Black Buck(78)

“Then you’re right at home, man. Look around. Everyone here is dressed just like you.”

He surveyed the room, grabbed a napkin, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “It doesn’t matter. This is too much. What’s the point? I thought you were going to teach me about sales.”

Reader: Watch closely and take notes. Sales isn’t about talent, it’s about overcoming obstacles, beginning with yourself.



“This is sales, Brian. You think you’re just going to call up random strangers and they’re going to give you the time of day out of nowhere? You need to learn how to build rapport, open people up, and keep them interested.”

“And how do I do that?” He drained his glass and waved it toward the bartender.

“By disarming them and establishing common ground as quickly as possible. The surest way to do that is to get them talking by asking open-ended questions. Like ‘What brings you here?’ ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Oh, nice tattoo. What’s it mean?’ Anything, man. Get creative. Just don’t be boring.”

He grabbed his second pint and gulped half of it down, visibly shaking like he was experiencing an earthquake no one else felt. “Look at me,” he said, finding my eyes with his own.

“We already went over this, man. Your clothes are fine.”

“No, Buck. I mean how I look. My face. It’s disgusting.”

I took a breath. “Don’t ever say that, Brian. Don’t you ever fucking say you’re disgusting. Do you understand?”

He raised his glass to his lips, and I grabbed his wrist before he could knock it back.

“You know how many people around the world, or even in this very fucking country, would kill to have your life? To be healthy and free? How many people, Black people, from only fifty years ago, wouldn’t believe that we’d be in this bar, drinking at a counter while white people sat around us?”

I thought of Mr. Rawlings. It was something he would say.

“I know, but—”

“But fucking nothing, Brian. Nothing you can ever say will justify you thinking that you’re less than. That because you have some acne you’re not worthy of a happy life. That you should be afraid of talking with a girl like that. So don’t ever give me that again. Because if you do, I won’t just stop investing my time in you, but I swear to God I’ll also give you another black eye. Now go over there and get that girl’s fucking number.”

Without a word, his hands still shaking, he got up and slowly walked toward her.

“Damn,” the bartender said behind me. “You’re like the Black Tony Robbins or something. Do you think he’ll get it?”

“A shot says he will,” I said.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll take you to dinner.”

“Deal.”

Brian tapped the girl on her shoulder. And when she turned around and smiled up at him, his shoulders relaxed a bit, and he cautiously took a seat. His face began to lose the cryogenically frozen look, thawing into a smile, then laughter, followed by raised eyebrows, smirks, and, I shit you not, a solid wink.

“It looks like your brother is killing it,” the bartender said. “I may end up owing you that shot.”

“He’s not my brother,” I replied. But I can’t lie; I did feel like a proud teacher.

The girl traced a polished nail across his wrist, then I saw it: the close. He took out his phone, handed it to her, and her face glittered in the candlelight as she punched in her name and number. A second later he leaned over, and they exchanged a kiss on each cheek. Then he got up and floated back toward the bar, a goofy-ass smile stuck to his face that made him look like a drugged-up tiger in a Thai zoo.

“So?”

“Yooooo,” he whispered, his eyes bulging out of their sockets like wet cotton balls.

“Act cool, man, act cool. What happened?”

Laughing, he scratched the back of his head. “I don’t really know, Buck. Honestly. I went over there, then she said I could sit because her friends had ditched her. I noticed a French accent, and I studied a little French in school, so we got to talking. She’s an au pair. Then she said I looked like a baby seal, which was weird, but I let it go, and we just kept talking until”—he took a gulp of water the bartender handed him—“until I took out my phone and we exchanged numbers!”

“Fuck yes. See? I told you that you could do it.” We bumped fists under the bar. “But listen, I don’t think she was calling you a baby seal. I think she was saying you look like a younger version of Seal.”

“Who’s that?”

“A singer.”

“Well, is he good looking?”

“He’s married to Heidi Klum. But remember, sales isn’t about how you look, man. It’s about the confidence you hold.”

He leaned back, sighing with relief. “Okay, but it’s still cool. So she’s into me. This is crazy. Can we do this every night?”

I laughed and slapped him on the back. “It gets old after a while, man. But sure, we can do this again. After your training is done.”

He left to go to the bathroom, and the bartender handed me my well-deserved shot. “It’s a shame you won’t be taking me out,” she said, pouting.