“Is he any good?” Cortez had his legs swung up on the table, chair tilted all the way back, poised like the king of Candytown—king of the disillusioned inbreds, Lord of Unwant.
“Good? Fuck me man. Nobodys’ good when they rolling in new. Willing? Maybe. Desperate? Now we’re talking truths.”
“But you vouch for him? He fucks up, it's on you.”
“Yeah?” I looked out over the tiled rooftops of MCity tainted hazy blue through the sun-film plastered on the glass, trying to envision the poor woman who bred this asshole. “What’re you gonna do if he tanks? Give me a swirly?”
“Max,” he said all serious, putting his feet back on the floor where they belonged. “The higher ups like you. You’re a good earner. You’re also replaceable. Every salesman has his day. All big words when the wind blows his way, but it can easily shift. I’d be careful if I were you.” He picked up a phone and went on a scroll. All the while I just stood there, looking at the emptiness of his office. There wasn’t a single thing hinting that we weren’t just standing in a cardboard display occupiable by anybody. No memorabilia, not so much as a coat. Then I forced myself to look at him, spite rising. Ratty eyes, ratty features, ratty walk and a ratty roll on the R’s when he talked. Cortez was only a couple years older than me, and for some unfathomable reason there he was. Rocking a corner office that resembled a scrub, with an honorary title of COO earning just as much as I did on a good month. I’d done the math, looked him up. Yet somehow, in his world, he was king of the mongrels. Being all ratty must’ve clouded his vision. He’d made it. Climbed all the way to the top on his pink little legs.
“Cortez,” I exhaled. “Get him on the payroll, fasttrack it. And get me a damn fine cup of steaming java.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Just messing with you Mr Rolex. Relax. He’ll start tomorrow. Or the day after. Whenever. Pull up the contract.”
I was about to exit through the glass wall when he tapped at the cheap desk.
“Yes?”
“He starts next week with the new batch.”
“Yeah?”
“Get back to work,” he commanded, shooing me away with his wrist while looking at his fingernails.
“Whatever you say Candyman.”
“Watch it, Max.”
“Yes boss! Anything else boss?”
He replied something but I was already out the door, walking into a mist of sweat and roaring voices trying to deafen the latest smash-hit from DJ Pineapple or some other top 100 flavor of the month. I walked the short distance to Benny, past Fadhi who patted my shoulder like he thought I’d just come out of the receiving end of a beating. Beady eyes from all over the floor followed my stroll. Peering over their computers, compulsive glances. The entire sty spun around with their two dollar headsets, clad in a guise of worry, like they all thought the same thing—I’d been had. I slumped down in my chair. Benny was in the middle of a call, looking at me while he wiped away imaginary snot.
“That’s right Sam. Do you mind if I call you Sam?”
He tossed me a cleanax, and that’s when it clicked. My nose was bleeding. I looked around myself, eyes of my peers averting just before I could catch them, spun my back towards them, head tilted back and wiped off.
“Now for the price of what you’re paying today I can upgrade you, throw in a couple of premium channels, and a box free of charge. How does that sound Sam? It sure does. Now I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. You said you liked sports Sam. Well here’s the deal…”
I rolled my eyes at him, plugged into the headset and pressed enter. The dialer tooted its disapproval. Tapping Teddy’s number into the console, I re-routed the call. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“It’s Teddy. Who this?”
“Why hello there mister Theodore. How are you this fine morning?”
“Max?”
“Sure is. Now I’m calling to inquire about your current TV setup, and I’m particularly interested in hearing about what you do in the middle of the woods on a Friday night. If you were to find yourself in such a conundrum.”
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“What the hell are you on about? You at work?”
“He he he… You don’t say! Now I don’t mean to intrude Jimmy, but I really do need to know what you’re doing in the woods at night.”
Benny was staring all blank at me while reading the contract for one Monochrome S Level TV Subscription. Two desks over, Harry, some new Ricky Martin-looking kid, seethed in silence as Benny took a verbal stroll down victory lane.
“I’m alive. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“Well as much as I’m pleased to hear that Jane, I’d like you to elaborate. Terribly sorry, I meant to say Eve.”
“What about it?”
“Are you happy with your current supplier?”
“Can you cut this cryptic shit! What the hell do you want?”
“I understand. But do they also provide fornication?”
I could hear a faint gasp.
“I’m going to assume that they do. Congratulations, you are better off as it is. May I say one last thing before we end the call?”
“I’m not gonna fucking tell you about it.”
“You got a job. Con-fucking-gratulations you little shit. I’ll text you the details.”
I hung up, put the headset down and pushed off a lap in the chair. Unbelievable. Teddy had done did it. By what hidden workings of the universe, I didn’t bother investigating, but it sure as bits wasn’t on his own accord. He must’ve had help from the other side, odds stacked in his favor over the ether. Nonetheless, a warmth bubbled up inside. We’d made it, cracked the mold and broken free.
I stopped in Benny’s general direction. He rounded off Sammy real nice, slipped his headset off around his neck.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“What? With Cortez?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing. You’ll see.”
“Okidoki then. I'll mark that up as number seven today. You’re gonna have to try harder if you want to beat me.” He tried to look superior but I couldn’t believe him. If I’d called him out on it he’d probably apologize and offer to buy me lunch. Management had banged their heads together in an effort to boost the office morale, putting on an office-wide sales contest where three lucky winners would cash in big. How big, they wouldn’t say, but after some squeezing and extorting, Fadhi had spilled that it involved a plasma TV and an iPad. Naturally the entire floor already knew, and management really had outdone themselves. The phones were running hot, downtime was minimal. Abdhi hadn’t once put a newspaper under his arm, pulled up his imaginary suspenders and commenced his geriatric walk to the loo for a routine thirty minute shitter. Benny had the lead, me close behind, and there was a fierce battle going on in the midfield, contestants keen on not losing positions in the slipstream.
“It’s just a contest Benny-boy. And none of these peasants stand a chance. You want the plasma? So you take first place. I’m perfectly fine with an iPad. I’ll just sell it anyway.”
“But you’ll be able to sell the TV for more.”
“And I’ll give you sleepless nights in the process,” I said and winked. “Nah Benny-boyo. Now be a nice lad and go write it up on the scoreboard. I suggest you walk real slow when you pass Ricky Dynamite. He hasn’t sold shit all day. You might inspire him. Parade for the conscripts y’know. You up for beers with Teddy later? Ali, maybe, yes?”
He nodded in response, soared out of frame. Ricky Martin was staring at us. Not even concealing it, just a big old grumpy stare. Real cocky bastard he was. Sold on his first day and no good it did him. Rose to his head. Mouth going off at every smoke break about how this and that fucked him over, by the skin of his teeth Agatha slipped away from him. Now here he was, as close to our corner as you could possibly come – he’d even requested it – moving fuck-all. I lifted my hand towards him as if to propose a toast, but he just shook his head. No champagne. I oi’ed for Fadhi who was monitoring some new girl’s calls.
“What’s up?”
“I’m leaving early today.”
“How many have you sold?”
“Five.”
“Ok. That’s good. Not great, but it’s good.” He looked to the ceiling, doing his usual theatrical pause where he waits until I feel an inferiority complex coming on and promise him riches. It was working.
“So I’m out of here after two more.”
“You said four more? Sure Max. Four more and you do whatever you want mon frére.”
“Gheesh. Four?! Nobody else sells nine in a day ever.”
“Nobody else waltzes out of her before closing and lets his ghost cash checks either. Is it too steep for you?”
“Twat,” I said and straddled the headset.
“Max,” he muffled over the ringtone. “I’ll throw something major in the mix if you pull it off, yeah?”
“Whatever. Can we get rid of Cortez? I’ll stay until midnight if you get rid of him.”
“Haha! You don’t like him? Trust me. You’ll like the surprise.”
“Fadhi?”
“Yes? I need to take a leak! Hurry up.”
“Got some more candy?”
“Sure,” he replied, scanning around himself for eavesdroppers, and then continued in a semi-whisper. “I’ll leave you some at the same spot.” He smiled and waddled off like some child about to piss itself. When Fadhi told me that he’d started doing tram, it didn’t come as a shock, but when he went on, sharing the tidbit of science that Tramadol is the perfect drug for televending, my interest piqued. Apparently he’d learnt it from a guy up on thirteen. A longtimer who’d been running the numbers, testing his hypothesis together with a handful of colleagues. Whenever he gave them tram, their numbers went up around 20 percent over the span of a month. So when Fadhi offered me some when I had a hard time getting up to speed, still struggling to muster a will to live after the comedown post-weekend with Nan… well he’s a saint among heathens.
Teddy was quick to respond to my invitation, as was Ali. Nine o’clock sharp at Bretskji Square. I pretended to make calls, waiting for Fadhi to relieve himself, and as the door opened, him looking my way, doing as subtle a nod as only an Arab can do, relief was instant.