“We have a number of draft packagings,” Gosling put in, fumbling in his brief case. “Naturally it all depends on the kind of tablet: the shape and size and colour.” He placed a number of tubular containers wrought in glass and plastics of various colours on the table, then a handful of folded card board boxes resembling toothpaste tubes. E.J. surveyed them all critically.
“Antiquated,” she said. “The day of the cardboard container is finished. As I see it the container for Sterilin must be ultra-modern, imaginative, self-dispensing, automatic. Above all, it must be feminine.”
Gosling toyed with a pink tube. “These can be adapted. They’re purely basic. The logotype can be transfer printed on to the case.”
“I don’t want a tube of aspirins,” E.J. stated dogmatically. “I don’t want a tube of anything. A tube is the wrong shape. It’s masculine. I want something feminine.”
Gorste, intrigued by E.J.’s line of attack, found himself trying to think of a typical feminine shape, but his mind remained blank.
“A compact, for instance,” E.J. went on, “a cavity that opens: pretty, perfumed, even heart-shaped and gilded. The tablets must be packed flat, side by side. See what I mean.”
“Yes, E.J.,” Gosling murmured. “It could be done.”
“I want Sterilin to be packed like a cosmetic, an aid to feminine allure. When you get down to fundamentals that’s what it will mean.” Then, to Pettifer: “Do you agree?”
Pettifer nodded glumly, interlacing his skeletal fingers. “I must confess I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way. I’d always regarded the estrogen derivative as a clinical product. You seem to have putthe thing in a completely different light, E.J.”
“A logical light, I hope, Mr. Pettifer. Sterilin is going to influence the whole moral climate of our society, of every society in the world. I have the export market in view, too. There will be no need for subterfuge. Sterilin will set women free, release them from the subconscious fear of pregnancy that has always inhibited their relationships with men. The packaging must be in tone with that concept. We have a good name. All we need now is a good package.”
“You’re right,” Pettifer conceded reluctantly.
E.J. waved a disdainful hand at the cluster of tube and containers on the table. “Take them away, Mr. Gosling. Think again — in terms of cosmetics.”
“A gilded compact,” breathed Gosling incredulously. “That’s a basic proposition,” said E.J. “Take it from there. No tubes or bottles or pill boxes. Something glamorous and enchanting. The package in itself should stimulate sales.”
“I’ll work on it, E.J.,” Gosling affirmed.
E.J. paused, looking around the table once more. Again her eyes made contact with Gorste’s, and this time they stayed with him, piercing him hypnotically with more than a hint of friendliness. Tentatively, he held her gaze, striving to inject a quality of admiration into his expression without knowing why, but presently he looked down at the table, then at his fingers which were tapping lightly and nervously on the polished wood.
“We have gone as far as we can go in the technical sense,” E.J. stated. “Product name and packaging are both defined. We are now waiting on the research department. perhaps Mr. Gorste would like to give us an assessment of future development in the light of what we have already discussed”
Gorste swallowed painfully against a dry tongue, cursing himself for his nerves. Why should a woman like E.J. Wasserman unsettle him? She was remote, elderly (even if well preserved), with a type of mind completely alien to his own kind of psychology. And yet he was very conscious of her, even though his eyes were stubbornly directed towards the table and his fingers. His voice, when he spoke, sounded fiat and toneless in his ears; that pleased him to some extent, for he felt that it made him sound matter-of-fact, almost laconic.
He said: “Well, E.J., it has been most interesting for me, a what you might call ‘backroom boy’ of the company, to sit in on a conference of this type and hear something of a side of the business completely unknown to me. I… I must confess that I have never thought of estrogen derivative, formula three nine two, as a cosmetic. There is nothing glamorous about a dead monkey or a slice of simian ovary under a microscope. Perhaps I tend to get out of touch with the realities of the world of industry and commerce.”
He waited for a moment, pleased at the trend of his discourse, and satisfied with the dead-pan sound of his words. Briefly he glanced up and caught E.J.’s eyes. She was still watching him intently.
“You talk about tablets,” he continued. “The fact is we are still far from the tablet stage. The estrogen derivative, as it exists, is only effective when injected directly into the blood plasma. Weyland is experimenting with an ingestible formula, but results so far haven’t been particularly encouraging. It might be completely false to assume that a tablet type of estrogen would have the same long-term effect as the plasma type. For example, it might not sustain sterility for six months at all, perhaps not even for six weeks”
“It is my experience,” E.J. said quietly, “that every new drug introduced by this company started as an injection. But in nearly every case our research biochemists were able to produce an ingestible type in a palatable form.” Her voice became softer, more personal. “I feel sure that Mr. Gorste and his staff will produce the kind of tablet we require for our sales campaign.”
“Possibly,” said Gorste “It will take time. To my mind all this talk of advertising and packaging is premature. The product as such does not even exist at the present time.”
“But as soon as it does exist we shall have it on the market with the minimum of delay,” E.J. pointed out. “These things take time. To lose even eight weeks of selling time might mean a loss of many thousands of pounds to the company. That is why we are making our plans early.”
Gorste said: “One other thing worries me: what you might call the ethics of sales promotion. I am a scientist, and I think in terms of the abstract. If what I am producing is a contraceptive, then it seems objectionable to me that the thing should be exploited as some kind of — of cosmetic.”
“Don’t confuse the packaging with the product,” E.J. interrupted. “The object of the package is to sell, and when I referred to a cosmetic compact I was merely indicating the type and style of container I visualized for Sterilin. Many products sell on package style alone.”
“With this product there is no necessity for a selling package,” Gorste insisted. “If it is any good it will sell itself.
It would be unethical to promote the thing by an intensive sales campaign, or by employing underhand techniques — glamour compacts, for instance. We are still on clinical ground.”
E.J.’s smile was kindly and almost condescending. “I’m afraid you are confused on fundamentals, Mr. Gorste, but for a scientist that is perhaps understandable. Sales pro motion is an essential part of any industry, and in some cases it can even be more important than the product. A good promotion campaign and a good package can sell a bad product, but when you have a good product you can’t go wrong. Turnover increases, profits rise, and the shareholders get bigger dividends. And dividends are the life’s blood of any commercial venture”
Gorste said nothing, and his very silence registered disapproval.
“It’s a subtle viewpoint,” E.J. continued “One that takes a great deal of time to explain to one accustomed to thinking in the abstract. I don’t propose to delay matters by dealing with it now, but later — after the conference is finished — perhaps you might like to come to my office. I’ll try to present the facts of business life to you more clearly.”