by Yari Stern
The rush of being treated like a monarch while making the ‘long green’ for a few hours’ work left him satiated. It was instant gratification. He didn't need a suit or title, or the understanding of anyone. He was above and beyond it all.
Huxley said that organizations transform men and women into automata, suffocate the creative spirit and abolish the very possibility of freedom. They’ll never get me. If they’re too stupid or don’t have the heart to get out, then at least they can pay my way.
Yari reached the top of the landing and walked into the foyer. "Hey, Bruce, what's going on?” he called out.
His roommate had his own tow-truck, which helped when it came to moving the used and stolen cars Yari bought and sold. For business sake, he put up with the slob growing mold in the bathrooms.
"Nothin'.” Bruce peeked out from the kitchen where he was making a mockery of culinary skills, and nodded towards the young girl in the living room. “Oh, that’s my girlfriend Annie."
Yari surveyed Annie as she sat there, slumped into the sofa like it was her mother and she had grown out of its womb like a marsupial. Cloned in preppy garb – baggy jeans, check shirt, and knit sweater - she tried to look worldly and Byzantine as she puffed on a Viceroy.
She was typical of the high school crowd, seeking to look different in a unique way, by copying each other in dress, mannerisms and speech. Their desires, expectations, and mores were based on a rerun of last week’s TV sitcoms. She had a look that said, “I want. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as I don't have to work for it or wait to have it.”
Annie hadn't spoken yet, but Yari tried to avoid any interchange, especially one centered on superficiality with some cigarette-smoking, materialistic little bitch.
"Hi, Yari.” Annie glanced up with an expression mixing embarrassment and naiveté, and immediately doused her smoke.
"Do you know me?" Yari was intrigued enough by a deep, probing gaze from the young girl to not lose eye contact.
"Bruce was telling me about you, about the crazy things you do.”
“Some see things and ask why. I do things and others ask why I did them.”
Annie cracked a witty smile.
This girl is sharp, Yari decided. There’s no way she should be with Bruce. After a moment’s contemplation he crafted a delicately open-ended question. “So what do you and Bruce have in common?”
“Nothing. He helped my mom and I when our car broke down. I accepted his invitation to dinner because I felt obligated.” Annie’s expression turned sour as she continued. “Now he’s going around telling people I’m his girlfriend!” She drew her knees up almost to her neck, wrapped her arms around her legs, and pulled them in tightly.
From that mutual point of understanding, Yari directed the flow of conversation while the third leg made dinner. He was able to draw a distinct picture within a short time: Annie was an orphan, adopted by a cold and aging couple. The three shared a huge, decaying, castle-like dwelling in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the country and raised Annie with the same lack of feeling that left no traces in their own lives. Any joy in the home seeped out with the last of the family savings. At fifteen her dreams were already memories.
Disguised by layers of thick clothing, Yari considered whether her rounded curves were tantalizing hints of a maturing body. But a certain alluringness was beginning to ebb through baby fat that lingered due to lack of any unnecessary bodily movement. She held her hands under her budding backside as she spoke, a habit, no doubt, reinforced by the stifling air surrounding the loveless marriage ruling her home.
He construed that money must have been her religion, since it was embodied in every sentence and seemed the motivation for all endeavors. Yet she was bright, carrying a double major, biology and physics as a senior, two years ahead of her peers.
He caught elements of risk and daring filtering through. There was potential.
An hour quickly passed, time interrupted only by the occasional colliding of pots and the distraction of foul smells emanating from the kitchen. Yari’s mind raced far ahead of the conversation. “Do you have any plans beyond tomorrow?” he inquired professionally.
“I might go to USC next year, but it’s so expensive. My dad lost his job a few years ago. He may not be able to afford it now.”
“What would you do with all that education?” Yari probed.
“I’m not sure . . . become a marine biologist, I think.”
“Then what, get a job for two bucks an hour cleaning fish tanks at an aquarium?” Yari was probing, considering whether she might be a potential asset to his business. The physical and emotional burdens of being a fence were growing far too serious to be handled alone. It all teetered precariously, his little empire, on a day-to-day, even moment-to-moment basis. One purchase demanding an immediate sale; one collection necessitating another loan. Like a man straddling a board on top of a ball on a high-wire with no net and shards of glass awaiting him, it required constant motion, constant attention, the fall unforgiving, the end result already written in some book. Yari needed a partner and wasn’t about to lose one so bright to an out-of-town college.
“I’ve been to the best schools. It’s all theoretical crap. Nothing they teach has any value in the real world.” He moved closer, leaving little room on the sofa between himself and Annie. “Don’t you want to reach out and grab a chunk out of life instead of waiting for some crumbs to drop your way?”
“What do you mean?” Annie pressed her back into a plush pillow in an effort to gain a little more distance from a truth that faced her so bluntly.
“I mean do you want to make your own road, or ride a slow-moving train going down a one-way track headed into a marsh of bullshit righteousness?” Yari grabbed her chin and held it so she could not look away. “Do you enjoy just getting by each day…selling a few marijuana cigarettes so you can take a bus to the mall and shop-lift until dinner time?”
“How do you know--?” Annie glanced around the room for somewhere to hide.
“Now tell me, and yourself, the truth,” Yari insisted, then waited as a profound moment passed.
Her eyes almost swelled shut while staring into her lap. “I’m going crazy living in that house, with people who don’t even love themselves, let alone me. What do I have to do to?” she asked, her voice begging for direction.
“Meet me in two hours at the pitcher’s mound in Merion Park.” It was an ultimatum that left no room for an out. “Make whatever excuse you have to to get away.”
* * *
Annie was already there by the time he arrived. Yari came upon her shivering on the damp April night. He guided their walk along the perimeter of the park, continuing under an umbrella of chestnut trees and away from the possibility of running into a jealous Bruce or inquisitive neighbors. He remained mindful of the fact that Annie was, after all, “jail bait.”
“I’ve got a shot to make enough money to get off the street and out of this sewer clog. I just need fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “Soon.”
“Bruce was bragging about how you already make a lot of money.”
“Moving a few suits, TVs and appliances doesn’t add up to shit. This was way out of my league but I’m ready for the majors now. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a long time,” he said, trying to convince himself more than her.
“Aren’t you scared of the police, or jail?”
“I’m more worried about being bored to death, stuck on the same frame every day, the way it is for most people. The monotony chokes the life out of them, but nobody’s willing to do anything different.
“Besides, it doesn’t matter how deep I get in, or how serious the situation, I can always get out with this,” he said, pointing to his flexed bicep, “or this,” touching a finger to his head, “or my Dad’s connections downtown,” he indicated, with a thumb bent back over his shoulder.
Annie tilted her head onto his shoulder, and urged, “Tell me your plan.”
“A few friend
s of mine own a harness horse. He’s running in a couple weeks. I’m going to try to put together some money. If I get it, you’ve got to go to Liberty Bell Race Track and bet the dough so I can parlay it into the fifty grand I need to become a major player.”
“How can you be sure he’s going to win? And why me? I’ve never even been to the track. Why can’t you do it?”
“The trainer, Denny, and his people know us. If they see me near the big windows they’ll know I’m betting the horse and that will spoil the odds. They’d pull up the horse during the race and wait for a better return the next time,” Yari said as he guided their walk into the deepest recesses of the field. “This is my ticket out of here.”
“What makes you think you can trust me? What if I--”
“Hey, guarantees are for saps who buy Timex watches. As for trusting you…do you trust me?” Yari turned to face a girl whose eyes displayed an interest beyond making money. “Just remember, you have to be willing to use and abuse, the system and anybody else, if you want to ever get out.”
He then slid one hand under her thickly woven sweater and encompassed an unfettered breast. He wrapped his other arm around her back and drew her in. Yari probed Annie’s mouth, already open and ardent as their faces came together.
She raised her elbows high onto his shoulders to give him more room to feel aroused nipples. He jammed his hand down her back and into baggy jeans. Annie’s ass jutted out boldly, allowing his fingers to become buried in the alluring crack between her cheeks. The deeper he explored, the wider she spread her legs.
Subtle murmurs escaped from deep within Annie’s throat as he maneuvered the both of them over to a rugged oak tree. With that support he ground his hips into her. From there, Annie’s enthusiasm took over. She reached down for the zipper of his dungarees.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drexel University. Marketing Class. Phila. Pa.
Yari drove into the parking lot fast enough to scatter other students walking to their classes.
He grabbed his books and made a dash for his class, barely making a seat before the bell rang.
Even as stealthily as he entered the room, he caught the eye, and ire, of the instructor, Professor Isaac Grassley who gave him a look of consternation.
Yari knew he was going to be the test guinea pig for the session.
“Mr. Stern,” the instructor sad amicably. “Can you elucidate for us the lesson we all read for today’s class?”
“Marketing a product,” Yari said.
“Correct. But would you care to expand on that?”
“No matter what it is, or how good it is, it’s not the product you’re selling.”
“Then what is it?” Grassley asked, drawn in by curiosity.
“It’s the story behind it. People get bored hearing dry facts. They want to know what makes it special.”
“As marketers, we pride ourselves on coming up with fresh ideas. It’s how we stay relevant, and it’s how we grow in our careers. But certain products only have themselves to offer,” Grassley said.
“Even the most mundane of goods have something interesting to say.”
“Things don’t talk, Mr. Stern.”
“No, you have to interpret for them,” Yari explained.
“You’re suggesting we lie?”
“Oh, no, sir, I would never suggest such a thing,” Yari assured.
The other students, knowing something of Yari’s activities, laughed aloud.
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“Embellish.”
“For example…?”
“The goods survived a train wreck in Nebraska, a tornado in Kansas, a high jacking in Iowa. Helicopters, cranes, jaws of life had to be used.”
“That, I believe, crosses the line from a good story to a lie.”
“And what do you think GM, Ford or Chrysler do when they build a car knowing it’s going to fall apart in two years.”
“I don’t think--.”
“Remember the Ford Pinto? They knew it was a death trap but their number crunchers said it was cheaper to let people burn than to recall all the cars and fix the problem. Instead of talking about the fact it was an accident waiting for a place to happen, they bragged about the gas mileage.”
“That is just once instance,” Grassley argued.
“How about when the Japanese came over here in the 1980s and offered to show the big three automakers how to build cars? The CEOs of our great auto industry told the Japs they were doing just fine changing the body styles every year and making people think they had to have the latest model. And that their planned obsolesce was insuring the public had to buy a new car every two or three years. So, why make the last longer? In 1960, the American car manufactures had 90% of the world market. Now they have 15%.”
“That’s doesn’t--,” the professor began
“The big three created a narrative: ‘You have to have the latest model or you’re a loser.’ I’d say that qualifies as a good story.”
“So, where should we look for the next brilliant ideas Mr. Stern?”
“I’d say, look for a brilliant mind.”
“And would volunteer yourself for that position?”
“Oh no, sir. Humility would never allow me to do so.”
“From other brilliant minds, of course!”
The class got a kick out of that, but a scolding look form the professor put a quick end to it.
“Someone once said, ‘We’re all emotional beings looking for relevance, context and connection.’ That’s what I provide,” Yari explained.
“Good marketers see consumers as complete human beings with all the dimensions real people have,” the professor countered.
“That’s what they say in their press releases. But do you know what they call customers behind their backs?”
“I would have no idea.”
“Muppets, Smerfs, laydowns, slugs--.”
“I think that’s enough, Mr. Stern. We get the--.”
“Targets, waste, sheep, whales.”
“It is not our job to take advantage of people,” the professor argued. “It is our jobs as marketers to understand what the customer wants to buy and help them do so.”
“Our job is to lighten their load, specifically their wallet.”
The students in the class clapped loudly and would have continued on had it not been for the professor tapping his desk with his pointer.
“I would argue that our job is to connect to people, to interact with them in a way that leaves them better than we found them, more able to get where they’d like to go.”
“We find them wandering in the desert. We lead them to the promised land. That’s the land full of unfulfilled promises.”
“Very cynical,” Mr. Stern. That’s a heavy burden to carry around with you.”
“Jay Baer said, ‘If your stories are all about your products and services, that’s not storytelling, it’s a brochure. Give yourself permission to make the story bigger’,” Yari rejoined.
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Do you really want them to leave hating you, Mr. Stern?”
“Erik Qualman said, ‘Successful firms function more like entertainment companies, publishers, or party planners than as traditional advertisers.”
“The focus must be on content, Mr. Stern – substance, value, longevity,” the professor insisted.
“Avinash Kaushik said, ‘Content is anything that adds value to the reader’s life’,” Yari argued.
“Making promises and keeping them is a great way to build a brand,” the professor responded.
“Charles Darwin said, ‘In the long history of humankind those who learned to improvise most effectively have prevailed’,” Yari countered.
“You are playing on people’s weakness and phobias,” Professor Grassley suggested.
“’No one can make you feel inferior without your consent,’ Eleanor
Roosevelt.”
“Still, others are not as thick-skinned as yourself, Mr. Stern.”
“In times of weakness, we need to look to the strong. Ayn Rand said, ‘The question isn’t who is going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me’.”
“And what if people are put off by such an attitude?” the professor asked. “After all, making decisions for other people sets yourself up as an authority,” the professor said. ‘Do you see yourself as such?”
I would defer to Bryan Eisenberg who said, ‘Our job as a marketer is to understand what the customer wants to buy and help them do so’.”
“Persuade not pressure, Mr. Stern.”
“Mike Volpe said, ‘Don’t be afraid to get creative and experiment with your marketing’.”
“Experiment on your approach, not on the customer, Mr. Stern.”
“Beth Comstock said, ‘Innovate’.”
“Innovate, yes, tell stories, no.”
“Seth Godin said, ‘Marketing is no longer about the stuff that you make, but about the stories you tell’.”
“Does a great salesman need to make up stories, Mr. Stern?”
“Jonah Sachs said, ‘The stories that spread today empower us and give us belief in our own heroic potential’.”
“There is a great difference between giving people a gentle push in a certain direction and shoving them out the open door of an airplane at forty thousand feet,” the professor said.
“Everyone needs a little help to move off of dead center. Some people are so confused they’d never make a decision without any guidance.”
There was smattering of applause for Yari but he did not recognize the gesture lest it turn the professor against him.
“The focus must be on content, Mr. Stern – substance, value, longevity. Good content isn’t about good storytelling. It’s about telling a true story well. Content builds relationships. Relationships are built on trust. Trust drives revenue,” the professor argued.
