Chapter 4
One thing spoke louder than words. One thing could grab Callous Calvin Dreyfuss’s attention above the demands that peppered the offices on the sixth floor at the corner of 54th street. And having dealt with people like Mr. Dreyfuss her entire life, Sam knew exactly what that one thing was.
“Money,” she stated.
Behind another puff of smoke Mr. Dreyfuss’s face scrunched with confusion and intrigue. “Money?”
“Yes, money,” she echoed. “What if I can guarantee to draw in more readers, increase magazine sales, and thus earn you more money?”
Mr. Dreyfuss leaned in. Sam held her breath. She would endure his cigarette coffee breath if it meant holding his interest.
Always follow the money, her father had once told her when she questioned why his doctor had prescribed him a heart medicine with documented adverse side effects that could kill him. And it eventually did. But the silver lining for the doctor was the substantial kickback he got from Cook Pharmaceuticals for prescribing the popular heart disease drug that Sam was determined to expose to the public as ineffective—nay, dangerous—if everything went as planned. As far as Sam was concerned, the doctor and his kickback could go down in flames together.
“Go on.” Mr. Dreyfuss gestured for her to continue. “Money talks. What’s the skinny?”
“It’s one small favor I’m asking for…” Sam inhaled a lungful of audacity. “I want my own advice column for Women’s House Magazine, and free rein to write what I want. With no interference from the higher-ups.”
“And how do you propose you getting a promotion will benefit me?” he shot back.
Touché, Mr. Dreyfuss. But Sam already had an answer locked and loaded.
“That’s only the first part. The second part is that you do the same with Ladies Home Journal. Promote women to columnist positions and let them write what they want…” And here was the tough sell she knew he wouldn’t buy: “Without advertisements pushing products.”
Straightening up, he stepped back, closing negotiations. “No can do. Those advertisements are our bread and butter.”
“Cal, hear me out,” Sam pleaded.
His bushy eyebrow shot up in an upside-down V. He wasn’t used to being addressed as Cal outside the boardroom or off the golf course… at least not by an inferior, a woman, of all people.
Gaze narrowing, Sam skimmed headlines on the enlarged, framed magazine covers of years past lining the wall:
How to Cure Your Singledom if You’re Ugly
Five Bedroom Tricks to Make Him Forget His Secretary
The Three Most Important B’s He Needs: Bedtime, Breakfast, and—
Sam flushed and returned her attention to Mr. Dreyfuss.
“Look, your target readership is supposed to be women.” Though the article headlines she had just read suggested otherwise. “If you give us a voice, we’ll tell all our friends that your magazine offers something no other has: real-life women’s advice. You’ll resurrect this outdated magazine to something fresh and original. Something women want. Something we need.”
“Hm.” He didn’t look convinced.
“And you’ll become the leader in modern journalism, which will give you an advantage that I am confident will bring in massive profits while you kill the competition. Imagine your name on the door of the coveted corner office, Cal, when you destroy previous sales records.”
Leader. Massive profits. Kill. Destroy. Corner office. Sam had used all the right buzzwords that would appeal to a power-hungry businessman with a penchant for violence when a housewife burned the meatloaf. She even dared to use his first name, which showed confidence. Unless he took it as insubordination… which of course could backfire.
“I’ve done the homework,” she continued. “I already know your subscription numbers are dwindling, so what do you have to lose—other than a lot of readers once we start boycotting the magazine if you turn us down?”
“So that’s how it’s going to be—you’ll bite the hand that feeds you if I don’t cave?” Mr. Dreyfuss had a point, since such actions would most certainly get Sam fired from the smaller sister magazine.
“Do you think I have any allegiance to a company that underpays me and a boss who dislikes me regardless of what I do?” Sam posed a truth that was worth remembering. In fact, she had reminded herself of that the entire drive here, lest she be tempted to chicken out. Which she had considered at mile marker 162, then again at mile marker 236.
“Gee, I can’t possibly understand why your boss hates you,” Mr. Dreyfuss muttered.
Gesturing to the mass of women around her, Sam wasn’t above making threats. “Look, the bottom line is that we can do a lot of damage if we want to. Or we can do a lot of good. Your call.”
She watched his expression shift. Slowly. From cynical… to curious… to captive.
A greedy gaze clouded his eyes. His hands rubbed together in a ravenous motion. “You think this will work?”
“I really do, sir.”
“You’re making big promises I hope you can deliver, Sam.”
Sam, not Samantha. Well at least she’d made some progress in the fight for her voice.
“I will prove it to you. And the women will work harder than any man on your staff. Give us thirty-six issues running it our way, and you’ll see the women are worth the pay raise.”
“Thirty-six issues? Pay raise?” he snorted, then hacked up a lung. Sam would have suggested marshmallow root to soothe that cough, if she had been bold enough to interrupt him. “That’s three years! Dream on. I’ll give you six issues—and no raise for these gals’ promotions until after I see results.”
