office, so I can set him up with a cubicle and get him started.”
“Can you wait a couple of minutes? I haven’t had breakfast.”
“Tough,” she snapped.
He shook his head sadly and clicked his teeth. “All part and parcel of working for your sister,” he sighed. “Family and work should never mix. Coming?”
“Might as well,” I said, finishing my toast. “I wouldn’t want to miss my ride.” I looked at the table and put a hand in my pocket. “Do we leave tips?”
“Not in Shankar’s. Nor the Skylight. The big guy pays the waitresses top rates. They sign a contract when they join, promising not to accept gratuities.”
“It’s strange not tipping,” I said. “I feel like a cheapskate, like Steve Buscemi in
Reservoir Dogs
.”
“Great movie,” Adrian said. “They don’t make them like that any- more. Don’t worry,” he said, clapping me on the back, “you’ll get used to it. There’s lots of differences when you sign on with The Cardinal.”
The next few months were tedious and long. I’d never sold anything in my life, or had to deal with the public face-to-face. Never had to go into a meeting with somebody I knew nothing about, whose trust I had to earn and then slyly exploit.
I was expected to be a great salesman. I was under orders to pick up in weeks what others spent years learning. Sonja chose my clothes, enrolled me for elocution lessons, worked on my posture. She taught me to read people at a glance, how to scrutinize faces, note nervous tics and shrugs of fake confidence. A couple of nights a week were devoted to security footage. She’d bring home a box full of discs scavenged from some of The Cardinal’s many shops and stores. We’d watch face after face, body after body, analyzing, discussing, theorizing, until I wished I’d been washed up on a desert island at birth and never seen another human.
I blew a lot of my early meetings. I’d lose my way in the middle, the paperwork would become overwhelming, my tongue would run away from me. I’d forget what I was selling. Sonja didn’t mind. She said I had one thing most other salespeople would have killed for—the freedom to screw up. I didn’t have to worry about a mortgage, my job, a family, bills. This was mere education.
In time I improved, learned how to read faces, to fish around until I found the right bait to make the sale. Every customer was different, each wanted something unique, and the trick was tapping into that. There was no set patter, no definitive approach. Some needed coaxing, some bullying, some bribing. Sometimes you had to throw every policy in the book at them, in the hope one would stick. Other times you needed to focus on one lone premium.
The most important thing I gleaned—the reason The Cardinal put me there—was that it’s
re
action which makes a man powerful, not action. I thought plans could take you to the top, that success came from knowing more than everybody else, preparing better, moving faster.
Wrong. Power came from watching others, standing back, studying, waiting, reacting. Let your mark make his case. Never be first to speak. Plan nothing until you know what your foe has up his sleeve.
The computer records were the worst. Sonja drilled me in the ways of every legal procedure she could access, hammering home law after law, regulation after regulation. She said there were two types of people in any company—those who knew a bit about how everything worked, and those who shoveled shit. She said I’d either learn all there was to know or she’d pimp out my skinny, no-good ass.
An average day would start at seven. Down to Shankar’s for breakfast. Back to the office, power up the computer, read until my eyes burned. Douse them with water and read some more. A few trips around the city with Adrian, meeting potential customers, putting the preparation into practice. Shankar’s for lunch. More customers and lessons. Late supper at Shankar’s. Home to the Skylight to work
“Can you wait a couple of minutes? I haven’t had breakfast.”
“Tough,” she snapped.
He shook his head sadly and clicked his teeth. “All part and parcel of working for your sister,” he sighed. “Family and work should never mix. Coming?”
“Might as well,” I said, finishing my toast. “I wouldn’t want to miss my ride.” I looked at the table and put a hand in my pocket. “Do we leave tips?”
“Not in Shankar’s. Nor the Skylight. The big guy pays the waitresses top rates. They sign a contract when they join, promising not to accept gratuities.”
“It’s strange not tipping,” I said. “I feel like a cheapskate, like Steve Buscemi in
Reservoir Dogs
.”
“Great movie,” Adrian said. “They don’t make them like that any- more. Don’t worry,” he said, clapping me on the back, “you’ll get used to it. There’s lots of differences when you sign on with The Cardinal.”
The next few months were tedious and long. I’d never sold anything in my life, or had to deal with the public face-to-face. Never had to go into a meeting with somebody I knew nothing about, whose trust I had to earn and then slyly exploit.
I was expected to be a great salesman. I was under orders to pick up in weeks what others spent years learning. Sonja chose my clothes, enrolled me for elocution lessons, worked on my posture. She taught me to read people at a glance, how to scrutinize faces, note nervous tics and shrugs of fake confidence. A couple of nights a week were devoted to security footage. She’d bring home a box full of discs scavenged from some of The Cardinal’s many shops and stores. We’d watch face after face, body after body, analyzing, discussing, theorizing, until I wished I’d been washed up on a desert island at birth and never seen another human.
I blew a lot of my early meetings. I’d lose my way in the middle, the paperwork would become overwhelming, my tongue would run away from me. I’d forget what I was selling. Sonja didn’t mind. She said I had one thing most other salespeople would have killed for—the freedom to screw up. I didn’t have to worry about a mortgage, my job, a family, bills. This was mere education.
In time I improved, learned how to read faces, to fish around until I found the right bait to make the sale. Every customer was different, each wanted something unique, and the trick was tapping into that. There was no set patter, no definitive approach. Some needed coaxing, some bullying, some bribing. Sometimes you had to throw every policy in the book at them, in the hope one would stick. Other times you needed to focus on one lone premium.
The most important thing I gleaned—the reason The Cardinal put me there—was that it’s
re
action which makes a man powerful, not action. I thought plans could take you to the top, that success came from knowing more than everybody else, preparing better, moving faster.
Wrong. Power came from watching others, standing back, studying, waiting, reacting. Let your mark make his case. Never be first to speak. Plan nothing until you know what your foe has up his sleeve.
The computer records were the worst. Sonja drilled me in the ways of every legal procedure she could access, hammering home law after law, regulation after regulation. She said there were two types of people in any company—those who knew a bit about how everything worked, and those who shoveled shit. She said I’d either learn all there was to know or she’d pimp out my skinny, no-good ass.
An average day would start at seven. Down to Shankar’s for breakfast. Back to the office, power up the computer, read until my eyes burned. Douse them with water and read some more. A few trips around the city with Adrian, meeting potential customers, putting the preparation into practice. Shankar’s for lunch. More customers and lessons. Late supper at Shankar’s. Home to the Skylight to work
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