The problem is that I think we — that is, Memento Entertainment — should expand into additional markets. John, though, is of the old hat. He thinks that by staying small, we stay secure.
On the other hand, I think that staying small will only prevent us from growing to our potential.
“John, with a little investment and some good faith right now, we’re going to be in a better position to take on the big guys, and maybe we can stop being the station that people flip past on their way to NBC or CBS,” I tell him.
“You’re delusional if you think we’re poised for that kind of an uptick,” he answers. “I respect your ambition, I really do, but at some point, you’re going to have to learn to be realistic. Otherwise, you’re going to end up driving the company under, or, best case scenario, someone realizes that’s where this thing is heading and they’ll have no choice but to fire you before it gets that far.”
John and I have always had friction.
I gra
duated from high school early: three years early, to be exact. I was 18 when I graduated college with honors, and rather than do what Mommy and Daddy told me to do and go for a higher degree in a more respectable field, I decided to use my Bachelor’s in Communications to get my foot in the door.
I can always get a doctorate in something boring when I lose interest in media.
Anyway, I’m not sure if our friction stems from the fact that I’m smarter than John and he knows it or that he was pressured into hiring me by Ainsley, a family friend and CEO of Memento Entertainment.
It very well may be a combination of the two.
“I’m just saying,” I start again, “if we purchase a few stations in markets where we don’t yet have a foothold, we can lay the groundwork for a lot more down the line. I’m not saying it’s going to happen overnight, but if it doesn’t happen sometime soon, we’re not going to be around long enough to-”
“What?” he asks. “We’ve been around for nearly 50 years, Grace. If we were going to go under, it would have happened by now. You’ve got to realize that our business model works because we don’t take unjustifiable risks. That’s why we’re still here and why so many of our competitors have lost out to the bigger guys over the years.”
“I get that we’ve got longevity,” I tell him. “What I’m saying is that we could have longevity and profitability.”
“Oh, come on, Grace,” he says. “What kind of car do you drive?”
“That’s not the point, John,” I start, but he picks up before I can continue.
“The point is that you’re pushing for us to do something that we’ve never done, and it’s going to kill the company if any single part of your plan doesn’t pan out.”
“Oh, we’ve moved into new markets before,” I argue.
“After a great deal of careful consideration and planning,” he says. “We never dove in somewhere without knowing just how warm the water was going to be.”
It’s a stupid metaphor. He’s only trying to cover the fact that his work at the company has been marked by advising our CEO, Ainsley Winters, and the rest of the members on the board not to run before we can walk.
We’ve been walking twice as long as I’ve been alive.
Still, I’m not sure if it’s what he’s saying or the way he’s saying it, but my palms are sweaty and I’m struck by a sharp feeling of terror and panic.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I breathe, but my throat has gone dry. “We need to do something, John. If we stick with the same old approach, we’re going to get the same old payoff right until the moment when one of those companies whose jingles people actually recognize swallows us up and you can say goodbye to Memento Entertainment.”
I reach down and pick up my purse.
“Where are you going?” he asks. “We’re not done here.”
“I’m not leaving,” I tell him, and grab a piece of gum. Out of nowhere, my mouth tastes like I just finished eating pennies and blueberry pie. It’s not a good mix.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks. “You don’t look so well.”
We’ve done this before. We’ve had this exact conversation before, only I can’t actually place when it would have happened. The feeling, though, is overwhelming.
My mind races as I think back, trying to pin it down, but I can’t think of anything that would fit.
“What the hell was that?” I shout.