The Surrender to Win Ploy

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

“We probably shouldn’t have married,” I said, saddened by my words.  I was talking to Jane, my secretary about the problems Mary and I were having.  Jane is the person who introduced me to Mary and has always been a sympathetic listener.  We are boss and employee, but I like to think we are also good friends.  We’ve worked together for almost three years, and are never formal in our treatment of each other, unless other senior members of the company are present.  Then it is Miss Prentice and Mr. Chapman, as it should be.

No, my secretary is not the problem.  Let me rephrase that; I don’t get into constant arguments with Jane like I do with Mary.  Mary and I have long butted heads.  Even before I proposed and she accepted, we had our contests of will.  They were never over major issues, just little things like what movie to see, what restaurant to visit, which car to take—hers (with her at the wheel) or mine (because men make the best drivers).  Little things.  Often, silly, little things.

Once we married, I thought the closeness of that bond would bring us more together—create a stronger union, a mutual understanding—and those foolish disputes would become a thing of the past.  To my dismay, it has not worked out the way I’d hoped.

With the closer relationship of marriage, the occasions for disagreement seem manifold.  The opportunities for dispute omnipresent.  Just this morning, before I left for work, we got into an argument about which tie I should wear—which tie!  What could be more inane than that?!  She recommended one; I picked one I liked better; she disparaged my choice; I defended and criticized her sense of fashion, and we were off, again.  I didn’t slam the door as I left, at least not physically—the temptation was there, believe me—and I was steaming through most of the rush hour traffic on the way to the office.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I’d finally come to my senses, but felt exhausted from the mental turmoil.  I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths for almost a minute before finally getting out of the car.  What a way to start a Thursday morning.

Jane was already at her desk when I entered the office, and offered her usual, cheerful, “Good morning, boss.”

To which I responded with my usually jovial, “Good morning, Jane,” but even I could hear the note of dissonance in the greeting.

“Are you okay?” Jane asked.  “You look a little out of sorts.”

Out of sorts?  I guess that covers it, I thought.  But what I really felt was ridiculous.  I mean, which tie?  Why in the world did I let something that small ruin my morning?

“Yeah, I guess I am,” I said, sitting on the edge of her desk.  “I had another fight with Mary this morning.”  Jane has been hearing from me about some of the disagreements we’ve had, and she’s probably also hearing from Mary.

“Oh?  What about this time?”

“Practically nothing,” I said.  I didn’t want to tell her it was as trivial as which damned tie I should wear today, so I didn’t.

“I’m feeling guilty about ever introducing the two of you,” Jane said.  “Mary has been a friend for a long time, and I just never realized how unreasonable she can be.”

“It’s not your fault, Jane.  I thought it would sort itself out, but it hasn’t gone that way.  It’s nobody’s fault, really.  We are just two people who cannot get along.”

“Well I know you try, so I’ll continue to feel guilty until you can work your way out of that environment.  You two really ought to seek some outside help.  This constant bickering can’t possibly continue for much longer, or you’ll either end up in divorce court or wake up some morning with a bread knife in your chest.”

She was kidding about the bread knife, of course.  Mary is not a violent person.  Strong willed, physically fit, determined to get her way, aggressive in a dispute, unforgiving in the heat of the moment, but not violent, never violent.  I think.  Jane has known Mary for much longer than I have, but…  No, I’m sure jane was just kidding.  Now, divorce court, that could happen, even if neither one of us wants it.

“You’re right, I suppose,” I said.  “I just hate the idea of talking about these sorts of things with some stranger.  I mean, we’re both adults.  We shouldn’t need to air out our private lives for some person we don’t even know to pick apart and treat us like children squabbling over a toy.”  Even if that’s what most of our fights amount to.

“I’m sure you could find someone who would not treat you that way.  I imagine they are trained to work with some finesse when dealing with other people’s problems.  Still, I understand your reluctance.”

There was a lull in the conversation, each of us thinking our separate thoughts.  Then Jane said, “I hate to suggest this.  I know I’m going to regret it…”

“What do you have in mind?  I’m open to any helpful suggestions at this point.”

“Well, it’s just that I know both you and Mary, and I like you both.  Do you think it might help if the three of us sat down over coffee at your house and just talked, reasonably, about the situation and what might be done to cool things off?  I mean, I’m no trained marriage counselor, or anything, but I think I could keep such a discussion on track without it turning into another fight.  And with a little prior coordination, you and I ought to be able to bring Mary to her senses.”

“You know, that might actually work,” I said.  “I mean what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Well, I suppose the worst would be that you both would end up hating me and using me as the scapegoat for all your problems.  Mary would refuse to speak to me ever again, and you would get me fired so I ended up selling flowers on a street corner, barefoot, in the winter snow, to buy bread and medicine for my dying mother.”

“Yeah, right,” I laughed, “I happen to know that your mother is independently wealthy; she plays golf and tennis and is probably fitter than I am, and she lives in a plush condo on Maui.  They don’t get snow there, do they?”

“Well, not often, but there’s still the getting fired and Mary never speaking to me.”

“I doubt you have to worry about those possibilities either.  Sigh.  But it will never work.  If I suggest your plan to Mary, she’ll reject it before I even get it past my lips.  That’s what it has been like, lately.  And, no, I know it’s not just her, I have the same problem—not listening before thinking up objections to whatever the other person says.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, but you’re probably right about Mary.  How about this, don’t you suggest it.  I’ll give Mary a call and invite myself over for coffee.  She need not know what the actual purpose of my visit will be, as long as you don’t tell her.”

“Oh, I won’t tell her, but won’t she figure it out and think we deliberately ambushed her?”

“I’ve known Mary since Saint Olaf’s High School.  I think I can handle the deception, and it is for a good cause.  But we can’t do it as if it is just Mary we are working on, right?  I mean, you have to go into this acting like you are willing to change some of your behaviors as well, or she’ll feel picked on and get all defensive on us.”

“Yes, you’re right.  It takes two to fight, and it also takes two to make peace.  Thanks, Jane, even if this doesn’t work out, I appreciate your willingness to help.”

“Don’t mention it, John.  Now, I’d better get working on that memo you need circulated before the Staff Meeting.”

“Right.  I need to get to work,” I said.  For the first time in days, I was feeling optimistic about Mary and I, and life in general.

After Staff Meeting, I was in my office working on one of the assignments the boss tossed in my direction, when Jane knocked on my door, let herself in and sat in the comfortable chair off the corner of my desk.

“I talked to Mary,” she said, “and she’s expecting me to drop by Saturday morning for coffee.  So, the meeting is set, and now it is up to you to prepare to do your part to make this work.”

“Great!  I’m really feeling good about this plan.  It would be so nice if Jane and I were not always at each other’s throats.  Now, I just have to figure out what I can do to pull this off.”

“Well,” Jane said, “I’ve had some thoughts about that.”

“And?”

“It seems to me, the problem is you both adopt positions, on whatever the subject may be, that you cannot then back away from.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Okay, so if you seemed to be more flexible, Mary would not sense any obstinacy and she would automatically—without even realizing it—be more flexible in response.”

“So, if I understand what you’re saying, you think if Mary takes a position, I should… What?  Just agree with her?  Surrender without a fight, and then it wouldn’t turn into an argument?”

“Well, sort of.  The problem you have now, is that Mary sees your immediate resistance to her plans / positions / whatever, as an obstacle she must overcome.  So, if she no longer sensed intransigence on your part, she would naturally become much more flexible on hers.  It’s not so much that Mary wants to win these little set-tos, as it is she doesn’t want to lose them.”

“I’m having trouble visualizing how that would work.  If I don’t resist what she wants, even if I can see something better, then won’t we automatically end up doing things her way, even though it may not be the right way or the best way?  Wouldn’t we, or I, be settling for the good, rather than the best?  See, now, you’ve got me all twisted up, but you know what I mean, right?”

“I see what you mean, but I don’t think it would work that way.  Think of your response as being flexible, or elastic.  Once Mary is no longer defensive about her position, you’ll be able to discuss things reasonably with her, and then you can introduce… improvements on her proposal leading back to what you wanted.  You never have to tell her that was your choice all along.  That way, she isn’t forced into a confrontation, and you end up with what you were after in the first place.  Think of it as the old Surrender to Win ploy.”

“Hmm, it might work.  I’ll have to give it some thought.”

“Good.  Be ready Saturday morning, to take on the role of peacemaker, as I guide Mary in the right direction,” Jane said as she rose and strode out the door.

I put Jane’s plan out of my mind for a time and got back to work.  My project had an associated deadline that required no distractions to complete on time.  During my drive home, though, instead of fuming at the traffic, which always seems to crawl that time of day, I went over Jane’s proposal.  Much of what she said made good sense.  I began to think there might just be light at the end of the tunnel Mary and I were making of our marriage.

I arrived home to, “Welcome home, dear,” which is the usual greeting Mary affords me.  Her commute is much shorter than mine, so she beats me home by a good 45 minutes—more than an hour on Fridays.  “How was your day?”

I dropped my briefcase on a chair and headed straight for the liquor cabinet.  “It was a typical Thursday,” I said, pouring myself the first bourbon of the evening.

“Ah yes,” Mary said, “Staff Meeting.  What kind of mood was the old fart in today?”

“His usual.  He gave me a project that should have been completed yesterday, and which he sat on for more than a week.”

“So, as you say, typical.  I’ve thawed out a chicken for Chicken Rice Roger for tonight’s dinner.”

I was in the mood for a pork chop.  I knew there were a couple in the refrigerator, and I’d been looking forward to one with mashed potatoes and dark gravy during my drive home.  Besides, I am the one who fixes Chicken Rice Roger, and I was not in the mood to cook.  So, without the slightest hesitation, I opened my mouth to veto her suggestion, but then… I did—hesitate, that is.

I took a gulp of bourbon instead, and said, “Sounds good.”  I was thinking: Why not give Jane’s approach a try, just to test the waters, see if it might work?

Mary was standing there, hands on hips, just waiting for my reply.  When she heard it, I could see the look of surprise on her face she quickly masked with, “Thank you, dear, I’ll lay the ingredients out for you while you change clothes.”

Interesting, I thought on my way back to our bedroom, I’m on the hook cooking dinner, but there was no confrontation beyond Mary’s initial challenging proposal, and I could tell she expected one.  Things didn’t actually work out in my favor; we never reached the negotiation part.  So, I didn’t do it quite right, but still, it’s promising.  Jane may have gotten it exactly right.  On Saturday, we’ll refine the technique so I come out on top… most of the time.  Mary will never know what hit her.

I was practically whistling, I was so upbeat.  Even when I strode into the kitchen and Mary greeted me, holding out an apron for me to wear while I cooked (I hate aprons.  They’re just too girly, even the ones supposedly intended for men.), I just said, “Thank you, dear,” gave her a quick kiss and tied it around my waist.

Mary told me about her day while I browned the chicken, added the rice, onions, mushrooms, a dash of soy sauce, water and the package of onion soup mix, flipped on the cover with a flourish and put the pot in the oven to bake.  I wasn’t really listening to Mary’s day, you understand, but I made all the right sounds of agreement and dismay, at all the right places (I think), in just the right way.  I refilled Mary’s wine glass when she asked and put off my second bourbon when she frowned.  Everything was great!  We sailed through the entire evening without the slightest hint at a tiff—the first time in weeks.  And the best part, Mary had not a clue how I was manipulating her.

We made love that night, something we don’t usually do in the middle of the work week, and I slept like a cat who’s had his cream.

The next day was Friday.  We dress casual in the office on Fridays—no chance of a fight over which tie to wear.  So, it was khakis and the shirt Mary recommended (I felt more than a little smug, knowing how I was setting her up).  And I was off to the office with a spring in my step.

What can I say about the last day of the work week, when all the unreasonable demands at the office come due, the commuter traffic is twice as bad as any other day of the week and all anyone can think of is surviving this one, last day, then two days of blessed relief before we have to start in again.

At lunch time, which I ate at my desk, Jane poked her head in and said, “Ready for tomorrow?”

“You bet.  The old Surrender to Win ploy.  I’ve already started setting it up,” I said, smiling and thinking of my conquests of the previous night.

“Good. Now remember the plan.  I’ll steer the conversation, but you have to do your part to help convince Mary this nonconfrontational approach will work.  Oh, and have a pad of paper or a notebook—the one you use for Staff Meeting will work—have it just handy at the kitchen table, and I’ll suggest I take notes so you both can sign off on any agreements you reach.  It’s overly formal, I know, but you want any decisions to last longer than just that day, right?”

“Great idea.  I’ll pretend to be reviewing something from work over breakfast, and I’ll just leave the notebook on the table when I clear the dishes.  Listen, this won’t get you into trouble with Mary, will it?  You guys have been friends for a long time, I don’t want to screw that up.”

“Don’t worry about it.  If we do this right, she’ll never guess we were plotting against her.”

“Okay, but if she figures it out, I’ll take all the blame.  Your friendship is too important to her.”

“Thanks.  I’m sure it won’t come to that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Lunch over, it was back to the drudgery, praying the clock would advance just a little bit faster.

I was really dragging when I got home.  The car’s air conditioning was not keeping up with the summer heat on the highway, and I couldn’t keep it at max all the way home.  Traffic was below 20 mph for what felt like hours, and in that heat, at that speed, adding the load of the air conditioner causes the engine to overheat.  So, I sweated and suffered the ordeal, just like every other commuter out there in this crawling, rat-race existence.

We had a salad for dinner that night.  Mary said it was too hot to cook, and I acquiesced even though I was getting a little worried about those pork chops in the refrigerator.

We enjoyed a second evening without conflict.  (Two in a row, a modern-day record.)  In truth, it was not because of any masterful manipulation on my part.  I was just too exhausted to care.  But tomorrow is Saturday.  Tomorrow, I, with Jane’s covert assistance, end conflict as we’ve come to live it, for all time.  That was the thought wafting through my brain as I collapsed into bed and dropped off the edge of awareness.

I woke up to the smell of bacon frying.  Is there a better smell in all the world?  Oh, add coffee brewing.  Mary was in the kitchen making breakfast when I wandered out in my robe and slippers.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said before I leaned down to kiss her.  “I was just about to roust you out,” she added when our lips parted.  “Get yourself a cup of coffee and a fork.  I’ve got the plates and your eggs are just about done.”

Mary does the best scrambled eggs of anyone I know.  Her mother taught her, and she discovered the French Chef does them the same way.  She likes to joke that the Chef got the technique from her mom.

I was about to sit down, when I remembered I was supposed to have my notebook handy for later.  I turned toward the door, but Mary met me with a plate full of goodness and I had to either sit or end up wearing it down my front.  Not a problem, I thought, I can come up with some excuse to bring it out before it’s needed.

Over breakfast, Mary said, “Did I mention Jane will be dropping by this morning?  I talked to her on the phone Thursday and invited her over for coffee.”

“Jane from the office?  No, you didn’t mention it.  What time do you expect her?”

“Around ten.”

“I should probably put some clothes on before she gets here.”

Mary chuckled, “Well, no need to get too carried away, but pants might be appropriate.”

“Right,” I laughed.  “I’ll get right on that,” I said, carrying my plate to the sink then heading to our bedroom.

I have a desk and computer in a corner of the family room where I work when I’m forced to bring the job home.  I sat there this morning, pretending to be working, while actually waiting for Jane to arrive.  I was getting a case of the nerves, which is strange for me.  I can prepare and deliver a briefing to the CEO of our company and never so much as twitch, but facing Mary over this bickering problem, even with Jane’s support, had my palms sweating.

Sure enough, at two minutes to ten, Jane came in through the kitchen door, and called out, “Hello in the house.  Mary, it’s me.”

“Get yourself some coffee,” Mary called from our bedroom.  “Be out in a minute.”

Here’s my chance, I thought.  I grabbed my notebook and hurried to beat Mary to the kitchen.

“Welcome, Jane,” I said, loud enough so Mary could hear.  “Are we still doing this,” I whispered.

“Don’t back out now,” Jane answered, softly.  “This morning could change the rest of your lives together.  Now, remember the plan.  At first, it will sound like everything is going Mary’s way, but stick with me and I’ll make sure you are taken care of in the end.”

“Right,” I said.  “Here’s my notebook.  I’ll get a cup of coffee and join you at the table.  Here comes Mary,” I added, unnecessarily when we heard her footsteps in the hall.

Mary gave me a strange look when she saw I was at the kitchen table across from Jane, but I just smiled, and Jane stood up and gave her a hug.  From there, the two women proceeded with the small talk women engage in, while I sat there giving the dwindling coffee in my cup my full attention.

Now and then, I felt Mary gaze at me, likely wondering why I was still sitting there.  Finally, she asked, “John, is there somewhere else you’d rather be this morning?  I’m sure you’re not interested in what Jane and I have to talk about.”

“Actually,” Jane cut in, saving me from trying to come up with some excuse for why the hell I was sitting there, “I wanted John to stay for a few minutes.  I might as well come right to the point.  I’ve been worried about you two, lately.  I love you both, dearly, and it hurts me to see you constantly fighting.”

Mary scowled at me and said, “Have you been discussing our domestic problems with people in the office?  Who else have you told?”

Again, Jane jumped in, “It’s not like that, Mary.  John hasn’t told anyone except me, and I have to pry it out of him.  And in fairness, you have also shared with me.”

“That’s different,” Mary said, “you’re my best friend.  That’s what besties are for.”

“True, and John is also a good friend.  You knew that when I introduced you to him.  At any rate, I thought if you and John talked it out, maybe I could help.  I’m hoping I can at least keep the discussion from deteriorating into open warfare.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mary said.  “I suppose this is all your idea,” she said, looking at me.

“No, not at all,” I protested.  Jane came up with it first, I thought.

“It’s my idea,” Jane said.  “I know you think it is none of my business, but I love you both, and I would like to help, if I can.”

“I don’t know,” Mary said.  “What do you think, John?”

“I don’t know, Mary, but if Jane thinks it might help…” I opened my palms and shrugged my shoulders.

“Okay,” Mary said, “but I’m not starting this conversation.  You start it, John.”

Funny, I’d thought about this meeting off and on for two days, and it never occurred to me I might have to deliver the opening line.  I sat there speechless for a moment, both women staring at me.  “Well,” I started, slowly, “I hate all the fighting we do.  Sometimes it seems that’s all we do.  I’d like to find a way to get along.”

“See,” Jane said once it was obvious I’d ground to a halt, “that’s what I’d like to help with.  So, John, what do you think you can do to help eliminate the fighting?”  She gave me an encouraging nod and indicated with her hand—where Mary couldn’t see it—that I should continue.

Falling back on the plan Jane and I worked out, I said with more confidence, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t just automatically reject what Mary has to say.”  Jane gave me a nod and a wink that Mary didn’t notice.  “I should listen first to what Mary has to say and work from there.”

“I think that’s an excellent start,” Jane said.  “Um, would you two mind if I took notes of this discussion?  That’s one thing secretaries are good at, and it will be something both of you can refer back to should you ever want to.

“Let’s see, so far we’ve got: John should listen to Mary, not argue with her and do what she says.  Good, that’s a start. Now, what else, John?”

Isn’t this the place where Jane should jump in and twist the conversation around in my favor? I thought.  But once again, they were both looking at me.  Mary a little skeptical and Jane with the smile you might give a three-year-old halfway through the alphabet song.

“I don’t know,” I said, “seems to me we should be able to get along better if we just try.”

“And what would you be willing to try?” Jane asked.

“Well, anything, I guess.  I love Mary and don’t want to lose her over these silly fights.”

“Sounds exactly right to me,” Jane said.  “Mary, would you agree with what John has proposed, so far?”

“Absolutely,” Mary said.  “If John would just listen first and not automatically jump to some objection, no matter how ridiculous, we’d have far fewer arguments.”

“Well, I’ve got that in the notes.  So, let’s see.  Um, John, you’ve taught me a lot about contracts and such since I started working for you.  In a contract, there are always terms and conditions, and repercussions if the contract is not met.”

“You mean, like a penalty clause?” I asked, a little confused where she was headed.

“Exactly!  I knew you would come up with the right term.  Now, in this agreement you two are working on this morning, what kind of penalty clause should we set up.  What should be the consequence if one of you fails to follow the… terms and conditions, for lack of a better phrase?

“Mary, what do you think?”

“Well, most of John’s arguments are pretty childish,” Mary said.  “Why don’t we make the penalty just as childish?”

“Okay, sounds about right,” Jane said.

Jane was looking at Mary.  I was trying and failing to make eye contact so I could send her a subtle message that she needed to turn this discussion around before it got out of hand.  I was sensing a train wreck in the offing.

“What did you have in mind?” Jane asked Mary.

“To be honest?  Sometimes I want to take him over my knee and give him a good, hard spanking.”

I gasped.  Jane laughed, “That’s certainly a childish penalty for a childish act,” Jane said.  “Anything else?  Perhaps time spent standing in the corner?  Writing lines?  Let me get this down,” she giggled.  “Now, how about acts of restitution after the penalty is paid.  I know some of our contracts have clauses like that.  Like a reduction in price for future purchases, that sort of thing.  No… that doesn’t work here, does it…  How about something more appropriate between a married couple.  Let’s say something like, John would have to please you in bed, in the manner of your choosing, with no expectation of return.

“That should be okay, don’t you think, John?” Jane said.  “I mean, you probably do that already, so no big deal.  Right?”

“Sometimes, but…”

“Hold that thought, John,” Jane said, “just let me get this all down first.  We should have the date and the time, the people present for this negotiation.  Um, I need to make this clause a little more clear, ‘John will accept without objection…  So on and so forth…  Will at Mary’s direction remove all clothing… Da da, da da, da dum… Yes, that’s better.

“Contracts have to be clear, you taught me that, John, otherwise they’re not worth the paper they’re printed on.

“So, let’s see, I’ve spelled out the requirements, listed the penalties…  Just need a couple signature blocks, and one for the witness…  There.  All set.  So, I recommend we take the time to make what we have so far official, then we can have further discussions as you both might require.”

Jane gave me a wink with the eye away from Mary and slid my notebook and pen across the table to me.  “Just sign and date where indicated,” she said.

I held my pen over the line assigned for signature and read what Jane wrote.  It was really scary.  It gave Mary complete control.  All the responsibilities and all the penalties were aimed specifically at me.  Where was the part where I would cleverly end up with what I wanted?

“Go ahead and sign it, John,” Jane coaxed.  “You did say you were willing to try anything.  And, of course, this is just the beginning of your new arrangement.”

Just the beginning, I thought.  Pretty much the beginning Jane and I worked out together, I guess.  Although there was no talk of spanking, corner time or sex acts in the original plan.  I sure hope she knows what she’s doing.

I signed and dated on my line and slid the page to Mary.

Mary signed and dated on her line and slid the page back to Jane.

Jane signed and dated as witness.  “John,” she said, “you’ve got a scanner on your home computer, don’t you?”  I nodded.  “Good.  I’ll just make us a couple copies.”

Mary smiled pleasantly at me while Jane was gone.  Neither one of us had much to say.  I knew I couldn’t push the negotiation any further until Jane got back to support me.

Jane returned to the kitchen, handed the original to Mary a copy to me and folded up her copy and put it in her purse.  “I emailed a copy to your lawyer, Mary.  He’s all yours.”  They exchanged a high-five.  “See you in the office Monday morning, John,” she said, turned and exited out the kitchen door.

I sat there with my mouth open.  What the hell just happened?

END

The story continues in: The Surrender To Win Outcome in which John learns what the actual results of his plotting with Jane have brought him.

Copyright © 2020 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.