Black Buck(25)

“Not bad. You need to sound a little more human, but good work.”

She just nodded, took a seat, and folded her hands as if nothing had happened.

“The best for last, right? Let’s get it, Buck,” he said, smiling.

“There are more than seven—”

“Christ!” Clyde shouted. “What the fuck is that?”

“What’s what?” I asked, confused.

“That,” he said, pointing a finger so close to my eye, I flinched. “That was worse than Frodo’s. You had no spirit, spoke with no conviction, and frankly sounded as flat as a deflated sex doll. Again.”

I took a breath. There’s no way in hell mine was worse than Frodo’s.

“There are more than seven billion people on earth, meaning that there are at least seven billion people with their own struggles, challenges, and ways of living,” I said, making sure I enunciated every word. “Seven billion people like you, who wake up, go to work, spend time with family, eat, love, and—”

“ANG!” he yelled. His gang chuckled, shaking their heads.

“You’re trash, brother,” he said, staring directly into my eyes. “You need to smile as you speak. When you’re on the phone with someone, they can’t see you and don’t know if you’re wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit or whatever Payless shit you have on now. So your voice is your appearance. A shitty voice, like the one you just spoke in, will make them think you buy your clothes from the clearance rack at Kmart. A strong, passionate voice will make them think you’re wearing Gucci, Versace, or whatever you and your dogs are into. Got it?”

Reader: That second-to-last sentence was racist as hell, but the previous ones were good advice. Write that down.



Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. If Ma had been there, watching this mayonnaise-loving, Seinfeld-watching, Columbus Day–celebrating asshole speak to me like that, she would’ve held me by the wrist and told me to breathe. So I did.

He walked behind me and brought his lips so close to my left ear, he was almost kissing it. “Again,” he whispered.

“There are more than seven billion people on earth—”

He thrust a hand into the air. “Wait! Something’s not quite right. Again.”

As I started, he took his iPhone out and showed one of his lackeys something. She laughed. I paused.

“Did I say to stop? Keep going.”

I continued.

“A little better,” he interrupted. “But still off. I’m going to level with you, Buck. I don’t think you believe the words you’re saying. Actually, I just don’t think you care. We’re going to stay here all day until you convince me that you do. Again.”

When I tell you that this went on for eight more hours, I mean that this went on for eight more hours. The Duchess, Frodo, and I did not take turns; they, along with different groups of sales reps, listened to me recite the same 266 words over and over and over again until my voice was hoarse. Toward the end, Clyde had me write the script from beginning to end until it covered every inch of Bhagavad Gita’s dry-erase walls.

A large part of me knew that none of this was right—that I was being targeted—but I wasn’t just doing this for myself, I was doing it for Ma, Mr. Rawlings, Soraya, and everyone else who believed in me. I just had to man up and take it.

After the sun set and the sounds of the office quieted down, Clyde looked up from his laptop and nodded. “One last time.”

I said the words. All of them. For what was likely the thousandth time that day. Frodo nodded off, and the Duchess, with arms folded across her chest, looked at me, infuriated.

I finished, and Clyde clapped his hands. Frodo woke and the Duchess sat up. “You’re almost there, Buck. Not quite, but almost. Either way, I’ll give you a pass. Tomorrow the real fun begins. Role-plays. After stretch, just come straight here. You’re all dismissed.”

As Frodo and the Duchess filed out, Clyde called out to me.

“Hey,” he said, nodding at a chair.

With everyone out of the room, Clyde—wearing what I would come to know as his signature outfit of a Brooks Brothers checkered button-down with a black or blue Patagonia vest, khaki Dockers, and penny loafers or boat shoes—looked up at me with guidance-counselor-like concern.

I opted to stand. “Yeah?”

“You sure this is for you? I’m asking as a friend because I know it’s not for everyone. Some people just aren’t suited for it, you know?”

I stared him dead in the eye. “I’m sure.”

“Okay, get some rest. Believe it or not, today was easy.”

Once I stepped into the elevator, someone yelled, “Hold it!” I caught the door, and Rhett jumped in. Despite it being the first day of Deals Week, he somehow retained his otherworldly sheen, as if nothing could faze him.

“Thanks, Buck.”

All of the day’s stress rushed out of me and I smiled. “No problem.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, bringing us eye to eye. “Hey, Buck. Sorry about this morning. I just can’t go easy whenever anyone is late to a Monday meeting. Or not on their A game. It wasn’t personal.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was. I understand.”

“Cool. How was your first day?”