"Weiner-PurplePill" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weiner Andrew)

Robbins were doing for them. Said they wanted a new approach, but really they
wanted same-old same-old. Usual story. But it's too bad all the same, because we
needed some new billings."

Conway put down his own fork. He had not really been eating anyway, just moving
the brightly colored pieces of salad around on his plate. He waited for the
other shoe to fall.

"I wanted you to hear it from me first," Jackman said. "Before the rumors start
flying. We're looking at another consolidation."

"Consolidation?"

"Your group with Tumer's. Makes a lot of sense. We get to condense studio space,
cut overhead . . . I can show you the spreadsheet. It's hard to argue with the
numbers."

"And who . . ." For a moment, Conway could not bring himself to ask the
question, but then he did anyway. "Who will be group head?"

"That's still up in the air. But I'm pulling for you, Barry. Don't doubt it."

Conway doubted it. But even if he did have Jackman's backing, he still didn't
care much for his chances. Turner Woodley was an industry veteran, a multiple
award-winner, creator of dozens of striking campaigns.

But then again, the man was a drunk, sometimes an obnoxious one at that. He was
consistently disrespectful to senior management. And if the agency was serious
about cutting costs, what better place to start than Turner's hefty compensation
package?

He sat back, appalled at his own thoughts. Turner Woodley was an old friend,
unfailingly generous over the years with his time and his advice. They had gone
fishing, played poker, gathered their families together at Thanksgiving. Turner
had helped him get this job.

Turner had two kids still in college, and another who was in and out of private
psychiatric hospitals. He had a big house in Westchester and a summer place on
the Cape, both mortgaged to the hilt. He was fifty-four years old, and looked
older. If Turner lost his job he would probably never work again.

"Christ," he said. "I hope it doesn't come to that."

"But it will," Jackman said.

"Maybe we could work together . . ."

"Too many cooks. Too few efficiencies. Of course, if you don't want the job . .
." He gave Conway a searching look.