Sandra Brown: Play Dirty

The CFO gave Laura another irritated look. “No offense to Ms. Taylor, but is she qualified to conduct that discussion?”

Foster riffled through a stack of file folders he had carried in with him. He found the one he wanted, stacked the others precisely, leaving no edge overlapping another, then opened the one he had withdrawn.

“Laura Eleanor Taylor…hmm, I’ll skip down to…Here we go. Graduated with honors from Stephen F. Austin State University. Two years later she earned an MBA from Southern Methodist’s business school. Again with honors.

“Applied and was accepted into the flight attendant program for SunSouth Airlines in 2002. Advancement, advancement, and another advancement,” he said, consulting her employee record in the file.

“Promoted to do training and performance evaluation in 2005. Was a thorn in the side of the previous management and has made a nuisance of herself with Ms. Cooper by writing memo after memo, copies of which I have,” he said, holding up a handful of sheets, “criticizing standards and practices now in place and suggesting ways in which the department could be vastly improved.” He read directly from one memo. “‘But’-which is underlined-‘not without insight, intelligence, and plain common sense on the part of the new owner.’ Who happens to be…” He paused for what seemed to Laura an eternity. “Me.”

He replaced all the sheets in the file folder, then set it on the top of the stack. Only after lining them up to ruler-edge exactness did he stand. “Will you accompany me outside, Ms. Taylor? Bring your things.”

She sat stunned, cheeks flaming, feeling every eye in the room, except Foster Speakman’s, on her. He was already at the door of the conference room, going through it, expecting her to follow.

With as much dignity as possible, she retrieved her handbag and briefcase, then stood up. “Ladies, gentlemen,” she said. Some, embarrassed for her, averted their eyes. Others gave her nods of sympathy. The CFO, with whom this had started, opened his mouth as though to apologize, then thought better of it and gave a regretful shake of his head.

She stepped through the door and pulled it closed behind her, then squared her shoulders and turned toward Foster Speakman, who was standing in the empty corridor. “You’re not nearly as ferocious looking as your memos led me to expect, Ms. Taylor.”

Her cheeks still burned with humiliation, but she maintained her composure. “I didn’t realize my interdepartmental memos were being forwarded to you.”

“In view of her impending retirement, I suppose Ms. Cooper felt the issues you raised were no longer her problem but mine.”

“I suppose.”

“Would knowing I was reading the memos have changed your opinions?”

“Not at all. But perhaps I would have softened the tone and language in which I expressed them.”

He folded his arms across his chest and studied her for several moments. “Satisfy my curiosity. Why, with an MBA from SMU’s highly regarded business school, did you become a flight attendant? It’s an honorable profession, but you were overqualified.”

“Four times I applied to SunSouth for an entry-level management position and was passed over each time.”

“Were you told why?”

“No, but the positions went to men.”

“Gender discrimination?”

“I’m making no accusations, only telling you what happened.”

“So you settled for a flight attendant’s position.”

“I accepted it, but I didn’t settle for it. I thought that once I got my foot in the door-”

“You would distinguish yourself and work your way up to the level for which you had applied in the first place.”

“More or less.”

He smiled. “Having studied your file, I thought as much. For all I know, you have your sights set on my job, Ms. Taylor. In a way, I hope you do, because I admire ambition. But today I’m offering you Ms. Cooper’s position as director of the flight attendant program. Add to that the title of vice-president in charge of…et cetera.”

For the third time since she’d laid eyes on him, he had stunned her. First, just by knowing who she was. Second, by calling her out of the meeting for what she thought would be immediate dismissal. Now this. “Just like that?”

He laughed. “I never do anything ‘just like that.’ No, this offer comes after careful analysis of your employment record. I also ran credit and criminal background checks, as I did with every person in that room. You passed, but you have an outstanding parking ticket that hasn’t been paid.”

“I mailed the check yesterday. Grudgingly. There was no sign posted, but it would have cost more to contest the ticket than simply to pay it.”

“A practical decision, Ms. Taylor. I believe your drive, ambition, and talent have been wasted by managers who lacked ‘insight, intelligence, and plain common sense,’” he said, his smile widening as he quoted from her memo. “I assume you accept this position?”

Still shaky, but with relief instead of the humiliation of being summarily terminated, she said yes.

With no more ceremony than that, he said, “Good. Now, shall we return to the others?” He reached for the door, then paused. “A word of warning: You’ll have a fight on your hands over that budget. Are you up to it?”

“Absolutely.”

Murmured conversations ceased when they reentered. Foster startled the others by introducing her by her new title, but most seemed more pleased than not. “Mr. George,” Foster said, addressing the human resources director, “following this meeting, I, you, and Ms. Taylor can go over the contract I prepared in advance and with the hope that she would accept my offer. I think you’ll both find it satisfactory.” He slapped the table lightly. “Now, Ms. Taylor, it’s your first official duty to tell us why the budget allotment for your department is inadequate.”

Out of the frying pan. Laura took a deep breath, knowing this was an acid test and hoping she didn’t blow it. “While we’ve been grounded, we’ve lost a lot of flight attendants. Some have gone to other airlines. Others have left the industry altogether. Now I’m faced with hiring replacements. I can’t entice the best applicants if I can’t offer them starting salaries and benefits equal to those offered by our competitors. I’d like to offer them better, but I’d settle for equal. Second, the uniforms are ugly and drab.”

“I thought attendants paid for their own uniforms.”

“They do,” Laura said. “But there’s no budget for a new design. Which brings me to another point.”

“The ‘look of the airline’?” All heads turned toward the head of the table. Foster tapped the top file folder on the stack. “To quote from your latest memo, Ms. Taylor. Will you please elaborate?”

Things were moving along too quickly. She hadn’t counted on being elevated to an executive this suddenly. Nor had she planned on being placed immediately in the hot seat. But she had been dwelling on this topic for weeks. In her idle time, she had thought long about what she would do if she were running the show. Now the new owner of the airline had invited her to elaborate on the bullet points of her many memos. She was ready.

“Days ago, Hazel, Ms. Cooper, gave me a copy of the proposed budget so I could familiarize myself with it in advance of this meeting. You’re spending a lot of money to make drastic changes in the infrastructure and in total reorganization of the airline’s operation,” she said, addressing Foster directly. “You’re making it brand spanking new. But you’ve stopped short at conveying its newness to consumers.”

“Changing the color of the flight attendant uniforms is easy,” someone remarked. “Ticket and gate agents, too.”