TED HIGGS

Night Blue

The sky shimmers tonight in blue
joy, a presence billowing just beyond 
the horizon, an outline reminiscent of the soft 
curve of a woman's hand; nearby
the darkening lake rises in the soft mist 
of evening and hangs halfway between 
my darkness and hers, its soft glow 
velvety in the blue night.

On the hill through the trees 
the temple roof catches on the edge 
of the fading sun, drawing one's attention 
momently from the solitude, a sadness
unanchored in this night, a longing 
for the other there in the farther reaches 
of fantasy, where voice cannot travel-
only mind and heart, bridges 
linking two still points under a canopy
of a thousand fellow voyagers.

copyright 2003 TED HIGGS

NANCY HAIDUCK

Selling Classified Ads

Selling classified ads for a city paper
is not a bad start when you start over.

      Seven of us in an East Side townhouse
      basement room, two windows near the ceiling,
      possess for the time being
      a file drawer, a phone, a calculator, pad, pens.
      No computer, Internet, email.

I am assigned to Real Estate,
Stewart R's unwanted territory: 
I have Downtown; he has Uptown;
I have commercial; he has the residential.

Wears Dior sweaters, matching socks,
and penny loafers, pressed blue jeans, 
Stewart sold in garment industry; but,
"They won't have you after 50." His
 wife still works in textiles, but,
"That's different." Owns a townhouse
in the city; goes to the opera
for the season, loves to sell,
Stewart also loves to give me tips:
"Just be a nudge, 'Persistence' did
$11k business for me just this month,
earned the highest, 22 percent commission.

Only one other 
does better.

Howard highest seller, thinks he's
so smart, brags how he “knows niche
markets”, once worked in advertising:
Howard sells sex. Fake ignore him
when he asks, “Did that ad do you?"
"Did you get the customers?"
"Were they nice to you?" “This paper'd
high class." when we pass the Xerox
in the narrow hallway outside
our office door. I cringe, avoiding
brushing up against him.
      Complains to Manny about dynamics
      "dynamics here have changed since you came,
      It used to be real classy, Manny" Manny once
      a dj in Miami sends out 50 media kits a day.
      "It's a number's game," he tells me, always asks,
      "are you okay?" sells Weekend Get-outs and Vacations.
Howard once had once worked for Manny at a rival
paper but, "Manny doesn't manage any more!"
      Manny, Catholic, hates the sex ads.
      Lives in a two-bedroom on Broadway
      with a wife, four kids, "one in the oven."
      This job's less than half enough for them.

Usually he wears bluejeans and tee-shirt,
one day wore a yellow shirt and tie,
also has a turtleneck and old suede jacket
He says to no one daily and to me some,
"Send out media kits; send them out."
"Send them out; send them out."
Manny sells Professional Services,
shouting "Yes!" punching the air,
when he succeeds. ("Let's see if
they renew!" growls Howard. )
"O.K., we'll see! We'll see what they do."
  
Brian, sandy blonde hair long and 
curling, also used to work for Manny.
On the phone B's voice is blue suit
smooth and so persuasive; sells Business
Ops; can't stand Maria, ever scolding
mother hen who sells in Pets –
dog grooming, walking, pet food
delivered to your doorstep - flutters,
chatters, rearranges where she ought
not rearrange things, always listens
every afternoon when Brian winds down,
calls his friends, converses about women;
interrupting "What happened then to Donna?"
"Does SHE know you went with Carol?"
Brian easy laughing "What do you think?"
(Brian is not doing well but is not worried,
has a late night guitar gig thing going for him.)

wondering if our manager, we seldom see,
but occasionally hear via the intercom, is too fat,
asking Brian to hold a picture she just
removed from its place on the wall,
"But I'm on the phone!" "That's all right,"
stopping at every desk, offering candy,
counseling me not to wear white blouses,
"Cream flatters more an older women,"
yelling on the phone,
"I am not yelling!"  "I am not yelling!"
"I beg to differ with you!"

What did Larry do with his life?  Over 50,
wears one of those straw hats that old men
wear in Florida retirement, a greenish shade
to keep the sun off, lived in California once,
has just returned four months ago
to live with mother in New Jersey.
Papers piled on his desktop tumble
into other people's spaces. In a tweed,
soft leather-elbowed jacket over sweatshirt,
has been selling classified for 15 years now.

 -------

Maria says Larry smells.
I noticed that too since he sits beside me.
He asked Howard the other day,
"How much does Ingrid charge for a massage?
"That depends on how definite you want the massage to be."
"Ha! Ha!  That's a nice way to put it!"
"Will she accept a classified ad?"
"Oh, many times I've been offered."

I don't blame them
for being macho.
We all know we are not
making a lot of money.
Howard works late every night,
trying to expand to gay ads.
He's the only one with a computer
he brought from home.
He has two sons in college.

Manny, looking for a bigger apartment,
usually comes in late.
Today he stormed in angry;
he saw an ad in this week's paper
in his category that he didn't sell.
"What's the policy?" He slapped the paper
on his legs.  "All I want to know is
what is the policy?"
Howard lately complained that Manny
stepped in his territory by soliciting
psychotherapists, Howard's category,
"If someone calls my number,
I'm taking the ad," said Howard.
"If it's my category, that's stealing!"
"You're too touchy!"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," said Brian
standing with his arms outstretched.
"When calls come through the main number,
the operator upstairs may make a mistake.
It's only right to transfer the call to the right person."
"I agree with Brian," said Stewart.
"What about this ad!"
"What about the ad you stole from me!"
"The manager gave me your territory."
"That's right, Howard, the manager wants Manny
to sell what you haven't been selling," said Maria,
"You only want to sell sex."
"Sex sells papers."
"Then stay out of my territory!"
"Guys, guys, let's agree, we won't poach each other's territories."
"It's only a two-inch classified ad."
Right after this, Maria got on the phone and argued loudly
with her landlord, whom she is suing.

There are quiet moments
when no one is on the phone,
when everyone is busy
putting media kits together,
shuffling paper, writing notes,
licking envelopes,
but inevitably, someone will start,
Stewart's deep, sophisticated voice:
"Have you seen our paper?  Oh, what a shame!
Well, we are a broadsheet, like The New York Times
and our readers are extremely, extremely wealthy."
"This is Manny Torres! Can I speak to the doctor?
I want to send him a copy of my paper.  I'll give him 13 free weeks."
"Hi!  This is Brian McSherry.  Are you selling a business or something?"
"You know, 80 percent of our readers own pets."
"This is Larry Bergman, from New York.  How's the weather down there?
I want to make you an offer you can't refuse."
"Big breasts?  My manager doesn't like to mention body parts.
Are you sensitive and caring?
How about 'curvaceous'?  Does that describe you?"

If it doesn't work out at your new job, 
you can always come back,"
said the manager as I was leaving.
"We'll make room for you,"
which meant something.
I did much, much better than I thought I would.
I learned to flirt a bit on the phone,
both men and women are susceptible,
and sold ads for commercial property.
I even won a bonus.  The only other person
to win this bonus -- by selling $500 in one hour,
a contest announced via the intercom -- was Manny Torrres.
I bought Maria a cake for her birthday,
she gave me a silver pin in the shape of a heart
and told me Larry had a bottle of booze
in one trenchcoat pocket
and a bottle of mouthwash in the other.
He said: "Nancy, you can pray for us.
There is a God up there; there is a divine Being."

Brian McSherry had a streak of bad luck and could not sell a thing.
True, he goofed off, but as the end of the month drew near,
he tried and tried and could not make a sale.
Manny advised him to go through the Yellow Pages for leads.
He spent a day doing this and got nowhere.
Stewart, who sits next to him, said quietly,
"Well, do you smile when you dial?
"Of course I do!"
"Don't get mad, Brian, I'm just trying to get you out of this!"
He has the car and boat category but doesn't do much with it.
I gave him a directory of boat yards, marinas, yachts, sailboat makers.
"Now is the time rich people start thinking about their sailboats."
He told me he worked in the boat yards in Connecticut
from the time he was 12.
At night, he played his guitar in the clubs along the shore.
Mostly he would play with '50s groups.
"I was playing with old guys -- 40!"
He made a few sales and thanked me.

Stewart told us how he met his wife
in a bar in the Hamptons,
just coming in from playing golf,
she was sitting at the bar
with her long, long hair hanging down.
He asked his friend "Who is she?"
A friend of a friend. "Well, fix me up!"
They have been together for 38 years.
"She still has long hair
she wears in a chignon."
"A what? Speak English!" barked Howard.

Manny's wife had a daughter
and they named her Promesa.

copyright 2003 NANCY HAIDUCK

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