The Spiked Heel

“Your suspension, you poor dear old G.K.,
Will cause grief from New York west to L.A.
But tonight we’ll get plastered,
And drink to the bastard
Who’s finally going A — way, A — way,
Who’s finally going A — way!”

Aaron and Griff burst out laughing simultaneously. Aaron slapped the top of his desk, and Marge basked in the accolade of approval.

“Read it to him!” Aaron said. “When he comes around, read the damn thing to him. Oh, God, read it to him, Marge.”

“Should I, Griff?” she asked seriously.

“Well…”

“Why not?” Aaron wanted to know. “Do it, Marge, do it.”

“I,” Griff said slowly, “don’t think so.”

“I don’t think so either,” Marge said, sliding off the desk. “But, tell the truth, don’t you think I should be writing copy for the Advertising Department?”

“I thought you wanted to model,” Griff said.

“I do,” Marge answered.

She walked to her desk, took a mirror from her purse, and studied her mouth. It was a full mouth, with a pouting lower lip, and it still carried all the lipstick she’d expertly applied before leaving her apartment that morning. Satisfied, she put the mirror back into the bag and closed the desk drawer again.

“We’re going down for an important conference,” Griff said.

“Okay,” Marge answered.

“If there are any calls…”

“Who’s finally going A — way, A — way,” Marge quoted, and then burst out laughing, throwing her head back, swinging her chair around, and extending her legs as she rocked on her backside. Aaron looked at Griff and Griff looked at Aaron, and then both men looked at the incredible legs once more before leaving the office and heading down for the lunch counter on the ground floor.

There were three calls waiting to be returned when Griff got back to the office. He got the list from Marge, and then left her with a long report, hearing the busy clatter of her typewriter as he got down to business. Posnansky had called from the Chrysler Building, and he decided that call rated top priority. He made himself comfortable in his chair, and then asked the operator for “Chrysler.” The tie line connected him with the Sales Office in a matter of seconds. He asked for Ed Posnansky, and then waited.

“Hello?” the voice said. It was a gruff masculine voice, a real hairy-chested voice. The voice always surprised Griff, because Posnansky was a short thin man with gold-rimmed glasses.

“Ed?” he said. “This is Griff.”

“Oh, hello, Griff. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. You?”

“Great, great. Listen, this order you sent back from Stapleton’s in Dallas. You didn’t price it.”

“I know.”

“Well, why not? How can we—”

“We haven’t got a price on that shoe yet, Ed.”

“Why not? We’ve been making that shoe for three years now. Hell, Griff, look at the style number. Thirteen dash seventy forty-two. You know as well as I that—”

“It’s not the same shoe, Ed. Take a look at your order—”

“I don’t have to look at the order blank. It’s a black suede pump, and I damn well—”

“I know the code, Ed, thanks. Now, don’t start shoveling it at me, will you? Take a look at the goddam order blank. If you can read Canotti’s handwriting, you’ll see the account wants a rhinestone crescent on the vamp of that shoe. That means I’ve got to check it with a glitter house after it leaves Prefitting. On an outside job, I can’t possibly estimate what they’re going to charge.”

“Well, why didn’t you hold it there?” Posnansky asked. “Until you could get me a price on it?”

“I’d planned on sending the specifications to the glitter house before we cut the shoe. That way you could relay the price to the account before we go ahead. Look, Ed, this is a single-order shoe. The price on those rhinestones may make it prohibitive. In the meantime, I don’t want the order lying on my desk. I don’t want the account buzzing us in a week or so yelling where the hell’s my acknowledgment? Am I getting the shoes, or not? Then Chrysler will get all excited and start looking for somebody to hang, and then they’ll find the order on my desk, waiting for pricing. No, thanks.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do?” Posnansky whined.

“Get a letter off and tell the customer we’re working up an estimate on the rhinestones. He knows we’re running a factory here, Ed. Hell, he knows we have to make the goddam shoes for him.”

“Can’t you give me a price on it?” Posnansky pleaded.

“When?”

“Well, this morning was what I had in mind.”

“Kurz is leaving this morning,” Griff said. “We’re going to be busy here.”