Truth Hurts

by David Boyle

  Grinning, Ilene took a few strides in his direction. She had already given much thought to how she would introduce herself, how best to impress someone of his stature at the outset. Just as she moved into the hall, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She stopped walking, turned around. A lady, fiftyish, long blonde hair, striking-looking and exquisitely dressed, was smiling at her. “Excuse me,” the lady said. “Are you Ilene?”

  Ilene’s eyes, rounded wide, were like those of someone who had just come out of a jolting dream. “I most certainly am. May I help you?”

  The lady extended her hand. “I’m Michelle Warsaw, from The Broadway Emporium. We have a meeting scheduled for today.”

  “Well, of course,” Ilene said. “Sorry to seem surprised. It’s just that my secretary said I would be meeting someone named ‘Willy.’”

  “Please, don’t sweat it. ‘Willy’s my nickname. I’m a big fan of a whale in a movie with the same name. No matter where I go the name sticks with me. Besides, it’s a great ice breaker, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Sure is. Nice to meet you, Willy. I’m Ilene Foster. Care to take a walk to the conference room?”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  They made their way across the cramped lobby and then strolled down a long corridor leading to various rooms and lounges. Ilene had reserved a room for one hour, twice as long as it usually took for her to get those precious signatures on the bottom line. She had played it safe. This part of the hotel was much quieter than the main entrance, much more elegantly decorated too. As they passed a sizable rectangular table covered with pamphlets and brochures Ilene pointed at the lamp in the center of it. “That’s a Wensco. A popular import from Europe. If you’re ever interested in something like that, I can get you a fabulous deal. They’re priced to sell.”

  Ilene realized she should have faced her while mentioning the lamp. She had continued walking. She also hoped favoring her right foot was not noticeable; she did not press down too hard on it. At the end of the hall they came to an intersecting hallway, the signs hanging from the ceiling read Conference Rooms. Having forgotten to inspect the room earlier as she had always done before, Ilene began digging through her purse for the reservation ticket. She felt Willy watching her, perhaps feeling somewhat embarrassed for her.

  “2A. That’s where we have to go.” Ilene had a big smile on her face. She pointed down the hall assuredly. “Right there, two doors down.”

  Ilene opened the door and allowed Willy to pass through first. “It’s beautiful. Make yourself comfortable, anywhere you want,” Ilene said.

  “Thank you.”

  Willy chose a table at the center of the room. She put her attaché case on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. Ilene sat across from her, then placed her briefcase on the table and opened it. Willy pulled out a small pad and pen, then pointed at herself. “You see, I travel light.”

  “Wise idea,” Ilene said. She gently tapped the side of her briefcase. “I, on the other hand, bring the office with me,” she said good-naturedly. “Always.”

  Willy laughed softly through her nose and scribbled something on her pad. Ilene tried to make out what she was writing but couldn’t do it. Without lifting her head from the pad, Willy said, “You can just call me Darla, if you’re okay with it.”

  Ilene squinted; she seemed confused. Of course she would be okay with it. She focused on her pad. Had Darla seen her expression? “Sure thing,” Ilene said. “That would be fine.”

  Ilene pulled out a glossy brochure from her briefcase and placed it between them in the center of the table; she opened to a bookmarked page halfway through. “We at Emerald’s believe this particular line would suit you, Darla. These brands are hot right now—red hot. They’re from Germany. And for a client of your stature, we have room to be—”

  “Let me guess…flexible on price?” Darla said, arching a brow.

  Put off guard, Ilene licked her lips and pulled a wisp of hair behind her ear. She put a forced smile on her face. “Something wrong?”

  “Well, of course not,” Darla said. “It’s just that I’ve been a businesswoman for so long that I knew what you were about to say.” She grinned. “I find myself finishing salesmen’s sentences these days. Anyway…”

  “Well, forgive me,” Ilene said. “I’ll be more direct. We also are offering special discounts on new imports from—”

  “Do you ever get tired of going through the motions? Repeating yourself?” Darla interjected. “How many clients do you pitch on a given day?”

  Surprised by Darla’s questions, Ilene stared at the table, mustering a response. She raised her head, glared at Darla. “Funny you should say that. I could ask you the same question. But I think I’d rather stick to our transaction here, to making you happy.”

  Darla smiled just enough to show some of her teeth. “I am happy, Ilene. I’ve been happy for a long, long time. My father—God rest his soul—taught me well. Made a mint all by himself. Said when it comes to earning the day’s bread, be fierce, be bold… leave no curiosities untold.”

  “I can appreciate your reverence for your father,” Ilene said. “Really. I just don’t want to get sidetracked here. Please, if you would help me understand what your needs are, it would be much easier for me to put together a package for you, one that would have the best long-term benefits. So...with respect to this year, which products will you require us to stock, provided we reach an agreement?”

  Darla put her hand in her jacket and pulled out a check. After smoothing it out she placed it on the table between them in a way that allowed Ilene to see the amount: $30,000. Ilene tried not to appear overeager—the check was double what she expected. It would be her biggest account ever, giving her steady commissions throughout the year; should she close this deal, more business would probably come her way. More high-quality leads would present themselves. She would get more of everything she craved—attention, respect, accolades, among other things. Ilene tried to act unaffected but her heart was beating wildly. She had to say something. “I look forward to earning every dollar of your generosity,” she said. “I also hope to win your respect, your confidence… your long-term commitment.”

  “Look, Ilene, I realize you’re the best in the business, which is why I had a check cut for you in advance. Some unforeseeable force emboldened me this morning, and I found myself writing a big number.”

  Ilene beamed. “Why, thank you, Darla!”

  Darla folded her hands together and rested her elbows on the table. She put the tips of her index fingers against her chin, as if carefully choosing her words. “But you’re going to have to earn my business—my trust—in a different way.”

  Ilene slanted her head. “I beg your pardon?” Her voice rose perceptibly in pitch.

  “You heard correctly. There are some questions I would like you to answer, part of that ‘no curiosities untold’ mantra. Remember? Respond to my questions honestly…and you seal the deal. If I detect even the slightest grain of mistruth…I’ll walk out of here and seek representation elsewhere. Your fate is in your own hands, Ms. Foster.”

  Ilene swallowed. She looked down at the check again, blinked thrice. Feeling measurable anxiety, she crossed her legs tightly. “Go ahead, Darla. You’re the client. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re satisfied. I put all my clients on a pedestal.” It had come out again. The phrase that had always nailed the big accounts she had used at an early juncture of this negotiation, however ineffectively.

  Darla sensed Ilene’s uneasiness. “Relax,” Darla said, “I may be assertive, but I don’t bite.”

  Ilene smiled, mumbling, “I’m fine. I’m—”

  “You married?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I am.”

  “Long time?”

  “Fifteen years.” She began fiddling with her thumb ring.

  “Happy?”

  Ilene paused a moment before answering. “Yes.”

  “Sure?”

  “Quite
.”

  “I think you’re being less than truthful, Ilene. Over thirty years as a sales executive has strengthened my perceptions. Just remember,” she said tapping the check, “full disclosure pays. Do you want to reconsider your answer?”

  Ilene squinted. “No.”

  Darla leaned over the table. “Look, Ilene, I’m inclined to believe that you think you can just tell me what I want to hear and then win my business as you’ve done numerous times before. Let me remind you, I respect your professional ability—your sterling reputation—but I have my own way of sizing up prospective vendors. My methods may seem a bit… odd, perhaps, but I always get results that satisfy me. See where I’m coming from?”

  Ilene licked her lips. “Sure. You’ve made your point very clear.”

  “Good. Then I’ll continue. Is your marriage a happy one?”

  “For the most part—just like anyone else’s.”

  “I’m reading you as less than straight, Ilene. Why is that?”

  “That’s just you, Darla, reading too much into things, overanalyzing.”

  “I don’t think so, Ilene. I think the difficulty I’m having is your response. Too common. Too prepared. Trite, if I may say so. You said it so casually, without a tinge of inflection. It was as if you were telling me you took out the garbage.”

  Ilene shook her head. She had become irritated by Darla’s unnecessary interrogation, but she hungered for that big check, the exuberance of acquiring a top-shelf client and being admired by her peers. How long she could play her client’s game she did not know. “Well, Darla. Jack and I are going through a rough time right now. But all couples experience ups and downs from time to time.”

  “Well done,” Darla said. “You used your husband’s name. Now I know you’re being honest with me—although there’s no need to qualify your comment by saying all couples have discord. We’re not talking about other couples now, are we?” Darla’s eyes were swimming in intensity.

  Ilene ran her teeth over her bottom lip. “Guess not,” she said taking a quick, shallow breath. “Anyway…I would be at your service twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I’m not just a nine-to-fiver, like the rest of them. Does that sweeten the deal for you?”

  “Tell me, why are you and Jack having a tough time?”

  Ilene stopped playing with her thumb ring and folded her hands together, squeezed. She could feel the tension expanding inside her. The back of her neck became sweaty. Her palms, her armpits, her feet perspired too; she slid off her pumps. “He says I work too much. Even when I’m home he says I’m distracted.”

  “Is that true?” Darla asked, with a look of genuine interest on her face.

  “To an extent. My job requires a lot more interaction with people than his does. A lot more steady research, a lot more schmoozing. So… he gets upset when I’m preoccupied with work.”

  Darla nodded once.

  Ilene seemed to be in a trance. “Carolyn takes his side.”

  “Who’s Carolyn?”

  Ilene came out of her trance. “Oh…sorry. That’s my daughter.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘our’ daughter?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Carolyn is your and Jack’s daughter, right?” Darla said, smirking.

  Ilene made a fist under the table. “Yes.” She had the urge to snap back at Darla but resisted. Too much was at stake now to think about retaliation. And even though Darla’s method of doing business was somewhat brash, Ilene tried to prevent herself from slipping up and making an irreparable mistake.

  “What does Jack do for a living?”

  Ilene rolled her eyes. “He’s a garbage man.”

  “That’s a hard job, don’t you think? Up early. Physical. Working in fluctuating weather conditions.”

  Ilene shifted in her chair; she looked at Darla but didn’t comment.

  “Am I right?” Ilene. “That’s honorable work—demanding work.”

  Ilene mumbled, “Perhaps.”

  “Why the gloom, then?”

  Ilene’s attention drifted to the wall. She got lost in her thoughts again. Darla waited patiently for an answer. Ten seconds of silence—silence similar to what Ilene had experienced after many of her disagreements with Jack. Now she felt claustrophobic in the capacious room. Her eyes suddenly seemed heavy with fatigue. “You’d think he’d want more—”

  Darla chuckled. “More? Isn’t the fact that he’s working enough?”

  “Sometimes it is…sometimes it isn’t”

  “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Ilene. And chafed me too.”

  Ilene huffed. “How’d I manage to do that?” “<

  My husband’s a truck driver. He’s on the road all day, doing the best he can. The road is a stressful, monotonous place. But none of that stops him from being a loving, caring, stable man. You seem not to see these same values in your husband.”

  Ilene tried to cut in but, holding her finger up, Darla held her off. “How can I do business with someone who evidently has problems—who’s competitive—with working-class people…especially her own husband? Perhaps now you can understand why I probe for the truth and ask questions, why I look for people with a backbone, who know how to get me what I need but, more importantly, know how to balance their time and energy.”

  Ilene looked away, bit her tongue.

  Darla licked her glossy lips. “If you’re putting a wall between yourself and your own family, what’s to keep you from doing so with me, or your other clients, for that matter?”

  “You’re blowing this way out of proportion, Darla. Our situation’s not that dire. I don’t have a problem with what he does. Money is tight nowadays so I’ve asked him to apply himself a bit more. But he won’t. Says he’s too tired to do any more. Meanwhile I’m on the road working ninety hours a week to make ends meet. I’m tired too.”

  Darla was unfazed by Ilene’s explanation. “Is your daughter okay, is she healthy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are your bills in line?”

  “Yeah...generally speaking.”

  “Are you and your husband still attracted to each other?”

  “What does that have to do with—?”

  “Please just answer, Ilene.”

  “Well…I think so…I am, at least.”

  Darla leaned across the table, grabbed Ilene’s hand tenderly, and then spoke in a gentle matter-of-fact tone. “Then where’s the malfunction? Why do you even have one, for that matter?”

  “Who are you to—?”

  Darla interrupted her, spoke tersely. “You corporate climbers are all so brilliant, right? Cocky? Give you the shiny leather pumps and pay your expenses and you think you’ve got everything under control, that your logic and your actions are flawless. You’ll readily sacrifice everything—even your loved ones—just to prove you’re ‘somebody.’ You’ll fight like a lion to win accounts—but exert hardly any energy on familial obligations. I see this behavior constantly, it’s become standard in the sales world. I call this pattern ‘the carousel of families on the fritz.’”

  Rendered speechless, Ilene’s bulging eyes began watering. Her response became lodged in her throat.

  Darla continued. “I’ve got a vendor, lives on the West Coast. Been doing business with him for over ten years. Paying him a pretty penny. Son of a gun’s always out with his wife living it up. But when I call him, he delivers exactly what I ask—on time! Do I care that he’s always off somewhere instead of kissing my ass, or at least pretending to? Or attending meaningless conventions and seminars which lead to nothing? No—because he’s always straight with me, even when he screws up—which has happened infrequently over the years, mind you. My point is: Unlike most companies, I believe personal life matters. It’s a reliable indicator of integrity, if there is any at all.” Darla ripped the $30,000 dollar check. Then she opened her briefcase and rummaged inside.

  Shocked, Ilene watched Darla. She beheld the look of contempt on her face. Or was it pity? Darla removed a pen and ano
ther check from her briefcase and started writing on it. “Ilene, I’ve never doubted your knowledge of your product. Within minutes of meeting you, of getting to know you, I felt comfortable giving you my business. You’re probably one of the best in your field, and I’m confident enough to overlook your troubles and let you prove your worth… let you be fierce, as my dad would say. But you and you alone are responsible for your own turmoil. Not your husband… or anyone else.” Darla fixed her eyes on Ilene, whose thoughts seemed stranded far away from her in an inaccessible place. Her jaw sagged, her lower lip twitched.

  “I bet,” Darla said, “to ward off the stress you indulge in facials and massages, pedicures and pricey meals…even a shopping spree when all else fails. Put it all on your expense account, fulfilling your sense of entitlement. But then you realize something profound: Nothing quite rids you of the simmering guilt, the emptiness, the shameless mirror reflecting the error of your ways.”

  Ilene was fighting back tears, trying to keep herself from coming undone in the meeting, from coping with her wounded pride and ego and whatever else in her psyche that had been whittled to shreds. There were so many things she wanted to say, actions she wanted to take, but she felt strapped to her chair like a condemned prisoner being read his rights—yet at the same time she also felt liberated. The juxtaposition of these thoughts gave her clarity she hadn’t experienced in years. Darla finished writing the check. “Do me a favor, Ilene. Put your shoes on and come around to this side of the table.”

  Ilene followed Darla’s instructions. She remained silent. When she got to Darla, Darla handed her a new check: $40,000 dollars. “You have my list of scheduled shipments, my pending orders. Adhere to them. The rest of the money is a retainer for your services next year, incentive to keep… me… content. But remember, the most important commitment in your life cannot be enhanced by what you’re holding in your hand. You better get to work. Earn your income, among other things.”