“Hey, Jax, can I make a suggestion? Before Harley gets here, go change your pants.” He pointed to my butt. “I don’t much care, but Harley’s kind of old school.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” I quickly untucked my shirt and pulled it down in back.
Jim was no less creepy, but I had to appreciate a mayor who wasn’t going to hold flashing my Knicks boxers through a hole in my chinos against me, not to mention a mayor who was going to strap a six-foot doughnut to the front of his truck just because he couldn’t think of a reason not to.
20
Normally, I think anyone wearing a bow tie looks just like Orville Redenbacher, the guy on the popcorn box, but when Harley Turnby came through our door, which, by the way, required him to duck and turn sideways, the Michelin tire man is who popped into my head. It didn’t surprise me that someone who sells the Flowbee (a haircutting attachment for your vacuum cleaner) didn’t know that bow ties look ridiculous, but I couldn’t understand why Harley didn’t get that they were health hazards for someone his size. The bow tie was clearly strangling him. His face was bright red, and his neck exploded in sweaty rolls out of his shirt collar.
“Doughnuts, huh?” Harley said when he’d finally made it through the door.
“Uh, yeah, doughnuts,” I said and led him to the living room where everyone else was already waiting. I looked around for somewhere to park him, but the only place left was a stool, which he could have used for a number of things but a seat wasn’t one of them.
Mom stood up. “Please, sit here, Mr. Turnby.”
“Thanks,” I mouthed to her as Harley squeezed himself into the armchair she’d been sitting in.
“Ready?” Josh called from a corner of the room.
Harley took a small spiral notebook and pen from his shirt pocket.
“Ready,” I said.
The room went dark.
Zoe clapped. “Is there popcorns?”
“Is that really necessary?” Jeanine snapped. She was on the couch studying for the State Solve-a-Thon. Both she and Kevin had cleaned up at regionals.
“If you want light, go in the kitchen,” my mother said.
Jeanine got up and stomped out of the room.
“Where’s the popcorns?!”
“Shhh, it’s not a movie,” Dad said. “This is for Tris’s doughnuts.”
“So there are doughnuts?”
“No. There’s no food. Quiet.”
Josh switched on the projector his mom had lent us, and our first slide popped up on the sheet we’d hung on the wall:
The Doughnut Stop: What is it?
A doughnut stand on Main Street in Petersville that will operate on Saturday and Sunday mornings from 8:00 a.m. till we sell out.
Josh went first. He read the slide, then explained how we were going to limit each customer to two doughnuts. I’d come up with that after I’d read that a good way to keep demand high when you’re starting out is to keep your supply low, like limited edition sneakers.
“So doughnuts, huh?” Harley said again. This seemed a little weird since he’d asked the same thing five minutes before, but I figured he just wanted to make sure Josh and I were on the same page.
“That’s right, doughnuts,” Josh said.
“Doughnuuuts,” Harley repeated slowly as he wrote on his little pad.
“We’ll probably increase our numbers over time but—”
“What about candy necklaces?” Harley interrupted.
“What about them?” I said.
“You gonna sell those?”
“Uh, no, no candy necklaces,” I said.
“No caaannndyyy nnecklaaces,” Harley repeated as he wrote.
Josh finished his lines, then flipped to the next slide:
Why is the Doughnut Stop guaranteed to succeed?
Simple: Winnie Hammond’s famous chocolate cream doughnuts have a devoted following. This product will draw customers from miles around.
After I read the slide, I did my lines about how people had gone crazy for Winnie’s doughnuts. I was just about to quote from the article when Harley said, “So, it’s not just any doughnuts then. It’s only chocolate cream doughnuts. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“So no old-fashioneds or glazed or sprinkle?”
“Nope.” Harley was beginning to get on my nerves.
“Noooo olllld-faaaasheeeoooned, glaaaa—”
“Okay, Josh. Next slide, please.” Harley’s questions were really messing with our flow.
Why should you invest in the Doughnut Stop?
• Great return on your investment.
• Give doughnuts back to the community.
Before Josh had even finished reading the slide, Harley was at it again.
“And what about Chinese checkers?”
“No! Of course not. Just doughnuts!” I’d completely lost my cool. “What’s going on here?” I said, turning on the lights. If I’d let things go on like that, Harley would have ruined the whole pitch.
“I’m going to put everything you’re not going to sell on the business license. That way, if you sell anything you’re not supposed to, we can shut you down,” Harley explained.
“Oh no!” Jeanine yelled from the kitchen. A second later, she was standing over Harley wagging a finger at him. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“He’s trying to keep you from selling anything he sells at his store.”
“Oh. But we don’t want to sell anything he sells. Really,” I said to Harley.
“That’s not the point!” Jeanine said. “The point is you can sell anything you want. That’s your right.”
“No. That’s not the point,” I argued. “We only want to sell doughnuts. That’s what this is about.”
“But you can’t let him refuse to give business licenses to people unless they promise not to sell anything that he might. He’s trying to stop people from competing with him.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Turnby.” Mom grabbed Jeanine’s pointing finger and forced it down. “Jeanine, I’m sure that’s not what he’s doing.”
“Oh, no, that’s what I’m doing,” Harley said, nodding. “But if these boys promise they’re just going to sell chocolate cream doughnuts, there’s no problem.”
“No problem? No problem?” shrieked Jeanine. “You know what you are? You’re a monopolist!”
“I am?” A smile exploded on Harley’s face. He clearly knew about as much as I did about what a monopolist was.
“You can’t keep people from selling the products you sell so you can force them to buy from you. It’s illegal!
