Chapter 3
C
écile reached into the bag of gummi bears she kept by her computer and shoved a handful into her mouth. She took a moment to savor the taste she loved, then took another stab at deciphering the dictation coming through her headphones. She depressed the foot pedal again and listened, then shook her head in disgust. The grammar used by the female resident whose dictation she was presently transcribing, whom she could tell from her inflection was a sister, was incredibly bad. She found it inconceivable that anyone could complete four years of college, four years of medical school, and an internship, and still sound like she was fresh out of the 'hood. No wonder she was working at a community hospital. At least the ones for whom English was a second language had an excuse for not being able to structure a sentence.
Cécile knew she'd been fortunate in that respect. If she'd learned French first, she doubted she would be in this line of work, where excellent written English skills were a must. But her parents, Claude and Catherine Mehu, who emigrated from their native Haiti as a young married couple, felt their six children would need skill in the language of their adopted country. Thus, they spoke French only privately, using English in the presence of Cécile and her siblings. As a result, the Mehu children had always formed their thoughts in English. At Claude and Catherine's insistence, all their offspring took French in school, but to their disappointment only their youngest daughter, Micheline, had actually become fluent.
It had been a little difficult growing up where all the other kids on the block spouted French like they were in downtown Port Au Prince. The kids used to tease the Mehu children for their lack of knowledge. But now that they were grown Cécile wondered how many of them grossed a thousand dollars a week, not bad wages for someone who worked from home, in pajamas if she so wished.
Still, she understood the importance of fitting in. When Michael's sons vetoed brown-bagging their lunches, she didn't object. If the boys' middle school classmates all bought lunch in the cafeteria, she readily understood their wanting to do the same, even though they often asked her to make lunch for them on the weekends. They liked the creative lunches Cécile created, low in fat and high in protein so the children wouldn't nod off during their afternoon science lessons. The girls loved eating bagels smeared with peanut butter and topped with sliced bananas, or kabobs of low fat turkey, low fat cheese, cherry tomatoes that went
splat
in their mouths, and pineapple chunks.
Cécile transmitted the troublesome dictation and mentally planned her dinner menu as she waited for the sound files of the next job to load. She frowned when the phone rang. She adhered to a strict schedule and disliked interruptions. Working at home required supreme discipline; there were a hundred distractions just steps away.
But then again, maybe it was Michael calling to say hello. She smiled at the thought of her husband as she reached for the receiver. “Hello.”
“Cécile, it's Dana.”
The urgency in Dana's voice alarmed her, and she inadvertently leaned forward in her chair, the same as she'd do if they were talking in person. “Dana, what's wrong?”
“I had to go to the emergency room last night. I cut my hand on a glass I was washing. It just broke apart in my hand. It wasn't a cheap glass, but the way it cracked you'd think it was a jelly jar.”
“Oh, no! Are you all right?”
“Physically, yes. They stitched me up and updated my tetanus shot. But it was a deep cut, Cécile. They had to stitch it in layers. The doctor instructed me not to type for the next four weeks, or I'd risk opening up the cut again.”
“Four weeks? My God, Dana, can you afford to do that?”
“No, but I have no choice. If I pop my stitches it'll turn into
eight
weeks.” She sighed. “I'm in trouble, Cécile. I can't make it financially without Kenny.”
Cécile didn't know what to say. For months Dana had resisted making any comments about her situation, other than that she and Brittany were getting along fine. Cécile didn't believe her, but hearing her admit the truth after so long came as a shock. Finally she settled for, “I'm so sorry, Dana. You never let onâ”
“I know. I was afraid to face it myself, but the bottom line is, I won't be able to support this lifestyle much longer without Kenny.” She chuckled. “Lifestyle. You'd think I was a millionaire or something.”
“Dana, you live in a nice house with a pool, and you drive a nice car. Believe it or not, that's a lifestyle.”
“Maybe. It just doesn't seem like it. But I thought about what I could do all last night after I got back from the ER. I came up with three possibilities to raise money, and I'd like to do all three.”
“What are they?”
“I stopped scowling at my garage long enough to realize that the room above it can be rented out. Even though the renter won't have access to my house, since it's just a few feet away I'd only consider renting to a female. Maybe a college student or something.”
“That's a good idea. It has a kitchenette, doesn't it?”
“Yes and no. Kenny put in a small countertop and sink with a dual cabinet below it, but we never did get around to getting the appliances. I guess I can pick up a minifridge, and microwaves are cheap now. Like they say, you've got to spend money to make money. But I should be able to get at least four hundred a month for it, maybe four twenty-five. You don't know of anyone who might be interested, do you?”
“No. Maybe you can post a notice at UNF. But four or five hundred a month might be steep for a college kid. A lot of them share apartments with fully equipped kitchens for the same money per person, or even less.”
Dana thought about this for a moment. “But here they'll have more privacy.”
“I hope you can find someone.” Cécile didn't quite succeed at keeping the doubt out of her voice.
“Anyway, that's my first idea,” Dana said. “As for the second, last night I decided that paying for health insurance is killing me. I'm putting out seven hundred dollars a month for medical and dental coverage. If I worked as an employee I'd probably pay less than half that amount. So I'm going to apply to some of the large services that have people transcribing at home.”
“It's good that you'll be able to save money, but can you do that and still run your service? That's like working two full-time jobs.”
“No, I can't work full-time for someone else and continue with my own clients, so the only way I can make it work is to ditch my existing service and set up something larger.” Dana hoped she sounded strong and confident. She'd lain awake most of the night thinking about it, but this was the first time she'd spoken the words aloud. “I need to become a corporation with at least five top-producing MTs”âshe used the acronym for medical transcriptionistâ“on my payroll, with me getting a piece of every line they produce. Some people have gotten rich that way, and I think I can do reasonably well.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Cécile said, “but I think it might be easier said than done.”
“Yeah. That's what I thought, too. But when I called Patricia Fairfield of Transcription Express this morning to ask if she could take over my clients for the next four weeks, she mentioned that she's going to be retiring, and she asked if I'd be interested in taking over her clients when I heal.”
“Dana, that sounds like a good omen if I ever heard one.”
“I honestly believe it's a sign from above that this is the right thing for me to do. Pat's been established for years, and she said she bills thirteen to fifteen thousand every month.”
“Pretty respectable numbers for an operation run out of a spare room of your house,” Cécile conceded.
“And I have the potential to increase that. Pat's already referred me to a sports-medicine clinic that approached her about transcribing their notes,” Dana continued. “I meet with them tomorrow afternoon. If I can land this account, that'll be a good start. I understand it's huge.”
“That's wonderful, Dana!” Cécile hadn't heard this much excitement in her friend's voice since before Kenny died last June.
“And that's why I'm calling. I want to know if you're interested in joining me as a partner.”
“A partner! Uh, I don't know. What exactly is involved?”
Dana's reply came fast. “Money.”
“I don't have much of that,” Cécile promptly replied.
“Neither do I, but I want to get a loan. I need to do it now, while I still have good bank balances, so they won't ask me to put up the equity in my house.”
“How much do you figure we'll need?” Cécile asked cautiously.
“Twenty-five thousand, at a minimum. But since I already spoke to Norell and she's interested, I suppose we could get by with twenty-four. It's easier to divide by three.”
“Eight thousand dollars apiece. That's still a lot of money, Dana. I'm just a working stiff with maybe a hundred bucks hidden in my underwear drawer.”
Dana didn't point out that she was sure Cécile and Michael had a bank account. “I know, but we're going to need it. We'll have to get set up so we can get voice files off the Internet, and that will probably involve hiring a computer consultant at sixty or seventy dollars an hour.”
They spent the next few minutes discussing technical issues. “Cécile, I'm not just going after local work,” Dana explained. “I want to run regular ads in medical publications to give us exposure to physicians all over the country.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“Absolutely. We'll also need a Web site. And I don't know how much Pat will want for her client list. It'll add up pretty quickly. Plus we'll need operating capital for payroll and stuff. I know from experience that clients don't always issue checks as soon as they receive your invoice. That's why I've been doing work for Pat, to provide me with some ready cash while I'm waiting for my clients to ante up.”
Cécile's shoulders slumped. “It sounds like a fabulous opportunity, Dana, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good at running a business. I just don't have the personality to be a supervisor. What would I have to offer?”
“Mainly your eight thousand dollars, but your transcription skills, too, Cécile. And since you're certified, you'd be great at telling our ICs which word forms the AAMT approves of.”
“Independent contractors? Not employees?”
“ICs, absolutely. That way we won't have to worry about payroll taxes, vacations, health insurance, and all that.”
“What about our salaries?”
“We'll each draw an hourly rate for administrative work and a line rate for transcription. I'd like to issue paychecks weekly. That'll cost us more than paying every two weeks or twice a month, but it'll make us more appealing than our competition so we can get the best people out there.”
“Will we get the same line rate as the people contracting from us? How are we supposed to make any money?” Cécile sounded incredulous.
“Through the profits. As a partner, you'll receive a third of the profits, to be paid annually. Of course, I don't know how long it'll take for us to recoup our initial investment, but most businesses don't turn profits right away. That's why we have to have money in reserve.”
“Do you really feel we'll have enough work from the jump to keep the three of us plus a staff busy?”
“If we get the sports medicine clinic, absolutely. Remember, you and I will be only part-time. Norell is prepared to quit Precise to work full-time for the new company.”
“It sounds great, Dana. I'd like to be part of it, but I can't make a decision about anything requiring that much money without talking to Michael first.”
“I understand. Let me know, will you?”
“Of course. It might be a few days. I'll call you as soon as I know myself.”
After Cécile hung up she found she was so excited about the possibility of going into business that she couldn't concentrate on her work. She logged off, and since she didn't believe in wasting time sitting around doing nothing, she pulled out the vacuum and plugged it in. As she ran it back and forth over the carpet, she thought about Dana, who had clearly been under great strain. She'd never been one to confide her business, and Cécile didn't want to pry, but there'd been clear signs of trouble. Dana's clothes hung on her now; she'd dropped about twenty pounds, probably from stress. Her normally glowing dark skin had grown dull and sometimes even erupted in raised bumps, and her face reflected the hard look of someone who wasn't getting enough sleep. She never wore makeup anymore, not even lipstick, and she hadn't touched up her perm in months. But just now she had sounded really excited and lively for the first time since Kenny died.
Cécile felt proud of Dana for taking action the way she had. She was sure she'd do well. Cécile couldn't imagine running her own transcription service, even a one-woman operation. It just wasn't her nature to negotiate rates and chase down payments. But she did know how it felt to be driven by desperation.