anyway.” Alice sat down on a plastic chair with too much yield in it to be truly comfortable and hoped she’d handled things all right. A vodka might have made her feel less awkward; sober, she was shy, and—especially when in authority—she tended to compensate by being abrasive. No matter, she thought. She’d know Bob and Harry soon enough, and then they’d forget their first impressions of her.
She began to sketch out the second revolution over hamburgers and fries.
When it comes to reforming command economies, there are two schools of thought. The first, shock therapy, holds that it’s best to enact all reforms at once; the social and economic upheaval is so great that a short, sharp jolt is preferable to prolonging the torture with a piecemeal approach. The gradualists take the opposite view; for them, reforms should be staggered in order to avoid large drops in output and mass unemployment, which will in turn threaten political stability and therefore the reform process itself.
Borzov had decided to go with the former. They were going to raze the entire communist structure—clearly the institutions of the communist state were inimical to the spirit of enterprise—and in its stead erect a market economy. If this was implemented quickly and vigorously, the essentials of such an economy would begin to function almost immediately, and the economy would then gain the momentum it needed. The role of the state was simple: to establish the rules of the capitalist game and watch the new society unfold. This was where privatization came in; more specifically, Red October.
“We’re just going to do one auction to start with,” Alice said. “The Red October distillery.”
“Only one?” It was Harry; Alice bet he’d sat in the front row at varsity lectures.
“Yes, only one, to show it can be done. Parliament meets March ninth, and we need to have everything wrapped by then. So the auction will take place the Monday before that, the second.”
“Two months?” Bob’s bottom lip bumped against the straw of his Coke. “That’s
absurd.”
He gestured around the restaurant. “It took McDonald’s fourteen
years
to open this place.”
“You really think it’s impossible, Bob, walk out now and I’ll find someone else, no hard feelings. Yes, two months is very short—and even shorter because we can’t go see Red October until next Monday because they’re all on New Year vacation—but it’s not absurd.”
“We’re gonna have to work twenty-four seven.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“My wife might. She wasn’t that keen on coming here in the first place.”
“She should meet my husband. Harry?”
Harry shook his head. “Bring it on.”
“No wife?” A redundant question. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?
Hardly. No, none of the above. Young, free and single.” He looked around the room. “And keen-to-mingle. Bob, have you
seen
the chicks in here? I’m fouling my gutchies.”
“Harry, you’re depriving some village of an idiot,” Alice said. “You’re happy to give yourself to me for two months?”
“Is that an offer?”
Alice clicked her tongue. “It’s a phase you’re going through. You’ll grow out of it.”
“This afternoon, if there’s a God,” Bob said.
She saw herself suddenly as Harry must have seen her: smart and sassy and sexy, the girl everyone had wanted to befriend at school, the one who’d share a smoke and drink behind the bike stands, the first one to have a boyfriend, the one who never studied but got good grades. He couldn’t have guessed, this soon after meeting her, the depths below. No one ever could.
“OK.” Alice’s tone was serious. “Enough. We’re gonna show these bastards a bit of good ol’ American kickass. First up, division of labor. Working on the kind of model we used in Eastern Europe, I think the best way is to establish six working groups—we’ll take charge of two each.” She reached into a plastic folder
She began to sketch out the second revolution over hamburgers and fries.
When it comes to reforming command economies, there are two schools of thought. The first, shock therapy, holds that it’s best to enact all reforms at once; the social and economic upheaval is so great that a short, sharp jolt is preferable to prolonging the torture with a piecemeal approach. The gradualists take the opposite view; for them, reforms should be staggered in order to avoid large drops in output and mass unemployment, which will in turn threaten political stability and therefore the reform process itself.
Borzov had decided to go with the former. They were going to raze the entire communist structure—clearly the institutions of the communist state were inimical to the spirit of enterprise—and in its stead erect a market economy. If this was implemented quickly and vigorously, the essentials of such an economy would begin to function almost immediately, and the economy would then gain the momentum it needed. The role of the state was simple: to establish the rules of the capitalist game and watch the new society unfold. This was where privatization came in; more specifically, Red October.
“We’re just going to do one auction to start with,” Alice said. “The Red October distillery.”
“Only one?” It was Harry; Alice bet he’d sat in the front row at varsity lectures.
“Yes, only one, to show it can be done. Parliament meets March ninth, and we need to have everything wrapped by then. So the auction will take place the Monday before that, the second.”
“Two months?” Bob’s bottom lip bumped against the straw of his Coke. “That’s
absurd.”
He gestured around the restaurant. “It took McDonald’s fourteen
years
to open this place.”
“You really think it’s impossible, Bob, walk out now and I’ll find someone else, no hard feelings. Yes, two months is very short—and even shorter because we can’t go see Red October until next Monday because they’re all on New Year vacation—but it’s not absurd.”
“We’re gonna have to work twenty-four seven.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“My wife might. She wasn’t that keen on coming here in the first place.”
“She should meet my husband. Harry?”
Harry shook his head. “Bring it on.”
“No wife?” A redundant question. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?
Hardly. No, none of the above. Young, free and single.” He looked around the room. “And keen-to-mingle. Bob, have you
seen
the chicks in here? I’m fouling my gutchies.”
“Harry, you’re depriving some village of an idiot,” Alice said. “You’re happy to give yourself to me for two months?”
“Is that an offer?”
Alice clicked her tongue. “It’s a phase you’re going through. You’ll grow out of it.”
“This afternoon, if there’s a God,” Bob said.
She saw herself suddenly as Harry must have seen her: smart and sassy and sexy, the girl everyone had wanted to befriend at school, the one who’d share a smoke and drink behind the bike stands, the first one to have a boyfriend, the one who never studied but got good grades. He couldn’t have guessed, this soon after meeting her, the depths below. No one ever could.
“OK.” Alice’s tone was serious. “Enough. We’re gonna show these bastards a bit of good ol’ American kickass. First up, division of labor. Working on the kind of model we used in Eastern Europe, I think the best way is to establish six working groups—we’ll take charge of two each.” She reached into a plastic folder
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