Chapter Thirty-Two

Mary and her Mum were home. They’d really enjoyed the trip, but I was pleased to see that they were genuinely glad to be back. We settled down into our routine and made a date for the wedding in about twelve months’ time. It was a quiet affair held at her Aunty Rita’s house in Point Chevalier, then a tidy working class suburb and now a very desirable, expensive residential area. The ceremony and party went off without a hitch. Strangely I felt that I was in a parallel universe and looking in on things, although I probably wasn’t the first bridegroom to have that feeling. Mary and I had to pay for everything and we had no money left for much of a honeymoon, but we did the best we could with the help of a borrowed car. In the early days of our marriage we rented a house from Freemans Bay’s main man, Bob Elsender. His daughter, Rona, was a friend of Mary’s. She was a nice lady and was married to a chap who pops up later in this story, Kenny Young, a wild seaman, turned fireman. Our lives became entangled for a few years.

I had nervously acquired a State Advances Corporation loan and we had bought our first house, in Beach Haven on the North Shore. So there I was, married and the owner of a house, all within two-and-a-half years of my surreptitious arrival in New Zealand. Not a bad effort and my eight pence arrival kitty was growing. As part of the housing loan requirement I had to show regular, steady employment. To achieve that, I had to come ashore. Mary’s cousin had wangled a job for me and I was unhappily working in a well paid, but going nowhere, job in the Fletcher Steel fabricating works in Nelson St. I was reminded of my short-lived attempt at becoming a plumber when I’d left school not many years previously. I stuck this out long enough to get the house loan and a bit longer, as I thought that now I was married I should join that dreaded ‘eight to five’ brigade.

We had been in our shiny new, freshly painted house for about six months. My job required me to be on the same bus every single boring morning at seven o’clock. On that bus were the same guys every day. They all seemed happy enough with their lot in life. I had tried to think along those lines. I’d tried to rationalise it.

‘Okay Len, you’re married, you’ve got a mortgage to worry about, you have to buy furniture, you’ll need a car, in a couple of years there’ll be kids.’

It’s just how life was. One morning I was on the bus and nearly at my stop for work. I looked around at the other guys, nice enough people; one of them caught me looking and smiled. He was a guy called Tom. He was about ten years older than me and lived down our road. He had four kids, a frazzled wife and nothing that made any discernable waves in his existence. He was probably happy, but I wasn’t. I knew at that instant that I could live this charade no longer. I jumped up, the bus stopped, I got off. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew what I was not going to do and that was get on that bus to work ever again. It was the plumber’s workshop syndrome all over again, but once more I was saved.

Getting off the bus was a scramble, but I made it. This was not the only door I stepped through. I stepped through a door in life. This was the first step, from the old to the new, from the straight and narrow, to boundless possibilities, from constriction to freedom. From boredom to excitement, I entered a world of temptation and was tempted. A world of double-dealing and illusion, but a world I could not resist. That was the real door I had stepped through.

I found myself in the Birkenhead Shopping Centre about two miles from home. I found a little café, ordered some breakfast and thought about my new situation. Mary had quite a good job as a beautician in the cosmetic section of Eccles Pharmacy in Queen Street, Auckland’s main thoroughfare. She was happy and settled and only pregnancy when it came would cause her to leave there. Eccles was an Auckland institution; it had served the needs of the business and shopping community for longer than most could remember. It had a fantastic position on the corner of Queen Street and Her Majesty’s Arcade which also housed Her Majesty’s Theatre. It was one of those lovely, historic old theatres, reeking with show business atmosphere and is now sadly gone, a victim of property developer greed in the 1980s. The seats may have seen better days, the amenities were outdated, but she was a lovely old girl, still full of character and precious memories stretching back across one hundred years of entertaining Auckland. Now, in the 1960s, she was hosting a new generation of eager theatregoers. My Fair Lady, The Desert Song, Oklahoma, South Pacific, all featuring very good overseas leads, spring to mind, conjuring up really wonderful memories. Among other famous names Vivienne Leigh and Sir Laurence Olivier performed there. As a consequence of this location the performers were always in and out of Eccles buying make-up and supplies. We regularly met the overseas and local stars from the touring shows. We always had tickets for their performances and were often invited to after show parties. I always suspected a contributing reason for the invites was the fact that Mary was a very attractive young lady and I’m sure that she aroused interest in the young males in the touring companies.

A little custom that had grown up around Eccles was Friday night drinks in the back room. As a regular visitor there I’d met a few of the company reps who sold products to the shop and who also gathered there for the Friday night late shopping ‘in the know crowd’ hospitality, which at times was very entertaining. The company reps were a pretty happy bunch and I wondered whether I could forge a career in selling. I’d certainly done well with it back home in England.

Reflecting on my life in that little café in Birkenhead I started to see the way ahead. There were only two things I had really enjoyed and been good at in work terms, one was selling and dealing with people and the other was going to sea. Now I was married, the sea option probably wasn’t available. Mary understandably didn’t like being on her own, especially at nights, in the little house in Beach Haven, which was a bit isolated. I really couldn’t handle the norm of going to work every day, doing the same thing and seeing it stretch before you in the years ahead. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t work or effort that I was averse to, it was the feeling of being trapped, that the system had won, that that was the sacrifice you had to make for the misconception of security. In fact I think security blunts ambition and gets in the way of enterprise; in any event, that path wasn’t for me, I couldn’t do it.

Selling, that’s where my mind immediately went. I suppose when you think about it, that’s what it had to be, I had no trade to fall back on. Becoming a good or great salesman is one of those things that demands, or springs from an innate persuasive ability. Couple that with a strong survival instinct and you have a person of real ability. It can be a dangerous talent. Clever people can be carried away by the rhetoric of a talented salesman and find themselves investing in schemes they wouldn’t normally touch. The salesmen are generally the ones who drive most business endeavours, straight or otherwise. Fortunately, I had both of those rascal requirements of a successful salesman in bundles, as future events would prove. Salvation was at hand. I knew straightaway things would be okay. It might not be easy, but things would work out. A departed customer had left a copy of the New Zealand Herald at the next table. I took it and turned to the Situations Vacant section. The Auckland economy was bustling at the time, which was reflected in the large number of jobs advertised, ranging from builders labourers to printers and drivers and all stops in between. There were opportunities for shop-based sales people, but that would have just been swapping one life sentence for another. I was looking for a repeat of the Freddie Graves, ‘Greengrocer of Ricky’, employer. The sales reps jobs were all in specialist areas requiring technical and engineering skills. No freedom there. I was more, you give me a product, leave me alone and I’ll sell it’ sort of guy. I ordered another cup of tea. Never got into coffee; I’ve been a cup of tea man all my life. Further down the page and there it was:

Personable salesman wanted to join young expanding company on commission basis in the Wedding and Bedding trade. Great potential. Own car essential.

In retrospect the wording of the advertisement alluding to ‘bedding’ certainly had ramifications. Read on and you may smile.

I wasn’t going to let a little thing like the, absence of a car stop me. I phoned the number given in the ad and made an appointment to meet the Managing Director at noon the following Monday. I had to spend most of the weekend assuring Mary we wouldn’t lose the house. Mary had read the ad and focussed on the car requirement. She then added a comment to the effect that commission jobs never worked out; but to be fair to her, although she was sceptical about the job she never tried to stand in my way. It never occurred to me that I might not get the job. As far as I was concerned I just needed a car. Monday morning rolled around and I dressed formally for the interview. I’d talked a local car dealer into letting me have a car on trial, or ‘appro’ as we called it. I’d assured him I’d buy one of his cars, but just needed to make sure which one was right for me. I settled on a ‘two-tone’ Hillman Minx. It was brown and cream and had all the hallmarks of a man on the way up in life. I was.

Mary and I set off on Monday morning; my wife quite warming to the idea of being driven in an expensive-looking car and getting a ride to work rather than taking the bus. Car ownership wasn’t very widespread back in those days and Mary and I felt pretty excited as we headed for the city. Sometimes life reaches a point where there are just two options. I had to stay on the bus, or take a chance. Fate, genes, upbringing, I don’t know what decides it, but I’ve always been one to take a chance.

“Good morning, Len. Sit yourself there, opposite me. Would you like a coffee?”
“Err, no thanks.”

This was the MD, a Michael Tabuteau. I wondered whether that was his real name or whether he was just poshing it up. He was a little bit older than me, probably twenty-five or so. He was well spoken and seemed very confident. There was a woman named Mary in the room. I assumed she was his secretary, but she turned out to be his business partner. Also at work in the office was a very attractive girl of about eighteen who turned out to be his wife. Her name was Glenda and her role in the office was mainly to look attractive rather than to actually produce anything. Michael and I exchanged pleasantries. He asked me some searching background questions, which I was able to answer, having had a number of backgrounds to use as source material. He explained the business and the products to me and outlined the demands that would be made on my time and income earned by previous employees. Basically the job was to sell bedding and linen, plus ladies’ sleeping attire, to young girls engaged or hoping to be. It was an established New Zealand tradition of putting a ‘bottom drawer’ together that Mary had earlier been engaged in. The company provided a full range of samples and their products were top class. Leads were generated through advertising in bridal magazines and newspaper supplements. Would a good looking young man like me be suited to discussing lingerie and bedding with wholesome young unmarried girls? I thought I might well be. My skills honed on the veggie carts selling to housewives might have some application and I was always able to put women at their ease with my non-threatening manner. We talked for a while, but it was clear he wanted me to join and I was certainly keen. And what about Fate hovering in the background of this little piece of theatre? I think she was also quite keen to see what would transpire if I got the job.

“Righto Len.” Said Michael, in his best C.E.O. style that I came to recognise. “I think you have the qualities needed, I just need to discuss it with Mary,” they disappeared into another room for about 5 minutes.

“Welcome aboard,” said Michael on their return. He strode towards me with his hand extended and a big smile. It was a charade; the die had been cast when I walked in the door, maybe when I got off the bus.

It was decided that I would go out that evening with another salesman, David, who had an appointment on the North Shore. Michael took me into the training room to improve my product knowledge and Mary made me up two cases of samples. And so my new career was launched. No more steel working and dirty fingernails. I was a salesman in the challenging and spotlessly clean world of womens’ bits and pieces. I went and borrowed some money from the lawyer who had handled our house sale and that day bought a car. I opted for a sporty-looking Sunbeam Alpine. Not the most practical of cars and I could barely get the samples into it, but it did catch the eye and with my new clientele, looks were going to trump practicality.

I immediately warmed to David, the salesman supervising me on my first outing. He was leaving to go to the UK to pursue a career in theatre acting. He’d had some success locally and was off to follow his dream. I admired him because I knew what it took to chance your arm, leave home and security and head for the opposite side of the world and the unknown. He was a competent salesman, but he worked by the book. Our client that night was a young woman who had just become engaged and who had invited along a couple of friends to join her for the evening’s demonstration. David introduced himself and then me and launched into a very wooden presentation. Despite that, he got the sale and his commission was something like twenty pounds, which was probably more than half a week’s wages for most people. I was impressed and I was sure I’d made a good career choice. I just thought we needed to put a bit more of the demon in the demonstration.

I drove to the offices in Albert Street the next morning, dropping Mary off in Queen Street on the way. If anything the Sunbeam Alpine suited her better than the Hillman Minx and I didn’t hear any more words of opposition about my new job. I was wearing a really well made three-piece suit and I hoped I looked the part. I was early, so I parked the car in Queen Street and embarked upon what has become a life-long habit. I skipped up the sweeping stairway of De Bretts, one of Auckland’s leading hotels. I hadn’t made a sale yet, but I think you should always start out as you intend to operate. Mark out the territory you want to occupy and the means will follow. My pockets were a little light on cash, but I was full of ambition and expectation. I was free from doubt. I sat at a window seat overlooking the bustle of Shortland Street below and ordered a sumptuous breakfast and a copy of the New Zealand Herald. I knew that this was the start of a new life.

The first month rushed by and I had appointments almost every night. My sales and commissions were incredibly high and I’d eclipsed all benchmarks set by David or previous salesman. I spent my days trawling through papers and magazines looking for leads. I took our business into new areas such as lunchtime displays in shops and factory canteens. Almost invariably I would make a sale or get an evening appointment. And there was a common denominator to the evening appointments. The client would usually want someone with her and so, invariably, there would be the attractive single girlfriend in attendance. I learnt to exploit what I had in my armoury. I wasn’t a great sportsman, I hadn’t been to university, but I was six foot plus tall, impeccably dressed with a nice car and an air of success. I was ambitious and I could chat easily with anyone. Well, you’ve got to play to your strengths don’t you?

Another month went by and I had become the wonder kid of the firm. I was helping the other salesmen on the basis I got a share of any commissions they made. I was making very good money and more importantly, I was really enjoying myself. Michael was ecstatic. It all seemed so easy, but something was changing; fate was in the corner of the room tossing her petticoat and setting something a little unfortunate in motion. If I was going to find a true starting point for the slippery slope I skated down, I would probably put a marker about here.

Michael approached me one morning and said:
“Len, Glenda wants to join the sales team. I think it’d make my wife really happy to feel she was more involved in the business. She wants a bit of independence too. Do you think you could train her up?”

I pretended to think about it for a few moments.

“I don’t know, Mike. Do you think it’s a good idea?

I don’t want to slow down my sales.”

“Len, take her out, train her up and if she’s no good at it then at least she’s had her chance and she can’t keep going on at me about it.”

“Okay, Mike, you’re the boss; but I assume it’s the same rules about commission.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “but you’re making more than me.”

“Well get out and sell a bit yourself.”
That stopped him in his tracks.

Glenda was slim and very attractive. She'd been runner up in a recent 'Miss Auckland Beauty Contest'. Her marriage was not a happy one. I was 24 and on a roll with an, 'every post a winning post' mentality. There had been a bit of light flirting between us around the office. We both sensed where this might go. I think it was planned, subconsciously or otherwise.

Sometimes, particularly when you are young, there can be irresistible electricity between two people. Wiser older heads may escape it, but some time or other lust can make fools of us all. From the first day of Glenda's training, we struggled on that slippery slope of temptation.

The affair started nervously. Glenda was keen to share everything she had with me, except for the commissions and she decided to do her own sales work. Not very successfully as it turned out, so Michael asked me to, ‘top her up’. I know, it was an unfortunate choice of words. The evening training top-ups took up one evening a week in addition to our daily liaisons. Then came the inevitable opportunities and stolen moments that we exploited through that fine New Zealand Spring. After two months of clandestine meetings, we entered that acute danger area that lovers always end up occupying. Lovers become careless, perhaps it is a subconscious wish to be caught, a hidden wish to end a deceitful situation.

Late one morning we visited a hide-away, the secluded thermal pools at the Waiwera hot springs hotel. It was a fabulous facility, then about forty minutes drive north of Auckland. The visit was planned to be a final liaison between us. We were both scared of the intensity that had developed and the problems lying in wait. We did not want to endanger our marriages any further; this was to be the end of the affair.

Whilst enjoying the stimulating 'hot pools', an incident occurred that illustrated the careless attitude that we had allowed to develop. The magical surroundings, the warm water, the playfulness had brought about an intimate moment. We had got carried away when our pleasure was broken by a cough that was steadily increasing in volume. I looked around to find the owner of the voice, it was an employee of the complex and I recognized him, he lived only a few hundred yards from me, talk about 'sod's law'. With heavy diplomacy he suggested we carry on these activities elsewhere, saying, “I will give you five minutes.”

Glenda, who was shielded from him, cut in with, “Make it ten”.

There have been many times since, that I have wondered, did she mean she needed longer to get dressed and leave, or did she want more time to continue. Your guess is not as good as mine!

Once dressed, we retired to the loungers and I couldn’t help laughing at the ref’ giving us five minutes of extra time. It had been a close call and we realised that we couldn’t go on like that. We were certain to get caught and so we agreed to end the relationship for the sake of our partners.