Learning Curve

Cover

Title Page

Learning Curve

A Novel of Silicon Valley

Michael S. Malone

Barking Rain Press

Copyright Page

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Learning Curve

Copyright © 2013 Michael S. Malone

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

Edited by Sharon Morton Smith

Cover artwork by Craig Jennion (www.craigjennion.com)

Inset artwork by Carol Marschner Malone (www.marschnermalone.com)

Barking Rain Press

PO Box 822674

Vancouver, WA 98682 USA

www.barkingrainpress.org

 

ISBN print:1-935460-62-5

ISBN eBook:1-935460-63-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013937571

 

First Edition: July 2013

Printed in the United States of America

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To everyone who ever pursued the Silicon Valley dream.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Epigram

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Also Available from Michael S. Malone

Michael S. Malone Biography

About Barking Rain Press

Bad Policy

Eine Kleine Murder

The Diamond Seekers

River Bottom Blues

The Devil's Blues

Speaking of Murder

First Communion: A Collection of Modern Irish Stories

In the Autumn of the Unfortunates

Postponing Armageddon

Curiously Twisted Tales

Epigram

 

“Shall I always have to turn away from what surrounds me in order to look for my true place? Must home for me always be in the distance? How should I ever rest, if there is something better? When I see and adopt the better thing, don't I make it mine, don't I prove that it was always mine by divine right? Why should it still seem half foreign and unsatisfying?”

—George Santayana,
The Last Puritan

“Men rise from one ambition to another: first, they seek to secure themselves against attack, and then they attack others.”

—Niccolò Machiavelli,
The Prince

D
an Crowen, sitting on a stack of equipment boxes, straightened the eight pages of his speech by tapping the paper on his thigh for the fourth time. As he did, he noticed, in the lurid blue glow of the screen beside him, a tiny length of thread on his right sleeve. He picked it off, then smiled at himself: as if anyone will be able to see it.

But then again… He glanced up at the forty-foot-tall canvas screen, the bright red sans serif letters of “Validator Software” written backwards almost two stories above him. Beyond the screen he could hear the low rumble of five hundred conversations, punctuated by the squeaks of chairs and the rattle of male laughter.

“Mr. Crowen?”

Dan turned his head to see a skinny man dressed in black with a slash of black hair across his forehead. “Is it time already?” he asked.

“Yes sir. The hall's almost full.” He held out a lavaliere microphone in one hand, battery pack in the other. “You know how to do this, right? Or do you need help?”

Dan took the apparatus. “No, I've got it.” He took the battery pack, its little LED glowing red, and reached back and clipped it to his belt—the ­expensive Brioni he'd bought in Savile Row on a business trip twenty years before. Dan was amused to suddenly realize that the inexplicably worn area on his belt—that he'd noticed just this morning—had come from two decades of television appearances and public speeches. Then he tucked the wire into his waistband and threaded it up behind the buttons of his shirt. Three buttons up, he pulled the wire out, made a stress loop in the clip behind the microphone, then attached it to his tie—his lucky red tie—a few inches below the half-Windsor knot.

“You've done this before,” said the technician. That's what they always said. “May I?” the man asked, reaching into Dan's jacket. He flicked the switch on the battery pack. The little light turned green.

Dan raised his eyebrows and pointed at the tiny black square on his tie. “Don't worry,” said the man with emo hair. “You can talk. I've got the pot over there.” He pointed to where a heavy-set man sat a control panel. “It's turned all the way down. As you step out on the stage, I'll crank it back up.”

A heavy hand landed on Dan's shoulder. “Ready, boss?”

Dan turned to look up into the wide, ferocious grin of his VP of sales, Tony D. “Hey, pal,” said Dan, holding out a hand to be gripped in Tony's own. Salesmen always had intense, enveloping handshakes. It was their real calling card.

“Another year, another Homecoming game, eh Dan?” In the near darkness, Tony D.'s perpetually tanned face was a dark orange. But his white teeth almost glowed. “How many has it been?”

“Ten years,” said Dan. “We've been doing this for an even decade.”

“Holy shit,” said Tony D. He whistled. “That many, huh? I had no fucking idea. So where's the champagne and the strippers? We should be
celebrating.”

Dan nodded and chuckled. Good old Tony D. Outrageous as ever.

The room erupted with the loud click of a microphone like a pistol shot, then the enormous baritone voice of the announcer—a local sports reporter—intoned like the voice of God, “Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the 2010 World Wide Sales Meeting of—” the voice jumped a half-octave even as it swelled in volume. “…Validator Software Incorporated!”

The ballroom, holding every bit of its 1800-person limit, crackled and throbbed with applause and cheers. The backstage area was suddenly awash in color—Dan looked up to see digital fireworks, almost as large as the real thing, exploding around the Validator software above him.

Tony D.'s hand again slapped Dan's shoulder. “Don't worry Dan,” he shouted into his ear. “You know I give the best foreplay in the business.”

“Break a leg,” said Dan, but Tony D. was already sprinting up the steel steps to the waiting stagehand who was holding the curtains.

“…and now,” announced the voice, “the Straw that Stirs the Drink. The man-with-the-plan for keeping Validator Number One, the first to arrive and the last to leave at… the hotel bar. The man who sinks the longest putts, tells the dirtiest jokes, drinks the oldest whiskey, and chases the youngest waitresses. And, do I have to say it? The man who writes your annual review—so you damn well better applaud: Your Vice President of Sales…
The Mighty Tony D.!”

Dan looked up in time to see Tony D. shrug his shoulders and roll his head like a boxer, then nod to the stagehand. The curtain was pulled back, and the brilliant white light turned Tony D. into a silhouette. The crowd, as always, cheered lustily. They had to, of course: it was a matter of cheering themselves on their own success. But Tony D. always got that last ten percent of emotion just from the personal attachment the sales force felt for him. That's why he's the best, Dan thought. Outside of this job, Tony D. is Cosmo's best gift to me.

Dan closed his eyes and listened to the roar washing back and forth across the hall. He just picked up a tiny crackle as the guy at the mixing board pulled up Tony's microphone. Dan pictured Tony pacing the front of the stage, hands in the air, or pointing at familiar faces he could just pick out of the darkened front row.

“Best year ever!” Tony D. shouted. “Best year ever! Because of you! Because of you!”

The roar began to subside. Tony would now be holding his hands out, palms down, slowly bowing with his chin even as he lowered his hands, and with them, the volume of the applause. “Let's get this done!” he shouted. “The bar opens in twenty minutes.”

More laughter. But it dampened quickly. Most of the Validator sales force had been with the company for years, and they knew Tony's code for getting his speech underway.

Tony D. began slowly, with a hushed, conspiratorial voice. “So… did we kick ass this year or what?”

Another roar. But now the sound ended quickly. Cheering wasn't nearly as much fun as hearing the next thing Tony had to say.

“Let's see…” Dan glanced up to see a forty-foot-tall Tony D. pull a small notebook out of his jacket pocket and thumb through it.

“Ah, here it is. Record pre-tax revenues. Record after-tax revenues. Record profit margins…” He labored his voice, as if this long recitation of success was exhausting. “… Record profits. Record earnings per share.” Tony D. paused, putting a thoughtful finger to his lips. “Hmmm, wasn't there something else?” He theatrically thumbed though the notebook. “Cindy, Mindy, the Pink Poodle Lounge…” The crowd started to chuckle. “…Ah! There it is. Record sales per field office…” The crowd started to cheer. “… Record sales per sales representative… record bonuses…”

The cheers grew louder. Tony D. was starting to shout now. “Record number of new product introductions! Record stock price!” The crowd sounded like it had risen to its feet. “…And best of all,
crushing our competitors' nuts!”

Dan imagined the crowd jumping up, giving each other high-fives and shouting its encouragement to the energetic man on stage.

The crowd noisily re-seated itself as Tony D. waited. Then, with a calm and measured voice, the Validator vice president of sales said, “You are the best in the business. And I am more proud of you than I can ever say. So instead of talking about it, I'm going to show you how much this company appreciates what you've done. Ladies and gentlemen, hold onto your seats… Here is our new sales commission structure!”

The light around Dan changed from blue to green as an immense slide jumped onto the screen. He lowered his head and returned to his notes. The rest would be sales force insider stuff, punctuated by jokes that wouldn't be quite as crude or funny as in the days when the sales force were all salesmen. Besides, Dan had signed off on all these slides a week ago.

Dan only looked up again when in the background he heard Tony D. say, “But why should you be listening to me about our strategy for the next fiscal year when you can hear it from the man himself?”

That was his cue. Dan jumped to his feet, folded his papers in half, shoved them into his jacket pocket, and trotted up the stairs to the stage. The stagehand was there, waiting. As Dan stepped up, the stagehand reached down and, respectfully as he could with the CEO of one of his largest clients, gently pulled open Dan's jacket to confirm that the red light on the battery pack had switched to green. He pointed at the microphone on Dan's tie and then at his own ear. Dan nodded in understanding.

Tony D's voice was slowly rising. “… I don't have to tell you what this man has done for Validator Software—what he has done for
you
—in his ten years at the head of this company. Cosmo Validator is the heart of this company, but this man is the brains. Brilliant, strategic, a born leader, and a man of honor and integrity. He's the reason Validator is the best place to work in Silicon Valley. And he'd be a killer poker player if he wasn't so goddamned honest. Ladies and gentlemen, the worst bluffer in the world, but a helluva Chief Executive. My boss and my friend,
Mr. Dan Crowen!
”

Dan glanced up to see an image of himself thirty feet taller and five years younger than the real thing. The curtain pulled open before him, and he stepped out into the intense light, trying not to squint. He held up a hand to wave, and then headed for the podium to his right, where Tony D. still stood pointing towards him. They gave each other a public handshake and forearm grip while—cognizant of his open mike—Dan smiled and nodded. But Tony leaned in and whispered in Dan's ear, “They're wet and ready for you, big guy,” winked, and left the stage.

Shaking his head—the crowd saw his response and laughed heartily—Dan stepped behind the podium, then pulled the papers out of his jacket and straightened them on its top. He looked out on the crowd. His eyes now more adjusted, Dan could see that the crowd was on its feet. He'd long ago realized that praise was merely part of being a CEO, but he was nonetheless gratified by its duration. He remembered how abbreviated the Standing-O had been those first couple years when the company was struggling and the economy was weak.

He nodded and mouthed his thank-yous, all while listening for that first dip in volume that was a signal. There it was. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he projected over the fading applause. “It's been a great year for Validator Software. Indeed, it has been the best year in our company's thirty-year history. And much of the credit for that success goes to
you
.”

The sales force was back on its feet.
Eight minutes,
Dan told himself.
Talk, don't read. Look up. Keep the rhythm going. Work the finish hard.

“Our…
irrepressible
friend,
Mr. Tony D., has been good enough to list all of the incredible things that you have accomplished in the last year. I know that the rest of the company—marketing, manufacturing, admin, finance—is incredibly proud of what you've done… just as I am sure that you are equally proud to work with them.”

There was a murmur of assent from the crowd. “At Validator Software, we are a family,” Dan continued. “We are a team. We are together no matter where we find ourselves in the world. And that, more than new products or new sales and marketing campaigns, is the real reason why we win. Why we are number one.”

The applause was growing. “It's why we will stay Number One next year. And the year after that. And the year after that!

A roar rushed up to him, and Dan lowered his voice to make it more intimate. He knew he wasn't Tony D.—but he didn't have to be. “We did great things, historic things, this year. But now that's history. The new year will bring new challenges, new opportunities, and maybe even new competitors. We have to be ready for all of them. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” shouted the Validator sales force.

“You know what? I already knew that. Because I already knew that you are the best in the business. Otherwise, why would you be part of the best company in the industry?”