Murmured conversations ceased when they reentered. Foster startled the others by introducing her by her new title, but most seemed more pleased than not. “Mr. George,” Foster said, addressing the human resources director, “following this meeting, I, you, and Ms. Taylor can go over the contract I prepared in advance and with the hope that she would accept my offer. I think you’ll both find it satisfactory.” He slapped the table lightly. “Now, Ms. Taylor, it’s your first official duty to tell us why the budget allotment for your department is inadequate.”
Out of the frying pan. Laura took a deep breath, knowing this was an acid test and hoping she didn’t blow it. “While we’ve been grounded, we’ve lost a lot of flight attendants. Some have gone to other airlines. Others have left the industry altogether. Now I’m faced with hiring replacements. I can’t entice the best applicants if I can’t offer them starting salaries and benefits equal to those offered by our competitors. I’d like to offer them better, but I’d settle for equal. Second, the uniforms are ugly and drab.”
“I thought attendants paid for their own uniforms.”
“They do,” Laura said. “But there’s no budget for a new design. Which brings me to another point.”
“The ‘look of the airline’?” All heads turned toward the head of the table. Foster tapped the top file folder on the stack. “To quote from your latest memo, Ms. Taylor. Will you please elaborate?”
Things were moving along too quickly. She hadn’t counted on being elevated to an executive this suddenly. Nor had she planned on being placed immediately in the hot seat. But she had been dwelling on this topic for weeks. In her idle time, she had thought long about what she would do if she were running the show. Now the new owner of the airline had invited her to elaborate on the bullet points of her many memos. She was ready.
“Days ago, Hazel, Ms. Cooper, gave me a copy of the proposed budget so I could familiarize myself with it in advance of this meeting. You’re spending a lot of money to make drastic changes in the infrastructure and in total reorganization of the airline’s operation,” she said, addressing Foster directly. “You’re making it brand spanking new. But you’ve stopped short at conveying its newness to consumers.”
“Changing the color of the flight attendant uniforms is easy,” someone remarked. “Ticket and gate agents, too.”
Laura acknowledged the comment with a nod. “Their appearance is important because they deal one-on-one with our customers. So the impression they make is vital. But we’re aiming for an about-face in public opinion of SunSouth Airlines. With that as our goal, I don’t think changing the color of the uniforms is sufficient.” Her gaze moved around the table, ending on Foster. “But as the most recently appointed department director, I don’t want to overstep my bounds.”
“No, please,” he said, indicating she should continue.
Holding his gaze, she said, “When we relaunch SunSouth, if we look the same, consumers will figure we are the same.”
Another of the directors said, “It’s been suggested that we change the name of the airline.”
“That suggestion was voted down by the new board of directors,” someone else contributed.
Laura said, “I agree we should keep our name. It’s a good name. An excellent name.”
“But?” Foster said.
“But it suggests light. Sunny days. Bright skies and open landscapes. Our planes are the color of storm clouds, and so are the uniforms.” She paused, knowing the proposal she was about to make was destined to raise a chorus of protests. “Even if it means making cuts in other areas, including the flight attendant program, I propose we budget to retain a first-rate design company to revamp the entire look of the airline.”
“Hear, hear!” This from the well-liked head of advertising and marketing, a genial young man named Joe McDonald. He always wore an outlandish bow tie and suspenders. Everyone at SunSouth knew him because he made it a point to know everyone. He was an equal-opportunity teaser, from executives to the janitors who came in after hours to clean the offices. “Thank you, Laura, for putting your butt on the line, thereby saving me from having to place mine there.”
Everyone laughed. The discussion continued but in a more lighthearted mode.
Laura’s proposal, seconded by Joe McDonald, was ultimately acted upon, although not without many lengthy meetings and hours of debate. Cost was the major factor. Designers of the caliber she proposed didn’t come cheap. Then, revamping a fleet of airplanes inside and out was exorbitantly expensive. Every coat of paint on an airplane added weight, which required an increase in the fuel needed to fly the aircraft, and therefore an increase in operational costs that was passed on to passengers in the form of ticket prices, which Foster Speakman had gone on record saying were going to be the lowest in the industry.
With that in mind, the design company suggested stripping the planes of paint and applying the newly designed logo to the silver metal. Eventually the shade of red used in the logo became the signature color of the new flight attendant uniforms. They were tailored and professional looking but conveyed a vivacity and friendliness that the media picked up on and extolled. The pilots’ uniforms went from navy blue to khaki with red neckties.
The first flight of the renovated airline departed at six twenty-five the morning of March tenth—its scheduled relaunch date. That evening, Foster Speakman and his wife, Elaine, hosted a lavish party in their home. Everyone who was anyone in Dallas had been extended an invitation to the black-tie event.
Laura’s escort for the evening was a friend with whom she played mixed-partners tennis. Their friendship was uncomplicated and unromantic. He was divorced, owned his own accounting firm, was at ease with strangers and consequently someone she didn’t have to cater to, worry about, or look after.
Indeed, shortly after they arrived at the mansion he excused himself to go look at the billiard room. Once featured in an issue of Architectural Digest, it was reputed to be a guys’ fantasy room. “Take your time,” she told him. “I’ll be busy mingling.”
Mrs. Speakman, Elaine, was a gorgeous woman, impeccably turned out in an understated designer gown and breathtaking jewelry. But hers was a frail beauty, fragile, like that of a character F. Scott Fitzgerald might have conjured. Like her husband, she was blond and blue eyed, but hers was a watercolor version. Standing arm in arm with him, she paled in comparison, literally.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said to Laura warmly when Foster introduced them. “I serve on the board of SunSouth—one of the few to survive the shake-up when the new owner assumed control.” She gave her husband a nudge in the ribs.
Leaning in, Foster lowered his voice to a whisper. “I understand he can be a real bastard.”
“Don’t believe it,” Elaine said to Laura.
“I don’t. My experience has been that he’s tough and knows what he wants, but he’s a pleasure to work with.”
“And a sweetheart at home,” his wife said. The two smiled at each other, then Elaine turned back to Laura. “We on the board have heard about your excellent ideas and innovations. On behalf of the board members, the investors, and myself, thank you for your valuable contributions.”
“Thank you, but you give me far too much credit, Mrs. Speakman.”