Dee was not a phone person, and she did not understand why — with today’s technology, which made it possible to elegantly express yourself with a handful of characters and emojis and gifs while on the toilet or the treadmill — there were people who still thought it was more personal and professional to call and talk.
George Walhickey III was one of those people.
He was her silent partner but, unfortunately, far from silent.
“Dee, babe, we haven’t talked in so long! Call me,” he’d said in the nasal tone that would’ve made Dee frown if her frown lines weren’t filled. It was his fourth voice message in as many days. She hadn’t listened to the first three. She already knew what was on his mind.
Money. Always money.
Walhickey was the 30-year-old heir of a bandage tycoon whose family pioneered the use of Sphagnum, or bog moss, to absorb blood and pus on the battlefield in World War I. The family hired women and children in Scotland to work long hours in the cold and rain to collect and clean, then later prepare, the leaves, which were twice as absorptive as cotton wool and therefore far superior in treating shrapnel-penetrated flesh. The Walhickeys would later take what they learned from Sphagnum and create a high-tech bandaging material that could keep the pH level around wounds low, thus preventing infection.
Winnetka, Illinois-based Walhickey Corp. — as the top supplier of bandaging material to American field hospitals throughout the world — was now valued at $11 billion.
George Walhickey III liked to work out, though photos would reveal he often skipped leg day.
He first discovered FitFams in 2019, when Dee opened her fourth location, a studio in Evanston, Illinois, that tapped into the college-kids-with-mommy-money market near Northwestern University. George lived in Chicago and was bored with the workouts cooked up by his team of trainers — a mix of Jungshin Sword Fighting, Krav Maga, and Jane Fonda aerobics — and tasked them with finding him a new challenge. After one class at FitFams, he was a believer.
Dee’s 72-page business plan included specifics on how she would grow FitFams into an international fitness juggernaut that she would eventually sell for many millions. This would require capital. George offered to help in exchange for a stake in the company.
According to their contract, he was a passive investor. But that didn’t stop him from checking in with Dee, under the guise of friendly conversation, with frustrating frequency.
She climbed on to the pink, custom-made stationary bike she kept in her office and started pedaling, then dialed George. She breathed in deeply, then out, mentally preparing herself for the conversation.
“Hi, George,” she said.
“Dee! How are you? I’ve been worried you fell into that sinkhole I saw on the news,” he said. “It ate a car!”
“Nope, no sinkhole,” Dee said, rolling her eyes and turning up the resistance on her bike. “What can I do for you?”
“How are things at FitFams these days?”
Dee hated when people wasted her time with generalized pleasantries. “We’re doing great, George,” she said, pedaling a little harder. “Opened the Atlanta location 30 days ago, bringing us to 56 studios, and we will have Philadelphia on line next month.”
“Great, great, great. That’s great,” George said. “So the other day, while I was doing a foot detox bath, I had a thought. I know that when a coach gets popular and her classes fill up, she often gets promoted to senior coach and then starts making more money per client. Right?”
“Right,” Dee said. Where was this going?
“That strategy works as a way to retain experienced coaches, right?”
“Yes,” Dee said.
“Well, as far as I can tell, this workout is so good, and your coach training program is so good, students would keep coming no matter who taught the class,” George said. “Even a trained monkey could do it.”
Dee winced.
“I’m not suggesting you have a video playing instead of paying a real coach — that would be crazy,” he said, in a tone that suggested he did not think it was crazy. “But what if, after a senior coach has filled her classes and gotten students hooked on the workout, you swapped that coach out for someone brand-new who could be paid half as much per student? Maybe the clients would be a little upset with the change at first. But they’d get over it quickly because they’re addicted to the workout, which would be consistent and reliably the same, no matter who was coaching it.”
Dee thought for a moment. Did that spoiled brat with skinny calves — who believed Dee’s studios should have tanning beds, a fat-freezing technician, and a photo booth that takes pictures of your aura — actually offer up a good idea?
“Interesting,” Dee said. “Let me think on that and get back to you. Great chat.”
“I also thought —“
She hung up, then texted Sheldon: “Bring me the latest data from Atlanta’s first month.”
About 90 seconds later, he handed her an iPad, then quickly left the room. As Dee continued to pedal, she examined the studio’s numbers on retention, attendance, utilization, and performance. Three of the coaches were average or above average. Willa stood out — every one of her classes was full, her reviews were all five stars, and her clients consistently signed up for packages.
Jem, though, was another story. Dee took a closer look at the studio manager’s data and reviews. “Too soft-spoken,” one person wrote. “Music is boring,” another said. More alarming was the fact that Jem seemed unable to convert first-timers into regular visitors.
Dee texted Tara. “What’s the deal with Jem? Her numbers aren’t good.”
Tara wrote right back. “She’s sweet and on-brand, but I’m not sure she’s able to handle the intense pressure of coaching and managing the studio.”
Dee brought her pedals to a stop.
Time to make a change in Atlanta.
Run, Willa, run!!!