Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating (15 page)

I pondered the sage advice that Caesar dropped. That
conversation changed my life, causing me to approach this thing differently. Since
it was a game, I had to play it like a game.

Caesar dropped me off at work and I began to
incorporate my new attitude immediately. I started to shine at the Fitness
Depot since I was confident, self-assured, and relentless. My technique in the
bars became my technique on the sales floor. Or was it vice versa? Steel
sharpened steel and closing sales was helping me close dates.

Monday or Tuesday?

Mr. and Mrs. Smith from Greenwich, CT were gracious
and elegant, and right off the bat I could detect a hint of a Southern accent. I
took a stab and inquired if they were originally from Georgia. They were from Atlanta.  I told them (lied) that I too was from Georgia originally and how I missed the peaches.

 One of the rules in sales is to find a common
interest with the customer, even if it's a lie. It wasn’t too much of a stretch,
though, because my grandmother on my mother’s side was from Savannah, so I
could claim Georgia if I had to. I constantly probed, looking for a common link
between the customer and me; be it geographical, sports teams, culture,
politics or religion. In sales all was fair game to establish that feeling of
comfort and trust between the customer and me.

They were shopping for a treadmill and right away
they were bitching about the price being too high. It amazed me how people who
live in multi-million dollar homes are looking for $400 treadmills. They buy their
Jaguars and Rolexes among other things that won't help them live a day longer,
but I had to convince them to invest in saving their own lives?

So I went to work on this couple. Salesmanship fell
under the sales umbrella and this was where I made my money. All those years
struggling as an actor in Hollywood didn’t go to waste, fortunately, as I was
able to call upon the showmanship from this experience necessary to make the
deal happen.

"Let's throw price out of the window for a
moment and assume you like what you see and want to buy.  Let’s not forget
that you came in my store, not me coming into your home, so you’re obviously
interested, right?" They nod in unison. Another rule was to keep them
nodding.

I continued my presentation with the precision of a
surgeon being sure to focus on all the key elements involved in selling and
buying a treadmill. I was relaxed. I squeezed my scapulas together, forcing me
to draw my shoulders back and pop my chest forward to let everyone know that I
truly was an expert and knew what I was talking about
. Confidence will take
you places you never thought you could go.

After a flawless twenty-minute presentation, I knew
that it was time to start cutting to the chase. "So, Mr. Smith, this
treadmill has all the qualities you’re looking for, right? Durability, motor
size, shock absorption, warranty? So what's keeping you from doing it right now?”
I asked. It was the hard sell.
What’s keeping you from doing it right now?
Not
for amateurs. This question a novice should never ask unless you’re supremely
confident or really just don't give a fuck. I stood in front of the Smith's in total
control. They glanced at one another with that
honey-maybe-we-should-talk-this-over
look, so I went for the trial close. "So when can we deliver it, Monday or
Tuesday?”

This was a technique designed to help the customer
feel like they have some control over the situation. Whichever answer they
chose was the sign that the sale has been unofficially closed by their
committing to a delivery date.

He or she was a sitting duck because if the first
rule of sales is ABC- Always Be Closing, then the final rule of sales is the
first one who talks loses. Put it out there, say what you have to say, and then
shut the fuck up. I've used that tactic and the standoff has gone as long as thirty
to forty seconds because the jerk on the other end knows that rule too. He usually
worked in sales too.

"Monday?” Mr. Smith offered. And it only took three
seconds.

Friday or Saturday?

Today was one of my best days in sales since
starting for the Fitness Depot back in September. I took in an easy nine grand
while only selling a “measly” three items, a $4,000 treadmill, a $2,000 elliptical
trainer, and a $3,000 gym for a big shot hedge fund manager’s home studio on
Central Park West.

 New York is a running city, but sometimes it’s
hard to carve out your own space in a city of eight million people that are
always on the move.  So most New Yorkers have found a way to stick a six
foot by two foot treadmill in a space that usually has less than one thousand
square feet for the low, low price of a half a million dollars.  New York City leads the nation in heart attacks statistically, so exercise is imperative to
combat the stress of living in the tri state area.  So that’s how I
buttered my bread.

Finally spring had arrived, although the strangest
phenomenon I have ever witnessed occurred earlier that day. 

The apple blossoms had already bloomed weeks ago but
we got a blast of cold air from Canada that caused snow flurries in April. 
It was surreal as the snowflakes became indistinguishable from the white blossoms
blowing off the trees from the gusts.  The Upper East Side looked like an
urban snow globe. 

When I got off of work I decided to walk the long
way to the downtown C train, cutting through Central Park.  It was 8:00
and the sun hadn’t even started to set.  I loved this time of year and I
had the perfect job to fit my social schedule. 

There was nothing like getting off work and there’s
still enough daylight to get a beer, get something to eat, get another beer,
hit a club in the Meat Packing District, which is in lower Manhattan and puts
me closer to Brooklyn anyway, party for a while and be in bed by 2:00
a.m.  I didn’t have to be up for work until eight, so I was assured of
getting at least six hours of rest.  Gotta love those retail hours with
store openings at ten.   

The tourists and nannies that commonly frequent the park
were gone and people getting off work, such as myself, take over the landscape
of the park in search of a glass of wine at The Boat House or brown paper bagging
a beer and sitting on a park bench like me. It’s illegal to have open beverages
in the park, but as long as you weren't rowdy and out of control, you wouldn't
draw the attention of the horse-mounted police officers.

I mulled over my breakthrough day while I sipped my
suds.  I drank a Miller Lite, keeping it simple today.  My body was
getting tighter by the day and I didn't need alcohol undermining all my hard
work. 

Posting up on the park bench directly across from me
was the ebony goddess, Lynne Whitfield.  She was eye catching in a
tangerine sundress, probably Donna Karan, a pair of oversized Prada sunglasses,
and that pouty I-don’t-want-to-be-bothered look she is known for.  I could
tell that her body was ridiculous from the hourglass silhouette beneath her
dress and I wanted to satisfy her badly. 

One thing I knew for sure from my unfortunate
experiences was how to please an older woman sexually.  I heard she lived
on the Upper East Side but never had I thought that I would actually run into
her.  She pulled out a book and began to read.  I was looking for my
angle and I found it.  Without hesitation, I walked over to her.

“Excuse me, Ms. Whitfield, I just wanted to tell you
that I’m a big fan.”  She blushed then broke into a big grin. 
Got
her!

“I’m not Lynn Whitfield.  Is that the best you
got?”

I retreated momentarily but this was chess not
checkers and I was able to regroup with the swiftness.

"I see you’re reading Monique
Gilmore-Scott.  She’s dope.  You a student at Hunter College?

She blushed once again then erupted into a big smile. 
Got her twice!
  That’s the rush I was seeking, the thrill of the
chase and the eventual and inevitable kill.  But I like to play with my
food first.  "You’re cute.  I'm old enough to be your mother,” 
her fine ass said.  “ But thank you anyway.  I teach African American
literature at Columbia."

"Get outta here! I would have thought for sure
that you’d be taking classes not teaching them.  I bet you were a Noxzema
model growing up, weren’t you?"

Blushing doesn’t show through on ebony skin, but I
could tell she was flush.  And that snapper was surely getting
moist.  My desire for older women, or should I say “mature” women, always
lurked nearby. What gravity and time had taken away, they were able to make up for
in style and sophistication. I continued with the same kind of fact finding I
did with the Smith’s; only I was trying to bag some tail instead of a sale this
time.

"So I have all the qualities you're interested
in, right? Good looking, articulate, family-oriented, spiritually connected? So
what day is better for us to go out? Friday or Saturday?"

I clammed up and smiled, showing off the $5,000 investment
my mother made in braces to straighten my teeth when I was a teenager.

"Friday," she replied.

And seven times out of ten I got the sale. I was
becoming a master.

“And for the record, Lynn Whitfield is my
cousin!” 
No shit
.

Mrs. Robinson

If the first one who talks loses is the Golden Rule
of sales, then not far behind would be when the customer agrees to the sale, shut
your ass up, don’t say another word and walk them straight to the
register. 

We continued our conversation at a small local bar
over on 66
^th
St. near 3
^rd
Avenue, not too far from the
park.  We picked over appetizers while watching the NCAA basketball
tournament. Actually I was paying more attention to her tantalizing bosom
across the table from me. She kept fidgeting around with a smile on her face
like her chipmunk was tickling her.  I bet it was. We sampled different Merlots
and Pinots as this sizzling forty-something enhanced my knowledge of fine red wine...over
Buffalo wings, usually a faux paux.

“So, I see you like basketball?”

“Yeah, a little bit I guess.”

“I would have thought that you played.  Looking
at your yummy body,” she flirted.

“What?  This old thing?”  I was far from
gorgeous, but I was sniffing around in the ‘being attractive’ neighborhood
again.  “I was All State coming out of high school and got a full
scholarship to play at Rutgers.”

“Wow.  So how come I don’t see you up there on
the TV playing?  I could have been one of your groupies, laugh out loud.”

“That shit wasn’t fun anymore and became more like a
job.  Three to four hours of practice per day was making my grades drop. 
I knew I wasn’t going pro so I needed to get up outta there with my
degree.  Not to mention I was riding the bench mostly.” 

“How come you didn’t get any time if you were that
good?”

“Because at the Division I level every player was
“the man” on their high school team.  Everybody was All State, for the most part.  I went from being the man to being the twelfth man.

“That sucks,” she said.  “And so do I!”  She
had her tongue in cheek and it wasn’t for the figure of speech.  She was
letting me know what she intended to do with my third leg.
  When the
customer agrees to the sale shut your ass up, don’t say another word and walk
them straight to the register.
 

Without delay we took it back to her apartment (the register)
up on 86th St.  She lived in the actual Jefferson's
deluxe apartment in
the sky-y-y
building. The Upper Eastside had over two hundred thousand people
residing their alone, of which only two percent were African American.  She
must be doing something right to be able to live up here.

We rushed into the elevator past the doorman. He
shot me a knowing
wink wink
as if he had seen this movie before. I
didn’t care. I had been a boy toy many times while I was living in L.A. I would go to dinner with my pet cougar and the other mountain lions in the room would
nod approvingly as to say, “You go, girl!” I decided that this gorgeous
specimen fearlessly ravaging my neck while we were in the elevator riding up to
the penthouse would be my black panther (cougar).

The elevator doors opened and we exited right into
her apartment.  That was cool as shit.   I had never seen that
before, so I was thoroughly impressed until I saw the rest of her apartment. It
was right out of
Architectural
Digest
with a sunken living room, crystal
chandeliers, imported Italian marble floors, three fireplaces, and a Steinway grand
piano. 

She had enough of the tour, so she began to woo me by
biting the top button off of my shirt. Then she poured me another glass of
Pinot. But before I could take my first sip, Gorgeous planted a savory wet kiss
on my parched lips. I really don’t know why I was surprised because we had
taken it back to her high-rise, so what did I think was going to happen? Play
chess? Watch television? Talk? I was a little rusty regarding the game, but I
got my sea legs back quickly. She easily slithered her tongue in my mouth,
inviting me to take things further.