Business would soon be booming, and Charles Roman was one happy guy. Now seated in his expansive office, Charles looked out the large bay window and took in the view of Atlanta. From this sixteenth story view, he could see the entire city with its slowly emerging lightshow that began every evening around this time. This was his city. He owned Atlanta.
Charles was not a big man and this characteristic extended further than just his physical size. At five foot eight, Charles wore custom tailored suits and a power hairstyle that exuded the image he liked people to see. His year-round tan, courtesy of the company’s frequent flyer perks, supplied the finishing touch and made him a handsome guy.
Sitting at the helm, Charles began organizing the papers that covered the shiny oak surface of his desk. His usual evening activities would begin with a late departure from work, followed by a few drinks at the Victory Hotel. With any luck, he’d meet up with that hot little tasty morsel from Marketing and avoid having to see his wife all together.
But that plan would be delayed on this day. There was a light knock on the door, followed by the entry of his two in command. Sam Reynolds, his VP, and Jeff Edwards, Marketing director, entered with dread.
“This can’t be good,” Charles announced.
The two silently took seats facing the great man.
“We have a situation,” Sam began.
Charles looked at both, waiting for the sky to open and rain on his evening. “Just tell me,” he directed.
“The approval for Suprame got delayed,” Jeff stated. “We just got the package back from them today.”
“Why?” Charles demanded. “Haven’t we paid them enough?”
The two looked at each other, not knowing which turd to drop on the man first.
Sam took the lead. “There’s a new sheriff in town. This guy, David Manning, he’s not a team player.”
“The FDA has been getting some complaints about sedatives,” Jeff added. “They want us to conduct one more study on the effects of termination.”
Charles got to his feet and began to pace.
“We were promised an approval by the end of this month. We have spent some serious bucks to guarantee it. It’s the drug that will ultimately save this company, and now this Manning guy wants us to waste more time worrying about what happens after the drug is no longer being used? How is that our problem?”
“The problems aren’t happening while people are taking the medication. The problem begins when they stop."
"That’s not a pharmaceutical problem,” Charles yelled. “It’s a prescription problem.”
“Well, now it’s Dominex’s problem,” Sam conceded.
Charles sat back down and raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “Look, guys, I really don’t care what you do with this asshole at the FDA. Just figure something out. This drug is going on the market. I don’t care if you have hold a gun to his head.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeff said. “We’ll think of something.”
The two men watched Charles Roman grab his coat and storm out of the building.
“Well,” Sam said, “he handled that well.”
They had been here before, not sure how they were going to pull another rabbit out of their asses, but certain it would happen.
Charles sat smoldering for a few moments before speeding out of the parking lot. The radio was always tuned to Z93, and Charles felt some of the tension drift away. They’d handle the problem and he had a date. He began tapping to the time of “Taking Care of Business” on the steering wheel with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. Taking care of business had been a sweet deal. Dominex Pharmaceuticals had been in his family for decades before he was able to slide into the driver’s seat. In the old days, his father had run a respectable operation, focusing primarily on anti-inflammatory and arthritis medications. The company had done marginally well, driven by its long-term reputation of being a company of integrity. But in the past ten years, there had been so many companies manufacturing virtually the same medications. For the past decade, profits and subsequently the company’s stock value had been slowly spiraling downward.
When Charles’s father approached retirement, he had no other offspring, and despite the warning of several board members and friends, Charles’s father decided to take a chance on his son. It wasn’t so much the wasted college years. He told himself that his son was a “late bloomer.” It was the lying and deceit that made Charles a high risk. Never the less, Charles Roman Sr. had only one son. So Charles Jr. was in.
When Charles first took over as CEO, he didn’t know an aspirin from an anti-depressant. But when the reward was big money, Charles was a fast learner. He quickly learned that there were so many drugs designed to do one thing, and then ultimately used for a wide range of other disorders. By simply changing a small fraction of an already existing compound, a completely new drug could be marketed. Working with another company’s product, an anti-convulsive, Charles followed the parade into the wide world of sedatives.
Charles quickly realized that sedatives were the pot of gold at the end of the pharmaceutical rainbow. At no other time in history had there ever been the rash of depression and anxiety disorders we see today. With the two-paycheck economy, overcrowding and loss of the extended family, everyday stress, anxiety, and depression were at an all-time high. In the ‘50s and ‘60s, people would see their family doctors and, after all the standard tests, they would be told to go take a vacation, slow down, or get more sleep. In today’s fast pace, the world did not lend itself to these solutions and a quick fix had not just become a luxury, it had become a necessity.
Under the new regime, Dominex pharmaceuticals had the potential to become a multi-billion dollar proposition. Doctors would be provided with an ample supply of samples, cookies, and the promise of more to come. It was a win-win situation. The patient would provide the problem, the drug company would happily provide the solution and the doctor would be the hero. Everyone would be happy.
“No one happier than me," Charles sang, substituting the words, “and working over time." He pulled the Beemer in an empty parking space at the Victory Hotel.
Sheila had been watching the time tick away for thirty minutes and was not happy about being kept waiting.
“Would you like another round?" the bartender asked. Sheila checked her watch again.
“Why not?" she sighed. It’ll make it that much easier to deal with him.
Sheila Montgomery was there for one reason and one reason only. To move up into a position of power, no matter what she had to do to get there. Currently working for Dominex Pharmaceuticals in marketing, Sheila made good money, and the freedom of being out in the field gave her that added element of independence she always demanded. But the power to change things, and to be on the cutting edge, was not only Sheila’s goal, it was her mission.
Sheila’s thoughts were interrupted, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Hi Charlie," Sheila said, as she looked up and smiled sweetly.
“Hi yourself.” Charles took the bar stool beside Sheila and ordered a martini. While he waited for his drink to arrive, he checked the bar for any familiar faces. No one stood out, Charles noticed with a degree of relief. It wouldn’t take much to be noticed, he thought. Sitting here next to this beautiful blond knockout, the regular bar crowd that frequented this establishment were already well aware of his presence by association. And the order of the day was to remain incognito.
Sheila was a knockout. That had always been something she had been able to use to her advantage. Now, at the age of thirty-five, nothing had changed. Her long blond hair, courtesy of Clairol, and long thin frame commanded the stage. Her large green eyes and flawless face were the finishing ticket. Women distrusted her and sometimes outwardly disliked her, but men were always ready, willing, and able to lend her a helping hand. And Sheila was always ready and willing to accept it. In fact, her whole world had revolved around the easy task of manipulation for so long, she really was no longer consciously aware of how much every waking moment of her life was not just based, but reliant on it. The fact that she had never had a close female friend was inconsequential. She told herself that she preferred the company of men, and for the most part, her needs were always met.
Charles’s drink arrived and after the bartender was out of hearing range, he leaned over and whispered, “I missed you today.”
Sheila wanted to gag, but instead kissed him on the tip of his nose and said, “I bet you did.”
Charles wanted this woman in the worst way and reached into his coat pocket to feel for the room key.
“Would you like another drink before we retire?” he said, pleased with his clever metaphor.
Sheila was already feeling the effects of the two she had downed and told Charles she was fine.
“You certainly are," he agreed playfully, as he escorted his new friend out of the bar.
Charles seemed to be getting antsy and Sheila had early appointments in the morning. After the holding and the small talk, it was time to go. Fishing around on the floor for her belongings, Sheila eyed the powerful CEO. For all the talk and impressive “courtship," the whole thing had really been a pitiful few moments. The extent of their foreplay could have been measured with an egg timer. Sheila hoped not to have to repeat this performance too many more times.
“So,” Charles began. “When would you like to get together and discuss your new marketing ideas?” He did not care about her ideas; he had better plans for their next meeting.
“I can come to your office anytime, Charlie," Sheila purred.
“My office was not exactly the place I had in mind," he replied provocatively.
“Come on," Sheila toyed. “I might start to think you’re not taking me seriously."
“I’ll take you anyway I can get you," Charles continued to play.
Working hard not to roll her eyes, Sheila just smiled.
“Okay, okay” he said with exaggerated exasperation. “Come to the office tomorrow at five.”
“Five it is." And next time, let’s lose the egg timer. Sheila winked and said, “Bye Charlie." She was out the door before Charles could reply.