The Hideaway is one of those former working men's pubs which dot the central city. It's had a name change, a coat of paint, a quick polish of the wood and brass fittings and now charges three times the price for a beer. The last time working men drank here was when they were having smoko after finishing the redecoration. Even the gorilla on the door wears a tie.
The bar is fairly crowded and there are no more stools for the confusion of high tables that cluster round the tiny dance floor. She is leaning on a table in the midst of this confusion, oblivious to the looks and comments her short skirt and exposed midriff are attracting from adjacent tables.
'See that woman over there?' He is bemused by her sudden change of tack and follows her gaze to a large plain woman at an adjacent table who throws back her head and guffaws with laughter at one of her companions. 'Could you fall in love with her?'
He snorts.
'What about her then?' A slim brunette is leaving the bar clutching three drinks. She looks as if her clothes have been sprayed on; every bump and curve is clearly apparent.
'That's more like it,' he says.
'So what's the difference?'
'Eh?' He's lost again.
'What you mean by love is just the attraction of a pretty face and a trim figure. Or perhaps it's the appeal of the envy you'd attract by having someone like that hanging on your arm. What you mean by love isn't love, it's sex. You'd like to have sex with her. You think you'd like to have sex with me.'
He blushes. This kind of talk embarrasses him but she thinks she's made her point. She relents a little.
'It's just a veneer. It's no basis for a relationship. Believe me, I know from experience.'
He sips his drink and nods, catching her eyes for a fraction of a second before looking down again. For the amount she's been drinking she's surprisingly cogent. He has taken in what she has said, but on a different level. The forefront of his mind is on her cleavage, the delineation of her breasts, the shadow of a nipple.
She pats his arm. 'I'm sorry. It's just me. I'm not ready for another relationship. It's too soon. I'm just starting to stretch my wings, to find myself. Maybe it's just bad timing, eh? You've been a real gem. I won't forget how you stood by me and helped me out at work. You're a really nice guy. There'll be plenty of women in here tonight looking for someone like you.'
She swallows the last of her drink, looks at him and straightens. He nods and finishes off his pint. They ease their way through the crowded bar, past the bow-tied gorilla, along the landing and out on to the stairs outside.
The stairs lead to a lighted lane below, but there are deep shadows too. Blackened alleyways running off at tangents, the mute outline of stinking rubbish tins. She stumbles on the stairs and grabs the stair rail. He puts out a hand but she pushes it away.
At the bottom it is evident that she is heading to the left and he to the right.
'Bye.' She reaches up and pecks his cheek.
He bends and finds her lips. She backs away, a hand against his chest, but has already stepped into shadow. He bends again, she scuttles backwards and finds herself in the blind corner of a near-dark alley.
'No, don't.'
He continues to advance and the beery lips descend again. One hand has wedged her shoulder, the other's at her hip, pushing down, across. She grunts, twists her head aside and cries out, 'Don't you dare!'
A hand shoots round her throat, thumb closing over her windpipe. Lack of air is a suitable distraction, now his other hand is free to explore. The bruising grip mauls a breast, dives to cup a buttock, then round and up between her thighs, lifting the short skirt with it.
Struggle is useless, he has her pinned, choking. She can still hear the music from the bar, yet it seems lost and distant now. She could die here, she suddenly realises, resisting to the end — or at least while consciousness and strength remain. One other chance; perhaps her only chance.
She moves a little to accommodate the probing fingers. He reciprocates the movement but it is a ruse and her raised knee is like steel propelled by lightning. He gasps, clutching himself, falling forward, face nuzzling her like a careless infant. She thrusts him back and he spins away to the opposite corner, grazing his face on the rough brick wall and landing against a dustbin.
She is suddenly calm and icy clear; the shakes and tears will start later. She straightens her clothing and finds her fallen handbag, never once taking her eyes from the doubled, groaning figure on the ground. She backs out of the alley into the lighted lane and walks quickly towards the street.
• • •
Speech to be delivered to MVDI,
May 28th
--Rough draft--
As I was DRdriving here this morning, I started thinking about how much we have in common, you and I. For one thing we regularly fight it out for bottom place on the 'Least Trusted Professions' list -- provided those insurance agents bastards don't beat us to it!
For another, our business is selling listening to our customers and doing the best we possibly can for them. Whether it's policies or Porsches, new laws or a new Lexus, blueprints or Buicks, statutes or Subarus, it's all the all too often same thing.
And third, we're frequently often called on to portray some knackered old banger that's been twice round the clock as the freedom machine the customer's been dreaming about.
But you didn't come here today to find out you're as big a shit ratbag as I am. (You probably know that already!)
No, the theme of this meeti conference is 'Driving into the Future', and I was thinking about that as I was driving in today. At first it sounds like a glib, cover—all sort title that makes all this [indicate the auditorium, etc.] respectable and serious, when in fact it's just an excuse to get away from the wife and kids for a couple of days, have a booze-up and claim it on expenses. But that, let me assure you, is not the case. (Or at least if it is, no one's invited me!)
No, seriously, that is not the case.
Talking to your chairman Dr. Selkirk this morning assured me of the seriousness of the debate, the seriousness with which you people ladies and gentlemen are approaching the issues here, and the seriousness with which you are treating them.
It's a great title that "Driving into the Future", isn't it? It's not "Cruising into the Future" or "Drifting into the Future", like so many of us do or even "Puttering into the Future on the Back of a Moped". It's driving. 'Driving' implies taking control, having a destination, an aim, and going for it. That's the difference between a good salesman and a mediocre one, between a good business and a mediocre one, between a good politician and a mediocre one. You're not sitting on your backsides saying, 'Well, maybe next year ...' You're planning, setting goals, having an agenda, a target, driving towards it, not being carried along with the rest. I admire you for that. And this is coming comes from a man who knows what he's talking about, a man who's spent a good deal too much of his career sitting in the back seat with someone else at the wheel. Occasionally your directions will get through, but more often than not they're just ignored. At ht that point you only have two choices: get out of the car, or take over the steering.
So what we're you're addressing in the next couple of days is the future direction of your industry which, in no small way, is the future direction of your country too. For what has more revolutionised this last century than the motor vehicle? Where once there were once dirt tracks and bridle paths, there are now six lane motorways. Cities, communities, whole countries depend on motor vehicles for their very survival. And the revolution's not just been physical, but social too. You're judged more by what you drive than what you are. Think of the mobility, the freedom the car gives us. Think of how we use it every day, almost without being aware of it. Instead of living and working within our cities as we once did, we now live in remote satellites and commute between the two. The result is empty, soulless towns that become unsafe after dark and huge, soulless suburbs. Then try to imagine life without it.
And behind this association, behind every one of the hundreds faces I see here today are twenty, fifty, perhaps a hundred or more others, directly dependent for their livelihoods on what you people do. I'm talking about the manufacturers, the importers, the mechanics and panel—beaters. And beyond them, the road—makers, the bridge builders, the designers and engineers. And beyond them the oil companies, the transport companies, and the geologists, and the banks and the finance houses beyond them... Why, you've got a hell of a weight on your shoulders. And that's Somsomething else we have in common.
Now think about the car's themselves? The beauty you bought for $30,000 a couple of years ago is now worth only ten. When you come to sell that "Classic vehicle of timeless elegance" you discover it's "Not a popular model". If it's manual "It's a pity it's not automatic" and if it's automatic, well "They're practically impossible to get rid of secondhand these days." "Is that a dent? Did I say ten? Sorry, I meant nine." Here's what I suggest you do next time you try out a car you're thinking of buying: drive off the lot, go down the road to another dealer and say, "How much will you give me for this, cash?"
But we can take it, can't we? The weight? The responsibility? Of course we can because we're driving into the future.
And there's something else we both have in common. Before we can provide our very best service, we have to listen, we have to question, we have to find out just what the customer wants. Not what we think, what they think. How many here have sold a Porsche to a little old lady who only wanted a runabout? And Or a sports car to a family ea of nine? (Christ! That is a lot of hands!) And that's the key to our business, yours and mine. If you we can give 'em what they want today, they'll be back again tomorrow.
So I say to you, to take up the challenge this conference presents you with. Look at where this industry's going in ten, twenty, one hundred years. Plan now, because the journey starts today.
AndBut finally, there is one more question I want you all to ponder deeply: What will you give me for my clapped-out Toyota?
Thank you very much.