year’s Piedmont Farms Stuffing Mix budget. “Piece of cake, people,” he said confidently. “We’ll capitalize on the increasingly value-conscious mindset of our core users by offering them high-satiety recipes that don’t look or taste like inexpensive, boring, everyday meals. Consumers will feel good when they eat Piedmont bread…pardon the pun.”
The room chuckled. “I assume you’ve thought about integrating Internet activities?” asked senior client Tom Brown.
Victor, a master at imagining on his feet, effortlessly snagged the curveball. “Absolutely, Tom. We just ran out of time to get the research findings together. The data arrived late, and I assumed it was today’s priority.” Then he played humble pie. “I’m sorry if…” He had Brown exactly where he wanted him. “If it’s any consolation,” continued Victor looking at the agency’s creative director, Anthony Osgood, “as we speak, your creative team is putting the final touches on an interactive online template that can stand alone or incorporated into Piedmont’s current website. Right, Anthony?”
Osgood had dealt with Victor’s impromptu agreements before. He smiled and nodded, making a mental note to cancel his weekend in Southampton. All that remained was an approval signature on the multimillion incremental media proposal.
~
Victor’s longtime assistant, Janet, unexpectedly entered the room and handed him a discretely folded note from Johnny Katz. She whispered, “Katz says, ‘it’s extremely important’” Victor hadn’t talked to Katz in more than two years. He shook Janet off as if to say, not now. Janet stood fast. “Boss, the guy was begging. As crazy as he is, my instinct tells me you should take this one.”
Martini, who trusted Janet with his life, acquiesced. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’ve got a little family emergency. Do you mind if we take a short break?”
“Go for it,” said Brown, himself the father of three. “Those teenagers…just full of surprises.”
Victor hurried into the nearby executive bathroom, cell phone in hand. “Johnny, this better be goddamn good!” started Victor. “I’m in the middle of increasing my fucking Christmas bonus.”
“Easy, Victor, easy,” said Katz, “Remember how we always fantasized about being rich beyond our wildest dreams? Bagging the corporate bullshit?”
“You mean before or after you decided to become a drug dealer?” responded Victor curtly.
“Listen, the past is past. It's a new day. Your gravy train has just arrived — Ryman is back. THE Franklin Ryman!”
“You pull me from a room full of important clients to tell me Franklin Ryman is back. Who the hell is Franklin Ryman?!”
“The one and only. Mr. Super Rich, Mr. Mover and Shaker, Mr. Wall Street. I’ve convinced him you’re THE man to drive his new initial public offering. It’s that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a big one. He wants to meet you ASAP.”
“Johnny, give me a goddamn break. How could you even get Ryman’s ear, much less convince him that…”
“Long story. Let’s say we took a few trips together. Along the way, he cleaned me up. I’m stone-cold sober. Honest. Trust me.”
Despite Katz’s antics, the one thing he had never lied to Victor. “Okay, let’s assume what you’ve said is true; what the hell do you and I know about public offerings?”
“Franklin’s taught me the whole Wall Street thing is not rocket science. It’s just a pot of gold waiting to be tapped by the right people.”
“I have to get back inside. Otherwise, I could be selling pencils on Wall Street. So, where and when?”
“Epstein’s Coffee Shop, 52nd and First, Friday morning at 8:30. You and the Great Ryman, alone.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. This genius who is going to shake up Wall Street at a fucking coffee shop?”
“Hey, what can I tell you? He likes the place for meetings. It’s around the corner from his Sutton Place penthouse.”
~
The remainder of the Piedmont meeting went even better than the first part. A&J was awarded a $25 million budget increase, $5 million more than originally recommended. “Victor,” chuckled another senior Piedmont Foods client and close friend, Steve Thompson, “Consider the additional $5 million a performance kicker…Christ, you could sell ice to the Eskimos in the middle of winter.”
When the clients had left, a pleased Victor returned to his office. His chunky assistant was beaming. “Boss,” she said in her distinct New Yorkese, “Mr. Naye called. He wants to see ya on Thursday morning, his office.”
Victor’s jaw dropped. “Boss, relax. da man said it was all good. He even asked if I knew how the meeting was going.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him from the smile on our clients’ faces; you did good. Real good.”
“Where do you get the chutzpah to tell the chairman that?”
“Boss, was I right?” Victor nodded. “So what’s to stress? Isn’t my job to cover your back?
Chapter 4
Fairytale Marriage
NORTH GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT.
Finding the right partner can make all the difference in the world.
Victor loved coming home to his elegantly casual five-acre homestead in North Greenwich. It validated the compromises he had made on his climb up the A&J success ladder.
Despite his Sammy Glick type-A demeanor and love of status symbols, he genuinely adored his beautiful wife, Sandra. Despite her humble blue-collar upbringing, she looked like a page straight out of Vogue – dark hair and mysterious eyes, olive Mediterranean complexion, perfectly proportioned size eight, ever the lady in dress and demeanor, and unequivocally supportive of her husband’s decisions.
Sandra and Victor’s relationship was the stuff of romantic novels. They met for the first time when Victor was a freshman in college, and Sandra was a junior in high school. Victor had decided to attend a Friday evening dance at the college with his friend Johnny. Coincidentally, Sandra was dragged to the same dance by her girlfriend, Lois, despite Sandra’s protestations that she had to work early Saturday morning at the supermarket.
Early in the evening, Victor spotted Sandra sitting quietly in the corner. He asked her to dance. She smiled sweetly but responded, “No thanks.” Victor melted. There was the girl of his dreams right in front of him, and he couldn’t even get her to dance.
“Just for the record, the rumors are greatly exaggerated,” said Victor, fishing for an attention-getting starter.
“Rumors?”
“They’re not true. I promise,” smiled Victor.
“What’s not true?” asked Sandra, staring at Victor with her big brown eyes.
“That
