Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (16 page)

     The woman on the gate didn’t know Greg, which was understandable since ticket sales, crowd control, and other such details were all subcontracted. But when he said he’d been the event coordinator for Powersports who’d negotiated the deal with
her
boss, she let him in for free.

     As he headed toward the docks, he wondered if he’d see Chuck Hastings or any of the other people from Powersports. He’d be glad to see them . . . or not. It didn’t really matter, but there was an ache in his chest as he walked around and saw the various boats on display and sensed everyone’s enthusiasm. He’d loved his job, but now he passed through the show as if he were a ghost who no longer belonged there.

* * * *

It was only slightly after seven when Greg finally got home, but the dining room table was still fully set for four. “Nikki, what’s up? When I said I’d be late, I didn’t mean you had to hold dinner for me. The kids must be starving.”

     His wife waved her hand. “I gave ’em a snack, but I could tell you were pretty excited, so I thought we should all eat together.” She grinned at him. “And besides, they helped me cook.”

     “Hmm, thanks.” He pulled her to him and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “So what have you master chefs prepared?”

     “Stroganoff and noodles,” Becky boasted.

     “But Mommy had to cut the onion because we were crying.”

     “There you go.” Greg grabbed his son in a headlock and gave him a teasing Dutch rub. “Now you know that even superheroes like you cry sometimes.”

     “Ouch. But it wasn’t me,” Nathan protested. “The onion made me do it.”

     “Well, it’s always something. C’mon, Mom wants us to come to the table.”

     They held hands as Greg said a blessing. “Lord, I want to thank you for my family and for providing for us. And especially for this good food. Amen.”

     As Nicole heaped noodles and stroganoff onto their plates, she smiled at him hopefully. “So what did you find out today?”

     Greg chewed thoughtfully, making sure the kids knew he appreciated the meal. “The surprising thing is, this job isn’t in event management, at least not big events with hundreds of people like I’ve been doing. Though come to think of it, those big venues might provide some great opportunities . . .”

     “Opportunities for what?”

     “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Still processing all the possibilities. Okay, so here’s the thing: We’re going into business. Well, actually, I’m going into business for myself. But it’ll involve us all.”

     “You’re what? You’re going to compete with Chuck?”

     “No, no. Powersports is a has-been. And I’m not doin’ sports shows. I’m the new area rep for SlowBurn.” He paused, waiting for her to respond. Nicole looked confused. “Okay, you probably haven’t heard of it. It’s too new. But you know what energy drinks are, don’t you? You can get ’em in any store. SlowBurn’s an energy drink, but it doesn’t load you with a lot of caffeine, and it’s not sold in stores. It’s different. As their motto says, ‘It’s the Time-Release Energy Drink that won’t let you down!’”

     “And you’re gonna, what . . . sell this stuff?”

     He launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his new business. “First I have to create a warm list, actually two warm lists.” Seeing the question in her face, he explained. “A warm list is people you know personally—family, friends, people at church, people I know. One list will be potential customers. And that could be just about anybody because the stuff is so great. The other list is people who have ambition to better themselves, to get ahead. Arlo—he’s the area director for Chicago—said they don’t need to be skilled salespeople because the product will sell itself. They simply need to be people who want a better lifestyle and are willing to put in the effort to get there. They’ll become my associates, and—”

     “Mom, I’m done,” Nathan interrupted. “Can we go watch a video?”

     “You haven’t finished your salad.”

     “Aw, Mom, I don’t want any more.”

     “Finish your salad. Then you and Becky can watch for half an hour.”

     “Aw, Mom, one video won’t even be over by then, please?”

     Greg caught Nicole’s eye and gave her a
let-’em-do-it
shrug. He figured bringing Nicole up to speed might take more than half an hour.

     She sighed. “Just eat your salad and go.”

     As soon as the kids left the table, Greg tried to continue his explanation, but Nicole peppered him with questions: Had he checked out the company with the Better Business Bureau? How would Greg get paid? Would there be any base salary they could count on? What about benefits?

     “No, no, not in the traditional sense. Health insurance and retirement plans are things employees want but can hardly get these days. But this is a business,
our
business. We build it. We get the profits. And we’re gonna earn so much that things like insurance and pensions will seem like mere perks.”

     She frowned. “Then what does the company provide, this guy you went to see?”

     “The company backs us up, provides product, training, and support. Of course, in exchange for all that they get a small cut of our profits, but most of that’ll come back in the form of the bonuses they offer. You can’t imagine all the opportunities.” Greg breathed in patience. Answering Nicole’s questions was good practice for recruiting associates. “Remember I told you I believed God was going to prosper us? Well, this is it. I just gotta reach out and claim it.”

     Nicole nodded slowly. “Wel, maybe so.” She put a hand on his arm. “Really, I’m glad if you’ve found something you’re excited about. I never doubted God would take care of us. It’s just . . . well, we’ll see what God does.”

     “That’s right, honey, and I can’t wait.”

     “There’s just one thing, though.” The frown was back. “I always feel, you know, uncomfortable when friends or family use our relationship as . . . as leverage to get me to do something. I mean, even if it’s a good thing, I still don’t like feeling manipulated.” She grimaced.

     Greg threw out his hands. “You wouldn’t say that about evangelism, would you? I mean, isn’t it our responsibility to tell a friend about Jesus’ love or . . . or even warn ’em about the consequences of rejecting salvation? You know, friends don’t let friends go to hell, to put it in crass terms.”

     “Yes, but there are ways of sharing the gospel that don’t manipulate. But when you talked about creating a warm list . . . I don’t know. It seemed . . .”

     “Hey, I’m not going to be manipulating anyone. It all depends on the product. If the product’s really great, then sharing it is not only easier, it’s like doing the other person a favor.” He stopped, a shocked look on his face, and held up his hand. “Wait a minute! I forgot the most important thing. I’ll be right back.”

     He returned from the kitchen with a clean glass, half filled with ice, in one hand and a can of SlowBurn in the other. “I forgot I had this in my briefcase. Here . . .” He sat down, popped the top, and poured. “Try it.”

     She hesitated to pick up the glass. “It won’t keep me up all night, will it?”

     “No. There’s very little caffeine in it. Maybe like a cup of green tea. Go ahead, try it.”

     Nicole took a sip and then a larger swallow.

     “Whaddaya think?”

     Nicole’s eyebrows went up as she licked her lips. “It’s good. Kinda reminds me of a root beer float with enough ice cream to make it creamy.” She took another swallow. “You sure it won’t keep me awake?”

     He grinned. “The idea of starting our new business might, but not the drink. And that’s what I was trying to tell you. What kind of a friend would I be if I had the key to a six-figure salary and
didn’t
share that secret with my best friends? What if the only people I offered it to were complete strangers, people I contacted through cold calls? It might be great for those strangers, but avoiding my friends and family because I was afraid they’d misunderstand and think I was manipulating them? No way. It’s just like with the good news of salvation.”

     “But . . .”

     “But what?” This was becoming frustrating. If Nicole were a potential associate, would he continue recruiting her? Would he even keep her on his warm list? He closed his eyes and exhaled. “So, what’s your problem?”

     “I just . . . guess I feel uncomfortable comparing an energy drink to the gospel. I mean, we know the gospel is true. Its rewards are obvious in the lives of millions of people, including our own, and we believe God’s Word brings eternal life. But this SlowBurn is just a product—I mean, it tastes good, and it might be good for you, I’m not doubting that, and maybe you’ll do well and make a lot of money, but . . .”

     This wasn’t going like Greg expected. He had to turn it around. “Honey, I’m not comparing an energy drink to the gospel. But it’s all about believing in what you’re doing. It’s whether you know that you know that you know. Arlo kept hammering that into me today. You gotta believe in your product. And I do! I really believe this stuff is all it’s cracked up to be, and there’s a market out there for it—just like there was for the boats and ATVs that Powersports used to help sell. Or anything, for that matter. So I don’t think I’ll be manipulative.”

     Nicole’s shoulders sagged as she sat back in her chair. “I’m sure you won’t, Greg, and I don’t mean to be challenging you on this. I guess . . . I didn’t realize how anxious about this job thing
I’d
become.” She reached out and took another sip of the SlowBurn. That seemed like a good sign.

     Greg got up and walked around behind her, leaning over and nuzzling her behind her ear. “It’s okay, hon. God came through. More than that, he’s stacked the deck for us to win. This is it. I can feel it in my bones. We’re coming into our blessing, just like the pastor said.”

     “Oh, Greg, I hope so, but I just don’t know if that’s the right way to think about it.”

     “Trust me. It’s happening whether we understand it or not.”

     They cleared the table in silence. His course was clear to him. What had seemed like a test would become his testimony. Maybe he needed to exert his headship of the family more strongly, focusing on the vision he felt God had given him even if his wife couldn’t see it. He thought of other metaphors: a strong and steady hand on the helm, a tight rein on a narrow trail, determination in a sea of doubt. He could tell she really wanted to follow his lead. He just needed to stay in control in order to bring her along.

     That night, after the kids were asleep upstairs, he reached out to Nicole in bed and drew her close. It had been a long time since they were intimate. Not good. But tonight she surrendered to him willingly enough and for a while seemed to respond with passion . . . but then it slipped away as though something had distracted her while Greg charged on until he lay spent and panting. Well, he couldn’t help that.

     As his wife’s breathing slowed into sleep, he stared into the darkness reviewing the people he planned to talk to the next day about SlowBurn. His warm lists grew—prospective consumers on one and people who had ambition to better themselves on the other. They would be the most valuable because every sale they made would mean more profit for him. He finally fell asleep as the lists got too long for him to remember all the names.

* * * *

Saturday—Greg got up eagerly and hurried through breakfast so he could unload the Jeep Cherokee, stacking the SlowBurn boxes in the garage, though they barely left enough room for the car. He warned the kids not to mess with the product, that it was Daddy’s new business and would be very expensive if any of the boxes got damaged.

     Nicole came out to the garage and leaned against the doorframe, surveying the stacks of SlowBurn cases. “Did you have to pay for all that stuff?”

     “Yep, and it’s all paid for. Which means everything we receive when we sell it goes into our pocket.”

     “How much?”

     “Every penny.”

     “No, I mean, how much did it cost you?”

     “Oh, that. A little over thirteen . . . almost fourteen hundred. But I gotta have product for my associates. Plus I get a larger profit margin when I buy in quantity. It’s like any business.”

     Nicole just stared at the boxes, then abruptly turned and went back to the house.

     Greg squared his shoulders. He couldn’t let his wife’s reservations slow down the launch of his new business. He had to get out there and make some sales. His warm list included family, friends, and former business associates—all those people he’d worked with at Powersports. He might not be in the powerboat and off-road vehicle business any longer, but he had wisely preserved all his contacts.

     But first he needed some practice. He needed to make his pitch to several people who had good potential but weren’t likely to become high-volume sales reps. People in his church and even those right here in the neighborhood might be good candidates—people like Harry Bentley and Jared Jasper, who Bentley said worked out at O’Hare Airport as an air traffic controller. Now that was a job where you had to keep alert. Greg grinned. Everybody in the tower needs “the Time-Release Energy Drink that won’t let you down!” That ought to be an easy sell.

     But first he’d start with Harry Bentley. They’d gotten to know each other pretty well at the Memorial Day barbecue. Going back into the house, Greg grabbed a six-pack of SlowBurn from the refrigerator, put a few brochures in his pocket, and headed over to Bentley’s.

     He rang the bell to the second floor unit three times with no response and was debating whether it was better to introduce SlowBurn casually—like he’d planned—or set up formal appointments with people, when the old lady from the first floor apartment came to the door.

     “Oh.” She took a step back. “I didn’t know someone was here. I was just going to post this card to my son in Elgin. It’s his birthday next week.”

     “Sorry to have startled you. I’m Greg Singer. We live across the street. You’re Mrs. Krakowski, aren’t you?” When she nodded, he went on. “Do you know if the Bentleys are home? I wanted to see Harry for a bit.”