Buy Now:

In the Book

Chapter 3: Confrontation ...

Lanning began the trek from his corner office on the south side of the building to Dolan's corner office on the north side of the building. A trip, each time he took it, Lanning likened to self-mutilation. The fact that each had a corner office was not that surprising. As head of the department, one of the things Dolan was responsible for was allocating offices. Allocating a corner office on the south side to Lanning simply made good sense because Lanning's distaste for Dolan was absolutely reciprocal, and this was the best way to keep him as far away as possible. For a number of reasons. Dolan felt Lanning represented the past. And he had neither the time nor the inclination to dwell on anything that happened before he arrived at the firm. Lanning was old school. He wore ties for Christ's sake. He was mannered and articulate. Dolan might have even thought him garrulous had he known what that meant. So the department head kept him literally as far away as possible and only called or interacted with him personally when he knew specifically what he was going to say. Else he might be lured into an actual discussion with Lanning, which Dolan likened to knee-buckling migraines.

As Lanning passed through the empty outer office that normally housed Dolan's administrative assistant, he had no need to wonder if his quarry was in his lair. A musky aroma permeated the air along with a consistent snip, snip, snip, sound.

Stepping into the doorway, Lanning was momentarily struck mute by the sight before him. Dolan was sitting on the sofa in the guest area of his office. One leg was bent and resting on the coffee table. The javelina was hunched over it in a contorted posture methodically clipping the toenails that protruded from his Birkenstock sandals. Severed half-moon slivers were flying into the air and landing willy-nilly on table, chairs, and carpet.

Lanning took a moment to compose himself before he spoke.

"Mark. You wanted to see me."

The use of Dolan's Christian name was less a concession to familiarity and more an inability to utter something as respectful as "Mr. Dolan" or as chummy as "boss."

Dolan seemed unperturbed by the sudden interruption and unembarrassed as well. He swept the palm of his hand across the tops of his wiggling toes and answered, "Yeah. I left you a note."

In no particular hurry to take a seat amongst the recently trimmed toenails, Lanning remained standing in the open door as he said, "Right. That's why I came over."

Getting up from the couch and walking toward his desk, Dolan mumbled, "Gotta check something first. Sit over here."

Normally, Lanning would have viewed his department head's response as another example of Dolan's boorish gamesmanship. Summoning one to his office, then having him sit and wait while he did something that was deemed more important, was an obviously transparent move to establish just who was subservient to whom. However, having noticed that the trajectory of the catapulted clippings had fallen short of the chair Dolan suggested, Lanning was willing to overlook the slight.

Taking his seat in front of Dolan's desk, Lanning couldn't help but frown inwardly at what his boss was wearing. Atop the aforementioned sandals were well-worn jeans. A wrinkled, floppy T-shirt topped those. Dolan's jacket was slung carelessly over the back of his chair. The collar of which was continually crushed every time the cochon leaned back in his chair.

Lanning was not entirely opposed to what had become known as business casual. He simply felt that too many people, like Dolan, turned it into business casualty. That advertising was considered a creative business was no excuse to look less than professional. Another point of view on which he and his boss conspicuously differed.

Eyes still transfixed on his flat plasma screen, Dolan muttered out of the side of his mouth, "So, whatta ya want?"

Lanning leaned forward and dropped the note in the middle of Dolan's desk. "I believe you wanted to see me."

Dolan looked at it, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the general vicinity of his wastebasket. It landed on the floor. This had no visible effect on the fireplug.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you not to come to the Bayside presentation tomorrow. You can sit it out."

The silence was palpable.

Within that silence, that infinitesimal moment that passes between one person saying something and another person being expected to respond, Lanning's mind was racing. Don't come to the Bayside presentation? You can sit it out? Surely these were two of the most inexplicable things he had ever heard Dolan say. Must be a misunderstanding. Better seek clarification.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Don't worry about the Bayside meeting tomorrow. No need to be there."

Lanning couldn't help himself. "No need to be there? I came up with the concept. I developed the work. I know exactly how to present it."

"Not gonna use that. Gonna go with some stuff I asked Jerry to work up."

Jerry was Jerry Kilpatrick. The group head Dolan relied on to do the kind of work he wanted without any tiresome discussions about whether or not it was the right thing to do.

There was of course a fusillade of interrogatives Lanning could have begun to fire. What is lacking in the work I did? Why didn't you tell me you had someone else working on the project? Isn't it a bit last-minute to be making such a decision? Shouldn't our clients be allowed to see what our other solutions are? Aren't the Bayside people going to wonder why I'm not there? What makes you think Jerry will come off as a relevant, involved, committed, credible solution-provider when it's me they've been dealing with for the past three years? Who's going to answer the tough technical questions? Do our partners in planning, account service, media, and research know about this? Is senior management on board with this decision?

As the velocity of the questions increased in Lanning's mind, so too did the ferocity. Why would you do such a hideously unfair thing? Isn't this a totally irresponsible way to run a business? Are you trying to lose this account? How dim-witted are you? What controlled substances have you been consuming? Have you totally lost your mind? Did you ever have a mind? Do you know what a mind is?

What Lanning actually said, however, was, "It's your call."

Then the javelina actually had the ill grace to say, "Yeah, it is. Isn't it?"

Want to keep reading? Buy the book!