The meeting

Kirk Coningham

It was the most important meeting of his life. Sure, he had said that before, and every meeting was important, but this was the big one, this was the one that could see him shift from associate to partner.

He had come to Bali on urgent business the night before, but that was no reason for concern. His secretary had booked him back on a nine o'clock flight and the meeting was not until 2 p.m., he had plenty of time and he was already well prepared.

He had been preparing for this meeting all his professional life. The company knew, and appreciated, his level of dedication. Like the gods of old, the company measured devotion through sacrifice. He had laid a great deal on the company altar.

***

Michael had married exactly the right girl at exactly the right time. He was 27, had just shifted to the junior executive floor, and needed a quality woman, his own personal partnership, to help him continue his climb up the corporate ladder.

Sasha wore twin suits, kept her shoulder length blond hair off her pretty face in a neat and trendy pony tail, wore sensible shoes with just enough heel to be feminine and was active in at least three society-level charities. Michael was her exact male match. Ken and Barbie.

They had a perfect white wedding and hosted a huge reception for a lot of people they hardly knew. Their best wedding photograph was the one that appeared on the front page of the local newspaper.

Michael borrowed a great deal of money and bought the perfect house in the perfect suburb. Nothing too grand, subtly less than a partner's home and not so subtly more than a non-executive. A quality home, a quality wife, a quality life.

***

By 7 a.m. he was showered clean shaved, packed and ready to check out. He had the hotel ring the airport and make sure the flight was on time. All was going to plan. The hotel car's wipers slapped at the steady rain, with the driver remarking that it was the first substantial rain of the season.

Michael wondered why drivers insisted on prattling about mindless things, but he was conscious of his company's image, so he just smiled and nodded. The streets were flooded. They would have to take a detour.

A flutter of discomfort. This was such an important meeting. "Not to worry Sir, we'll be there in plenty of time." "Yes," Michael responded, "Quite."

***

Perfect children were next on the agenda. Two: a boy and a girl with the boy first. Scott and Anna were made to order. He had almost missed Scott's birth. He had been at a very important meeting. The doctor was due to induce labor that afternoon, but Michael had allowed for at least two hours of labor before his presence would be required. The meeting had run almost three hours over time. He had arrived at the hospital to find his wife in the last minutes of labor. Then Scott was there. Right on time.

Anna came two years later while he was out of the country on business. He had made some pretense about not going on the trip, citing his wife's imminent delivery, but he knew he was just going through the motions. The company also knew he was just going through the motions. This was how the game was played. The sacrifice was made to appear more valuable, the company appeared more grateful (including delivery of a huge floral arrangement at the hospital -- "so nice"), and everyone was happy.

***

The car had stalled in the flood waters. Michael's heart started to pound. He glared at the driver, and then at his watch and then at the driver again. Message received. The driver stepped out into twenty centimeters of flood water. He sprayed the engine liberally with a moisture disperser, and the engine coughed grudgingly back into life.

They arrived at the airport at 8:30. "Still plenty of time Sir."

"Yes. Quite."

Michael checked in quickly and headed upstairs for the departure lounge. No time for the executive lounge, he would wait at the gate. "Garuda flight 402, destination Jakarta, has been delayed for operational reasons. Estimated departure time 10:30."

Michael caught his breath, calmed himself, and strode to the ticket counter. "Get me on another flight." "Sir 402 is the next flight."

He sat again and thought through his meeting strategy. A partnership would see him move to Singapore.

Sasha and the children had chosen not to move to Jakarta. If the partnership came up it would only mean twelve months living apart. Truth be known, other than company get-togethers, where they all dutifully turned up and played happy families, Michael lived apart from his family in most ways anyway.

He had forgotten his son's 10 birthday; a problem with a new computer program and a new secretary in the space of two weeks. He had also missed nearly every major event of their lives. But the "sacrifice" was worth it. Here he was, not yet forty and about to attend a meeting that would make him a partner.

When he left for Jakarta Sasha had joked that his gravestone would read "Here lays Michael. He wished he had spent more time in the office." He hated it when she drank in the morning.

"Garuda flight 402 destination Jakarta further delayed for operational reasons. Departure time is now 11:15am."

Michael's heart leapt again. Red in the face and panting he half ran, half walked to the ticket counter. "What on Earth is going on?" He questioned through clenched teeth. "Sorry Sir, the aircraft was late arriving. We will board you at 11 a.m. and have you underway soon after."

"Well I'm afraid that is just not good enough -- I must, must get to Jakarta."

Blank looks from the staff and an agitated glance from a security guard convinced him he would get nowhere with angry words. Michael shook his head and sat back down. He looked at his watch for the tenth time in the past minute. His heart was racing.

Michael was not in good condition. The step from associate to partner was so rare and so large that senior associates could afford to do nothing else other than demonstrate their commitment. Partners could afford the luxury of golf days and time in the company gym. Michael had promised himself that he would soak up the luxury of exercise as soon as he got his partnership.

His heart leapt again and he smiled as he realized that would be next week. Next week he would be parking his brand new company issue seven series BMW in his executive car space and using the partners' lift which would whisk him to the twenty seventh floor with its executive bathrooms, bars and espresso machines.

He had told Sasha by phone that his moment was close. He thought she would be thrilled, finally a partner's wife, but she sounded distant and vague. He thought she must have been drinking again. He asked how the children were.

"The children," she said, mockingly imitating his pronunciation, "died in their sleep. "The funeral is 5 p.m. next Thursday. Hope you can make it." She was drunk.

"Sasha, what has happened to you? There is no pleasing you anymore." He heard her laughing as the phone slammed down.

***

Wheels up and away. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was still going to be tight. A one hour thirty flight, but he'd pick up an hour in time difference. No more than an hour to the office in a cab, and he'd be in the cab no later than 1pm. He was going to make it. He felt his heart slow and let himself dream a little more.

No more economy class air travel; partners only traveled first class. No more cabs at airports; partners had limo's and drivers.

The aircraft lurched and the seatbelt sign lit up. The announcement came over the PA. "This is the captain, please return to your seats and fasten your safety belts."

Meals service was canceled as the jet bounced along the tropical thunderheads. Finally the aircraft settled and the pilot came back on the PA. "Ladies and gents, we have had to take the long way around this weather. We regret to announce the flight is further delayed. We will have you down at 1 p.m."

"Oh no, and I can't even call the office. There is no way I'll be on time." Michael felt sick. His left arm started up an arthritic ache which throbbed with each beat of his heart. He was sweating heavily.

The plane finally landed at 1:05. Michael leapt out of his seat while the plane was still taxiing, ignoring the glares of the flight attendants as he took out his briefcase and strode toward the door.

The discomfort in his arm was increasing with his stress. He hit the speed dial for the office as soon as he stepped off the plane.

His secretary, bless her, told him the meeting had been postponed until 2:30pm because two partners were stuck in traffic coming back from golf. Thank god for Jakarta traffic.

Michael left his check-in baggage -- his secretary could look after that later. He ran, clutching his briefcase with one hand and his woman-like breast in the other. He jumped lengthwise into a Silver Bird taxi and issue breathless orders "drive -- just drive". The heartburn was starting to really hurt.

The taxi driver looked at the pasty, sweaty, fat man in the back and asked if he was all right. Michael replied: "Who are you, my doctor? Drive and drive fast."

He threw two one hundred thousand rupiah notes over the passenger seat.

"Get me there on time and I'll give you four more plus your fair. If we are late I'll give you nothing."

The taxi driver was poor. He gunned the old Nissan Cedric and speed along the freeway breakdown lane. It would be touch and go, but the taxi driver might just make some real cash.

After screeching to a halt at the toll gate the taxi shot forward again. They were making good time. It looked like they were going to make it.

Michael felt the pain in his arm and chest receding. It was raining heavily, probably the cause of the fortunate hold up with the other partners. "Other partners." He stopped himself and smiled.

The taxi raced along the emergency brake down lane high up on the flyover heading for Glodok and the CBD.

***

The truck driver had made a wrong turn. He had meant to turn toward the port but had accidentally taken the flyover exit. He decided to reverse back off the flyover. It was tricky in the rain on the tight single lane expanse of asphalt and concrete suspended forty metres from the ground, but a tricky two hundred metre reverse was preferable to two hours extra driving in city traffic.

Too late, the truck driver saw the speeding taxi, and instinctively turned to avoid the collision. The back of his truck smashed through the waist-high cement and metal guard rail, leaving the truck dangling with one wheel over the edge and taking out a five metre section of railing.

The taxi driver instinctively turned his car away from the truck, guiding the speeding cab through the fresh gap in the rail. There was enough left of the rail to catch the front wheels for an instant, but not enough to stop the speeding cab flying over the edge. The large black taxi did a slow tumble, like a diver from a high tower, arcing across the sky.

Michael's world turned upside down. His head hit then his shoulder, and then his whole body was against the roof. His quick mind worked out what had happened and the inevitable consequence. He was about to die.

"Bugger," he thought with his last breath, "I'll never make that meeting."