Black Buck(29)

Reader: This is true. It’s the twenty-first century, so secretaries are no longer just women, but regardless, a large part of getting to the right person is by befriending the gatekeeper so they pass you along, give you information, and become an ally—not an enemy.



Frodo smirked. The Duchess yawned. I felt like I was going to be sick.

“Buck.”

Shit. Oh no. It felt like I was tied to a railroad track waiting for a bloody collision as a train hurtled toward me, its lights shining through the dark.

“I’m Harry Johnson. VP of people at McDonald’s. Call me.”

I took a breath. Without doing any of Frodo’s stupid hang-loose shit, I said, “Ring ring.”

“Harry here.”

“Hi, Harry, this is Darren calling from Sumwun. How are you?”

“Hi, Darren, I’m great. How are you?”

“Pretty good, enjoying the nice, uh, nice—”

“Nice what, Darren? Hello? Are you still there? Were you just about to talk about the weather? The FUCKING WEATHER LIKE I KNOW YOUR BOSS TOLD YOU TO NEVER TALK ABOUT BECAUSE IT’S BORING AND ONLY DISCUSSED BY BORING PEOPLE? Fuck!” Clyde grabbed my elbow hard, yanked me up out of my chair, and walked me over to the windows.

“Look outside, Buck,” he ordered. “What do you see?”

“Buildings.” I was now officially ill.

“That’s right,” he said, patting my back. “If you ever bring up the weather again, I’m going to throw you through this fucking window and make sure you never see those buildings from this view again. Understand?”

Clyde somehow resembled Jack Nicholson in both The Shining and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. His teeth were bared, gelled clumps of blond hair hung down over his eyes, and he was breathing like a feral animal.

I had never let anyone speak like that to me before, and while I didn’t want to let it fly, I knew, as Mr. Rawlings said, that it was all a part of the game and that real men were judged by how much they could withstand. So I nodded.

“The Duchess. Call Harry. Same guy Buck felt compelled to discuss the weather with.”

Her performance was flawless.

Clyde, finally satisfied, dialed a few numbers into the phone on the table.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, it’s Clyde. Grab Eddie and Marissa, and come to Bhagavad Gita.”



* * *





Marissa, Eddie, and Tiffany, senior SDRs who’d already hit their numbers, stood at the head of the room and inspected us as if we were cattle. With arms crossed, Tiffany grinned, and asked, “Who’s first?”

“Wait,” Eddie said. “Let’s get a temperature check. How’re you all doing?”

Frodo and I shrugged. The Duchess said, “Fine, how much longer do we need to be in here?”

“As long as it takes, rich bitch,” Tiffany snapped. “You three must be the most pathetic group of SDRs I’ve ever seen.”

The rest of the session was traumatizing. By lunchtime, I felt as if I’d been mauled by Mike Vick’s dogs. Fortunately, lunch was catered.

The event space’s marble island overflowed with yellow rice, pinto beans, spotted tortilla shells, chicken, steak, sautéed onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and green peppers. The three of us returned to Bhagavad Gita without a word. Frodo had taken double of everything, and it barely fit on two oversize plates, the Duchess had made herself a small taco salad, and I went with a modest steak burrito.

“So, how’d you all hear about Sumwun?” Frodo asked, as a mouthful of salty juices trickled down his chin.

“I met Rhett at Starbucks,” I said, trying to be casual.

“Is that what happened?” the Duchess asked. She impaled pieces of chicken and lettuce with her fork, likely performing culinary voodoo on someone.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“What were you doing at Starbucks?” she asked.

“How did you get here?” I deflected.

“My father plays squash with Clyde’s father at the Greenwich Country Club,” she replied, like I should have known. The truth is, I hadn’t known squash was anything other than a vegetable until I was fifteen.

“And?” Frodo asked, pausing to swallow an overambitious mouthful.

“And Clyde told me about the role, gave me some guidance, and now I’m here with you two specimens of excellence.”

“Guidance?” I asked. “Like what?”

“Like how to role-play and do the job, what else? Nothing special.”

Nothing special. No wonder she wasn’t getting destroyed in the role-plays. She had connections. Connections, like treasury bonds, are issued to every rich white person upon exiting the womb. Whenever one of them gets high and crashes their parents’ car, whenever they get busted for buying coke from an undercover, whenever they get caught messing with the wrong gangsters on vacation, they make a call, send a text, or whip out their AMEX.

Reader: One of the most important keys to success in sales is focus. Never let anything or anyone throw you off track, especially people who seem to be born with it all.



Frodo, having managed to swallow more than he could chew, breathed with relief. “Yeah, my recruiter also coached me. Sumwun was actually the sixth place I interviewed at. When Clyde saw I was a D1 tackle at Notre Dame, all he asked was if I was prepared to work harder here than I had on the field. After I said yes, I got the job. By the way,” he said, setting his dripping taco down and turning to me, “has anyone ever told you that you look like Dave Chappelle?”