"You look at a man's eyes, and all first impressions are right, as the judge I clerked for told me during our first week together," Fred Gucci said. "Then you look again when he smiles, to see if the eyes are smiling too, which in a particular type of man they never do. These men tend to be very successful in business, because business is more about teeth than eyes, but the price they pay, that their eyes never get to smile, is one they didn't bargain for, and won't succeed their way out of."
Gucci and Gary Randle were out on the town, celebrating the resolution of the lawsuit that had nearly ruined Gary's life. "I need to do some research," Gucci said when he called," which means not the library but a business meal, and a good one, and one me, which considering our recent success is the least I can do for you and thus, as a member of the legal profesion, the precise action that recommends itself." Gary had gotten used to Gucci's acidic sense of humor and his compound/complex sentences, so the idea of scoring a meal off this man was not a small inducement. They had collected enough, even after Gucci's fees, costs and expenses, to set up Gary in business, a modest business but one in which he was answerable only to himself, and to his clients, customers, advisees - the exact word hadn't come to him yet for what he did. Which was another good reason to hook up with Gucci again. The man might be a wiseacre, but he had a first class grasp on how to manage other people, whether clients on his side or across the table wearing $750 an hour English wool suits and Italian silk ties across the table or in the courtroom..
"Which is why?" Gary asked, noticing how difficult it was to tell whether Gucci's eyes smiled or not, although he tended to believe that Gucci controlled that like he orchestrated the rest of his dealings.
"Greed, unsatisfied need. They can sell everybody, and they do - they can't stop selling. But they can never sell it to themselves, which means they are always back in the market and never satisfy their want. Mostly they don't know what it is, which says more about justice than tragedy, because with how this type uses people, uses them and moves on, it's only fair they carry this invisible hump on their backs.
"Don't eat the fish, by the way. I know you're thinking calories - your first take is always quantitative, you can't help yourself. But take my word. It's on some tombstone out West--'Don't eat the Fish," a public spirited pilgrim, or a joker for an unertaker." Gucci waved to the captain.
"You still have that appetizer with the little clams in the spicy tomato broth?" The way Gucci said it was almost accusatory. Luckily, the man responded in the affirmative. Gucci pointed his expansive forefinger in front of Gary and then in front of himself. "Bring us some to start, if you would be so kind then, and after that let's hear your recommendations."
"Of course Mr. Gucci, whatever you say." The man smiled, Gary thought, although he was so busy looking back and forth between his mouth and his eyes that he wasn't so sure what he had seen. This would take some practice, but it was just the kind of insight he had come looking for. He had started getting calls from rich individuals who wanted to hire him for investment advice. Investment research and analysis had been his job at the big banking house he was no longer associated with, but when he blew the whistle on a fraud one of the bank's clients had been pulling, he'd gotten sued by the client and dumped by the bank. The firm's lawyer predicted Gary's career on Wall Street was finished, because no other bank would ever hire him, but his timing-- the only relevant market phenomenon-- was perfect on the heels of Enron, Global Crossing and all the other scams that had just shown how hard it is to tell the living from the living dead.
How big a market honesty would ever command was hard to say, but the money Gucci had pounded out of Greenaway & Co. was enough to give it a try, and the confidence Gary had developed from surviving this episode and watching Gucci play the matador and nail the bull between the shoulder blades felt like a guide for the future.
"Well, here's to friendship, Gary," the lawyer said when their drinks arrived. They lifted and clinked their glasses and Gary felt himself trying to make his eyes smile, then realized that the effort was getting in the way of the fact that he genuinely liked this bizarre character. "Business friendship, that is," Gucci continued, "a category all its own. Have a bread stick. They fly them in from Milan three times a week. Lighter than air. No calories."
The clam soup came. Gucci took the pepper mill from the waiter and ground it twice over Gary's soup plate and twice over his own, moving the device in a slow circle so it dusted the entire portion evenly. "Get yourself a spoonful of heaven," he said, and tucked his napkin under his chin, encouraging Gary to do likewise. "A touch of paisan never hurt anybody, Gary, not even in your line. No other country like this one, right?" Even if Gary had been inclined to argue, the broth and the clams and the spices, along with the silver plated spoon rattling against the tiny shells, would have taken the fight right out of him. It was celestial.
Gary had never had trouble asking questions. His parents, particularly his father, had encouraged it - there is no such thing as a stupid question, except the one you didn't ask-- was a slogan that might as well have been tattooed inside his brain. The phrase "business friendship," started a tickle in Gary's head.
"While I have the pleasure of your company," he said, realizing that he was imitating Gucci in a way he hoped he would either not notice or be flattered by, "could you enlighten me a little more on this?"
"Case in point," Gucci said, wiping his lips and tipping the plate for the last mouthful, then patting them dry again. "Case in point - I have -- had -- a particular business friend, CEO of one of our leading corporations. Captain of industry, they used to call them, like it was a football team. Sits on a lot of boards-he was even playing golf at a directors' outing on the morning, a Tuesday remember, of September 11, 2001. I did some work for this guy when he was CEO elsewhere, a smaller company which could however afford me because they had serious problems, with the government, with their shareholders, with their customers.
"So he gets his first CEO job when the previous head guy tripped over using the company plane to visit his girlfriend on Fridays and Tuesdays - then, after I help him get out of the major fix they were in, a garden variety double billing thing, the top dog at this even bigger company gets hit by lightning while he's skiing. Our man, let's call him John Doe, that's a good legal name, goes on to this new plush job. He has his own Pullman car like Commodore Vanderbilt, only it's a fleet of jets. This is a company also loaded with screwed up situations, no surprise there-- in other words a place that could use some fixing, and who better? I mean really. So like the good member of the bar that I am, I start kissing him in various spots. Regularly-it's like we're dating. Don't look shocked, Gary, it's a first year course in law school-- kissing the client, not telling and not acknowledging that was what you were doing. Believe me, the client never kisses you!
"Hey, I am not the greatest fool, although I try-- and I am also not as good a professional kisser as many of my fellow acolytes of justice. That's why I get lucky enough to do cases like yours, which believe me provided no small measure of satisfaction and reward, as lawyers would say, never using one word when two will do. Now our man is not a moron, by any stretch, but he is also, remember, a guy whose eyes never smile.
"The problem with kissing the client is how to reconcile it with the motto my first law partner passed on to me from his own mentor - which is that the client is the enemy - so if you keep that in mind you will represent said client well and take care of your own needs and obligations at the same time. Gary, remember the first time you came into my office? Were we friends then? Or were we adversaries of some sort yet to be defined or determined?"
Gary knew he was right, but that didn't make him any more comfortable. It was a relief to have the waiter reappear and clear the soup plates, giving him something else to focus on and breaking up the monologue -- or was it a soliloquy or a lecture? And as to his clients, advisees, customers? As he asked himself this he realized he was reviewing his inventory - odd word - of new business relationships and asking himself to what extent he could trust any of them, and what homework he had done to verify any of it. Liability insurance! Mental note to call agent. God bless Fred.
"I don't delude myself as to this guy, right?" Gucci said. "He's short, tendency to weight swings, mostly upward because of leading the fat life, does the comb over religiously and married three of his secretaries, the last one being a 50 year old plus item he appropriated from her previous husband as a way of recovering from being ditched by wife Number Two. What does that say to you? Likes people to know their place, likes it to be at his feet, would marry his cocker spaniel if people wouldn't talk behind their hands about it. Captain of whatever shipo you want to call it-remember the Sequoia? Nixon's yacht where he had the good wine wrapped in a napkin to hide the label and served only to him? But Doe, remember, can write very big checks."
Gucci looked at the air in a way that Gary felt required him to look also, not knowing exactly where he was looking or at what. "On the positive side," Gucci said, returning to the matter at hand, "we need to order, plus we need a bottle of Pellegrino which I should have remembered to begin with, and I also need to excuse myself for a moment to drain the dragon. Waiter, would you please tell my guest the specials and I'll order when I return after a very brief interlude? Molto graze."
Until Fred re-emerged, Gary thought about everything he had on his list - he was 32 and he lived in NYC. He had money well beyond - actually let that remain unquantified at the moment. He also had a cute girlfriend who was pushing him toward marriage and who sang three times a week down in Chelsea. Sweet soul-- more than cute, beautiful. And now this flood of calls was making him wonder whether he might have smacked the hammer down at the state fair and rung the big bell.
"You got the fish, he told me," Gucci said when he returned. "Good man. This is not law, this is personal, not business, personal. Swordfish shows strength of character, Gary - build from that. You got it with the artichokes? No? Still good. And where were we?"
"Greed?" Gary answered.
"Or," Gucci said, "as a question you might have been about to ask - why is this prick so successful?"
"That was going to be my question," Gary said. "Yes."
"Answer-- intelligence and insincerity. Cold bloodedness - sees other people as insects, or at least through a reverse telescope. Kind of Roman emperor thing-- feels entitled. Which is also why he ends up not with genuine wives or trophy wives but with the mother slash servant type. High-octane phoniness, plus a certain gift of gab and a single-minded pursuit of self-interest. The beauty of insincerity - it puts you at one remove, takes the emotion out of the situation and helps you to focus on the goal-- the object. Which in this situation is always a dollar sign involving as many zeroes as possible. You put the process aside. This guy doesn't know he's having sex until he comes, let me put it that way."
"That's graphic, if not flattering." Gary tried to imagine Gucci having sex, but he didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he let that one go.
Gucci took a sip from his drink and waved his hand like he was quieting some waves that Gary looked for and couldn't find. For some people every room is a court room. "One thing first. What's the nature of friendship? But before you answer, what if friendship was the willingness to help someone without reward? Which would be because friendship, a level of openness and intimacy with another human being, is its own reward, a relief from isolation-- partial but not insubstantial, the ability to get out of your skin and transcend yourself-- because when you have a real friend you don't just double your self and your energy-- the friendship itself is a multiplier. So what happens along the line between friendship and business friendship?"
"I guess - you tell me - it has something to do with expectations, right?"
"You expect nothing from your friends but friendship. From your business friends you expect business. If there's no business, or at least the expectation of business, there's not much in the way of friendship. Think about office friends, great people you love to work with, and when one of you changes jobs the connection is broken and you never think twice about it. So to grease the social wheels, not to be too crass or mercenary, business friendship has its rituals-- they imitate genuine friendship, like gifts, tickets, meals, and spending three or more minutes on what's with the family before you ask how the budget for your services is shaping up." Gucci stripped open a breadstick package, offered it to Gary and pulled one out for himself.
"I was thinking I had this guy back in my sights when he took his new job," he said. "We were at a conference together and made a breakfast date. He overslept and kept me waiting half an hour, said he'd gotten his calendar confused. I know part of the royalty thing involves keeping the staff waiting, so no biggie. He also shows up on the low end of his 30 pound weight pendulum, a good sign since it means the imperial part is in remission - have you ever seen a thin emperor? Not even Marcus Aurelius was thin, just goes with the job. It was also, this breakfast, at the time of the subway series. Being from New York, I had come into some very nice lapel pins with enamel Mets and Yankees hats on crossed bats-- and I tended to be wearing one. When I made a new business friend, for instance, we would have at least one thing to talk about besides business. You can never have too many resources-- even golf has its limits.
"All through breakfast he can't take his eyes off the pin. He's asking me about the family, he's looking at the pin. He's talking about what a dope the co-CEO in his newly merged venture is and he's looking at the pin. We get up, shake hands and go downstairs to the lobby where he meets his CFO- and as he introduces her, he's looking at the pin. I unclip it and give it to him and he slides it into his suit coat pocket. Doesn't put it on, because this is not about friendship but about the acquisition of property. I think, well, I did my part, I coughed up some tribute, and he said the things I wanted to hear about his introducing me to his new general counsel and like that.
"But a year goes by and this meet with the new GC doesn't take place. I get five minutes of face time at some other conference, during which the new guy plays the well-dressed young snot, so that's a start-- I know it's mostly not about me. If law practice doesn't humble you, nothing will--well, any service business. Then I find myself in his part of the country, so I arrange to stop by and see my good friend Doe while I'm out there-- World Series time again, the day between the two Yankee home run miracles, the Martinez/Jeter Miracle and the Brosius/Soriano Miracle-think about it, if the outfield had delivered the way the infield did, the Yanks would have stayed champs.
"Now, I'm having lunch with him at his club. I am wearing, for this occasion, my Yankee pin commemorating the '61 season, which I got at the Stadium a couple of years ago-- red, white and blue. I mean generally I'm wearing my flag pin, like now, for obvious and sincere reasons, but I want to run a check on this guy. We go to his rooftop club-he can't decide where he wants to sit, he gives me the good view-- good host thing, on automatic, not really there. He's on to his next meeting, not to mention up 25 pounds over the course of the year. Since I saw him, he's managed to score from somewhere a gold signet ring with a large dull gray coin relating to some Roman emperor, plus he's wearing these costume cufflinks with the head of the Sphinx, gold fill and painted to look like enamel. Tacky, but probably a gift from the empress. We look at our menus and I see him checking my pin. We have our polite lunch, minding our calories and eating efficiently, and I see him check it again as we get up to go, at which point he reaches over just to touch it and says he hopes the Yanks pull the whole thing out."
"I don't see where this is going," Gary said. "If I were a judge, I'd ask you to bring it into focus."
"I like this when the children get rambunctious," Gucci said. "It gives you hope for the future. Don't forget, by the way, your new clients - always call them clients-when they ask you what you think, you ask them what they think. You locate their point of departure and tailor your answer, so it's always about them. That's client service. OK, here's the diagram. When I gave him the pin, which I saw he coveted, it was in response to his greed. I had one for him in my pocket, but I knew it was more important for him to souvenir it off me, so to speak. And he's not stupid, so now when he sees I'm wearing another pin, and he hasn't given me any business, he knows he only gets to look at it, but because he still has that screaming need, the need that never goes away, he has to at least touch it. Nobody wins them all, not even the Yanks. I chalk this one up and move on.
"So, to recap-- in response to his insincere promise of work and money, I'm insincerely sitting there and playing the monkey for him. I hit this guy in the dick with the ball when we were playing squash a few years ago, that's what this is all about."
"What?" Gary exclaimed. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything. Neither of us was any good, but you know, squash is the game for gentlemen on their way up, like he and I were, so we gave it a try, hey? What I learned about him there was that he cheated on the score. There are just the two of you on the court and scoring is a little complicated, so there's a sort of social contract of fairness-this guy is very sharp, as I said. Numbers are mother's milk to him. I notice over a couple of games that he keeps misremembering the score, always in his favor. Always.
"Now--if I had tried to get even with him, that would have violated rule number one, the client is always right-customer squash just like customer golf. No problemo. I mean does this activity determine the size of your Johnson or is it just a game? Anyway, we're scrambling around on the court and I run down a shot off the back wall while he's charging up towards me to reset his position. I get a good swing and the ball nails him right in the head of his dick. Dead center. Complete accident, the thunderbolt of righteousness guided by the hand of the Almighty, what else could it have been? He goes down like a shot and starts writhing around and making funny gurgling noises and I can't keep from laughing. It still makes me laugh.
"Result-- now he's enjoying playing me along on legal business, while I'm remember the sight of him sitting at lunch in the lounge with a bag of ice stuffed in the front of his shorts and trying without any success whatsoever to look like he can take part in this camaraderie. Final score-he holds his grudge and his eyes can't smile, and I have my memory of that moment, and undoubtedly his dick does too, although a less happy one than mine, which puts things in acceptable shape. And he will always be short, bald, fat and incapable of a real human relationship since that's not something you can get in the Neiman Marcus catalogue or from a comp committee of your cronies. I should have sorted that out sooner and saved myself time and trouble, but now I have clarity and closure, along with the echo in my brain of his knees hitting the hardwood floor as he went down. Tha-wack!"
"Hey, the swordfish at last! Here, take some of these artichokes-- no calories. One other thing-- I have an old friend, lawyer who specializes in small service businesses, getting stuff set up right, compliance, basic documents- very good guy and reasonable. I recommend him. Here's his info. Give him a call. The kind of guy you need to look after you on your road to success and so you can spring for the next lunch we have together, which I hope will be soon. Bon appetito! And best wishes on your new endeavor. May money shower upon you and the buckets be watertight. And may you have good friends-- as good as me."
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Page created: September 21, 2002