Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

by Fannie Flagg

  Dena flew in from Richmond the next week. Sandy picked her up at the hotel. Sandy wanted to walk so he would have a little time to prepare her for Ira Wallace and warn her not to be put off by his personality. Even as far away as Richmond, Dena had already heard stories. The talent was terrified of him but she was not worried. She had rarely, if ever, met a man she could not charm. She was ready for this job, and she knew it. When they reached the right floor, Sandy gave the receptionist their names. They heard a loud, impatient voice bark back through the intercom.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Cooper and Miss Nordstrom are here, Mr. Wallace.”

  “Who?”

  The receptionist repeated, “Mr. Cooper and Miss Nordstrom. They have an appointment.”

  “I don’t know who the hell that is.” He clicked off.

  The receptionist seemed unruffled and told them to have a seat.

  Dena looked at Sandy. “Are you sure we have an appointment?” Sandy, as unconcerned as the receptionist, picked up a magazine. “Yes, he just does that to try and intimidate you.”

  Dena sat down. “Well, it’s working.”

  “Don’t let it bother you. He does it to everybody.”

  As they sat there they could hear Ira Wallace yelling obscenities at somebody or a group of somebodies. After thirty-five minutes, he buzzed the receptionist.

  “Those two yahoos still there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, Christ, all right. Send them in.”

  Dena stood up. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going in there. He doesn’t even know we have an appointment.”

  The receptionist looked at Dena. “He knows you have an appointment. He’s just an ass. Go on in.”

  Reluctantly, Dena followed Sandy down the hall. Sandy stood outside the office and knocked lightly. They could hear him on the phone, but he managed to yell, “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

  Sandy motioned for Dena to go first. The room reeked of cigar smoke. She looked over and saw Wallace, a fat, bald man, who looked exactly like a big sea bass wearing a white shirt, black plastic glasses, and smoking a cigar, sitting behind a ten-foot-long desk. He did not get up. He glanced at her for a second and continued cursing into the receiver, leaving them standing. They waited while the little man with the shiny, sweaty head continued to berate whoever he was talking to. The longer Dena remained standing and ignored, the madder she got. She could feel her face getting flushed. If there was anything Dena had inherited from her mother, it was pride, and she was not going to let this little toad humiliate her, no matter how much she wanted the job.

  The second he hung up the phone, she walked right up to Ira Wallace’s desk, reached over, and forced him to shake hands. “How do you do, Mr. Wallace. I’m Dena Nordstrom. What a pleasure to meet you. No, don’t bother to get up. We will have a seat, thank you.”

  Wallace looked at her as if she had just dropped in from Mars.

  She sat down and smiled at him. “Now, Mr. Wallace—tell me a little about yourself. I like to really get to know people before I make any decision about accepting a job.”

  He looked at Sandy Cooper, who was clearly confused, too. Wallace took the cigar out of his mouth. “What … is she kidding?”

  Sandy tried to recover. “Uh, Mr. Wallace, did you by any chance get to take a look at the tapes?”

  Before Wallace could answer, Dena looked at her watch and said, “Oh, darn it all. I wish I could stay. I am so sorry, Mr. Wallace, but unfortunately, I’m already late for another appointment.”

  She stood up and walked over and shook his hand again. “It’s always so nice to meet such a charming gentleman with such lovely manners.”

  She said to Sandy on the way out, “I’ll call you later.”

  Both men, their mouths open, watched as she left.

  As Dena waited for the elevator, she said, “That man is a pig.”

  The receptionist, without looking up, said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  After the elevator door closed and Dena was alone, she burst into tears.

  Back in the office, Wallace shouted at Sandy, “What is she, nuts? You waste my time with insane people? What’s the matter with her?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wallace, I don’t know what happened. I know she wanted the job; she flew in for the meeting.”

  “Are you sure she’s not just some nut case?”

  “Oh, no, she’s very responsible. I don’t know what to tell you … except maybe, maybe you might have hurt her feelings or something?”

  “Hurt her feelings?”

  “She’s from the midwest. I think maybe she might be a little sensitive.”

  “Sensitive? Well, she’ll have to get over that crap if she wants to come to work for me. I liked her tapes but I’m not putting up with any prima donna shit.”

  Sandy said, “You liked her tapes?”

  Wallace shrugged. “She might have potential—if she don’t go whacko on us.”

  “Oh, no, she’s fine, I assure you.”

  “I don’t know how smart she is—she could be just another dumb bimbo like the rest of them—but she’s got the kinda look we want. That sappy, corn-fed, fresh-off-the-farm face and … well, some sort of class. So we might be willing to try her out.”

  Sandy changed gears in a hurry. “You’re absolutely right about that, Ira. That’s why I brought her to you before somebody snapped her up. Not only is she beautiful but she has a lot of experience—six local stations, but she was the most popular on-air personality in Richmond.”

  “I don’t care if she was Miss America, she starts at the bottom here; she understand that?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Sandy.

  “A lot of hard work. We’ll give her fifty thousand a year, with a thirteen-week out clause. Ours, not hers.”

  Sandy said, “Great, great. And I can tell you she’s not afraid of work. She does a great interview.”

  “All right, don’t oversell.”

  Sandy started to back out of the office before Wallace had a chance to change his mind.

  “And tell your princess-and-the-pea client, if she can find time in her busy schedule, to get her butt back in here tomorrow morning.”

  After the agent left, Wallace had to laugh to himself. The decision to hire her had been made a week before, based on her tapes. They had been head and shoulders above the rest. But he liked to see people cower. Of course, she hadn’t, she had thrown it right back in his face. Quite a change from the usual sweaty-palmed types that crawled in and out of his office all day. She just might have what he was looking for. If she was smart enough to do what she was told.

  Sandy ran back to his office and called Dena at the hotel. She picked up.

  “It’s Sandy. Dena, are you sitting down?”

  Dena started to apologize. “Sandy, I’m so sorry. I know that was a stupid thing to do. What can I say, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “Dena.”

  “I know you are disappointed. I am, too, believe me. But I would rather be a hostess in a pancake house before I’d let someone treat me like I was a … a nothing.”

  “Dena, listen!”

  “My mother may not have had much money, but she did not raise me to be insulted by some puffed-up little mutant. Who does he think he is?”

  “Dena, are you finished?”

  “Yes.”

  “You got the job.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure that I did.… The only thing I regret—and this is because I’m a lady—that I did not tell him what he could do with—”

  “Dena, listen to me. I am not kidding. He liked your tapes. You got the job. He’s starting you at a pretty low salary … but it means you’re in.”

  “And I’ll tell you something else, I wouldn’t work with that man for a million dollars. How did he even get into television?”

  “OK, Dena, so he is an obnoxious, disgusting pig. Just don’t take it so personally. Believe me, he treats everybody like a piece of dirt. The p
oint is, you got the job.”

  There was a pause. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, he wants you to go in tomorrow and talk to him—”

  “You are kidding,” she said.

  “No, I’m telling you he liked your tapes. He thinks you have something.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “No joke.”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Well.” There was another pause. “How much are they going to pay me?”

  “Like I said, it’s a little low to start … but—”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “I don’t know, Sandy. I’ll have to think it over. I’ll call you back.”

  Sandy sat with the phone in his hand. He could not believe what he had just heard. He put the phone down and threw his hands up in the air and said to the ceiling, “She’s offered the best shot in New York and she’s got to think it over?”

  Ten minutes later she called back. “Sandy, it’s Dena.”

  He tried to sound calm. “Yes, have you thought about it?”

  “Yes, I have. And Sandy, I would have taken fifty thousand and been glad to get it. But that man insulted me and now they’re going to have to pay me twice as much.”

  Sandy groaned. “Oh, Dena, don’t do this to me. I have a weak heart. Please … please … my nerves. Fifty thousand is not a terrible offer.”

  “It’s not the money, it’s the principle of the thing.”

  “Dena, you can’t afford principles now. Wait until you’re a star. Then you can have all the principles you want. Trust me, now is not the time to make a stand. You don’t have anything to stand on yet.”

  “Sandy, if I don’t do it now, I never will. I can’t let this man treat me like dirt and get away with it. Besides, I don’t think I could live with myself if I took it for less than I’m worth.”

  “Dena … who’s gonna know how much you are making—you and me and some accountant in a basement somewhere. Please.”

  “I’ll know.”

  “Dena, listen to me. I’m the agent. I’m the one who should be convincing you to ask for more money, not the other way around, and I’m telling you, take the money.”

  Sandy talked to her for twenty more minutes, but she would not back down. Before she hung up she added, “And Sandy, I want you to tell him the reason I want more money.”

  Sandy said, “I thought you liked Bea.”

  “I do. Why?”

  “Then why are you trying to make a widow out of her? Ira is going to kill me if I call him with this.”

  “Well, then, I’ll call him if you want me to. I’m not scared of him.”

  “No, no, I’ll call. I would rather be attacked by a pack of wild dogs, but I’ll call.”

  Sandy held his breath as he dialed Ira Wallace’s office. He was put on hold for five minutes and then heard Wallace’s welcoming voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh, Mr. Wallace. This is Sandy Cooper.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, we have a small problem … on the salary.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “On the Dena Nordstrom situation.”

  “Yeah, come on, cut to the chase. What?”

  “That is, she feels she needs a little more, being that New York is so expensive and all.”

  “Are you telling me that your goddamn crazy client wants a raise before she even starts? Have you lost your mind? How much more does she want, for Christ sakes?”

  Sandy took a deep breath. “She wants a hundred a year.”

  Wallace yelled, “Good-bye, buster!” and slammed the phone down in his ear.

  Sandy sat by the phone all day, hoping against hope that Wallace would call him back.

  Wallace waited for Sandy to call him back.

  At four-thirty that afternoon Sandy called Dena again and begged her to reconsider but she would not.

  At 6:05 Sandy answered the phone. Wallace was on the other end. “OK, you little putz, seventy-five, take it or leave it. You have five minutes!”

  Sandy called Dena immediately and started talking fast. “Dena, it’s me. Before you say anything, listen to me. I want you to think about what you are doing. Don’t think local … think about where it can lead. Remember, you do well and one day you’ve got a shot at network, OK?”

  “OK,” said Dena, “I’m listening.”

  “I can’t believe it but he called back with another offer. But promise me your—”

  “How much did he come up with?”

  “Seventy-five, take it or leave it … but think about your—”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “What?”

  “I said fine, I’ll take it.”

  “You’ll take it? Just like that? Oh, my nerves. You put me through a heart attack which I haven’t had time to have yet. I’ll call you right back.”

  Sandy called and didn’t bother to say hello. “Dena, it’s OK. Do you know how nervous I’ve been all day?”

  “You think you were nervous? I’ve been throwing up since noon.”

  “Do you know how close we came to losing this deal? I have to be honest with you—I never thought he would call back.”

  Dena laughed. “Neither did I.”

  “You lucked out this time. But promise me not to play any more Russian roulette with your career, OK?”

  Dena giggled again. “OK, I promise.”

  “Hold on. I’m calling Bea on the other line. She’s been lighting candles all day.”

  Dena waited until he came back on the phone. “Bea says congratulations. And she also informed me that I’m taking you two out to dinner. Where do you want to go? You pick.”

  “Twenty-One,” Dena said.

  “The Twenty-One Club?”

  “Yes, let’s go there.”

  “I doubt we can get in. It’s like a private club or something. Anyway, we can’t get reservations this late. What about Sardi’s?”

  “We already have reservations at Twenty-One.”

  Sandy was taken aback. “How did you manage that?”

  “Oh, I have a friend here. I told him it was a celebration dinner.”

  “How did you know we would have something to celebrate?”

  Dena laughed. “I didn’t. Either way, I always wanted to go to Twenty-One for dinner.”

  “You’re in New York for twenty-four hours and you already have a friend?”

  “Well, actually it’s a new friend I met yesterday on the airplane. He said if I ever needed a favor to call, so I did.”

  When Sandy hung up he was still amazed. Here he had lived in Manhattan all his life, and on her first night in town Dena was taking him places he’d never been before. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how a nice person like her would fare in New York. She might do just fine. He hoped so. But he also knew that New York was a tough town, full of ruthless types waiting to rip you to shreds if they could. Success here could be brutal. He glanced over at the headline on the front page of the local news rag his secretary had put on his desk earlier. These days being nice or even distinguished was no protection anymore. One slip and your reputation is ruined forever. Look what had just happened to Arthur Rosemond. Poor guy.

  A Nice Person

  New York City

  1968

  Arthur Rosemond was born in Norway and at seventeen had become one of the leaders of the underground movement during WWII. Arrested in 1942, he was sent to a German war camp but managed to escape two years later. After the war, he came to America and received a master’s in political science from Georgetown University and by age thirty-nine, he had written three books, served four years as special adviser to the secretary of state, and was only forty-two years old when appointed to his post at the United Nations, where he had been the spearhead in major peace negotiations for the past eleven years, traveling widely. Two years before he had shared the Nobel peace prize for his efforts.

  In his person
al life, Rosemond was considered somewhat unusual, because although happily married, he had as many women friends as he did men. He genuinely liked the company of women and he found their particular insights and observations about people helpful. One such friend was Pamela Lathrope. They had been good friends while she had been married and remained so after her divorce. Rosemond believed she had one of the keenest minds he had ever come across and he always asked for her advice whenever a particularly difficult negotiation was going on. They would often have dinner together to discuss it, sometimes with his wife or friends or sometimes just the two of them. Tonight was just such an occasion. He was having a hard time with the new man from France. He needed his support on several upcoming issues and was getting nowhere. He had enjoyed a wonderful working and social relationship with the previous French ambassador but this new man was a bird of a different feather.

  Arthur needed to get together with him in the right social situation without dozens of people around so he could get a handle on what this guy was about, and he had called Pamela to help him out. Pamela was famous for her dinner parties and most people did not turn down an invitation. Like most, the French diplomat did not say no. It was to be just Arthur and his wife, Beverly; the ambassador and his wife; and Pamela. Arthur was anxious for Pamela to spend a little time observing up close. She was always able to see a person clearly and size him up much more precisely than he ever could. Three hours before the party, Arthur’s wife called Pamela on the phone.

  “Pam, it’s me, Beverly. Listen, would you take a gun and shoot me if I didn’t come tonight?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I hate to call this late, but I am just walking on my knees, I am so tired. I’ve been out in the yard working with the gardeners since seven o’clock this morning. Wouldn’t you know that this would be the day they would show up with all the new plantings; anyway, I’m filthy dirty, and by the time I take a bath, dress, and come all the way in, I’ll be late anyway. So … do you think Arthur will be very upset?”