Fourteen
My automatic response, whenever I wake during the night, is to reach for my phone. Marty is known for firing off emails in
the middle of the night, and it is normal at ipryy, even expected, to “download” your ideas or thoughts the minute they come
to you, rather than wait until a reasonable hour.
Jerome stirs, but doesn’t awaken as I see three texts from Clara. I prop the pillows up behind my back and sit up.
The Inferno meeting is tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I think you should be there. Am attaching their annual report so you can get
up to speed. Also forwarding you the email chain. Marty’s office for introductory coffee, then moving to boardroom.
I’m not sure about the introductory coffee in Marty’s office. If Clara is right and they are younger millennials and Gen Zers,
Marty’s office is hardly the place for connection and free-flowing ideas. It feels stuffy, and old-fashioned. I think about
Lucy, and Noah, and how we sat up the other night playing the guitar and singing. We need something informal, and bright,
a room that reflects the freedom of our generation.
I know about Inferno. They are the hottest technology company in Asia, and would be the perfect partner to launch ipryy in Asia.
In every country around the world, we partner with existing companies to manage the app.
Asia is huge, and we have been looking to launch ipryy in Asia for some time.
Inferno is a young, family-owned, vibrant company, and I instinctively know that Marty’s office is the wrong venue.
The furnishings, the black suede sofa, the very fact that Marty’s office is away from everything else in the Spider, smacks
of privilege, of corporate culture that is trying to be hip, but hasn’t quite got it right.
It is 2:40 a.m. but I text Clara back. Do you think the Campbell conference room might be better for the meeting? It is my favorite conference room, located in the marketing section so it is fun, and noisy, and buzzy. It is called Campbell
after the wall of Andy Warhol’s Campbell’s soup prints, bright red-and-white soup cans splashed on the wall over a huge Lucite
table that displays coffee table books, a Chihuly glass sculpture, and giant thick glass canisters of pick and mix sweets.
It feels youthful, energetic, bright. It feels like the future. It feels like something the people at Inferno might appreciate
more.
I smile as the dots appear immediately, indicating that Clara is awake, as well.
I suggested that, she says. Marty wants them to see him in his environment, and then chose the MCM conference room. Good idea, though. Let me see if I can persuade him to make a change.
I open the documents she has sent over, and start to read.
My father likes me to dress in a feminine style, and I avoid my usual jeans and T-shirts for meetings, particularly when he
is there.
I slide on a floral ruffled skirt that I bought online a couple of weeks ago for next to nothing, and pair it with a blazer and flat embroidered mules, slipping a pair of Lucy’s huge tasseled earrings into my ears.
The blazer affords me sophistication, makes me appear as if I know what I’m doing, while the floral skirt and earrings suggest I am a well-rounded woman who has a fun life outside of work.
At least, that’s what I hope it says. Despite being a millennial about to meet with millennials, I battle my urge to be myself with my need to please my father.
Today, I would say the urge to be myself wins ever so slightly, and I am glad for that.
I down three cups of coffee before I leave my house, then stop at Starbucks en route to the office for a large Americano.
The documents and email chain kept me up most of the night. As head of Global Expansion, Clara is focused on the numbers;
what our partnership will mean to Inferno, how ipryy can grow their business, benefiting us both. She has sent them figures
on other countries, and the figures are impressive. It took me hours to read and fully ingest. The figures were swimming on
the page by the time I went to sleep. Numbers have never been my strong point. I googled the people on the email chain: Alisha
Chatterjee, Asim Kapoor, and Pavit Desai, and learned little about them. LinkedIn isn’t nearly as interesting as it needs
to be, and I couldn’t find anything on Facebook.
But that’s okay, I think. Clara wants me to be there to observe, to learn. She won’t be expecting me to run the meeting. Ha!
I snort at the prospect as I drain the dregs of my cup, leave it in the car, and make my way into the building.
My father is on edge, which is making Clara on edge.
I feel the energy as soon as I walk in his office, even though they are bright smiles, pretending to be engaged with the rest of the team from Global Expansion, plus corporate PR, all standing in a group as Jerome relays a funny story of something that happened on his way in to the office.
My father has a tight smile on his face, even as the others burst into laughter.
There are platters of bagels, doughnuts, mountains of fruit. Strawberries as big as tennis balls mound a large plate. No one
ever eats at these meetings. When the meeting is over, these untouched platters will be taken to various parts of the Spider
where ravenous employees will descend upon them like vultures, demolishing everything until the plates are clean. Nothing
goes to waste.
I grab a strawberry and bite it as juice explodes down my chin. I catch it with my hands, laughing with slight embarrassment
as someone hands me a napkin. I look up to see my father frowning at me.
Before he can say anything, there is a buzz. The team from Inferno are here. I check the juice is not on my skirt and look
for somewhere to put the strawberry, eventually balancing it behind the fruit bowl, covering it with the napkin.
Two women walk in, gleaming smiles, one of them in exactly the same skirt as me. I am focused on her skirt, and when I look
up, she is laughing in delight and it is then that I recognize her.
“Missy!” She opens her arms and laughs as we hug each other tightly.
“Preeti! I tried to find you but you disappeared!”
“I was going to say the same thing to you! And look—” She gestures to our skirts. “Skirt sisters!”
“How do you two . . .” My father, standing off to one side, is confused, and unused to being ignored.
“We met at the Virtuoso Vodka party,” I say. “Preeti was my port in the storm.”
“No! You were mine! I didn’t know anyone there!”
“You’re Missy?” The other girl claps her hands. “All I kept hearing was Missy this, Missy that, and how much fun Preeti had
with you. I hope she wasn’t a bad influence. I’m Alisha.”
“Only a little, but I enjoyed every second.” I shake her hand.
“Hi. I’m Clara Woodlander.” Clara leaps forward to take charge, introducing the two women first to Marty, then to the rest
of the team. “It’s lovely to meet you. We were also expecting Asim Kapoor and Pavit Desai?”
“I’m so sorry,” says Preeti. “They had to fly home late last night, and Pavit asked me to run this meeting. I’m used to running
meetings. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
Clara blushes and apologizes, as Jerome steps in to tempt them with drinks and breakfast foods that are declined.
We make our way to the Campbell conference room, glad that Clara took on board what I was saying.
“This room is amazing,” Alisha says, putting her bag down on the table and pulling out a large tablet.
“This was Missy’s idea.” Clara smiles. “We had you in a much more boring room, but Missy thought you would enjoy this more.”
“Is that the real Warhol?” Preeti walks over to the wall.
“It is.” My father joins her, looking at them. “The official title is 32 Campbell’s Soup Cans. Warhol painted them originally as single paintings, then realized they had more value as a set, so he bought back the five
he’d already sold, including one that had been sold to Dennis Hopper, the actor.”
“They’re wonderful,” says Preeti. “What a treat to see this up close.”
“If we do this deal, you could be buying Warhols of your own,” says my father with a smile that I hope won’t be read as patronizing,
although it was patronizing; it made me shiver. I see something harden in Preeti, who turns and looks straight into my father’s
eyes.
“Our family has the largest Kusama collection in Asia, with a smattering of Murakami and of course Anish Kapoor. Our taste tends to be a little bit more contemporary than Warhol,” she says, and the smile slides off her face as she excuses herself to pour more water into her glass.
Oh shit, I think. This was not a good start.
Marty starts the meeting by telling the story he always tells to potential new partners. How he started ipryy from nothing,
how persistence, humility, and discipline have got him everything he has today. His own personal PhD, he jokes. The jokes
fall flat, Preeti letting out a small, pained smile.
I know he lost her at the Warhol comment. I see the others on our team look at each other with wide eyes, wondering how they
might be able to save the day.
Clara stands up and takes over as my father sinks down in his chair, grateful to pass the baton. He is not used to being anything
other than awed. He is not used to being actively disliked, and it does feel as if Preeti doesn’t like him, her face now stony
and still.
“I would like to talk a little about why we feel this partnership with Inferno would be such a good match, and I’d like to
start by showing you our revenue in some of our global territories, with a projected revenue stream in India.” Clara is professional,
and impressive as the screen fills with charts, numbers so big, they are almost nonsensical. Clara runs through her presentation,
which is factual and dry, before asking if there are any questions.
There is an awkward silence.
The difference between a good meeting and a bad one is in the questions, I think. In a good meeting, there is dialogue, back
and forth, parrying information in a bid to see if this is as good a fit, as good an idea as you hope. In a bad meeting, there
is nothing.
Alisha looks at Preeti for questions, but she shakes her head. “I think you’ve answered everything,” she says. “Thank you so much for such an informative meeting. I will take this information back and discuss it with my brother, and we will be in touch.”
We’ve lost them. I know we’ve lost them, my father knows we’ve lost them, and Clara knows we’ve lost them. As Preeti starts
to gather her things, I find myself getting to my feet, the only one in the room standing, and I clear my throat. I have no
idea whether this is a good idea or bad, but I do know that if she walks out of the room now, there will be no deal with Inferno.
“Preeti.” She stops gathering her things and looks at me. “I know Marty and Clara have filled you in on the numbers, but I’d
like to talk a little about the philanthropic work we’re doing here at ipryy, and particularly our vision for what we hope
to do in India around women’s issues and education.”
For the first time since the Warhol discussion, Preeti looks alert. She even smiles slightly, relaxing back in her chair.
“I’m listening,” she says.
“I think we’re roughly the same age, you and I.
” I wing it completely, unsure exactly where I’m going, but knowing I have to connect with her, that this is the only way we have a shot at a future business partnership.
“I don’t know what your background is, but I imagine it has been privileged.
I know your brother went to boarding school in England, and I’m guessing, from your accent, you may have done so too.
I went to a public school here in California, and had an education that was good enough to get me into Harvard.
” I don’t mention that his younger children are educated privately, but that’s his wife winning.
“I don’t consider myself privileged in the way I live my life, but I am very aware that I was enormously privileged in getting the education I had.
I always say my greatest gift was my education.
You heard some of my father’s story earlier, but what he didn’t tell you was his passion for education for young people, and particularly, by virtue of having daughters—” I smile “—for girls. He cares about girls. We all know how much of a role education plays in developing a nation, in both social and economic growth. In India, that education is often denied to girls.” Preeti nods in agreement, and I know for sure I have got her interest. “If I’m not wrong, forty-eight percent of the total population in India is female, but just over half of them are literate.
The lack of education is preventing India from reaching the heights it could reach if there were better female education, if women were able to get to the top. ”
I can see my father looking at me, astonished, and unsure. He has no idea where I’m going with this. Neither do I, but I am
too busy trying to remember the article I read in Time magazine about education in India to worry about what my father thinks.
“The benefits of educating women don’t end with knowledge, or with women being able to bring in money and help support their
families. Women who are educated help reduce child and maternal mortality. They are able to take charge of their future, and
are less likely to experience domestic violence. On a greater level, when women are included on the political field, when
they are included in key decision-making positions, they make holistic decisions that don’t just benefit themselves, they
benefit the development of the entire society. We know that communities prosper when women are educated. Denying women an
education causes suffering for all.” I take a breath. “ipryy is committed to creating institutions around the world that work
toward educating young women. We are currently developing our philanthropic arm globally, and we are planning to launch this
philanthropic work in India. Partnering with ipryy isn’t just about the numbers, or the ability to buy a Warhol.” I offer
a tiny ironic smile which Preeti returns. “It’s about a vision for the future, seeing how we can change the world, how we
can advocate for change. How we can raise every woman, no matter where they are from, to have the opportunities you and I
have had.”
Preeti is smiling properly now as she nods. “If you educate a man, you educate a person. And if you educate a woman . . .”
I finish for her. “. . . You educate a nation.” We grin at each other. Skirt Sisters and kindred spirits.
“We ought to have some champagne-flavored vodka to celebrate,” laughs Preeti, and the room laughs too. I catch my father’s
eye and he nods at me, and for the first time ever, I see approval and, dare I say it, in that most simple of gestures, gratitude.