Working It Out. Alex George
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expansively behind him. ‘As you can see, we’ve got a few more troops today.’
‘Yes,’ said Johnathan, hating him. Everyone else had stopped talking and was looking at him critically.
‘The reason for everyone’s being here today is that we have something to discuss which is in our view sufficiently serious as to merit the attendance of all these various individuals for one reason or another as you will see when we get down to business but of course prior to that I will be introducing you to everybody here and explaining to you their roles in this transaction to date and the roles which they will adopt from now on, once of course we’ve all got some coffee down our throats, hey folks?’ said Gary Schlongheist III. Johnathan rapidly felt himself losing control in the face of such officious and long-winded pedantry. He opened his mouth but no noise came out. Schlongheist looked at him questioningly for a few moments and then slapped him on the back and prompted, ‘So, lead on, Macbeth. Which of your rooms do we get to see today?’
Johnathan cast a desperate eye over the group of people. ‘If you’d just like to follow me.’ Feeling like a tour guide, he turned and set off down the corridor which led to the rabbit warren of conference rooms.
The Americans filed into the appointed room and seated themselves along one edge of the long table. Johnathan awkwardly put his papers in the middle of the table opposite the row of faces. Just as he was about to speak, Gary Schlongheist III began again.
‘OK everybody, time for formal introductions. The gentleman sitting opposite you is John Burlip, who represents Mr Rocastle in the current transaction.’
Johnathan shifted in his seat. The row of heads nodded ever so slightly in his direction. My name is Johnathan, you fat American turd, he said to himself as he smiled weakly.
‘Now, John. Can I introduce, from left to right, the following ladies and gentlemen: Ulverton Lovestick, Aaron Bostick, Randy Merrick, Brandy Jordan, and lastly Harry Sawyer.’ Gary Schlongheist III beamed.
In perfect synchrony each person reached into an inside pocket and withdrew a business card which was then pushed over the table at Johnathan like a poker hand. He arranged the cards in front of him in the same order as the people opposite him. He looked up at Gary Schlongheist III, who was playing with his expensive-looking pen.
‘First of all, John,’ said Schlongheist, ‘I’d like you to listen to the managing director of Dolls and Guise Inc., Harry Sawyer.’
The man sitting next to Schlongheist cleared his throat and began to shuffle papers busily. Johnathan glanced down at his business card. It said: ‘H.D.(Harry) Sawyer, Managing Director’ in overly florid typescript.
‘Good morning,’ said H.D.(Harry) sombrely. ‘The reason that I asked Gary to arrange this meeting today is that we appear to have encountered a problem which might seriously affect the viability of the proposed transaction for us.’
Johnathan’s heart lurched. ‘Oh?’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ agreed H.D.(Harry), ‘and we just wanted to talk the issue through with you to see if we could arrive at some happy compromise.’
‘I see,’ said Johnathan.
There was an awkward pause.
‘The thing is,’ said H.D.(Harry), ‘we’ve been having a look at those dolls your client produces. And while they’re real cute, we’ve spotted a problem with them. It has always been a point of commercial concern and indeed pride for Dolls and Guise Inc. that all of the little dolls that we make are as lifelike as possible so as to provide young girls with a genuine learning tool as well as a terrific toy.’ H.D.(Harry) was looking round the table, acknowledging the enthusiastic nods of his colleagues. ‘As a result of this policy our dolls have certain features which perhaps are not what you in England might ordinarily expect to see. And there is one thing in particular which we hold to be especially important which you certainly don’t see on Mr Rocastle’s dolls.’
‘Which is?’ said Johnathan.
The American glanced at Brandy Jordan, who was sitting next to him. ‘Pubic hair.’
Johnathan blinked.
Brandy Jordan spoke for the first time. ‘Mr Burlip, we at Dolls and Guise Inc. firmly believe that we have a social obligation to educate the young of America in the mysterious ways of nature. Hence our product lines of Pregnant Penelope and Menstruating Melissa.’ She paused. Randy Merrick coughed supportively. Randy and Brandy exchanged smiles of such cloying sweetness that Johnathan felt a little queasy.
Brandy continued. ‘We have conducted a great deal of research into this and we do believe that to manufacture dolls with pubic hair prepares young girls for the often shocking trial that puberty represents. It means that when they begin to grow their pubic hair they will have already familiarized themselves with the concept and above all the sight of pubic hair in general.’
‘Pubic hair,’ repeated Johnathan dully.
Brandy Jordan’s cheaply peroxided head disappeared beneath the table top. ‘Let me show you,’ she said. There was the unclicking of a briefcase. Brandy Jordan reappeared, clutching a doll about twelve inches high with long red hair. She thrust it across the table towards Johnathan. Johnathan eyed it suspiciously.
‘And Mr Burlip, look,’ said Brandy Jordan. With no further ceremony she hooked her little finger underneath the doll’s knee-length skirt and hiked it upwards over its hips. She deftly spread the doll’s legs as wide as the little plastic joints would allow, and placed it in the middle of the table, its parted legs pointing wantonly at Johnathan. Johnathan looked, appalled. At the top of the doll’s legs sat what looked like a small Brillo pad.
‘Right,’ he said eventually.
‘John, if my client is to adhere to company policy then all future dolls coming from Mr Rocastle’s factory will have to be fitted with pubic hair, and that may be quite an expensive addition,’ said Schlongheist. It sounded a bit like getting a car fitted with a sun-roof. ‘Unless we can come to some sort of arrangement then I fear we shall have to reconsider our current negotiating position.’
Johnathan tried to think. He began to feel very uncomfortable. He tried hard to look somewhere other than at the doll’s grisly pudendum, which seemed to have fixed him with its evil eye. ‘Wouldn’t it be a feasible option to leave these dolls as they are?’ he said desperately. ‘If you like it could represent another option open to women. After all, not every woman has pubic hair.’
Harry Sawyer considered this. ‘So you’re suggesting that the English dolls could just be dolls of women who have chosen to shave their pubis?’ He seemed enchanted. He looked down the length of the table enquiringly. ‘It certainly is an option. Anybody got any comments?’
Ulverton Lovestick raised his hand, as if in school. He spoke with a mellifluous southern twang. ‘I guess that’d work as long as we made it clear from the marketing that the choice to depilate had been made, and that it wasn’t some oversight on our part.’
There was an enthusiastic nodding around the table as people began to murmur quietly to each other. Ulverton Lovestick began to sketch something on a piece of paper.
Gary Schlongheist III raised his hands in protest. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I suspect we may be getting slightly off the point of today’s meeting–’
He was ignored. The other Americans had descended into a huddle. ‘…We could package in such a way as to explain the health benefits of depilation, the convenience…’
‘…It would be a radical departure for us…’
‘We could call her Depilating Donna.’
‘Or Hairless Helen.’
‘I’ve got it. What about Shaving Sharon?’
Aaron Bostick was not convinced, however. ‘It’ll just make our products like everyone else’s,’ he complained. ‘We’ll lose the male market, that’s