by Ramsey Isler
“Perfect,” Sam said. “I’ll give you the rundown when I get back.”
“I’ll have the ice cream ready,” Jess said. “Knock ’em dead, kiddo.”
* * *
It’s hard to believe now, but Detroit was once the crown of the Midwest United States. It was the home of wealthy elites and industry barons, and the city was full of lavish haunts, hotels, and houses. Most of these locales are mere shadows of their former selves, stripped of their glory and gold leaf. But if you know where to look, and have some money to spend, you can still find some impressive places to throw a party.
The Detroit Athletic Club is one such place. It was designed by famed architect Albert Kahn, and it opened in 1915. The club started as the hub for the city’s amateur and professional athletic scene, but in the nineties the club became better known as the hobnobbing spot for the city’s wealthiest and most famous residents. Tonight it was the venue for a charity event, but Sam was hoping some of that generous giving would extend to Hamilton’s sales pitch.
Sam drove up to the entrance and gave the valet her keys, but she didn’t go inside immediately. She stood around for a little while to do some reconnaissance. The party patrons were filtering in, and each one was dressed in expensive garb. The men all stuck to the usual black suit and tie, but the women took full advantage of every color in the rainbow, and every possible type of fabric, and every type of sequin known to man. As usual, Sam’s eyes ventured to the wrists of the people she watched. An Omega there, a Rolex there, a rare vintage piece over there. Sam knew them all. But what she noticed most of all was that no one, absolutely no one, came alone. This was certainly no singles mixer.
Once she had enough of people watching, she walked up to the doorman. He gave her a kind smile but did not budge from his spot between her and the entrance.
“Hello Miss....?”
“Chablon,” Sam said as she gave the man her invitation, “Sam Chablon.”
“Ah, Miss Chablon. Mr. Hamilton is already inside. You’ll find a lovely open bar, and some delightful finger food.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. She followed the signs to her destination, and was quite impressed when she arrived.
Walking into the main dining room of the Detroit Athletic Club is like walking through a time portal to the mid 1900s. The room is vast and open, with floor-to-ceiling windows framed by golden curtains boasting elaborate patterns, oak paneling on the walls, beautiful oil paintings depicting upscale life in the days before electricity, and a stunning ceiling with exposed wooden beams hand-painted with intricate imagery left by skilled and dedicated artisans. The entire scene was lit by hanging lamps that cast a warm golden hue throughout the room.
The party was in full swing already, with dozens of people chatting and drinking. Sam immediately scanned the crowd for another pantsuit, and found none. During her assessment of the crowd she saw Hamilton, who made eye contact and gave her a signal that he’d be over to gather her in a moment. He was currently talking with a pale couple who looked a bit too young for this crowd. They were older than Sam, but still far below the average age of the people surrounding them.
Hamilton slipped away from them and approached Sam. He eyed her with obvious distaste. He looked like a master chef examining a disappointing dish from one of his culinary students. “You didn’t wear a dress,” he said.
“I did not,” Sam answered, “but I did wear a watch.”
“I suppose...that’s what is important,” Hamilton said. “You got here at a good moment. I was chatting with Devon and Kathryn Charlevoix. Very wealthy and influential. Old money, but young faces. Sell them, and you’ll have the rest of the room eating out of your palm.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Let’s get to schmoozing.”
Sam and Hamilton made their way through the crowd and met Devon and Kathryn. “This is the brilliant Sam Chablon,” Hamilton said. “Sam, this is Devon and Kathryn.”
Kathryn extended a slender hand. Sam shook it gingerly. “Hello, Sam. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m so glad to see a young woman succeeding in business these days.”
“Thank you,” Sam said.
“Devon has been ogling Terry’s watch for the past five minutes,” Kathryn said. “Terry tells me you brought a model with you too.”
“I did,” Sam said as she extended her hand and presented her timepiece. “This is the Victoria.”
“Oh my,” Kathryn said. “It does catch the eye, doesn’t it? But the face is still awfully big.”
“True,” Sam said, “but we wanted to ensure the ladies model had just as much functionality as the pieces we make for men, and we’ve already done as much miniaturization as we could. But, as you’ll notice, for the Victoria we did take into account thinner wrists and this model has a slimmer band.”
“And it certainly is a beautiful band,” Kathryn said. “Silver?”
“Aluminum core with platinum alloy plating,” Sam said. “Would you like to wear it?”
Kathryn’s eyes grew as big as eggs. “Oh, could I?”
Sam slipped the watch off of her wrist and carefully put it on Kathryn’s arm, which was a small challenge since she was a bit stockier than Sam. But Sam’s fingers were deft, and she soon had the watch on. The beaming smile on Kathryn’s face said that she was quite happy.
“It’s so light,” Kathryn said, “even with that big face. And you say it does just as many things as Terry’s?”
“Exactly the same functionality,” Sam said. “But keep in mind that each watch is unique in its own way. They’ll share functionality, but no two will ever be exactly the same. The filigree on this one, for instance, was done by one of our artists on a whim. This is one of a kind.”
Kathryn held her arm up and gazed in apparent awe as the lamplight danced on the silvery surface. The light, combined with the constant movement of the crowd around them, made the watch appear as though it was covered in flowing mercury. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“I think you’ve made one sale already,” Devon said with a laugh.
“One sale?” Kathryn said, “Honey, I think I want two.”
“When are you offering them?” Devon asked.
“We’re open for online orders tomorrow,” Hamilton said. “The showroom opens next week in Bloomfield Hills.”
“How much for this one?” Kathryn asked.
“We’ve priced the Victoria at twenty thousand,” Sam said.
“Oh then I definitely want two,” Kathryn said with a light grasp of Sam’s arm. “Do I need to do that whole Internet thing? Can’t you just send it to me tomorrow?”
Hamilton leaned in and said, “I can personally deliver two to you in the morning.”
“Perfect,” Kathryn said. “Devon, write him a check.”
Devon laughed and said, “Kat, the only checks I’m writing tonight are going to charity. Terry, I’ll give you your money tomorrow when you show up with Kat’s watches, and mine.”
“Yours?” Hamilton asked.
“I can’t let my wife have a better watch than me,” Devon said. He winked at Sam. She smiled, nodded, and then looked away.
The rest of the evening continued along the same theme. Hamilton would introduce Sam to an ebullient pair of philanthropists, and the conversation would end with them eager to spread the word to their friends, or have a Better Timepiece on their own wrists before the week was out. By the end of the night, Hamilton had agreed to personally deliver $200,000 worth of merchandise.
Hamilton did most of the selling, and Sam kept her lines limited to product specs, release schedules, and the occasional joke. Between sales pitches, Hamilton said nothing to her, and didn’t do much more than give her disapproving glares.
After an hour, the charity auction began and the attendees started bidding on various objects that Sam found utterly tasteless. But she had to admit the event had a certain atmosphere about it. All these glitterati partying in one place created an infectious, carefree feeling that was pervasive enough to pier
ce Sam’s cynical armor.
So, much to Sam’s surprise, she actually didn’t despise the last portion of the evening. She still wanted to be somewhere else, but this was far from the horrible experience she was expecting. Once the auction was over and she could make a fashionable exit without offending anyone, she said a few goodbyes to the smiling new customers she’d met during the evening and made her way to the exit. But she wasn’t quite stealthy enough, and Hamilton intercepted her on the way to the elevator.
“I told you to wear something sleeveless,” he said quietly. “A dress. You do know what those are, don’t you?”
“The others thought I looked fine,” Sam said as she jabbed the elevator button.
Hamilton glared at her. “They thought you were a lesbian.”
“Hm. That might explain why Mrs. Greenberg kept showing me pictures of her daughter.”
Hamilton took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips. “Samantha, stop playing the tomboy. You’re too old for it. It’s not cute anymore. You’re the CEO of a company that has a real chance at hitting it big, but this business is all about appearances. We’re selling glorified jewelry to people who want to inflate their own self-esteem. You have to represent what they want and who they want to be. It’s not enough that you’re brilliant. You have to be brilliant and beautiful.”
“Thank you for the suggestion,” Sam said. “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
“Bah,” Hamilton said. “I’ll never understand your generation. You’re just a bunch of spoiled kids who think the rules don’t apply to them. You better watch yourself, young lady, or you’re going to learn your lessons the hard way.”
“Well, I never was one to take the easy way,” Sam said. The elevator then arrived with a chime. Sam stepped inside, and gave Hamilton a halfhearted wave goodbye as the doors closed between them.
* * *
At 4 p.m. Eastern Standard Time the next day, the Better Timepieces website went live. The Better founders, except for Hamilton, observed the event from Sam’s living room.
“I’m nervous as hell,” Jess said once the online store was open for orders. “I need a drink.”
“Good idea,” Sam said. “Let’s all drink. There’s booze in the fridge. Tequila shots for everybody.” Sam disappeared into the kitchen.
“We’re certainly getting a lot of hits,” Yusef said as he leaned closer to his computer screen.
“I’d hope so,” Jess said. “I’ve done everything I could think of. Press releases, contests, blogger outreach. Now it all comes to a head.”
“There seems to be a problem,” Yusef said.
Sam jumped back into the living room, tequila bottle in hand. “What? What kind of problem?”
Yusef’s fingers did a furious dance between the keyboard and the mouse. “Just...give me a little time to sort it out.”
“God, where’s that drink, Sam?” Jess said. “Make it a double.”
Sam went back into the kitchen and poured tequila into two shot glasses. She almost filled a third glass before she realized that they’d be better off if Yusef was completely sober until he figured out the problem.
When Sam returned, Yusef was giggling uncontrollably and Jess was staring at him with wary eyes.
Sam approached him, slowly. “Uh...this is a bad time for you to go crazy, Yusef.”
“I thought there was a bug in the system,” Yusef said between fits of laughter. “But that’s not the issue at all. The system is working fine, but none of the orders were going through.”
“Isn’t that a problem?” Jess said.
“Yes, and no,” Yusef said. “Yes, we’ll have to do something about the orders that didn’t go through, but no it’s not a problem.”
“Why not?” Sam asked.
Yusef finally stopped laughing, and when he spoke his voice was steady. “The orders weren’t going through because we sold out the whole inventory. In two minutes.”
Chapter 12
Sam did not believe Yusef. Not at first, at least. She shooed him away from his computer and did her best to double-check his findings, though she wasn’t quite as skilled as he was with deciphering the data. Then she left Yusef’s computer and went to her own laptop. She logged into the servers and pored through the logs for twenty minutes before she turned to Jess and Yusef and said, “Holy shit.”
Then the party started.
The alcohol that was originally meant to ease nervous energy became the fuel for a hedonistic soiree. At some point, a dozen other people appeared at Sam’s house and joined in the fun. Jess had apparently invited them over, but Sam hardly cared at the time. She could barely stand at the time.
But when the morning came and she surveyed her disheveled home through the haze of a hangover, she realized that the partying had perhaps gotten a tad out of hand. She also realized that, besides cleaning up and needing to find where Yusef’s pants went, she had a more serious problem on her hands. They would need to find a way to meet their extraordinary demand. Piv had already proven himself to be a handy craftsman who could build whatever Sam dreamed up. But surely even elven productivity had its limits.
These thoughts rattled in her aching head when a resounding knock hit the door.
Sam stumbled to the door and looked out the peephole. That was a mistake. The piercing sunlight felt like a hot poker driving directly through her eye and into her brain. She flinched from the light and asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s Terry.”
Sam opened the door just a crack and peeped outside. Hamilton was standing there in a blazer and slacks, looking rather smart, but peeved.
“Hey,” Sam said. “What’s up?”
“You weren’t answering my calls,” Hamilton said. “I saw the update on the site about the inventory selling out. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. “Couldn’t have done it without your help.”
Hamilton tried his best to peer past Sam and peek into the house. “I assume Yusef and Jessica are in there as well?”
Yusef was still face down on the floor in his underwear, and Jess was...somewhere. Maybe. “Yeah,” Sam said. “They’re around.”
“We need to get some press out and make some appearances,” Hamilton said. “The media is chomping at the bit. What have you guys been doing all day?”
“We’ve been...resting.”
Hamilton’s jaw clenched. He didn’t look at Sam as he said, “I really wish you kids would take this seriously. I’ve got money on the line here.”
“So do I,” Sam said.
“That’s your daddy’s money,” Hamilton said. “Not yours. You didn’t work a lifetime for that money. While you and your buddies were sleeping off your premature celebration, I was out there delivering the merchandise I sold with very little help from you. That’s what it takes to be successful, Sam. Follow through.”
“I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now,” Sam said. “If you want to go on thinking you’re the only one doing any real work around here while the lazy kids party, I don’t really care. You just better remember who busted her ass to get you merchandise to sell in the first place.”
Sam slammed the door, and she instantly regretted that as the bang reverberated in her skull. Yusef awoke with a start, sat up, and eyed her with confusion.
“Wha happenssss?” he slurred.
“Nothing,” Sam said. “Where’s Jess?”
Yusef grabbed his forehead. “Hell, I don’t even know where I am.”
“You’re still at my place,” Sam said. “Get some water and sober up. Find Jess and tell her to meet me at the office at five.”
Yusef checked his watch. “But it’s noon now. You want to meet that late?”
“Yes,” Sam said as she leaned against the nearest wall. “I need time to make sure I can get through a meeting without barfing.”
* * *
The evening meeting went as expected. The first forty-five minutes were nothing but Hamilton grumbling about his irres
ponsible business partners. Yusef seemed genuinely embarrassed and ashamed. Jess felt differently, and although she didn’t say a word her frequent eye-rolls spoke volumes. Sam was just happy to get through the whole thing without vomiting all over the conference table.
When Hamilton was finished bloviating, Sam simply said, “Thank you for your input.” and proceeded to hand out tasks for the next phase of their deployment. Jess was going to hype up the fact that they had sold out all units and give the media just enough info to let their speculation run wild. Yusef was going to review the online sales systems and make them more robust so they could give better alerts about high volume and inventory issues. Sam promised to work on doubling production and planning the release schedule for the next model. Everyone agreed on the plan, and then they dispersed.
Sam went back to her home, which was still a disaster scene after last night’s party. She stood in her living room for a while and pondered cleaning it up. Rupert walked into the room and poked his nose into the various pieces of detritus that littered the floor.
“You know what?” Sam said to herself as she pulled out her phone. “I ain’t got time for this.” Then she dialed the number for a cleaning service. Once she had an appointment made for early tomorrow, she went up to her room, grabbed her father’s journal, and began to read again
* * *
June 5th,
Something has been nagging me. As I spend time with the Kith, I find myself revisiting elf stories from the past. Piv has been quite helpful with dispelling or confirming myth and folklore whenever I ask. However, we had not yet touched upon a common thread that repeatedly comes up in the old stories. I had a feeling Piv would avoid talking about if I approached him directly, so I devised a ruse.
Today I challenged Piv. Normally, I let him do whatever strikes his fancy and I’m happy to simply observe what he does. But now that we are friendly and familiar, I felt it was time to make some requests/demands of my own.
