Becoming: Nice

The plane landed hard.

Waking me from a running dream. Running backwards. Already slipping away. What was I running from? Couldn’t pull it up.

Shaking it off and remembering why I was in Nice.

First the hotel for a quick shower, then a meet-up with AnnMarie for dinner and a planning session. (I’ve use pseudonyms throughout.)

Arriving at the hotel still stuck in a mood. I realized I needed to go for a run. Gotta shake off this dread.

A quick text to AnnMarie.

“I need to push our meeting back an hour. Will that work?”

Relieved when she replied yes. Shorts and shoes on and I’m out the door, across to the shore, trotting along the Promenade feeling the afternoon, noting the familiar burning sensation that makes me want to walk. I resist.

Showered, fresh, I meet AnnMarie in the lobby and we head into the restaurant.

“Ted, the latest clips came in. They’re good. They do make the point…”

Finishing her thought: “…but we have a very unhappy client who is in a very difficult spot.”

With her look I know she hates it when I do this. Great start. Contain yourself, Teddy.

We’re both painfully aware that everything we’ve presented has been rejected. Out of time. Out of budget. Soon to be out of luck.

* * *

We’re working for a Japanese holding company that has been buying small but exclusive European perfume and cosmetics brands to extend their luxury portfolio.

Our assignment is to redesign the packaging and create an exclusive travel set to sell through duty-free shops to young women travelers — a new management class feeling their power, eagerly experiencing their young executive lives.

The French family who sold their multigenerational company has a contractual right over look and feel. They’ve rejected round after round of concepts. The CEO, Julien Nicolas, is the great-grandson of the founder — young, new to the role, and clearly influenced by older siblings, aunts, and uncles. Heritage is everything to him.

Further complicating things is Cheryl, with a New York sales consultancy that has duty-free expertise and also has a say in pack design. Her line: “If it doesn’t look right in the store, it stays in the store.”

* * *

At dinner AnnMarie and I look over the new videos from airport interviews in Dubai, São Paulo, Tokyo, New York, and London.

We were pulling together shots of all twelve design rounds, disgusted that the assignment had gotten so far out of hand, when AnnMarie grabbed my shoulder and pointed.

“Isn’t that Makoto Tanaka?” Low voice.

I looked. “Yes, I think so.” I’d only seen him on screen. He was taller than I’d imagined.

I stood and approached. This could be good.

Extending my hand. “Excuse me — you’re Mr. Tanaka. Am I correct? Sorry for the intrusion…”

He smiled and took my hand. “Yes, and you are Mr. Leonhardt. Please call me Makoto.” Strong grip.

Thinking: this is so good.

“Please join AnnMarie and me — we’re just going over the latest and I want your thoughts. I’m hoping you’ll be pleased.”

* * *

Coffee was especially good that morning. French hotels always deliver, I think, as I carry my cup from the lobby to the meeting room to check on the screen, sound system, and projector. AnnMarie is already there, laptop plugged in and running. The images look great, the clips run smoothly, sound is good.

Tanaka arrives, grabs a croissant and a coffee, and settles in across from us. He’s beaming.

“You know I spearheaded this acquisition for Tokyo. It seemed like a natural. The family felt the need to move on from the business. We need to fill out our luxury side — especially the perfumes — and the duty-free opportunity seems huge. And we picked you knowing you’d be sensitive to the family’s needs and the demands of the market.”

I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

AnnMarie is holding her breath. Our impromptu pre-meeting with Tanaka the previous evening had not gone as well as hoped. He was frustrated that we were a year into this effort and still months, if not a year, away from market. Worse, Tanaka had promised his bosses in Japan that the acquisition would be paying for itself by now. Tokyo blamed him for putting design approval into the sales agreement. He hired us on the New York recommendation, only to find us doing round after round of designs with no end in sight. Tokyo not happy with the mounting fees and the lack of results.

Here we are with the hopefully magic solution. But as far as Tanaka is concerned, this too could end in a deadlock.

Before he could continue, the family entered. We rose to greet them as my laptop beeped with an incoming video call and AnnMarie fished for her phone.

I excused myself from the greetings to connect the call, noting that Julien, our young CEO, didn’t look happy. His aunt and uncle were in tow. Both older, slender, and severe.

AnnMarie handed me her phone. “It’s Cheryl in New York. You better step outside.” Low voice. And she turned her attention to Julien and his entourage with her best smile.

“Cheryl, I hope you’re well,” as I stepped out into the hall.

“Ted, the clips work great. The solution they support is a good one — it will work. In fact I think it’s blow away. I support you. Just wanted you to know, ‘cause I know you’re under the gun on this one. Okay, bye — see you in a moment.”

With that she was gone. I headed back in, wondering if she’d get us paid if the whole thing went south.

* * *

Julien’s eyes were watering.

No — actual tears. His aunt was dabbing at his tears with her handkerchief.

The videos had done it.

Tanaka beaming.

It was only then that I noticed my underarms were dripping.

I needed a shower.

No. Maybe a run.