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June 25, 2004
Marks - Chapter 7
By QBlog in
Marks is a novel that tells the story of a young married couple, two college roommates and a successful businessman whose lives ultimately intertwine as the result of a business opportunity — and a dream. Quixtar BLOG is publishing Marks as a serial, making a new installment available every Friday.
If you missed chapter six, never fear, it's still here for your reading pleasure.
Disclaimer: This book has not been through a final edit. There may be some misspelled words and grammatical errors. Please understand that as you read through the novel.
» Chapter 7
Cory Jackson hated MotoQuest weekend. He stayed in a four-star hotel but couldn’t get ice without members of his downline approaching him and asking for general advice. Of course, he always had to be polite or else his message that Sheik Chic was a happy, supportive family would ring hollow. He brought in a lot of money with the various fees and collections, but once the IRS and his ex-wife took their shares, little was left over. If he wasn’t behind on his hefty bills, he would skip the whole, irritating headache.
Cory ran his palm along the sweeping curve of a motorcycle as he strolled through the grand ballroom. He paused to take a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and polished a smudge off the sparkling hull of a speedboat. The high-end luxury items were borrowed to decorate the areas where most of the presentations, “family quests” and “dream quests” were held. Sheik Chic dollars were invested in car dealerships, construction companies and political reelection funds. There were plenty of people willing to make motivational speeches and loan expensive showcase items.
The shiny new trucks, boats, jewelry and even model homes would be cleared out on Monday, but if Cory and his fleet of Megas did their jobs, the visions of worldly goods would linger in the dreams of every independent retailer.
Cory idly picked up one of the glossy programs stacked by the door. As the main attraction, he wasn’t scheduled to appear until four in the morning. Going on stage last kept the audience from leaving early. Besides that, after sitting through an entire day of evangelizing, testifying and witnessing, the recruited family would cheer for Cory Jackson no matter what he said. All he had to do was paste together a string of buzzwords and stock phrases from his motivational tapes and let the audience applaud every line with untamed enthusiasm.
“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere. Why do you always run off like that?” Cory’s wife stood on the opposite side of the room, a clipboard in her perfectly manicured fingers.
“What is it, Belinda?” Cory sighed wearily.
Belinda smoothed her hair. It took an hour, a blow dryer and two straightening irons to tame her bright red curls. When she was a hygienist at Jackson Dentistry, she used to let the wild tresses hang loose. Now that she was Mrs. Cory Jackson, she looked more polished.
“Please tell me you’re not going to wear that.” Belinda shook her head in disbelief.
Cory looked down at his starched jeans and crisp white tee-shirt.
“Of course not, but I won’t be on for hours. Nobody’s even here yet.”
“They’ll be arriving any minute,” Belinda reminded him. “I laid out your green button-down and black trousers. Go on upstairs and change.”
Cory rolled his eyes. Fifteen years ago she would have said shirt and pants.
“Is that all?” he asked.
Belinda made an exaggerated show of consulting her clipboard.
“No,” she finally answered. “Isabelle called.”
Cory leaned against the doorframe for support. MotoQuest weekend stressed him enough. He shouldn’t have to deal with his ex-wife.
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“What does she always want?” Belinda retorted bitterly.
Cory felt a sharp pain in his temples. He was four months behind in his child support payments, but with any luck he could catch up on Monday.
“How did she know we were here?”
“The witch probably has us under surveillance. Just take care of it, okay Cory?”
Cory nodded lamely and watched his toned, tanned, strikingly beautiful wife turn and march out of the room in a huff. He wished that there was more he could do for his ex-wife. Despite Belinda’s opinion, Isabelle didn’t demand much — just what the court ordered. Of course, he had given her custody without putting up a fight. Really, the boys were all she cared about. Even at the time, Belinda said that was more than enough in exchange for dissolving the marriage.
Isabelle understood that his profits waxed and waned and she didn’t complain much as long as the money eventually found its way to her bank account. The real worry was not that they would argue about payments or get in a shouting match. Cory feared that Isabelle might show up at some Sheik Chic function. No one in the organization knew about his sons and first wife. If that little secret came out, his already teetering financial structure — built on a message of family, God and capitalism — would collapse.
Cory found it especially difficult to tell his handsome and intelligent teenagers why they were never invited on his frequent business trips or mentioned in his biography. Collin and Greg — they were like reflections of him in a magic, youth-restoring mirror. Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday when they were rough and tumble scamps racing through the basement on tricycles. Now, they were sixteen and seventeen years old and probably interested in girls and football.
Cory’s eyes tingled and a little sob caught in his throat. He quickly pulled himself together and forced his attention back to the details of the weekend. As he often preached to his downline, success came only with sacrifice. The key was to focus on the success.
The most important priority for the moment was to keep Isabelle far away and placated for as long as possible.
For Cory, the price of a room in a nice hotel was more than offset by the services available to high-maintenance women. The hair salon, day spa, sauna, fitness center and not tub usually kept Belinda occupied and gave Cory time to relax. Unfortunately, his wife was not taking advantage of the amenities when he returned to their room. She hovered nearby while he called Isabelle.
As soon as he returned the phone to its cradle, Belinda was at his side, eager to hear every detail of the conversation.
“I think convinced her to wait a couple more weeks before getting her lawyer involved,” Cory said. He began changing into the expensive silk clothing that Belinda had picked out. “We’ll have to pay the penalty for her mortgage being late, though.”
“What a crock.”
Cory frowned at his wife’s language. Despite her elegant appearance, sometimes Belinda’s blue collar roots showed.
“She can’t pay it until I send the child support,” Cory explained slowly, as if to a small child.
“Like hell she can’t. You got a fortune when the house sold and I bet she hasn’t spent a penny of her share yet.”
Cory didn’t like remember the stately, gabled home he once shared with Isabelle and the boys. It was only half the size and a good fifty years older than the hulking, modern mansion where he lived now, but it had been in a beautiful, family-oriented neighborhood and sported intricately designed plaster work and warm hardwood floors that felt good to bare feet.
“That’s the boys’ college fund,” he argued. “Isabelle is smart enough to realize that I’m not going to be much help in that department.”
“She can’t expect us to pay for her kids the rest of our lives,” Belinda said with a snort. “The court order says we pay until they’re eighteen. It doesn’t say anything about college.”
Cory decided to stop arguing. His wife would never see Isabelle as anything but the enemy.
“I know,” he said in soothing tones.
Belinda smiled triumphantly and reached out to straighten Cory’s tie.
“I’ve scheduled dinner with some up-and-comes,” she said. “They’ll meet us at the restaurant upstairs.”
“I hate those rotating, rooftop numbers. Won’t they be too busy singing halleluiah to leave the meeting?” Cory asked hopefully.
“Too busy to have dinner with the Jacksons?” Belinda gave a tinkling laugh. All traces of her anger were gone.
“God, what will I say to them?”
Spewing punchlines and witty rhymes to an adoring mob was one thing, but dealing with his worshippers in small groups scared Cory.
Belinda consulted her clipboard.
“They’re retailers who have moved double the standard quota for the past six months. They already know how to sell products and the system.”
“Then, why do I have to have dinner with them?”
“To encourage them, keep them excited.” Belinda stood in front of the mirror and smiled at the reflection.
“You know our dropout rate goes up every year,” she continued. “These retailers made it past the big hump. They’re the ones that have a real shot at going Mega one day.”
“God help them,” Cory muttered. “So I do what, pat them on their heads and reassure them that they’ll get there in the end?”
“Exactly, because you can bet that their in-laws are telling them to quit now and cut their losses.”
Cory closed his eyes in resignation. He would smile and keep asking his dinner companions about their dreams. People liked to talk about themselves and it kept the pressure off him.
“I can’t believe this.”
Tom’s eyes were wide, as if he were trying to take all his surroundings in at once. Teri was too stunned by the wealth and commotion to speak.
Above them, a series of lights flickered and rotated, alternately highlighting and shadowing the cars, boats and jewelry scattered around the spacious room. The chairs were arranged in clumps among the advertisements for capitalism. A six-piece band on the curtained stage played a song with a driving rock beat.
Or rip them at the seams.
They’re not so bright, you know,
‘Cause you’re the one who’ll go,
Go Mega!
Teri felt overwhelmed and very, very tiny. The crowd around her seemed to move as one, swaying to the pulse of the music as they sung along. She wished they would just turn around and walk back down the street to the little motel with the mismatched furniture.
Bill and Gen Lewis somehow spotted them and rushed across the room.
“Thanks for getting us here,” Tom said while clasping Bill’s hand. “It’s so much more than I expected.”
“Just wait until the speeches and quests, start,” Bill said. “I tell you, you’re just going to learn so much.
Teri kept her supportive wife smile as firmly in place as Gen’s while they exchanged hugs.
“We’re getting together for coffee after Cory Jackson speaks,” Bill instructed. “Make sure your downline knows because I want my entire recruited family there.
Ton fumbled through his program.
“What time will that be?”
“About four thirty, five AM,” Bill answered. “But there’s a dream quest at eight, so it just doesn’t make sense to bother going to bed.”
“Five in the morning?” Teri asked in surprise. “I’m afraid I’ll have balied out well before then. I’ve never been able to stay up late.”
“You have to stay for Cory Jackson,” Bill insisted. “If you miss him, either of you, it’s going to set your business back at least six months.”
Tom grabbed Teri’s elbow.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a smile. “We’ll be there.”
Bill nodded.
“Be sure and tell your downline. I need to see them all. We have to run, take care, Tom and Teri.”
You’re playing for big stakes.
A boss will rob you blind,
Then layoff your behind.
Go Mega!
Teri tried to block out the incessant music and study her program.
“There are no breaks at all,” she complained. “When are we going to sleep and eat?”
“Time enough to sleep when the business runs itself,” said an anonymous, smiling passerby in a navy suit.
Forget the sacrifices you make,
Tend every seed that you sow,
And only then can you go.
Go Mega!
“Try to look a little more sophisticated,” Tom said. “The Ducks are here.”
Teri dutifully hugged Frank and Juanita Duck and gasped with astonishment and delight at the latest achievements of their young daughter.
“Listen, Bill and Gen Lewis are meeting us for coffee after Cory Jackson speaks tonight.” Tom spoke in conspiratorial tones, as if the masses around them were eavesdropping, waiting for word of a gathering at Denny’s to crash.
“At about five AM,” Teri added helpfully.
“Is it really going to last that long?” Juanita Duck looked worried.
“It will be worth it,” Tom assured her after shooting his wife a look of warning. “Seeing Cory Jackson live… there just aren’t words. Missing it would set your business back at least six month.”
Frank Duck scratched his bald head and nodded.
“This meeting with the Lewises – what is that about?”
Tom laughed sagely.
“Knowing Bill, I’m sure he has some vital tips to pass on. He knows the system and we’re very lucky to be in his recruited family.” He turned to Teri. “There’s the Stemples. Catch you later.”
Tom grabbed Teri’s hand and they fought the pulsating crowd to reach the other leg of their downline.
It’s the best business in the land.
You’ll go through life a winner,
They’ll be serving you your dinner.
Go Mega!
Cory Jackson had eight hours to kill after dinner. He ran some hot water in the shower, hung up his shirt and pants in the steamy bathroom to shake some of the wrinkles out and climbed into bed. Belinda would be in to wake him and apply his makeup well before his entourage showed up to escort him downstairs. Until then, his wife was having a dream-quest with the single female retailers and he would catch up on some much need sleep.
Dinner with the ‘up-and-comers’ had been as boring and stagnant as he expected. One of the wives was passably pretty, which gave him something to focus on rather than the carbon-copy goals that each person recounted to him in arduous detail. Cory wondered if the cute one was happily with her dull-looking husband wearing the cheapest Sheik Chic suit. It wasn’t fair that he never got to dream-quest with the eligible women, but it just showed how well Belinda knew him.
There were times when Cory wished he had never closed his dental office. He was a good dentist. Trite as it sounded, he liked to help people. He remembered the apologetic young woman who had never had a checkup. She was in constant pain and felt that her smile was holding her back professionally. Every spring there seemed to be a kid who learned the hard way to keep his glove over his face when catching a fly ball. Cory had enjoyed the steady pace of the work. There were enough challenges to keep the days interesting and a reliable income. He had less stuff then – a more modest car and home – but a lot less debt and worry.
Then he found Sheik Chic and discovered that he was a better salesman and motivator than he was a dentist. The problem was, it was hard to convince people that he alone held the secret to financial freedom when he still held a nine-to-five job. Something had to give, and at the time his Sheik Chic business was more lucrative than filling cavities.
He was surprised the type of people that he recruited. He could understand why someone pulling down minimum wage would be seduced by the idea, but every year there were doctors, engineers, lawyers and teachers who signed up – members of professions that Cory assumed needed some sort of calling. If they hated what they were doing so much, why had they invested all that time in school? Why didn’t they do something more fulfilling than selling overpriced merchandise and pestering their friends and family?
But that line of thinking was hypocritical. He had been a professional and he had been recruited. What was he looking for all those years ago? What had been missing from his life? What had he hoped to find in the Sheik Chic catalog?
Cory lay in the dark, wide-awake, trying to remember.
He never intended to quit his practice. He could say that unequivocally. When he joined Sheik Chic, it seemed like a buying club. Cory planned on joining and buying a few things he needed anyways at a discounted, members-only price. Then he and Belinda went to a few meetings and he bought into the whole idea that although what he had now was good, he could have so much more.
On top of that, he was remarkably good at convincing people to sign up. Without even intending to, he recruited a few people every month. His upline was impressed and he moved up the family ranks quickly, outlasting and overtaking the patient who first introduced him to the system.
Cory grabbed the remote control and flipped through the television channels.
There was no turning back now. He had to keep replacing the retailers who dropped out and encouraging those still in to go after their dreams even harder and buy a few more tapes and books. That was the empire he had built for himself.
Eventually, he fell into a troubled, restless sleep.
“C’mon, Cory.” Belinda shook him gently. “Get moving. I can’t do your makeup until you’re dressed.”
Cory roused himself. After a full day of rushing around and meeting people, Belinda still looked fresh and wide-awake.
“You’re on in twenty minutes,” she continued as she handed him his clothes. “Your hair is a mess. Let me get my mousse.”
Cory felt old and run down. Even putting his shoes on took too much effort.
“You’d better perk up,” Belinda advised. “Those people paid good money to see Cory Jackson, not some old fool who stumbles around like he’s drunk.”
Cory watched in the mirror while Belinda sponged a beige cream over his face and patted it in with a powdered square of cotton.
“A little liner in the corner of the eyes,” she murmured. “And some extra roughe. There. Now you’re looking like yourself.”
Cory could not agree. He looked nothing like himself. He looked like a caricature of a used car salesman. He hated the closed in feeling of the makeup, but he understood its importance. If he went on stage bare-face, he would be as pale and washed out as a ghost.
There was a knock on the door. Cory joined his entourage – the group of Megas who traveled with him to functions and handled most of the presentations.
They took the service elevators and hallways, the silent knot of men with Cory in the center, until they were backstage. There they waited, hidden by the thick velvet curtains, while the emcee finished his introduction.
“…changed the face of Sheik Chic…loving husband…Double-Ultra-Mega…”
Cory heard bits and pieces of the speech. There was no need for him to pay attention, the Megas would cue him when the time was right for his entry.
Cory felt the sudden urge to run back through the still kitchen and quiet corridors, maybe back to his room. Better yet, he would keep going right out the hotel door, picking up speed until he was flying.
Only he didn’t have the energy to run. His legs felt so heavy that he could barely stand.
“Cory Jackson!” The emcee announced as if he were calling out a prize fighter.
On the other side of the curtain, the room exploded in a fury of noise. Over the screams and thunderous applauds, the band launched into a jazzed up version of “Fanfare for the Common Man.”
As one, the Megas gave their leader a gentle push.
Cory walked to the middle of the stage.
Women in the front pulled at their hair and sobbed. Men lifted their arms in praise. Further back, the crowd started clapping and stomping in time to the music.
Cory could feel the energy pulsating through him. He gazed at his admirers, collecting the applause, whistles and cheers.
He smiled.
The noise grew even louder and more raw. Cory nodded in acceptance of the ecstatic, almost primal, blare.
The room darkened and there was only him – triumphant, golden and young in the circle of the spotlight.
The band struck the final chord of butchered Copland and launched into the chorus of one of their more popular songs.
And you can too, son.
He knows about sacrifice,
West Ultra-Mega twice!
Cory Jackson!
Standing in the same room as Cory Jackson seemed to be the main reason most people were at Motoquest. No one left before he took the stage. Groups of retailers cut in and out of the crowded ballroom all day – on their way to family quests and dream quests. Every seat was taken for the governor’s address and the Mega panel, but five minutes before Cory Jackson appeared there was standing room only.
Teri found herself shuffled between a tiny blonde woman who pounded her fists in the air and jumped with dangerous abandon in her high heels while she sawyer her hips with the music and a very large, incredibly sweaty man who moaned and wiped his forehead with a wad of paper napkins.
Because of the jostle, Tom was several rows in front of her. He pumped his arm and yelled as if he was at a rock concert.
Teri stretched her neck and surveyed the roaring sea of people. She appeared to be the only one with slumped shoulders and tired eyes.
She yearned to go to the back of the room, maybe out in the hall, and get a breath of air. There were no visual aids on the stage, so she would not miss seeing anything important. Surely she could hear the speech. Even if she didn’t Tom would fill her in. He probably wouldn’t do anything except quote Cory Jacksonisms during the drive home, anyways. Why should she have to sit through it twice?
The emcee strutted out and encouraged the crowd to reach an even higher frenzy. Teri felt frantically closed in.
She decided she would simply leave. She would just slip out the back exit. Although she couldn’t see the door through the wall of faces, she had no doubt that she could find it. The room was large but not unmanageable.
The only problem was Tom
She didn’t want to get separated from him and she didn’t want him to know that she hadn’t been caught in the net of Motoquest enthusiasm.
The crowd pushed in on her even more and Teri knew that she needed to leave.
She shoved her hands forward to separate a path. People were standing on chairs and riding piggyback. She couldn’t see her destination, she could only try to move further away from the dimmed stage.
Suddenly she was drowning. She was ten years old again, performing a handstand in the community swimming pool. She misjudged the water depth, banged her head on the concrete floor and lost her equilibriu. She couldn’t breathe and she had no idea if she was swimming to air or just fighting to go even deeper into the water.
The emcee’s word faded, until Teri couldn’t hear anything but the rust of blood in her ears.
A woman’s face, smiling and tear-stained, pressed against hers and Teri was pulled into a suffocating hug.
She tore herself away from the sweet, overwhelming perfume and struggled even harder. She pulled and tore and kicked the legs and bodies in her way.
Then she saw the glowing red exit sign.
Teri began to regain her composure as she shuffled through the last rows into the safety of the hallway.
The heavy door closed behind her and Teri was alone with the night janitor and his push broom.
“Quite a party going on in there.” The old man smiled and nodded companionably.
Teri grinned back.
If Tom was with her, he would have sowed a seed for the business by jumping on the friendly overture. He would have talked about the closeness of the Sheik Chic family and their enthusiasm for the business opportunity. He would have intimated about the unimaginable wealth gathered just on the other side of the door.
“Could you tell me if there’s anywhere to sit out here?” Teri asked pitifully.
The janitor winked.
“I’ll open the room next door. Just close it when you leave and whatever you do, don’t tell the guy at the front desk.”
Teri thanked him and eased into the dark conference room. She could still hear the occasional swell of cheers. After an entire day of having every sense stimulated, the relative peace was paradise.
She chose one of the straight-back chairs lining the perimeter of the room over the plusher, executive models arranged around the table. She was afraid to allow herself too much comfort. If she kicked off her tight shoes and sank onto the thick leather, she would be asleep in minutes.
Tom couldn’t catch her here.
She had to stay aware and be out the door in a flash when it was time for the dreaded coffee with their Sheik Chic family.
The tired Denny’s servers meandered through the buzzing, loud clumps of independent retailers. They filled coffee cups and passed plates of greasy eggs and sausage as they went.
Retailers who could fit their entire downlines in a single booth smiled sadly as tables were pulled together to accommodate larger organizations and remembered opportunities missed and recruits who had dropped out.
Bill Lewis stood up at the head of his cluster of tables.
“It is absolutely wonderful to see you all here together,” he beamed. “What we just experienced in there… there’s only one word to describe it: wow.”
The group laughed and applauded in agreement. Teri drank her strong, black coffee as fast as she dared in hopes that it would clear out the cobwebs in her head.
“Now, we haven’t had a formal family quest yet — don’t worry, we will. Ours is scheduled for tomorrow. Since this is the first time we’ve gotten together with some of you like this, I want to review a few Sheik Chic guidelines.”
Bill paused to pass around his sparkling grin, find a paper in his briefcase and give his wife’s hand a little rub.
“Lateral networking,” he continued. “Some of you already know what’s coming, but humor me. Lateral networking is grounds for immediate cancellation of your business agreement. This is serious stuff, people. Now some of you might not know what lateral networking is.”
He slowly walked around the table.
“Let’s say Tom here has a question about how much bonus he can expect this quarter, or what counts toward his monthly quota. Should he call up Ben and ask him about it?”
Bill rested one hand on Tom’s shoulder and the other on Ben’s.
Some of the downline shook their heads.
“No,” Bill stated with authority. “That would be lateral networking. Of course, Tom can ask Ben how to scale a fish and Ben can ask Tom about what Fresh for Her perfume to buy for his wife’s birthday.”
The group dutifully chuckled.
“But I personalize the system for each and every one of you. Tom might not be ready or even eligible for some of the information and deals that Ben is privy to. Long story short, get to know each other but no business talk with anyone but your direct upline and downline.”
Bill took a sip of coffee and gave his words time to sink in.
“Now,” he said in a friendlier tone. “Isn’t that Cory Jackson amazing?”
“How are you holding up?” Tom asked. He handed Teri a packet of aspirin from the hotel convenience store.
“I don’t know how I’m standing here. I’m completely exhausted.” Teri swallowed the tablets dry.
“Living on caffeine and dreams,” Tom chuckled. “Speaking of which, we’re going to be late for our dream quest.”
They rushed to the meeting room where a cheerful looking Mega was waiting to help them grow closer to their goals.
“Close your eyes and picture what you want to have five years from now,” the Mega instructed once the couple was seated on the other side of the conference table.
He gave Tom and Teri a minute to comply then slid them each a sheet of paper with the hotel’s letterhead.
“Now jot those goals down. That will make them more concrete.”
He sat with his hands on the table and his face smiling and immobile.
“Okay, let’s share them,” the Mega said once they put their pens down. “Tom, why don’t you go first?”
“A brand-new luxury sedan,” Tom read. “A sports car. A yacht. Winter home in Rio. Summer home in France. Big screen TV. Ultra-Mega pendant.”
The Mega reached across the table and shook Tom’s hand.
“You’ll get all that and more, Tom. You really will. If you can dream it, you can reach it. Now Teri. Your turn.
Teri looked at her list sadly. The goals she enumerated seemed mundane and lackluster compared to Tom’s. She folded the paper in half lengthwise.
“They’re kind of personal. I’d rather keep them to myself.”
The Mega shook his head.
“That’s not how it works, Teri. The more people you tell your dreams to, the more accountable you will hold yourself for making them come true. I want to help you get there. And Tom… well if you can’t share these things with your husband… So what will you have in five years?”
“More free time,” Teri read in a quiet voice. “A down payment on out townhouse. Paid off credit cards. A baby. A degree.”
Teri didn’t dare look up to see Tom’s reaction. The room fell silent except for her racing heartbeat.
The Mega cleared his throat.
“Those dreams are nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t worry, before we’re done with this quest, we’ll get a few livelier things on that list.”
Teri folded her sheet back and sharpened the crease with her thumbnail.
“Now, Tom. What I’d like to do is walk around the ballroom with you. We’ll sit in some of the cars, look at the boats. Teri, after that how about we venture outside. There’s a really nice furniture store just a few blocks down the road. They have some exquisite pieces. If you’re going to buy a townhouse, surely you’ll want to fill it with beautiful things. Maybe we’ll even check out those big screen televisions. Alright with you Tom?”
Teri wished she could close her eyes and drift off to sleep right there at the table.
© Copyright 2003-04, Janet Marie Mills - (The Creative Commons License on this site does not apply to this Copyrighted work which is published with the permission of the author)