Bookman

by Ed Baldwin

“Why don’t you come with me? I guarantee a crew right off, wherever I go.” Lanny said earnestly, looking me in the eye with his best manager’s smile.

  “You should have seen Honey’s face when I told her we were moving to Little Rock. No, I think I’ll take my chances in Memphis,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I know what it’s like to have a homesick wife. If you change your mind, call me any time. I’ll put in a good word.” Then he picked up the phone and motioned for me to leave.

  I hurried out of the office to keep from breaking into the smile and giving out with the hoop of joy that would have given away my subterfuge. I offered to buy Barney lunch and he readily accepted.

  “You going to New Orleans with Lanny or what?” I asked as soon as we had ordered at Walgreen’s.

  “Yeah. He’s offered me trainer and a crew.”

  “You’ve had that for a year and you can’t make enough to eat on. How do you think you’ll do any better in New Orleans?” I asked as if I was interrogating a wayward child.

  He shrugged and began eating his lunch without looking up.

  “Why not stay here?”

  “May not get as good a deal,” he said, matter of factly.

  “I’m the new DM,” I said bluntly.

  He froze in mid bite and stared incredulously without speaking.

  “Lanny doesn’t know yet. Burt called yesterday.” I gave my most benign smile and let it sink in.

  “Why you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hot right now. He doesn’t seem to have anybody right away and is willing to give me a shot at it.”

  “And you want me?” he asked quietly, looking back down at his food.

  “You’re a better man than Lanny gives you credit for. You’ve just hit on some hard times. I need your experience.” I said, watching his face light up.

  He suppressed a grin and accepted, his appetite suddenly improving beyond its usual gargantuan proportions. He was still eating when I went back upstairs to let Lanny tell me the news.

  “Damn! Phil, you’re going to be the new DM. Did you know that?” Lanny shouted as soon as he heard the door to the outer office open.

  “What? You’re kidding,” I said with my most incredulous look.

  “Burt told me to have you call him as soon as you came in. Damn, you’re moving up faster than anyone I ever saw!”

  I waited until he was out of the office and then closed the door. I put my feet up on the big walnut desk and called Burt.

  “I expected an irate call from Lanny. I was sure you would spill the whole thing as soon as he got back. Instead I get a contrite speech apologizing for not doing well and asking for permission to go back to New Orleans and then telling me what a great guy you are. It sure made it easier for me.” Burt sounded relieved.

  “I need friends. I don’t need enemies,” I explained. “Besides, I may need Lanny again sometime.”

  Burt said he’d be down in a few days to help me get things going. We talked for a few minutes while he gave me some pointers to smooth the transition. When he hung up I sat and looked out over the Sterick Building parking lot and let my mind run back to June and the feeling I had when I first thought about sitting at this desk.

  I turned the office back over to Lanny to make his arrangements for moving and went across the street to deposit my check from the previous week. It was over $600; I still couldn’t believe how much money I was making. I held out $200 and went down to Lansky’s where Lanny had bought the alligator shoes.

  “Yes sir, may I help you?” A young man said as I entered the store.

  “I want to see the manager.” I said without expression and looked him in the eye.

  He didn’t say a word and hurried toward the back of the store.

  I walked around looking at the suits and sport coats, having no particular opinions on any. A short, paunchy man came slowly up to the front of the store with a suspicious look and a wrinkled brow.

  “I’m Mr. Lansky,” he said.

  “I’m Phil Lazar. I need your help.” I shook his hand and smiled.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve never been much interested in clothes. I’ve just been promoted to district manager with Collier’s. I want to look the part.”

  “With Collier’s. Oh, well, I’ve taken care of the Collier’s people for years. Step right over here,” he said with unbridled enthusiasm. By the time I left he had my $200, and I looked every inch the district manager. I immediately called Paris.

  This time when she opened the door her hair was not in that bag thing she had worn on our first meeting. It was combed out and shining. In fact, the afternoon sun streaming in through the window behind her set her head in sort of a halo of red. She had iced down a bottle her rich boyfriend’s champagne. He was out of town, making room for me.

  Happily I recounted my road to success over the past month since I had last seen her while we drank the champagne. Actually, I just sipped a glass and then switched to beer. She finished the bottle.

  “I like men who are in charge,” she said as she finished the last of her champagne and slid closer to me on the couch. Our embrace lasted a good two minutes, and when we came up for air I was dizzy with excitement.

  During the next two beers I recounted my plans for the office and helped her out of her clothes. Creamy white skin, untouched by the sun, with freckles in the most interesting places, she was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. By dark I was spent and ready for a break.

  “Let’s eat.” I said, climbing out of the bathtub and offering her a hand.

  “I don’t cook, at least not anything you’d be likely to want to eat.” She smiled good naturedly.

  “How about the Thunderbird, downstairs?”

  “My hair’s all wet. It’ll take me an hour to get ready.”

  “Set the table.”

  I called down to the restaurant and talked with the waiter. He said they didn’t deliver.

  “There’s ten bucks in it.”

  Paris opened another bottle of wine, red this time. I could see a headache coming on and decided to stick to beer. When the waiter arrived with our meal, Paris scurried into the bedroom and I wrapped a towel around my waist to let him in. He set the table with dishes and silverware from downstairs and even had wine glasses. When he was done I paid the check and gave him the ten plus an extra five to keep his mouth shut. He agreed and wished us a pleasant evening.

  “I don’t think I ever heard a girl called Paris before?” I said as we started on our steaks.

  “My real name was Cara Lee Snider.”

  “That’s a nice name. Did you change it, or what?”

  “It was my great aunt’s name and I never liked her. I always hated being called Cara Lee. White Station High School had enough Mary Janes and Sue Ellens and Bobbie Jos, so for graduation I asked my folks to change it to Paris.”

  “What did the great aunt think about that?”

  “Oh, she was dead by then. My folks were a little upset at first, but when all the other kids started asking for cars and boats and stuff like that, my little ole name change looked better. I wanted to be an actress or a model and thought the name would help.”

  “Did it?”

  “Not really. I went to modeling school for awhile, but in order to get my own place I had to get a job at the bank. Then I had a boy friend for awhile, before I met old money bags, and he didn’t want me to move to California. You gotta go to California to be an actress. I’ll get there,” she said as she drained the rest of her wine and refilled.

  I took the glass from her hand and set it on the coffee table. “Yes,” I said, kissing her ear, her neck, her shoulders, “I believe you will.”

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Rehabilitating Barney was my first goal before Burt came down. I figured if Barney could write a couple orders in one week that would make me look better than anything else at the beginning. We sure weren’t going to fill the office with hotshot salesmen any time soon
.

  The first night I took him with me, and although he had been doing it for 10 years or more, and I for only 5 months, I didn’t let him say a word. I blanked but gave two presentations. The next night he stayed with me until I wrote an order. We were working garden apartments, and I was still on crutches so after the order I decided to let him work upstairs while I worked downstairs.

  At first I actually did go downstairs to work, but then, when 1 figured he was into his presentation, I hobbled up the stairs to check up on him. Knocking gently on the door and making some feeble excuse for intruding, I sat through Barney’s whole presentation, which he failed to close.

  “Now that was a fine presentation,” I said to him as the door closed behind us. “As fine as that hiring interview you gave the other day.”

  He didn’t say anything at first. Then he looked at his watch. “Hey, man, it’s 9:30 already. Let’s call it quits and have us a brew.”

  I ignored him and knocked on the next door. Before he could say anything, I had introduced us both and was well into another pitch. Poor Barney sat there while I went on and on, making the presentation more elaborate than I think I’ve ever made it. I think I wanted to show him that even if you’re beat, even if you’re ready to puke if you hear yourself making the same old speech, you can still be creative and keep your sales drive alive. I don’t think old Barney had worked that hard in quite awhile.

  The next night was the same routine. There were just three of us in the office now, and Billy Schatz didn’t need any help so Barney continued to tag along with me. This time, though, he closed his presentation. We worked together the rest of the week, never stopping until 10:30 and Barney wrote two orders.

  Each night I dropped him off at his apartment. He still didn’t have a valid driver’s license. “You can get as smashed as you want after work,” I told him, “but if you take one drink before all the salesmen are picked up I’ll put you on the next bus to Pascagoula.”

  Burt called me from the airport 10 days after Lanny left. Tall, cultured, and shamefully good looking, he had more flair and style about him than anyone I’d ever seen. I didn’t look too bad myself. I had my new duds on and picked him up in my new Chrysler Newport. I’d wanted a Caddie but was impressed with the extra room in the Chrysler. I could carry six with ease. Why pay field managers to cart salesmen around if I could do it myself.

  “Phil, you’re a rising star with Collier’s if there ever was one,” Burt said, patting me on the back as I sat proudly behind the wheel. “It took me two years to get my first district. I was in dental school then.” He smiled showing an amazing set of pearly whites.

  “Dental school?” I said, half-chuckling, for I was sure he was pulling my leg.

  He nodded and did a perfect imitation of a high powered drill. “Yup, I’m a dentist. Got into Collier’s in college. Kept on part time through dental school and the army. I had a district for a summer after I graduated and when I got out of the army I had Minneapolis for a year before they made me vice-president.”

  “VP? I thought you were just the regional manager.”

  “There are three regions in the country and one for overseas. Each of the regional managers is also a VP.”

  I was really impressed, but tried not to show it. Still, I was glad I had gotten the car just the day before.

  “I’ll fill you in on the company but first tell me about your sales force. Who’s Billy Schatz?” He pulled out a small notebook.

  I told him what little I knew about the burly ex-marine then launched right into Barney’s streak of two orders. He was properly impressed with that but concerned over the lack of other salesmen.

  “What few don’t skip during training usually quit when someone gets arrested,” I explained, “I hate to take new men out of town for fear one of them will get picked up and the whole crew will blow.”

  Burt shook his head. “I don’t understand what it is about Memphis. I’ve never once been arrested, and I’ve been in this business for six years.” He turned in his seat to glare at me like it was my fault.

  “Maybe it’s the Southern Baptists,” I said, not really meaning it as I’m one myself (at least for weddings, funerals and Christmas).

  “What are Southern Baptists?”

  “Well, the Southern Baptist Church spends 98 percent of its time preaching what you shouldn’t do. Like drink, dance, go to movies on Sunday and wear makeup. They all do those things, but don’t want any other church people to see ’em doin’ it. I guess it makes ’em all… suspicious.”

  Burt wrinkled his brow and shook his head but didn’t say anything for awhile. “What do your fines run?” he asked.

  “I’ve only had it happen to my crew a few times, and I’ve been able to talk my way out of it each time. I think if you don’t have a yankee accent and tell the cops you’re just trying to do your job they usually understand. It scares the shit out of a new man though, especially the young ones.” I laughed heartily, as if my five months made me an “old one.”

  “For years the problem with Memphis has been the inability to field a big enough sales force to keep the volume up. Even the other companies have the same problem.” Burt paused for a moment then grinned wildly. “Why I’ll bet the territory out here is virgin as hell!”

  “I haven’t had any trouble,” I said matching his grin with a maniacal one of my own.

  I had assumed that Burt would want to talk instead of work, but he bought the whole crew a heavy lunch and suggested a trip out of town. We didn’t go too far though, just about 50 miles up the river to Osceola, the town I had first worked with Jerry. There, he wrote an order, while I had to wait in the car because my arms had turned to rubber from working my crutches too long. When he came back with the invoice in his hand, he was pretty proud of himself. I guess he was trying to show me something about Collier’s.

  “I get credit for both salesman and field-manager on this,” he said, waving the order in front of me. “You get sales manager and district manager.” He took a deep breath and tried to look philosophical. “Now I don’t write many orders anymore. Don’t have the time. But like to show the staff that I can still do it. If the boss doesn’t write orders, no one does.”

  I must say that I was impressed. Here was the VP, in from his office a half a continent away, and he was writing book orders out of my car. I hoped the other guys would be as impressed as I was when they returned. I hoped, too, that Burt would stay awhile.

  “Phil, this company became what it is today through the efforts of an old fart of a magazine salesman who is still President and Chairman of the Board,” he said as if he were aware of my admiration.

  “Magazines?” I asked, pumping him a little.

  “Magazines,” he said, taking my cue. “In fact, during the depression, Collier’s had a complete line of magazines. If the customer bought the set, which was a lot of magazines, they got the ten-volume encyclopedia set free. It was used as a closer. The only problem was, people didn’t really want the books. Magazines is what they really wanted. They were crazy for them because back then you couldn’t buy magazines in supermarkets like you can now. So what do you suppose old John Bell did?”

  “He reversed the presentation!” I said, taking the bait.

  “Exactly. He pitched the encyclopedia and closed with the magazines.” Burt tapped the side of his head. “Pretty smart, huh? The magazine offer sealed the deal like glue! In fact, old John’s idea was so successful that Collier’s got the jump on all the other encyclopedias—and magazines, too.”

  Seeing how rapt I was with his little speech, Burt went on to explain how later the magazine business changed, became less dependent on subscriptions and was split off from the encyclopedia business completely. “John’s aggressive leadership persisted, though,” he said proudly, as if he himself had come up with the whole idea. “And today Collier’s is the most sales oriented company around. Most of the top managers of Brittanica, World Book, Americana and Groliers, not to mention a lot
of other companies, started on the street with Collier’s.”

  “So those other companies sell the same way we do?” I asked.

  “In one form or another they do. Britannica uses leads, but when it comes down to dotted line time, it’s the special deal for advertising that closes. World Book uses the local school teacher to hound people until they buy just to get rid of her. She’ll also hint that she might not accept work done on homework assignments using any other set.” Burt shook his head. “Can you believe that?”

  “Incredible,” I said, growing a little tired of the speechifying but still interested.

  “Anyway,” Burt went on as if I hadn’t said anything.

  “The teachers only close one deal a month or so and they’re a bitch to manage because they all have families, other interests and responsibilities that get in the way of any real hustle. Americana and Grolier do it the same way we do.” He looked at his watch. uHmm, I guess we’d better start looking for your men.”

  “What about the new set and all?” I asked. I had wanted to know about the claims we made but the farther I got in the organization the more it seemed like I should already know.

  “We revised the set two years ago. Before that we had a 20-volume set. Don’t worry, it’s the best set on the market for the average family. Much more readable than the Brittanica, newer than the Americana and bigger than the World Book.”

  We circled through Barney’s territory but didn’t see anyone on the first pass. The second time around we could see him sitting in a living room through the picture window. He was waving his arms at the family—must have really been giving it his all. We waited a half a block away.

  “I’d like to ask one more dumb question and then I’ll shut up,” I said, wanting to ask what had been bothering me for a week.

  “Ok,” was Burt’s sober reply. He was beginning to look tired but I pressed on.

  “I don’t know a lot about management or economics or any of that stuff. I can learn, but it’s going to be awhile. Anyway, there’s a lot I need to know about the finance side of the business, and I’ve never even seen a printing press.” I had tried to sound as humble as possible, not wanting to blow the job with my ignorance, but also wanting Burt to know what a novice he had put on as DM.