The Doll Brokers

by Hal Ross

  “Jonathan Morhardt, Byron Young.” She made the introductions as she removed the sample of Baby Talk N Glow from her travel bag. The guy was fresh-faced, freckled, probably of an age that entitled him to wear a varsity sweater with impunity, Jonathan thought.

  “How are you? I hear Moonlight is still near the top these days,” Young said with a southern drawl.

  “Moonlight’s a great game. But what I’m about to show you is revolutionary.” Ann took the doll out and began the demonstration.

  “That’s pretty cool,” Young said when she was finished. “What’s my cost?”

  Ann dodged the question. She was good, Jonathan thought. “We’re investing five million dollars in television advertising, plus another million for posters in subways and bus shelters.”

  “Great. But my cost?”

  “Trade cost will be twenty-six seventy-five.”

  “What’s mine?”

  “Twenty-four dollars and eight cents.”

  “Hmmm…” He sat back in his chair.

  Ann could see him doing the arithmetic in his head. At a retail of twenty-nine ninety-seven she knew his margin was twenty percent. Not exactly what he’d prefer, but he could live with it. And this was why Walmart stood apart from everyone else. Other retailers insisted on advertising rebates, warehouse allowances, defective allowances, yet directed this package of discounts to their company’s bottom line. Walmart, on the other hand, asked for a price that had all the discounts netted out, so that whatever savings they received could be passed on directly to their customers.

  “Twenty-two dollars would make a lot more sense,” Byron said.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ann started to say, pleased with herself for saving this tidbit for the end. “We’ll throw in a five dollar consumer rebate. That’ll help both of us in a far more significant way.”

  Byron paused. “Two hundred and fifty thousand,” he finally announced in a casual voice.

  Ann felt Jonathan’s kick under the table. She was encouraged herself until she heard what came next.

  “That would be my estimate … if you were Mattel.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She blanched.

  “I’d commit now, on the spot. But how do I know that Hart Toy can pull it off? Anything can happen to a small company such as yours. I’ve seen it before. That’s why we’re being asked to narrow our vendor base. I mean, if this doll is so good, how come Mattel didn’t end up with her in the first place?”

  Ann’s color was heightening. Jonathan knew, without a doubt, that she was seriously upset.

  “Mr. Young,” she said, not caring if her anger showed or not, “how many years have you been buying toys?”

  The buyer’s voice faltered. “A year and a half, or so.”

  “A year and a half,” she repeated in a dismissive way. “And Hart Toy is now in its fortieth year. Not one of our executives has less than ten years experience. Would you say we’re a flash in the pan, Mr. Young? Some of the most innovative product in the toy industry has been generated by small companies such as ours. Where do you think Cabbage Patch came from? Or Trivial Pursuit? I know, I know, they were before your time. But the point is, when I said we’ll be spending five million on television advertising, that’s two million more than Mattel or anyone else would likely spend on any one product. If you want affidavits from the TV stations, we’ll supply them to you. If you want a letter from our lawyer guaranteeing our advertising commitment, I’ll give it to you. But don’t tell me that a small company like Hart Toy can’t be as effective as Mattel.”

  Jonathan had the urge to stand up and cheer. Young apparently didn’t share the sentiment. He remained silent.

  “Do you like the doll?” Ann asked.

  “It’s very good,” the buyer acknowledged.

  “And?”

  He shrugged.

  “Are you saying you still won’t give us a commitment?” she asked incredulously.

  Byron Young’s face turned red. “Well—” he managed.

  “You’re falling into a trap,” she said. “Don’t you see?” Her voice softened. “Mattel and Hasbro have been on this kick for years. Swallowing up one competitor after another. For power. For control. Does this make them better innovators? Does it make their sales and marketing people more savvy? More talented than my own? You know and I know that Walmart is more sophisticated than most. You buy by category and subcategory, with so many dollars allotted to each one. Mattel and Hasbro intentionally load each of your categories to the point where you have no room for anyone else. When word gets out about our doll—and I assure you, it will—Mattel will suddenly introduce two or three new baby dolls of their own. They’ll lock up that sub-category and your open-to-buy will be gone for the year.”

  “I’m familiar with their methods,” Young said tightly. “But my guidelines are laid down by management.” It sounded like an apology. “I like the doll,” he continued. “I’m sure we’ll carry her…”

  “But you won’t give us a commitment today?” Ann interrupted harshly.

  The buyer shrugged. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Ann swallowed as she felt the acid in her stomach churn. She was aware that Young was fairly new at his job; it made sense that he would want to protect himself. If management said beware of smaller firms, he’d take it as gospel. No matter how good their doll was, he’d want to wait before making his final decision.

  She began to put the doll away. And then it dawned on her that she had made a terrible mistake. By not treating the buyer more diplomatically, by belittling his experience while boasting of her own, she had undermined him. This was something he would not soon forget. Besides, she had allowed her pride to come into play and that was unforgivable. Integrity in dealing with each buyer, honesty and persistence—all were earmarks of a true professional. Sales had turned into an art form. Instead of swallowing her own ego, she had become consumed by it.

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to face Byron Young. “I’ve been thinking of your position,” she said, “and I want to apologize. I guess I’ve become so wrapped up in this doll I’ve lost sight of what really matters. You’ve supported my company from the time you started with Walmart. I have no right to preach to you, let alone question your experience. I truly am sorry. If there is—”

  “Ann,” he interrupted with a boyish grin, “no offense was taken. “Y’all have to fight for what you believe in, and I understand that.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for coming in today. I’ll do my best to fit your doll into next year’s program. I really do like her.”

  And with that, he left them. Ann waited a moment, then heard Jonathan approaching behind her.

  “You apologized,” he said. “I never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”

  She turned on him as though he was single-handedly responsible for everything that went wrong. She grabbed the front of his sweater with a fist.

  “Drop it,” he warned. He looked down at her hand.

  “Or you’ll do what?” she asked, without letting go.

  “Show you what happened to the last guy who tried this. I spent some time on top of him.”

  Something hot gathered in her belly at the image that brought to mind, something she didn’t want to contemplate. “Him? Why, Jonathan, you surprise me.”

  The color in his eyes changed. “If it had been a she,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t have gotten up.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Her heart was gallivanting. “For your mother’s sake. She’ll be glad to hear your sexual orientation is mainstream.”

  “I’m not sure Felicia belongs in this conversation, Ann. I think this might be between you and me.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach burned. First Byron Young, then this … whatever this was.

  You know what it is and it’s scaring the hell out of you, whispered a nasty voice in her head. Ann sucked in air. She finally dropped her hand and stepped back. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t answer for
a long time, and that scared her even more. She’d been waiting for one of his quips, needing it. But all he finally said was, “Right.”

  They turned together and stalked, shoulder-to-shoulder, out of the Walmart building.

  CHAPTER 22

  Ann woke Wednesday morning with a pounding headache. She was in Chicago and had no choice but to get up and face the day. There was no way she was going to be able to hide the Walmart disaster from Felicia, she thought. So she would have to fix it. Somehow, she would fix it. She noticed that the room was frigid—apparently the heat had conked out overnight—and she craved coffee with an almost physical ache. For the first time in years, she contemplated combining her caffeine fix with a cigarette.

  It was barely six-thirty. She’d eat something now, Ann decided, then she and Jonathan could head straight out to Kmart without cozying up together over breakfast. Although that would probably anger him. He didn’t seem to take it well when she interfered with his meals.

  She called room service and settled for fruit and coffee, then she went to take a shower.

  She stripped her nightgown over her head on her way to the bathroom. Her naked reflection suddenly assaulted her from too many mirrors as she stepped over the threshold onto cold tile.

  Ann hesitated, her eyes darting from one image of herself, to the next, to another. She looked like hell. Her skin was flaky and dry from too much pressurized, recycled cabin air. Her hair was limp and her eyes were clouded. She stepped back and dropped her arms, forcing herself to look down the length of her body. How long had it been since anyone had touched her, since she’d felt any real sense of life in those limbs, inside?

  Mark Twekesborough had been kind in his attentiveness, she thought. Seve Marques was a bastard and would go after anyone in a skirt. Ann looked at herself gravely, searching for something worthwhile, and came up empty. She knew she had nothing inside to give. Still, remarkably, she felt the urge for intimacy. For the first time since Matt’s death, she wanted to offer herself to somebody. She longed for the give and take, the feel of a caress on bare skin.

  Jonathan was responsible for this, she thought. Jonathan, with that sliding, speculative gaze that had edged toward her mouth on Monday. Jonathan? On one level, it seemed absurd. On another, it made her ache. Impossibly, he had made her want again. He had made her want to give all the things that had been ripped from her years ago and were no longer hers to relinquish.

  “Damn him,” Ann breathed. Her voice shook. She turned away from the mirror and got into the shower.

  When her coffee and fruit arrived, she still felt bruised. She settled at the table in her room, thinking once more, fleetingly, of a cigarette, then she flipped open her briefcase. Instead of going for the hidden pack, she took out her calculator and a notepad, and began running numbers.

  Without Walmart, her goal of a million pieces was shattered. A ripple effect would result that would end up hurting their advertising campaign, as well as their profit margin. She didn’t see any way around it. The entire project—out of necessity—would have to be scaled back or canceled.

  Ann got up for her cell phone and called their advertising agency.

  On the east coast, Bob Turnbull was just arriving at the office. She could tell by his aggravated tone. Nothing like being hit with a panic call before you even sit down at your desk, she thought.

  “We’ve got to trim back,” she told him.

  “Ah, Ann.” She heard pure frustration in his sigh. Turnbull didn’t like glitches. “Be reasonable. We purposely booked the television campaign this far in advance to get a jump on your competitors. Cancel or change something now and you’ll never get it back.”

  Ann thought about it. With so many burgeoning satellite dishes and cable companies, it was tough to build a worthwhile campaign. She had to spend the money to reach her target audience. Some ten or fifteen years ago there were barely four hundred half-hours devoted to children’s broadcasting. It had been easy to choose the meaningful programs. Today it was more like eleven hundred hours.

  “What about the billboards in subways and busses?” she asked.

  “I’ve got a better question. What’s happened since the last time we talked?”

  She couldn’t tell him.

  There was a knock on her door. It had to be Jonathan. “Look, Bob, I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ll call you back later.” Ann got off the phone and went to the door, jerking it open.

  “It’s not even 7:30 yet!” she snapped. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  His gaze started at her feet, came up over her bare legs, and slid over the silk of her robe. Ann pulled the lapels together and kept her arms crossed over her chest. His eyes finally settled on her tangled, wet hair.

  “What?” she asked defensively.

  “Hell of a way to answer the door. What if I had been room service?”

  “He’s already been and gone.”

  Jonathan’s brow furrowed as he stepped past her into the room. “You ordered breakfast without me? What the hell am I supposed to eat?”

  “There’s plenty of fruit left over, if you want some.”

  “That’s right up there with scones. I need eggs. Bacon.”

  “Bad for your arteries.” She closed the door behind him.

  “I’ll worry about it in five years. Right now, I want furnace food for the day ahead.”

  “There’s a restaurant downstairs.” Why was she arguing about food when her world was coming apart? But somehow, she realized, it felt good. “And you’re not that young. Go look in the mirror.” She twirled a finger at his temple. “You’re going a little gray there. No big deal, but it shows because your hair’s so dark.”

  He moved off for the bathroom and Ann smiled to herself.

  “You can hardly see it,” he said when he returned. “And nobody’s ever complained.”

  “I’m glad for you. I’m just saying that you don’t need bacon. The end is closer than you think.” She picked up her coffee and drank.

  “You’re in a hell of a mood.” He started for the door. “Let’s go to the restaurant. Put something on first.”

  “You think I should? I was going to stroll in like this—or better yet, naked.”

  His gaze shot back to her, heating. “Are you trying to instigate something here, Annie? Are you playing games with me?”

  Things shook inside her, then steadied. She turned away. “No, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  She kept her back to him until she heard the door shut. Then she spun around, hurried over to it and threw the lock. She let her breath out.

  Annie.

  He’d only called her that because Mark Twekesborough had. He’d made his point, though.

  She threw things back into her briefcase. She wiggled into pantyhose, then chose what she wanted to wear. Make-up and an attack with the blow-dryer restored her a little. Ann added more blush and decided to tuck her sweater in to take up some of the loose space in her skirt. She’d lost quite a bit of weight, she thought, since she’d signed the deal on the doll.

  By the time she got downstairs to the hotel restaurant, Jonathan had eaten. The only thing left on his plate was a sprig of parsley and a streak of something that looked like Hollandaise sauce. “You had Eggs Benedict?” She gaped at him.

  “Canadian bacon is leaner, right?”

  Ann shook her head as she took a seat across from him. “Let me finish off your coffee, then we can go.” She took his cup and poured in sugar.

  Jonathan sat back and watched. “You know, I’m not going to let Felicia bury you in our family plot.”

  “What?” Ann jolted.

  “At least what I consume doesn’t cause me physical pain. You’re wrecking your stomach with caffeine.”

  “You’ll go first. And you won’t even know about it.” Ann drank coffee and girded herself. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  They left the hotel. They had a rental car and Jonathan drove. Ann turned on the radio. He changed the stat
ion.

  “What’s this?” she asked, recoiling from the burst of sound.

  “Rock ‘n roll, baby.”

  “You’re doing this to irritate me. You like jazz. Blues.”

  “Depends on my mood. This gets my adrenaline up for the fight.”

  “What fight?”

  “The one I assume we’ve got coming with another twelve-year-old buyer. Are you going to take his head off like you did with Byron Young? Great speech, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She let herself smile. “No. We’re going to Kmart today, and that’s Tom Carlisle.”

  “Which means?”

  “He’s one of the good guys. Been around for a long while.”

  “But isn’t Kmart in bankruptcy?”

  “They were. They’ve since amalgamated with Sears.”

  They gave their names to the receptionist and were kept waiting for a half-hour. Carlisle finally appeared, hitting the meeting room with high energy, kissing Ann on the cheek.

  “Here we go again,” Jonathan muttered.

  “I’m simply irresistible,” she whispered back. It was safe to play games when a pudgy, fifty-year-old black man was watching them curiously.

  “Jonathan, right?” Tom shook his hand. “I remember you.”

  “We’ve probably met at one of those Toy Fairs, right?”

  Tom laughed. “No. I think it was a Vegas golf tournament. You were terrible.”

  Jonathan rubbed his jaw. “Jeez. That had to be ten years ago. I stepped in for my mother.”

  “Has your game improved?”

  “Not a lick.”

  Tom nodded. “I like an honest man.” He looked at Ann. “What have you got for me today?”

  She handed Baby Talk N Glow over to Carlisle without going through the doll’s repertoire. She remembered Mark Twekesborough’s startled delight when the doll had begun talking to him. Maybe Walmart had been an aberration. Today would be different.

  Carlisle handled the doll, not making any comment. He touched her nose, her toes, her ears. She chatted away. But when he felt her heartbeat, his dark face seemed to shine. When the doll’s own skin began to glow, he laughed out loud. “This is incredible,” he said. “How long will her battery last?”