As I managed the debate between Wanda and Shirley, I took the opportunity to pass out my business cards to potential customers and, in doing so, met Albert Nutwell.
We spoke for a few minutes before the debate resumed, exchanging general personal information. We have, of course, a lot in common – both of us are local businessmen, and both of us, especially me, are always selling. We didn’t have much opportunity to talk that night, so we agreed to meet for lunch and get acquainted.
Our two businesses are very different. Mine is a service. The clients are in and out. They pay a good price for a quality ride in a chauffeured Bentley, then, on arrival, the work is done, and I move on to the next.
Albert’s clients, however, are more strategic and consistent. Some actually retain him and his team for months at a time, for what I am not clear.
I think he sees me as young and aggressive, which I like. What I want him to see in me is someone who can be a standing asset to his organization.
When we’re together, he outlines short-term needs and offers a very good rate – one far superior to what I am used to. This could be the consistent income I need to keep from falling into those dry economic spells.
The assignments he has in mind are reasonable – some for him, some for his staff.
“What I need is a true assistant,” he says. “Someone who is always there when I call.”
I am intrigued by our lunch. This sounds like more than just driving.
Albert pays for the meal. I agree to report to Hilltop first thing in the morning to discuss the work in detail and, if he is so inclined, get started.
—
I arrive early. Albert is waiting for me.
“So, yes, I’ll ask you to handle pickups, deliveries, and maybe some meetings with clients to set up new accounts. You’ll also serve the folks working here, so they don’t have to leave their desks.”
As we stroll the grounds, he lowers his voice.
“I will also ask that you remain discreet in your dealings here,” he says. “Best that you not discuss their work with them or even try to understand it. I need them to stay focused and not veer from their mission – or mine.”
As we walk, I can sense the importance of this.
“Now, what I’m offering you is more than you’d have if you remained on your own. This is an opportunity. I hope you can see that.”
I nod. To me, this all sounds acceptable and exciting, if I’m honest. Beats the hell out of cleaning up parks to make ends meet.
I have to say, though, it seems a little suspicious as well.
Perhaps my judgment is clouded by the thought of making more money than I have ever made before.
“I agree,” I tell him. “No problem. I’m happy to be here and am ready to get right to work.”
My first assignment, he tells me, involves picking up some material at a warehouse in Middle Valley and delivering it to one of our underground storage rooms.
Albert turns me loose and says he expects me back in a couple of hours. I am more excited than I’ve been in a while. Albert smiles. “See you in a few,” he says, and turns back up toward the house.
I head toward the warehouse, which is on the extreme opposite side of town from Hilltop. Turns out the pick-up is only a few medium-sized boxes, not very heavy, so I can easily handle them alone. I place them in the backseat and examine the exterior for branding or product descriptions, but there isn’t any.
Well, whatever it is, it’s two months’ pay, and that’s just fine with me.
Jenny Page