Page 5 of Kiss and Makeup
“You have tolearn. You can’t learn to do things by not doing them. I gave you each of those responsibilities for a reason.” Dad paced behind his desk, clean-shaven jaw furiously working as he massaged his temple. Abruptly, before I could respond, he came to a stop. “Do you want to become CEO of Cruise Media?”
All I could do for a moment was blink. “Yes. You know I do.”Just not yet,I added to myself. A digital media company like Cruise Media had countless inner workings. I couldn’t yet see myself as the one gathering all those pieces into one and not only holding them together but spurring them to new heights.
My dad met my eyes with that keen gaze that made him an astute businessman. “Xavier, I don’t want promises. I want you to be more involved in this company. In fact, I’m telling you as your employer that if you don’t improve your work ethic, I’ll have to take action.”
My fingers had been fidgeting with the bottom hem of my suit jacket while I wondered if I’d be able to get out of here in time to make it to the club and work out with my usual group. Those fingers froze along with the rest of me. “Action?”
“This is your last chance, Xavier. I have people on my payroll—good, hardworking, talented people who care about this company. Ones I trust. Cruise Media started as a family business, and I want to keep it that way, but for the good of this company, if I have to promote someone else to CEO….” He shrugged, his eyes sad and his mouth a straight line. “I’ll do it.”
Any other day, I would have scoffed. I would have looked my father in the eyes, seen straight through his bluff, made a couple of empty promises toward having more impact within the company, and skipped the office to fly to a Bears away game the next day.
This time, he was serious. “Okay” was all I managed to say as I processed this revelation.
“This afternoon, I have a meeting with a cosmetics company called BeautyBee scheduled. They want us to handle their holiday ad campaign. You’re going to go to the meeting with the head of their marketing department, negotiate a contract with BeautyBee Cosmetics, and oversee the process.” Dad held up a hand. “And I’m not giving you last-minute warning to prove a point. I only talked to BeautyBee’s CEO this morning. They need these ads out and playing ASAP, and we’re going to do everything we can to accommodate them… if they meet out price.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” I broke in suddenly. “I haven’t been involved with a contract like this in months. I don’t know what prices we’re asking, the processes to go through….”
“No, but you know how to figure that out. Talk to our financial experts. Ask one of our planners or shoot directors to give you a rundown of common requests for ad campaigns and what they cost. I’m not telling you to do this without help, I’m just telling you to get it done. I have other responsibilities to handle, but I want someone with the name Caruso to handle this BeautyBee contract personally. They ship their products worldwide.”
Somewhere, beneath the nail-chewing anxiety this ultimatum caused me, I felt a little glimmer of relief. Even through his disappointment, his anger and his finality, he still believed I could do this. “Where and what time is the meeting?”
* * *
Several hours later, I set down my phone, reviewing the hastily scribbled notes on the kitchen table before me. Since the meeting place was a coffee shop near the southwest side of Chicago, I had opted to return home to prepare since home was actually closer than the Cruise Media building.
Besides, coming back here had given me a chance to sit down away from the babble of the city and get my thoughts together. I loved this place. No screeching tires and constant car-horns here; only crickets chirping in the shrubberies outside the windows in the spring or the howling wind clawing at the shutters in the winter. Chicago was called The Windy City, after all, and one didn’t escape that by living just outside the of town.
The windy and cold city, I reminded myself, grabbing a thicker coat than I had worn to meet my father. Sometimes, sitting in this house with great interior heating and the option to have a fire and stay in if I wanted, I forgot how cold it could get out there.
I threw the coat carelessly over my arm, grabbed my notes off the table, and made for the door. The hanging sleeve of the thick material caught on something and an object fluttered to the rug-covered hardwood floors just in my peripheral vision.
It was the ticket. My premium ticket to watch the Cubs play in the World Series.
By heart, I knew the date and time of every game. I knew exactly what time to leave my house so that I wouldn’t miss a single thing. I didn’t know exactly how many celebration parties I would attend, but I knew it would be several.
I reached for the ticket and weighed it in my hand. Just like these notes I carried in the hand holding my jacket, it was just a piece of paper. Also like the notes, this piece of paper meant something to me.
Carefully, I laid my coat across the back of a chair and balanced my notes on top. I deliberately walked into the kitchen and activated the trash can then my fingers methodically shredded the ticket into two, then four, then eight, then sixteen pieces. For a ridiculous moment, my eyes darted to the drawer where I knew I would find tape, but then I let the pieces fall into the can, and a moment later, the lid closed and hid them from sight. Something told me I needed to make an early New Years resolution.
