Sales Pitch; Part 1

If there was one thing that could be said for Louis Sutton-Murphy it would be that he was a good salesman. If there were two things that could be said for Louis Sutton-Murphy they would be that he was a good salesman and a terrible dancer.

Louis Sutton-Murphy's particular brand of sales took him to a variety of places most people try to avoid if they can help it. Today he was in the old commercial district of a small town somewhere north of Chicago and south of the North Pole. Louis drove around block after block of abandoned warehouses and factories until he found what he was looking for; at the end of a street with no signs to advertise its name, that was completely devoid of anything but natural light, which was mostly obscured by the abandoned factories that towered on either side of the street, there was small, one story, brick building with a sheet metal roof and a sign in front proclaiming "Future Home of Lakeview Dental Partnership".

Louis parked in front of the building and got out of his car. He buttoned the top button of his sky blue jacket, checking his reflection in the car to make sure his appearance was as immaculate as it was when he left the hotel that morning (it was). Louis always dressed in pastels. He found it lent him a jovial and friendly air. It made people think they could trust him (they could). Louis walked to his trunk and pulled out the metal briefcase he used to carry his samples. Louis was a good salesman, but armed with that briefcase, Louis was unstoppable. He had never lost a sale with that briefcase.

The interior of the Future Home of Lakeview Dental Partnership was sparse, to say the least. There was a single card table, with a single metal folding chair, with a singularly bored looking girl in her early twenties sitting in it. On the table was a phone and note pad. There was a door on one side of the room that, Louis hoped, for that girl's sake, led to a bathroom.

"Hello there. I'm Louis Sutton-Murphy with Industrial Dynamic Industries. I was hoping to talk to Dr. Meurtrier."

"Dr. Meurtrier isn't here," said the girl.

"Well, he's not in this room, obviously, but I don't think he's too far away. Just let him know I'm here. I'll wait."

The girl looked at Louis Sutton-Murphy like a five year old looks at spinach, a mixture of skepticism, disgust and curiosity. Louis smiled politely and remained standing resolutely in front of the girls card table. It was a tense few seconds; unflinching tenacity versus vague indifference. In the end Louis won out and the girl picked up the phone.

"There's a guy here.... I told him. He won't leave. I don't know remember his name."

No sooner had the word remember left the girl's mouth than a business card appeared in Louis hands with the smooth and stylish flair of a practiced magician, directly in the girl's eyeline. The girl, annoyed, took the card.

"Louis Sutton-Murphy, Industrial Dynamic Industries. It looks like he's alone. Alright. I'll tell him."

The girl hung up the phone and began doodling on the notepad. She started writing her name in curly cue letters. It was Ellen, apparently. After she finished writing her name once, she began again, this time in a more elaborate and girly style. She continued this for several variations. Until Louis coughed the cough of a person who's passive agressively trying to get the attention of someone who is doing something other than pay attention to them.

"Will Dr. Meurtrier be seeing me then?"

"I guess," said Ellen.

"Do you like your job Ellen?" Louis asked.

Ellen glared at him with a look that said, "Hey, man, I hate you. If you could do me the kindness of dying, I would be most appreciative. Furthermore, this conversation that we just had, might be the worst thing that is happened in the history of human events."

"Through the door," Ellen pointed to the door that Louis assumed led to a bathroom.

"Thanks sweet-heart. You have a terrific day." Louis walked to the door, opened it and stepped inside. Behind the door was a closet, more or less, although it lacked anything that would make it function as a closet. No rods or hangers or shelves. No light. He closed the door behind him. It was completely dark. This was not unusual. After a moment or two standing in the darkness, the floor beneath Louis began to move in a downwardly direction. This took Louis by surprise, but only for a moment. He was that good of a salesman.

The floor of the closet descended into another, massive, room. It was a far cry from the spartan brick building above. This was a room made of large metallic panels, some of which were incandescent. The room stretched out for what seemed like miles, and there were dozens, possibly hundreds of doors of all shapes and sizes that lined the walls as far as Louis could see. When the closet-floor elevator reached the end of its descent, Louis stepped off and walked to what appeared to be another reception desk, this one much nicer than the card-table affair upstairs. It was metal, and modern and could've very well been sentient. Sitting behind the desk was a woman of imposing beauty wearing the kind of dress that dared you to look anywhere but her eyes, but promised all kinds of delights if you managed to.

Louis was all too familiar with this kind of technique. She was designed to distract, to confuse, to fluster. She was designed keep people out. She wouldn't be successful.

"Hi, I'm Louis Sutton-Murphy, from Industrial Dynamic Industries. I'm here to see Dr. Meurtrier."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"You and I both know the answer to that question, and as much as I would like spending the next several minutes persuading you to take me to see the good Dr, you and I both know that's exactly what's going to happen. So let's take that part as read shall we, and why don't you slink out from behind that desk and take me to Dr. Meurtrier's office."

The secretary gave Louis a look that said, "You are direct and forthright, and unintimidated by my incredible beauty. I find this attractive. Unfortunately, you are asking me to do the one thing I'm explicitly not supposed to do in my position, which I find annoying. My feelings toward you are mixed, but they lean toward dislike. We will never be lovers."

"This way," said the secretary, standing up. She motioned to a door about 100 yards away. The secretary led Louis along the expansive corridor with an unnecessary amount of jiggling, considering she'd already lost that particular battle.

"So what's your name?"

"Andrea Nightshade."

"And how long have you worked here, Ms. Nightshade?"

"Three years in June."

Louis nodded. "It pay well?"

"Not bad. The benefits are good."

"I imagine so. Any hobbies?"
"I collect chess sets and play croquet on a semi-professional level."

"Good for you."
"Thank you."

They reached the door. Ms. Andrea Nightshade, semi-professional croquetier, pressed her hand against the blank security pad next to the door. The door opened and Louis walked inside.