The Best Laid Plans (29 page)

I confess I was somewhat relieved when he pulled open his bottom desk drawer to reveal lime green stretch pants, an orange fishnet shirt, black and white saddle shoes, and a well-worn, blue tartan makeup bag.

“I really need the job. Plus, I’m scared of Muriel,” Pete2 offered.

“So am I,” I commiserated. “She’s very fond of you, though. You’ll learn a great deal from Muriel if you watch and listen.”

Pete2 just nodded with a kind of goofy smile on his now utterly ordinary face.

I continued back to Angus’s office, which stretched from wall to wall in the rear of the old storefront space. It was the only part of the constit office that was carpeted, courtesy of the very tight budget MPs were given to establish themselves in the riding.

“Old-man Sanderson will be here in a few minutes,” noted Muriel as she shuffled past me on her way back to her post, using the wall to steady herself.

Angus was talking to a bookish young woman, who was dressed in what had to be a brand new, off-the-rack business suit. Her suit was clearly off the wrong rack as it looked at least two sizes too big. She moved a little awkwardly and seemed un comfortable in her own skin as if she’d much rather have been wearing something
else. Her tangled, jet black hair fell in a shapeless cascade around her shoulders. She looked like a junior engineering faculty member attending her first off-campus business meeting after years of being sequestered in the computer lab – which made sense, because that’s exactly who she was.

Angus looked up when I entered. “Daniel Addison, meet Deepa Khanjimeer, an assistant professor in the computer-engineerin’ department and the university’s newest multimillionaire,” Angus opened.

Professor Khanjimeer waved her hand to dismiss the comment before shaking mine. “Very nice to meet you, Daniel.” She nodded vigorously and beamed.

“Nice to meet you, Professor. We’re very excited about your work and how it might benefit the riding.”

Professor Khanjimeer was the linchpin in a creative idea Angus had cooked up to deal with our little Sanderson Shoe Company dilemma. I was learning that Angus was a bit of a lone wolf. He’d been making phone calls to Deepa and Industry Canada officials for most of the week before he’d deigned to let me in on his thinking. Initially, when I’d heard his plan, I had thought it naïve and ambitious. (Working on Parliament Hill tends to limit your vision and push you towards the art of the possible, not the ideal, solution.) But the more I thought about his big idea, the more I liked it.

Muriel appeared in the doorway on the arm of a very short, elderly man, who was wearing a camel-hair top coat over a grey pinstriped suit. Despite the current style, he wore a three-piece suit with a small, gold chain that linked one vest pocket to the other. His shoes were so shiny they seemed to emit light rather than just reflect it. At the upper end, his lustrous bald pate did the same, encircled by a band of grey hair that neatly bisected his cranium.

“Gentlemen, this is Mr. Norman Sanderson,” intoned Muriel before ushering him in.

I stepped forward and did what executive assistants do. “Mr. Sanderson, I’m Daniel Addison. You’ve met Muriel Parkinson
already, I trust. This is Professor Deepa Khanjimeer from the University of Ottawa, and of course, this is Angus McLintock, to whom I think you’ve spoken on the phone earlier this week.” I finished and shook his hand.

“Oh yes, Mr. McLintock and I have spoken, but I’ve still no idea what this meeting is about, unless you’ve changed your tune on subsidies,” said Sanderson, making no effort to soften his obvious impatience. “Eric Cameron promised me those subsidies, and our future depends on them,” he concluded, as we all sat down around the rectangular table opposite Angus’s desk.

“Welcome, Mr. Sanderson. Let’s get down to it then, shall we?” Angus started. “Do you enjoy makin’ shoes, Mr. Sanderson?” Nice opening, Angus.

“What kind of a question is that? We’ve been making shoes in this town for 35 years. We’ve paid millions in taxes, employed hundreds of people over the years, and exported shoes around the world. Eric Cameron wore a new pair of our shoes for every budget he ever presented. Hell, we put this town on the map,” Sanderson shot back.

“Aye, we know all that, but do you really enjoy makin’ shoes, and do you really think it’s the best way to invest yer time and money?” Angus persisted.

Sanderson’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t see what you’re driving at, but I couldn’t care less what we make so long as we’re profitable. What is your point, McLintock?” he spat.

“Calm yourself, Mr. Sanderson. You’ve answered my question as I hoped you would,” Angus soothed. “NAFTA and the World Trade Organization prohibit the very subsidies my predecessor promised you, and I’m not convinced they’d serve Canada well, anyway. Any country can make shoes. The real question in my mind is
should
Canada make shoes? In my world view, such as it is, just because we’ve churned out footwear for the last 35 years doesnae mean we should continue now that the landscape has changed. Without oversimplifyin’ what I know is a complex
policy area, perhaps, just perhaps, it’s time we stopped makin’ shoes and started makin’ something else the world needs but can’t get from lesser-developed nations. I gather it’s called ‘movin’ into the knowledge-based economy.’” Angus paused but raised his hand to hold the floor. “Now, before you blow a gasket, let me ask Professor Khanjimeer to tell you about her work. And please be patient. There is a point to all of this. Aye, there’s a very big point, and you, Mr. Sanderson, stand to gain. Professor?”

Sanderson looked affronted but held his tongue – probably because he’d never dealt with an MP quite like Angus. Deepa jumped into the fray, speaking slowly in self-conscious recognition of her Indian accent. “Mr. Sanderson, are you familiar with a company called Canatron?”

“Of course, I am. It’s a Canadian electronics manufacturer. I read the business pages,” Sanderson replied.

“Well, I have just signed an agreement to supply Canatron with a new, much smaller, and less expensive wireless router for networking computers. I’ve patented this new wave technology and have a five-year, exclusive deal with Canatron. This new device will initially be sold as a separate product, but eventually Canatron wishes to supply all computer manufacturers with them so that notebook computers will actually integrate the wave router to simplify networks further.”

She paused and Sanderson jumped in. “That’s all very fascinating, but what does that have to do with me and the price of shoes?”

“Mr. Sanderson, we’d like you to manufacture my wireless wave router in your factory,” Deepa said. And the idea was out in the open for all to see.

I would be overstating it to say that Norman Sanderson freaked out – but only just. After crafting loafers and imitation Hush Puppies for 35 years, the idea of manufacturing leading-edge technology was so far off his radar that at first, he simply couldn’t process it. (So where exactly in the shoe would the router be implanted?) But we wouldn’t let him leave until he actually comprehended the plan and its implications.

At the end of the meeting, Angus tied it up into a nice, neat package. “So to bring it all together, while NAFTA and WTO consider the industrial subsidies you were seekin’ to be a non-tariff barrier, they do permit grants for manufacturin’ transition to help older industries move into more sophisticated and technology-driven product lines. Industry Canada offers just such a program of grants and interest-free loans to help the Sanderson Shoe Company retool and retrain to manufacture the most advanced wireless wave router available anywhere in the world. My preliminary discussions with Industry Canada officials yield every reason for optimism, but only if you’re with us. No jobs need be lost. In fact, based on the thunderous response to Professor Khanjimeer’s discovery, expansion, multiple manufacturin’ facilities, global export, and a world-product mandate are the more likely outcomes. This idea is really a serendipitous confluence of timin’, events, and people. In the interests of the employees of the Sanderson Shoe Company and the town of Cumberland, let us not waste this opportunity,” Angus wound down. “Mr. Sanderson, what say you?”

Sanderson had overcome his initial incredulity at the scheme and was thinking hard. I knew his brain was firing on all cylinders because the once-shiny, almost chrome-like surface of his dome had dulled to more of a matte finish, apparently through sheer cerebral exertion.

“You’ll have to give me some time to consider this and speak with my family partners about it,” Sanderson said. “We need a much more fulsome discussion before we can decide. We’ve never ever considered such a radical course. But we’ve also never been this close to the edge before.” Sanderson spoke in a tone that suggested he was still feverishly working through the implications.

“Well, you cannae take two months to reach yer decision. Canatron will not wait that long. So stiffen yer spine, sharpen yer wits, and let us know within the week, if you’d be so kind,” Angus
concluded. “Aye, and you might look up the word
fulsome
in the dictionary when you get home. You havenae got it right.”

Before departing, Norman Sanderson arranged a meeting on campus with Deepa for the following morning, for a fuller briefing on the wireless wave router. I called in a few favours and coordinated a hasty meeting for Saturday afternoon with the Industry Canada director general responsible for the manufacturing-transition program. We also all agreed to keep our discussions under wraps. It would be hard enough to close this deal already without having it splashed on the front pages of the
Cumberland Crier
, not to mention the
Ottawa Citizen
.

Muriel leaned on his arm and cooed as she escorted a clearly shell-shocked Norman Sanderson to the front door. The rest of what little remained of the afternoon was consumed by more mundane but locally important meetings with constituents on topics that ranged from tax complaints and affordable housing to immigration problems and environmental policy. I sat in on all the meetings and noticed that Angus was more patient with constituents than I had expected him to be. In the end, nothing unfolded that afternoon that could compete with the Sanderson Shoe Company situation. Angus McLintock’s inspired idea had “win-win” stenciled all over it. It was the kind of bold and creative gambit for which I’d entered politics in the first place. It suddenly dawned on me that I was actually having fun again on Parliament Hill, even though I’d left the vaunted heights of the Leader’s office to toil for a lowly backbencher.

I called Lindsay that night. We’d only seen each other sporadically since the election, but that fact had been driven only by our mutually hellish schedules. I’d been consumed with seeing Angus through his first days on the Hill and defusing the McLintock-assassination plots that were hatching daily in the Leader’s office. Lindsay had actually been away in Mexico with her mother to escape the cold November winds that were snarling across eastern Ontario.
Muriel had given them the trip as an early Christmas present. They tried to talk her into joining them, but she would have none of it. After all, who would organize the Angus McLintock action centre?

“Hey, stranger,” I said when she picked up.

“Hi, Daniel, I was just thinking about you.”

“Then, you’ve clearly received my telepathic messages.” She laughed. “Welcome home. How was Mexico?” I pronounced it
Mec-kee-ko
.

“Mom and I had a wonderful time, and the weather was awesome. We ate, slept, swam, ate, and then, ate some more. I wouldn’t want to live there forever, but a couple of years would suit me fine,” she commented.

“Well, I’ll look into consular openings first thing Monday morning.”

“Gracias, señor
. Muriel tells me Angus has not exactly embraced the path of least resistance since arriving on the Hill. How bad has it been?”

“Well, let’s just say that Bradley Stanton has me on speed-dial so he can conserve his energy for yelling. But after living through the last week, I can’t say I blame Angus. He wants to shake things up, cut a new path, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. This role of maverick staffer is actually kind of growing on me,” I responded.

“Well, none of us should be surprised, I guess. But how are you really feeling about it?” she asked.

“I’m coming to terms with it, and I actually feel quite good about it. My role seems based on very different assumptions than when I worked in the Leader’s office. But why don’t we get together in the next couple of days, go out for dinner, and get caught up. You can tell me Mexican ‘don’t drink the water’ stories, and I’ll tell you ‘how to enrage the Leader’ stories.”

“I’d like that.”

We set it up for the following week and then talked for another hour about everything that was on our minds. Time passed unnoticed. It was just so … comfortable.