Chapter 4
"It's really quite simple in principle," Fred explained, pulling a diagrammed chart from his briefcase. This was an important interview and he cautioned himself to speak slowly, showing mature judgment and just the right amount of enthusiasm. Mr. Arnold was one of the wealthiest men in Boston and was known to put together holding companies in a matter of hours John Harmon, a friend of Fred's, had taken six weeks to set up the interview for Fred to explain his computer program for cocktail bars. "Let's keep it simple," Howard Arnold said with a smile. "I have to call in engineers when it gets technical. Explain just what your idea will do." Fred held the diagram on his lap and glanced around the luxuriously appointed office. It was done in warm tones of walnut, accented with pastel furniture and striking modem paintings. Remembering his carefully prepared presentation, Fred began to explain his idea. "The primary purpose is to increase the earnings of the owners of cocktail bars. This is accomplished by better and more accurate inventory control, more income per bottle through a reduction, or actually an elimination, of spillage, and higher revenue for the bar through the elimination of theft." "Theft?" Mr. Arnold said.
"Yes, sir. It is a widely known fact that in the bar business bartenders, and in some cases waiters, steal almost as much as they earn." "Are you saying all bartenders steal from their employers?" "No, Mr. Arnold," Fred replied with a smile, "not all bartenders. But a very high percentage."
"As I understand it," Mr. Arnold remarked, obviously anxious to get to the meat of Fred's program, "you intend to control all of this with computers?" "That and more, Mr. Arnold," Fred said, warming to his subject quickly. "You see, the computer will act as the bartender. It will mix the drinks, measuring exact quantities of liquor, automatically keep an inventory, and prepare the customer's check. The owner of the bar will have an hour-by-hour record of sales and depletion of inventory. This makes theft practically impossible and insures accurate records of sales and liquor consumed."
"What happens to the bartender?" Howard Arnold asked. "I'm afraid he becomes obsolete wherever the computer is installed. In his place, the bar will use waiters, who are much less expensive. I've even made provisions for incorporating a cash register into the computer. Of course, we'll use already designed cash registers and save that expense." "May I assume that you have all of this worked out technically to the point where a group of engineers can study it and report that it is practical?" Mr. Arnold asked.
"Absolutely," Fred said, his heart pounding in his ears as he sensed that at last he might be able to put his project together. "I have all the material here in my briefcase."
"I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Moore," Howard Arnold said, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the edge of his desk.
"I'm going to save us both some time and trouble by telling you that I'm afraid I'll have to decline your project at this time." Fred was stunned. He had felt the interview was progressing perfectly, that he had Mr. Arnold interested in the program. "May I ask why?" Fred said quietly, controlling his voice as best he could. "Certainly. The idea basically appeals to me, Mr. Moore. Let's say that it's part of our modern society, bringing another industry or business into the modem age. And I suspect that it will work. You have obviously put a lot of time and work into the project." "Over three years, Fred commented, "on and off." "I suppose my objection is that you're pioneering something. You'll have the bartenders and the bartenders' union down on you from the very beginning. And you'll meet sales resistance until you have the program in operation for at least a year in a number of bars. People want to see proven operating figures, not just theory." "Naturally we'll have to set up a pilot installation, Mr. Arnold," Fred countered, a note of desperation creeping into his voice in spite of his determination to maintain rigid control of himself. "That's true of any new project. But we can convince the prospective user in one day." "Perhaps, but you will still have all the problems of a pioneer," Mr. Arnold replied. "Mind you, Mr. Moore, I'm not saying that you won't enjoy success. I'm sure you will. Your idea not only has novelty value, it seems to be very practical. I find it exciting. And I feel that within a couple of years you'll be sitting on top of a large industry. I don't want my remarks or opinions to discourage you in any way." "If you believe this," Fred commented, "I can't understand why you am not interested."
"Together with various associates, Mr. Moore, I've been involved in pioneering several new industries. Through the frustrations and long hours of work, we fortunately made them successful. It was a great game and I enjoyed playing it, but I'm too tired and too cautious to pioneer another industry. I can make the same kind of money forming holding companies." Fred laughed in spite of his disappointment. "I know this is discouraging to you, Mr. Moore," Howard Arnold continued, "and I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor. I think you see my point, though. Let me make you an offer. Get this thing started. Form a small company, get your pilot unit in operation, make some sales, and then come back to see me. When you've done all the pioneering, I can make your little company a large industry in a matter of hours. You'll need millions of dollars, and I can get them for you."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Arnold," Fred said, opening his briefcase and slipping the unopened diagram inside. Through his disappointment, Fred realized that the business magnate was sincere and would be the key to success later on. "And I can assure you that I will take you up on that offer. You see, Mr. Arnold, I believe thoroughly in this project, and I'm going to make it a success."
"I know you do, and I'm sure you will. That's why I make the offer. Come and see me as soon as you have this thing underway." "I will," Fred said, taking the businessman's hand as they both rose. "And I appreciate the time you have given me today." Fred's disappointment was tempered with the knowledge that he had made a very important contact for the future of his project. He left the modern office building near the Commons and walked to the bus stop. He found that he was encouraged by Mr. Arnold's obvious interest and sincere belief in his project. If he could just get the damned thing off the ground!
Hours of study and analysis had convinced Fred that by cutting a few corners and leasing several computers he could put a pilot unit together for less than fifty thousand dollars. Claude Norton, a friend of Fred's and a sales manager for a large industrial company, told Fred that an initial sales effort would cost about thirty thousand. All of this would be shoestring, and Fred had allowed another twenty thousand dollars for unexpected expenses. That made a total of one hundred thousand dollars, and it seemed to Fred that it was like trying to raise a hundred million. Yet someone somewhere had to have both the money and the faith in his project, and Fred was determined to find that person. By the time he reached the apartment, a mild depression had settled over Fred. He called the employment agency he was working with and found that they had set up an interview for him at four. Fred sighed as he glanced at his watch and noted that it was three-thirty already. He was tempted to have a stiff drink, but he knew that would never do. An applicant with liquor on his breath was dead with a prospective employer. Straightening his tie, Fred left the apartment and caught a bus at the corner. Janet was also depressed when she arrived home that day. She had experienced one of those days at the office when absolutely nothing seemed to go right. She had typed two reports over, and even the retypes were full of errors. Her nerves were on edge and Janet did a rare thing. She bought a bottle of Scotch on the way home and poured herself a stiff drink the minute she walked in.
By the time she finished her third drink, Janet was relaxed and humming to herself. She could understand why Fred needed a drink to calm himself. Just as she was wondering where he was, she heard him open the front door.
"Hi!" she called out.
Fred's response was a muffled grunt and Janet found him standing in the kitchen pouring himself a drink from the bottle of Scotch she had brought home.
"Bad day?" she asked as she put her arms around him and hugged him. "I suppose I should be celebrating," Fred commented, draining his drink in one long swallow. "I got a job today."
"Oh, Fred, how wonderful!" Janet said excitedly. "I'll have a drink to celebrate that with you."
"Here," he said, filling her glass with ice and Scotch, "you can toast the new assistant computer program engineer for Cardman Automatic Credit Corporation."
"Who?" Janet asked, noting the slightly bitter tone of his voice.
"Oh, it's a glorified factoring company and collection agency," Fred said. "The job pays ten thousand and can be handled by anybody with a basic knowledge of computers. But I took it, Janet. Hell, maybe that's all I'm good for!"
"Oh, come on, Fred!" Janet said, putting her arm around him as he poured himself a third drink. "You know that's not true. You were earning more than twice that salary, and you will be again. I don't think you should take this position."
"I know I shouldn't take it, Janet!" Fred said sharply. "It's a waste of all my training and experience, but I can't go on like this. The days are such a hassle; I hate to get up in the morning. So when they offered me the job, I told myself to snap at it and use it as a base until something else came along. It's not going to kill me, and at least I'll have some income coming in again."
"You're selling yourself short, Fred," Janet remarked quietly, following him into the living mom.
"I am short, Janet," Fred said with an attempt to laugh. "Short on patience, time, money, and just about everything else at the moment. But we'll see it through." He picked up the mail and told Janet about his interview with Howard Arnold, emphasizing how valuable the contact would be once the company was underway.
Sorting out the bills and circulars in the mail, Fred came to a fat envelope and opened it.
"Hey, this is from Modern Swinger!" he exclaimed, holding three sealed envelopes that had been packed inside the larger envelope. "That club?" Janet asked, her head beginning to swim in the alcoholic haze of too many Scotches.
"Right. And these must be replies to the ad we put in the magazine. They have our code number and are sealed."
"Let me see," Janet said, trying her best to sound as excited as Fred was. She had almost forgotten about joining the club, and the implication of the letters frightened her a little. She had to admit to herself that she was curious, and she tore open the envelope Fred handed her and opened the letter. Her attention was drawn to the photos enclosed with the letter. The man was young and quite good looking with a very muscular body. Janet almost gasped aloud when she saw the size of his cock. It was fully erect in the photo and sticking straight out from his crotch like an angry weapon. Janet thought it was the largest thing she had ever seen and she blushed a little when she felt a familiar itch in her groin. She looked at the girl, a petite redhead with an excellent figure. The photo was in color and the girl was obviously a natural redhead. She put the photos on the couch and began reading the letter: "'Hi! We're Troy and Faye, twenty-five and twenty. We saw your ad in the club magazine and thought it might be fun to meet you. We're experienced swingers and enjoy everything in the normal range of good fun. It is so impersonal talking in letters, why don't we meet for a cocktail or lunch and see if we share the same interests? If we get along, fine. If not, we can just forget it. Does that make sense to you? Our phone number is listed with our club number above. Call after six any night or on weekends. If you are not interested, please return our photos. And excuse this form letter, but we answer a number of ads to meet new people. We're looking for-ward to hearing from you.'"
Janet was a little disappointed in the letter, but she had to admit to herself that it made good sense.
"Hey," Fred said, "listen to this one. 'Dear Swingers. We saw your ad and you sound like people we would like to know. I'm Lana, age twenty-two, and my husband is George, age twenty-five. We're new to swinging, but we have found that it is the way of life for us. I love everything Greek, Roman and French, and George is a French expert. We both dig the group scene, but draw the line at anything mean. Instead of lengthy correspondence, why don't we arrange to have dinner together so we can get to know all about each other? We're enclosing our photos and phone number, so if you are interested give us a ring and let's get together.' Here are their photos. Nice-looking people."
Janet handed him the photos that were enclosed with the letter she had opened and looked at the ones he gave her. Then they opened the third letter and read it together.
"Well," Fred said with a note of excitement in his voice, "what do you think?"
"I don't know," Janet responded slowly. She was wishing to herself that she had never agreed to try this, yet in her slightly intoxicated state she found the entire thing sort of exciting. "Which couple do you like best?" Fred persisted. Janet picked up the three sets of photos and studied each of the men again. She almost laughed aloud when she realized that she had already subconsciously made her choice. The man with the huge cock fascinated her. His name was Troy, and he looked like a Greek god to Janet. She could almost feel him inside her as she looked at the picture. "This one, I think," she replied, handing the photos to Fred. Fred was pleased with Janet's choice. He would have gone along with any of the three couples, but the petite redhead had turned him on the minute he saw her. Like most big men, Fred had always been attracted to small women. He wondered how Faye could handle anything as big as her husband's prick.
"I like them too," Fred said. "They write a sensible letter."
"Want another drink?" Janet asked, standing and crossing to the kitchen. "Sure," Fred responded. He knew that she was nervous and that she needed the drink to fortify herself. Fred also knew that if he let her, Janet would back down. He didn't want that. Like Janet, he had all but forgotten about the club until this correspondence arrived. But looking at the photos and reading the letters had really turned him on. He could feel the Scotch he had been drinking, but Fred knew it wasn't that. The whole idea of swinging excited him. Those three good-looking chicks begging to be fucked were a new experience for Fred. "Know what?" Fred said, taking the glass from Janet's hand and giving her a mock toast.
"What?"
"I'm in just the perfect mood to meet these swingers-what are their names?"
"Faye and Troy," Janet responded.
"Well, I'm in the perfect mood to meet Faye and Troy. That wipeout with Arnold and then the lousy job this afternoon really had me down. Something like this could be just the tonic. What say?" "You mean tonight?" Janet said, her breath catching in her throat.
"Sure, tonight. We can at least call them." Fred took the letter to the phone and dialed. Janet drained her glass and went into the kitchen for another. Fred met her in the hall as she was returning.
"They're tied up tonight," he said, "but we have a date to meet them for dinner tomorrow."