Black Buck(42)

Charlie said a lot of things, including that marketing was going to set us each up with a list of leads to call on Monday. But the most important thing he said was about a “sort of tradition.” He leaned back in his chair before resting his tall leather moccasins on his desk. No lie, I was waiting for him to pull out a beaver pelt and tell us how he snared it.

“I want you to come up with a wish list of three people you don’t know or have any connection to. And who are well-known, even celebrities.”

“For what?” the Duchess asked.

“One second, I’m getting there. If you successfully qualify and hand off any of the people on your list, you’ll automatically be promoted to AE.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Just like that?”

He snapped his fingers twice. “Just like that.”

“Even if we do it on our first day?” Frodo asked, looking like a fool. The guy was even wearing Sumwun socks and slippers.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, but no SDR has ever done it. And I have to approve your list. So take a few minutes and let me know.”

Frodo picked the head of the NFL, the president of Ford Motors and, after Charlie told him he couldn’t put down a no-name Southern girl band, the head of HR at Wendy’s. The Duchess picked the heads of Yves Saint Laurent, Chanel, and Hermès.

“What about you, Buck?” Charlie asked. “Who do you got?”

I blanked and said the first three people who came to mind: “Bernie Aiven, head of Hinterscope Records; Stefan Rusk, head of SpaceXXX; and Barry Dee, that guy all over YouTube who owns that big media company, DaynerMedia.”

“Okay, it’s settled. You all have your wish lists, you’ll get your leads on Monday, you got your gear, you passed your role-plays, and best of all, you got me. So we’re set.”

“Do we have a team name?” Frodo asked, struggling to pull a sticker off his sunglasses.

Charlie slapped his forehead. “Oh, yeah! How could I forget? All of you are now proud members of NWA.”

My hand instinctively curled into a lead fist, and I had to consciously uncurl it before I popped Charlie, who, up until that point, I thought was an all right guy. All I managed to say was “What?”

“Oh, right,” he said, covering his mouth. “No, it’s not what you think, Buck, I swear. It stands for Negotiators with Attitude. Each team adapted names from different hip-hop groups to be salesy, you know, like a fun way of switching things up. C’mon, the last thing anyone here is is racist.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, awaiting absolution.

I just stared at him. He went on to explain what the other SDR teams were named.

Prospect-tang Clan



Tupac ShaCall



A Tribe Called Qualify



De La Sales



LauRing Hill





Christ. This is what happens when you have a company with zero Black people in it.

“Okay. Now what?” the Duchess asked.

“Now,” Charlie said, running a hand through his hair, avoiding the Duchess’s eyes lest she turn him to stone, “you can review our systems, shadow some calls, and pray we hit our number.”



* * *





Five o’clock arrived, and we still had forty-eight thousand left to go.

The sales floor, which was usually louder than Times Square on New Year’s, quieted down, and a dense fog of anxiety descended.

Rhett would come out of his office, stare at the whiteboard, bite his fingernails, then walk back in with a different closer, no doubt doing everything in his power to hit the number.

“It’s never taken this long,” Marissa said, walking past our row of desks with a baby bottle in Clifford’s snout. “Three, maybe four-thirty the latest, but never five on a Friday. What if—”

“Don’t say it,” Eddie said.

“I’m nervous, Buck,” Frodo said across from me. “Real nervous.” I’m sure he was, but it was hard for me to take him seriously in his Sumwun sunglasses, hat, hoodie, slippers, socks, and backpack. Yes, he was sitting down but he still wore his backpack.

I turned to Charlie, who was next to me. “Hey, Charlie,” I whispered, tapping his shoulder. “Are we going to hit?”

“I don’t know,” he said, typing away. “It’s never gone this late, and the fact that Rhett or Clyde hasn’t said anything makes me worried.”

Around six, Clyde came out of Rhett’s office, shaking his head. He walked to his desk, which was, by the grace of God, rows away from mine. When he picked his head up, the entire floor looked away.

“Listen,” he said, standing. “We knew it was a long shot and that we were trying to do something most startups frankly never even get close to doing. So I’m just going to say it right now. We didn’t hit.”

The entire floor moaned. Tears welled up in their eyes. Even Frodo, who had taken his sunglasses off, was sobbing.

“This isn’t happening,” someone said.

“Yeah,” Charlie muttered. “This can’t be real. If it is, we’re all in trouble.”

Trouble? I knew hitting twelve months in a row was an important milestone, but damn.

“I’m sorry to say that it is happening,” Clyde said, walking around, grabbing shoulders, consoling his constituency like a benevolent priest. “We’ll still have a small celebration, though. For effort, because we all worked hard this month. I know we did.”