'We got anything else to talk about?' he said.
'Not this minute,' I said. 'But maybe we could get together again soon. I'd like to get your philosophy on things.'
Lehman's face had a slight flush beneath the deep tan.
'If it's for sale buy it,' he said. 'If it's female fuck it. That's my philosophy, pal.'
'Perhaps I should take Mr. Spenser to my office,' Gretchen said, 'and help him find out where Miss Buckey went.'
Brutus appeared with a new bottle of champagne and put it in the ice bucket.
'Pour me a little more nectar, Miss Efficient Sufficient,' Lehman said. 'Then you can go.'
Gretchen poured his champagne. I stood.
'Remember,' Lehman said. 'Buy it or fuck it-sometimes both.'
'Words to live by,' I said. And followed Gretchen out.
21
Gretchen's office was two floors down. Mauve walls, pale mint moldings, a gray lacquered desk with a mauve wash, purple silk flowers in a chrome vase on the desk. There was a computer on a black worktable coupled to a word processor. Against one wall were two black file cabinets. The window was covered in chrome-colored Levolor blinds, the kind with the narrow slats. A low marble table stood in front of the window. On it was a chrome water carafe and two violet-colored water glasses. There was a gray-and-black striped couch opposite her desk.
'Please sit down, Mr. Spenser, while I see what I have on Ginger Buckey.'
I sat. 'Must be a real treat,' I said, 'working for Perry Lehman.'
'This is a very challenging opportunity,' she said.
'Um,' I said.
'The marketing schemata is one of the most energetic conceptualizations I've ever implemented.'
She was thumbing through folders in the second drawer of one of the file cabinets.
'Um.'
She paused. And turned toward me. 'Mr. Spenser, I have an MBA from the Wharton School. The women in my graduating class are averaging thirteen thousand a year less than the men.' She glanced at the label on one file folder and put it back, 'I'm earning eight thousand more than the men.'
'Liberation,' I said.
'Whatever Mr. Lehman's attitudes are, he pays me what I'm worth. It's a kind of liberation that translates directly.'
'What exactly is the conceptual schemata of this operation other than smut peddling, so to speak?'
Gretchen turned holding a folder in her right hand and looked at me. 'You're incredible,' she said. 'That's like saying what's the marketing strategy for Coca-Cola other than selling soft drinks.'
She closed the file drawer and stepped to her desk and sat down. She put the folder on the desk before her and straightened it carefully so all four corners aligned with the four corners of her blotter.
'There's a classic phrase in marketing,' she said. She put both elbows on her desk and placed her hands together as if she were praying and rested her chin on the tips of her fingers. 'Sell the sizzle, not the steak.'
'Classic,' I said.
'We're not, as you put it, peddling smut. We're selling self-image. We're selling realized fantasy. We are marketing fully realized lifestyle-masculine, sexually fulfilled, powerful, solid, complete, energized by a sense of the permanent in clothing and wines, in dining and entertainment. We're saying simply every man is a crown prince.'
'And you're making eight thousand a year more than your male classmates.'
'And implementing the whole concept,' she said. 'It's not just the money, Spenser.' She dropped her hands onto the desk and leaned forward. 'I'm in charge.'
'Until Perry tells you to get undressed and you say no.'
She shook her head. 'He talks a little rough, but there's nothing like that.' She shook her head again. 'Nothing. I find it offensive that you'd suggest it.'
'At least I assumed you'd say no,' I said.
'And if I said yes?'
'I'd figure you had a cast-iron stomach,' I said.
'I have no relationship with Mr. Lehman beyond a business relationship.' She opened the file folder and studied it. She frowned slightly.
'Ginger Buckey came to us in August last year. She remained here as a hostess until this May, when she resigned.'
'To do what?' I said.
Gretchen shook her head. 'I don't know. The girls come and go. There was nothing outstanding about Ginger. There's no reason we should remember her, and quite frankly I don't.'
