Door to Door
------------
"Please, get to the point!" the receptionist exploded. "The phone has been ringing all day and I don't have time to play games! Just tell me what you want!"
Fred grimaced a smile, took a deep breath and began with a partial puff of confidence, "As I was saying, today I am racing back and forth over the area demonstrating this fully featured radio!" He took out a small black device with the rehearsed flourish of a magician who pulled rabbits out a hat for a living.
The receptionist let out a sigh. She could muster little energy to humour Fred further. "What is it? And why should I care about it to take time out of my busy day for you?"
"I understand you're busy, but what I am offering you is an opportunity. An opportunity to buy the latest photo-voltaic technology at wholesale prices," he said with forced zeal. He hoped she wouldn't see the desperation dripping off him in beads of sweat. "Today I've been selling these babies like hot cakes. I can't seem to stop selling them, and if I sell 2 more, I'll have to go back to my supplier for more!"
"Fantastic. But what is it? Why would our business be interested in it?"
"Not your business. I'm not here to talk to your boss. I'm hear to talk to you! What I have here is a solar-powered radio!" Fred aimed for the enthusiastic authority of the best infomercial presenters, but grazed the mark. "Now I am sure work can be boring, but this radio allows you to tune to your favourite station wherever in the office you are. And because it is solar powered, you don't have to worry about replacing the batteries!"
"Firstly, I'm a receptionist. I answer calls all day. I can't be plugged into a radio," the receptionist said in an unimpressed tone. "Secondly, I have a radio tuner built into my mobile phone. Why would I need another?"
Fred blinked. The receptionist had not followed the script for the pitch. Thinking on his feet, he struggled to steer things back on track, and remembered the sales manual's cardinal rule: always focus on the product's features. "Ah! But your mobile phone isn't solar powered! This radio is! It has an internal rechargeable battery that eliminates the need for expensive replacement batteries!"
"Solar powered? What if there is no sun? We are in Melbourne. In winter no less!"
"Well, the solar cells are capable of creating charge if placed directly under bright electric lights. 10 to 12 hours of such charging will enable you to listen to 2 hours of your favourite radio stations!"
"2 hours? What if the cricket is on?" the receptionist asked.
Fred blinked again. "Oh, I forgot the best part! This radio is a bargain, as not only does it eliminate costly replacement batteries, but it comes with its own free vinyl carry case! Uh... The case comes with a transparent window over the solar cells that allows some charging while the radio is safe from coffee spills."
The receptionist sighed, adjusted her glasses and glared at Fred. "How do I put this delicately? I'm not interested."
Fred's foot was in the door and he knew to not remove it. "What about your colleagues? Perhaps they will be interested in this popular device." He strode toward the elevator.
The receptionist rose. "Stop right there! Do you see that sign over there?" She pointed. "It says 'No Hawkers'. Now I was polite to you. I humoured you. I let you do your pitch without kicking you out right away. But now I, as receptionist, have to ask you to leave. My boss would fire me if I let you loose in the building, free to interrupt, harass and distract our workers."
Fred's shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned to leave. As he was about to leave the door, he asked "What kind of business is this anyway?" in defeat.
The receptionist sunnily replied, "We are a telemarketing firm. We sell water filters and holiday timeshares over the phone to busy men such as yourself. So I am turning down your sale, and asking you to please have a nice day. But maybe you could call us up and put some money down on a cut rate water filter."
* * *
Fred was disheartened. He had traveled the Bayswater business district with no luck. His shoes had accrued 4 hours of wear, and there were no sales to show for it. The rent was 3 months late, and if Fred's credit card company had his correct address, his furniture would have been repossessed 2 months ago. His biggest fear was bumping into his brother-in-law, David, who had lent Fred three thousand dollars.
Fred flicked the switch on his walkman. The tape started where he had left off.
Herbert Walker's excited voice began in mid-run on sentence, "...the power to dream riches into your life! That's what I'm talking about!" The live audience on the tape roared to life, whooping and shouting like true believers at a faith healing.
"If you focus on poverty, you will get more poverty! If you focus on wealth you will be cashing checks! No sir, you'll have your very own financial department cashing those checks! You won't even know the names of the slobs in your financial department, because you won't have time to remember the names of little people!" There was more cheering.
"Yes sir! That's what I'm talking about! It's real easy. All you got to do is imagine wealth. All you need to do is think of that lowly peon in the financial department of your company, opening the mail and finding checks! Now I don't want you to just imagine him opening checks. I want you to imagine the numbers on those checks! I want you to see all those zeros!"
Fred closed his eyes to focus on the zeros. The zeros were so vivid he could almost guess the font. Forgetting where he was, he stepped into the street and was narrowly missed by a white limousine.
It began to rain. Looking at the sky, Fred guessed there would be a day of miserable weather Melbourne was renowned for. He made a dash for "The Welcome Stranger", a pub that advertised slot machines and cheap fish and chips. A collection of lonely pensioners and unemployed gambling addicts were morose in front of flashing slot machines.
"What can I get ya, mate?" the bearded bartender asked in a voice trained in compassion.
"Pint of -- wait," Fred began. He reached for his wallet. It held a 2 dollar coin and two 20 cent pieces. "Shit. I don't suppose I can get a pot for $2.40?"
The bartender chuckled. "Sorry, Fred. You're 10 years too late. Beer is $3.20 now."
"Shit," Fred rose to leave, then remembered the radios. "Ah-ha. Today is your lucky day, friend. I happen to be selling these marvelous radios at near wholesale prices, and I can offer you the latest in photo-voltaic technology at an insane $15!"
The bartender shook his head in bemusement. "Sorry, Fred. Not interested. Two weeks ago you were in this pub trying to flog them radios. I wasn't buying then."
Fred got up to leave. On his way out he passed the desperate gamblers. One let out a whoop as their machine began to ring. Fred paused, then took the $2 coin from his wallet over to the nearest machine. It was called "Texas Oil Billionaire" and the marquee promised "$25,000 Jackpots".
The 2 dollar coin dropped into the slot, and the machine bleeped. "10 credits" flashed up on the display. Fred slapped the "bet 5 credits" button. The machine bleeped and clicked a ticker tape sound before the display settled on a bell, a cherry and a pineapple. No payout. Fred snapped his fingers in frustration. He closed his eyes and imagined coins falling into the coin tray. With eyes still shut he hit the "play" button a second time.
The machine gave a jolly jingle, and Fred's heart leapt. He opened his eyes and looked at the display. Two cherries and an orange. The prize was 50 credits, or $10. It was enough for a pint and a couple more spins on the machine if he needed more. Fred hit "payout", and the 1 dollar coins clattered into the coin tray, just as he had imagined.
"A pint of your cheapest full strength beer," Fred said. He paid the 6 dollars, and took a sip of the ice cold beer.
"Jeff, it's me... Herbert Junior." A man in a white cowboy hat and white suit with sequins around the cuffs and collar was speaking into his mobile phone. "Yeah, I'm stuck in some bar with a bunch of bums. The limo broke down. Driver says the hot tub drained the battery or somethin'", the man drawled. "He's fixin' it now. Anyway, the deal looks good. I spoke to the manufacturer. I will see ya later."
The bartender set a glass of what looked like neat scotch in front of the man. "Say," the bartender said, his eyes narrowing as he sized up Fred and the man in the cowboy hat. "Are you two blokes twins, brothers or something? You look related."
Fred and the man looked at each other for a moment. The man in the cowboy hat chuckled, "No, sorry to disappoint you. I have never met this man." He knocked back the scotch with a shudder. "I will have another double scotch though. And give my 'double' a double too."
Fred was silent as the drinks were poured. He ventured a question toward the man, "I caught a bit of your phone call. You're in business?"
"Yes, sirree." The man stretched out the last syllable. He knocked back the second scotch in one hit and let out a whoop. "Just closed a huge deal."
"What kind of deal?" Fred asked.
"I signed a contract to make 'Made in Australia' labels right here in Bayswater".
"Oh, you manufacture in Australia?" Fred asked.
"No. Just the 'Made in Australia' labels. We put them on all our consumer electronics from China... Say, what do you do friend?"
"Um..." Fred sensed an opportunity. "I have my own business. It's quite successful, but I'm... I mean, we're always looking for investors."
"Really?" the man seemed interested.
"Yep. My business is quite an operation. I built it from the ground up..." Fred was taken along by the spur of the moment, and he began to think big like the motivational tape advised. "We import and sell direct to the consumer. I've cut a lot of overhead, as there is no middle man. Buyers and sellers are all in house... One day my operation will be the Wal-Mart of Australia. That's my corporate vision."
"What do you sell?"
"Well, one of our products is this solar powered radio." Fred took one out and showed the man. "Fancy buying one? They are very popular, as they eliminate the need for expensive replacement batteries."
The man chuckled as he took the radio from Fred. "Well, I'll be! These radios were my idea! Daddy gave me a job overseeing new projects, and I gave the green light to these babies. Such a shame they were a failure, what with people having radios on their mobile phones. Daddy didn't let me near anything important after we took a bath on these."
"Who is your father?" Fred asked.
"Herbert Walker Senior. I'm Herbert Walker Junior." The man didn't bother to ask for Fred's name.
"The Herbert Walker Senior?" Fred could not believe his luck. "I listen to his motivational tapes all the time! He inspired me to start my own business!"
"Yes, he truly is a great man. He raised me to believe that wealth is a state of mind. If you think positive and imagine money, imagine checks, imagine limos with hot tubs, that's what you get. Shoot! The poor have no imagination!"
Fred's ears were primed to every word. "All I do is imagine!" Fred felt like he was in the audience at the motivational seminar.
Herbert Jr. continued, "And the poor don't even know the value of hard work. Some times I think we need a recession to make 'em grateful for all the rich do for them. You know we pay workers in China $2 for a day's work? And the jokers here want $30,000 a year! For $30,000 they should be working 100 times harder than the chop sticks and rice fellas. They take more breaks here too. Owning a business is like owning a baseball team. What a baseball team needs is team players who work hard to be competitive. Teams also need good captains. Like me."
The man scratched his nose then sniffed loudly. "Say, where are the toilets? You stay here, partner. I'll tell you more about the business in a second."
* * *
Herbert Jr. had not returned from the toilet yet. He had been gone for 10 minutes or more. Fred got up to relieve himself of the pint of beer and the scotch.
"Aaah," Fred said with satisfaction as he emptied his bladder. "You know I am quite excited to meet you, Sir," Fred said loud enough for Herbert Jr. to hear from the toilet cubicle. "I am inspired to meet someone who has made a success of themselves. I feel too many people cruise through life and don't have the drive to strive for more. Not me. I won't stop till my business is at the top. Yes, sir. Going straight to the top." Fred zipped himself up.
Fred strolled back into the bar. He froze when he saw a balding man with a beer gut and black pony-tail. It was David, Fred's bikie brother-in-law, also known as "Davo".
"Have ya seen my bruva-in-law, that little runt... Wass-his-name? Freddo?" Davo slurred at the bartender.
"Yeah. He went to the pisser a couple of minutes ago," the bartender replied.
"Ah-ha! I got 'im! He owes me free fow-sand for them radios he's been flogging," Davo spat, as he wobbled on the bar stool.
Davo considered himself in the bar mirror. He was trying to place where he knew the face from. The bartender, always a good host to problem gamblers and alcoholics, asked, "Can I get you something?"
"Yerp. You got any of that bourbon from the advert wif the chick wif big norks? I'll have one of 'em while I watch the dunny". Davo blearily turned his head toward the toilet.
Fred spun around in a panic back into the toilet.
"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit." Fred had borrowed the money 3 months ago, and believing his margins on each radio were fantastic, had promised the money back in a month. People often wondered if Davo was in a bikie gang. His drinking habits suggested he was earning more than just the dole, and he seemed to know a lot about hydroponics and high intensity in-door fluorescent lighting. When drunk Davo was prone to brief outbursts of violence.
Fred remembered Herbert Jr. "Uh, excuse me, Mr Walker?" his frail voice ventured. There was no response. He noticed a leg poking out from Walker's cubicle. Fred dropped to the floor and checked underneath the cubicle door. Herbert Jr. had dropped his cowboy hat.
"Are you okay in there?" Fred ventured. "You haven't taken a bad fall?" There was no response. The leg didn't move. Fred grabbed the leg to shake it. It was rigid.
"Jesus!" Fred tried the door. It squeezed open against the man's body. Herbert Walker Jr. was splayed across the cubicle. He was clearly dead. His eyes stared vacantly at Fred. His left nostril was caked in white powder. Fred checked for a pulse. Herbert Jr.'s hand was ice cold. Fred guessed that he had been dead for at least 10 minutes. There was no chance of the paramedics reviving him.
"Goddamn!" Fred yelped. Fred lifted the dead man's arm and let it fall. He did it again. "This is just great!" he moaned. "A drunken psychopath is waiting to beat me to death, and my big corporate chance drops dead minutes after I meet him!" Fred punched the cubicle wall. He blinked away tears, and then noticed Herbert Jr.'s watch. It looked like a genuine Rolex. It was worth at least $10,000. Most of Herbert Jr.'s fingers had rings on them, all gold.
It would be a shame to let the paramedics get the Rolex and the rings. It would be a shame to be beaten to death over 3 thousand dollars. Herbert Jr. had an identical physique to Fred's. The sequined cowboy suit had been specially tailored, but Fred guessed it would fit him. He plucked up the cowboy hat and tried it on in the mirror.
* * *
Fred walked out of the bar. He felt ridiculous in the sequined suit and cowboy hat. The suit's jacket pocket bulged, and Fred pulled a plastic bag out of it. The bag was filled with white powder. Fred opened the bag and tasted the powder. He guessed it was cocaine. Herbert Jr. had had a heart attack.
There was a tap on Fred's shoulder. He jumped, nearly dropping the bag. Fred turned to face the shoulder tapper. The shoulder tapper was a man dressed in a uniform with a hat.
"Who the hell are you?" Fred asked.
"It's me. Enrico. Your driver," the uniformed man said.
"Enrico... I don't think I..."
Enrico walked over to a white stretch limo illegally parked in front of "The Welcome Stranger." He opened the door. "Get in, Sir. Can I politely suggest that you don't raise the hot tub's temperature too high? I am mindful of the car's battery being drained again."
"No, I don't think you understand. I'm not..." Fred was about to tell the driver that Herbert Jr. was dead. Just as the words were on his lips, he saw the plush interior of the limo. It had enough room for 8 people, a hot tub and a plasma TV with American football on it.
"Are you okay, boss?" Enrico broke the silence. "You haven't been overdoing the...?" He gestured to his nose.
Fred gingerly entered the limo, and settled into the ergonomic back seat. The upholstery was soft suede.
"Boss?" Enrico repeated. "Are you okay?"
Fred ran his fingers over the texture of the seats. It was just as he imagined it. The limo's new car smell reminded him of all the times he went to the imported car dealership and played the role of the interested buyer. Fred's fantasy was interrupted by a vibration in the suit jacket. A mobile phone began to ring the theme tune to "Rawhide". The driver closed the door, as Fred fumbled for the phone. "Uh... Hello."
"Mr Walker, I heard we closed the deal. But our legal team think we might be in trouble. Putting 'Made in Australia' labels on Chinese TVs will land us on 'The Consumer Detective', and may even start a consumer boycott." Fred didn't know what to say. He wished he hadn't put on the cowboy hat. The jig was surely up, and he would be exposed as an impostor.
The voice at the other end of the phone spoke, "Sorry sir, it's just that the legal team have spent a lot of time on this. They're worried."
Fred had an epiphany. It all made sense. All the hard work trying to start a business had brought him to this point. He had been thinking too small. Fred fired back in a southern American drawl, "You tell those boys in legal they ain't doing the job right. This idea is the best idea I've ever had. Now if they want to be team players, they have to make it work. I'm the captain of this baseball team, and I say we make this play."
Fred hung up and reached for a box of Cuban cigars sitting on the bar fridge. The limo slid away.
| 
