“Don't tell us to Get Lost!” Jed barked. The investors jumped as a unit. A notebook fell to the platform. The cameras clamored around Jed and the sweat that poured from the brim of his cowboy hat.
“Aaahh!” Mean trilled, clapping his hands with sarcastic glee. “It rises from the deaad!”
Ursula deflated with relief, freed a tissue from her handbag and wiped the sweat as Jed said: “We got great numbers, guys. No, forget that, we got fantastic numbers! It costs us $1.50 to make five jerkies. We sell them for $3.99, so our gross profit margin is a whopping 62.41%! 62.41! That's a markup of 166%, and our customers think that's cheap. Because it is! We don't want to rip anybody off.”
“Oh!” Mean was startled. So were the others. They clucked their disappointment to one another. “That's bad business.”
“Compared to other jerky, we're 150% cheaper. But more delicious. As I heard you say.” For Jed might have had a sudden catatonic fit, but he had been listening. And he had all the answers, the beloved numbers they kept demanding, at hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ursula under the super troupers, fixing a stray lock of hair and eying him with marvel. She clutched his elbow now and smiled gaily at the investors, vindicated, as he went on. Her handbag pressed against his hip. Jed added, maybe to really praise Ursula or maybe to add a bit of color or maybe to protect him when she finally got him off the stage, “We toyed with calling it Ursul-urky for a while. That's how important my wife's secret ingredient has been to our success!” He saw their faces, and quickly held his hands up. “Ok! The numbers! The numbers! Last year we made $19,950, with a gross profit of $12,450, and a net profit, taking overhead costs into account, but there aren't many, because I work for free, Slim works for free, Ursula works for free, Louella works for free, really there's only the cost of the electricity to heat the oven, the packaging, the gas to take them to the stores, so our net profit was $11,000.”
They roared with laughter.
“Are you insane?” Billionaire asked. “No, let me rephrase that. You are insane.”
“I wouldn't say so,” said Mean. Jed and Ursula looked at him with hope. “I'd say loooney!”
Female's brow was creased. “You've made $11,000, and you're valuing your company at almost $300,000?”
“Yeah, but when you invest,” Jed saw the looks, “if you invest—”
Mean broke in: “You don't even take a salary? How do you eat? And from the looks of you two, you do eat!”
“Jed's got his navy pension,” Ursula said. That was one thing she knew. And Jed had told her to not mention the store; they might want to invest in that as well, and that would muddy the waters.
Jed forged onward: “Our projections for the next three years are, taking into account your investment, and your help, of course,” And onward “added exposure, bla bla gross, bla bla net,” and on, “get costs down, quadruple sales and more,” and on “millions,” and on “low cost of customer acquisition,” and on “distributors,” and on “EBITA,” until Playboy finally held up his hands.
“Hold on! Just hold on! It all sounds great, but—”
“Yes, but then why are you—” Mean said.
“Why are you here?” Billionaire asked.
“Tell us why you need the money,” Female said. “Tell me, Jed.” She said it as if his head were resting on the pillow next to her. He cast Ursula a nervous look. But maybe it was the bright lights or the stress of the first ten minutes alone or the difficult math she had just heard or the desperation of their situation or Playboy looking at her with those sexy, down-at-the-corner eyes of his but Ursula didn't seem to care.
“Yes,” Foreign said. “Why you here?”
Billionaire jumped in, “You can't keep up with demand? You need to buy machinery and move the factory out of your kitchen and into a real factory?”
There was a squelch of leather on the platform as all leaned forward, even those who were out. Pens posed over notebooks. Jed realized they'd find out during due diligence, anyway. He may as well tell them the sad truth.
“I...I...” he said.
Ursula, perhaps fearing another catatonic shock, gripped his hand and urged him on.
“I'm embarrassed to say this, but I gambled all the profits away. Every last red cent.”
All recoiled with a collective gasp of pity and revulsion.
“Red, yes,” said Billionaire.
“Ack!” Foreign contorted his hands into some non-American expression of disgust. “Tell no more! I know! Before I rich, I spend year in Gambler Anonymous. We sit in room and they tell we diseased. Diseased people. I diseased. He diseased. She diseased. Now I no more diseased, well, yes, still, never stop, but hidden. You still diseased, but not hidden. I say already Get Lost, but now I tell again...Get Lost!”
There was silence. The power cords on the floor, the behinds of the cameramen, the lines of the empty notepad pages, all seemed suddenly more important to look at than Jed and Ursula on the stage. Female nibbled on the top of her pen. Then she cleared her throat.
“Sometimes it's about investing in the people. I disagree with Mark here. And Per. And Eric. And Mitchell. Don't take what they say to heart. I don't think you're horrible people. I like you,” she looked down at her notebook, “Ursula. And Jed, I think you're cuddly. As people, I adore you. And we've all made mistakes. Jed, you are to be applauded for trying anything to make amends for the past. It's commendable, so kudos to you!” She smiled brilliantly. “And I really do love your jerky. I'd love to know that special secret ingredient, Ursula. But I'm looking at the numbers, and as much as it pains me to say it, for all the rebuilding that has to be done, and all the work I'd have to do to get you back where you were, and the fact that you haven't gotten around to giving yourselves salaries, I'd have to take 90% of your company. And I don't want to do that to you nice people. Well, I don't think you'd even accept anyway. So, and it pains me to say it, I think I have to say...” Jed cringed at what Female would say, but at least she had the grace to say it apologetically, “Get Lost, please.”
And then there were two. As hope seeped from his heart, Jed imagined Female even blushed, or maybe it was her makeup. He saw Ursula give him a 'what do we say now?' look, and he was looking at her the same way. Tears welling, she crossed herself, clutched the little cross that sat in the sweat of her bosom, and she appealed to the lights blazing into her skull and now onto her forehead, “Please, dear Lord, help us in wer hour of need! Please help us! Please!”
Billionaire snorted. “Do you know how desperate you sound? Let me tell you what I think. I think—”
“NAW!” Ursula roared out. The camera before her jerked in surprise. “Shall I tell youse what I think?” All heads turned, shocked, to Ursula. Including Jed's. He froze. Again. He knew all too well those tightened lips, that vein on her forehead, the purplish tint to her cheeks that vied with her hair for attention. Ursula was fit to burst with rage. Derry rage. To his horror, Jed saw her part her lips and open her mouth wide, gearing up to spew out whatever madness was in her head.
“No, Ursula! Don't!” Jed pleaded.
“Damn right, Jed.” Mean raised his hands in mock horror. “No, Ursula! Don't! I shall tell you what I think.” He warbled, “Just Gettt Losssst!” and he was laughing. At them. Foreign and Billionaire joined in. Female buried her head, Jed hoped in shame and not to hide giggles.
And Ursula stared roaring that Derry rage, barbed tongue skewing the air: “A disgrace to the human race, so youse all are! Would youse all wise up, for the love of God? Such a pile of flimmin childish, hateful people I've never seen in me life before! What was the slurs ye hurled our way a few moments since?” She counted off on her fingers, “Eejits! Losers! Wannabes! It's like a flippin playground for wanes in here, the amount of name calling going on, as if youse was bullies just outta yer nappies. And the shame of it all be's that yer bank accounts be's bulging with millions! What use is them millions if ye've got the mental age of a flimmin juvenile? Youse should be ashamed of yerse
lves, as the Lord knows I'm mortified for youse meself!” She singled Mean out with a trembling finger, and Jed saw Clipboard on the sidelines of the stage, looking thrilled at the outburst and edging closer, but with security guards behind her, ready for action. “So ye're finally out, are ye, ye sarky toerag? Sarcasm be's the lowest form of wit, don't ye know, and I wouldn't want to work together with the likes of ye anyroad, let alone let ye make away with part of wer company. Drive me mental, so it would, so that I don't know what would give me greater pleasure, to end me misery by shoving a fistful of tablets down me throat or crushing em up in yer martini to serve em to ye meself. Making the choice to give up the wee-est smidgen of wer company, the company we grafted hard to build up from the ground, has been one of the most wile difficult decisions me and Jed has ever had to make. Days of agonizing, it took us, to make up wer minds to appear here—” Jed knew this was far from the truth, but the Irish were great at guilt-trips. He'd been on the receiving end in Derry loads of times. “And to come out here on this stage, without the dignity of a bit of rouge or a crimping iron at our disposal in that farce of a dressing room ye've set aside for us, while I'm sure teams of stylists was buzzing around youse like flies around a grand big pile of—”
“And why not?” Mean broke in. Jed saw the man was struggling to control his own rage, and. “We are the haves. You are the have nots.”
“Smarmy, filthy git! Even to look at ye makes me skin crawl! I wanny fling meself head first into a bucket of bleach, so I do. Have youse no compassion? An ounce of Christian charity in yer bodies? Aye, youse have worked hard and all, I gather that, to be sitting up there now, but if ye had seen them others ye sent packing back into the Green Room, tears streaming down their faces, babbling and bawling like wanes without a mammy, so they was, their hopes for a new life dashed, going back to their desperate, miserable, poor lives—”
“They knew what they signed up for. Haven't you seen the show before?” Billionaire said with a world-weary sigh.
“And just who the flimmin hell do you think you are? Pontius Pilate?” Billionaire pointed at himself in shock. “Aye, you, I'm talking to, laying down the law from on high, sat there in yer chair like a throne, staring down yer nose at the likes of us. And you! Aye, you!” she said as very startled Female pointed at herself. “Ye were nice enough to us at first, but then I saw ye making eyes at me husband! I was all for it when ye called me husband cuddly, could put up with it. But then ye...then ye turned us down anyroad. Can ye not find some man on yer own, with yer unlimited millions and them fancy togs of yers?”
Female looked down at her breasts, fearful as to what togs might be, but they were only clothes. “I thought I was being kind.”
“Find yer own fancy man!” And to Jed's further horror, Ursula now erupted into tears, and brought the tissue up to her nose and honked into it, then brought it up to her eyes and gave them a little wipe as she wailed, “Jed be's mines! Mines, I tell ye! All mines! I thought the next number ye were set to prize from him was how many years we've been wed!” The tears were but momentary, and then her anger flared again as the pointed at Foreign. Mascara ran down her face. “And you! The foreign one! A trip to the ESL center in town wouldn't go amiss. Ye've got cash enough to pay for the lessons, like. Ye need to learn to speak God's English as the rest of us does. And me husband doesn't be diseased! I sleep next to him every night, and I'm right as rain, sure! Not a rash to be seen nor a fever to be felt.”
Mean turned in his chair to Billionaire. “I want to know what 'nappies' and 'togs' are. They sound faaascinating!”
“Enough!” They all turned to Playboy. He had been making little notes in his notebook. “Thank you for your insight, Ursula. Now I'll have my say. I agree with Elaine. It's about people. And I like you both too. In particular, I'm impressed by your fighting spirit, Ursula, and your obvious passion. You remind me of my mother, too. And I like your numbers, Jed. The pre-gambling ones, of course. And I enjoy taking risks. High risk, high payback sometimes. So I'm going to make you an offer. It will be contingent, of course, on Jed joining Gamblers Anonymous. Even if you agree to that, you still might not like my offer. In fact you probably won't. But I'm going to make it anyway.”
He looked back down at his notebook and made a few more computations. Ursula and Jed stood in the lights, transfixed. Mean and Billionaire looked away from Playboy in disgust. Foreign looked confused. Female had left the stage. Jed reached out and grabbed Ursula's hand. The tissue poked through her fingers and pressed against his palm. He squeezed her hand so tightly, his wedding band bit into the flesh of the fingers to either side.
“Um, yes?” Jed asked Playboy.
“What's yer offer?” Ursula asked.
Playboy finished scribbling, then looked up. He adjusted a cufflink as he said, “Here it is.”
“Don't do it!” Billionaire wailed. Jed didn't know if it was directed at them or Playboy, their only chance for survival.
“You'll be soorrryy!” Mean warbled. Again, who was he speaking to?
“The suspense be's driving me mental!” Ursula said.
“Already mental,” Foreign said.
Ursula's hand curled into a fist, but Jed held it fast in his own.
Playboy finally spoke.
“$150,000,” he said. “For...85 percent of the company.”
Jed knew the look on his face now was probably the same one he had when he glanced at their bank account that morning. Ursula turned to him, her eyes searching.
“Jed? Does that be good or bad?”
Billionaire, Mean and Foreign were laughing, but that didn't mean anything; it seemed like they had been doing that since Jed and Ursula stepped into the sound studio.
“That's...a lot,” Jed said.
“And you've got a lot of problems,” Playboy said. “A lot. Would you like to go in the room in the back and discuss it? We've got a room there for that.”
Jed nodded haltingly. Ursula turned around, kicked a cord aside, and walked toward the back.
“No, the other way,” Playboy said.
She turned and walked the right way. Jed followed her. Behind him, he could hear hoots of laughter and the rumble of a camera as it followed them.
There was indeed a room in the back, with a door Jed had to open. He was startled when the camera rolled inside with them.
“What do ye think, Jed? Does that be a good offer?”
Jed didn't want to reply with the camera there and rolling, and the cameraman behind it, but there was nowhere in the tiny room to hide.
“I don't know,” he whispered. The boom mic hovered closer over their heads, almost touching Jed's hat. “It seems like we'll be giving up a lot. But they always say, 100% of something small is worse than 40% of something big. Or something like that.”
“Eh?”
“The thing is...With one of the investors on board, honey, Slim Jed Jerky could be huge! That guy has all the contacts. A few phone calls, and he could get us into...I don't know, Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Sam's Club...”
Ursula squealed. The mic jerked away. “And the Top-Yer-Trolly?!” she asked, breathless.
“Hmm, international? Maybe there as well!”
Ursula shrieked with delight. “Could ye imagine...all of Derry doing their weekly messages down the town, and they sees wer jerky on the shelves...even Fionnuala?” Her eyes were bright.
“We have to ring Slim and talk it over with him,” Jed decided. “I guess that's what this phone is here for.”
There was a land line phone on a battered table. Jed picked it up and began to dial. But then he realized... “Slim isn't home. He's at the hospital. We have to call him there. Do you know the number?”
Ursula gave him a look. “And here was me thinking ye were the one who knew all the numbers!” Jed opened his mouth to explain, but Ursula shook her head. “Only joking, dear. Naw, I don't have a clue what the hospital number might be. I'm struggling to remember the name. Veteran, something. And, anyroad,” she looked down at he
r watch. “Wasn't he meant to go in for another round of surgery about now? Either that, or he's already been, and they've got him knocked out on who knows how many tranquilizers and whatnot. How about Louella?”
“What could Louella tell us?”
Ursula nibbled on a fingernail. “Och, sure, they won't even let her use her phone. They're forbidden in hospitals. That's another reason we can't call Slim. And she's sure to be at his side still.”
“I guess we've got to make the decision ourselves. What do you think, Ursula?”
She regarded him with confusion and fear.
“Why are ye asking me? It's you that's got the business mind. I'm afeared to say one way or the other, for fear that—”
“Hurry uuupppp!” They heard Mean all the way across the stage and through the door of the room. “Mitchell's going to change his miiinnnddd! If he knows what's gooood for him!”
“Och!” Ursula spat, irritated. “That man...!”
Jed was startled to see her rummaging through her handbag. He hoped she wasn't searching for a pistol.
“What on earth...?”
“Heads or tails,” Ursula said, pulling out her change purse. She clicked it open. “Heads, we accept, tails, we turn him down. How does that sound, Jed? Like one of yer bets on the roulette table, aye? Red or black. Let's just see where the luck of the draw, or the flip, I guess it must be called, takes us. Aye?”
Jed thought for a second, then nodded his head haltingly. Mitchell had told him no more gambling, but...
The camera moved in on Ursula's hand as she pressed the quarter between her fingers and thumb and flicked. It flew through the air, spinning, bounced off the palm of her outstretched hand, twirled a few times on the dust, then clattered to the floor. They eyed each other, breathless. Then Jed bent down, took at look at it and picked it up. He showed it to Ursula. She saw which side it had landed on, paused, looked him in they eyes and nodded.
Best Served Frozen (The Irish Lottery Series Book 4) Page 23