Prettiest Vampire

Chapter II: Lilian

Chapter II: Lilian

"Mr. Dilworth, it's Lilian," Lilian said into his cell phone as he guided his suitcase through the airport. "I've arrived, and I'm checking in with you like you asked."

Mr. Dilworth was Lilian's boss. Lilian's perpetually unhappy boss. Barnaby Dilworth had the distinctive personality traits usually associated only with constipated gorillas. If he had ever been happy in life, it was a moment unseen by any of his employees.

Lilian and Mr. Dilworth were in the business of selling office furniture, and office supplies. The company's usual sales approach involved finding medium-to-large-sized companies and persuading them that it was time to modernize their head office. Out would go the solid wood, lacquer finish antique furnishings with their dovetailed drawers and handcrafted detailing. Show the client a couple of scratches or scrapes and they were ready to pitch it all on the trash heap, to be replaced by modern plastic and steel desks and filing cabinets with attached cloth-covered Styrofoam dividers to give each employee his own, personal three-by-three cubicle hell.

Once the relationship was established, they would maintain cash flow by selling them paper, pens, staples, and Post-it Notes until the new furniture fell apart, generally within five to ten years. But the company was working on that. They had a new supplier who built furniture that looked just the same, but wouldn't last longer than four years.

Lilian was the company's top salesman in Eastern Europe. He was also their only salesman in Eastern Europe. Had there been others, his top salesman status would likely have been in doubt. He hadn't actually sold anything at this point. Oh, and he was also Mr. Dilworth's wife's cousin's nephew.

"Lilian? What time is it over there?" growled Mr. Dilworth from his New York office. "It must be four o'clock. You're cutting it awful close if you're just getting to the site now!"

"Actually, sir," explained Lilian meekly, "I'm not at the site. I'm still at the airport."

"The airport!" screamed Mr. Dilworth. "Your plane landed eight hours ago. You said you had a client meeting today, at four o'clock! Don't tell me you screwed this one, Lilian!"

"No sir, I swear, it's not my fault," Lilian tried to calm his boss. "I was selected for a random customs screening," he lied, as his selection was not exactly random. "That took hours. Then my luggage was moved when I didn't pick it up with the other passengers. I had to find it. They sent it to a sorting warehouse, and I had to go out there with them, find it, and bring it back here to the airport. But I'm back on track; I just need to find the car rental place. I think it's over here. I'm not sure; the signs aren't always in English."

"I don't give a damn about your excuses!" Mr. Dilworth fumed. "You make an appointment with a client, you keep it!"

"It's okay, sir. I was able to postpone the meeting until tomorrow," Lilian told him. This was, in fact, another lie. The truth was, there never was any meeting. He didn't actually have an appointment, or even a contact to make an appointment with, and was really counting on the element of surprise to get in and make the sale. So, missing today's four o'clock meeting was not really that big a deal. He just couldn't tell any of this to Mr. Dilworth.

Mr. Dilworth was getting tired of yelling. He reached into his desk to locate his antacid tablets while telling Lilian, "Just make sure you get there tomorrow then. You need this sale, Lilian. Your numbers are exactly zero. Less than that, if you subtract plane fares and hotels."

"I'll make this sale," Lilian assured him, although Mr. Dilworth was far from assured. "This isn't an easy territory. It's not like New York, with another office tower on every corner. And no one is giving me any leads."

"You're supposed to be generating leads," Mr. Dilworth reminded him. "That's what you're there for!"

"I know, Uncle Barnaby," said Lilian, hoping a gentle reminder of their distant relationship might soften the man. "And this lead is solid. I got it from that client in Bratislava. Remember, I made that sale?"

"You're not there to sell paperclips!" Mr. Dilworth reminded him. "You keep selling office supplies without a furniture contract, we can actually lose money. Tell me again about this lead."

"My client tells me that the Romanian government is moving a lot of government services out to the smaller communities, to stimulate the local economies. They've built three huge office towers out near a place called Bistritz, in the Carpathian Mountains. They still need to furnish them. This is practically a sure thing, Uncle Barnaby!"

"It better be," Mr. Dilworth told him. "I have a boss too, and he's not my aunt's cousin's husband. He expects results Lilian, and he's not as forgiving as me."

"I won't let you down, sir."

"Just see that you don't. And Lilian, did you get a haircut yet?"

This was something of a sore point between Lilian and his boss, as it always is and always has been between youth and authority.

"Sir, I'd really prefer to wait until I'm back in the United States. I mean, have you ever seen an Eastern European barber shop? And Eastern European haircuts, well sir, there's a reason men in these countries always wear hats."

"Your hair was down to your shoulders when I saw you in Prague, and that was three months ago! I hate to think what it looks like now. You know that client of yours, the one you're so proud of in Bratislava? He thought you were a girl!"

Lilian could feel his face turn crimson. "He did, at first. That sometimes happens because of my name. But I straightened him out first thing!"

"Well whatever you told him, he didn't get the message," Mr. Dilworth informed him. "He called me after you left and asked me if you were seeing anybody."

"He did?" said Lilian, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. "What did you tell him?"

"What did I tell him? What do you think I told him? I told him you're a horny bitch, so if he calls, you tell him whatever he wants to hear and you make the sale, understood?"

"Yes sir," said Lilian meekly.

"And get a haircut, before your meeting. That's an order, Lilian! Nobody wants to buy furniture from a longhaired kid, do you understand?"

"Yes sir, I understand," said Lilian in defeat. He closed his phone, and looked around where he stood. "This isn't the car rental agency."

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A/N: Lilian is lost in Transylvania, and he hasn't even left the airport yet!

(Actually it's Romania, before anyone corrects my historic and geographic facts. I do try to do some minimal research before writing!)

And how about that Mr. Dilworth? What would you do, proceed into vampire territory, or go back to face him in New York?

I actually worked in an office one summer where they sold their beautiful hardwood furniture and replaced it all with plastic chairs and styrofoam dividers. This is why I write horror stories =P