VELOCITY - DEE JACOB [60]
“First of all,” she said to Wayne, “before we even probe ways to increase what we’re promising to Nigel, I want to be clear on this: are you totally sure that Lean Six Sigma can deliver real bottom-line gains?”
“Well, sure, absolutely. I mean, I certainly believe it can.”
“I know you believe that it’s possible. But are you really going to get it done?”
“What? The program? Will we implement it?”
“No! Not the program! I know you will implement the LSS program,” said Amy. “My question is, will Lean Six Sigma actually deliver the millions of dollars in savings that will boost the profitability of this company?”
“I don’t know why you’re even asking me this,” said Wayne. “Of course it will … over time.”
“This year, Wayne. Not a decade from now. What is Lean Six Sigma going to contribute to this company’s earnings this year?”
“Amy, I’m sorry, but it’s difficult to say. I mean, we’re really just getting started with the actual projects.”
She glared at him. “Wayne, can I count on you or not?”
“Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, I’m going to go out on a limb, and I’m going to say that LSS will deliver five to seven percent in additional profitability this year.”
“Good,” said Amy. “Now … how can we make the savings larger?”
Within ten days, Amy had ferreted out, pasted together, or otherwise browbeat from everyone who reported to her another 5 percent in projected gains on top of the 7 percent originally forecast. Most of the 5 percent came by increasing the revenue targets for the sales force, and extrapolations thereof. But the bedrock foundation would come from Lean Six Sigma and the operational improvements it would deliver – which in any case would be necessary in order to make good on actually filling the orders of the increased sales.
Nigel Furst accepted the revised plan that Amy submitted, saying to her, “This is much, much better.”
A day later, a small package for Amy arrived from New York. It was from Nigel. Inside the padded envelope was a jewelry box, and inside the box, a pair of diamond-stud platinum cuff links, the same as the other presidents had received. And there was a handwritten note:
Dear Amy,
I am sorry I had to be hard on you, but so often that is the only way to bring out the best. Give us a great year!
Cordially,
Nigel
The diamonds were flawless and sparkled in their platinum settings. But Amy closed the lid of the jewelry box and put them away, far back in the center drawer of her desk, next to the tacky Bart Simpson Underachiever button. Before she closed the drawer, she wondered which of the two would be the more appropriate for her in one year’s time.
9
The first time Amy went out with Tom Dawson, they played golf on a Saturday afternoon and had an early dinner together. The second time, he flew them to Charleston and they took a taxi to a restaurant on the waterfront. She bought dinner; he provided the transportation. The third time, he invited her to dinner at “Chez Tom” – his place.
As she parked in his driveway, everything she had imagined about what his house would be like was confirmed. It sort of looked like it might have been picked up from Camp Lejeune and dropped here from the sky. A small brick house with freshly painted white trim. A well-tended lawn surrounded by a perimeter of perfectly trimmed hedges. And not one, but two flagpoles: one pole flying the stars and stripes, the other the scarlet, gold, and gray Marine Corps flag, both fluttering lightly in the evening breeze. And the concrete walk to the front door had a border of white-painted round rocks. Amy fought a fleeting urge to back up the car and drive away.
“This is never going to work,” she thought, sitting there in her BMW, holding a gift bag with an expensive bottle of wine with frilly colored ribbons she had carefully tied to the neck of the bottle.
Then Tom appeared, waving hello and wearing shorts. She had never before seen him in shorts. He had mentioned that he jogged in the morning, rain or shine, and it showed.
“Nice rocks,” she said, handing the