Lost

LOST TrimTech Exec Tom Lucan feels the heat of competition A Fiction Story By Joe Cappello [email protected]

© Joe Cappello 2009

Lost--2 LOST Tom Lucan sits on one of those wrought iron benches in the center of the Livingston Mall. Only a few minutes before, he was at his doctor’s office complaining of heart palpitations and an irregular heart beat. His blood pressure was high and the doctor wanted to put him on medication. That didn’t surprise him. It was a terrible time at work and he had difficulty holding on to his sanity, never mind a respectable BP reading. But he couldn’t tell that to the doctor, who was gleefully writing a prescription that Tom would never fill. On top of that he was on his way to a wake for a close friend of his family’s. His appointment was over early, so he went to the mall to “kill” time. Any other day, such a thought would have caused him to laugh out loud. Today, it brought no reaction from the 57 year old Director of Marketing, as he sits there feeling frumpy in a white shirt unbuttoned at the top and a red tie with gold stripes hanging on to his neck like a drunk’s arm. His blue blazer is crooked on his slightly overweight frame as he sits side saddle on the bench. A family passes by with a little girl in tow. He looks into her eyes, but she quickly turns away. Only moments before he was driving in his car listening to the radio. An old Chicago tune came on and Tom cranked up the volume. He imagined himself playing guitar and singing the background with the other band members. “Does anybody really know what time it is, does anybody really care?” But when it was over, he was disappointed. His performance didn’t give him that automatic high it used to. He quietly turned down the volume and looked over at the next lane to see if anyone was watching him.

Lost--3 It was that damned conversation he had with his boss, Pete Romano, a couple of hours ago. He couldn’t put it out of his mind. Pete and he had worked together at TrimTech for over 10 years, helping their company grow from a small supplier of chrome parts to the automotive industry to a major player worldwide. That morning they went over the next quarter’s plans talking about the usual…next month’s trade show in Detroit, the new mailing campaign on their next generation of chrome coatings, plans to revise the web site. Things went fine, until the very end of the meeting. Tom pulls into the mall and finds a parking space close to the entrance. Once inside, he wanders from store to store, checking out the new cell phones in the Verizon store and the latest iPods in the Apple store. He had purchased a pod for his son before he left for college and was thinking of getting one for himself. Russell Grinnis, one of the engineers at work, bought one, which he used while working out. “It holds over a thousand songs,” he told Tom, his eyes lighting up as though he were also off to college. Tom thought he should work out and how an iPod might make the whole process more tolerable. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to one of the store’s techies for fear of being bombarded with an aggressive sales pitch. He stops next to a sign at the food court that reads, “Chinese food--Any three items for $5.99.” He takes a tray and slides it along the silver railing as he looks over the sumptuous offerings. He picks Kung po shrimp, fried rice and chicken and broccoli. But when he sits down to eat his meal, he suddenly loses his appetite. There are people all around him, talking and laughing, enjoying conversation with family and friends. A panic suddenly sweeps over him, like it had so many times in the past at the office. His skin becomes clammy and he feels paralyzed, unable to move for several agonizing seconds.

Lost--4 The first time this happened was about a year ago. It was after he and Pete met for their usual meeting. Pete was reluctant to bring it up, but it was his job. “Results on your stuff have been down lately, Tom. Any thoughts?” Tom didn’t need Pete to tell him. He had noticed it too. There was a time when he could put out a series of mailers and get 2530 good leads to give to the field. Hot, sizzling inquiries with engineers about to design a new car body and looking for ideas on exterior chrome and trim. Lately, his efforts seemed to fizzle. He wanted to respond to Pete, but he didn’t know what to say. Pete saw his discomfort and let him off the hook with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Tom. Just a slump. You’ll pick it up.” But things didn’t pick up. From that point on, every day started for Tom with fear, not in an overt way, but as a sensation in his gut that clawed its way to his head. He had trouble concentrating enough to answer the simplest of questions. Tasks suddenly became too numerous to handle; piles of unaddressed papers littered his desk. He couldn’t organize himself to do routine things, like returning telephone calls or responding to emails. He resented interruptions from colleagues, accusing them of distracting him from more important matters. The familiar rhythm of his day, that sweet inner ticking of quiet strength and security, which he relied on to get work done, was replaced by a dread he couldn’t explain. Out of desperation, he had gone to Pete, who assured him that it was merely a middle aged phase. “You’ll get over it,” he said smiling showing two rows of perfectly aligned white teeth, his trademark to everyone who knew him. “Things are picking up; now get out of here and don’t worry about it.”

Lost--5 As Tom discards his meal he thinks about that conversation and what Pete had not said. Perhaps Pete had forgotten that Tom was privy to the monthly sales results just as he was. In fact, things were not picking up. If anything, results were on the decline. It was alarming, and Tom couldn’t understand why nobody was talking about it. It didn’t make sense. That is, until today’s meeting with Pete. There is still plenty of time before Tom has to be at the wake. There is a dollar store at the mall and Tom checks the directory to see where it is. He finds the “You Are Here” icon, then matches the number of the store with the correct space it occupies. In a few moments he is walking through the aisles, amazed at the range of items one could purchase for a mere dollar. It is at the end of one of these aisles that he finds them: full size black umbrellas piled on top of one another in a long wire basket. Tom picks one up and can’t help but wonder how anyone could manufacture an umbrella and sell it retail for one dollar. As he holds the umbrella by its handle and slowly raises it into the air, a tag falls out from within the folds of material. It reads, “Made in China.” “We lost Summit Technologies today.” Tom was suddenly back at today’s meeting with Pete. “It’s not that big a deal.” “Not that big a deal?” Tom could hear his voice rising. “They are a half million dollar a year customer, Pete. It doesn’t get any bigger than that.” “Yeah, but they represent just a..a.. you know, small percentage of what we do.” Pete was holding his hands palms up, as though conjuring the problem away. “Who the hell did we loose it to?” Tom asked. “Mentone, right? Look, let’s get with our sales guys and put a Power Point together. I bet they don’t know about all the stuff we can do for them…online services…holding their inventory…”

Lost--6 Pete started shaking his head. “No, no, Pete, hear me out. So Mentone low balled us, I know we can turn Summit, if we can just get back in there...” Pete’s head shaking was finally followed by an almost inaudible, “No.” “No? Whaddya’ mean, no? Are we gonna’ let Mentone…” Pete closed his eyes and rolled his head as he raised his hand to stop Tom from saying another word. “We didn’t lose the job to Mentone, Tom. We lost it to a Chinese company.” Tom went back to his desk in a trance. It was as though he wasn’t really there, but floating above his desk, watching the entire office and everyone in it. There were people standing at the fax machine. Someone was putting paper in it, while someone else poured a cup of coffee. Two people were in a cubicle discussing an excel spread sheet one had opened on his computer. There were others making phone calls, as the new hire struggled to input her first order. As he floated he saw them all at once, stitching together pieces of their day, patches that made up the quilt of their work lives, the product of the years the time they had all spent at TrimTech. He suddenly felt useless, separated from his colleagues as well as from himself, floating like a bloated balloon in some bizarre parade. He slowly put the umbrella back into the basket and left the store. Tom arrives at the wake and meets his brother, Lou, in the parking lot. Louie Lucan is two years older than Tom, with the same thinning gray hair and a scraggily piece of gray brillo for a moustache. They do their usual embrace, something that only began a few short years before, and start walking toward the door. “How’s it goin’, brother?” Lou asks his standard first question whenever they meet. “Ah, you, know how it is, the usual.”

Lost--7 Lou nods his head knowingly. “I know what you mean…par for the course.” Such is the extent of their conversation as they enter the funeral home. Tom always liked Norman Stiles, the deceased man to whom he now pays his respects. Norman was the VP of Sales and Marketing and Tom’s father worked for him at the oil company as an administrative assistant. In those days, Norman was “Mr. Big.” He had the college credentials and sales experience to go with it. But more than that, he had style, always in a white starched shirt with bright gold cuff links and solid color tie; he had a commanding voice that turned heads, but a manner that was friendly and affable. You liked to be around Norman and he liked to be around you. In his younger days, Tom came into some money and Norman taught him about investments. He picked three “safe” stocks for Tom, sending him to his own broker who never took a fee for any of the transactions he made for Tom. Norman was Tom’s first business lesson and he never forgot it. His thoughts slowly return to the present. He is sitting in the funeral parlor listening to Norman’s grandson, Bob, give a eulogy. He is a tall young man with square shoulders, light skin and closely trimmed blonde hair that stands up on his head like tiny spikes. He speaks in the same booming voice as Norman telling everyone how he lived with his grandfather for a time when his mom and dad split up. “Then as now, he was there for me. ‘Get your education, Bobbie,’ he’d say. ‘It’s everything. And remember: you’re somebody, you got something to offer the world, so don’t be afraid. Go out there and be part of something. You’ll be better for it.’ I have always relied on my grandfather for his encouragement, support and most of all his love. I don’t know what I will do without him….”

Lost--8 The young man breaks down, as other family members gather around, touching him and giving comfort as they lead him to his seat. Tom leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, as he buries his face in his hands. Brother Lou leans over to him and whispers, “Par for the course.”