supervised on the matter by one of the firm’s partners, a man called Gerald Buchanan. ‘Supervised’ in this context meant that once a week Gerald would wander into Johnathan’s room for thirty seconds in between a lunch appointment and a game of golf to see what was going on. Exceptionally, Gerald had decided to come to the meeting this morning. His golf game had probably been cancelled, Johnathan reasoned.
While Johnathan was aimlessly reading the file, Gerald put his head around the door. As always he gave a strong impression of unruffled calm. He wore a pristine dark blue double-breasted suit with a loud chalk stripe running through it, a crisp white shirt and a pink silk tie which was tied with an enormous knot. His pungent aftershave filled the room.
‘Are the Yanks here yet?’ asked Gerald. He spoke in a languid, self-satisfied drawl which betrayed a life of pampered opulence.
Johnathan looked at his watch. ‘Not yet. They should be here in about ten minutes.’
‘Good,’ said Gerald. ‘I’m just off for a dump, so if they arrive while I’m gone just go ahead and start without me.’
‘OK,’ said Johnathan, wondering how long he was anticipating spending on the toilet.
As soon as Gerald had left, Johnathan’s telephone rang. It was Derek.
‘I’ve got a bunch of Americans in reception for you,’ he said, in the sort of tone which sounded as if he was announcing an outbreak of scabies.
‘A bunch?’ said Johnathan. ‘What do you call a bunch?’
There was a brief pause while Derek did a quick head count. ‘I reckon about five or six,’ he said.
‘God. OK, tell them I’m on my way.’
Johnathan gathered up his papers and set off to the reception area, which was filled with the low nasal drone of transatlantic accents, as people huddled together in small groups talking urgently. As he approached, a short tubby man in a shiny light grey suit waved at him heartily. This was Gary Schlongheist III, the lawyer running the deal for the Americans. He was evil.
‘John, hi, thanks for agreeing to see us so soon,’ said Gary Schlongheist III. He gestured expansively behind him. ‘As you can see, we’ve got a few more troops today.’
‘Yes,’ said Johnathan, hating him. Everyone else had stopped talking and was looking at him critically.
‘The reason for everyone’s being here today is that we have something to discuss which is in our view sufficiently serious as to merit the attendance of all these various individuals for one reason or another as you will see when we get down to business but of course prior to that I will be introducing you to everybody here and explaining to you their roles in this transaction to date and the roles which they will adopt from now on, once of course we’ve all got some coffee down our throats, hey folks?’ said Gary Schlongheist III. Johnathan rapidly felt himself losing control in the face of such officious and long-winded pedantry. He opened his mouth but no noise came out. Schlongheist looked at him questioningly for a few moments and then slapped him on the back and prompted, ‘So, lead on, Macbeth. Which of your rooms do we get to see today?’
Johnathan cast a desperate eye over the group of people. ‘If you’d just like to follow me.’ Feeling like a tour guide, he turned and set off down the corridor which led to the rabbit warren of conference rooms.
The Americans filed into the appointed room and seated themselves along one edge of the long table. Johnathan awkwardly put his papers in the middle of the table opposite the row of faces. Just as he was about to speak, Gary Schlongheist III began again.
‘OK everybody, time for formal introductions. The gentleman sitting opposite you is John Burlip, who represents Mr Rocastle in the current transaction.’
Johnathan shifted in his seat. The row of heads nodded ever so slightly in his direction. My name is Johnathan, you fat American turd, he said to himself as he smiled weakly.
‘Now, John. Can I introduce, from left to right, the following ladies and gentlemen: Ulverton Lovestick, Aaron Bostick, Randy Merrick, Brandy Jordan, and lastly Harry Sawyer.’ Gary Schlongheist III beamed.
In perfect synchrony each person reached into an inside pocket and withdrew a business card which was then pushed over the table at Johnathan like a poker hand. He arranged the cards in front of him in the same order as the people opposite him. He looked up at Gary Schlongheist III, who was playing with his expensive-looking pen.
‘First of all, John,’ said Schlongheist, ‘I’d like you to listen to the managing director of Dolls and Guise Inc., Harry Sawyer.’
The man sitting next to Schlongheist cleared his throat and began to shuffle papers busily. Johnathan glanced down at his business card. It said: ‘H.D.(Harry) Sawyer, Managing Director’ in overly florid typescript.
‘Good morning,’ said H.D.(Harry) sombrely. ‘The reason that I asked Gary to arrange this meeting today is that we appear to have encountered a problem which might seriously affect the viability of the proposed transaction for us.’
Johnathan’s heart lurched. ‘Oh?’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ agreed H.D.(Harry), ‘and we just wanted to talk the issue through with you to see if we could arrive at some happy compromise.’
‘I see,’ said Johnathan.
There was an awkward pause.
‘The thing is,’ said H.D.(Harry), ‘we’ve been having a look at those dolls your client produces. And while they’re real cute, we’ve spotted a problem with them. It has always been a point of commercial concern and indeed pride for Dolls and Guise Inc. that all of the little dolls that we make are as lifelike as possible so as to provide young girls with a genuine learning tool as well as a terrific toy.’ H.D.(Harry) was looking round the table, acknowledging the enthusiastic nods of his colleagues. ‘As a result of this policy our dolls have certain features which perhaps are not what you in England might ordinarily expect to see. And there is one thing in particular which we hold to be especially important which you certainly don’t see on Mr Rocastle’s dolls.’
‘Which is?’ said Johnathan.
The American glanced at Brandy Jordan, who was sitting next to him. ‘Pubic hair.’
Johnathan blinked.
Brandy Jordan spoke for the first time. ‘Mr Burlip, we at Dolls and Guise Inc. firmly believe that we have a social obligation to educate the young of America in the mysterious ways of nature. Hence our product lines of Pregnant Penelope and Menstruating Melissa.’ She paused. Randy Merrick coughed supportively. Randy and Brandy exchanged smiles of such cloying sweetness that Johnathan felt a little queasy.
Brandy continued. ‘We have conducted a great deal of research into this and we do believe that to manufacture dolls with pubic hair prepares young girls for the often shocking trial that puberty represents. It means that when they begin to grow their pubic hair they will have already familiarized themselves with the concept and above all the sight of pubic hair in general.’
‘Pubic hair,’ repeated Johnathan dully.
Brandy Jordan’s cheaply peroxided head disappeared beneath the table top. ‘Let me show you,’ she said. There was the unclicking of a briefcase. Brandy Jordan reappeared, clutching
