What's in It for Me? (20 page)

“Yeah, Martha. This is Harry. You called me?”

“Yes. I wanted to know how that—?”

“I just came from there, Martha. I spent almost all morning with him. That's why I'm calling you so late. I just got in and saw your message.”

The way I reported my movements, you'd think I was under contract to her on a piece-work basis.

“What he say?”

“Well, Martha, it didn't look like anything definite yet. But he was pretty hopeful.”

“Oh.”

“Listen,” I said briskly, “that's only one angle. I'm working a couple. I'm going up to see a few more people today. I'll have a lot of them working on it and you'll be there before the year is up, like I told you.”

“I know what you told me.”

“Then you're on the right road.”

“I know, Harry. The road gets a little boring, though. Maybe we ought to get some place after a while, huh?”

“You'll get some place. In fact, you can go out and buy yourself some sunburn lotion right now.”

“Sunburn lotion?”

“Yeah, for that California sun. I hear it's fierce.”

“You know what I just did a little while ago?”

“What?”

“I turned down a lunch invitation from Teddy Ast,” she said proudly. “Aren't I a good little girl?”

“That's the spirit, kid. Next time you can do better than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can hang up on him as soon as you recognize his voice.”

“If I remember, I'll do that.”

“Thanks.”

The curtains at the far end of the showroom parted and Yazdabian came in.

“Oh, Mr. Bogen,” he said.

“Listen, Martha,” I said into the phone, “I've got a customer now. I'll see you tonight.”

“All right, Harry. Good-by.”

“Good-by.”

I hung up and took out a cigarette as Yazdabian approached me.

“Good-morning, Mr. Yazdabian,” I said quickly. “Sit down. I've got something to tell you.”

“What is it that you have to tell me, Mr. Bogen?”

“Got a great idea, and want to hear what you think of it.”

“I trust it will have something to do with sales.”

“Well, yeah, in a way it has.”

“Suppose you tell it to me.”

“Here's the idea, Mr. Yazdabian. I think it would be a swell idea if I took a quick trip to Europe, say for two or three weeks or a month, to pick up some new style ideas. In that way we'd have the jump on the rest of the—”

“Why should you want to pick up new ideas, Mr. Bogen? We haven't even disposed of the styles we have on the racks now.”

“That's exactly why we need new ones. With all due respect to you as a designer, Mr. Yazdabian, I think the ones we have now are a little, well, they're not exactly what I'd call real hot. You know what I mean? But if I hopped over to Europe for a short trip, I'd get a good chance to pick up some nifties and we'd be able to knock the buyers' eyes out.”

“I don't care to defend my reputation as a designer, Mr. Bogen. Even though it has been, well, let us say adequate, even though it has been adequate for a good many years, that is not the point.”

“The designs that were adequate twenty years ago are not adequate today,” I said gently.

He nodded and shrugged.

“Perhaps. But as I say, that's not the point. The point is that we don't need more styles, Mr. Bogen. We need more sales.”

I looked at him sharply.

“Just what do you mean by that, Mr. Yazdabian?”

His expression didn't change.

“I'm doing nothing but quoting you, Mr. Bogen. When you joined me in this firm you said we needed sales. Now you tell me we need styles. And I—”

“And I tell you again now we need styles. What I said about sales still goes. But you can't have sales until you have styles. And the styles we have now—”

“The styles we have now are adequate for a good salesman. If we need more styles we can get them from the agencies.”

I pushed my jaw forward.

“Are you implying that I'm not a good salesman, Mr. Yazdabian?”

“I am implying nothing. I simply want to show you the facts.” He handed the papers across to me. “Mr. Satten was in this morning while you were—”

“While I was visiting the buying offices.”

“Did you get an order?”

“Well, no. But the buyer I wanted to see wasn't—”

“It doesn't matter. Mr. Satten was in and he left the report for the three-month period that we have been in business together, Mr. Bogen.”

“Time flies, doesn't it?”

“Money flies even faster.”

“So they tell me.” I dropped the report on the table between us without looking at it. “What about Mr. Satten?”

He didn't pick up the report.

“Mr. Satten's figures are interesting,” he said slowly. “They show that for the three-month period that we have been in business together, Mr. Bogen, our sales have not exceeded those of any three-month period during the past two years.”

“If you're trying to demonstrate to me that Mr. Satten is a good accountant, Mr. Yazdabian, you can spare yourself the trouble. I've heard of him before.”

“Mr. Satten's services satisfy me completely.”

“But mine don't, eh?”

He shrugged.

“You are putting it rather strongly, Mr. Bogen.”

“Maybe our sales didn't jump. But we're paying our bills on time, aren't we?”

“That, of course, is due to the money put into the business, Mr. Bogen. But what good does it do us to pay our bills on time, if we don't make any money?”

“We'll make money.”

“When?”

“When we get a line that's hot. Right now your styles are deader than Kelcey's nuts.”

“By that time, at the rate you're drawing against your account, Mr. Bogen, we won't have very much left of the money you put into the business and we won't even be able to pay our bills on time.”

“You call two hundred dollars a week a lot?” I demanded angrily. “Why, when I was with Apex Modes, I drew a thousand a week and—”

“And went into bankruptcy,” he finished quietly.

“I told you once before that that wasn't my fault,” I snapped.

“I'm not saving it was your fault.”

“Then would you mind telling me just what the hell you
are
saying?”

“I'm saying simply that you told me you were the best salesman in the world and I believed you.”

If I told him I had a coat that wore like iron, he'd probably expect me to show up in a suit of armor.

“Sure, I said—”

“But the figures show just as simply that we have not shipped—”

“That's not my fault,” I said hotly. “You make me sweat a pint of blood before you'll sign a check for some entertaining expenses. All my pants have holes in the knees from where I've been on the floor like Al Jolson crying to you for a bottle of liquor to send to a customer. By the time I get you to sign a check for a gift to a buyer she's out in Cleveland already and the next time she shows up in New York she's buying from Maury Tressler or Teddy Ast or from Blitz-Finkel or from any one of those other heel outfits that don't know the first damn thing about selling but at least they don't have a half-Nelson on their check books. If you can't learn that the way to sell dresses is to—”

“I've been in business for twenty years, Mr. Bogen, and I've always gotten along.”

“Yeah,” I sneered, “you've gotten along. You got along so well that you needed a new partner.”

“I didn't need a partner. I needed a salesman.”

“Well, you got both.”

“It doesn't seem so from these figures, Mr. Bogen.” He tapped the report on the table between us. “According to these figures I didn't get a salesman. All I got was a partner.”

“Well,” I cried, “that's not my fault. I can sell. I can teach them all when it comes to selling. I sold for Apex. But I sold my way.”

“That sent you into bankruptcy.”

I smacked the table with my fist.

“God damn it,” I yelled, “will you stop crying about that bankruptcy? I told you I was out on the road all the time and my—”

“Why don't you go out on the road now?” he demanded calmly.

“The road?”

“Of course. We've got stock on the racks. We've got plenty of merchandise. You haven't been out on the road since we've been in business together. Why don't you go out on the road?”

“There's no sense in going out on the road. Selling tactics have changed in the last few years. My buyers are the type that come into New York and I have to be here all the time to take care of them.”

“Oh,” he said sarcastically, “to spend money foolishly on entertainment, Mr. Bogen, to that extent selling tactics haven't changed. But to take the line out on the road and dispose of our merchandise, to that extent selling tactics have changed, eh?”

“The way you talk,” I said, controlling my exasperation, “somebody would think—”

“I refuse to concern myself with what other people think, Mr. Bogen. I concern myself with what my accountant's report and my common sense tell me.”

“Maybe that's why your viewpoint is so restricted,” I snapped. “Times change, Mr. Yazdabian, and—”

The curtains parted suddenly and Miss Eckveldt came in. She stopped short and looked at us in surprise. Yazdabian turned to face her.

“Yes?” he said. “Yes, yes, yes? What is it? What—?”

“There's a Mr. Nissem outside to see you,” she said awkwardly. “Mr. Leonard Nissem. He said—”

Yazdabians's face grew hard and his lips quivered.

“Tell him I'm not in!” he barked. “I'm not in! Tell him—”

“Yes, sir,” Miss Eckveldt said in a frightened voice. “Yes, sir.”

“Nissem!” he said passionately. “You hear that? The vultures are on our necks already. The whole market knows. When scum like that, when wolves like Nissem have the nerve to walk into your place of business and—”

I waved my hand at him.

“Aah, don't get so excited,” I said. “The hell with Lenny Nissem. Those guys are always looking around to drum up business. They come in to call on everybody. What do you want to worry about bastards like that for?”

“I've had enough of your advice. I've had enough of your telling me what to do and what to worry about. If you won't make an effort to save this business, I will.”

“Hey, now, wait a minute there, Mr. Yazdabian. That's putting things a little too—”

“Never mind,” he said coldly. “You just said a few minutes ago that times change. I suppose you're right. They certainly must change when men like Leonard Nissem can walk into my office looking for business.”

“Listen, now,” I said. “This is—”

He held up his hand.

“Please,” he said. I stopped talking. “Times may change for you, Mr. Bogen. But they're not going to change for me. I've been going out on the road with my own goods for twenty years. And I've managed to get along fairly well at it, too. Now that our new line is ready, I see no reason why I shouldn't go out with it again, the way I used to, before I got you for a partner, Mr. Bogen.”

“There's no reason for getting sore about it.”

“Oh, I'm not getting sore, Mr. Bogen. Why should I get sore? I merely took in a partner who was supposed to be the greatest salesman in the world and he didn't sell, that's all. Hardly enough reason for getting sore, is it?”

“If you're not getting sore, you don't have to get sarcastic, either.”

“Perhaps I don't, But I can't help it. I'll go out on the road, Mr. Bogen. You are the world's best salesman and I am the world's worst. My tactics may be old-fashioned, as you put it. But I'll go out on the road and I'll show you a thing or two about selling, Mr. Bogen.”

“I'm willing to learn, Mr. Yazdabian.”

“I'll try to provide you with the opportunity. I might even be able to chase a few buyers into New York for you.” The beads were clicking more normally again. “Do you think you will be able to handle them?”

“Don't worry, Mr. Yazdabian. I'll know how to handle the New York end.”

O
N MY WAY TO THE
theatre, I stopped at the garage.

“Abe around?” I asked the man in the little office downstairs.

“Yeah, he's around somewhere. Wait a minute.” He leaned out of the office and yelled into the dark cavern of the garage. “Abe! Abe Fliegel! Hey, Abe Fliegel!”

There was an answering bellow from somewhere in the back.

“Yeah?”

“That you, Abe?”

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“Come on out here for a minute, Abe. Someone to see you.”

“Okay, I'm coming.”

A few moments later he appeared.

“Hello, there, Mr. Bogen.”

“Hello, Abe.”

I slipped a couple of cigars into the pocket of his overalls.

“Let's step out here for a minute, huh?”

“Sure.”

He followed me outside and looked at me inquiringly.

“I'm thinking of getting rid of my car, Abe. And I was wondering if I could leave it to you to sort of scout around for a good buyer for me.”

“Well, uh, why don't you just trade it in when you get the new one, Mr. Bogen?” he asked, surprised. “For that boat of yours, they'd give you a damn nice allowance and—”

“I know, Abe. But I'm not getting a new car. Not for a while, anyway.”

“Oh.”

“I'm thinking of taking a trip for a coupla months. And I figured I'd sell it and then, when I got back, I could get me a new one.”

“Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Bogen. Like this, like this you'll have to sell at a big sacrifice, you know.”

“What do you think you could get me for it, Abe?”