Chapter Eight: Fear of Zero

                                   

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

 and the woman important to each

                                                               

                                                           8

     Atom Green won last quarter but the new one meant starting equal in the race for numbers sprinkled with enriching commas. He overcame a momentary catch in the throat on the first call --paralysis through fear of zero-- before charm and technique powered him to a close. A carryover though was the parking spot labeled  “Salesman of the Quarter” in the underground garage. He parked his leased champagne-colored Mercedes coupe near the CEO’s limousine, which sat like an unused accessory. Unavoidable on the way to the elevator, he gave the fender a kick.
     He’d gotten into the habit of stopping in before his first call so as to become acquainted with staff outside of sales and learn what they knew. The best place was where the smokers congregated, out of doors in the wind tunnel between tall buildings. After squinty-eyed assessment, a chatty someone typically came forth to reveal much about the company in bullet-points -- due to standing, the wind or the smoker rhythm -- even before lighting up, which was fine since he didn’t smoke. He met Lola McIntyre there, but that morning found her in the break room.
     As he passed through the door, her eyes lit up beneath corkscrews twisted in her hair. She nudged a chair toward him and a playful tune jangled from the charms on her bracelet. “Sorry, no time.”
     “That’s not very friendly,” she teased, the words dripping like syrup from a greedy mouth as she ogled him in his sharp gray suit with royal blue tie. “I was going to tell you about the CEO’s condo and what he keeps there.”
     “Got a cigarette?”
     “A new hire in my department a month ago. The first day, he’s on her like that.” She snapped her fingers. “The company bought the condo. He transfers her there…working…for him…alone.”

     Regardless of snaps and pauses, he had an interest in the doings of Stephen Slade. Desire and dread jumbled his heart: if he were in that position, would he so casually alter people’s lives? “Pretty bold having the company pay.”
     “It’s for business, though I can’t say other things don’t go on.”
     “Monkey business. Tell me about her.”

     ”Young and pretty.”

      Women at work, women at home, women wherever the wealthy man goes, like flags staking out territory. Whether fun and flighty, sexy seducer or old-fashioned gold digger, men put women in a box then join them inside. He wanted to see and judge. Coming out of his thoughts, he noticed intensity in Lola’s eyes. “Helen Roy.”

                                                                 -ii-

     Soon after, Atom met Helen over lunch at Rico’s, with Lola making introductions. He pegged her age as half Slade’s and, dressed in designer jeans and sweater, more college student than executive assistant, or seducer. Her voice conveyed youthful enthusiasm.
     “’Atom’, like in physics? That’s funny.”

     “There’s a story behind it, and one day I’ll tell you.”

     “Tell us now!” They demanded. He feigned reluctance then complied.
     “My mother’s from Columbia, and my father was a contractor who’s away a lot, all over the world. That’s how they met. Well, he’s in Africa when she’s ready to deliver. She’s alone, without any family nearby, and gets herself to the hospital. Everything works out. When they ask my name for the birth certificate, she says ‘Neil Adam Green’. But she speaks with an accent and they write A-T-O-M.”
     “They should have known,” protested Lola.

     “By herself? The poor woman,” said Helen. “I would have been terrified. Why didn’t your parents correct it?”

     “Never got around to it, and I suffered. At the start of a new year, the teachers read the rolls and did double takes to confirm I was a little boy and not some science experiment. The kids called me ‘Atom Bomb’.”

     “Why didn’t you change it later?”
     “I got used to it, and it’s unique. Have you ever met an Atom?”

     “None I wasn’t attracted to.”
     “Are you positive?”

     They giggled; Lola looked confused. He thought Helen was friendly and pretty and interesting, but as lunch went on he grew angry at Slade’s audacity and, without telling scars, his imagination went wild; such power made him lightheaded and nauseous.
     “Don’t you find it odd isolated in a condo working for an insurance company?”
     She shrugged. “It’s not what I expected, though I like being creative. Maybe that doesn’t go with insurance either. I really don’t know”

     “Must be nice at the top.”
     “There’s a great view of the city.”
     “I’d like to see,” interjected Lola.

     Helen hesitated. “Stephen wouldn’t care for that. He doesn’t say ‘Don’t bring anyone up’ but… I…it just wouldn’t feel right.”
     “Does he take you out?” said Lola.
     “No”
     “Not yet,” said Lola under her breath.
     The tops of Helen’s ears turned red and she stared daggers at the older woman. “I said 'No.'”
     Atom felt bad and wanted to get past the sticky moment. He grandly slapped his credit card to the check and pushed it to the table’s edge, but Helen snatched up the ticket, calculated her share and added a twenty. Lola fumbled in her purse then followed suit.
     Afterwards, Helen led the way to the lobby of the Wayfare Hotel. Atom caught up to her as she was pushing the button for the elevator. "Maybe we can do this again.”
     The bell sounded, the doors opened and she went inside. On turning around, despite pursed lips and knitted brows, Atom thought she exuded a beautiful radiance. The doors closed as Lola came up. “Too bad.”
     Undeterred, he spoke through the doors, “If not today, tomorrow then.”

 

The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.

Chapter Seven: Reward

MORE OF SOMETHING MORE,

a story about a salesman trying to establish himself,

 a CEO scheming to buy out his father's influence

 and the woman important to each 

                                                            7

      Neil Atom Green left the sales manager’s office reeling. The celebration for rising to the top of the sales chart should have been full-throated ecstasy but he felt hollow. Jeremy Port had framed his top salesmen within his arms, presenting them for praise. Instead of congratulations, Slade snubbed him and told Dave Forester to get back to Number One. They laughed but the CEO did not join in.
     Fortunately, Port and Forester insulated him with their good will while he hid his anguish and tried to understand whether the slight was unintended and forgettable or intended and therefore malign. Demanding recognition was a sign of weakness so he would wait, like a doctor confronting an unknown disease looks toward the next death in order to comprehend.
     Tall and swarthy, Atom had dark hair parted down the middle that quivered as with electricity, and a manufactured polish reflecting his best profile. His energy and talent demanded immediate release and on encountering obstacles skirted around or rose above to fill in the present.
     The sales team trooped across the street to the bar at the Wayfare Hotel. Rico’s was spacious and spare, with gray carpet and muted lighting that accentuated the stylish smear of orange pastel on the wall. A long liquid mirror behind the bar reflected passersby of the business class headed to the dining area.
     “Tequila shots,” ordered Atom for the ritual taking place every quarter when results posted, and the bartender arrayed ten shot glasses filled with silver agave juice. The salesmen eyed their reward for being defeated, and his penalty for conquering. “To Number One,” they toasted then left, their embarrassed ambition kept them from sticking around when they should be out selling.
     Port took the stool to his right and Forester stood on his other side. The white-haired sales manager had been his advocate, while Forester had been a friendly adversary, and he was closer to them than anyone else at Slade. He ordered more drinks.
     Forester had sandy brown hair, high forehead, and perpetual tan from golf and tennis. His generous smile softened a cool manner. “Come over for barbecue Sunday. Mona would want you both,” he said referring to his fiancé. Though a likable fellow, Atom could dislike him if he dwelt on their differences. He was the son of a banking executive, whose background mirrored Slade’s.
     By contrast, his career began in the kitchen of a chain restaurant. He had become the assistant manager before realizing he was settling for second best. Determined to make the highest leap possible, he took business classes at the community college and studied corporate leaders. Afterwards, he took sales jobs at a string of companies that refined his perspective. Touchable products were inferior to the untouchable, so financial instruments were best where the sky was the limit in terms of value.  Small companies had a strong sense of mission but lacked diversity and scale, while large ones had plenty of both at the risk of bureaucratic mindset. He stayed long enough to learn what was worthwhile before moving on and landing at Slade Insurance.
     Along the way, he discovered the past was a clingy thing. When asked where he came from and what he’d been doing, he noticed the cooling effect the words “kitchen” and “restaurant” had on his peers, so he began talking about the hospitality industry, marketing and client delivery until establishing a sales record.
     But the past resided inside, too, and he always took notice of the help. At Rico’s the busboy darted between tables collecting used glasses and plates. Thin and dark, with a wave of black hair cresting his brow, his lowered eyes avoided the clientele. Atom knew he had an apology ready if he did encounter them, such deference aiding the objective of getting orders to the tables then clearing them. The bartender had a different attitude. Wearing white shirt and striped tie under green apron, he presented as if minding the bar was a lark between business meetings. He introduced himself as Ross, and was ready, it seemed, to bargain with captains of industry.
     Atom waited till Ross was at the other end of the bar then said “Maybe he’ll say something when I’m Number One again next quarter.”
     “Don’t let him see you sweat,” said Forester, ignoring the embedded challenge. “You’ll be alright. He must have been thinking about the wedding, and how to introduce his ‘Number Two salesman’. Sounds odd. What do you think, Jeremy?”
     “No thinking while drinking,” Port quipped and gulped his vodka rocks and the salesmen followed suit. Atom stirred his drink with a little black straw and listened to the clinking ice. The wedding added to his discontent, because no amount of sales could top having the CEO sponsor your union at a Palisades mansion. The inner circle was exclusive, tight and hard to penetrate.
     “He’s got a lot on his mind, what with changes he’s pushing,” Port said.
     “Like what?”
     “Get used to sending your own follow-up letters when the administrative assistants go.”
     Forester grimaced. “They’re overpaid for what they do, though I don’t like the idea of wasting time on minutiae. Focus on the bright and shiny, right Atom?”
     “Don’t let it get you down,” counseled the sales manager.
     Their concern tugged loose a smile.  Optimism, especially on a bad day, was the salesman’s utmost tool. He swallowed his drink and ordered another round and watched Ross work. He wouldn’t let it get to him, but he was impatient for signs of success.
     Then, a brilliant gleam alerted his nervous system. Before the reasoning mind and her gelling image gave shape to the impulse, he was on his feet with extended hand for the universal pitch. Her hands were manicured and soft, and her perfume summoned dreams of hot nights, full moons and victory feasts. She would serve until the real thing.

 The next chapter will be posted by June 1st.. Already posted.

The characters and events in this story are fictitious and do not represent any living person or real event.