The Goal

52

He nods.

"Yeah, but suppose you've got enough cash coming in every month to meet expenses for a year," I tell him. "If you've got enough of it, then cash flow doesn't matter."

"But if you don't, nothing else matters," says Lou. "It's a measure of survival: stay above the line and you're okay; go below and you're dead."

We look each other in the eye.

"It's happening to us, isn't it?" Lou asks.

I nod.

Lou looks away. He's quiet.

Then he says, "I knew it was coming. Just a matter of time."

He pauses. He looks back to me.

"What about us?" he asks. "Did Peach say anything?"

"They're thinking about closing us down."

"Will there be a consolidation?" he asks.

What he's really asking is whether he'll have a job.

"I honestly don't know, Lou," I tell him. "I imagine some people might be transferred to other plants or other divisions, but we didn't get into those kinds of specifics."

Lou takes a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket. I watch him stamp the end of it repeatedly on the arm of his chair.

"Two lousy years to go before retirement," he mutters.

"Hey, Lou," I say, trying to lift him out of despair, "the worst it would probably mean for you would be an early retirement."

"Dammit!" he says. "I don't want an early retirement!"

We're both quiet for some time. Lou lights his cigarette. We sit there.

Finally I say, "Look, I haven't given up yet."

"Al, if Peach says we're finished-"

"He didn't say that. We've still got time."

"How much?" he asks.

"Three months," I say.

He all but laughs. "Forget it, Al. We'll never make it."

"I said I'm not giving up. Okay?"

For a minute, he doesn't say anything. I sit there knowing I'm not sure if I'm telling him the truth. All I've been able to do so far is figure out that we have to make the plant make money. Fine, Rogo, now how do we do it? I hear Lou blow a heavy breath of smoke.