The Spiked Heel

“All right, I want that enthusiasm kept red hot. I want these men to pour into the retail shops with the purpose of selling one shoe and one shoe alone: Naked Flesh.”

“What about the rest of our line?” Stiegman asked dubiously.

“They’ll sell that, too, of course,” McQuade said irritably.

“It just sounded as if you—”

“Never mind what it sounded like. I want them to sell this shoe. I want you to get sales notices out to them every day — every day — Dave! By the time our ads break, I want the salesmen and the retailers to be red hot! In short, Dave, I want to see those orders pouring in soon. Damned soon.”

“We’ve got orders already,” Stiegman said, “without any pressure.”

“I don’t call those orders,” McQuade said.

“Why, we got a five-hundred-pair order just the other day from a retail chain. Six stores in the chain, Mac, and that’s a nice order.”

“By the time our ads break,” McQuade said, “I want that chain to have ordered five thousand pairs.”

Stiegman smiled. “That would be nice, sure.”

“Dave, I don’t think you understand me,” McQuade said. “I’m not dreaming. I’m not hoping this shoe will bring in five-thousand-pair orders from a six-store chain. I’m banking on it. It better do what I expect it to do!”

Stiegman considered this for a moment. “Well, okay,” he said, “whatever you say. If you’re expecting this to be such a big thing, though, perhaps you’d best check it with Boris. If we take orders, we’ve got to meet delivery dates, you know. Boris’ll know what the production setup is.” Stiegman paused. “Although Sales usually checked this with Griff. He was a sort of go-between for us, knowing the factory the way—”

“I’ve already told Boris I want to see him,” McQuade interrupted.

“We can only make de shoe so fast,” Hengman said. “I dun’t care, Mec, if this is my Nekkid Gran’mudder, we can still only make it so fest.”

“How fast, Boris?”

“How fest?” Hengman shrugged. “It depends on how many woods we got in de shop.”

“Woods? Oh, lasts. Well, how many do we have?”

“Jost a minute, which lest are we using alraddy on det shoe?” Hengman snapped his fingers impatiently. “Griffie knows. I’ll cull Griffie.”

“Never mind Griff,” McQuade said. “You know the last. Think.”

Hengman thought. “Twelve eighty-four, I think,” he said. “Nekkid Flash? Mmmm, yas, twelve eighty-four.”

“And how many pairs do we have?”

“Twelve eighty-four, det’s d’one. Now you want t’know how many woods we got, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You wait a sacond, end I’ll check in the uffice reputt.” He went to his desk and rummaged through the papers on it, coming up with a dittoed sheet. “Here,” he said. He glanced down the list of figures on the sheet. “Twelve eighty-four, here it is. We got fifteen t’ousand two hundert fifty woods.”

“Those are pairs, am I right?”

“Yas, certainly.”

“That’s fine,” McQuade said, grinning. “We’re turning out three thousand pair of shoes a day now. With a five-day week, that means we can turn out fifteen thousand pair of Naked Flesh each week. And, luckily, we’ve got more than enough lasts.” He kept grinning. Hengman looked at him curiously.

“You kidding me, Mec?” he asked at last.

“Kidding? Why, no.” McQuade frowned. “What makes you think I’m kidding?”

“Wull… I mean, you know we got udder shoes t’make, too, you know det, dun’t you?”

“Of course I know that.”

“So if we turnin’ out tree t’ousand pair a day, det dun’t mean we turnin’ out tree t’ousand pair of Nekkid Flash.”

“Oh.” McQuade’s frown deepened. “Yes, of course. Silly of me.”

“Ulso, we got fifteen t’ousand two hunert fifty pair of the twelve eighty-four lest, but we ain’t makin’ Nekkid Flash alone on dis lest. Mebbe we makin’ twenty udder shoes, too, on it.”

“I see.”

“So we’re lucky d’fect’ry can turn out mebbe two t’ousand pair dis shoe each wik.”

“Unless, of course,” McQuade said, “we begin juggling our lasts around.”

“Mebbe it can be made on anudder lest, mebbe not. In any case, dis’s an expansive muhterial we workin’ wit. D’cutter can only cut so fest. Mistakes can be custly. We like they should take their time wit’ expansive goods.”

“I see,” McQuade said.

“R’member, Mec. It takes six wiks to run a shoe t’rough dis fect’ry. Six wiks. No metter which lest we use. Six wiks.”

“We’ll take the orders,” McQuade said suddenly. “We’ll take the orders and, by Christ, we’ll fill them.”

“We batter fill dem,” Hengman said. “You twenty, thirty days late on a delivery, it can mean d’retailuh’s season is over. You know what he can do wit’ his shoes den, dun’t you?”

“What?” McQuade asked.

“The same ting he’ll tell us t’do wit’ dem.”

“We’ll meet delivery dates, don’t worry,” McQuade said.

“One udder ting I’m warned abott,” Hengman said. “I tink you should warry abott it, too, when you takin’ your orders.”

“What’s that?” McQuade asked.

“D’whole demn fect’ry goes on vacetion July futh.”

Peter Magistro was the leather buyer for Julien Kahn.

Peter Magistro was the man who had purchased the alligator lizard skins for Naked Flesh.