Martin was confused. He had just received a memo from Dan Scowcroft, one of a series of unnecessary pieces of paper the latter generated from time to time, but which coming from a member of the Board, required some kind of action. The trouble was, Martin was not quite sure what kind of action. The memo read as follows:
MEMORANDUM
From: Daniel J. Scowcroft Esq. A.M.I.P.P.
To: All middle managers
Date: 24.1.89
RE: Memorandums
It has come to our attention that there is a so-called Pyramid Memo circulating in this company which requires further copies of the memo to be distributed. Failing to do so supposedly brings the Evil Eye to bear on the person who breaks the chain.
It is imperative to ensure that this memo, or any like it requiring further memos to be circulated, is not spread within your department. Please copy this memo on to your respective staff, asking them to do the same.Whilst struggling to resolve the dilemma of whether or not to pass on the memo, Martin was glad to learn from Bernice that she had not been tempted by the headhunters; that was one less problem for him to worry about, at least.
DJS
In fact Bernice barely gave the matter any further thought at all. They were now in the middle of the March issue, and she also had to draw up their counter-launch plans, so she was fully occupied. But she did manage to draw some benefit from the experience in her editorial for that issue which she entitled Headhurters, and where she commented on how dangerous the practice was of stealing talent rather than growing it within an office. She noted with interest that at the same time as all this the so-called Recruit Scandal was blowing up in Japan; though that had nothing to do with recruitment it was a nice coincidence.
"Or perhaps not," said Mowley when she happened to mention this in the office. She had been quite open about her 'chat' with Radical Searches, hoping thereby to quell the rumours that were bound to be flying around after her mysterious visit to town.
"How do you mean?" she asked, intrigued despite herself. That she was having the same problems with him of late arrival in the office and even later arrival of copy for the issue didn't change the fact that talking with Mowley was always a mind-broadening experience. If only he could get himself organised and start churning out similar stuff for the magazine.
"Well, there's this crazy concept called Morphic Resonance that notes that similar things seem to happen at the same time but in different, unconnected contexts. For example, if you look at the history of inventions, many times over it turns out that the same concept was invented simultaneously in parts of the world that could have had no contact with each other. Alternatively, you could regard it as an explanation of the fact that in real life all kinds of unlikely coincidences occur that nobody would ever accept if they came across them in a novel. Morphic Resonance is about 'things being in the air', ideas whose time have come."
"Talking of which," said Yasmeen, who was less impressed by Mowley's abstractions than Bernice was, "when has the time come for this counterlaunch meeting?"
Bernice felt doubly guilty: that she had been wasting Mowley's and her time letting him witter on about Morphic Resonance, and that she had not got round to organising the meeting. She was pleased that Yasmeen was starting to pipe up more often about such oversights, and worried that she had to.
"Funny you should mention that," she said, trying to salvage the situation, "but by one of those coincidences which might make you believe in Morphic Resonance, I was just about to announce it." Well, almost true, she was just about to start thinking about announcing it.
"How about now?" she said, hoping this didn't sound too feeble. It was actually quite a good time, just before production disappeared off to the typesetters that afternoon, and with copy nearly finished. Although there were a few groans - Pete in particular asked for it to be left until 'next week or a bit later' which was strange since he had finished his work for March - it was agreed that the meeting would be held there and then.
First she outlined what they knew about the rival company and its launch - which was not much apart from the fact that it had large quantities of money to throw at the market, and was likely to do so in a brash manner. What was required, therefore, was some subtle response.
"In other words, cheap," said Terence not one to mince his words.
"Well," said Bernice, "just because it is cheap doesn't mean that it won't be effective. The point is we can't hope to outspend Morgan-Banacek, so we need to outplay them in other ways. Given that this is rather an unusual exercise, I suggest that we start with some brain storming."
Mowley groaned.
"Do we have to? Can't we just be mature and adult about this and think it through logically?" he pleaded. He hated anything fuzzy and unclear. Brainstorming was the exact antithesis of his way of working, painfully slow as it was.
"Can we give it a try, Dave?" asked Bernice. Dave shrugged as if to say, well, if we must.
So, using a flipchart to gather ideas, and with Bernice acting as what she described as scribe, they started calling out possible responses - no holds barred: "the important thing is not to be judgemental with your ideas," she explained, wishing she'd used another word. Kate grimaced. "I promise to keep quiet and just write things down. OK, what's the first one?
"Nuclear bombardment..." was the not very helpful suggestion from Chris, who was still feeling hard done by. Since he had come back to work they had only been one brief let-up in his tiresome behaviour, occasioned by the belated arrival of his postcard from France a few days before the current meeting.
He had sent it before Christmas from La Plagne where he was ski-ing with his family and 'friends' - Bernice dreaded to think what kind of friends. It showed a snow-covered glacier with a blindingly blue sky above it. On the card he had written: "Having a lovely time, wish you were here. I had forgotten that there was so much sky above us. Love, The Kiss."
When the card had been passed around the office - it was addressed to 'The Busybodies of The Business' - Dave had made a cryptic remark to no one in particular that of course, when you thought about it, ski-ing was rather like sex.
"Why?" Chris had asked, and then immediately offered his own pointed explanation: " - because it's downhill all the way?" - unable to resist the temptation to crack a joke when such a clear opening presented itself, despite his self-imposed bad temper.
The others apart from Bernice laughed freely at this, but Dave responded seriously: "Yes, basically. The skills required for both are pretty minimal and the satisfactions are, well, direct, shall we say.
"Just like a rave," added Wobs, unusually analytical.
"Yes, exactly," said Dave, endorsing the insight.
Unfortunately this flash of the old Chris had lasted for only a few minutes. Thereafter he relapsed into his previous dark mood, which he had maintained until this brainstorming.
Bernice forced herself to remain silent after Chris' suggestion and to write down 'nuclear bombardment' on her waiting flip chart.
"What about a takeover?" asked Yasmeen.
"What?" said Bernice.
"Why don't we take over Morgan-Bannerjee or whatever they are called."
"Because - " Bernice was about to explain, when she was shouted down by her team: "Put it up, no comment," they rightly reminded her. This was not going well, she thought.
After a few other similar suggestions she gave up. Mowley was right: good journalists were simply not attuned to this kind of free-form thinking. They tried to find order, to understand, to structure; shooting off ideas spontaneously was just not natural for them.
"OK, Holy Mowley," Bernice said with a mixture of humility and annoyance as she noisily tore off the flipchart sheet of failed brainstorming, crumpled it up and threw it away, "give us the low-down."
"Well," said Mowley, "it seems to me that what Morgan-Banacek will do is saturate the market with their name and product, trying to buy presence. What we've got to do is the same, but by different methods."
"In other words," said Yasmeen, "don't fight a battle you can't win."
"Quite," said Dave as he dragged on his cigarette before launching into his exposition.
"So, what are the possibilities?" he asked rhetorically. "Clearly building on our reputation quality is one. This means more pages, but not necessarily run of paper."
"You mean supplements?" asked Yasmeen, her eyes lighting up at the thought of it.
"Yeah, could be, supplements, books - small ones - charts, reference cards, that sort of thing." Nice one, thought Bernice.
"Yes, actually a supplement might be just the job, " said Mowley meditatively as new horizons opened before him. "For example, we might call it...The Business News...."
"But won't people get a mite confused with New Business?" asked Terence, ever one for clarity in these matters.
"Quite..." said Mowley, a rather sly smile flicking across his worn features.
"Ho-ho," said Bernice, delighted: "a spoiler, I do declare."
"But isn't that a bit, well, low?" asked Yazzers, still a stranger to this kind of publishing ploy.
"Well," said Mowley quite unruffled, "maybe, but counter-launching a product with a confusingly similar name has a pretty impressive pedigree. For example, I remember reading somewhere that when Racine's play Phèdre was about to be performed for the first time in 1677, his arch-rival Pradon managed to put on one at the same time called, by an amazing coincidence, Phèdre...." He shook his head slightly as if in admiration of such low cunning.
"Sneaky," said Kate, glad that she didn't have to worry about these kind of tricks.
"Another way to attack the problem," continued Mowley, thoroughly enjoying his moment of glory in an office where he was usually the bad boy who had dared to sin against The Board, always being bawled out by Kate or Terence, "is to say forget about the magazine, concentrate on the readers. What is the one thing that everybody wants?" he asked..
"Sex," said Chris rather bitterly.
"Well, yes," said Mowley smiling, "not that easy to package in a business magazine."
"Money," said Janice.
"Yes, money, or its equivalent," said Mowley as if talking to a promising student. "People love something for nothing, so why not give them the chance to get something for nothing."
"What does that mean?" asked Kate, "competitions or special offers?"
"Clearly both," said Bernice. Dave nodded in assent.
"Finally, it seems to me that we need to go in for branding - shouting about the name as much as possible."
"But I thought you said it was not worth fighting them on this?" asked Yasmeen.
"Not directly, no," answered Dave, "but there are many ways of skinning the proverbial cat. Marketing can take many forms."
"Mugs," said Terence forcefully as if he had had a revelation.
"Yes," said Dave, "good idea."
"Ties, scarves, T-shirts..." Chris seemed to be quite excited at the idea, finally ceasing to be so negative. And Bernice was beginning to formulate a strategy.
"Oh, yes, one other way is of making as much noise as possible to drown out the launch," said Mowley.
"Which is?" asked George who had remained silent so far.
"Ah, I don't know. That is, much as I dislike brainstorming, the best way to create some noise is some completely wacky concept that you would never arrive at logically. So I am afraid that I'm not much good here."
"Don't worry Dave," said Bernice, " you've given us some great ideas."
"What about music?" Wobs said from behind his make-up board - he had been busily putting together the March issue during all of this, but had been listening all the same. 'Party Insect' was written across his chest, along with a many-legged beast kitted out in hob-nailed boots. "I mean if you want to create noise, why not use music?" he asked.
"I don't think Dave was talking literally..." began Bernice.
"No, hang on," said Dave to Bernice. "Go on, Wobs, what had you in mind?" Bernice found it interesting to be told to keep quiet by one of her staff.
"Well, this, er, mate of mine has this new record he wants to push - very smooth, very cool, very relaxing. I was thinking we could put it on the front of an issue like...."
"Cover-mounted music," said Dave turning over the idea in his mind, "great stuff. Yeah, that would do it."
"Er, hang on, Dave," now it was Bernice's turn to pull him up short. "Have you any idea how much it would cost to put a cassette on the cover of 100,000 issues? It's a great idea, Wobs, but I don't really think it's realistic to expect Martin to come up with the money for it." She was really sorry.
"No, not 100,000 cassettes," said Wobs.
"Ah, I thought not; how many had you in mind?"
"No, you see, it'll be 100,000 but not cassettes."
"What then?" asked Kate mystified. "LPs??"
"No, CDs in their cases."
Everyone stared at Wobs: was he mad? CDs were still incredibly expensive, and not that many people had CD players.
"But they cost a fortune," said Yasmeen, wishing she could afford them.
"To buy, yes," said Wobs, "but not to make." He seemed to know a lot about this.
"Of course," said Mowley suddenly, as if all had become clear. "There's been a big build-up in production facilities, so the unit cost must have plummeted - it's just those greedy record companies sticking to the old prices, using new technology to justify them. But meanwhile the margins have soared. Yes, yes," he said as if that explained everything, "this will change the face of the entire recording industry," quite excited at the implications.
"Yes?" asked Bernice, not at all sure. "I think we'll have to investigate that one a little further, Wobs." It sounded intriguing to say the least. But what kind of music would there be on this CD? she wondered.
"OK, thanks everybody for that, this is what we going to do," said Bernice, back in her stride as she felt a new sense of purpose, a new energy coursing through her.
"Yazzers" - Bernice tended to use nicknames when she was really getting into the swing of things - "I'd like you to investigate the idea of supplements, please - let's say four A4 pages - something a bit different.
George, I want at least £20,000 of competition prizes please - vaguely relevant to the magazine if possible, but perceived value more important.
Chris, those mugs, ties and what have you: could you start investigating the practicalities - worth talking to other parts of Wright's here, I think.
Oh yes, and Wobs, obviously, if you could get some numbers on this CD thing, please."
Great, she thought, just what the office needs, lots more work. But nobody groaned: for them this was like playtime, not extra work. Each in their own way was delighted with the task they had been allotted, and through Bernice's astute reading of them they were even more motivated then ever. Only poor old Pete seemed depressed.
"Don't worry, Pete, there are other things in store for you," she said, not quite sure what.
"No, it's not that..." his voice trailed off as he stroked his moustaches slowly, always a sign of stress. Perhaps one of his children was unwell? wondered Bernice - she must have a chat with him, she thought. She had noted that he was starting to sneeze quite violently, and feared that the usual annual decimation of the office through colds and flu was about to begin.
The new projects also meant more work for Janice, too, as she took up some of the duties currently handled by Chris and George in the news section. She was now working quite late in the evening, and was looking extremely tired, as if she got little rest during the night. Perhaps she was being pushed too hard? Bernice wondered. And yet she seemed so pleased to be part of the team. But for the moment Bernice would see how things went. As Kate and Terence gathered together their equipment and materials and left for the typesetters - nicely ahead of schedule The Board was pleased to confirm - everyone in the office buckled down to their new tasks.
But not for long.
"Where's that bloody cow Jan?"
A tanned, thickset man with long hair slicked back and streaked with blond highlights, wearing chunky gold chain bracelets and large rings on several fingers, burst into the office, shouting and gesticulating. Everyone froze. There was a moment's perfect stillness as people registered the situation. The men in particular found themselves in a difficult plight: according to some unwritten code they should have seen this brutish intruder off the premises; and yet each of them found good reasons why not to step forth and challenge him. Pete because of his family, George because of his age, Wobs because of his pacifist convictions and Chris because he was terrified of damaging his looks. One of the thoughts that passed through Bernice's mind after wondering what the hell the security in this place was coming to, was that she was glad that Terence had just left: she had no doubt that he would have leapt into action - with bloody results.
As it was, nobody rose immediately to the physical challenge of the moment - which was precisely what the tanned slob expected, possessing little real physical courage himself, but a great deal of bluff and bluster and the ability to take advantage of others' weaknesses.
"Where were you last night, you bloody lazy slag?" he said, moving towards Janice. "I warned you that if it happened again I'd be in here to sort you out, poncy friends or not."
Bernice felt that as the head of the department it fell to her to sort this man out, but for the moment she was not entirely sure how. Luckily Janice's initial shock turned to outrage at this invasion of her workspace, which had become sacrosanct to her.
"Steve," she shouted back at him as she stood up behind her desk. "how dare you come in here, you fat slob of a git? Get your bloody arse out of here before I call the police to throw you out."
The word 'police' seemed to throw him back on his heels somewhat.
"Police? You wouldn't bloody dare..." he said, trying to regain his confident tone.
"Oh yes, I would. I've put up with you long enough, scumbag that you are, and God knows why. But whatever power you had over me is gone - do you understand? If you set foot in here again, or lay a hand on me I'm straight down the station, do you understand? I haven't half got a few things to tell them, eh Steve? You know: about the 'sugar' deliveries - the highly refined sugar...?"
He had never seen her like this before. Usually she just did as she was told, at least after a few smacks here and there. But he didn't know how to handle this. Her last words had shaken him: she wouldn't would she...? Moreover, this building was starting to give him the creeps. It was not his world, which was that of dimly-lit backstreets and dodgy clubs. There was too much light, and all these bloody poncy people. He was going.
"Just make sure you're there tonight, you hear me? Or there'll be trouble," he said as he tried to swagger out of the office with as much self-possession as he could muster.
"Take your trouble and stuff it, Steve, I won't be there, ever. Now get out, now you've shown your pusillanimity to everyone ..." - a word they had discussed in the office months ago and which had been assiduously stored by Janice along with all the other knowledge she was so hungry for. It was a word which Steve did not know, and so felt unable to respond to. This made it worse than any conventional insult she might have flung at him. He felt that she was making fun of his ignorance, the stuck-up cow. And she was.
"Just watch your mouth," was all he could say as he went. Bernice said she would call security to grab him as he went out so that they could call the police.
"No, leave him," said Janice, suddenly very tired, "he's not worth it, the louse."
It was nearly lunchtime, so Bernice suggested to Janice that they go across to Achilles' to have a bite together. The others understood that today would be a good day for them to sample the delights of the office canteen - the Us canteen as they called it, to distinguish it from the Them dining room in the other tower used by managers, and sampled by Bernice when she first arrived.
Janice was close to tears as they walked over to Achilles, and broke into them as soon as they had arrived and taken a couple of coffees - neither felt much like eating.
"I'm sorry, this is so silly," Janice said, trying to stem the flood.
"No, let yourself go, I think you need it," said Bernice speaking more as a friend than as a mere manager.
And so without any pressure from Bernice Janice began to explain amidst the odd sniff about her childhood, and her father's death early on. About her mother's re-marriage, her brutal stepfather and her flight from home and school at the age of 15. And how she had met Steve a few years back, and rather fallen for his superior airs, and his apparent concern for her, and had moved in with him. And had gradually found herself - almost without noticing it, because she didn't want to - doing 'favours' for Steve and his 'friends' until finally Steve had her on the streets, on the game. Now there was no subtlety: he simply beat her up if she tried to refuse to go out.
But her job on The Business was now taking up so much of her time in the evenings that the break had been made, the habit - for it was that as much as anything - had been shown to be nothing more, and not an invincible law. And so she had started to fight back, to regain her sense of self-respect, until in this latest confrontation she had been able to see him off completely, drawing strength from the presence of her friends and colleagues. She would not go back to him now as she always had done in the past, even when she longed to get away.
"Have you got anywhere to stay tonight?" asked Bernice. Janice shook her head. "Well, you have now," she said, and Janice started crying again, with gratitude this time. And Bernice felt like joining in, appalled by all this sadness and violence and squalor that usually stayed tidily in its place, but occasionally - like that afternoon - irrupted into their neat lives. Sometimes the world of business, punctuated by the drip of self-important little memos and meetings seemed infinitely trivial when compared to the real business that was going on 24 hours a day beyond the protective shield of the office walls.
