Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch (21 page)

So far the numbers aren’t creating much of a story.

“Forty-five this month,” he tells me. “But six of those were people asking to cancel their subscriptions.”

“Well, there’s still time. You may get more. How many of those were in response to my poopie column?”

“You mean apart from the cancellations?”

“Ha.”

“I guess a couple of people said they liked your poopie, Russell.”

“Just knowing that makes it all worthwhile.”

We sit quietly for a minute. I tell Fergus that I finally got to see the contents of the YANA file I’d been denied access to for so many years.

“Really? Any big revelations?”

“It was a confidential report from one of those companies specializing in brand marketing and research. Divided into two parts. The first part was all about why brands die, and other optimistic stuff.”

“And the conclusion was that your brand is dying?”

“The conclusion was that our customers are dying. The
Chronicle
has huge strength with seniors, but we’re not relevant to younger consumers. To them, we’re a boring business newspaper filled with stuff they can always get free on the internet. We’re not a brand that stands for something they care about.” I sip my five-dollar latte. “Unless we transform that perception, we’ll keep losing customers, along with our ability to charge a premium price to advertisers.”

“And the second part?”

“That was the most important section. They called it ‘brand permission’ research. They looked at all the different ways we might expand our product into new markets or create new brand extensions that might allow us to succeed in the future. It was a pretty thorough analysis. Unfortunately, the conclusion was that our brand didn’t have permission to do very much. People have a very fixed view of us. We’re associated only with business. We would fail if we tried to compete in the major lifestyle segments. It’s a vicious circle. You can appreciate that. If we do nothing, we’ll be trapped in an unstoppable, accelerating decline. But anything we do will probably make things worse. This D-SAW project is our last chance to turn it around.”

“How reliable is this company’s research?”

“I don’t know. I did a search on them. Seems like they went out of business two years ago.”

“And what exactly is this D-SAW project?”

I tell him what it entails. How we’ll be doubling down on a new newspaper product at a time when everyone else is moving rapidly online.

“That’s
it
?”

I nod.

“Jesus. You guys are in worse shape than I thought.” Fergus sips his coffee. I sip mine.

We’re quiet for another minute. Then Fergus says, “So, we didn’t even discuss the most important topic. Did you fuck that other chick or not?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Erika, Sally and Judd travel back from Washington together. Erika reports the event was a success. Judd tells me the same thing. Neither of them gives any indication if their flirtation is blossoming into romance.

Meanwhile, I’m adapting to the Unicorn lifestyle. I’ve asked the managers on my team to start emailing me weekly reports so I can package these and deliver them to Henry.

It takes a few minutes to edit out all the duplication contained in Cindy’s report. But even after I do that, I’m sure Henry will get the sense that a large volume of work is getting done.

Sometimes I walk the floor and peer over people’s cubicle walls. Other times I sit and do nothing. When I’m really bored, I staple pieces of paper together, then take the staples back out with my staple remover.

I leave work at five each day. Which means I’m jammed in with other straphangers at the height of the rush hour. With frequent stops between stations, I have plenty of time to reflect on the carefree, subway-free, cubicle-free life my wife is leading. While I’m busy not working, she’s finding new ways to spend all the money she’s not earning.

“Do you notice anything different about me?” She’s posing on the rug where our turd-stool used to be.

“Are those colored contacts?”

“Shut up. Be serious.”

“I am being serious. Were your eyes always that color?”

“So you don’t notice anything different?”

“Turn around at least.”

She twirls slowly. She’s had her hair cut and highlighted again. With tip the process runs about $260. I look beyond her at the thin, spiderweb cracks in the wall. We live in a prewar building. The painter told us this would happen.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Liposuction?”

Teaming Judd with Cindy proves to be an interesting experiment. I can only observe from a distance, but it is obvious that from a productivity standpoint their collaboration is a complete disaster. They hold regular meetings, outlining the scope of the project, discussing timelines and deliverables. But then—without access to anyone willing to do the actual work—they reconvene and discover no further progress has been made.

For the purpose of the experiment, I have instructed my staff not to accept any assignments directly from Judd or Cindy. And if any issues arise, they are to alert me immediately. One by one, my team members bring me the requests Judd leaves on their chairs while they are out at lunch or the assignment Cindy has tricked them into accepting by pretending the work is for a different project. One by one, I return these assignments to Cindy or Judd, with a note or a voicemail or an email reminder that we are all very busy and that I am confident that they, between them, can get this done.

Judd comes to my office to let me know he and Cindy have made tremendous progress in defining the scope of the project and the necessary next steps. He shows me a sheet he’s formatted which describes the work required at each stage of the project. A second column shows the due date for each element. Next to that is a column of empty boxes under the heading “Owned By.”

“Here’s where I need your support,” he says.

“The sheet looks great,” I say. “I don’t have any changes.”

“I need your help building a team,” he says. “We need people who are going to step up and take ownership.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Everything’s set up. The whole thing is mapped out. All we need now are the resources.”

“Judd,” I say, “you and Cindy are the resources.”

I visit Roger in his office to wish him all the best before his operation. He doesn’t want any kind of send-off before he departs for his medical leave. During my empty workdays, I’ve had plenty of time to research the surgery he’s having. It won’t be fun. He’s switching to a liquid diet tomorrow. Thankfully, his sister’s coming to stay with him. He’ll need her around for a few unpleasant days before the operation and for the uncomfortable first weeks of his recovery.

“Good luck,” I tell him. “And seriously, think about the mustache too while you’re gone.”

The battle of wills between Judd and Cindy continues. Despite the importance of the D-SAW project, neither one of them is willing to break down and do any actual work.

Then Cindy disengages. She appears at my doorway, sheepish yet triumphant.

“Russell, can we talk?” she says.

I ask her to take a seat while I pretend to finish up an email. For once, I already know what’s going down. She’s here to tell me about the job she’s accepted in Barney Barnes’s group. The HR department alerted me yesterday that an offer was going to be made. The only surprising thing was that Cindy took a night to sleep on it.

“OK,” I say. “Shoot.”

“I don’t know how to say this.” She looks tired. There are lines around her mouth I haven’t really noticed before.

I lean forward in my chair. “What’s up?”

“Russell, I’m really torn about this. I haven’t even been here six months, and I know it’s not the done thing, but Barney Barnes approached me about a senior manager position and the offer was really too good to pass up. I’ll be working on a more female-oriented product, which I think is a better fit for me when I think long-term, and I do want to stay at the company, and it seems like a really great group—not that this isn’t, but I’ll have four people reporting to me, and I’ll manage my own advertising budget.”

“Jeez,” I say. “You’re leaving us?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hope there’s more money involved.”

“It’s not really about that, but yes.”

“And a bigger office, I suppose?”

“One and a half windows.”

“Wow. I don’t know what to say. It sounds like a done deal.”

“They’ve asked if I can start on the twelfth.”

“Gosh,” I say. “We’ll miss you.”

I break the news to Henry. “Cindy’s leaving us. She’s accepted a job with Barney Barnes.”

I try to conceal my elation. I’m well aware that Henry takes it hard when an employee—especially one he considers a star—departs to work for another part of the company. When the person is leaving to join Barney’s team, the blow is especially hard.

My job is to guide Henry carefully through his grieving process. There are five stages: Denial (of the Situation), Anger (at the Person Responsible), Panic (That This Might Reflect Badly on Him), Nostalgia (for the Lost Employee), and finally, Acceptance (Mixed with a Hearty Blend of False Optimism). With Henry, the whole process takes about sixty seconds.

“She can’t leave us now,” he says. “I absolutely won’t allow it.”

“It’s a done deal, Henry.”

“Shit. Didn’t you have her working with Judd on the D-SAW project? And what about Livingston Kidd? What are we going to do?”

“You know how great Judd is. He can handle the D-SAW project. And I’ll put Pete on Livingston Kidd. I think we’ll be able to work through it.”

“Thank God for Judd.”

“He’s a real pro.”

“That fucking Barney.”

“Barney’s always had an eye for talent.”

“What are people saying? Cindy’s been here less than six months.”

“We can spin it that you did her a favor. Managed her out. Gave her a nudge before the re-org.”

“Will anyone buy it? We would never have won the ExxonMobil business without her.”

“I hate to tell you, but Roger Jones did all the work on that one. Plus, everyone got that campaign, even
USA Today
.”

“Roger worked on Exxon?” Henry’s cheek twitches as he processes that information. “Anyway, she did a great job on Fidelity.”

“Actually, I had to pull that one out of the fire myself. Don’t you remember? Cindy had worked so hard in her first couple of months. You gave her a couple of extra personal days.”

I worry that I’m pushing too hard. That Henry can’t update his hard drive this quickly.

“I don’t know,” says Henry. “Can we afford to lose her?”

“It’s a loss,” I say. “But I think the rest of the team can step it up.”

“I guess it saves someone else’s job,” he says.

I nod reflectively.

“You think we can do this?”

I nod sagely.

“We can do this!”

I nod eagerly.

“You and I did just fine before Cindy got here, didn’t we?”

“Cindy?” I say, acting puzzled. “Cindy who?”

Henry slaps me on the back, squeezes my shoulder. He feels my body tighten, relaxes his grip slowly, then lets his hand drop back to his side.

Judd is hovering near my office when I get back from Henry’s. He’s wearing his casual Friday look—black turtleneck, black jeans—and looking slightly panicked. He follows me inside. I sit behind my desk and say, “What’s new, Judd?”

“I just spoke to Cindy,” he says. “She tells me she’s accepted another position.”

“It’s a great move for her,” I say. “Things are really happening over in Barney Barnes’s group. It doesn’t make it easy for us hold on to our stars.”

“That’s great,” says Judd. “But frankly I’m concerned about D-SAW.”

“You’re worried she might say something to Barney?”

“No. I’m worried that Henry’s expecting to see a presentation next Wednesday, and Cindy hasn’t produced anything.”

“That’s surprises me,” I say. “She’s normally so reliable.”

Judd starts pacing around my office. It’s fun to watch. I wait to see how he tries to shift responsibility for the actionable items.

“How can I help you move this along?” he asks.

“That’s up to you,” I say. “It’s your project.”

He sits down opposite me. He takes out the document he created delineating the project timeline and takes me through the “actionable items” and “deliverables” he and Cindy had previously agreed on.

“Hen—” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “Henry said I could rely on you.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into the process,” I observe. “What about the content?”

“I completed all my internal interviews,” he says, as if that matters.

“That’s no help now. Where are you with the P&Ls?”

“Jeanie’s given me a first pass at the distribution, production and admin costs. I’m just waiting for Susan and Dave to sign off on their numbers,” he says. “But Jeanie said Henry said I should get the marketing numbers directly from you.”

Judd hands me a spreadsheet and looks at me expectantly. His blatant use of the double-name-drop technique is a clear sign of desperation. I study Jeanie’s bogus numbers and understand why. Susan and Dave have been dragging their feet too. Someone who knows what they’re doing is going to have to help him out soon.

“OK. Email this to me. Give me a copy of everything you gave Cindy. Come back on Monday. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Russell,” Judd says. He smiles. The tension he’s been holding releases visibly from his body. I realize there are two sides to Judd. There’s the pain-in-the-ass, full-of-himself, unstoppable-force-of-nature side that we all know and dislike. But behind that mask there’s also a helpless doofus—an innocent man-child who’s just longing to be accepted into the grown-up world. It’s a sensitive, vulnerable side that Judd doesn’t show to many people. Probably because it’s even more off-putting.

I work on the spreadsheet Judd sends me. He’s one of those guys who really knows how to use the software. There are a lot of hidden formulas in his file. Every time I type in a new number, all the columns get recalculated. This is the kind of stuff that really impresses Henry. When the spreadsheet’s this well formatted, it doesn’t even matter that the underlying business assumptions are bogus. Every budget season guys like Judd produce sheets like this, altering numbers in little boxes to create the fictional view of our business that management wants to see. This fiction would be fun to read if it didn’t create the kind of unrealistic expectations that are sure to make the lives of people like me slightly more miserable. Expectations that, when not met, will ultimately cost people their jobs.