The Doll Brokers (15 page)

“This is Felicia's baby, Alvin,” Ann said. “I'm just pushing it through for her.”

“You're going to fall flat on that pretty face of yours.”

“It's been scraped up before.”

“You should get out before it's too late.” He took hold of her arm in a gesture of intimacy.

It already is
, she thought. “Is this your way of saying ‘break a leg'?”

“Hell no.” He let go of her arm and waved a hand. “That's my flight being called.”

Ann looked up at the sign over the check-in desk. “Why are you going to Milwaukee?” she asked.

“Got a meeting set with that asshole at Swanson's.”

“Dean Carlson? Isn't he the one you were going to cut off?”

“Yeah. I still may do it.”

Bull, Ann thought as she watched Pelletier turn away.

“Who's Dean Carlson?” Jonathan asked once the man was out of ear range.

“The divisional merchandise manager at Swanson's.”

“And what did he do, exactly?”

“Fined Alvin's company a few thousand dollars for shipping early.”

“What?”

Ann laughed at his expression. “He does it to all of us. Fines us for shipping early. Fines us for shipping late.”

“And you accept it?”

She shrugged his comment off. “He's not the only one. Just a cost of doing business today.”

“Jesus. No wonder you're popping stomach pills all the time.”

“Oh, really? You mean, you're finally starting to understand?”

He let her pull a bit ahead of him. Understanding all of the ramifications of the toy industry was one thing; fitting the puzzle pieces of Ann together, quite another.

A
nn always found herself unnerved by Walmart. Entering their headquarters gave her the feeling that she was consigning herself to the Army. The building was flat and drab, and stretched for at least a city block.

She gave their names to the receptionist, then guided Jonathan to a seat. The chairs were hard metal, lined up classroom-style. She knew from past experience that her back would begin to ache if they were kept waiting for too long.

“This is rather austere,” Jonathan said.

“No kidding.”

He slouched in his chair. “So what's our situation, now that you got Australia in the fold?”

“Internationally, we ended up okay. Not great, but okay. A lot rides on this trip, this stop in particular.”

“Really?”

Ann lifted her shoulders and sighed as she dropped them again. “Hasbro and Mattel control the manufacturing side of things. Toys ‘R' Us and especially Walmart are the retail gods. Walmart, in particular, more or less has its own set of rules.”

“What kind of rules?”

“If you want to do business with them, they prefer the top gun. So in our case, I'm it.”

“Hey, I'm a Morhardt. I ought to count for something.”

“Seve Marques wasn't impressed with you.”

“Only because I don't have your legs.”

Damn it, he always managed to turn things around, just when she was starting to feel semi-comfortable with him. She re-crossed her legs carefully. “Walmart forbids their buyers to be entertained by company reps.”

“Seve would weep real tears.”

“Seve joined us for lunch. Walmart buyers aren't allowed to.” Suddenly, an image came to mind of the dance she and Jonathan had shared in Madrid, of their tour of Paris. She blinked until the image went away. “Walmart's gone digital with a neat little program called Retail Link,” she said, changing the subject. “It's connected by a password through the internet. Suppliers are expected to monitor the sales of their own products on a weekly—even daily—basis, and alert Walmart when sales are either picking up or slowing down. It's become our total responsibility.”

“I'm not surprised, Ann,” Jonathan said. “It's called bowing to the god of higher profit margins. It's not just toys, and it isn't only Walmart. More and more jobs are being eliminated and more and more pressure applied on those people whose jobs remain.”

“Really, smart stuff? And you're a painter?”

“Good thing, too.”

She felt an odd sensation in her chest. “Still interested? You haven't been doing much of it lately. Not since you started following me around.”

“The muse is in Bangladesh,” he finally answered.

Ann frowned. “Bangladesh?”

“It's where he goes when he's not with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“I have to think of him as vacationing, or I'd lose my mind.”

“But
Bangladesh?
”

“Ever been there?” he asked, shifting his weight in the hard chair.

“No.”

“Neither have I. But I really can't see him lunching with Seve in Madrid.”

She hated it when he made her laugh.

An announcement over the PA system declared that all ten o'clock appointments were to proceed to their pre-assigned meeting rooms.

Ann stood and Jonathan followed her. He wasn't sure what he was thinking anymore. But the image of her slumped shoulders heading into The Melia still made him itch.
This trip shouldn't have gone this badly.

It didn't take long—perhaps a minute or two—before the buyer showed up. Jonathan took a seat and wondered if this was a good sign. He watched Ann turn on.

“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.

A
nn 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.