______________________________________________________________________
Motioning to a chair on the opposite side of his desk… Hesitating, waiting until the young man settled himself. Looking at the ceiling, clearing his throat, the older man brought his attention back to Mitchell. “You know, we usually let the part timers go after New Year’s. But this year business went on, at least until now, and I was able to justify to them…” jerking his head upward, he glanced at the ceiling, “a part time staff, but now…” hesitating again, “I’ve got to let you go.”
“Mister Bornstein…”
“Please, Mitchell,” holding his hand in a halting gesture, “let me finish. Believe me, knowing you’ve just had a baby I know how badly you must need this job and I feel terrible having to do this, and also, you’re a good salesman and I hate to lose you, but…”
________________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
April 28 through May 2, 1957
Due to Marsha’s surgery, Michael had been weaned from his mother while in the hospital and placed on formula. So in addition to the other immediate expenses, formula was needed and formula cost money, too. And even with an added dependent and less withholding for tax and a five dollar a week raise, eighty dollars a week did not stretch that far… Oh, no, not by a long shot!
****
“Here’s one that sounds interesting, Marcie.” He circled the ad in the classified section of Sunday’s Chicago Tribune, then handed the paper to her.
$$$ Earn BIG $$$ Outside salesman needed for evenings & weekends. Selling experience not necessary. We train & supply all leads. Car needed. Or. 37722 $$$
“So,” he asked, “what do you think?”
“Sounds okay to me. Give ’em a call and find out what it’s about.”
****
April 30, 1957
The small warehouse was in Skokie, located in the same light industrial complex Mitchell had worked at during his last year of high school.
Sitting on steel folding chairs, the eight “trainees” watched and listened to the man that had introduced himself simply as Al.
Demonstrating the “pitch,” Al stood behind a kitchen table pitching to an attractive young woman wearing slacks and a blouse who had been introduced simply as Ann, who sat at the far right of the table with her chair angled towards the trainees.
On the table was an assortment of stainless steel pots, pans and skillets of varying sizes that had, somehow, come out of two large, imitation leather suitcases.
In a well practiced demonstration, Ann parried each of Al’s selling points, by rote, with an objection that in turn was rebutted by Al, by rote, who continued the pitch as smoothly as running water.
“But there’s so much here! I’ll never need all of it!”
“Maybe not now, Miss Smith, but this is for your hope chest, for when you and, uh, what did you say your fiancé’s name is?” Turning to the trainees, “Most women respond to our calls because they either are getting married or hope to get married.” Turning his attention back to “Miss Smith”…
“Harry,” Miss Smith said.
“When you and Harry get married, you do plan on having a family, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course we want children.”
To the trainees, “Get her used to saying yes.” To Miss Smith, “Then you’ll need this,” lifting the one quart saucepan, “for heating the baby’s bottles, and this,” pointing to the pressure cooker, “for Easter, when you have your and Harry’s families over for dinner.”
“Easter? Oh, no!” Forcing a giggle, “I burn water.”
“I think not with these, Miss Smith. You see our cooking utensils all come with a space age, heat conducting core…” tapping the bottom of the saucepan, “that makes it almost impossible for anyone,” forcing a laugh, “even you, Miss Smith, to burn anything! You’d practically have to go out of your way to burn anything! You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Miss Smith?”
“Oh, yes!”
“And we have another feature found in no other cooking utensil. This is our patented ‘Spin Seal lid.’” Taking the lid from the one quart sauce pan, using a spray bottle, spraying the outer edge of the lid, placing the lid back onto the pot, spinning it, Al then held the pot a foot off the table by the lid handle. “See, we form a perfect water seal on your pot that retains all the healthful, valuable vitamins and minerals your family will need. That’s a pretty wonderful feature, wouldn’t you say, Miss Smith?”
“Oh, yes!”
“And you would be happy if you could make Easter dinner for your fiancé’s family, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, of course I would!”
“Well, Miss Smith, with this wonderful set of marvelous, heat conducting, stainless steel cook wear, your meals will practically cook themselves! That is pretty wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is!”
“But you know what? That’s not all there is, Miss Smith, because we also give you, absolutely free, this wonderful set of cutlery.” Opening an oblong cardboard box, lifting each item individually, holding it forward, showing the trainees…
If this were a movie, Mitchell thought, there’d be a drum roll.
Al laid out an assortment of imitation bone handled knives, including a carving knife and fork, four paring knives of varying sizes and six serrated edge steak knives, then, “In addition to this wonderful set of marvelous heat conducting, stainless steel cookware…” Al said, sweeping his hand across the table with a flourish, “…and this practical set of beautiful knives, we will also give you, absolutely free, this two volume set of The Bride’s Cookbook.” Holding one in each hand, Al showed the two 8x10 paperback books to the trainees, then handed both to Miss Smith, who pretended to look through them. “Now, Miss Smith,” Al went on, “if you could find them, the cookbooks alone would sell for at least five dollars each in any book store! But the books are given to you absolutely free! And they are in addition to this wonderful set of carving utensils that are also free!” Allowing the words to sink in he waited a number of seconds, then, once again dramatically sweeping his arm over the miscellany of pots, pans, knives and books, “And we will give all of this to you for the wonderfully low, factory to you ‘wholesale’ price of just one hundred, twenty dollars! Seems too good to be true , doesn’t it, Miss Smith?”
Walking around the tale, sitting on the edge, “Remember, each time you get her to say yes, you’ve got a minor close. And each time you’ve got a minor close, you’re that much closer to a major close.” Momentarily looking from man to man, going back to the other side of the table, he nodded at Ann, who said…
“All of this! For only one hundred and twenty dollars?”
“Yes, Miss Smith! You do want this set, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes! Only problem is, I just can’t afford it.”
“Sure you can, Miss Smith! With our EZ Credit Plan. With just… How much did you say you’re going to put down, Miss Smith?” Looking at the trainees, “Close by assumption!” Al said, nodding at Ann.
“Would twenty dollars be enough?”
“Yes, twenty dollars will be just fine, Miss Smith. Here…” reaching into one of the suitcases, Al removed an order pad, “…let me show you how we can work it out…. Okay, Ann, thanks.”
“Yeah, okay, Al.”
Going to the “boiler room,” to one of the four small partitioned desks at the far end of the small warehouse, glancing at a list on the desk, dialing a number, “Hi!” Picking up where she’d left off when asked to assist in the demonstration, “Is this Nancy Warren?” Ann, once again, began to make soliciting phone calls.
Perched on the end of the table, “We’ll give you,” Al said, “as many qualified leads as you can effectively handle. Each time you sell a unit,” jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “you make twenty-five percent, clear. You’re working as an independent, so we don’t take tax. We give you a monthly statement and what you pay Uncle Sam is up to you. If you get the broad to go for credit, there’s another ten spot for you, and that’s forty bucks for, maybe, an hour’s work.”
“What’s the average,” a middle aged, balding man asked. “How many calls a guy usually make before he sells this stuff?”
“Closing is the name of the game,” Al said. “And how often you close depends on you. The longer you do this kind of work the better you get at it, and the better you get at it, the more you’ll close.” Knowing the next question, “If you work smart, you guys ought to be making, easy, better than a C-note a week working part time in a couple’a weeks, and if you don’t, we don’t want you around and won’t waste the leads on you!”
More than hundred bucks a week! Mitchell thought. I’d have to work at Field’s better than a month to make that kind of money.
“Where do the original leads come from,” asked another of the trainees.
“Yeah,” the balding man asked, “and how good are they?”
“Caterers, formalwear shops, florists, hotels, banquet halls and some other sources I’d rather not mention.” Pointing towards the four partitioned desks, “Ann and the three other girls make calls from here five nights a week.” Turning to the balding man, Al added, “And those four are very qualified!”
Another man, obviously having experience at this type of selling, or at least this type of demonstration, “What’s it gonna cost us? What do we pay,” he asked, pointing to the table, “for our demo kit?”
“A hundred for the demo set and cases. The freebies for the customers are prorated into the cost of the set.”
A hundred bucks! Mitchell, who had decided he was going to do it, asked, “What if I don’t have a hundred bucks?”
Al, of course, had noticed Mitchell. “EZ Credit,” he said with mixed feeling due to past experience telling him that men as good looking as this man could either be an asset or a liability because, if the girl’s boyfriend or fiancé happened to be there when the pitch was made, the girl will often love him, but the guy will almost always hate him! “We take twenty bucks down and you’ll pay fifteen a month till it’s paid. If you quit or we let you go, your girlfriend, wife or mother’ll have a great set of pots’n’pans!”
“No,” Mitchell said, “no girlfriends. I’m married and got a kid and don’t care how great they are! One thing I sure as hell don’t need is another set of pot’n’pans.”
May 1, 1957
“He’s got to pay for his own samples? I’ve never heard of such a thing!” Reaching for Michael, “Here, let me hold him.” Taking the baby from Marsha, Rhea sat on the sofa.
“Well, that’s the way they do it, Mother. Mitchell says he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to make at least two hundred a month.”
“By selling pots and pans to girls?” Rhea asked dubiously.
“Not ‘girls,’ Mother! Engaged women! These are engaged women who make appointments so they can see the, uh, merchandise in their own homes and Mitchell’ll make between thirty and forty dollars every time he sells a set.”
“Okay. But don’t most of these girls… ‘engaged women’ think that, maybe, they might get a set of pots and pans as a gift? You did.”
“Yeah, some might, I suppose. But not everyone’s lucky enough to have a wedding like Mitchell and me. And anyway, this way the girl, uh, woman is able to have what she wants, not what someone wants to give her.”
“Well, the whole thing doesn’t smell very kosher to me. But if you don’t mind your husband being alone with these, women, in their homes, with no one else there…”
“Mother,” Marsha said angrily, “are you trying to tell me that you think Mitchell would fool around with his customers?”
“I told you before, Marsha, your husband looks at women!”
“And I told you before, Mother, Mitchell only looks!”
****
Since living in the building there had been three instances when Mitchell had been sent upstairs for one reason or another, and knowing they would be alone, Rhea had—subconsciously?—worn something inconspicuously alluring: her clinging, leopard skin patterned robe with nothing beneath, unzipped a bit lower than need be; or a low cut, tight fitting sweater and a slip. Once, rationalizing It’s only Mitchell, Rhea had worn something not so inconspicuously alluring: only a bra and slip… a shimmering bra that allowed the outline of her course nipples to become embossed upon the silky material, that became even more, oh, much more defined once she knew Mitchell was looking, and, oh yes, he did, slyly look.”
Rhea had no intention of ever being physical with her son-in-law, whom she, so she told herself, disliked… hated? Because, after all, she was the mother of his wife and he has no business looking at her as he did—on those occasions when she induced ‘those’ looks—though, actually, if Mitchell or other men did not look at her, Rhea’s ego would certainly have been shattered.
Mitchell, on the other hand, liked his mother-in-law and, on those occasions when he had been sent upstairs, he had gone willingly because, knowing—remembering the low zipped, nylon, leopard skin patterned robe she had worn on the morning Marsha and he had arrived at the apartment—he never knew what to expect from his mother-in-law, and she hardly ever disappointed him, because—especially the time she had come to the door in that clinging, tight fitting, nipple displaying bra—because he would then envision his wife, at the age of her mother, thinking, Of course, Marsha could never have boobs that big! But if my wife looks as good as her mother when she’s that old, growing older sure as hell ain’t going to be all that bad.
****
“And I told you before, Mother, Mitchell only looks!”
Not caring if she did… Possibly wanting to cause distrust between her daughter and Mitchell, “Sure,” Rhea said, in her, so she told herself: dislike… hatred? of Mitchell, “he only looks!”
“Yes, Mother!” Marsha repeated angrily. “He only looks!”
Conveniently forgetting it was she that had suggested Mitchell find a part time job. “Another thing! Why does he have to work part time at all? Jesus! Walter and Myra are his parents and they’re paying him ‘coolie wages’! The two of you gave them their only grandchild and they give him a lousy five dollar a week raise! We don’t belong to a fancy yacht club, and we pay your brother enough to live on! Why the hell can’t they?”
“I told you before, Mother, he hasn’t covered his draw yet!”
“And that’s another thing I don’t understand! You mean to tell me for all the time your husband has been working for his folks, he, somehow, ends up owing them money?”
“I told you before: they pay him a weekly salary that applies against his commission, and…”
“Yes, Marsha, I know,” Rhea said tiredly. “You don’t have to tell me again!”
Wishing her mother would go upstairs and leave her alone, “Anyway, he’s going back this evening to get his samples and they’ll go over the whole presentation with him again, and he’ll start making calls tomorrow.”
