Once Upon A Mattress. Kathleen O'Reilly

drawer. He had bigger plans, now, not that they were going so well. He could do more than security. In only one week he’d gotten a rudimentary understanding of mattress design, next up was finance. He was slugging through the quarterly statement when Hilary walked into his office.

      Today she didn’t wear her usual skirt and hose; instead, she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. And he would have been remiss not to notice the two coffee blotches on the T-shirt front and center. She could look like death warmed over, but God forbid, apparently didn’t skimp on the coffee.

      Stubborn woman. “I thought I told you to stay home,” he said, trying for a tone of authority.

      Rather than answer him, she went to his white board and wrote, I can’t talk.

      Ben stalked over to the white board and wrote back. Go home.

      I have the call, she wrote.

      He put down his marker. “Go home. I’ll reschedule it for you.”

      Hilary stared at him, murder in her eyes, and shook her head.

      Stubborn, he scrawled, underlining it heavily.

      I need your help.

      Ben stared at the lopsided words that she had scribbled and smiled. How had she managed in Atlanta?

      Oh yeah—Mark. That’s how she had done it. Still he couldn’t help the leap in his voice, couldn’t stop the simple hope. “What do you want?”

      Take the call on the speakerphone. I can write what you need to say.

      He rocked back on his heels, frustrated that she had so little trust in him. “Okay, but at least tell me what you want to do, so I’m not blindsided by anything.”

      She studied him, looking ready for battle, but apparently she saw the futility in a white-board debate. She nodded and picked up the marker. Here’s what we need to do.

      It took about an hour and a half, but by the time she was done, Ben was feeling pretty good. She simply wanted to renegotiate the rates and volumes for the cotton fiber. He could do that, and he even had a few more ideas, but he kept those to himself.

      At noon, she was situated in his office and he dialed out.

      “John Spears speaking.”

      “John, this is Ben MacAllister from MacAllister Beds.”

      “Oh, hello Mr. MacAllister. I had thought we were scheduled with Ms. Sinclair, but of course we’re always happy to talk with the owner.”

      Click…click…click. Ben watched as Hilary repeatedly capped and uncapped the marker. Finally she wrote. Owner, schmowner.

      Ben was actually starting to enjoy her loss of voice. Just to tick her off, he smiled broadly and resumed his conversation.

      “Ah, yes. Now what we’re trying to do is—”

      Furiously she scribbled on the board and Ben repeated what she wrote. “…evaluate the value proposition with Masters, and to be honest, we’re not sure we’re there yet.” Getting a little confident, he started to put in things on his own. “In these times, we just need to stay aware of the market and what’s driving it. Customer commitment, that’s what makes MacAllister Beds, and primary among those commitments is price.”

      Hilary rolled her eyes. He winked back at her.

      “Well, of course, aren’t we all? But we’re already giving you the best numbers we can.”

      Hilary scribbled and Ben read. “We’ve found some more competitive pricing from Midwest Cotton and before we make any changes, we wanted to give Masters an opportunity to match the quotes.”

      There was some hemming and hawing on the line. “Well, of course, our quality can’t be beat. You don’t want to put shoddy fiber into your mattresses.”

      Again Hilary picked up her pen and wrote. Midwest was rated number one by The National Institute of Fiber. Can’t argue with that. I believe Masters was number five.

      Ben looked at Hilary with appreciation. Good job, he mouthed, and then read the information to Spears.

      “Perhaps we can do something about it,” the man answered.

      Hilary folded her arms across her chest and smiled, completely confident in her abilities. For the first time in his short time at MacAllister Beds, Ben felt the thrill of the chase. “And while you’re at it, John, maybe you can re-evaluate those contracts for the organic cotton for our hypoallergenic line. Just due diligence after all.” Hilary’s eyes widened and she shook her head. Ben ignored her.

      “We’ll do that, Mr. MacAllister. I’ll be back in touch on Monday with a new quote.”