I met everyone at the corporate office, participated in product training, sales administration re-caps, marketing overviews, and the seasonal advertising plans for the retailers. Linda capped my final day with lunch and a tour of her office.
After thanking her profusely I rose from my chair.
“Emma, I have a few directives. Marching orders, style guides—call them whatever you like. They’ll keep you professional, not to mention in my good graces.” She handed me pad and pen. “Before you go, you’ll want to take a few notes.” I sat back down.
“You’re to wear suits or dresses, navy or black, knee length; not an inch shorter. Black opaque hosiery, low black pumps. Three-inch heels, max. No jewellery except your wedding band, and studs in your ears. Pearls if you must, but no longer than sixteen inches.”
This from a woman who sounded like a walking wind chime and looked like she dressed from the Ringling Brothers gift catalogue?
“If you adhere to my system for store visits, you’ll never be caught off guard. Binders. Keep one for every store and within it, a section for each visit. You’ll have a bio page for each Olympia employee we’re to see. Includes name, title, how long he or she’s been with us and with the store. Attach a Polaroid. Your notes section will include any gossip good or bad, motivations, and shortcomings.”
“Got it.” I stared at my pad. “Under the name, a small box labelled Should we Fire Them.” I looked up; she remained passive.
“I hate the feel of paper; plastic sleeve for each sheet.”
“I’m sure this keeps them from smudging.”
“Precisely. And I’ll need a chronological recap faxed within twelve hours of my St. Louis departure.”
“Please be explicit here, too. Time is money,” I said before she could begin.
“Very good, Emma.”
Hot damn. I knew how to play her game.
“Write the particular visit at the top followed by each meeting, store checks, and people involved. List by time of day. Fax it to me here at headquarters with proper cover.”
“You’ll have it within the next business day.”
“I’ll have it within the next day, period.”
“Of course.”
“Lastly, my visits. Never waste my time with a stop for gas. You meet me at the airport with tank full. Have the printed agenda and local paper with you. I read while you drive. No chit chat until I’ve checked my voicemail and looked over the paper. I hate useless chatter. It’s all business.” That much I’d already perceived.
“Commit this to memory, Emma-the-Rookie. You’re in a trial situation for the first year. Make no mistake. If you can’t follow these guidelines, you’re gone.”
I returned to St. Louis in low-heeled pumps from Barneys, my particulars in a black suede Prada tote, and a black knee-length dress from the Saks on the Fifth Avenue. Emma Paige as polished as an Olympia lipstick. I hit the ground running.
It took no time to learn Linda Clarkson had elbowed her way up Olympia’s Midwest ranks to top seller. From there her brusque style and no-nonsense work ethic garnered a promotion and transfer to the New York office. I joined her monochromatic fleet while she worked her magic in caked mascara, rouge, gleaming lip gloss, staggeringly bright clothes, and jangly jewellery. Iris Apfel with twice the heft and determination.
The terror of Olympia Beauty was old enough to be my mother and shared her narcissistic bent. But while Hair-trigger temperament and anti-social defiance consumed Mom, my boss used the traits to her advantage and advancement. Professional results countered her sandpaper persona but she was often reported to HR. Linda Clarkson could talk her way out of a harassment complaint like my mother got my father out of a bar tab, and all of us out of apartment evictions.
Linda flew into St. Louis from JFK like clockwork, overdressed, overweight and overzealous. Memorising her techniques and strategy reduced my stress to a simmering adrenaline rush level. After two months of shadowing her routine store manager meetings, and filling binders to her approval, she assigned the paperwork preparation to me. The night before our conference at the Eastland Mall I swigged cold coffee and reviewed my document, from sequential page numbering and chart layouts, to margins. From there I double checked the topic agenda handout for my notorious spelling.
The next morning, six minutes into the meeting, Linda’s flush crawled from her neck into her scalp. The store manager’s eyebrows appeared permanently arched. I’d forgotten his retail MTD, STD and YTD totals (month, season and year to-date statistics). Nor had I tabulated the DBR/daily business reports – counter employee records filed at the end of every shift—all of it critical tracking of business transacted from storeroom to counter to register.
“Since our statistics are missing, let’s move on to our focus products.” The manager’s charitable suggestion ignited my pulse. I had no clue which products generated his largest percentage of counter sales, nor could I name his top selling beauty advisor. My ears rang; my heart thundered.
“She’s new. We’re clearly wasting your time. You’ll have the information by this afternoon,” was all I absorbed of Linda’s apology as she closed the meeting.
“I’ll quit,” I managed as I trotted after her across the parking lot.
She waited until we were in the rental car. “I took a monumental chance on you for this position. I hired you with my eyes wide open. No college; no polish. But this? I had your assurance you are up to the task. No statistics? No DBR? How is it possible you don’t know the salesperson doing the most for a store manager’s fragrance counter? Have I totally misjudged you? You represent Olympia Beauty. You also represent my sound business judgment. I convinced management you were the one.”
She leaned back in her seat. Somewhere a horn honked. A woman hefted designer bags into her trunk. “I want you to know your business. Cold. I want you prepared with the required information as if staff meetings are final exams. You wasted his time. You wasted mine. You wasted yours.”
“I’ll hand in my resignation this afternoon.”
“I will not have management think I’ve made a judgment error. Your resignation would reflect directly on me. Quitting will only prove the naysayers right. Don’t you dare resign.” I started the car.
“And do not fuck up again.”
That night I put Magic Marker to Post-it Notes. and stuck DNFUA on my bedroom mirror, refrigerator, and desk chair.
Ten months into my job Olympia Beauty selected St. Louis as one of twenty-five cities for its ‘On Location’ launch. Linda flew in, assembled our group and played with her turquoise necklace. “I don’t need to tell you this event is major, major. Olympia’s goal is seventy-five thousand dollars of retail sales in five days. We’ll exceed it, of course. I hope that’s understood.”
Her clanking bracelets made it hard to decipher her directives, and I asked for a repeat.
She turned her cold steel gaze on me. “What can you possibly not understand? Take a class in lip reading if you can’t decipher the king’s English. Every one of you knows how to push sales over the top or you wouldn’t be part of my team.”
Her plane hadn’t left the runway before my fellow employees threatened to report her (again) to HR, as much for her condescension as her implied, unrealistic number of counter appointments. My declining to sign the petition chilled the atmosphere. I busied myself at our local stores, pressuring, firing up, then enlisting the cosmetic department sellers’ help.
The clock ticked. Having to report exaggerated booking numbers to meet Linda’s expectations chewed at me as I freshened a counter and picked up a discarded section of the St. Louis Post Dispatch. The lead article highlighted a breezy, upbeat report on local beauty trends. I reread it standing at the counter. Bingo! Within the hour I contacted the Dispatch fashion editor and pitched the idea of an exclusive story: Olympia Beauty as the key to the latest make-up artistry.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I piqued the editor’s interest. DNFUA, DNFUA. I presented logical details on how and why On Location would be like nothing anyone had experienced in the St. Louis area. She loved it. I had my miracle.
Three days later the Post-Dispatch coverage ran as the fashion section cover story. The editor included photos of me with Olympia and store staff, plus the all-important counter phone number for prospective clients to book On Location appointments. My booking totals were lies no more. We added additional make-up artists, took over the entire first floor, and expanded all the way to the escalators. Final sales reached ninety-seven thousand dollars.
