“No, Floyd. No. Don’t ever think that.”
“The very first time I fell in love I was eleven, and she was a saucy little redhead named Ruthie. A very advanced ten. Sophisticated. I saved a buck thirty-nine and bought one hell of a big valentine heart full of candy and went shivering to her door that Sunday morning. She came to the door and I held it out and said, ‘Duh... uh... duh...’ She snatched it away, and her eyes lighted up and she gave me the most electrical smile in all the world and she squealed, ‘Tommy sent it! Tommy made you bring it to me!’ I hadn’t put any card in it, so all I could do was walk slowly away.”
“I could kill her! I could kill her!”
“The rest of the average story of my life goes like this. It obligated me to mend my wounds by bashing Tommy about. So I found a chance to pick a fight with him, and he beat the hell out of me. So you can see, Miss Cory, that when a beautiful woman swoons into my arms, my history makes me skeptical.”
“I’m not beautiful. I’m a dreary, scrawny broad.”
“And I am a dreary little husband, girl.”
“Keep using that word tomorrow, Floyd. Husband. I despise poachers.”
“Go to bed, Cory. Rest up for the battle. When are you coming over?”
“Midmorning, I guess. Sleep well, my darling.”
“You too.” He heard the sound of a sigh, a kiss, a clack of hanging up.
After the light was out he thought, Hubbard isn’t ready, but she is. The thief said, “I was just walking down the street minding my own business and this here wallet bounced right into my hand.”
But it would be so damned unfair. Jan has so little chance to compete in Cory’s league....
Yet he had a vivid textural memory of Cory’s lips, of the sleekness and warmth of her back, of the small hardnesses of her breasts against his chest.
Who would have to know? Who could be hurt?
Five
On the morning of the first full day of the convention, Connie Mulaney stood one step behind her husband and looked at him in the full-length mirror as he tied his tie.
“What are you cooking up, Jesse? I want to know.”
“Cooking up? Who’s cooking anything up, honey?”
“You have that look.”
He spun around. “What kind of a look am I supposed to have? I’m under a hell of a lot of pressure. Maybe it shows. I can’t help that. My God, Connie, I’m doing the best I can. I’m working hard. How about that speech last night? You saw how well it went over.”
“You did very well, dear. You always do.”
“I’ve got to run a committee meeting, starting at ten.”
“So you’ve been telling me.” She reached and adjusted the knot of the tie, patted it, stepped back. “That’ll have to do.”
As they walked toward the nearby elevators he said, “How’d you get along with Floyd Hubbard? I saw you were sitting next to him.”
“He’s a very nice boy, Jesse.”
“Did he seem to like my speech?”
“He seemed impressed.”
They stood waiting for the elevator. “Somehow, I can’t get to know him.”
“Why not, dear? He seems easy to know.”
“For one thing, he won’t let his hair down. He lays back. Weak drinks and damn few of those. He’s one of those guys who’d check and raise. A damn sandbagger if I’ve ever seen one.”
As they got onto the elevator she said, “Now, dear, a man can be entirely human and still not go hog crazy at a convention.”
“Like our grandson says, honey, that fella bugs me.”
“I don’t see why he should.”
“No matter where I am, I got the feeling he’s seven feet behind me and off to one side, listening and watching.”
When they were seated at a table for two and had ordered breakfast, he brought Hubbard up again. “He said he doesn’t know anything about selling, but he’s certainly memorized all that crap in the GAE management manual. One thing he asked me last night. He wanted to know what I thought about the idea of changing over to dividing up the sales force by products instead of into geographical areas.”
“What did you tell him, dear?”
“I just told him we’d been up one side of that and down the other up in New York, and I think a good knowledge of an area, and a good warm personal relationship with all potential customers makes more sense than all this crap about knowing one part of the line inside and out. I told him my men are salesmen, not technical consultants.”
“What did he say?”
“I guess he didn’t say much of anything, but I guess he saw my side of it. Then he brought up some egghead idea of teaming up an engineer and a salesman, but I knocked that down quick. I told him that the quickest way to kill a sale is bring in the technical boys too early, because they can always think of a dozen reasons why an installation won’t work out. I say nail the sale down, then make the damn thing work.”
“I guess he’s anxious to learn from you, dear.”
“If he’d listen, I could teach him one hell of a lot. But I wish to God he’d stop working for a couple of minutes. If he’d have six drinks and find him a friendly little girl, he’d get a more tolerant attitude toward the sales division.”
“And give you a chance for a little gentle blackmail?”
“Who said anything about blackmail?”
“Don’t raise your voice, darling. And don’t look so innocent and indignant. Remember me? I’ve been around a long time. I’ve seen you work it before at conventions. I remember that fearless state senator in Nashville that time.”
Mulaney grinned. “The one that was going to nail us on kickbacks? Hell, yes! By the third day he was following me around like a little puppy dog, because I’d opened up a brand new world for that poor love-starved man.”
“It won’t work with Floyd, dear. Maybe he isn’t righteous, but I think he’s terribly careful.”
They ate in silence for a few moments. “At least,” Jesse said in a slightly surly tone, “we’ve got the top exhibit in the place.”
“Have we?”
He dropped his fork with a clatter and stared at her. “What’s wrong with it, Con? You saw it. You saw the attention it’s getting.”
“And I saw a look of pain on Hubbard’s face, dear. What’s getting the attention? AGM products? Or those cheap twins wiggling their butts in unison? It’s typically a Freddy Frick idea. Vulgar, sensational and sexy. Even Cass is visibly uneasy about it. It doesn’t exactly tie in with the magazine campaign, does it?”
“Woman, this isn’t a magazine. This is a convention.”
“And anything goes? Anything for a laugh?”
He glanced at his watch, glared at her and stood up. “I’ve got to go. Sign the check. Thanks for the big boost to the morale, honey.”
She watched him stride out of the restaurant. Her eyes were stinging, and she tried to smile. The dear, dear vulnerable fool. Met him when he was a drummer. Day coaches, rooming houses, the heavy sample case, the small stores in the sleepy towns. And so little had changed, actually. The cigars were more expensive. But the jokes and the laugh were the same. And those truly horrid suits in that electric blue he loves, and the wide silk ties, like photographs of fireworks. But he isn’t mean. Thank God, he isn’t mean. He’s just scared.
On that same morning, Farber of GAE flew to Houston from New York on a quick inspection tour and conferred with John Camplin, the new executive vice president of the American General Machine Division of GAE. They were both trim tailored men in their early forties, so much the same type they gave the impression of being related.
After the more urgent problems had been talked over, and decisions reached, Farber said, “You’re shaping it up faster than anybody expected, John. And it takes me off the hook for insisting on moving you into the hot seat.”