by Rob Summers
Chapter 10 Mammonette
Not even by looking up at its acres of florescent-lighted ceiling were Pride, Selfishness, and Arrogance able to estimate the vast size of the Mammon Mart. The department names spelled in huge plastic letters on the far walls were made by distance to appear as small print.
A list of the departments, with accompanying map, was set up inside the entrance; so with static-ridden music in their ears, they scanned it.
Airplanes
Appliances
Art & Antiques
Automobiles
Bank
Bed & Bath
Beauty & Hair Styling
Boats
Books & Magazines
Camera & Electronics
Church (Mammon Mart Community Church)
Clothing
Curios
Employment Agency
Funeral Home
Furniture
Grocery
Hardware
Hospital & Health Care
Housewares & Sundries
Human Souls
Jewelry & Perfumes
Lawn & Garden
Linens
Loan Company
Pawn Shop
Pharmacy
Real Estate
Restaurants & Snack Shops
Slaves
Sports and Exercise
Toys and Hobbies
University (Mammon Mart University)
“Somewhat overwhelming, eh?” commented Selfishness.
“Not at all,” said Arrogance. “Pride has come here for a specific purpose and the rest will take care of itself. The system works.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Pride. “Why did I let you two drag me here? Surely you can see that there’s no department of Vainglory?”
Arrogance curled his lip at an angle that Pride knew from experience would precede the announcement of some coup. “Ah, but if you don’t see what you want, you must call a manager, nicht wahr? And if none of the departments seem to suit, then which manager must you call?”
“Mammonette herself,” Selfishness put in simply and eagerly.
“Yes,” said Arrogance, “You, Mr. Pride, have an appointment with Mammonette —Mammonette herself, as shorty here puts it—in exactly ten minutes.”
“Arrogance, you’re a wizard!” Pride exclaimed. “The connections you must have! But can she help me? Really?”
“Boy, she owns Vainglory. The girl is her protégé, do you hear me? But no time for explanations now; we have to get you to her office.”
The appointment had been made for Pride only, so he left his friends by the employee commissary while a Mr. Greed ushered him through a security door and into a quiet, thick-carpeted world in which a stereo system soothed from hidden speakers. The paneled walls were hung with company growth charts and portraits of past presidents, exquisitely framed.
Mr. Greed’s pace brought Pride swiftly upstairs to the threshold of Mammonette’s office. Pride could actually see her through the open doorway. After a brief, whispered conversation between the managers, Pride was brought in and seated before her desk. Mr. Greed went out.
This was manifestly a working office. The desk, while not chaotic, was piled with official papers and computer readouts, and a small computer terminal was angled toward Mammonette. She had been treating herself to a cup of coffee, not yet empty, and a small bag of potato chips, now crumpled and pushed aside. She was perhaps forty-five, slim, and even good looking; and yet her jaw was hard and her eyes wearily determined. Dark roots showed in her short blond hair.
She smiled a trim, company smile. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Pride?”
The most influential woman in town was asking what she could do for him. He felt grateful enough to kiss her feet, but he considered that a display of strong feeling would surely ruin the interview. He forced himself to remember that this was, after all, merely another business day.
“I have in mind getting in touch with Fame Vainglory,” he explained. “She’s not in the phone book. The City Magazine staff takes my messages for her, but do they pass them on? That’s the question.” He smiled ingratiatingly.
Mammonette looked sympathetic. “I’ve handled this difficulty many times before, Mr. Pride. You can put yourself in my hands with confidence. Would you be willing to retain me as a paid consultant?”
This was unexpected. Pride, however, nodded quickly, hoping his face was as comfortably businesslike as hers. Something within him screamed to ask her price, but he did not.
Mammonette produced some papers from a nearby file drawer and asked him to look them over. The sheaf was entitled ‘Steps to an Introduction to Vainglory, Form lA.’ The copying was somewhat blurred along the left hand margins.
Step 1: Guidelines for Acceptable Credentials
Pride, who could not pause to laugh, did at least look up in frustration. Mammonette, however, not wishing to waste any time, was looking over some sort of report; and after a moment she answered the telephone. He read on dismally.
To be considered an eligible suitor to Miss Vainglory, you must be a successful man of the world, notable in one or more of the following areas: business, sports, entertainment, military, politics, scholarship, science, religion, art, authorship.
BUSINESS. Success in business shall be defined as follows: an annual income, before the age of 25, of not less than....
The form went on to detail the credentials necessary in each area, copiously noting exceptions and unusual cases. Leafing ahead, he discovered that ‘Step 1’ filled several pages.
Mammonette must have noticed his bewilderment, for having finished her call, she asked if he needed any help. He told her he had not realized that so much effort would be required.
“I understand that Fame is your protégé,” he said. “Surely, you could simply introduce us?”
“The credentials,” answered Mammonette, “were insisted on by Miss Vainglory herself, in order to screen her suitors. She is in constant demand and simply can’t see everyone who wants to see her. Surely, you understand that?”
‘Well, of course, but—but I haven’t done any of these things on this list.”
“There’s no time like the present for beginning,” she suggested cheerily. “You’re young. The world is before you. Does one of these professions appeal to you?”
Pride sat in glum silence. None of them appealed to him at all. He only wanted Vainglory.
“May I offer you some advice?” she asked. “Most experts agree that the current inside track to Vainglory is the scholarship route. It’s been neglected just enough the last few years to create inexpensive opportunities with relatively good chances. Fame has dated two or three scholars just in the last year, you see.”
Mammonette opened a loose-leaf binder and showed him a full color, laminated chart which showed Fame’s dating trends for the last three fiscal years.
“Now if we can just get your house designated as a House of Scholarship, I’m reasonably sure I can wangle you an interview with Fame’s private secretary before the end of the month.”
She paused to drag a much used ashtray from one of her desk drawers and lit a cigarette. “Besides, we have some specials running at the Store University—real bargains.” She flipped through a brightly colored sales flyer to the appropriate page. “Yes, we’ve packaged an undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral degree at about one third less than—”
“Excuse me,” Pride put in, “but I can’t go at it that way at all. You see, at lessons I’m hopeless.”
Mammonette considered calmly. “You have a servant who works for me, don’t you? Little Reason, in the office? Yes, a very bright girl—very conscientious. Well, can’t she do the studying? You don’t even have to attend classes unless you want to. Just let her do what she does best, and she can pass on a few notes to you as to what the courses are generally about, enough for you to get by in party conversati
ons and what not. Is that agreeable?”
Pride thought that, considering the recent rumors of her treachery, Reason might well be kept busier and so out of trouble. He agreed to the arrangement.
“An education is valuable in itself,” she said. “I’ll just jot a note to the manager of our University Department, and you can see him after our interview. Oh, and take a look at these.” She flipped forward a page in the sales flyer. “Mammon Mart University sweatshirts and T-shirts are also on sale this week.”
Pride agreed to buy a few of each.
She scrawled the note to the university manager and handed it to him. “Shall we proceed to step two?” she prompted. “That would be page eight, ‘Approaching Through the Proper Channels.’“
“Of course,” said Pride, “only—you understand I’m willing to wait—but it might take Reason several years to work through all those degrees. I might just as well—”
“No, no.” Smiling around her cigarette, Mammonette waved his objections aside. “No, you don’t have to wait. Your house will be designated a House of Scholarship as soon as we receive your first tuition payments. That makes you ‘notable.’”
She pointed out the appropriate paragraph.
“Trust me, I’m a pro. As to step two, I’ll set up—” The phone rang again. “Drat. I’ll set up an interview for you—Mammonette speaking. Can you hold for a minute? I’ve got a consultation here. Just a minute.” She thumbed down the hold button. “I’ll set up an interview for you with Mr. Influence, who is Miss Vainglory’s private secretary.” She put out her cigarette with quick twists of her wrist. “He screens her suitors thoroughly, but that’s what he’s paid to do. No guarantees, but I think you stand as much chance as anybody of seeing her.”
The phone rang on another line. She cursed briefly. “Mr. Pride, could I ask you to take the papers with you and give me a call if you have any questions? I’ll contact you as soon as I have a firm appointment with Mr. Influence. I’m sorry about—Mammonette speaking. Could you hold just a minute?—sorry about the interruptions. Just one of those days.”
As Pride left, Mammonette was lighting another cigarette while holding the receiver to her ear. Her eyes narrowed and her brow creased.
“Tell her I’m not putting up with her excuses,” she said. “No, tell her she can either give up her precious little day off and get herself in here to straighten this mess out, or she can just not bother to come back. Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
Pride found his way back to the commissary. (The security door opened readily from the inside.)
In his self-conscious grin Arrogance and Selfishness read a story of triumph. “I’m in,” he told them. “She’s getting me an interview with Fame’s private secretary.”