control of all of the stock on October 1, or
something like that."

Cliff appeared to ignore the revelation about Sandy's ownership
of the company.  Instead he asked, "Jane, what happened between
you and Flood?  What did he think of the wet T-shirt idea? 
Incidentally, I think it's great, even though I wouldn't ever
think to ask, and I would expect to get my head handed to me if I
ever did.  Thanks for the dedication.  But what did Flood say?"

She looked at him speculatively, as if considering something.  It
was obvious that she gave herself an affirmative answer to her
unspoken question, and then answered Cliff's.  "He was appalled,"
she said in a very flat voice.

_"Flood_ was appalled?  I find that hard to believe," he said.

She gave him a wry smile.  "Not for the reasons you're thinking.
He said I should have taken him to a motel somewhere and laid
him.  The T-shirt was bad for the company image, but working
between the sheets is not only fine, he said he expects it.

"I guess one of the reasons I never got a raise is because he
keeps wanting to try out the merchandise, and I keep telling him
where to head in.  He's tried to fire me a couple of times, but
Sandy has always managed to get him overruled by somebody."

She grinned, "Anyway, I'm still here... and I like what you were
doing this morning.  It's the first time since business school
that I have ever actually seen these concepts applied.  Thanks,
Cliff."

"Jane, I have a favor to ask: Will you please come over to the
office and be there ahead of my two-thirty meeting with Flood?  I
have an idea I want to work out with Sandy.  Are you willing?"

She gave him a very warm smile.  "Of course!  But will you do me
a favor, though, Cliff?  Will you promise to put some ointment on
my body after Sandy skins me alive?  I can handle Flood, but I
can't handle her.  Promise?"

He looked up at the ceiling, and then back at her eyes.  He
looked very serious as he said, "Well, okay.  I guess I can do
that, but on one condition."  The serious look gave way to a
quick grin.  "I get to watch!"

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, you're _terrible!_  But if you insist,
it's a deal!"  She grinned, stuck out her hand, and he gripped
it.

Sandy approached their table.  Most of the people had finished
and had left to return to the office after the truncated meeting.
 Jane looked very sheepish as Sandy sat down on a now-vacant
chair.

Sandy looked at Jane closely and demanded, "Jane Miller, what
have you been telling Cliff?"

"All of it," the dark-haired girl responded in a very low voice.
"But I had to, Sandy.  He blackmailed me!"

"He did _what?"_ Sandy exclaimed.  "How?"

"He threatened to publish that picture of me wearing the wet
T-shirt!  And it shows everything!" she wailed.

Cliff found a very interesting pattern in the wallpaper to study.
 Sandy glared at him and then back at her ex-roommate.  "What
picture?  There _is_ no picture!"

The two girls turned on Cliff who was still studying the
wallpaper design.  In unison they said, "Clifford Fitzpatrick!"

Cliff grinned at the two girls.   "It would have been a great
picture for the company magazine, don't you think?  Our dedicated
sales force and all that stuff?  Jane certainly thought so."

He turned and glared at Sandy, "And as for you Miss Donnell, no
wonder the Board so quickly approved you as treasurer. 
Two-thirds of the money is yours!  What am I doing here, anyway?
Coaching you to take over my job?"  Cliff had gotten over the
initial shock and was waiting for an explanation.  He was glad he
had heard it first from Jane:  It had given him the opportunity
to get used to the idea before confronting Sandy.

"No, Cliff," she answered quietly.  "I never lied to you, but I
certainly didn't tell you the whole truth.  I'm sorry if you feel
deceived.  I was instrumental in getting you in at Murphy.  I was
certain you were the guy I was looking for.  Over the last week,
I became 99 percent certain, and after this morning I'm 110
percent sure.

"Cliff, I have a great favor to ask:  Please, can I continue to
work as your assistant?  I had to lean on Stiles to get you in. 
He controls the stock as trustee until October 1, my birthday. 
Then I turn twenty-six and take over the stock.  You see, a
little more than 65 percent of the stock is owned by the Murphy
family.  In spite of the more usual situation among the Irish --
large families, I mean -- the Murphy family is now just me.

"The company was founded by my grandfather.  When he died, his
stock was divided between my mother and Uncle John.  Then my
parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was twelve.
I guess the arrangement with me is similar to the one my parents
had.  If grandfather had died earlier, they would have been
unable to vote the stock until they reached the age of
twenty-six.

"Anyway, Uncle John, who was a bachelor, adopted me as his
daughter but I didn't change my name.  When he died, I was left
all of his stock, too.

"Cliff, only a handful of people in the company know who I am,
and I would like to keep it that way.  I would understand if you
just told me to go to hell, jump in Lake Michigan, or do
something even more extreme, but I hope you won't.  In return,
I'll do anything you ask, including telling you anything else
about me and my background.  No more secrets.  Fair?"

He studied the young girl and realized she had beautiful
emerald-green eyes.  They were looking into his intently.  When
he suddenly smiled at her, he saw her relax.

He put out his hand and she took it in her firm grip.  "It's a
deal, Sandra Donnell.  I always like to be in a position where I
can keep a close eye on the controlling shareholder.

"Now, Sandy, your 'little list' is about to get shorter.  We're
never going to get through even the first planning session at
this rate.  Flood will be numbered among the missing this
afternoon.  Unlike Purcell, he's not nearly close to retirement.
I'm firing him for cause: sex discrimination and sexual abuse. 
Did you know about it?"

Sandy shook her head, looking puzzled.  They both looked at Jane
who looked down at the table.  Sandy said, "Jane Miller!  What
haven't you told me!?  I am about to skin you alive!"

Jane looked at Cliff.  "I told you she would skin me alive. 
Don't forget your promise!"  She then quickly told Sandy what she
had earlier told Cliff.

"That snake!" Sandy exclaimed.  "Now I see... I think... Cliff,
I'm almost certain he's been bedding his secretary!  And I'll lay
money he has made it a condition of her employment."  She looked
up at Cliff and Jane, "Now, what's this promise you extorted from
Cliff, Jane Miller?  Out with it!"

Jane looked and sounded very innocent as she spoke.  "It's very
simple:  I asked Cliff to put some ointment on my body after you
skinned me alive.  I told him you would.  He promised, too!" she
said, making a face, "But only on the condition he could watch
you do it.  I think you're both sadists!  That's what I think."

"No, Jane.  I'm sorry.  You're a masochist.  You would enjoy it
too much, so I won't."

Cliff was delighted to see the extent to which the threesome had
now relaxed.

He continued, "Sandy, here's what I want to do.  Can you call
Kevin, fast?  There is a squawk-box-type intercom on the desk. 
It looks like an antique.  Does it work, and is there one on your
desk?  I would like you to have Kevin wire it to the next
office...  No!  To Purcell's old office that you're using, Sandy.
 I want the two of you there.  I'll leave the intercom on.  If it
works like all the ones I've seen, you'll be able to hear every
word.  Okay?

"Oh, one more thing:  I think I know what I'll see, but I want to
look at Jane's personnel file and the relevant sales performance
reports.  And I need the material fast!"

* * *

At two-thirty, John Flood entered Cliff's office.  All the
arrangements had been made:  It turned out that the intercom was
in working order, and changing the location only took a few
minutes.

Although Flood had cooled down from the morning, he was still in
a belligerent mood.  "What's this all about, Fitzpatrick?  Why
did you break off the meeting this morning?"

Cliff ignored Flood's tone.  "I called a halt because of two
things:  First, your attitude was poisoning the session.  Second,
your ignorance of our market is appalling.  I didn't want you to
continue to make a fool of yourself.  There's more, but it came
up later.  Why hasn't Jane Miller received a raise?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?  She doesn't perform!"

"Perform what?" Cliff asked.  If Flood had known him better, he
would have been concerned at Cliff's mild tone of voice. 
"According to the sales results of the last two years, she's the
top-performing salesperson in the company!  Just what is it she
doesn't perform?"

"Grow up, Cliff!  You know damn well what she doesn't perform. 
Can you believe a girl having the nerve to show off her boobs --
great ones, too -- to a purchasing agent?  But she won't put out
for me so she doesn't get a raise."

"I see," Cliff said in the same quiet tone.  "What about the men
on your staff?  Do you go both ways?"

"What in hell are you saying?  Are you saying I'm gay!"

"No, John.  I'm saying you're fired!  Now!  It is a termination
for cause: sexual harassment and sex discrimination.  If word of
this got out, we would be through.

"However, before you get any more bright ideas, it can easily be
shown that you were terminated in a matter of hours after your
activities came to the attention of top management.  Flood, you
are the most despicable man it has ever been my misfortune to be
associated with.

"Shall I ask your secretary, Betty Ames, to join us?  I
understand you made her sexual favors a condition of her
continued employment.  She is a widow trying to raise two small
children.  John, I think that could get you a felony prosecution.
 Should I ask our lawyers?  You will be paid through today.  Miss
Donnell has your final check ready.  I suggest you take it and
get out."

Flood's face had been running a gamut of emotions starting at
belligerence then changing to disbelief, to rage, to shock and
finally to utter defeat.  He turned and left the office.

"You can come in, now."  Cliff said.  Jane came right in followed
a few minutes later by Sandy.  Sandy had a small deck of cards in
her hand.  "What are those?" he asked.

She smiled brightly and said, "Someone has to think of the
company.  I have his company charge cards, the keys to his
company car, his ID... all the stuff on the termination checkout
sheet that us overworked secretaries have to take care of for our
irresponsible bosses."

"Thanks, Sandy... again.  Now could you ask Betty Ames to join
us?  Jane, I want Sandy here, but under the circumstances I think
we should minimize the audience."

Betty Ames came into the office and looked bewildered when Cliff
asked her to sit down.  Sandy was trying to be as unobtrusive as
possible, sitting in a corner behind Mrs. Ames and well behind
her sight line.

Cliff introduced himself and then began, "Mrs. Ames, as you may
know, John Flood has just been fired from the company for cause.
One of the reasons is his sexual abuse of you."  Cliff was
speaking as gently as he could to try to lessen the woman's
shock.

He was surprised to see her face light up.  He realized she was a
lovely woman.  "He's... He's gone?"

"Yes, ma'am.  He's gone... for good."

Suddenly the woman folded up in her chair and began weeping. 
Sandy was expecting it and jumped out of her chair to comfort the
woman.  When she reached her, she and Cliff were surprised to see
the woman was weeping for joy!  "Oh, thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick!
I'll clean out my desk and..."

"You'll what!" Sandy and Cliff exclaimed in unison.

Betty Ames appeared surprised.  "Well, I would like to take my
things.  Can't I?"

"But why do you want to leave?" Cliff asked.  "There will be a
reduction in the number of secretaries, but Sandy tells me you're
one of our very best.  I thought you needed the job?"

She sat up straight in her chair.  "You can't mean you want me to
stay?  After the things I did with Mr. Flood?"

Sandy spoke.  "Betty, I've seen you come out of Flood's office
looking like you wanted to throw up.  You did it because he made
you, didn't you?  If you didn't, you would have been fired? 
There would be no raises and no employment recommendation?  And
you have two children to think of."

Betty Ames had been nodding at each of Sandy's questions.  Sandy
concluded, "Flood's a snake.  Betty, Mr. Fitzpatrick wanted me to
ask you for a favor.  He doesn't want to ask you himself for fear
you might take it the wrong way, but Betty, he would like to make
a payment to you equal to one year's salary to try to make up for
what you have suffered.

"You have a real cause of action to sue the company if you chose.
 He hopes you won't, even though you have every right to.  Would
you accept his offer?  Please?"

"You want me to stay?  And take money?  I couldn't.  It's not
right!"

"Betty," Cliff said, "I know it's not right.  It's not adequate,
but it's an effort on our part.  Please say yes.  I know you can
use it, can't you?

"Sandy, could you please cut a check?  Call it a settlement for
damages suffered.  That way it's not income and not taxable to
you.  Mrs. Ames, isn't this the week of spring vacation?"  Betty
nodded indicating that it was.  "Great!  Why don't you take the
rest of the week off and celebrate with your children?  Please?"

The woman smiled and thanked them.  Sandy got her the check, and
she left for home still shaking her head in amazement.

Then Jane rejoined them and Cliff turned to Sandy.  "Thanks
again.  That was a very kind and generous thing you did for her.
My God!  That poor woman has been tortured all this time!

"And thank you, Cliff, for picking up on the idea and figuring
out how she could get it all tax free.  Now, what are you going
to do for a vice president   marketing?"

"Who do you think should get it?  Jane?" Cliff asked.

"I think the best guy we've got is Steve Muller, but he isn't
even here.  Flood has him on some cockamamie assignment in the
Stores Division.  Personally, I think he wanted him out of town.
I don't think John and Steve agreed on the time of day, let alone
anything else!" Jane answered.

"Miss Donnell, how does the cash management project look?  Do you
think we can spare some back pay for your friend?  The way I see
it, her salary should be doubled, and we owe her a bonus of at
least $25,000.  That is roughly what I estimate she was cheated
out of by our late unlamented friend.  Can we afford it?"

Sandy smiled and nodded.  "Wait a minute, Cliff.  That's $25,000
less $17.95 she still owes me on our last phone bill at school. 
And to show you I'm a real sport, I'll even waive the interest."

Jane was grinning at the two of them.  Suddenly her jaw dropped.
"Wait a minute.  You _are_ kidding aren't you?  You can't be
serious?"

Cliff looked at Sandy maintaining a very serious expression. 
"Miss Treasurer, I never joke about money, do you?"

Sandy responded with an equally serious look, "Mr. President,
have you ever known a treasurer to joke about _anything,_ least
of all about money?  Of course I'm serious."

They looked at Jane and said in unison, "We're serious!" after
which they all laughed.

"On the other hand," Cliff said, "Jane is now being paid an awful
lot just to be a salesman.  I'll talk to Steve about making her
Key Accounts Manager."

"There's just one more thing, Jane," Sandy added.  "We're going
out tonight to celebrate your raise, bonus, and promotion.  And
you're buying."

Sandy went off to try to locate Steve Muller.  When she finally
tracked him down in Spokane, Cliff spoke to him for a few
moments.  "Steve, I'm sorry we haven't met, but I suppose you
have heard of me.  Your boss, John Flood, is now history.  Would
you accept the position of vice president - marketing atMurphy?"

There was silence on the phone for a few moments.  Then Muller
spoke.  "Mr. Fitzpatrick, it's a good thing Sandy Donnell tracked
me down.  If you had called, I wouldn't have known your voice and
would have been sure it was a joke.  Yes, sir!  I accept with
pleasure.  How soon do you need me in Milwaukee?"

"That's the bad news, Steve.  Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock
we reconvene our planning session.  We need you as soon as you
can get here.  I'm looking forward to seeing you when you get
in."  He told him the name of the hotel, and Muller went off to
see about planes.

Cliff and Sandy spent the rest of the afternoon on the cash
management project.  They had identified over $25 million in
balance reductions in major accounts alone.  There were still
some unexamined major accounts -- activity analyses hadn't yet
been received -- and a host of nominally smaller accounts which
Cliff expected to yield proportionately much larger savings.

That evening Cliff took the two girls out to dinner to celebrate.
 They were about to order dinner in a German restaurant that Jane
recommended when a tall good-looking young man came up to the
table, kissed Jane and sat down.  He stuck out his hand to Cliff,
"I'm Steve Muller.  I guess you must be Cliff Fitzpatrick.  Is
this fast enough?"

Cliff grinned.  "Steve, you're a man after my own heart.  I was
hoping you would be here by the end of lunch tomorrow!  How did
you find us?"

"A formerly underpaid salesperson, now a lofty manager who should
remain nameless, left a message on the machine at my apartment. 
Not only did she say where you would be, but she also indicated
she was very warm for my body.  What else could I do?"

Cliff and Sandy laughed while Jane blushed.  Then she hit Steve
hard on the arm.  "Big mouth!  That was for you, turkey, not for
rebroadcast."

They spent the rest of the evening reviewing the events of the
day with Steve and briefing him on the planning session.  As it
was getting time to leave, Steve looked at Cliff and said,
"Cliff, I'm reasonably sure John gave me the job in Stores to get
me out of town.  However, I'm one of those dumb guys who'll
create a job even where there isn't one.  Tell me, isn't there
some basic strategy of cutting back geographically?"

"Sure," Cliff replied.  "It's called market rationalization.  But
why do you ask?"

"Because that's the strategy for our western stores, anyway. 
Cliff, it's the stupidest thing I've ever seen.  Here we sit
2,000 miles to the east trying to determine stock for those
stores.  No way!  Then we're much too thin on the ground.  It's
impossible for us to have the kind of store density we need to
advertise effectively in any of the big western markets.  If we
run an ad, we're lucky if 10 percent of the people seeing or
hearing it are within reach of one of our stores.  The reason I
asked is I talked to some people out there.  There's a good-sized
western chain of auto parts stores that wants to grow.  They
would like to buy all our western units for cash.  Might we be
interested?"

"Steve, we haven't looked at the Stores Division yet.  I'm going
to try to start next week.  How anxious are they, and have they
made a firm offer?"

"They're anxious, Boss, but there's no firm offer.  They would
like to look around, though."

"Sandy, you had better listen to this.  I'm not ready to sell our
western stores, but I would certainly listen to an offer,
particularly if it's all cash.  I would like Steve to call the
people tomorrow and give them permission to look around at our
units and look at our numbers.  What do you think?"

"Let's do it, Cliff."  She grinned at him, and added, "The way
you have been giving away money today, we better do something to
get some coming in!"

Surprisingly, the restaurant had a small combo playing on a
Monday night.  When Jane got up and motioned for Steve to dance
with her, Sandy looked up in mild surprise.  "Jane, you're going
to dance?  I didn't think you liked to."

The dark-haired girl grinned.  "You had it right this afternoon:
I'm a masochist.  With Steve stepping on my feet, it feels so
good when we stop."  They went off together to the small dance
floor leaving Cliff and Sandy alone.

They sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes
before Cliff spoke.  "What a day!  I can live nicely without too
many more like this one, though.  I get rid of a senior vice
president, settle a potentially very nasty discrimination action
and find out my secretary is my boss!"  He looked at her and
smiled.  "I know you told me you're every guy's best friend's kid
sister, but would you like to dance, sis?"

Sandy smiled and got up.  The combo was playing dance music from
the '40's and '50's.  When they got to the dance floor, he took
her in his arms.  He was surprised at the way she moved on the
floor.  Cliff never thought of himself as a good dancer -- barely
adequate would have been his optimistic assessment. 
Nevertheless, he found that he and Sandy were moving around the
floor as if they were on a cloud.  She seemed absolutely
weightless.  He contrasted this feeling with his experience with
Stephanie and didn't understand what was happening.  Steph was an
extraordinarily good dancer -- at least that was what everyone
said.  Yet dancing with her was like moving a truck.  He had
always blamed his own incompetence.

Sandy felt as if she were floating, too.  She didn't know what to
do except she hoped the music would never end.  Her plans had
gone down the drain even though she admitted to herself they
weren't very good plans.  She had had some vague idea in the back
of her mind about maintaining her ownership interest as a secret
until at least October 1.

It wasn't to be, and she had known it, deep down.  There were too
many people who knew the truth, and the truth would have come out
sooner or later.  She was honest enough to admit that sooner was
better.  She had noticed Cliff's quick reaction -- she had hired
him to train her -- and realized the later he found out the
truth, the angrier he would have been.  Since it came out only a
week after starting work, it hadn't done too much damage.

Then her thoughts turned to their dancing.  She had always
thought of herself as clumsy and gawky on the dance floor.  She
had been a girl who reached her full height when she was young
and still thought of herself as towering over the boys.  She
suddenly realized that, compared to Cliff, she was almost short.
She found it so easy to move with him on the floor.  Finally, the
music stopped as the musicians took a break.  They found
themselves just standing alone on the floor together.

"It stopped," Cliff said softly in her ear.  She gave a little
start and looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said.  "That was fun.  You're a very good
dancer.  Usually, I feel as clumsy as a trained bear trying to
walk on its hind legs."

They were walking back to the table as she said it.  Cliff
stopped abruptly and looked at her, "Stop teasing, Sandy.  If
you're a trained bear, a dolphin would look clumsy by comparison!
 You were a feather!"

He noticed the real surprise in her eyes but couldn't understand
it.  They returned to the table and quiet applause from Jane and
Steve.  "Have you two been rehearsing?" Jane asked.  "Trying to
generate a little money for Murphy by moonlighting as a dance
team?"

Both Cliff and Sandy reddened at her comments.  Later the four
left the restaurant, with Steve and Jane going off together. 
Sandy blushed and said, "Cliff, could you do me a favor?  Would
you mind driving me back to my apartment?  Jane drove me over,
but I guess she forgot.  I'm afraid her mind is on other things
right now."

They went to his car and she gave him directions to her
apartment.  He walked her to the door and unlocked it for her. 
Turning towards him, she raised her head and pulled his face down
to hers.  She gave him a soft kiss, murmured a hurried "Good
night," and ducked into the apartment.

Cliff stood there still feeling the power of her kiss.  He had
never experienced anything quite like it, and he liked to think
of himself as experienced with women.  He thought to himself that
if all kid sisters kissed like that, he'd been wasting his time
in all the wrong places.

Meanwhile, Sandy stood with her back to the door.  She had kissed
him on sudden impulse, intending it to be light and friendly, and
in one sense it was.  But it was so much more.  Sandy realized
she was leaning against her front door because she did not trust
her legs to support her weight.  She could still hear the bells
and feel the electricity that had jolted her during that one
quick kiss.  She went to her bedroom and got ready for
bed.*Chapter 5*

At eight o'clock the next morning Cliff was pleased to see
everyone was present in the meeting room for the planning
session.  Moreover, everyone was wearing casual clothes.  He
announced that John Flood was no longer with the company and was
pleased when he saw no looks of either surprise or dismay.

"When we ended the session yesterday, we were talking about
factors affecting the growth of the market.  Has anyone thought
of any others?"  There were additional mentions which the group
discussed.  After each, Cliff showed on the chart whether the net
effect on market growth was up, down or neutral.  He was pleased
to see that participation, particularly from the sales and
marketing people, had increased substantially.

Then he turned to competitor strengths and weaknesses.  The first
company they looked at was Ajax Industries.  He explained that he
was looking for three things: general characteristics and
strategic thrust, strengths, and weaknesses.  He defined a
strength as putting a company in the top 25 percent of
competitors, and a weakness, in the bottom 25 percent.  The
middle 50 percent would be listed, if appropriate, as a general
characteristic of competitors.

One of the salesmen offered a strength for Ajax, "Strongprices."

Once again Cliff was grateful for Sandy.  She had neatly sketched
out a seating chart with names and organization unit shown.  The
speaker was a salesman named Don Peters.  "Don," he asked, "What
do you mean by 'strong prices'?"

"Sir, they're not one of those scuzz-bag operators, always
chiseling off their posted prices.  Ajax sticks to its price
list.  They call the tune in our business, particularly to OEM --
original-equipment manufacturers."

"Okay, Don, I'll record that Ajax is the price leader.  Folks,
what I heard Don say is that Ajax establishes prices, and
everyone else prices off them.  Does anybody disagree?"

Jane Miller spoke up.  "I disagree!  Ajax never leads.  They just
follow on price moves.  There's no way they're the priceleader!"

Cliff smiled at the girl.  He noticed that she looked like she
had not had much sleep the night before.  For that matter, Steve
Muller looked like he was in real pain.  It appeared to be a
combination of the fast trip from the Coast with a two-hour
west-to-east time change, coupled with very little sleep the
night before.

"Jane, I'm sorry.  I'm afraid you're wrong for a change, and
Don's right.  A price leader is the guy who determines if a price
change sticks.  Do you remember the primary steel industry years
ago before steel imports and electric furnaces started to chew it
up?  In those days, U.S. Steel was the price leader.  The company
almost never initiated a price move.  Moves were usually
initiated by small companies.  But everyone watched what U.S.
Steel did.

"If the small company put prices up and U.S. Steel followed, all
the others moved, too, and that became the new industry price. 
If Steel didn't move, the smaller company quickly retreated. 
Now, Jane, who was the price leader?  The little company that
changed the price first or U.S. Steel?"

"I was wrong," Jane responded.  "I guess I'm not awake yet this
morning.  It's obviously Steel, and I agree with Don.  Ajax is
the price leader."

"Don," Cliff said, "I want to come back to something else you
said.  I didn't record a strength for Ajax for 'strong prices,'
and I want to talk about that.  First, I should have stressed
something at the outset.  Everything on these sheets we're
working on is from the point of view of the market, not us or our
competitors.  Unless we're dealing with a weird market like
high-end perfume, the market always prefers low prices to high
prices.  How the seller makes money -- or if he does -- is his
problem.  It may not be nice, but if the buyer can get what he
wants free, he'll grab it in an instant.

"I once had a client in a chemical business.  He was demolishing
his two competitors, primarily with low prices, and they didn't
have the first clue how he could do it.  The answer was very
simple, but they didn't know it.  My client was known to use a
totally different process to produce the same product all three
sold.  What they didn't know was that my client's raw material
was a waste product generated in the production of a best-selling
antibiotic.  While they paid for their raw materials, my client
was paid five dollars a ton to _take_ his, with the antibiotic's
manufacturer paying for transportation besides!

"By the way, the pharma company thought it was getting a great
deal, too.  Before my client came along, they had to pay twenty
to twenty-five dollars a ton, plus transportation, to get rid of
the stuff.  They were delighted.  Now, put yourselves in the
shoes of my client's competitors:  How can you compete on price
when you're buying your raw materials against a guy who is paid
to take his?  The answer is: not easily.  They're likely to be at
a major cost disadvantage.  Do you all see what I mean?"

The group had listened to Cliff with some surprise.  Finally,
they conceded that high prices for Ajax was a weakness, not a
strength.  The discussion moved ahead and covered the other
competitors in the market including captive producers and U.S.
plants of overseas-based companies.

They had taken a break at ten o'clock and finally reached the
lunch hour.  Cliff was very pleased with the progress that had
been made.  He smiled to himself when he went into the same
private dining room.  The cold buffet was the same as the day
before.  The only change was the kind of soup offered.

After he took a seat Sandy sat down beside him.  "Cliff," she
said, "if I understand this process correctly, we're going to
move from this discussion to find out what we need to do to win
in the business we're in.  Then we try to figure out what changes
have to be made to do it.  Is that right?"

"Sandy, that's exactly right.  What we're really doing is
stripping away all of the tinsel and ornaments to see what the
tree -- the basic structure of our industry and our company -- is
really like.  Operationally, we're always bogged down in detail
and day-to-day crises, so we almost never look.  We're looking
now."

The meeting reconvened and Cliff shifted the subject to basis of
competition: How does a company win the game.  He explained there
are usually a small number of factors -- normally only three to
five -- that determine success.

"Folks," he explained, "this section is absolutely critical!  If
we don't get this section right before we set our strategy,
_everything_ is wrong.  We won't win and can't win because we
will be focusing on the wrong things.  When we complete it, the
list will tell us what we need to do.  Our strategy will be the
things we intend to do to make it happen.  Again, as in the
discussion of strengths and weaknesses, it's from the point of
view of the _market!_

"So I don't want to hear 'high profits.'  The market couldn't
care less about our profits.  If they can get a better price from
us, they would just as soon we didn't make any.  This is the list
of things to be done.  How we achieve them -- and make a profit
-- is what our strategy is all about.  Understand?  Now who wants
to start?"

Steve Muller offered the first suggestion, "Cliff, how about low
prices?"

Cliff grinned at Steve.  "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm afraid I set you
up for that with our earlier discussions.  But let's talk about
it:  We said customers prefer lower prices to higher prices. 
However, we also see Ajax winning the game: They have the leading
market share, they're gaining share and they're the price leader,
yet we dinged them for high prices.

"Are you starting to see how this process works?  We're trying to
get _concepts_ to add down and add across in the same way an
accountant works to get his numbers to add down and across. 
Clearly, we're missing something.  It's axiomatic that a company
can't be winning if it's doing important things wrong.  So how is
Ajax winning with high prices?"

At this point, Bill Stevens spoke up.  "I think what we're
missing is the price-quality equation.  When we talk price we're
assuming the products are equal in quality.  I don't think they
are.  I think Ajax delivers consistently high quality that can
create savings to the buyer.  He can save in quality assurance,
component testing, warranty claims, and his general reputation.

"Let's face it:  If one of our valves fails in service, who takes
the hit with the customer?  It's certainly not us.  Most people
don't even know we exist.  Magna Motors, or whoever we sold our
valve to takes the heat.  It's their engine, after all, not ours.
 Does this make any sense, Cliff?  I don't know a damn thing
about strategy.  I can't even spell it, for God's sake!"

"Thanks, Bill," Cliff responded, "I appreciate the comment and
what you just said certainly does make sense.  There's one point
I want to pick up on, and that's participation in these sessions.
 The reason you're all here is I believe you all have something
to contribute... and I know you have a lot to learn.  When we
finish, you need to know what our strategy is.

"More important, you need to _understand_ it!  You can only
develop that understanding through this kind of participation. 
If I didn't stress it enough before, I'll do it now.  No one is
being graded in this session.  The grades come afterwards, when
you're out performing in the factory, with customers...wherever.

"One more thing: there are no dumb questions.  The only dumb
question is the one that isn't asked.  If you're confused, it's
entirely possible it's because we're not clear... or our bright
idea may not be nearly as bright as we might like to think it is.
 Now, what about Bill's idea of a price/quality relationship?"

The discussion continued through the afternoon, looking at price
history, market segments -- it turned out that the export market
was growing rapidly but Murphy was ignoring it -- production
facilities and other factors.  Cliff finally turned his attention
to Murphy Manufacturing.  As they looked at the company's
position in the industry over time, the erosion of its position
became very clear.  Cliff adjourned the meeting when he got to
Murphy's strengths and weaknesses.

Sandy came up to him and said, "Cliff, you look absolutely beat.
It's obvious to me what you're doing up there is tiring as hell.
It's really the mental equivalent of patting your head and
rubbing your belly, isn't it?  It's really a hell of a lot
tougher than it looks!  Could I buy you dinner?  Please?"

Cliff had collapsed into a chair after standing all afternoon. 
He pretended to prop up one eyelid, and smiled at her.  "Sandy,
you're great.  I scarcely have the energy to get down to my car.
I'd love it!"

She smiled at him and said, "There's an ulterior motive.  Jane
drove me in this morning and then went off with Steve.  I think
they're both so tired they may actually sleep tonight.  Anyway, I
need a ride home... again."

"It's a deal!" Cliff said, "provided you drive."  Reaching into
his coat for his car keys, he put them in her hand.

He was asleep almost as soon as he got into the car.  The next
thing he knew his shoulder was being shaken.  "We're here," Sandy
said, "but I'll be damned if I'm going to carry you up to my
apartment.  Feel better?"

Cliff blinked and smiled.  "Much better, thank you.  Now where
would you like to eat?"  He looked at himself and suddenly
remembered he was wearing casual clothes.  "I'm afraid it can't
be too swanky, though, with me dressed like this."

"Come on in," she said.  "We'll figure out something."

They went up to her apartment.  Cliff was very impressed. 
Although it was only a fraction of the size of Stephanie's he
liked it much better, but he couldn't quite figure out why.  In
addition to its larger size, Stephanie's had its magnificent view
over Lake Michigan, while Sandy's, a low-rise, just looked out at
a quiet residential street.

Suddenly, he understood.  Stephanie's was decorator-dramatic:
beautifully done by an expensive decorator for a dramatic effect
which had been achieved.  Sandy's, on the other hand, was also
exquisitely decorated but with an eye to comfort.  He asked about
drinks and made two while she went to her bedroom to change.  He
sat down on the sofa with his drink.

The next thing he knew, Sandy was shaking his shoulder again. 
"Dinner's ready," she announced.

Cliff looked up at her and realized she was again wearing what
she had worn the previous Saturday -- tight Levi's and her
Michigan sweatshirt.  Once again, her lovely auburn hair was
pulled back in a ponytail.

"I'm sorry, Sandy.  That was awful!  I just sat down... and
that's all I remember.  Please believe me!  It's a tribute to the
comfort of your furnishings, not a comment on the hostess."  He
noticed that his untouched drink was now water.

She smiled at him.  "It's just as well," she said.  "It kept you
from being underfoot while I got dinner ready.  I hope you're not
tired of steak?  That's about the extent of my culinary ability,
except for opening cans."

Sandy had set the table in her small dining area.  It was
apparent to Cliff that she was using her good china, crystal and
silver.  He supposed she inherited it from her family.  The table
was beautiful.  Sandy brought out jumbo shrimp cocktail with
Arnaud's sauce and Cliff expressed his surprise.  "This is the
strangest looking steak I've ever seen.  And this has to be
Arnaud's sauce from New Orleans, isn't it?"

She nodded and poured a bottle of chilled white wine.  Cliff
noted it was a vintage French Chablis which was magnificent with
the shrimp.  She cleared the plates and returned with two
beautiful boneless sirloins served with sauce Perigord, and Cliff
could see she had a heavy hand with the very expensive truffles
slivered into it.  The steak was served with thinly sliced french
fries and a salad.  She poured from a half bottle of
chateau-bottled vintage Bordeaux that had been opened earlier to
breathe.

He noticed that her portion was virtually the same size as his,
and she ate it.  He couldn't help contrast this girl with
Stephanie.  Stephanie was always chasing the latest in food fads,
but as far as he could tell didn't enjoy eating anything.  She
merely picked, yet always seemed to be fighting her weight. 
Sandy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy food and eating, yet
complained of being too thin.

She served coffee and cognac in the living room.  "Cliff, there's
a good movie on cable tonight.  Would you like to watch?"  He
nodded agreeably and sat down on the sofa while she tuned the set
to a pay channel.

When she sat down beside him on the sofa, he put his arm around
her shoulders and she snuggled close beside him.  He enjoyed the
movie, but didn't know what to do.  Sandy had almost immediately
fallen asleep in his arms.  He went to remove his arm but she had
her hand on it and wouldn't let go.

The movie was action-adventure, and the noises of the final scene
woke her up.  He smiled down at her bright green eyes and asked,
"Did you enjoy the movie?"

She smiled sleepily at him, "More than any movie I've seen in
years.  It was great!" she said softly.

Then he tipped her face up and kissed her gently.  He could feel
her lips open under his and felt her tongue dart out.  His hand
went under her sweatshirt and he felt one of her beautifully
shaped breasts in his hand.  He cupped it and his hand was caught
and held by hers from outside the sweatshirt.

"Cliff," she said very softly, "no further, please.  I only have
the willpower to say it once.  But it feels so wonderful!  Please
don't stop."

He went back to kissing her. _My God!_  he thought. _We're
necking after a movie!_  He realized he hadn't done that in about
fifteen years, and it was wonderful.  Whenever she kissed him, it
was like receiving a jolt of electricity.  He realized he was in
love with this girl he had known for only ten days!

Sandy was in heaven.  She could feel his strong hand cupping her
breast.  For the first time in her life she didn't even feel
inadequate!  She realized, although she was not big-chested, her
breast filled his hand.  His kisses were wonderful.  Then she
felt his hand moving under her sweatshirt caressing her upper
body.  She stretched and lay back against him, savoring the
feeling of being loved.

Finally he pulled away, looked at her and saw her brilliant green
eyes glowing with love.  He slowly withdrew his hand, gathered
her in his arms and kissed her again.  He realized it was getting
late and there would be another big day tomorrow.  He got up from
the sofa and helped her up.  She just snuggled against his chest
with her arms around him.

"Sandy," he said softly, "I'm going to bed.  You used up your
willpower awhile ago.  I don't know when I used up mine, but
there's none left.  I would love nothing better than to go to bed
with you, but we both know we shouldn't.  Right?"

He could feel her head making a tiny nod on his shoulder.  She
looked up at him and said, "Thanks so much, Cliff!  This was the
nicest date I've ever had."

He smiled at her and gave her a soft kiss.  "Sandy, that was the
best meal I've eaten in ages.  Since it was just pot luck,
promise to invite me when you decide to cook a real meal?"

She just smiled and nodded.  He slowly released her and went down
to his car.

Meanwhile, Sandy turned off the lights and got ready for bed. 
Once in bed, she shivered remembering the feel of his hands
running over her body and the thrill of his lips on hers.  She
tried to make sense of her thoughts but couldn't.  She only knew
he was the man for whom she had been waiting her entire life.

As he drove back to his apartment, Cliff thought about Sandy and
Stephanie.  The two girls were a study in contrasts.  And in
every one Stephanie came up short.  He was amused thinking about
Sandy saying she could "only cook a steak."  The way it was
cooked would have done a master chef proud.  In contrast,
Stephanie could not have possibly cooked anything like it if her
life depended on it, and could not have boiled water with the
ease with which Sandy prepared the full meal.

Moreover, there was a contrast in living styles and in friends. 
He didn't care much for Stephanie's, but he realized he didn't
know any of Sandy's except Jane whom he liked.  He guessed her
friends would be an eclectic group, centered on Murphy
Manufacturing.  But having come to that conclusion he realized he
had no basis for it.  Finally, he thought about the movie.  He
couldn't be sure if she liked those movies or if she thought he
would.

He did know he couldn't remember having more fun even though they
hadn't shared a bed.  He remembered fondly how she had snuggled
close to him and slept with his arm around her, and wouldn't let
him move it.  He could still feel her bare skin under his finger
tips, and how, with his hand cupping her breast, she had placed
her hand to keep it there.  And her kisses made his toes curl! 
All of this, while wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, which made him
feel far more romantic than he ever did with Stephanie and all
her stage management.

* * *

The next day they began on Murphy's strengths and weaknesses. 
The picture that emerged was not bright.  The only significant
strengths were the company name -- although it wasn't nearly as
good as it once was -- and skilled workers.  Weaknesses included
high prices lethally coupled with poor quality.  The product line
was rated the broadest in the industry.  Initially, some had
argued it to be a strength yet discussion revealed that
individual customers used few products, but typically in high
volume.

They looked at many other facets of the business and then
examined market maturity.  The market was rated classically
mature: growth was slow, the market cycled, no new entrants,
little untapped potential.

The competitive position exercise labeled them weak, i.e.,
currently unsatisfactory performance with opportunity for
improvement.  It is an inherently unstable position.  A weak
company must improve to at least satisfactory or become
nonviable, i.e., dead.  They finally arrived at strategy
formulation.  Cliff initiated the strategy discussion: "Can
anyone tell me the difference between a goal and an objective?"
he asked.

Sandy spoke up.  "I think I heard somewhere that an objective is
a special class of goal that's achievable, measurable and
time-bound.  A goal isn't necessarily any of those things. 
Cliff, it's well known around the company that you gave the board
specific objectives to be reached by October 1.  They're
measurable -- stated in dollar terms, and time-bound -- by
October 1.  We all hope they turn out to be achievable."  She
looked at Cliff and asked, "How's that?"

Cliff was smiling broadly as he answered, "That's an 'A+' answer!
 It's perfect!  Now, Miss Donnell, the $64 question...  No! 
We'll make it for dinner Saturday night.  What is the goal for
Murphy Manufacturing?"

"There can be only one goal: the maximization of long-run
profits.  Do I get a dinner?  My choice of places?"

"You sure do!  Now, since you're obviously hitting on all
cylinders -- equipped with Murphy rings and valves, we hope --
would you explain to the class for extra credit..."  He grinned
and indicated the people in the room.  "...why it's a goal, not
an objective, why it's the only appropriate goal, and what it
means?"

Sandy was smiling and obviously enjoying herself.  It was
apparent that the other people in the room were reacting with
varying degrees of surprise except for Jane Miller who expected
Sandy to be correct.

Sandy explained.  "First, why it's a goal, not an objective: 
It's not time-bound.  What does 'long-term' mean?  It's not
measurable.  It's impossible to prove, even long after the fact,
if profits were in fact being maximized.  Finally, it may not be
possible to do.  It doesn't meet any of the tests of an
objective.

"It's the only possible goal, because as a profit-making company,
it's our reason for being here.  Everything else -- fair wages,
good employee relations, good corporate citizenship -- whatever
that means -- being environmentally sound -- all play off the
profit maximization concept.

"For example, if the company pollutes the lake, the State of
Wisconsin, the Feds, or both, close us down.  End of story.  We
certainly didn't maximize profits long term.  If we have lousy
relations with our employees, the good ones quit and we can't
replace them.  We're through -- again.  What it means is this: 
We do the best job we can, balancing long- and short-term
requirements in an optimum fashion.  Mr. Fitzpatrick, I think I
explained it.  Doing it, sir, is your job!"

"Another 'A+' answer.  Sandy, that was the best answer I've ever
heard anywhere.  As a reward, while I try to figure out how I'm
going to pay for dinner, you get to stand up here, marker in
hand, and discuss objectives and goals.  You can get the ink on
your fingers.  I'll rest my feet and heckle."  He grinned and
handed her his felt marker.

Sandy was startled but went up to the charts and asked, "Does
anyone have any questions or comments?"

Kevin O'Rourke spoke up.  "Sandy, what should our objective be? 
Better yet, what's our strategy?"

Sandy looked a little flustered and looked at Cliff.  Avoiding
her eyes, he studied the carpet pattern.  "Kevin, I think it's
pretty straightforward.  Putting together all the material Cliff
dragged out of us -- there are over forty sheets papering the
walls -- I think it's fairly simple.  Incidentally, I'll try to
write big.  I heard a rumor that we can't get out of the room if
there's one square inch of wall not covered with these sheets.

"First, we strip down the product line to about 5 percent of the
products we're offering now.  I guess we'll work out the numbers
between now and the next session.  According to Cliff's little
strategy cards, that's called Product Rationalization.

"Second, we streamline our manufacturing process.  We clean up
the line layout, knock off a bunch of inspectors, and insist that
the guys making the products get it right the first time.  We
debug the whole process to make it as easy as we can to do it
right.  I think that's Production Rationalization.

"While I'm borrowing his marker, I guess it's fair to steal his
stories, too.  He told me about a Japanese auto executive he was
talking with who was very puzzled.  'Missa Fitzpatrick, I do not
understand Americans.  You pay one man do, another man undo, and
third man redo.  Much cheaper to do it right, first time!' 
Anyway, Cliff thought the Japanese made sense, and I know he did.
 Does anyone here care seriously to argue that it doesn't?"  No
one spoke.  "I didn't think so.

"Third, we have to build our export business, with a special
focus on South America.

"That's enough, and it's a lot.  I would like to say one more
thing:  What's an assistant doing setting strategy, you wonder. 
Well, so do I.  I can't even spell strategy the same way twice,
and that's _my_ job.  I've worked at Murphy for more years than I
care to think about, but I've learned more about our ring and
valve business in the last three days than I learned in the
previous ten years.  After what we learned, I think our direction
is obvious.  What do you think?"

Sandy conducted the remainder of the meeting.  Cliff was
impressed.  Not only did she show an in-depth understanding of
all the material, she had an instinctive grasp of all the
interactions.  He also found that she used her knowledge of the
people to draw them all into the discussion.  He particularly
noticed that no one challenged her role as leader nor tried to
blow one by her.  By the time she wrapped up, every person in the
room had talked about the strategy.  Finally, she tried to hand
him the marker, but he refused.

"Folks," he said, "I know when I've been upstaged.  Great job,
Sandy.  You close!"

"You heard the man.  We're all done for now.  There will be memos
out scheduling our next meeting dates.  We're adjourned."

Cliff was pleased to see the people crowd around Sandy to
congratulate her.  Others came over to thank him for the
opportunity.  Finally, he and Sandy were alone.  The girl glowed.
 They were both straddling chairs looking at one another.

Cliff looked at her and asked, "What did you think about it?"

"Cliff, it was the greatest day of my life!  I loved it!  But you
made it possible.  I was being absolutely truthful.  I did learn
so much!  Thank you."  She tipped her chair forward, intent on
kissing him.  He leaned forward, too, to close the distance.  The
kiss with both of them balancing on tipped chairs was
breathtaking.  The only contact was with their lips.  Sandy was
trying to convey the depth of her love through her lips and did.
Cliff was rocked to his shoes.

They spent the next two days on the cash management project and
preparations for the session on the retail business beginning the
following Monday.  Sandy was funny.  Now that she was recognized
as the company treasurer by bankers, O'Rourke's people ran a
phone line through another secretary to answer "Miss Donnell's
office" if she were out, to a button on her phone which she
picked up if she were in.  The same line ran to Purcell's old
office which she used in her capacity as treasurer.

Cliff noticed she kept a beautifully tailored suit on a hanger in
her new office.  If a banker came to see her she quickly changed
into her "treasurer's suit" and greeted them.  He had asked her
about Saturday night.  Finally, she told him where he was taking
her.  The selection was her choice.

* * *

Cliff was wearing a dinner jacket when he went to her apartment
to pick her up.  Although he felt strange bringing her a
spring-flower corsage, he thought it was very pretty.  He rang
her bell and the door opened moments later.  Cliff was stunned. 
Sandy was wearing a silk chiffon strapless cocktail dress, and
she did a little pirouette to show off the skirts.  The dress was
the same shade of emerald green as her eyes.  She looked
gorgeous.

"I would whistle, Sandy, but my mother told me it isn't polite. 
But you are simply breathtaking!"  He presented her with the
flowers, feeling sheepish as he did so.

He saw her eyes start to tear, and she gave him a quick, light
kiss on the lips.  "Thank you so much!  Cliff, this is only the
second corsage I've ever had!  The first was for my high school
senior prom... and he was a drip."

She looked at him seriously.  "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I
cook?  I feel I cheated, somehow, because I work for you."

"Sandra Donnell, not on your life!  You bought the dress
specially for tonight, didn't you?"  She nodded her head shyly. 
"But you would give it all up and cook, wouldn't you?"  Again she
nodded.  "No way!  The reservations are made, the champagne is
being chilled, the band is warming up and I even put on a tux,
for heaven's sake!"

"Cliff, you look very handsome in a dinner jacket.  I have to
tell you that today is the proudest day of my life!  I've never
felt so good about myself before, and it's all your fault.  I
shouldn't say it I suppose, but this is the first time I have
ever had the courage to wear a strapless dress.  Would you
believe it?  I'm almost twenty-six years old!  The other night
you convinced me that maybe there's enough of me to hold it up."

Cliff left the car with the valet parking attendant and escorted
Sandy to the dining room.  The maitre d'hotel greeted him and
showed him to a reserved table.  He enjoyed watching the heads
turn at Sandy's auburn-haired beauty.

When they were seated, he looked at her.  "I can't imagine a girl
looking more beautiful than you do now.  I guess you may have
taken ten or fifteen minutes to get ready?"

She smiled softly.  "Ten or fifteen hours, maybe.  Do you like my
hair?  It was countless hours of torture to get it right.  I
think I'll wear a hair net to bed, or something romantic like
that to keep it this way."

The band was playing, so Cliff asked her to dance.  Again, he was
startled at the way she floated in his arms.  When they sat down
again, he called for the champagne he had ordered earlier.  He
was disconcerted by the way she was studying his face.

"Tell me about you," she asked.  "You know about all there is to
know about me.  Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have an older sister, Susan.  She lives in L.A. with her
husband and... I guess it's five and two-thirds nieces and
nephews, now.  I'm sure you'll like her, and I know she'll love
you!  She's two years older than I am and is constantly pregnant.
 I asked her one time, and she says it saves money to buy
maternity dresses by the dozen.

"Another time I asked her if she and her husband ever did
anything other than make love, and she looked at me deadpan.  'I
beg your pardon,' she said.  'Charley and I have made love
seven... no, eight times.  I remember it distinctly.  It was
twice on our honeymoon, and then there was the time I miscarried.
 That's eight.  He's just more effective than most men.'

"Can you believe it?  The funny thing is I saw her last summer in
a bikini, and she looked like her daughter's older sister.  If
you told someone she had given birth to five children, he would
say you were crazy.  I guess we're not much of an Irish family,
with only two children, so Sis says she has to make up for lost
time.

"The funny thing is she and Charley have five of the nicest kids
I've ever seen.  Of course, that's an unbiased uncle's point of
view."

"I can't wait to meet Susan!" Sandy said, taking his hand in
hers.  "I hope I will someday."

"I was thinking about you the other night," he said.  "I was
contrasting you with Stephanie.  Incidentally, I'm breaking it
off with Stephanie for good.  I thought I should tell you."

He smiled at her and squeezed the hand that was still in his. 
"You're truly beautiful.  You know that, don't you?  I have never
seen such a gorgeous combination of eyes, hair and skin as you
have.  You are extraordinary."

Cliff had ordered Dom Perignon which they were sipping.  The
dinner was superb, and they both enjoyed the dancing until they
left at closing time.

Finally, they arrived back at her apartment.  He stood at the
door and she said, "Cliff, please come in.  I would like to make
us some coffee to go with some special cognac I've been saving. 
Could you handle some?"

He smiled and went in.  She had the coffee maker primed and
turned it on.  A few minutes later he helped her with the coffee
cups and the cognac.  He recognized it from its Baccarat decanter
as Remy Martin's Louis XIII.  As they sat together on the sofa
sipping their coffee.  "Sandy, tell me about yourself.  I don't
even know who your friends are other than Jane Miller.  I gather
you have no family left?"

"I guess I am the last of the Murphys.  Most of my friends are in
the company.  Being away at school for six years and working the
rest of the time in the plant, I guess that's what happens
sometimes."

He took her in his arms and kissed her.  She instantly responded
with a passion that surprised him.  When he ran his fingers over
her bare back he found her skin was like satin to the touch.  She
spoke softly into his shoulder, "Do you remember giving me a
question for extra credit?  And I got it right?  Cliff, for my
prize I want you to stay with me tonight.  Please?"

He looked at her and could see that her eyes were glowing. 
"You're serious, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"I've never been more serious in my life!  I should warn you,
though:  I have next to no experience with men.  I guess I was
always a tomboy and then I was the kid sister.  Until you came
along, I always thought of myself as a graceless geek.  I've only
been with a man once in my life, and it was awful.  He was as
inexperienced as I was, if you can believe such a thing happening
these days.  We didn't know what we were doing, and it hurt
terribly.  You hear so much about the sexual revolution, but I
guess I've always been hiding behind a door or something.  Can
you help me, Cliff?  Please?"

Cliff felt very humble as he followed her into her bedroom.  It
was beautifully furnished and yet was different, somehow.  As he
looked around, he realized what it was.  Here was a stark
contrast to what he had become used to with Stephanie.  Steph had
a stage setting for seduction.  Sandy's room was ready to go to
bed.  He noticed the bedspread was off the bed, and the covers
were turned down -- on both sides -- on the very
comfortable-looking king-size bed.

As they stood together in the room, it was all Sandy could do to
keep her knees from knocking.  She was so scared!  Her one
previous experience she had mentioned to Cliff had been far worse
than she had admitted.  She was correct about one thing.  Neither
of them had had any experience.  But she hadn't told him that the
boy had just lost control.  It had ended up as a rape, with Sandy
screaming in pain while he forced his entry and ended with her
lying on the floor with her body huddled in a ball as he left.

She prayed she wouldn't make a fool of herself tonight.  But she
didn't have the slightest idea what to do and Cliff was being too
considerate.  He was taking no initiative.  She swallowed hard
and realized she would have to take the lead if anything was
going to happen.

So she moved close to him, kissed him softly and then helped him
off with his dinner jacket.  Then she untied his bow tie, took
off his cummerbund and began to unbutton his shirt.  He had a
very hairy chest and wasn't wearing an undershirt.  She kissed
him softly on his nipples.  His braces were already hanging down,
and he had slipped off his shoes.  She unhooked his waistband and
let his trousers fall.  He stepped out of them, and was now clad
only in his briefs and socks.  He pulled his socks off and
flipped them towards a corner, leaving only his briefs.  He was
so muscular and handsome it took her breath away.

She was still fully clothed.  Still without saying a word, she
turned her back to him. _Please, God,_ she prayed, _Don't let him
laugh at me._  She could feel him unhook the top of her dress and
slide the zipper all the way down.  She stepped out of her shoes
and held up the front of her dress.  Then she turned towards him
again and just let the dress fall to the floor.  Now all she was
wearing were bikini briefs which she pulled down quickly and let
drop.

Cliff watched the lovely girl as she let go of the dress.  He
couldn't make out the expression in her eyes as she just stood
with her arms at her sides and her shoulders back. _My God!_ he
thought, _She's afraid I'll laugh!  But she's magnificent!_  He
reached out his arms and she came to him.

_He didn't laugh  she thought. _Thank you, God.  He didn't
laugh!_  When he held out his arms, she moved closer and mashed
her breasts against his chest.  She moved her body against his to
feel her nipples chafe against the hair on his chest.  It felt
marvelous!

He put his hand around her small ass and squeezed a cheek.  She
could feel her fluids start to gush and she felt her knees almost
buckle.  At the same time she could feel a pressure on her
abdomen where his sex made contact with her body.  She steeled
herself, bent down, and pulled down his briefs releasing his
magnificent weapon.  She just looked.  She couldn't bring herself
to touch it.  It was so huge! _I can't do this,_ she thought. 
_It's so big it will tear me in half!  But I must!  If Stephanie
can, I will._

He took her to the bed, pulled down the covers, placed her on her
back and got in beside her.  He noticed the sheets were new, very
crisp, and held a faint trace of her perfume.  She made no move
to turn down the lights as he began to caress her body.

She steeled herself and moved her hand toward his sex.  She found
it, touched it gingerly and decided she liked its feel.  Then she
began to caress it as he continued stroking her body.  His hand
moved down to her legs and started lightly to caress her thigh. 
She parted her legs to give him access, and his hand moved up to
her cunt.

She felt herself impaled as his finger moved inside her and
contacted her clitoris.  Her fluids had been flowing, and she
could feel her warm wetness around his finger.  Meanwhile, her
hips had started to move, seemingly of their own volition.  She
was simultaneously scared and wanting.

She had steeled herself to take him, and she seemed to understand
that her body wanted him more than her brain feared him. 
"Please, Cliff, now!" she whispered.  "Please..."

He moved on top of her.  Using her hand to guide him to her
vaginal opening, she lifted her hips to try to make his entry
easier.  He moved forward and she felt a small pop as the head of
his sex entered her.  She wrapped her legs around his hips and
felt him move deeper inside her.  He withdrew and went in again,
and yet again.  Suddenly she realized he was in to his full
length. _And it hadn't hurt!_  She felt stretched.  She thought
she could feel him all through her insides as she wrapped her
legs tightly around him.  She lay back on the bed to enjoy the
feeling of having him inside her.

Cliff looked down at her.  As he entered her, he saw her head
toss from side to side, and her hands alternately caressed him
and pressed flat against the sheet.  He could feel her strong
legs wrapped around him, and when he had entered her fully,
tighten around his hips.

At that instant her eyes opened, and he saw a look of pure joy. 
"You're in me," she whispered.

"Of course I am.  Are you surprised?"  He leaned forward and
kissed her while she continued to hold him with her legs.  Slowly
he started to move in and out.

She picked up his timing and started to move her hips in tempo. 
Sandy was startled when she felt an involuntary spasm in her
vagina. _Could this be an orgasm?_ she wondered.  She could hear
herself making involuntary sounds as he used long strokes that
seemed to last forever.  His tempo speeded up, and hers did, too.
 She could feel herself being taken up to a peak.  When she
reached one, she felt the sensuous spasm again, and yet again,
each stronger than the last.

She tried to grip his sex with her vaginal muscles.  He was so
large inside her she fit him like a very tight lubricated glove.
She could feel herself climbing again, higher and higher.  Her
pelvis now had a life of its own as she continued to bump and
grind against him.  She was taken higher, higher and higher
still.  Suddenly she exploded and then fainted as her nervous
system overloaded and cut out.

Cliff reached his peak as he worked within her.  Her head tossed
faster and faster and her involuntary sounds increased in
intensity.  Then she experienced a series of orgasms, each more
intense than the last.  Still they had moved together in a way he
had never experienced before.  He could sense it as she
approached her climax and then he exploded, bringing her over
with him.  His fluids pumped into her as her vaginal muscles
contracted violently to squeeze him dry.  He saw her go limp as
he collapsed on top of her.

Sandy slowly regained consciousness.  She had never felt like
this before.  As sensation returned, she realized she was on her
back, with her side molded to a wonderfully warm body.  Then she
realized an arm was over her holding her tightly while its hand
was holding her breast.

She nestled closer and the hand started to move.  Quickly, she
took it in hers and kept it pressed to her breast.  With her head
resting on his shoulder, Cliff heard her whisper, "Please!"  He
kept his hand in place, and they went to sleep.

Daylight coming through the blinds finally awakened him.  He
realized he had his arm around this lovely girl nestled against
him.  When he softly squeezed the breast he was holding, he heard
a warm sound from deep in her throat.  She rolled over on her
side and faced him with her arm coming around and over him.  He
could feel her long fingers stroking his chest.  Looking over, he
saw a pair of lovely green eyes regarding him.

_This is heaven!_ she thought as his hand gripped her breast. 
She rolled over in bed and put her arm over his body.  She looked
intently at his face and whispered, "Good morning, darling!  What
happened last night?  The last thing I remember was going higher
and higher, and then everything exploded.  I never dreamed it
could be like that."  She looked at him with concern showing in
her eyes.  "Was I all right?" she asked anxiously.

"It was perfect, Sandy!" he said.  "I've never experienced
anything like it.  Ever!"  He suddenly realized how beautiful she
looked even though she had just awakened.  He ran his fingers
over her body and felt her satin skin under his fingertips.  He
ran his hand through her hair and tousled it.  She just shook her
head under his fingers and smiled.  Cliff realized again how
unlike Steph she was.  Stephanie would have had a fit if he
messed up her hairdo.  Sandy seemed to relish the feeling.

Sandy threw off her covers and ran into the bathroom.  Moments
later she went off toward the kitchen, and Cliff got out of bed
to go to the bathroom.  As he was coming out, she came back into
the room.  She looked at him and decided he was the most handsome
man she had ever seen.  She went up to him and shyly took his
flaccid sex in her fingers.  "It doesn't look nearly so
terrifying this morning," she said softly.

He lifted her chin to look straight into her eyes.  "Was it
terrifying last night?" he asked.

She buried her face in his shoulder which muffled her reply, "I
was certain it would rip me in half."

Again he lifted her chin.  He could see that she was very
serious.  "Why did you let me do it, then?" he asked, genuinely
concerned.

She didn't lower her gaze.  "Because I wanted to.  Honey, I was
determined if Stephanie could take you inside, I could, too...
regardless.  I so desperately wanted it inside me, I didn't care
if you ripped me open to make room.  Could you feel my...
cunt...? flowing with moisture?  My body thought it could take
you inside, even if my brain didn't believe it.  Then it just
went in with a little pop, and it was all over.  You can't
believe how wonderful you felt.  You're so big!  Now I feel so
wonderfully sore down there... and we only did it once.  Can we
do it again, soon?"  She had been concentrating on his eyes so
much she wasn't aware that his cock had become rigid again.  As
he pulled her closer, it bent back between them.  Her hand went
down to caress it and then asked, "Do you mind?"

For an answer he just smiled and put his finger in her now-moist
slit.  "Do you?"

"That feels so good!  But you're ready again."  She took his hand
and led him to the bed.  "Can the girl ever be on top?" she asked
shyly.

He turned on his back, and said, "Of course, honey!"  He watched
as she carefully straddled him.

"Am I doing this right?" she asked.

"You're doing just fine!" he replied as he cradled her ass cheeks
in his hands and stroked them with his finger tips.

She positioned herself over his cock and allowed her body to
settle slowly.  Again she was surprised at how easily his huge
sex penetrated her.  She rotated her hips and used her vagina to
pull him into her.  She was trying to do it all in a single
stroke.  Finally, she could feel him all the way inside.  He
moved his hands and grasped her beautiful breasts which were
bouncing slightly in front of him.

"God, they're lovely," he said as he played with her small pink
nipples and watched as they became erect.  She leaned further
forward and he lifted his head and shoulders off the bed to kiss
her.  She put one of her hands behind his head to pull him closer
to her.  It felt so marvelous to kiss her like this with his
hands holding her breasts while his cock was being caressed by
her vaginal muscles.

Slowly, she started to move up and down on the bar of his sex
that impaled her.  Her hips rotated as she moved up and down. 
The feeling in her sex was exquisite.  Again she heard herself
moan as her passion built to a small orgasm; she paused for a
moment and continued.  Now she could feel her passion rise higher
than the first time to a peak followed by yet another orgasmic
release.

She focused her eyes on Cliff's face as he tried to maintain
control during her orgasm.  It built to a stronger climax again,
followed by another and yet another.  Finally she heard herself
cry out as her cunt exploded, triggering Cliff's release as well.
 Her hips jerked uncontrollably as if they had a life of their
own.  She collapsed on his chest and could feel her cunt continue
to pulsate to extract the last bit of semen from the cock inside
it.  

She lay with her head on his chest as her breathing slowly
returned to normal.  Finally she raised her head and looked at
him proudly.  "I didn't faint!  I was conscious the whole time!"
She looked at him with a question in her eyes, "Cliff, is it
always this good?"

He put his arms around her and pulled her close.  Then he pulled
the covers up over them, stroked her hair, and ran his fingertips
over her back.  "No, it's not.  It's never been this good before.
 Ever!  Sandy, you're marvelous!"  He continued to stroke her and
heard her make soft mewing sounds as she gently caressed his
chest with her breasts.

"Does that feel good to you?" she asked, pushing herself away
from his chest so she could see his eyes.  "It feels so wonderful
to chafe my nipples on your chest!"  He just smiled and nodded. 
Then she grinned.  "Come on!  The coffee's ready."

Cliff was torn.  On the one hand it felt so great to just hold
this lovely girl.  On the other, the coffee smell, now wafting
into the bedroom, was wonderful.  With a groan he got out of bed
and followed her into the kitchen.  He again contrasted her
behavior with Stephanie's.  Not only did Sandy not mind him
seeing her naked, she seemed to revel in it.

When he got into the kitchen, Sandy had already poured two cups
of coffee and was making preparations for a big breakfast.  He
sat on a chair and watched her move about the room so gracefully.
 Finally he asked, "Sandy, how did you know I would be staying
last night?"

She looked up in surprise, then smiled.  "I didn't know, Cliff,
but I was hoping."  She looked at him abashed, and asked
diffidently, "Was everything all right?  Was the bed okay?  I
guess I shouldn't have been so obvious, should I?"  He had looked
around the apartment and noticed everything was spotless.

"Sandy, you said last night you had spent hours getting ready. 
Looking at how beautiful you look this morning with no makeup,
and seeing how beautiful your apartment looks, I have to believe
it was about thirty minutes for you and ten hours for the
apartment."

"Don't you like it?" she asked anxiously.

"It's not as pretty as you are, but it's a lovely apartment." 
She had made bacon and eggs with toast and hash browns.  She
brought two plates to the table and sat down facing him at the
breakfast table.  After they had eaten, she poured more coffee.

He looked at her as she sat across from him.  "You know, you look
awfully cute sitting there.  You have beautiful breasts.  They
stand up so proudly with their lovely little nipples."

She looked down at her breasts and then back at him.  "Aren't
they kind of small, though?  I thought men liked girls with big
boobs -- the kind you can mash your face into."

"Now why would you think a thing like that?  I thought you were
the kid sister?"

She smiled.  "That's just it.  I am.  But you know what?  Guys
tell their fantasies to their kid sisters sometimes.  I guess
when I'm not being the kid sister, I'm the one they come to cry
to.  Honestly, I felt like crying more times than I can count.  A
guy who I thought was pretty attractive broke up with his girl
and came to me to cry about it.  Of course, it never occurred to
him to ask me out.  I can't tell you how often that scene was
played.

"I guess that's how I developed a taste for beer.  Whenever it
happened, I would walk the guy to the nearest bar and let him cry
in his beer.  It never occurred to them to look at me.  But in
the meantime the guy would wax poetic about what gorgeous boobs
the girl had.  Once a guy went into raptures telling me about his
ex-girlfriend's lovely cunt... in graphic detail, yet."

She looked at him, "It hurts, Cliff.  It really does.  So if you
think I lack self-confidence, there's a reason for it."

"What fools!" he exclaimed.  "Honey, I know it hurt.  On the
other hand, you would have been married long ago if they had eyes
in their heads, so it's a break for me.  You are absolutely
perfect!"

"I suppose there were compensations," she said with a wry smile.
"I never would have made Phi Beta Kappa if I dated.  All I ever
did was pick up the pieces every once in a while.  Cliff, you
can't believe how bad it was.  Once I was invited by one of those
guys to his wedding.  He wanted me there because _I_ restored
_his_ self-confidence.  Can you believe it?"

He leaned across the table and softly kissed her.  "It's their
loss.  Sandy, you seem very unconcerned around me.  You make no
effort to hide your body.  If you're so ashamed of it, why don't
you?"

She was puzzled and then shook her head.  "Because I love you. 
I'm not much, Cliff.  But I don't want you to be fooled... to
think you might be getting something you're not.  Do you really
like me?"

"Darling, no!  I love you!  And I think you have a perfectbody."

"What do you want to do now?" she asked.

"I want to get to know that luscious body of yours better.  May
I?"

"Honey, if it's in my power to give, you can have it.  What do
you want to do?"

"Shouldn't we do the dishes first?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?  The dishes are always here.  This is the first
time in my life I ever spent a night with a man.  Cliff, you
can't believe how wonderful the night was, or how great I think
the man is!  What would you like me to do?"

He led her into the bedroom and he got on the bed.  She got on
the bed, too, and knelt on the bed near him.  She was kneeling
back on her heels.  "Do me a favor?" he asked.

"Anything!"

"Put your hands on your thighs, and kneel up straight.  You can't
take your hands off your legs.  Okay?"  She instantly agreed.  He
moved her a little closer to him so he could reach her easier. 
Then he began slowly to stroke her legs.  Sandy could feel her
body tingle as his fingers went over her body.  He caressed her
breasts, and then stroked her belly and abdomen.  She could feel
herself vibrating as he focused on the inside of her thighs.  She
spread her knees wider and lifted herself slightly to give him
unobstructed access to her cunt.

Finally, she felt his finger move inside her slit.  It gathered
some of her secretions from her vagina to moisten it.  She
shuddered as his finger found her clitoris and began to tease it.
 In the meantime she watched his massive prick become erect and
begin to vibrate.  She wanted it desperately, but he had asked
her to keep her hands on her thighs.  She could feel her hips
move on their own and again she started to moan as the pressure
built in her cunt.

The clitoral stimulation was driving her crazy, but she held on.
She was astonished to feel herself building towards another
massive orgasm while she just watched his massive sex.  Suddenly,
she climaxed.  Her syrup poured out in a flood, and he had his
hand cupped to catch them.  Still she fought to remain upright,
and just managed.  She had screamed, her heart was pumping
furiously and sweat was pouring from her body.  Slowly, she
returned to normal, still maintaining the requested pose.

"Sandy, you are incredible!  I didn't think it was possible for
you to hold on, but you did.  I thought I could bring you to
orgasm, but there was no way you could hold your pose if I did. 
I did, but you did, too.  How?"

"Cliff Fitzpatrick, Jane's right!  You are a sadist!  That was
the most excruciating agony I've ever been through in my life. 
Just look!"  She moved her hands and he could see finger marks
that were likely to become black-and-blue where she had been
gripping her thighs.

"Why did you do it, then?" he asked, amazed at her fortitude.

"Because you asked me to," she replied simply.  "I said I would
do anything you asked if it was in my power.  This was... just! 
Cliff, will you hold me now?  Tightly?"

He reached out his arms and she dove into them.  He rolled her on
her back and entered her moisture-laden cunt.  "Oh, God!  That
feels so good!" she exclaimed.  "Is there anything I can do to
increase your penetration... to get everything in?"

"Put your legs over my shoulders," he said.  She immediately did,
and maximized the penetration.  She could feel him go in and out,
as again she built towards a peak of sensation.  Finally, he let
go and carried her over the edge.  She exploded when he did.  He
unwound her legs and lay down beside her.  They lay there quietly
for a time while they regained their breath.

"How do you feel?" he asked.  There was no response, just a
murmur approaching a purr, as she snuggled closer to him.  They
both slept.

* * *

Sandy awakened first.  "Come on, let's take a shower," she said,
pulling him out of bed.  He followed her into the bathroom and
watched as she adjusted the shower control.  She got in and he
followed her.  They were like two kids playing under a hose.  He
hugged her tightly and loved the feel of her wet body.  They
soaped each other, and Sandy particularly enjoyed soaping his sex
organs.  Finally, he got out of the shower while she washed her
hair.  He dried off and went back to the bedroom.  She found him
asleep when she came out of the bathroom after having washed her
hair.  She joined him in the bed and was almost instantly asleep
as well.

When she awakened she was in his arms.  She started to run her
fingers over his body, exploring it.  He awakened and looked at
her.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm exploring... and it's fun.  I never had my own man to
explore before."

He started to run his finger tips over her body.  She stopped and
looked at him.  "And what are you doing?"

"I'm exploring, too.  I never had a girl of my own to explore
before, either."  He grinned at her.

"Cliff, are all men like you?  You're so big!  Of course, I have
no basis of comparison.  I guess I never looked at magazines like
_Playgirl,_ so I just don't know."  She looked at him and changed
the subject.  "Cliff, do you like a girl to go down on you? 
Isn't that what they call taking a man's sex in your mouth?"

"Do you want to?" he asked.  "You're so interested in what
Stephanie and I did, but that's not a question you ever asked. 
Do you think she ever did?"

"No, it's not.  I know the answer to that one:  The answer is no.
 But you didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I did.  I asked if you want to."

She had been watching his face carefully.  Instead of answering,
she just smiled and moved down on the bed.  His prick was
semi-flaccid, and she stroked it with her long fingers.  It
started to stiffen, and the process fascinated her.  Before it
reached its fully-engorged size, she took it in her mouth,
licking the tip first.  As she opened her mouth to get it in, she
could feel it continue to grow in size.

She maneuvered her body to try to create a line for his monstrous
cock.  As she licked and sucked, she could feel it like a piece
of iron.  Using one hand to caress his balls, the other
manipulated his cock.  He was near an orgasm.  When she could
feel him start to explode, she took it into her mouth as far as
she could and the warm spend spurted into her mouth.  Cliff could
see her breathing through her nose and swallowing as fast as she
could.  Some still squirted past her lips.

As the spurting stopped, she lifted her head and started licking
his prick.  When she had taken it all into her mouth, she moved
up beside him.  "Yum!" she said.  He bent to kiss her, but she
tried to stop him.  "I don't think you want to do that," she
said.  "I still have a mouthful of your cum."

He put his lips over hers and ran his tongue in her mouth.  "Why
did you do that?" he asked.  

"Do what?"

"Swallow it."

"I needed to.  Please don't ask me why.  I knew what was going to
happen, and I could feel you trying to pull me off.  But I wanted
to.  Do you mind?"

"Of course not, silly."

"I adore you, you know," she said matter-of-factly.  "You can't
know what it's like when you have always been on the sidelines
watching other people... and suddenly, it's happening to you! 
Cliff, I hope you're not mad at me.  I think I loved you from the
first moment I saw you.  I think, deep down, I was hoping this
would happen when we hired you.

"Cliff, I'm not part of the deal.  I need you to run Murphy.  But
dear God, I think I need your cock inside me even more!  Honey,
would you like to just scrub the whole thing and sell off Murphy?
 I have more money than we can possibly spend, and it's all
yours.  I'll give it all to you.  I just need you so badly."  She
rolled on top of him and crushed her breasts against his chest.

They spent the rest of the day becoming better acquainted with
each other's bodies on her king-sized bed.*Chapter 6*

Cliff didn't see Sandy at her desk when he got to the office
Monday morning.  He smiled to himself, figuring he had worn her
out.  He felt very tired but wonderful.  Sunday had been a
physically exhausting day.  She had been variously joyful,
impish, questing, loving, funny, romantic, and, it seemed, all
possible combinations of them.  The one thing she had never done
was take herself seriously after her first disclosures.  He had
returned to his own apartment late Sunday night.

Going into his office he found Sandy sitting with her coffee,
waiting for him.  There was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for
him on his desk.  He stopped abruptly when he saw her.  "How did
you know I would be here right now?" he asked in surprise.

"A bird at the gate told me," she answered with a warm smile. 
"Cliff, I'm worried about you.  You look worn out.  I was reading
an article last night that said girls reach their peak of
sexuality at sixteen or seventeen, while men do at nineteen.  Now
I've been saving up for nearly ten years.  You, on the other
hand, are over thirty!  Honey, are you sure I'm not too much for
you?  I would hate to see anything happen to you."  While the
tone of her voice was very serious, he could see the impish
laughter in her eyes.

Cliff rolled his eyes to the ceiling.  "As if it isn't bad enough
in a planning session, now I have to get it in the bedroom, too!
These damned kids get one thing right and it goes to their heads.
 Everybody's got to be an expert!"  He grinned at her. 
"Seriously, honey, how do you feel?  You look absolutely
fabulous.  But how in hell can you look so good with so little
sleep?"

"I feel so great, it's sinful!  Now I know why Jane reacts the
way she does when I kid her about never getting any sleep when
Steve Muller's around."

She changed the subject.  "I've got a couple of bankers coming in
today.  May I bring them by to give them the thrill of meeting
our new president?  It would really make their whole day, I'm
sure.  I'm starting to talk with our major banks as we discussed,
so I wanted to check with you to be sure we're both on the same
page.  We intend to pick a single major bank to be our primary
bank.  It will get essentially all of our business.  We're going
to combine the five or six relationships into a single one.

"Cliff, I thought I would explain the idea to each of them, spell
out what specific services we require, then leave the rest up to
them.  I'll ask them to get back to us with a specific proposal
laying out what they expect from us, and what they propose to
provide to us, most particularly including a line of credit.  How
does that sound?"

He looked at her thoughtfully and responded in his most serious
voice, "About what I would expect from the girl I love who's
going to be the mother of my children.  Speaking of which, might
that process have started yesterday?"

Her face saddened, "No, worse luck!  I heard somewhere that birth
control pills help in bust development, and I've been trying!  I
hope you noticed that the dress I wore Saturday night didn't fall
off even once!"

The phone on Cliff's desk rang, and Sandy picked it up.  "Mr.
Fitzpatrick's office, Miss Donnell speaking."  She listened for a
moment and grinned.  "He's in his office.  You may put Miss
Simpson on."

She was making excited motions, obviously relishing the telephone
one-upmanship Cliff hated.  "Just a moment, Miss Simpson.  Mr.
Fitzpatrick will take your call."

It was all Cliff could do to control his laughter.  Not only was
Sandy speaking in her haughtiest voice, but she was going the
full route, putting Stephanie on hold.

He picked up the phone and punched the line button.  Quickly he
held the phone out at arms length as Stephanie screamed into her
instrument, "Clifford Fitzpatrick, don't you _dare_ do that to me
again!  You be on the phone when I pick it up, _do you hear?"_

Cliff ignored the outburst.  "Hi, Steph.  What's on your mind so
early Monday morning?  I'm surprised you're in the office so
early."

Her voice tone suddenly changed.  Now she sounded like a little
girl.  "Cliffie, I missed you!  Didn't you miss me?  I was
thinking about keeping you warm Saturday night, but you didn't
even call.  What were you doing?"

"Steph, I'm glad you called.  I was out Saturday night with the
young lady I'm planning to marry.  Obviously, it wasn't you.  I'm
sorry to have to tell it to you this way, but I guess I don't
know an easy way to do it."  He yanked the instrument away from
his ear, prepared for the explosion to follow.  He wasn't
disappointed.  

"You _what!"_ she screamed.  "You can't do that to me!  I won't
allow it!  Daddy won't allow it!  Why that's... that's the
dumbest thing I've ever heard.  No one leaves me!  No one!  I
won't stand for it!"  They could both hear her start to cry --
and they were obviously tears of rage.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Stephanie.  I was hoping we could
remain friends."  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he said
the last words, and Sandy almost choked trying to control her
laughter.  "There's nothing more to say except goodbye.  So
goodbye."  He hung up the phone before she had a chance to
respond.

A few moments later the phone rang again.  Sandy picked it up. 
After identifying herself, she listened for a moment and then
said, "I'm sorry.  Mr. Fitzpatrick is in conference.  He is not
available to Miss Simpson.  Goodbye."

She looked at Cliff fondly.  "Am I to interpret that statement as
a proposal of marriage?  When you said you were out with the girl
you intend to marry?  If so, I accept.  These days, where
proposals are concerned, a girl has to take whatever she can
get!"

"Sandy, will you marry me?" he asked.  "My God!  I can't believe
it!  Do you realize I only met you two weeks ago today, and yet
I've never been as sure of anything in my life as I am about
wanting you to be my wife?"

She got up from the chair and went to him.  He took her in his
arms and kissed her softly.  At least it was intended to be soft.
 Their love for each other just flowed between them.  "Of course
I'll marry you, Cliff.  You have made me the happiest person
alive.  But I don't think we should make it official until after
October 1, if that's all right with you.

"I'm a little concerned about that girl, though.  She went
berserk!  Is she in any position to cause you trouble?  I mean,
can she sue you for breach of promise, or palimony orsomething?"

"Sandy, I give you my solemn word -- even though you don't need
it -- I have _never_ spoken of marriage to that girl in my life!
I think I told you that she introduced me to some of her friends
as her fiance, but I never talked marriage to her and never used
the term.  I can honestly say I thought I loved her until I met
you.  Then she just went in the tank.

"And as for you, young lady, I have some bones to pick.  First,
it was nasty to play telephone games with her.  It hurt her
feelings.  Although the way you did it was as good as I've ever
seen.  The other thing is, how did you know I didn't want to
speak to her when she called the second time?"

Sandy held her head up and spoke in the same haughty tone she had
used to Stephanie.  "I beg your pardon?  A wife is certainly
within her rights not taking calls for her husband from his
former mistress.  I mean... really!"

Sandy left for the ladies room to change into her "treasurer's
suit."

Twice during the morning she brought in bank calling officers. 
Cliff noted that one of the major Chicago banks had sent both a
senior vice president and a vice president and it was obvious
they were impressed with Sandy.  When the senior vice president
asked if he could speak with Mr. Fitzpatrick alone, Sandy and his
associate went back to her office.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick, I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am
with your new treasurer.  I understand she's new in the job, but
you certainly couldn't prove it by me.  She's as knowledgeable as
any treasurer I've ever met.  My bank intends to make a major
commitment to Murphy to get your business.  Had your former
treasurer, Mr. Purcell, still been in that position it would have
been out of the question.

"We like to think we offer superior banking services to superior
corporations.  Obviously, there are limited avenues available to
us to form such judgments, but one is the quality of the
treasurer.  If the treasurer is not handling his company's money
wisely, you can appreciate we're not very interested in giving
him some of ours to mishandle, too.  We are very impressed with
what Miss Donnell has accomplished in just a couple of weeks.

"I hope you will select us as your primary bank.  We want your
business and my colleagues and I are going to put together what
we expect to be a very attractive proposal to get it."

Cliff saw from his business card that he represented Bank of
Chicago, one of the nation's largest banks, and his name was
Thomas P. Morris.  "Mr. Morris, thank you for your very kind
comments about Miss Donnell.  With your permission, I would like
to tell her what you said.  I'm sure she will be very pleased to
receive such praise from a senior executive of a bank such as
yours.

"Beyond that, I can't make any promises.  I will say two things,
however:  First, it's clear you understand what we're looking for
in a primary banking relationship.  There are some bankers who
don't seem to understand the concept.  Second, I appreciate your
comment about preparing a very competitive proposal for us. 
Knowing your reputation, I'm sure it will be a very good one. 
I'm looking forward to seeing it, and thank you for saying what
you did."

After showing them out, Sandy changed again and came into his
office.  "Sandy, that was great!"  He told her what Morris had
said, particularly stressing the importance of the quality of the
treasurer to the bank.  "Honey, you hit a home run!  You were
brilliant!"

They were about to go down to eat when they heard a commotion out
front.  Suddenly, the door burst open.  It was Stephanie. 
"Clifford, you bastard!" she screamed. _"Who do you think you
are?_  You can't just tell me it's all over! _I_ decide when it's
over!"

Sandy started to leave, when Stephanie grabbed her by her blouse
and ripped as hard as she could.  The cotton blouse was shredded
from her body.  "I'll just bet this is the little bitch," she
sneered.

She swung on Sandy, but that was as far as it went.  Sandy
ducked, and the force of her swing caused the bigger girl to lose
her balance and fall on her face.  As she hit the floor, a
security officer ran in followed closely by two Milwaukee police
officers.  They had seen Stephanie swing at the taller girl as
they came in.

One of the police officers was a woman who took Stephanie in
hand, putting her in handcuffs with her hands cuffed behind her
back.  If anything, this enraged Stephanie even more.

The officer escorted the girl out of the office, screaming
obscenities, while her partner shook his head.  "What was that
all about?" he asked.

Sandy was standing wearing only her bra and shreds of her blouse.
 It didn't appear to bother her in the slightest.  "Officer, that
was Mr. Fitzpatrick's former girl friend.  She's from Chicago. 
This morning she called Mr. Fitzpatrick who told her their...
relationship... was at an end.  Clearly, she's not used to taking
no for an answer.

"She appeared a few moments ago, stormed into the office
screaming at Mr. Fitzpatrick and then swung at me.  I think you
saw her try to hit me as you arrived.  One thing you should know,
officer, for your own protection:  She's the daughter of the
chairman of Ajax Industries.  I wish to press charges for assault
and battery and anything else I can cool her off with.  I am
Sandra Donnell, by the way.  I am Mr. Fitzpatrick's assistant and
treasurer of the company."

"Miss Donnell, how long have you known the other woman?  What's
her name, by the way?"

"This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on her!  I'm not sure
if I've ever spoken to her.  Wait!  I spoke about five words to
her on the phone this morning.  I think that's all.  Her name is
Stephanie Simpson."

The officer took down the information and took statements from
other people in the office.  Sandy left, changed clothes and
returned to Cliff's office.

He looked concerned.  "Sandy, I'm sorry about that.  It was
totally uncalled for.  And I just sat there like a lump while she
swung at you.  Are you okay?"

She smiled and said, "I'm fine, except she owes me a new blouse.
Good heavens!  I just realized I was standing there with just my
bra and some shreds of blouse.  What will people think!?"

"Several things," he said, seeming to be thoughtful.  "First,
don't mess with you... you're too quick.  Second, you have a
beautiful body.  But anyone with eyes knew that, too.  Third,
they would see more of you in a bathing suit.  Okay?

"What do you think we should do now?  About Stephanie, I mean. 
Are you going to prosecute?  I think you should, and I think we
should ask for a peace bond from her.  It keeps her away from
us."

"I guess I will prosecute," Sandy said.  "I'm curious about one
thing, though.  How many guys has she gone through, do you
suppose?"

Cliff was startled by the question.  "I don't have a clue," he
finally answered, "but why do you ask?"

"Darling, there's one thing about that girl that worries me.  I
think she always got whatever she wanted.  Always!  Today she
really went berserk.  I've never seen anyone so totally out of
control.  You may have been the first person ever to tell her to
buzz off."

Then she smiled, "With me it's different.  I've been told to buzz
off, drop dead, go play with someone else, make way for a _real_
woman, etc., etc., more times than I can count.  Maybe that's why
I am the way I am with you.  I love you so damned much I'll do
anything to keep you.  I think you're making a big mistake, but
I'm working as hard as I can to keep you from opening youreyes."

He realized she was deadly serious.  He was awed.  She was such a
wonderful person, yet she refused to believe it.  He decided he
was one of the luckiest guys in the world.  "And you're doing a
good job.  If you keep it up, my eyes will never open.  Whenever
I'm away from you, I'll be sound asleep.  Wench, you are
insatiable!"

"Can I change the subject?" Sandy asked.  "What about the
sessions with the stores?  We're supposed to start that on
Wednesday.  Incidentally, you've got a rare treat in store. 
You'll meet JL Wilson.  He's from Charlotte, and is really one of
the good ol' boys.

"The best way I can describe him is to say John Flood hated his
guts, and JL didn't like Flood nearly that much.  Incidentally,
he really is a true Southern boy.  His name is 'J' 'L'.  If he
were in the service, it would be written in quotes.  It's 'J' for
nothing and 'L' for nothing.  There's a lesson here, someplace. 
He started work for my uncle... or my father, I guess.  JL is a
guy with intense personal loyalties.  Whenever I see him, which
isn't very often, I am reminded that his ancestors -- commonly
referred to as poor white trash -- were the backbone of the
Confederate army.  If you are their friend, they can't ever do
enough for you.  On the other hand, don't _ever_ cross 'em.  They
can be implacable enemies.

"Incidentally, I hear that some of the accountants are getting
very upset about the analysis being done on the rings and valves.
 They're about to cry at the thought of losing revenue.  I hear
the numbers are pretty devastating, though.  Do you want me to do
anything?"

"Yes, I do," he replied, "but not about that.  I think I'm going
to make use of your young legs, starting on Wednesday.  We old
men -- you said earlier today I was over the hill -- have to get
our rest.  Seriously, Sandy, I've never seen anyone do a better
job than you did last week leading the discussion on strategy. 
Would you work with me and help run the sessions?"

"You are serious, aren't you?  I would love to, Cliff, but I
can't.  I don't know a thing about it!"

"Young lady, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a girl
who's always fishing for compliments!  Your figure couldn't be
more perfect, but you keep saying it's ugly and inadequate.  Now,
after costing me a small fortune for a dinner and an
ex-girlfriend, you try to act like you're incapable of doing it.
Sandra Donnell, you are the best damned natural-born leader I've
ever met.  That's the end of the compliments for at least the
next hour, or until I want a kiss, whichever comes first."

He grinned at her, and she came over, took his face in her hands
and kissed him.  He smiled at her and continued, "That's what
gives women in business a bad name.  Just when you make a great
point, they come up, sexually assault you, melt you down to warm
mush, and then walk away.

"No, damn it, I wasn't kidding!  I'm using you, so you'd better
be well rested.  You're going to be on those little feet for
quite awhile, beginning Wednesday morning!  Hear?"

* * *

On Wednesday morning, they were back in the same hotel room. 
Cliff thought wryly they were also back to the same cold cuts for
lunch.  Many of the participants were the same, but there was a
new group representing the Stores Division.  Cliff began with the
same introduction.  Then he turned the session over to Sandy who
began with a matrix of competitors by region of the country. 
Cliff admired the way she handled herself and handled the group.
It was a replay of the previous week.  But because she knew the
people, she was much better than he was at inducing participation
from the people in the room.

A bleak picture quickly emerged.  JL Wilson and his boys in the
Southeast were doing a fine job.  The rest of the country was
break-even or worse.  The company had been dealing with the
stores as if they were a single entity, and it was obvious they
were not.  The competitive situation was dramatically different
from region to region.  The Southeast -- roughly starting at
North Carolina, then swinging southwest through South Carolina,
Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, and west through Tennessee --
seemed to be the only part of the country in which Murphy had a
viable retail presence.

The problems in the rest of the country appeared to be either or
both of two types.  Either there were a significant number of
stores -- the Northeast, for example -- but not nearly as many as
better positioned competitors, or isolated stores that couldn't
be supported well from the warehouse or with affordable
local-market advertising.

Cliff addressed the situation.  "Business strategy is closely
allied to military strategy.  I think what we're seeing here is
an armored division that's been broken up into little pieces and
scattered along a very wide battle line.  We have a lot of
troops, but they're so spread out they can't be effective.  In
fact, in all too many of the areas we're terribly exposed.  We
have isolated outposts.  At each, there are nowhere near enough
troops to attack, and not even enough to adequately defend.  We
just sit in place and hope the other guys leave us alone.  If
they don't -- if competition in any of these markets intensifies
-- we're in trouble.  Worse yet, in looking at these market areas
I see a number of them where there are two or three much more
important players who look like they're about to disrupt the
status quo.

"We're getting ahead of our story, but it seems we are
competitively weak in most of the markets.  Moreover, there are
several in which a couple of competitors have been rated Strong.
Many of you were here last week for the discussion of competitive
position.  For those of you who weren't, a Strong position is one
in which two or more competitors have a sort of shared dominance.
 You remember the worst possible position to be in is to be Weak
when there are Strong competitors.

"There are people who would have you believe that when the big
guys start to fight, the little guys just stand aside and watch.
Unfortunately, the world doesn't work that way.  When the
elephants start to fight, some mice accidentally get trampled. 
And I mean accidentally.  The big guys are going after each
other, not the little guys.  Unfortunately, the activities they
initiate to take business from the other big guy generally
results in killing us first.  It has happened in the last few
years in both the beer and coffee businesses.  What about it
folks?  What do you think we should do?"

Steve Muller spoke.  "If I understand all this, what we have to
do is concentrate our efforts.  To follow your analogy, we've got
a bunch of little outposts that are too weak to support us, and
too far out for us to support them.  We have to bring them in so
we can get some market impact somewhere.  It seems pretty clear
to me."

Cliff saw Jane, Sandy, Bill, and a few others nod agreement.

Jeff Stover, the company controller, spoke up.  "Wait a minute!"
he said.  "If I understand what you're proposing to do, you're
going to chop off nearly half our sales and a good chunk of our
profit.  We lose a lot more in sales than we do in profit, of
course, but we're still going to lose a good deal.  Cliff, we
can't afford it!"

"Thanks, Jeff.  You have just raised a very interesting point. 
Do you have the store financials with you, by any chance?" 
Stover said he did.  "Okay, let's take a look at the Western
Region.  Steve says it's a good area to sell off."

Then Cliff used a flip-chart sheet to construct a simplified
profit & loss statement.  He recorded data for the preceding
year, starting with sales.  He then subtracted cost of goods and
store operating expenses to get an operating profit number.  From
this he subtracted a series of below-the-line costs including
transportation, advertising, and general & administrative
expenses.  The final line, profit, was a positive number.

"See, Cliff," Stover said, "it's not a lot of money, but it's
certainly something.  Why should we give it up?  I'll concede
we're not in good shape out there if someone comes after us, but
they're not doing it now.  Why don't we just leave it alone and
keep our fingers crossed?"

"You make good points, Jeff.  But let's take a look at these
numbers, particularly the ones below the line.  First, let's
recognize we're talking allocations, not hard numbers.  It's not
a criticism, it's reality.  To the Board and the shareholders it
ultimately makes no difference.  The costs are real and they're
charged against revenue.  But in planning, it _does_ make a
difference.  The total may be accurate -- and I'm sure it is --
but the assignment to divisions can be wrong.  Let's look at
transportation, Jeff.  How is it assigned?"

"We take our total transportation bill and prorate it against
sales.  How else could we do it?  We can't take every stinking
bill of lading and assign it to a region.  It would take forever,
and would cost more to do than the money we're allocating!"

"Okay, good answer... and good logic.  But let's look closer.  Is
transportation really a function of sales?  Or is it a function
of distance and volume?  I'll bet you, Jeff that we get hit two
ways out to the West Coast.  First, the distances from Milwaukee
are enormous.  That's got to cost a ton!  Second, we're small out
there, so I'm sure most, if not all, of our shipments are
Less-Than-Truckload.  I haven't looked in a while, but LTL is far
more expensive per unit of shipping weight than truckload, isn't
it?"

Stover nodded slowly, "Yes, sir, it sure is."

"So our transportation allocation to the Western Region is lower
than it should be, so someone else is paying too much.  I
suspect, Jeff, it's the South.  Distances are shorter, and volume
is much larger.  We're more likely to be able to ship full
truckloads.  Right?"

"Yes, sir, that's right, too."

"Okay, let's take a look at general and administrative -- G&A
charges.  Are they assigned by sales, also?"  Stover said they
were.  "Here we go again.  First, it includes store supervision.
Steve, you just got back from Spokane.  What were your travel
expenses for the trip running?"

Steve grinned and rolled his eyes.  "Sir, we've got a nasty new
treasurer.  If I owned a house, I would be thinking about taking
out a second mortgage to cover this month's American Express
bill!  We think distances are pretty good here in the Midwest,
but they're nothing like what you get out there!  Take a look at
Salt Lake City on a map sometime.  That's _nowhere._  The nearest
city to the east is Denver, and that's nearly 400 miles in a
straight line.  Only you've got to get across the Rocky Mountains
that stand in between!  Cliff, I didn't figure out my travel cost
on a per-store-visited basis, but I could.  The number I would
come up with would make Sandy's hair turn white!"

"Jeff," Cliff continued, "you see the point.  We're allocating on
sales, but expenses aren't incurred that way.  Moreover, because
of the problems in the Western Division, I'll bet it gets a far
higher proportion of management visits than it's proportion of
our Store Division sales.  Right?"  Again heads nodded.

"Guys, I don't want to sound like I'm picking on Jeff and his
people.  As he said earlier, the costs are real and they have to
be assigned somewhere.  The way he's doing it is reasonable. 
However, it can produce some pretty poor management decisions. 
Now, Jeff, what do you think about the profits in the Western
Region?  How much do you think we're going to lose?"

Stover smiled and raised both hands in a sign of surrender.  "I
give up.  The profit number is so small to start with that any
swing on the expense allocations we've been talking about would
cause it to disappear and turn into red ink.  I can also see that
we've been systematically understating Southern Region profits. 
What do you want us to do now?"

"Jeff, I would appreciate it if you could have one of your guys
take a crack at last year's numbers in light of the discussion
we've just had.  Let's see if we can come up with some better
numbers in time for the next session.  And I mean approximations.
 I certainly agree with your earlier comments:  I don't want your
people going over every bill of lading and expense account. 
Okay?"

The group broke for lunch, and Cliff took the opportunity to talk
with Sandy.  "I'm going to take advantage of your good nature,"
he said with a smile.  "I want you to lead a discussion of
warehousing.  Since there's going to be a lot of shooting, I
would rather they shoot at you.  Besides, if worse comes to worse
and they take it out on us, they're less likely to shoot a
woman."

"Golly," she said with a grin.  "I can hardly wait!  Are you
prepared to notify my next of kin?  Although, come to think of
it, I don't have any!"  Her eyes warmed suddenly, "I may get my
revenge, Clifford Fitzpatrick.  You're my heir, as of Saturday. 
I finally wrote a will, so if anything happens to me, this whole
mess gets dumped in your lap... permanently.  Then won't you be
sorry?"

Cliff sat in the back of the room as Sandy led the warehousing
discussion.  As he suspected, it emerged there was a sort of
staff mentality present at headquarters.  Essentially, there was
an unexamined belief that people in the field couldn't find their
way to the bathroom unless there was a staff memorandum on the
subject.  By the time she had finished, there wasn't a single
good reason left for centralizing purchasing and distribution in
Milwaukee and dozens of reasons for moving the activities to the
field.  Without asking Cliff, Sandy moved ahead to what became a
rather funny discussion of computerizing point-of-sale
activities.

One of Kevin O'Rourke's people, Jamie Carothers, responsible for
data processing in the Stores Division, said it was unaffordable.
 Sandy, drawing on her knowledge of new personal computers and
off-the-shelf software, didn't understand why.  Jamie
acknowledged that the software existed, but that wasn't the
problem.  The problem was the cost of telephone line charges.

"Line charges?" Sandy asked.  "What line charges?"

"The line charges to link all the point-of-sale computers to the
mainframe in Milwaukee," Jamie replied.

"Why do they need to be linked?"

"How else can we know how much they're selling, and of what?" he
answered.

"Jamie, I think we just agreed central warehousing doesn't make
sense.  Even if it did, why do we need a minute-by-minute report
of sales?  What would we do with it?"

"Well!" he began.  "It permits us to... to... monitor..."  He
grinned.  "I'm sorry, Sandy, it must be that staff mentality you
referred to.  As a matter of fact, if we were updated once a day
in the middle of the night, we'd be far better off than we are
now.  Frankly, I'm not sure we need to know here in Milwaukee
more often than once a week, if even that often."  Everyone
laughed when he added, "Where do I get one of those Kick Me signs
to hang on my back?  I'm sorry!"

Sandy led the meeting on to a discussion of strategy.  Sandy
said, "It looks like the strategy is pretty simple.  We're
closing out all the regions except the South.  I guess that's
Market Rationalization.  Distribution Rationalization covers the
new Southern warehouse idea.  Finally, we have Methods and
Functions Efficiency covering the new point-of-sale computers. 
It looks to me like we've got a lot to do before the next
session.  Anyone have anything else?  No?  We're adjourned."

That evening, after another one of Sandy's lovely dinners, Cliff
massaged her feet and legs while she lay face down on the bed.  A
short time later, she awakened as he reached more interesting
places.  Again that night they didn't get much sleep.*Chapter7*

Three weeks later, the second session of the rings and valves
meeting was convened.  In the meantime, copies of all the notes
from the first session had been circulated to the participants. 
Cliff presided as they reviewed the notes page by page.  When
they reached the basis of competition, no one had more than minor
word changes.  Additional material on Murphy and its position in
the business was added to the notes based on work done by
participants between the two sessions.

Then, after lunch, they turned their attention to strategy. 
Cliff said, "Now the fun begins.  I always find this part
amusing.  For some reason, it's seldom very hard to select an
appropriate strategy.  The problem arises when it comes time to
look at the ramifications of it.  For some reason we often
encounter problems right here.  Keep in mind, strategy is like a
spear.  It can be thrown in any direction: 360 degrees on a
circle.  Pick _one!_

"The strategy is our direction.  It tells us where we're going,
and, by elimination, where we're _not_ going.  Before we finish
this session, I want agreement from you, or at least
understanding -- some of you may not agree -- on where we're not
going.  If we decide to eliminate products from our line, they're
gone -- they're history.  Everyone understand?

"Okay.  Specifically, we agreed last time that a major element of
our strategy is Product Rationalization.  We talked about cutting
our product line by up to 95 percent in terms of number of items.
 Let's see what we've come up with since the last session."

Bill Stevens and his operations people, Jeff Stover and his
accounting people, and Steve Muller and his marketing and sales
people had all done analyses.  The groups went at it hot and
heavy.  Stevens and the manufacturing people gave the impression
they wanted to make a single piston ring and a single valve, thus
maximizing economies of scale.  Muller and his people had
reluctantly given up about 60 percent of the items.  Cliff knew
Steve had faced down a near-mutiny to get his guys to agree to
those cuts, while to the accounting people, every item, no matter
how small a seller, generated _some_ revenue.

At the afternoon break, he took Sandy aside.  She came up to him
and formed her lips into a kiss while her back was to the rest of
the group.  "My God, honey!" she whispered, "Is it always this
tough?  This is brutal!  There are guys here who are saying, in
effect, that the company is out of business if we give up one
stinking ring... even if we've only sold one set in the last year
and a half!"

"Sweetheart, this is easy!  Honest.  Every guy in the room really
accepts the fact we have to cut the line -- even the accountants,
for chrissakes.  What you're seeing is an incredibly healthy
process at work.  I guess we have done a pretty good job --
particularly you!  No one is hanging back or acting like this is
a sterile exercise.  They know it's not.  These guys are fighting
for their customers -- for what they believe in.  There's not a
single person in the room who's not involved -- most particularly
your ex-roommate, fighting for some of her former small
customers.  It may seem like a war, but let me tell you, when we
get finished, we can be confident we didn't throw anything away
by accident.

"What you're seeing is a very basic difference between the
process we're using and a more straightforward consulting
assignment.  The guys at Cumings are smart as hell.  They really
are.  The problem is they can meet a guy who doesn't know all the
fancy B-school buzzwords, but who really has a good point to
make.  Since he doesn't present it the way they would have in
business school, the consultants dismiss it.  That's how big
mistakes are made.

"We're not going to make those mistakes.  Not only are the guys
all talking, people are listening.  It may sound weird, but I'm
relaxed.  I don't think we're going to drop an important product
by accident.  Now it doesn't mean we'll necessarily come up with
all the right answers.  But it does mean we'll have made the
decision after hearing all the relevant information.  On this
basis, we can't be too wrong."

He smiled warmly at her.  "And as a reward for doing such a fine
job -- and as a punishment for not letting me watch you skin Jane
alive -- you get to play lion-tamer for the rest of the day! 
Aren't you lucky?"

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, Jane was right!  You are a sadist!" she
said with a grin.  "At least the lion-tamer has a whip, a chair,
and a gun!  All you let me have is this dumb felt-tip marker! 
There's one thing, though.  You have to promise to pick up all
the pieces of me before you go home tonight.  Promise?  Maybe you
can glue most of them back together."

Sandy called the session back to order, and continued the
process.  As Cliff had known it would, things got worse.  The
first cuts were relatively easy -- there really wasn't any reason
for continuing the product.  But as the afternoon wore on it got
progressively tougher.  The products being discussed _did_
generate some sales.  So the fight turned on whether they paid
for their house room.  Cliff finally called a halt to the meeting
at six-thirty.

When the last participant left, Sandy fell into his arms.  "Don't
forget your promise.  There are pieces of me in every corner of
this room, Cliff.  I know what you got paid at Cumings and you
earned every penny!  That was grueling!"

He kissed her softly on the mouth and said, "And you were
brilliant, as usual.  But did you see what I meant when we talked
at the break?  Those people are _engaged!_  It isn't an academic
exercise, it's their livelihood.  They're fighting for it, and I
think everyone will benefit.

"Sweetheart, I would offer to cook dinner tonight," Cliff said
with a small smile, "but after what you've been through, I'm not
sure you're in condition to handle my poison.  How about going
out?  Better yet, why not eat here at the hotel?  I have it on
good authority they _do_ have something on the menu besides cold
cuts.  What do you say?"

She smiled at him, and went limp in his arms.  She was relying on
his reflexes to catch her and he did.  When she lifted her face,
he kissed her softly.  "Honey," she said, "if you intend to make
love to me tonight, you're going to be doing all the work!  Let's
eat!"

They went down to the main dining room where they were recognized
by the maitre d'hotel as regular patrons of the hotel.  Cliff
asked for a quiet banquette table, and they were quickly seated
with Cliff sitting next to Sandy rather than across from her. 
Again, she let her body go limp and sagged against him.

She lifted her face, and he gave her a quick kiss.  "Now I know
when the honeymoon is over.  It's when your husband lets you fall
on the floor in a restaurant!"

A waiter came over and they ordered cocktails.  Cliff was
surprised when Sandy ordered an extra-dry Beefeater martini on
the rocks.

He ordered one, too, and looked at her.  "Sandra Donnell, what
_are_ you doing?  You never order a martini.  I thought you were
the beer and wine girl."

"Clifford Fitzpatrick, I am going to the dogs... or the cats...
or something!  Besides, they haven't killed you... yet!"  She
daintily stuck out her tongue at him.

The drinks came, and after Sandy had a tiny sip she made a little
face.  "Cliff, it tastes like... like...  I don't know what it
tastes like, but it's strong!"

"You're right, it is.  But why did you order it?  Seriously,
sweetheart, you look like you're exhausted.  Are you?"

Just then a small band began playing and she visibly perked up. 
She got up from the table, held out her arms, and said, "Off your
ass.  We're dancing."

"I thought you were so tired, you couldn't even stand up," he
protested.  "How can you possibly dance?"

"It's different," she said.

He got to his feet and followed her out to the dance floor.  As
she turned and came into his arms, he noticed she was wearing
sneakers.  Without heels the top of her head barely reached his
cheek.  In spite of the sneakers, he still had the impression of
holding a feather.  She raised her face, and he kissed her softly
on the lips.  

"Cliff, you can't believe how good this makes me feel.  I love
you so much.  When I'm in your arms like this, it's almost like
you've been giving me a massage.  I'm really not tired anymore."

When the music stopped they returned to their table, and Cliff
returned the conversation to the session they had just been
through.  "What did you think of the results?  It's your company,
but you were totally dispassionate this afternoon.  I'm very
serious when I say I couldn't have done what you did.  That's
your money they were talking about."

"Cliff, I think we're on the right track.  But what are the
risks?  It can't be quite this easy."

"Very good question.  Tomorrow, we'll take a look at a risk
analysis.  We use risk as a measure of uncertainty, rather than
in some more abstract form.  Frankly, I see the greatest
uncertainty relating to our timing.  We'll be taking a big risk.
Right now, our reputation for quality is not good.  What we
propose to do is sharply cut the number of products, upgrade our
production facilities -- we haven't talked about that yet, nor
about inspections -- and produce a much higher-quality product.

"The problem is that for a short space of time we're very
exposed.  We will have cut out the rinky-dink products that only
we sell, but will not yet have reestablished a quality reputation
with our major customers.  Until we reestablish a quality
reputation, we are highly vulnerable.

"Sandy, we could be in tough shape if something happens while
that window is open.  We'll be walking away from some revenue in
hopes of getting a lot more later.  But there has got to be a
'later'.  Worst case, we're in big trouble.  I can't minimize it.
 What do you think?  It's your company,"

"No, Cliff.  It's _our_ company.  I want to do what's right, and
I'm convinced we're on the right track.  Let's go for it!  Honey,
believe me.  I _do_ understand the risks.  I'm thinking about the
guys and gals in the plant who are counting on us.  I want to do
what's best for the company because it's what's best for them. 
Does that make any sense?"

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.  "Have I told
you how much I love you in the last five minutes or so?  Sandy,
you are absolutely the best thing that's happened to me in my
entire life.  Okay, let's go for it!"

He stuck out his hand, and she gripped it with hers.

"We're going for it!  Can I have another martini, now?  You have
to promise to carry me home, okay?  If you do, you can have
complete access to my body, such as it is, as a reward."

"Sandra Donnell, when are you going to quit knocking that
exquisite body of yours?  Do you really want me to list all your
bodily assets?"

She rapidly nodded her head with a big grin on her face, so he
did.

* * *

The next morning Cliff presided.  They were at the point in their
rationalization discussion where real pain was being inflicted. 
Tempers were still frayed from the day before so there was little
safety margin left.  At one point, Jane Miller jumped up and
said, "I don't give a damn what the volume on 4606 is! 
Willoughby Motors has got to have it!  It's the only ring that
fits their engine.  We have an obligation!"

Cliff stepped into the discussion.  "Jane, I have a question. 
How much is Willoughby paying for those rings?  And where did the
price come from?"

Jane looked in her book and answered the question.  It was about
the same price Magna was paying and Cliff pointed this out.  "But
Cliff, it's almost the same ring Magna's buying.  The steel is
the same, the weight's about the same, so the price should be the
same."

"Why should it be, Jane?  How about the cost to us of setting up
for a short run?  Jane, have you ever asked Willoughby about
taking a price increase?  I'll make a deal with you:  Get them on
the phone right now and explain what we're doing.  Tell them it's
not a choice between cheap rings and expensive rings.  It is
expensive rings or no rings from us.  Do you want to give it a
shot?"

The group continued the battle on other items while Jane made her
call.  Fifteen minutes later she returned to the room.  Instead
of retaking her seat she went up to the front where Cliff was
standing.  Jane had a comedienne's natural sense of timing.  "Mr.
Fitzpatrick, would you please give me a swift kick, right here. 
Please?"

She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, and was bent over pointing
to her rear.  The group in the room howled with laughter.  Aside
from anything else, Cliff realized she had discharged the tension
that had reached dangerous levels.  He wound up to give her a big
spank, but didn't touch her, stopping his hand a fraction of an
inch from her pants.

"I'm sorry, Jane.  I can't.  Steve is bigger than I am and he
might object.  What did the people at Willoughby say?"

"That's the point, Cliff.  They just said, 'How much?'.  I
_tripled_ the price but told them our quality assurance would be
far better.  You know what they said?  They said the cost of our
rings is so small, they can't even find it in the cost of one of
their engines.  Then they asked if we might be interested in
their valve business, too.  Is that what you expected?"

"Let's say I'm not as surprised as you are.  Folks," he said,
addressing himself to the entire group, "there's a lesson here
for all of us.  Instead of thinking go-no go, we should put price
into the equation.  Let's face it:  We may be losing money on a
product now, but could still make good money if we got a steep
price increase.

"I'll be honest.  Jane should have kicked _me._  I just
remembered an experience I had a few years ago with a
manufacturer of very high-quality stereo speakers.  They had one
speaker model, the top of their line, that was a technological
marvel, and that sold for about $1,500 a pair.  They sold in very
limited quantities to real audiophiles.  The problem was the
company was losing its shirt even at that price, so they decided
to drop it.

"On word of discontinuation, orders came pouring in, along with
letters of complaint from many of its best dealers.  So they kept
it in the line... for a while.  They tried to discontinue it a
year later and got the same reaction.  That was when I came in. 
I suggested a price increase and was told it was impossible.  The
speaker was already one of the highest-priced units on the
market.  I pointed out that they received files full of complaint
letters each time they went to discontinue it and no one had ever
mentioned price.  Besides, they wanted to kill the product
anyway, so what difference did it make if the orders just dried
up?

"As far as I know, they're still making the speaker.  The last I
heard the price was up to $6,000 a pair.  They don't sell quite
as many as they did, although unit sales didn't fall by very
much.  However, now they're minting money on the deal.

"This is basically what Jane did with her rings.  Now, are there
any products we canned earlier we might want to try a major price
move on?  Actually, it's a good tactic.  We're not pulling the
plug on a customer who needs a particular ring.  It's still
available if he wants to pay the price.  What about it?"

The rest of the product discussion went smoothly.  The tension
had been relieved and the alternative of a price increase
satisfied the remaining concerns.

The discussion moved to product quality and the production line.
Bill Stevens and his people had worked out new line arrangements
to streamline work flow but had encountered another problem. 
"Cliff, I don't like to be the bearer of more bad news, but I
have no choice.  We're going to have to spend big money on our
machines.

"Of ten major production units, there are two that cannot produce
product to specified tolerances.  They've gone so long without
major maintenance, they just can't do the job.  I can't tell you
yet whether we're looking at scrapping them or if they can be
overhauled.  Then there are three others that are marginal at
best.  The other five need work, too, but can still produce
reliable product.  I'm sorry.

"The problem is deferred maintenance, and its impact is not well
understood.  Let's say a machine needs maintenance at a cost of
about 10 percent of its value each year.  If no maintenance is
done for three years, it doesn't cost 30 percent of the value to
catch up, it's much more.  The reason is the wear and tear
compounds.  In my illustration, you might be looking at a
third-year cost of 50 percent or more.

"Cliff, we haven't been doing the maintenance we should have, and
it's caught up with us.  It's just that simple.  I'm sorry."

"I am, too, Bill," Cliff responded, "but I can't say I'm terribly
surprised.  It's worse than I thought, but not by a lot.  It
seems that our product rationalization program may provide us
with some breathing space because of reduced sales volume.  What
we need to do is set up a program to get these machines back up
-- at least eight of them, anyway.  How long will it take to get
a fix on the problem?"

"There's a guy due in tomorrow from the machine manufacturer
who's going to look them all over.  What I would like to do is
get started immediately on the five operating units.  Take one
out, get it fully up to spec, then move to the next.  Meanwhile,
we'll be getting a look at the others."

"Okay, Bill.  That sounds good.  Now, about quality.  Clearly, we
can't produce products better than our machines can turn out. 
However, we can sure turn out products a lot worse than they are
capable of making."  He changed his tack.  "Bill, it seems to me
we have far too many inspectors.  What's the story?"

"The previous management thought they could inspect their way to
quality," Bill replied.  "Every time we got a quality complaint,
the reaction was to do more checking.  I think everything we
produce is inspected at least twice, and some more than that. 
Frankly, it's never made much sense to me."

"Me, either," Cliff said.  "I want to go to on-the-line quality
control.  As my Japanese friend said, let's do it right the first
time.  Then we can couple that with statistical quality assurance
and get a better-quality product.  Right now, it seems we have
the worst of both worlds.  Our materials utilization and scrap
rates are ridiculously high.  Sales allowances resulting from
poor quality are eating us up.  And to top it all off, the labor
cost of multiple inspections kills us.  Outside of that, we're in
great shape.  Anyone have any thoughts?"

"I don't understand," Jeff Stover said.  "How can we cut the cost
of quality control and improve quality?  It just doesn't make any
sense."

"Spoken like a good accountant, Jeff," Cliff replied.  "And I'm
teasing you, really.  I understand your question perfectly.  It
appears to make no sense to cut quality assurance costs and yet
at the same time expect to get a higher level of quality, because
in accounting there's an underlying assumption you get what you
pay for -- no more and no less.  But it doesn't always work that
way, particularly where people are concerned.

"There was a situation in an insurance company where twenty-four
people in succession each checked a particular piece of paper. 
After all twenty-four checks, believe it or not, over 96 percent
of the policies were wrong in some material respect because the
paper was wrong.  We changed the system to have only the first
person checking.  She was told if it was wrong leaving her desk,
it would stay wrong.  The error rate dropped below 1 percent.

"Why?  Simple.  When checking was the job of twenty-four people
in a row, it was no one's job.  The first people weren't careful
because they knew there were fifteen or more people who would
pick up anything they missed.  On the other hand, the people at
the end of the line didn't check, because they couldn't believe
there could be any errors after fifteen or more people had
already checked.

"What I propose to do is make each production worker responsible
for his or her own quality assurance, backed up, as I said, with
statistically-based sampling.  It works for the Japanese, using
American-developed systems we couldn't be bothered using
ourselves.  Can we make it work for us here?  The one problem I
see is with the workers.

"Bill, you understand what I'm talking about, don't you?"  Bill
said he did, and smiled.  "Do you think you can lay out a plan? 
I'll particularly need to know the impact of the changes we're
talking about on our manning levels.  How long will that take?"

"I have a couple of guys working on it right now," Bill replied.
"I hope to have some answers by the middle of next week.  One
thing I am sure of, Cliff.  We're looking at serious money."

"Okay, guys," Cliff said, "last question:  What are we going to
do with all the junk lying around.  The junk I'm referring to is
ostensibly finished product in crates all over the factory floor.
 Jeff, I have a question for you.  Have our auditors ever
questioned the salability and hence the asset valuation of our
inventory?"

"Last year one of the juniors on the audit did," Stover said
sheepishly.  "I guess I overawed him by asking him what he knew
about valves or piston rings.  I had my fingers crossed, because
if he'd opened one of the crates, it would have been all over! 
We've checked a few boxes, Cliff.  Every one we checked was
heavily rusted.  I don't think it's usable.  What do you think,
Bill?"

"I think you have it about right.  Let me put it this way:  I
wouldn't put one of those rings in my lawn mower let alone in my
car, but there's a lot of money involved.  Sandy, what does
treasury think?"

Sandy smiled at Bill and said, "Treasury is wondering what the
value of that stuff is as scrap steel?  And will the buyer get it
out of our plant without us having to pay for trucking?  As far
as treasury is concerned, it's worth its weight as scrap metal."

"Okay, folks," Cliff said.  "It looks like it's going for scrap,
unless, of course, any of the guys in the plant want a
paperweight or rings for a lawn mower engine.  Does anyone
object?  Okay.  Bill, do you have any idea of the scrap value? 
Sandy's question is a good one.  I certainly don't want to spend
a fortune to get rid of the stuff."

"I think it's actually worth money.  It's very high-grade steel.
Do you want me to check around?" Bill replied.

"I sure do.  Guys, I think we're off and running.  Bill, let me
know about the manning levels and the repair costs on the
machines as soon as possible.  Now let's all go home.  I think
we've done enough damage for one day."

When the people had all left, he looked at Sandy and let his
knees fold.  "Whew!  Survived another one.  Can I buy you a drink
downstairs?"

"Yea!  I was afraid you'd never ask.  Incidentally, Cliff, what
are the stages of becoming an alcoholic?  I'm going to the dogs.
I decided I like martinis.  Can I have another?"

They went down to the cocktail lounge and found Steve and Jane at
a table.  Steve waved them over to join them.  When they were
seated Cliff took the opportunity to speak to Jane.  "I didn't
have a chance before, but thanks for the comic relief today.  It
really helped a lot."

Jane looked at him intently, "You're really serious, aren't you?
You're not teasing me.  But thanks for what?"

"Jane, I suspect you didn't even think about what you were doing.
 You _do_ have natural comedy talent, you know?  You really do. 
Things were getting very tense today.  People were still strung
out from yesterday, and the decisions were getting tougher.  When
you bent over and pointed plaintively at your rear end, the
tension just evaporated in laughter.  Didn't you notice it?"

"I sure did!" Steve interjected.  "But I'm not sure I appreciate
the future mother of my children as a comedienne, though."

Jane wheeled on Steve.  "Thanks a hell of a lot!  Sandy, let this
be a lesson to you.  I think I just moved from being his mistress
to being his concubine.  I'm not sure in which direction.  If I
remember correctly, the difference between the two is a concubine
is expected to produce children.  Thanks a lot, Mr. Muller.  I'll
send you a letter when -- and if -- I'm ever speaking to you
again!"

"Cliff," Steve said plaintively, "Do you ever get the feeling men
can't win?  Can't win, hell!  We can't even score a point.  Here
I was trying to propose matrimony -- in the nicest way I can
think of, I might add -- and I'm accused of insulting her. 
There's just no justice!"

"Sandy," Jane said, "do you have a pad or something to take a
memo for me?"

Sandy, having an idea of what was coming, took a tiny pad from
her purse along with a pencil.  She set the pad on her leg as if
it were her steno pad, poised her pencil in the most approved
secretarial-school manner and said, "Of course, Miss Miller."

The men sat watching the two girls with amusement.  Cliff decided
that Sandy, too, had great comedy instincts.

"To: Vice President - Marketing," Jane began.  "From: Key
Accounts Manager.  Subject: Matrimony.  Paragraph.  It has come
to my attention that an insulting remark you made earlier was
intended to be a backhanded proposal of marriage.  Period.  I do
not accept backhanded proposals.  Period.  Paragraph.  However,
to facilitate communications, this is to advise you that I am
again speaking to you.  Period.  Sandy, I'll even sign it
personally."  While she was pretending to take the memo, Sandy
was struggling to maintain a straight face.  She was suppressing
giggles at the end.

Steve looked at Cliff and shrugged.  "Jane, since you're speaking
to me again, may I take advantage of this narrow window of
opportunity to ask you to marry me?  Please?"

Jane looked at Steve intently.  "I'll have to think about that a
bit.  You're a terrible cook.  I think that's deliberate, though,
just so you don't have to do it.  On the other hand, you're
reasonably good at washing dishes.  You're not too messy.  And
you're great in bed."  She looked at him thoughtfully for a few
moments.  "Okay, I'll marry you."

Then Steve took her in his arms, and Sandy and Cliff watched as
they kissed long and passionately.

When they moved apart, Jane's eyes were swimming.  "Wow!  Steve
Muller, there's one problem.  How's it going to sound for me to
be Jane Miller-Muller -- it sounds like a spaghetti company, for
chrissakes.  So that's out.  I'll have to be just plain Jane
Muller.  And I had my heart set on a hyphenated last name! 
Sandy, do you think they'll throw me out of National Organization
for Women?"

The two girls grinned at each other while Steve felt for
something inside his jacket pocket.  Cliff had an idea what was
coming, and called over the cocktail waitress.  He whispered
something to her, and the girl grinned, nodded quickly and
disappeared.

Meanwhile, Steve had found what he was looking for and looked at
Jane.  "I have something for you.  Here."  he said.  His hand was
over hers, palm down.  He released something from his hand into
hers.  Jane was stunned.  It was a solitaire diamond ring with a
large diamond, over one-and-a-half carats.  The diamond reflected
the light brilliantly.

"Oh, Steve!  It's gorgeous."  Jane went into his arms and melted
in a passionate kiss.  There was no joking this time.

The waitress returned with a wine bucket, four glasses, and a
bottle of the best champagne the hotel had.  She opened the
bottle and poured.

"Congratulations and very best wishes for a long and happy
marriage.  Steve, it's about time you made an honest woman out of
her."  Cliff then ducked as blows rained on his head.

Jane had been looking intently at Sandy.  "And, Miss Donnell,
speaking of honest women, where have _you_ been sleepinglately?"

Sandy spoke in her haughtiest voice.  "In a bed, of course. 
Where else would one sleep?"

Jane grinned knowingly, "Okay, in a bed.  Whose bed, and with
whom...? or who...? or whatever."

Sandy just grinned back.  Then she took the girl and gave her a
hug.  "Jane, I'm so happy for you!  I've learned something from
you that I'll tell you about some day.  When is the happy event
going to be now that you're engaged?"

Jane pretended to yawn.  "There's no hurry.  I've got my diamond.
Isn't that all a girl really needs?"

"As a matter of fact, no."  Sandy replied.  "You need someone to
use to warm your feet on when you're in bed."

"Golly, Sandy, you're right!  I never thought of that.  Maybe
it'll be earlier than I thought."  Both of the girls smiled while
the guys just shrugged.

"You can't win, you know," Steve said to Cliff.  "I think it's
one of the basic ground rules.  You know, like Catch 22?  You go
all through the rules and then you get to the end.  The last rule
says, 'Regardless of anything stated or implied in any prior
rule, the guy loses.'  I hope you have accepted it, Cliff."

The foursome sipped their champagne, and Sandy and Cliff both
inspected Jane's beautiful engagement ring.  Then the
conversation swung back around to the company.

"Steve, how does it look with our major customers?  I know you
haven't had a chance to do much except plan, yet," Cliff said,
"but do you have any feeling?  I'm particularly concerned about
Magna Motors.  You look at that account and the quality we're
giving them -- or not giving them -- and you wonder why they're
still buying from us at all.  Have you heard anything?"

"No, I really haven't.  But frankly, I'm worried, too.  If Ajax
really made a run at our piece of the Magna business, there's no
reason for them not to get it.  Their quality is much better than
ours and their pricing is only a little higher.  I suspect that
they are a lower-cost supplier to Magna on an all-costs-in
basis," Steve replied.

"Jane, have you ever called on the Japanese?  I really feel
stupid asking, because of the cultural differences.  Because if a
girl ever wants to feel good about the position of women in the
United States, all she needs to do is spend some time in the
Orient.  In general, women don't count for much there."  Steve
looked at her.  "The reason I'm asking, though, is Kaga Motors
has a plant across the lake in Michigan.  Have we ever called on
them?"

Jane looked thoughtful as she answered, "I don't think anyone
from Murphy ever has.  You know how Flood was... how we all were
up until the last couple of weeks.  We considered Japanese
business to be out of the question.  Would you like me to take my
lovely new ring across the lake?  Is that what I'm hearing?"

"Would you mind taking a crack at it?" Steve asked.  "It
certainly can't hurt, although some of what Bill was saying this
afternoon about the state of our production machinery was scary.
It seems like the best bet would be to make it strictly
exploratory.  What specific types of rings and valves do they
use?  What sort of delivery are they accustomed to?  Is it as
good as they would like?  That sort of thing.  Does it make any
sense?"

"Sandy, my future lord and master has decreed that I go across
the great waters!  Let's keep our fingers crossed!"

To be continued...

* * *

Comments and constructive criticism are sincerely welcome.  Let
me hear from you.  morg105829@aol.com 

*Six-month Turnaround* Copyright (c) 1992, 1998, 2001 by Morgan.
<morg105829@aol.com>

All rights reserved.  No part may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any electronic means, including photocopying,
recording or by any information and retrieval system, without the
written permission of the author.
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