"I do remember.”
Celia considered, then she asked, "Is the other criticism important?" "To you?" Sam shook his head.”I don't think so.”
At home, during the evenings and weekends which followed, Celia worked on her sales meeting speech. In the quiet, comfortable study-den she and Andrew enjoyed sharing, she surrounded herself with papers and notes. Watching her one Sunday, Andrew observed, "You're cooking up something, aren't you?" "Yes," she admitted, "I am.”
"Will you tell me?" "I'll tell you later," Celia said.”If I tell you now, you'll try to talk me out of it.”
Andrew smiled and was wise enough to leave it there. 7
"I know that most of you are married," Celia said, looking out over the sea of male faces that confronted her, "so you know how it is with us women. We're often vague, we get mixed up, and sometimes forget things altogether.”
"Not you, sharp girl," someone near the front said softly, and Celia smiled swiftly, but continued. "One of the things I've forgotten is how long I'm supposed to speak today. I've a vague notion of someone mentioning ten to fifteen minutes, but that couldn't possibly be right, could it? After all, what woman could make herself intimately known to five hundred men in that short time?" There was laughter and, from the back of the convention hall, a broad Midwestern voice.”You can have as much of my time as you want, baby!" This was followed by more laughter, wolf whistles, and cries of, "Same here!", "Take all you need, kiddo!" Leaning closer to the microphone in front of her on the speakers' platform, Celia responded, "Thank you! I was hoping someone would say that.”
She avoided meeting the eyes of Sam Hawthorne, watching her intently from a few seats away. It was Sam who, earlier that day, had told Celia, "At the opening of a sales meeting everybody feels their oats. That's why the first day is mostly hype. We try to get all the guys worked up---tell those who are in from the field how great they are, what a topnotch outfit Felding-Roth is, and how happy we are to have them on the team. After that, for the next two days, we get down to more serious business.”
"Am I part of the hype?" Celia had asked, having observed from the program that she would be speaking during the after-noon of the first convention day. "Sure, and why not? You're the only female we have actively selling, a lot of the guys have heard about you, and all of them want to see and hear something different.” Celia said, "I must try not to disappoint them.”
At the time, she and Sam had been walking on Park Avenue, shortly after breakfasting at the Waldorf with several others from the company. In an hour the sales convention would begin. Meanwhile they were enjoying the mild and sunny April morning. Clear fresh breezes were sweeping through Manhattan and springtime proclaimed itself in massed tulips and daffodils on Park Avenue's central malls. On either side, as always, were noisy, never ceasing streams of multilane traffic. On sidewalks a tide of hurrying inbound office workers swirled around Sam and Celia as they strolled. Celia, who had driven in from New Jersey early that morning and would stay for the next two nights at the Waldorf, had dressed carefully for this occasion. She had on a new tailored jacket and skirt of navy blue, with a white ruffled blouse. Celia knew that she looked good and that the combination was a happy blend of business crispness and femininity. She was also glad to have shed the glasses which she had always disliked; contact lenses, suggested by Andrew on their honeymoon, were now a permanent part of her life. Sam said suddenly, "You decided not to show me a draft of your speech.”
"Oh dear!" she acknowledged.”It seems I forgot.”
Sam raised his voice to be heard above the traffic.”It might seem that way to others. But not to me, because I know there's almost nothing you forget.”
As Celia was about to reply, he silenced her with a gesture.”You don't need to answer that. I know you're different from others who work for me, which means you do things your own way, and so far you've mostly done them right. But I'll offer just a word of warning, Celia-don't overreach. Don't leave caution too far behind. Don't spoil a damn good record by trying to do too much, or move too fast. That's all.”
Celia had been silent and thoughtful as they turned, crossed Park Avenue on a green light, and headed back toward the Waldorf. She wondered: would what she had in mind for this afternoon be overreaching? Now, with the sales convention under way, and as she faced the entire sales force of Felding-Roth in the Waldorf's Astor Room, she realized she was about to find out. Her audience was mostly salesmen--detail men-plus supervisors and district managers, all from outposts of the company as far apart as Alaska, Florida, Hawaii, California, the Dakotas, Texas New Mexico, Maine and places in between. For many it was their only direct contact, every other year, with their superiors at company headquarters. It was a time for camaraderie, the reviving of enthusiasm, the implantation of new ideas and products, and even -for some--a renewal of idealism or dedication. There were also some boisterous high spirits directed toward womanizing and drinking-ingredients found at any sales convention of any industry anywhere. "When I was invited to speak to you," Celia told her audience, "it was suggested that I describe sonie of my experiences as a detail woman, and I intend to do that. I was also cautioned not to say anything serious or controversial. Well, I find that impossible. We all know this is a serious business. We are part of a great company marketing important, life-giving products. So we ought to be serious, and I intend to be. Something else I believe is that we who are working on the firing line of sales should be able to be frank, honest and, when necessary, critical with each other.”
As she spoke, Celia was conscious not only of the large audience of salesmen, but of a smaller one which occupied reserved seats in the front two rows: Felding-Roth's senior executives-the chairman of the board, president, executive vice president, vice president of sales, a dozen others. Sam Hawthorne, his near-bald head standing out like a beacon, was among the others. Eli Camperdown, as befitted the president and CEO, sat front and center. Beside him was the board chairman, Floyd VanHouten, now elderly and frail, but who had led and shaped the company a decade earlier. Nowadays VanHouten's duties were mainly limited to presiding at directors' meetings, though his influence , mained strong. "I used the word 'critical,' " Celia said into the microphone, "and that-though some of you may not like it-is what I intend to be. The reason is simple. I want to make a positive contribution to this occasion and not be merely ornamental. Also, everything I shall say is within the limits of the title I was handed, which is in the program: 'A Woman Looks at Pharmaceutical Detailing.' " She had their attention now, and knew it. Everyone was silent, listening. That had been her worry earlier-whether she could hold this audience. Coming off Park Avenue this morning and entering the
crowded, smoky, noisy anteroom where the sales force was assembling, Celia had experienced nervousness for the first time since agreeing to be a convention speaker. Even to herself she admitted the Felding-Roth sales convention was, at least for the time being, essentially a male exercise with its backslapping bonhomie, crude jokes, inane loud laughter, all to a background of unoriginal conversation. Celia lost count of the number of times today she had heard, "Long time, no see!" mouthed as if a novel, just-invented line. "Just as you do," she went on, "I care very much about this company we work for and the pharmaceutical industry of which we are a part. Both have done fine things in the past and will do more. But there also are things that are wrong, seriously wrong, especially with detailing. I would like to tell you what, in my opinion, these things are and how we could do better.”