Carson arrives at the office on the yacht around 9 AM to meet with Lindy to continue forming the initial direction of the new magazine. The two of them have had casual discussions before, but those conversations aren’t focused. This time, they plan to make some actual decisions for the kickoff of the magazine.
They invite me mostly to listen, so I know what’s going on and can support their efforts and contribute to their goals.
When I arrive, Carson has already poured himself some coffee and settled into the office. He looks tense. After a few minutes, Lindy arrives.
Lindy is wired—he must have had several cups of coffee already. He immediately takes control: “Let’s set up an agenda and use it as a guide for the meeting, to try to make some decisions, record action items, etc.”
Together they sketch out the agenda: issues relating to finances, decision-making, responsibility, staffing, equipment, floorspace, distribution, editorial subject matter, ad sales, and more.
The first agenda item is finances, which makes the meeting tense from the start. The issue is all-important to Carson, but Lindy is wealthy and not terribly concerned. Carson wants to take on another partner, maybe two, to lessen his personal exposure. Lindy disagrees, not wanting to share control. The discussion wanders to other subjects that matter to Lindy, but it keeps circling back to finances. Each time it does, the tension mounts. Their voices rise; the back-and-forth grows sharper. I sit there listening, increasingly uncomfortable.
Lindy calls a deckhand, Nico, to bring him some matches. Then he realizes his supply of cigarettes is running out and asks Nico to go out and buy more, saying he’ll need them to get through the growing tension.
I notice a light of recognition in Carson’s face when he looks at the young man. I think I recognize Nico too. I ask him if we’ve met before. He says no, but I’m not convinced. He seems to be a Lindy favorite.
Mercury walks by and sticks her head into the office. “Good morning, guys. I’m skipping breakfast and heading to brunch with Silas at the Riverside.” She waves as she walks out. “Later.”
Lindy, still tense, looks bothered by her interjection. He tries to steer the meeting back on track, but Carson overtalks him. Soon they’re both talking at once.
The subject matter keeps wandering, ignoring the agenda completely. The more it drifts, the more heated it becomes. Voices rise, nothing gets resolved.
I listen intently, taking notes, not saying much, trying to figure out my role in the overall plan—especially my responsibility for the first issue. Most of what Lindy and Carson argue about doesn’t directly involve me, but their constant disagreement rattles me. Everything hinges on how to handle the finances, and that remains totally unresolved.
CARSON: “I can’t think about creating a magazine without knowing how it will be produced and…”
LINDY: “Don’t worry about it, our bank…”
CARSON: “…paid for. Need a solid foundation.”
LINDY: “…will work with us.”
With every new sentence, the decibel level rose.
CARSON (yelling): “I don’t want…”
LINDY (waving his hands): “It’ll all…”
CARSON (wrapping his knuckles on the side of the boat): “…to take the chance.”
LINDY: “…work out over time.”
CARSON: “Equipment, ad sales, floorspace—everything requires money up front. Where will it come from? Who will manage it?”
There’s a heavy pause and Lindy requests a break. Lindy sends Nico to get donuts. Carson heads out to the deck for fresh air, saying he doesn’t eat that stuff. Lindy doesn’t care.
Even though it’s not yet noon, Lindy breaks out a bottle of his favorite bourbon from a filing cabinet. He takes a deep breath, pours himself a shot, and passes the bottle to Carson and me.
I start wondering about my job security. Lindy has offered me a good position with the startup, but I feel something has to give between him and Carson—soon.
I’m tense, my stomach upset. I can’t think of eating donuts. Carson skips them too. Lindy devours three and sends the rest off with Nico to the yacht staff. Carson returns, and they awkwardly resume, covering the same material they argued about earlier. Still no resolution.
An hour passes. With no progress, we finally adjourn and agree to resume tomorrow.
It’s now close to noon, so bourbon flows again. We each head out to our own lonely lunches.
When I leave the meeting, I walk home, still unclear about my long-term role, my first assignments, and especially whether this venture can succeed at all. I don’t see Lindy and Carson coming together, and I don’t think I can work for them otherwise.
As I walk, my mind drifts back to New York City and the relative tranquility of my college years. I’m tired of this constant tension. I think about what kind of organization it would take to produce a magazine successfully. Once home, I clear my head by Googling graduate schools in NYC. That, and a beer or two, will carry me through the evening until tomorrow’s meeting. I’m not looking forward to it.
Jenny Page