Mr. Cunningham sat behind his stately mahogany pedestal desk reading the newspaper and sipping coffee out of a red poly-paper cup when J.P. and Cliff appeared in the doorway.
“Come in, fellas. Have a seat,” the jolly man invited. “I beat you to it today, Cliff, but come here, Mr. C still has a treat for you.” He motioned to the copy ofTheWall Street Journalspread open on his desk, while he bent over and pulled out the bag of doggie treats from his side drawer.
“Welcome back, Mr. C,” J.P. said enthusiastically. “You and those cups. I can’t believe you refuse to drink out of that Yeti I got you a few years ago; or even an old-fashioned ceramic mug, for that matter”
“It’s important to remember your roots, Jonathan. Growing up in Manhattan, I bought a black coffee from the corner bodega or the bagel cart at Washington Square Park every morning.”
“Yes, I know. Those cups were blue, white, and gold and hadWe Are Happy to Serve Youimprinted on them. A cup company made them to appeal to Greek food vendors who pushed their love of coffee on unsuspecting New Yorkers. You’ve shared this tale many times, Mr. C,” J.P. took over the storytelling, regretting he had pointed out the cup.
“Thatcup, Jonathan, has been described as the most successful cup in history byTheNew York Times.If Solo started manufacturing the original version, I’d be sipping out of one of those; but this is the best I have.” He tapped his paper cup. “I don’t need any fancy mug or thermos.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Mr. C. For how progressive and ‘fancy’ you are in some regards, you’re quite archaic in others.”
“Archaic? I prefer to call it ‘old-fashioned,’” Mr. Cunningham defended.
“It took me twenty minutes to brew a cup of coffee at Marlin Manor on Sunday morning. I had to crush beans; I had to boil water. You do that every morning to dump the beverage into a cup that retains no heat and will get soggy and leak if you don’t drink it fast enough? I don’t understand,” J.P. said, unsure why he was so riled by the absurdity of it all, given that it didn’t affect him in any way.
“I keep my Mr. Coffee pot and paper filters in the breakfast nook in the master bedroom. I rarely use that kitchen. Or any of the gadgets in it. Those fancy toys are for guests and visitors to enjoy. I’m happy you found them and dusted them off.”
“Now would be a good time to change the subject.” J.P. shook his head, attempting to prevent another tangent in the form of a history lesson, dissertation, or tutorial about the evolution of coffee pots. “Looks like the weather is going to cooperate for Employee Appreciation Weekend. I peeked at the schedules for the clubhouse employees and the teams did a good job of rotating their hours so everyone can enjoy the festivities and ensure all shifts are adequately covered.”
“Good. I continue to be impressed by the ship you run inside the clubhouse and on the golf course. Maybe I need my hearing aids fixed but I never catch wind of any drama or gossip at Liberty Oaks. It’s refreshing,” Mr. Cunningham commended.
“Thanks, Boss. I know you sent the email to the entire Low Country Hospitality enterprise but, since you were gone, I took the liberty of checking in with housekeeping and reservations to ensure they got the memo and were working on coverage plans. Miss Luana and Hailey confirmed they would take charge of coordinating schedules and send you a copy when the plans are finalized.”
“Excellent. I’m quite satisfied with the leadership that Hailey shows for such a young woman. She exhibits significant potential in ways she can add to the growth and future of Low Country Hospitality,” Mr. Cunningham said matter-of-factly.
“I couldn’t agree more,” J.P. said with a wide grin. “She continues to go above and beyond her duties and responsibilities.”
“Any chance Miss Luana is going to make those key lime pie cookies? The Hilton Head Ice Cream van is going to park at Marlin Manor for a few hours tomorrow, but I know people will be asking about those darn cookies.”
“Yes. There will be a few dozen key lime pie cookies on hand. Miss Luana didn’t set up at the farmers market yesterday so she could stay home and bake.” J.P. smiled, pleased that the subject of the cookies arose.
“Miss Luana shouldn’t lose any additional income because she was home baking for her own Employee Appreciation Day. I’ll make sure she’s compensated.” Mr. Cunningham scribbled something down in the notebook next to him.
“As long as we’re on the subject of the cookies, have you ever stayed at a DoubleTree?”
“Jonathan, I’m a hotelier. What do you think?”
“Sorry, rookie question. Let this serve as a reminder why I’m better suited for golf management than hotel management.” J.P. seized the opportunity for a smart comeback. “You know how they give their guests a warm chocolate chip cookie at check-in? If Miss Luana shared that recipe—or maybesoldit—than we could give key lime pie cookies to guests at our properties. Southern hospitality at its finest.”
Mr. Cunningham sat forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. He slid his glasses to the tip of his nose and peered out the window to his right like he was deep in thought. J.P. didn’t know what to make of the awkward silence since Mr. Cunningham always had an immediate follow-up to any question or statement. He had the uncanny ability to be armed with answers on the ready. The confidence in his words and thoughts, and his always swift response times made him an unparalleled businessman.
“I think that is a brilliant idea,” Mr. Cunningham said, despite sounding like he was still mulling over the proposal.
“It’s just a thought. I don’t expect you to have an answer or come up with a business plan, right now, in the moment.”
“I find a great deal of value in the proposition. Miss Luana is no spring chicken, in case you haven’t noticed; and her work is very physical, extremely labor intensive. She won’t be able to keep up that pace for much longer and I’ve been racking my brain about how to broach a conversation with her. Youknowhow she is,” Mr. Cunningham referred to Miss Luana’s strong-willed and tough-minded personality. “Part of being a good manager, Jonathan, is always looking out for your employees, knowing their strengths, weaknesses and recognizing their needs. Identifying when it’s the appropriate time to help them pass the torch.”
J.P. hung on every word that Mr. Cunningham expressed and was eager to hear where his boss’s mind was headed with this thought. He also wondered if Mr. Cunningham was referring to his own role within his company to some degree. While J.P. wasn’t oblivious to the obvious hints and suggestions Mr. Cunningham dropped about J.P. taking on more responsibility, he never thought it could be because his mentor wasn’t physically or mentally up to the demands.
“What are you proposing?” J.P. inquired.
“I’ll renovate a kitchen for her at one of the complexes. She’ll continue to maintain scheduling, hiring, training, and purchasing of housekeeping services, but the role will be restricted to office duties. The rest of the time she can bake to her heart’s content. We’ll offer the famous key lime pie cookies to guests and golfers, and she won’t have to share or sell her recipe to anyone.” Mr. Cunningham stood up from his chair and pounded his hands on the desk like he successfully closed a hard-fought deal. “And tell that lady friend of yours, ‘thank you.’”
“What?” J.P. asked, his head still spinning from his boss’s quick and assertive restructuring of one of Low County Hospitality’s most relied upon arms of the business empire.
“That wasn’t your brainchild, was it? I’m assuming this was the idea of your friend, Kenny.” Mr. Cunningham asserted.
