‘I’ve got your schedule,’ he said, a rasp in his voice. ‘What’s the idea? What do you think you’re playing at? Your prices are ten percent ahead of the American Express quotation.’
‘They quoted you eighteen months ago, Mr. Dyer,’ I said smoothly. ‘Prices have gone up since then and they are likely to keep going up. The price I’ve quoted you is present day rock bottom.’
There was a pause, then he said, less sharply, ‘Those formalities completed yet?’
‘Yes. The account is now open.’
‘Then we had better get together and talk terms. Be at the Coq d’Or restaurant at 13.00. Right?’
The Coq d’Or restaurant was the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in Paradise City. It cost you $1.50 just to check your hat.
‘Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Dyer, but you must excuse me,’ I said blandly. ‘I never go out to lunch. I’ll be here any time convenient to you.’
‘You never go out to lunch?’ His voice shot up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I take a desk lunch, Mr. Dyer. I’m too busy to eat out.’
‘Harkness always lunched with me!’
‘That was his privilege. When do you think you could drop in, Mr. Dyer?’
There was a long pause, then he said, ‘I think you should have the courtesy to lunch with me.’
‘It’s not a matter of courtesy, it’s a matter of having the time, Mr. Dyer. You want top class service: by having a desk lunch, I am able to give it to you.’
‘Oh, very well!’ I could tell by the tone of his voice he was angry and frustrated. ‘Then this afternoon at 15.00,’ and he hung up.
I looked over at Sue and winked at her.
‘No more expensive lunches for Vernon,’ I said. ‘We’re getting away to a good start.’
Dyer didn’t show up until 16.00. I was busy with a client and he paced up and down outside my office. From time to time, he paused to glare at me and look at his watch. I paid no attention. When my client left, I waved to Dyer to come in.
‘Sorry to have kept you, but your appointment was for 15.00.’
He grunted and sat down.
‘So the account’s open,’ he said. ‘I take it you have talked to Harkness?’
‘I’ve talked to him.’
‘We’ll be satisfied with the same terms as we got from him.’ He stared at me. ‘You know the terms?’
‘I know them but unfortunately we can’t accept them.’
He stiffened.
‘What the hell do you mean? What’s good enough for the American Express is surely good enough for you.’
‘The arrangement you made with them was eighteen months ago, Mr. Dyer. We are trying to keep prices down. We can still give you six months’ credit, but I regret no discount.’
He leaned forward, his face flushed, his eyes glittering.
‘So you don’t want our business?’
‘I didn’t say that Mr. Dyer.’
‘That’s just what you are saying! You either give us the same terms as the American Express gave us or you don’t get our business!’
‘Then regretfully we don’t get it.’ I put on a sad expression. ‘If you are able to find another agency who will give you the terms you want, Mr. Dyer, then obviously it is your privilege to go to them.’
He sat back, glaring.
‘Are you serious? Are you telling me you won’t take business worth two hundred thousand for the sake of an absurd five percent discount?’
‘Which would amount to ten thousand in your favour. I’m sorry, Mr. Dyer, that’s the way it is.’
He licked his lips, then asked in a more conciliatory tone, ‘What will you give, four percent?’
I knew then he was bluffing.
‘I’m sorry, but there can be no discount.’ I smiled at him. ‘Have you tried the Global or the Florida agencies?’
‘They’re useless!’ By his flush I knew he had tried them.
‘There are plenty of others. I’ll ask Miss Douglas to give you a list of them if that would be helpful.’
He sat for some moments, staring down at his hands, then he said, ‘You will give us six months’ credit?’
‘That’s agreed.’
‘It’s most odd you can’t give some kind of discount on a turnover like this.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged and forced a smile.
‘Okay, I suppose you had better have the account.’
‘That’s up to you, Mr. Dyer.’
He took out a gold cigarette case, selected a cigarette and lit it.
‘How about my commission?’ I lifted my eyebrows.
‘Excuse me . . . your commission?’
His eyes snapped angrily.
‘You don’t expect me to give you an account of this size without you giving me something in return? It’s normal business practice.’
‘What had you in mind, Mr. Dyer?’ His face lit up.
‘Five thousand would be acceptable . . . in cash, of course.’
For sheer nerve and effrontery, I thought, this arrogant creep wanted a beating.
‘I’ll take it up with head office,’ I said.
His eyes shifted.
‘This would be strictly confidential, of course.’
‘I doubt if my people would consider it as such. It’s a practice my people don’t approve of.’ I gave him my sympathetic smile ‘As far as I’m concerned if someone gets a payoff for bringing an account to us, I say good luck to him.’
He gave me a leering little smile.
‘I’m sure you can handle this for me Burden. Of course Mr. Vidal need not know. You understand? After all I am doing you a favour.’
‘My Vice President is a little sticky, Mr. Dyer. If he hears Mr. Vidal’s personal aide is asking us for five thousand dollars for bringing Mr. Vidal’s account to us, it is rather likely he would write to Mr. Vidal to ask if he approved.’
Dyer lost colour.
‘You mean I don’t get anything?’
‘Service, Mr. Dyer. You’ll get that.’
He really hated me then. I could see it in the expression in his eyes. With an unsteady hand he took an envelope from his pocket and threw it on my desk.
‘Here are your instructions! Get working on them! And I warn you Burden, no slip-ups! I don’t tolerate shoddy work!’
Getting to his feet, he stalked out of my office, past Sue and away down the corridor.
I opened the envelope and studied his instructions. It was a nice order: six first class fares New York-Tokyo: hotel accommodation for fourteen days, chauffeur driven car, everything V.I.P. I put the instructions back in the envelope, told Sue to get it to Miami by special messenger, then returning to my office.
I called Massingham and gave him a blow-by-blow account of my interview with Dyer.
When he was through laughing, he said: ‘Fine, Clay. I’ll tell Mr. Ryner. You couldn’t have done better. We’ll cope with the Tokyo schedule as soon as we get it. Don’t tell Harkness about this. Let’s keep it under our hats.’
I did tell Sue. I wanted to tell Rhoda as we drove home. I felt like crowing a little about this triumph, but I knew Rhoda wouldn’t be interested. She was again moaning about her feet.
But Val would have been interested. She would have insisted we celebrated this little triumph.
The ache began again.
* * *
The Tokyo schedule, the air tickets and the hotel vouchers arrived in the morning’s mail. Around 10.00, I called Dyer at the Vidal residence. After some delay, he came on the line.
‘I have the Tokyo schedule wrapped up,’ I said. ‘Shall I mail it to you or will you arrange to have it picked up?’
‘Bring it here yourself,’ he snapped. ‘I have more business to discuss with you. I’m not wasting my time in the future, hanging around your office.’ and he slammed down the receiver.
I should have expected that. It was his petty way of getting even. Now it would be his turn to keep me waiting.
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I left my office to consult Sue.
‘Unless we have a rush,’ she said, ‘I’m sure I can manage.’
‘But we could have a rush. I don’t want complaints. We have assured the hotel, in return for this office space, we would give them top class service. I’ll talk to Massingham.’
Massingham was immediately alive to the situation.
‘Remember Bill Olson from Boston?’ he said. ‘He’s just arrived here to get the background of Florida. I’ll send him to you. He may as well work with you as with me. He’ll be over in an hour.’
I was startled. I hadn’t seen Olson since Val had left Boston so mysteriously. Remembering him made me think of her again.
I told Sue.
‘Fix it we get another desk in here.’ I said. ‘I guess if you move your desk further to the left, we can just squeeze in a second.’
She nodded.
‘I’ll fix it right away,’ and reached for the telephone.
Taking the schedule and the tickets, I went down the corridor towards the parking lot. I looked in at The Trendie Miss. Rhoda was sitting on her stool, absorbed in a magazine.
‘Watch it, honey,’ I said, ‘or you’ll wear your feet out.’
She looked up blankly.
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing. I may not be back in time for lunch. Don’t wait for me. I’m calling on Mr. Henry Vidal.’
‘Big deal, huh?’ and she returned to her magazine.
Paradise Largo is an isthmus linking E.l to A.I.A highways. The causeway leading to the Largo is guarded by a lodge and an electronically controlled barrier. No one repeat no one is allowed on the Largo without first identifying himself and stating his business.
Hidden behind high flowering hedges, some three feet thick and guarded by big oak, nail studded gates, are some thirty to forty magnificent houses owned by the wealthiest of Florida’s wealthy.
I stopped the Plymouth before the lodge and submitted to a searching stare by the blue uniformed guard.
‘Calling on Mr. Dyer at Mr. Vidal’s residence,’ I said. ‘The name’s Clay Burden. Mr. Dyer is expecting me.’
‘Driving, licence,’ he said.
I gave it to him, and after examining it, he handed it back, then turning away, he reached for a telephone. There was a delay then he pressed a button that lifted the barrier and he waved me through.
‘Fourth gates on your left.’
I drove down the wide, sand strewn road, turned left and arrived at a massive twelve foot high set of gates which were opened by another blue uniformed guard.
‘Straight ahead Mr. Burden,’ he said. ‘Park in lot 4.’
I drove up the winding drive shaded by palm trees and lined on either side with Sweet Bay and Oleander shrubs. A halt acre of immaculate lawn and flower beds, blazing with colour, appeared on my right, then I saw the house, a two-storey, Spanish style building covered with red and pink Bougainvillaea. There was a loggia running the length of the house, decorated with pink coral stone. A lush place: big, imposing and opulent.
I parked in lot 4 as directed. On one side of me was a Rolls Corniche and on the other a Lamborghini Espada. Their glittering coach work made my Plymouth look shabby.
A dark skinned flunkey, in white linen trousers and a blood red jacket moved out of the shade and showed me his teeth.
‘Mr. Burden?’
I nodded.
‘This way, please.’
He led me along a path lined on either side with red azalea shrubs that made a splendid ribbon of colour to a long, low building of white wood. He pushed open a door, stood aside as he said, ‘Third door, please. I will tell Mr. Dyer.’
I entered a large room with a big oval table in the centre, covered with magazines. There were eight men, fat, thin, middle aged and elderly, all wearing City suits, sitting in lounging chairs, briefcases on their knees. They looked sharply at me as if suspecting I was a dangerous competitor, then when I sat down, they looked away.
We all sat in silence. After five minutes, a woman’s voice said through a concealed speaker, ‘Mr. Hedger please. Room five.’
A fat, elderly man sprang to his feet and hurried out.
More minutes dragged by, another name was called, another man hurried out.
This went on until only a balding man and I were left.
‘Like being at the dentist,’ I said, lighting my fourth cigarette.
‘That’s right. I guess I prefer the dentist any day.’ He took out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating face.
I glanced at my watch. I had been sitting there now for an hour and ten minutes. Next time, if there was a next time, I told myself, I would bring some work to do.
The balding man was called. He nodded to me on his way out.
An hour and thirty-five minutes later, my name was called.
‘Mr. Burden please. Room fifteen.’
I found Vernon Dyer lounging behind a vast desk cluttered with three telephones, a tape recorder, an intercom with about thirty switches, a bowl of flowers, a bowl of salted peanuts, three onyx ash trays, a silver cigarette box and a small cigar cabinet. It was a wonder to me he had room to write a letter. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he nibbled peanuts and dictated.
‘There you are,’ he said laughing down. I put the wallet containing the schedule, air tickets and hotel vouchers on the blotter before him, then sat down.
He took his time examining the schedule, obviously trying to find fault. He looked up suddenly, scowling.
‘Why put them in at the Pacific hotel?’ he demanded.
‘It has a fine garden, a Japanese atmosphere and it’s much quieter than the Imperial.’
‘They won’t have time to use the garden and who the hell cares about atmosphere? Put them up at the Imperial!’
‘No problem, Mr. Dyer.’
He glared at me.
‘I want the vouchers by 16.00 and not later.’
‘You’ll have them. Maybe next time you will tell me the hotel you prefer.’
‘It’s your job to know the best hotels!’
‘In my opinion the Pacific is the best.’
He flushed.
‘Change it to the Imperial.’ He tossed the hotel vouchers over to me, then looked at the wall clock. The time was 13.10. ‘Is it as late as that?’ He paused to give me a sneering little smile. ‘I’ll have to ask you to come back. I have a lunch date. Be at 15.00. Right?’
I got to my feet.
‘I have an appointment at 15.00, Mr. Dyer. I’m sorry.’
He cocked his head on one side and squinted at me.
‘With an account our size, I expect service. I want you here at 15.00.’
‘Still sorry. If it’s that urgent why don’t you come to my office after your lunch?’
We stared at each other. His eyes were the first to shift.
His face was tight with anger as he said, ‘All right. All right. I’m late as it is so I may as well be later. I’ll give you instructions now.’ He took from his desk drawer a heavy envelope and handed it to me. ‘Go through this. Call me tomorrow if there are any queries . . . there probably will be. Don’t make out any hotel vouchers without consulting me.’
‘Okay,’ I said and moved to the door.
‘Wait. I was forgetting. I want you to be completely available for five days from next Tuesday.’
‘Completely available?’ I repeated, staring at him.
‘That’s what I said. Mr. Vidal is going to San Salvador. Mrs. Vidal is going with him. While Mr. Vidal is occupied with business, you are to take Mrs. Vidal around and show her the sights. Everything V.I.P. of course. Air conditioned cars: a suite at the hotel. Mr. Vidal wants to stay at the Intercontinental. First class air for them: economy for you. The full instructions are in the envelope.’
This was something I didn’t want to do. I knew I would be useless as a guide, not having been to El Salvador, and besides, it wasn’t my job.
‘We have a good agency in San Salvador who will take excel
lent care of Mrs. Vidal.’
‘That is just what Mr. Vidal doesn’t want!’ Dyer snapped. ‘He said emphatically that Mrs. Vidal was not to go around with some Latin-American dago. He wants you to do it. Any objections?’
‘Valuable as Mr. Vidal’s account is, it isn’t the only one I look after,’ I said. ‘I will see what can be arranged. We have a first class guide at Miami who would look after Mrs. Vidal.’
‘I told Mr. Vidal you would be pleased to do the job so you had better do it!’
‘If I am away for five days, there will be no one to look after your instructions.’ I was threshing around to find an excuse.
‘You have next week’s instructions in your hand,’ Dyer said impatiently. ‘There won’t be any other business until you get back.’
I gave up.
‘I’ll see what can be arranged,’ I said and left him.
I stopped at a Howard Johnson restaurant for a prawn salad and a coke. While I ate, I went through the instructions he had given me. It was an impressive travel order: first class fare, plus hotel accommodation for a week for ten people on a sightseeing, trip to London. A similar trip for five people sightseeing in Paris and a flight for two to Moscow. All V.I.P. Finally I came to Vidal’s trip. He and his wife were to leave Monday and to be met at el Aeropuerto de Ilopango and conveyed in an air conditioned car to the Intercontinental hotel. I was to join them the following day, Tuesday, and take Mrs. Vidal sightseeing. I was to be at her disposal while they stayed in San Salvador. We were to return to Paradise City on Sunday.
I drove back to the office to find Bill Olson installed. Both he and Sue were tied up with clients.
Olson looked up and grinned at me. He had aged a little since we last met: a tall, rangy man with an easy manner, a ready smile and good features.
Not wanting to disturb him, I waved and went into my office. I called Massingham. I told him about the Imperial hotel vouchers and asked him to have them sent to Dyer before 16.00, then went on to tell him about the El Salvador trip.
‘If Dyer isn’t going to bother us while you’re away,’ Massingham said, ‘then I think you should go. It’ll be a change of scene for you.’
‘But I’ve never been there and will be useless as a guide.’
‘Telex the San Salvador agency. Tell them to get out a sightseeing schedule and for them to provide a chauffeur-guide. The Vidals can’t object to him if you are with him, can they?’
1975 - Believe This You'll Believe Anything Page 3
