Lunch Is for Losers

By Thomas F. Kistner

Every morning the world wakes up and absolutely nothing happens until someone sells something to somebody was the favorite shibboleth of Rudy Kirsch, successful entrepreneur and owner and founder of Dynograph Security Systems and Amalgamated Development. His uncanny ability to understand sales types as he called salesmen and sales managers and his facility for recognizing talent and cutting through the smoke screen of empty glibness often proffered by mediocre and failed sales types served him well. The first step in becoming a successful salesman is recognizing you have to work your ass off and that gift of gab has very little to do with it, he would say, often in frustration.

This ability enabled Kirsch to put together a team of three very talented people and ask that they save what was left of his empire, namely Dynograph Security Systems. Amalgamated was established by Rudy ten years earlier when he became bored with Dynograph and left it in the incompetent hands of Mitch Feldman and his brother in law Bernie Klein. Now Rudy was in big trouble, up to his ears in debt both personal and business mostly as a result of the collapse of Amalgamated Development, one of the largest and most successful Florida home site sales organizations. Changes in the tax codes as well as much tougher administrative rules and regulations adopted by a variety of federal regulatory agencies all but killed the Florida land sale business.

Rudy had no choice but to roll up his sleeves and reassume command at Dynograph. He convinced Chet Landers, his dynamic and incredibly successful vice president of sales at Amalgamated to not only join him but to accept the challenge of doubling sales at Dynograph in twelve months or less. Rudy had grown to admire Chet both as a man and as a manager and gave him carte-blanch to straighten out the mess created by Mitch and Bernie, clean house and right the Dynograph ship and do it quickly or all would be lost.

Cast of characters:

Steve Holiday From washing machine repairman to legendary sales manager at Dynograph.

Chet Landers Football star, war hero, actor, TV icon, retirement consultant, incredible motivator, cleaned house and saved the day at Dynograph. Got rid of the vipers.

Ted Sternweiss Left his South Bronx upbringing behind him except for a terrific left hook, added a new dimension to sales at Dynograph.

Rudy Kirsch Understood sales types. Was a builder, the driving force behind it all. Became Chet Landers father many times.

Selma Kirsch Hated it all. Knew about Debra.

Debra Remington Rudys loyal executive assistant and lover of ten years.

Skippy Leonard Played trumpet for Arturo Toscanini and worked for Rudy Kirsch. Brought Chet Landers to Amalgamated Development to sell home sites in Florida.

Claude and Nadine a unit at an Amalgamated Development sales dinner.

David Frost Teds protg, sales super star. Friendship jeopardized in confusion of success.

Rose Holiday Jersey girl. Shows wisdom and insight near the end.

Howie Weinfeld A different kind of salesman. Had secret weapon.

Kevin Boyle Treachery was his middle name.

Dave Gordon He did it his way. He trusted no one.

Abby Sternweiss Of the Montgomery, Alabama Chennaults.

Mitch Feldman President of Dynograph. Gave Bernie Klein a free hand.

Bernie Klein Created a vipers nest at Dynograph while Rudy was away. He and Mitch loved it.

John Sullivan Viper.

Irv Norman Viper.

Don Vorhees Viper.

Meyer Chrystal Viper.

Sam Rizzo Not quite a Viper.

A

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 2, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462830992

Thomas F. Kistner

between stays at the Charleston, South Carolina V.A. Hospital where he underwent seven surgical procedures to remedy a severe case of diverticulitis. Still recovering, he has nothing but praise for the hospital and his surgeon, Dr. Derya Tagge. He writes about what he knows. He was a “spy” during the cold war, a professional politician serving five years as Executive Director of one of the most powerful county organizations in the East, as well as Director of Administrative Law for the State of New Jersey. Tom also spent two years in Denmark working as a ships rigger at a drydock in Copenhagen. He thinks of The Drydock and the Mermaid as his ode to Danmark and her people.

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Copyright © 2000 by Thomas F. Kistner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

It is my pleasure to dedicate Lunch is for Losers to Pete

Hemming and Jim Wyler.

CHAPTER ONE

Steve Holiday

Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain. Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain, recited Steve Holiday as he drove along Woodland Avenue on the way to his eleven o’clock appointment on Rahway Road in Plainfield. He was ahead of schedule but he made it a serious practice never to be late so he didn’t slow down. If I can’t sell this shit the least I can do is not sell it on time, he thought as he reached into his breast pocket to make certain he had business cards. It was a beautiful November morning and the multi-colored leaves were raked into neat piles in the gutters or on the lawns. He had been with Dynograph Security Systems for six months, was on his way to his twenty third appointment or sit and had yet to sell anything.

He did everything that Sam Brown had taught him during the intensive four week training session all new sales trainees go through but nothing worked. The people were always very nice and seemed to like him but they never bought the burglar and or fire alarm system he custom designed for them, sometimes after three hours of education. How the burglar works, the insidious nature of residential fire, an equipment demonstration: bells whistles, a careful survey of the prospects home, and the presentation of an on the spot proposal, terms and delivery schedule. They always wanted to think it over and when Steve followed up by phone they were as cold as ice and acted as if they barely remembered his sparkling presentation. It was very frustrating and if it wasn’t for the half commissions he made when he accompanied his manager, Don Vorhees, a six year veteran, on a sit he’d be bringing home no money at all. No salary, no expenses at Dynograph, he was told by Sam Brown during the hiring process, but we pay the highest commissions in the industry, up to twenty-five percent, counting bonus and manager’s override.

Steve was under pressure from his family and his in-laws to stop kidding himself and get a real job. He had been an appliance repairman for a year and a half before joining Dynogragh and was determined to succeed in sales and not have to go back to replacing drive belts in washing machines in smelly basements in Plainfield.

Look, one-sixty-five may not be earth shaking money, but it’s steady. You bring a check home every week—that’s stability, said his father in law, Gus, a few days earlier, referring to his previous job, you could help out down at my store, part time, to make up the difference. And besides, you know I’m always good for a few bucks, should you need … .

Gus, I can do this. I’ve got to do this. I know I’m as good as the guys I work with. If they can make six hundred bucks a week—I can make six hundred bucks a week.

Steve, I don’t want to be a ball buster, but when is this gonna happen? you haven’t sold one system on your own yet.

I don’t know, Gus, I just know I have to keep at it, I’ve been working on a new approach, an entirely different way of logically explaining how a small, simple, inexpensive system is virtually as good as a big expensive one … I can’t give up … not yet, said Steve meekly.

Steve pulled the two year old red Impala into the driveway and parked in a turn-around area to the side of the pavement. It was a nice two story red brick colonial sitting on a two acre elevated lot. He got out of the car, looked at his watch, he was ten minutes early, straightened his tie, picked up his briefcase, went to the trunk of the car, retrieved his 30 pound demo-case and started up towards the front door. Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain. He intoned as he mounted the stairs knowing that Jack and Mary Prospect were watching his every move through the drapery—sizing him up.

Steve Holiday was all New Jersey, born and bred in Fanwood, graduated Alexander Hamilton High School with a B average and struggled through three semesters at Bloomfield College before he ran out of money. He didn’t ask for help from Warren and Helen, his parents and they didn’t offer. He tried enlisting in the army but the physical examination uncovered Osteomyelitis in his leg. Not a severe case but certainly enough to disqualify him. It was the Summer of 1966 and like many 20 year old men, Steve was at loose ends, in the doldrums, a mess.

He wasn’t much for the Jersey shore scene and rarely made the trek down the Garden State Parkway to any one of the myriad of resort towns crowded with beautiful young people practicing their newly learned mating dances and rituals all day and all night long. The girls first browned their breasts before revealing them, to an acceptable degree, of course. They did the same with their buttocks, if they were of a reasonable proportions and their legs, bellies and faces. The boys threw around a football and sucked in their guts hoping some dream girl in a bikini would take notice of and a craving for their bulge. This went on all day on the beaches and a good part of the night in the local bistros. Many wonderful relationships were struck during this frenzy of hormone driven activity and while it is a recorded fact that thousands of young ladies and gentlemen lost their virginity and even started unexpected families each Summer it is also as certain as blue coal burns hot that nine out of ten of these young adventurers, after spending an evening of deep kissing, groping and fondling of breast meat and buttock flesh, retired to their respective beds and masturbated themselves into a sweet oblivion only to rise the next day and do it all over again.

Steve didn’t like the rat race at the shore, although when pressed he would also admit to being a little shy. He was very light skinned and didn’t take too well to the sun. He was not a big man but he carried his five feet, ten inch medium frame very well. He was blonde, wore glasses and was considered not too bad or even cute by most girls. He agreed to spend the long July fourth weekend with two high school buddies, Tony Frezza and Tom Mulligan at Tony’s parent’s summer house right on the ocean in Bay Head. He was starting a new job with Eastern Discount Appliances as a repair technician Tuesday morning and he figured, what the hell, a weekend down the shore—what could be better—before I start my new career. Tom had the car and they spent two and one-half hours on the Parkway edging their way down to Bay Head along with several hundred thousand other sweaty, testy, horny pilgrims on a holy mission to worship the great God, Erotica.

Stevie, finish your pancakes, I’m making more, said a smiling Maria Frezza, standing over the stove in her sun-lit kitchen.

Come on, mange, mange.

I’m fine, Mrs Frezza, I’ve had enough, honest, but I would like another cup of coffee.

More coffee coming up, said Nicholas Frezza as he moved toward the stove. You guys sleep alright last night?

Yeah, fine, Mr. Frezza, said Tom Mulligan.

Call me Nick, pouring the coffee.

Ok, Nick.

She’s Mrs Frezza, smacking Maria on her ample butt, but I’m Nick.

So, what are you boys going to be up to today? asked Maria.

Mama, what do you think these three young, healthy boys are going to be up to? asked Nick rhetorically.

Common, Pop, you got a one track mind, protested Tony.

The sun, she comes up every morning and when I was your age I know what else comes up every morning.

Pappa, now you stoppa that kind a talk, insisted Maria. These are good boys, they’re not like that.

Like what? he smiled, I hope they’re like that.

Come on you guys, let’s get out of here before he puts the wrong ideas in our heads, said Tony.

The four men walked out on to the front porch facing the Atlantic Ocean.

What a day, said Nick, just right, not too humid, not too hot, just right. Look at that view.

The three younger men stood there sharing the view with Nick, not wanting to be rude and going to Tom’s car too soon.

Now don’t you guys do anything I wouldn’t do, Nick laughed, where you gonna be heading?

Probably up to Manasquan, answered Tony.

Manasquan’s good, agreed Tom, ten minutes from here.

Manasquan’s a nice place, contributed Steve.

Best pussy in the state! hissed Nick, at least it was 25 years ago. Of course I wouldn’t know today being happily married and all.

They were stunned and stood silent for a minute.

Pop, what the hell you gotta say a thing like that for? asked Tony incredulously. Christ, you embarrass me.

Just telling it like it is, fellas, or like it was. I just don’t want you thinking your old man’s an idiot … now go… . go, have fun … I’ll see you later for dinner. He turned and went in the house.

Tom drove slowly up route 36 and was almost to Manasquan before anyone said a word. They were all a little embarrassed by Nick’s words and behavior back on the porch.

I don’t know why the hell he has to act like that, said Tony.

Ah, he don’t mean nothing by it, said Tom, he just wants to be like one of the boys, like us.

Well, he ain’t one of us and he ought to know better. What if my mother heard him?

At least he says something, said Steve from the backseat, my father never says anything. I never have any idea what he’s thinking.

Yeah, your old man is quiet, said Tony, what does he do for fun? does he play golf?

No, he sells refrigerators at Sears, six days a week.

Play cards?

No, he sells washers and dryers at Sears six days a week.

Play around?

What?

You know, does he get some on the side?

Warren Holiday, my old man? forget it, he forgot what it’s for, said Steve.

You think your folks are still doing it? asked Tom of Tony.

Are you crazy? you know my mama, she’s, she’s …

A good girl? asked Tom. Listen to yourself, Tony, she’s a grown woman, what? forty-five, forty-six, been sleeping with your old man all these years and you’re painting her out to be a Saint Bernadette or something.

Well, if they are still doing it I don’t know about it.

You mean you don’t want to know about it!

I think my old man drinks Vodka for fun, said Steve pensively.

You know, a lot of times I’ve seen your old man with sort of a glazed look in his eyes—maybe you’re right, said Tony, glad the subject was changing.

My parent’s still screw up a storm, said Tom.

Your kidding, said Tony, how do you know?

I hear them—Saturday nights after they’ve been out drinking—wow! I think they throw each other out of bed.

"My mom goes bowling twice a week and is always volunteering for some charity or political thing… . . she’s out quite a bit …

… at night," said Steve.

She’s an active lady, she’s busy, that’s all, said Tony.

I know she’s screwing around, answered Steve.

Do you think she has a boy friend—you know like steady? asked Tom.

I don’t know but I wouldn’t blame her if she did and I wouldn’t blame her if she just screwed around.

Boy, you don’t have much use for your old man, do you? asked Tom.

I don’t know if I hate him more for letting her run around on him or for pretending that nothing is going on … I don’t know which. He still calls her honey and baby. You know, that son of a bitch never offered to help me with the tuition at Bloomfield and when I told the prick I failed the Army physical because of Osteomyelitis he never even blinked. He didn’t give a shit.

They spent part of the day traipsing up and down the boardwalk displaying their wares, clad in shorts, colorful polo shirts and sandals. They were three reasonably good looking guys and got a few nice smiles from some very pretty, barely clad ladies. They stopped only to buy food and cokes or to talk to passing friends and acquaintances. Steve, always aware of the sun’s power, wore his authentic New York Yankee baseball cap and sun glasses along with his ensemble. They had just broken off a bull shit session with three guys they knew since high school.

Didn’t anybody not get laid last night? asked Steve.

What’s bugging you now? asked Tom.

Those guys are still fucking cherry, believe me, I know, and they still have the nerve to tell us they scored last night, big time.

Who cares? said Tony, "what’s the fucking difference anyway?

You’re right, what’s the difference, responded Steve, if it makes them feel important.

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach sneak peaking at buttocks and breast and relishing in the discovery of an occasional errant pubic hair.

What time is it? asked Tony.

Four-thirty.

Mom’s making spaghetti, six o’clock.

Sounds great.

I could use a shower.

What do you guys want to do tonight?

It’s obvious, said Steve grinning, we’re all going to go to the ‘Worlds Longest Bar,’ the Night Heron, and we’re all gonna get shitfaced and we’re all gonna meet gorgeous girls on vacation from Ohio and we’re all gonna get laid.

Good plan, Steve, said Tony, couldn’t have done it any better.

Let’s go home and eat, suggested Tony

Build up our strength!

Yeah!

The Night Heron was one of the most popular watering holes and pick-up joints on the entire New Jersey shore and claimed to have the world’s longest bar. It was long, alright, snaking itself through the entire complex of small board walk buildings, now pulled together into one by virtue of some very creative building permits. The place was crowded but not jammed when the boys arrived shortly before ten. The many large well placed speakers were belching out the latest Beatles smash and the Budweiser long necks were flying across the bar at fifty cents a pop.

Three beers, said Tony finding a gap in the crowd around the bar and extending a five dollar bill to a nodding, familiar, bartender. There was one available stool and Tom sat down while the other two stood on either side. They had eaten, showered and changed into starched short sleeved button down shirts, pressed chino pants, white sweat socks and penny loafers.

Well, here we are again, said Tom, almost shouting.

Same old shit, answered Tony. Where the hell are the women? I’m ready.

Yeah, your right hand’s ready, sniped Tom.

But I’m left handed, countered Tony. But I’m ready anyway.

Steve grinned at the exchange and took a long drink from his bottle of beer trying not to think about how sore the back of his sun burned neck was and wondering what in the hell he was doing there. The place was nice enough, there would be plenty of girls later on, the guys were good enough friends, it wasn’t them. It was just that every time he came down here or to any place like it he always felt awkward and stupid. He wasn’t entirely sure why. He was shy, but he did alright with girls. He wasn’t a virgin but it was close; he had nailed Connie Power the previous winter on the front seat of his mother’s car with the door open and his ass sticking out into a snow shower in exchange for a ride to the Watchung Mall where she was meeting some friends. Connie was that kind of girl. He was so nervous she had to put the rubber on for him. He ejaculated in exactly ten seconds. He often wondered if that were some kind of record. He, like most young men, was incredibly happy to have his cherry broken but in his most private thoughts, he was sure his non-virgin status had an asterisk next to it in the record book.

The closest he had ever come to figuring out why he hated this kind of bar scene so much was recognizing his total disdain for the mating rituals that were absolutely necessary if one was to be successful at this sort of thing. The thought of elbowing or jockeying for better or more advantageous position in front of the target female so that the male’s courting dance could be better seen, turned Steve off. He thought they looked like a bunch of puffed up goonie birds.

Hello, ladies, smiled Tony as he turned to gently block the progress of three young ladies. Have you met my friends Tom and Steve?

No, we haven’t, I’m sure, smiled the tall brunette, but we are meeting people at the end of the bar, waving in that direction.

Have a wonderful time, ladies, said Tony.

Thank you, I’m sure, said the girl brushing by Tony giving his lucky right arm a double breast massage.

Bah, Bah Boom, said Tom who had watched the accidental contact.

Jersey City, said Steve alluding to the girl’s accent.

Hoboken, maybe even Queens, agreed Tom.

I wouldn’t turn those things away, no matter how she talked. You gonna buy a round or what? talking to Steve.

Three Buds, waving a ten dollar bill.

Look at the ass on that one! said Tom referring to a girl passing them in the opposite direction probably heading for the ladies room. She wore a form fitting white linen shorts and a cotton sleeveless blouse along with a pair of two inch wedgies that did wonders for her hind quarters.

This is painful to look at, said Steve craning to enjoy the view as long as possible.

Not a drop of jelly on the back of those thighs.

Perfect tan, perfect shape and best of all no God damned girdle, added Tom, that’s one of the best thing about Summer—they don’t wear their God damned Playtex girdles with shorts on.

I’ll bet they would if they could, said Tony.

Why the hell do they wear those things? asked Tony, there’s no way those slabs of rubber and plastic can be comfortable.

They say they need them to hold up their stockings, but they’re lying, said Steve, lighting up a Pall Mall.

What do you mean they’re lying? What are you now suddenly a man of the world? asked Tom smiling.

It makes them feel safer—harder to get at. The time it takes to get that thing off gives them a chance to change their mind—to come to their senses.

You know I never thought about that but you just might have something there… . .

Yo, here she comes, man.

Wow, she’s loaded up front too, said Tony.

She’s pretty too, said Tom.

That’s what I meant, you idiot.

I thought you meant the jugs.

Those too. They had a good laugh and Tom ordered three beers.

The Night Heron was swinging now. The music was blaring and they were two and three deep at the bar. Steve Holiday drifted off into his private world and wondered why he couldn’t meet somebody like that girl in a supermarket or on the street or in the library back in Fanwood. No, it was always in a place like this where some tall, tan, good looking guy with a pocket full of money and a sports car will walk out of here with her and be inside those linen shorts before the sun comes up.

You gonna sit down or what?

Steve was startled by the question. The bar stool behind him had become available and the girl sitting two over yelled at the back at his head. She was with friends and had been discreetly watching and listening to Steve and his two friends. She thought he was cute and wanted to meet him.

Oh, yeah, thanks, smiled Steve as he turned and sat down next to the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

You must be tired—you’ve been standing there a long time.

Yeah, my legs could use a rest, I guess, swivelling his stool to make a point of facing her. She did the same.

I’m Steve Holiday, sticking out his hand.

I’m Rose, Rose Romano, it’s a pleasure, taking his hand and holding it for a long time.

Can I buy you a beer, Rose Romano?

Yes you can, Steve Holiday, releasing his hand and reaching over to finish off her beer.

Tony and Tom saw what was happening and subtly body languaged away giving them room and definition as a couple. Her friends were also hip and were not about to talk to or disturb Rose.

Rose Romano had fairly long jet black wavy hair and big, very big almond shaped dark brown eyes that she knew how to make up, a very full mouth and gorgeous complexion. She too was wearing a sleeveless cotton blouse, shorts and sandals. She seemed tall, Steve hoped she wasn’t too tall but he’d have to wait until she went to the ladies room to find out. He laughed at himself; he was so taken with her beautiful face, especially those eyes, that he didn’t care about her body. He would not be disappointed.

This is some place, isn’t it? asked Steve.

It’s hard to keep your wits about you.

Your what?

Your … senses, you know, the noise, the music, it makes you crazy.

Yeah, tell me about it, he said turning ever so slightly so his knee touched hers. He was relieved when she didn’t shy away.

What are you smiling about? she asked leaning almost into his face, close enough he could feel and smell her breath.

I just realized I was about to ask you the dumbest question ever asked, he smiled grabbing her back rest with his right hand so his thumb rested against her back.

What question is that?

It’s embarrassing.

You can tell me, I won’t laugh, straight faced, right into his eyes.

You promise?

I promise.

Well, I was about to ask you if you came here often.

You didn’t! she roared, throwing her head back and leaning heavily into his hand which was now fully open, caressing the small of her back and rebounding forward almost off the stool and practically into Steve’s arms. They were cheek to cheek and both her palms were resting on his thighs.

You want to take a walk? he asked, his voice quivering.

Love to, she answered, her hand shaking slightly as she patted his cheek gently.

What about … ?

They won’t mind, let’s go.

It didn’t take them long. They found a little bit of privacy in a recessed doorway of a closed boardwalk gift shop and were at each other’s mouths voraciously. They moaned and groaned and sucked with a fervor neither one had experienced before. Steve’s hands were all over Rose, he caressed her beautiful ass and pulled her to him and she offered no resistance grinding herself into him. She pressed her breasts into his chest wishing he would reach down and squeeze them for her. When he finally did reach under her blouse for her bra strap she was both relieved and scared. His attempt to negotiate the snaps and free her was a dismal failure. He cursed softly and she grabbed his arms and guided his hands around and placed them both on her waiting breasts. He held her breasts while continuing to kiss her deeply. Her back was jammed into the corner and her knee was up into his crotch but something was wrong.

Don’t baby me! she insisted as she suddenly pivoted, reached back, unhooked the two snaps on her bra strap and fell back into him, now facing the corner between the heavy glass door and the plate glass window. He reached around and had full access to her now free breasts. Her moans encouraged him to continue and she screamed and shuddered when he rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and jammed her butt into his crotch with all her might.

Oh my god, he muttered.

Yes, oh yes… . don’t stop!

His left hand continued pinching and squeezing as his right hand moved down her belly across her cotton shorts and into the space between her legs and grabbed her crotch very hard with his middle three fingers pressing into her vagina through her shorts and panties.

Oh, Steve, oh my god, she gasped reaching down and grabbing his hand firmly and bringing it up higher to her Venus mons and pressing his shaking fingers into her clitoris. When will someone teach guys how to do this? she thought, maybe it should be part of gym class in high school.

They writhed and squeezed and humped and bumped for another minute or so and then slowly came to a stop. Rose turned and again melted into Steve’s arms. Their breathing slowed and finally calmed.

What you must think of me, she murmured.

I think you’re great, said Steve. There was a very long silence and then Steve whispered, I’m not so sure what you’re going to think of me.

Why? What do you mean? What’s the matter?

Well I …

Yeah, you what?

I made a mess in my pants, he said, never more embarrassed than now.

Rose started to shake and then giggle uncontrollably. She looked up into Steve’s beet red face and lost it completely. Laughing hysterically, tears rolling down her cheeks. Aside from his humiliation Steve didn’t appreciate Rose’s reaction to his situation and started to boil.

Come on, Steve, it’s not the end of the world—it’s funny—it’s one of the funniest things ever.

Well, you’re not the one standing here in a mess. What if someone sees me?

You can’t see anything … .really, breaking out in laughter again.

See, that’s what I mean, he said looking down at her face which was contorted by her efforts not to laugh. That did it, Steve broke out in laughter and Rose joined him.

They carried on for several minutes then calmed down. Rose suggested they repair to her car around the corner where there were plenty of tissues that could be applied to the problem. Steve agreed and they were about to make the slippery trek when she stopped and looked up at him.

What is it? he asked.

"Well, we don’t know each other very well, in fact we just met.

Yeah, what about it?

Well, in spite of that I have something I have to say to you.

Yeah, what is it?

Squish, squish.

They made it safely to Rose’s car, an almost brand new red 1966 Chevrolet Impala, bought for her by her father Gus. Rose worked at Gus’s swimming pool business on route 22 in Greenbrook and was repaying him at the rate of fifteen dollars a week, deducted from her gross pay. Gus Romano took no chances, daughter or no daughter. Together they dealt with Steve’s problem and figured that everything would be dry and almost un-noticeable in an hour or so. Rose played scrub nurse and Steve the patient and they both thoroughly savored this special and very unusual intimacy. There was no sex, it was all business and conversation.

He learned that she was 20 and lived in Dunellen, about 15 miles from his home in Fanwood. Her parents were Gus and Rita and she had a 17 year old sister, Maria, in high school. She graduated two years ago and went right to work for Gus. She took a college prep program and had a B-plus average but Gus thought college was a waste of time for women. She claimed she didn’t mind but she did a little bit. Rose was very comfortable with Steve and felt safe snuggled against his shoulder in the front seat of her car. She went on to explain that she had dated several guys and went steady with one of them for six months. She added that she had never gone all the way and had never been seen completely naked by a man. She was still a virgin. Steve was taken aback by her frankness but he liked it.

You don’t have to tell me stuff like that, he appealed, we just met and even if we were married for ten years you would never have to tell me anything you didn’t want to, anything that made you uncomfortable.

I wanted to, and it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, she blew into his ear. I am a virgin and I know it’s really no big deal but I’ve made it this far and I would really like to keep it that way until I get married, she continued sitting back.

I have no problem with that and like you say, we just met, we barely know each other.

Well, we were pretty intimate back there and I just don’t want you seeing tonight as a stepping stone.

I would never …

I have never, ever gotten that carried away with someone I just met—never.

It was pretty good though, wasn’t it? he smiled, as a matter of fact I literally could not have gotten more excited than I did. What greater tribute could I pay you than to lose control completely and dump my entire whatever? he chuckled.

I shouldn’t admit this but I didn’t do too badly myself, she said, and besides I got a bonus.

What was that?

I got to see Mr. McNasty in person.

Yeah, all shriveled up and messy.

He wasn’t all shriveled up back there.

Steve put his demo case down on the gray painted wooden porch floor, took a deep breath and rang the bell. He heard the chime through the door and felt more than heard foot steps approaching.

Mr. Martin? I’m Steve Holiday, with Dynograph Security Systems, how are you, sir?extending his hand.

George Martin, Steve, George is fine. Come in, please.

Thank you, picking up his case and entering the house.

Betty, this is Steve Holiday, he’s going to teach us all about residential security systems.

Hello, Steve. Shall we go into the den? leading the way. Can I get you some coffee, Steve? It’s just made?

No thank you, Mrs. Martin. I’m fine, thank you.

Betty, please call me Betty, Steve.

George and Betty, smiled Steve as he took his seat directly across from them. He placed his case to the side of his chair near an electrical outlet on the wall, put his briefcase to the other side and leaned forward in his chair.

George and Betty, in a few minutes I’m going to show you the equipment that has made Dynograph the nations leader, by far, in residential security, and then I would like to survey your home with the two of you so that we can design a system that makes sense for you, your life style and frankly your pocket book. But first, with your permission I think we should just talk for a while, get to know each other and give me an opportunity to pass on to you the benefit of my company’s fifty years experience. He was making solid eye contact with the Martins and was about to go on when Martin interjected.

How long have you been with Dynograph, Steve?

Just over six months, George.

Do you think you’d have any installation problem with this place—I mean concealing the wires and all?

Is the basement open—or mostly open?

You know I don’t know, I think so. Is it honey?

What do you mean by open?

You know, is the ceiling sheet-rocked or can you see the beams?

You can see an awful lot of dusty, grimy beams down there, she reported.

We can see for ourselves, Steve, when we walk around later, George Martin smiled, I’m embarrassed not knowing about my own basement. We just moved here, last week, you know,

Yeah, so I understand. From Detroit wasn’t it?

Close enough. Dearborn actually, Ford Motor Company.

Yes, I guess you’ll be working down at the big Assembly plant on Route One?

Sure will, starting next Monday.

What kind of work do you do for Ford, George?

George Martin did not look up and was fidgeting just a little bit. Steve looked over at Mrs. Martin and she was beaming with what looked like pride. I guess you’re gonna sort of run the place, right? Mrs. Martin was bobbing her head enthusiastically.

Why don’t you go on with what you were saying, Steve, I interrupted you.

Here he was at the moment he was waiting for, a chance to try out or test the sales technique he had been working on for weeks. He had bombarded Rose with it all weekend encouraging her to punch holes in his theory. He worked for a good company, with the very best equipment available, a company that virtually wrote the book on residentially security systems. He knew that Dynograph had the best available installers who worked for a thug named Pete Cimino who kept them in line. He also knew they could conceal a wire in the Taj Mahal and he could talk very confidently, if not arrogantly, to prospects about the quality of installation they could expect to receive. These factors, along with the high commissions, overrides and bonuses made a Dynograph the most expensive system on the market. There was no flexibility in the price structure. Anything you give away or mistake away comes directly off your commission, Sam Brown repeated many times during training.

Steve had watched his colleagues work, especially Don Vorhees, his immediate manager, and they all did the same thing. They scared the hell out of the prospect by brandishing a fourteen inch crow bar above their heads and proclaiming it to be the burglars universal household key and weapon of choice. It was standard fare. They would then design an air tight perimeter system that would save Mrs. Prospect from a confrontation with the burglar and his crow bar as she exited the shower, where she had not heard his heavy knocking on the door that he opened with, of course, the crow bar at ten in the morning and immediately headed to the master bedroom. They would go on and on describing the burglar and his actions as if they knew him personally. They were loaded with documentation, visual evidence from police, fire and other authorities that they would gladly pass over to Jack and Mary

Prospect. They would then show a film on residential fire, it was mandatory, that, although fundamentally true, was intended to scare the hell out of the viewer.

This overblown and bombastic rhetoric tended to get the prospect very involved in designing the system and to jack the price way up which entailed a long, tough closing session resulting in a one out of four or five sit to sale ratio. The entire process took at least three hours and the average ticket was twenty-five hundred dollars and up depending on the house, or more specifically how many windows had to wired.

Steve Holiday was not the worlds quickest study but he certainly wasn’t stupid. He decided that he liked the alarm business and believed he could do well at it. He learned that one didn’t like or dislike high ticket specialty sales, one either could or could not tolerate the pain of rejection and failure. He decided that one success out of four or five just wasn’t good enough—too much pain. He had to come up with a better way. A way to reduce the size of the ticket without lowering prices. He also had become convinced that there were things he would never do when alone with a prospect. He would never use that stupid crow bar to scare the hell out of people, he would never show that stupid fire film and most of all he would never sit around the house for hours trying close after close on Jack and Mary Prospect hoping to wear them down into signing. He had been on sits with most of the veteran sales managers, who were paid a salary and half commission with the other half going to the trainee, and they were like clones, one of the other. Meyer Crystal, Sam Rizzo, John Sullivan, Dave Gordon and Irv Norman. They showed the film, they raised the crowbar menacingly, they designed a system that Willie Sutton could not compromise, or afford, and then pitched a tent in that kitchen or rec room and refused to leave until they tried every tactic in the book from bullying to begging, from cajoling to lying about a sales contest that could help get their son or daughter through college, to get the prospect to sign the contract and come up with a 50 percent deposit check.

Steve had not yet sold a system on his own and was bringing home slightly less than one-hundred dollars a week and he was in no way demeaning the efforts of his senior colleague, after all, they were averaging 600 bucks a week, but he knew there was a better, more efficient way of selling Dynograph Security Systems. In the last couple of weeks he had