The Spiked Heel

“Sure, but what am I supposed to tell the workers? Griff, they’ve been planning on this vacation all year! They’ve made reservations! Don’t you think this’ll upset schedules? Griff, what can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Griff said helplessly.

“I knew this would happen, Griff,” Magistro said. “His orders are pouring in, and we’re short on skins. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t understand,” Griff said. “What’s the trouble?”

“I’m the leather buyer for this goddam firm. I’m supposed to make the purchases. All right, you Cost fellows always gave me enough time to do what I had to do. Now he’s got this damn Naked Flesh sweeping the country and it’ll be worse when our ads break next week. He’s got the retailers hot, and next week he’ll have the consumers hot, and I’m supposed to have enough skins to meet these tremendous orders that are coming in. Okay, okay, I can buy the skins.”

“Then what’s the problem, Pete?”

“They’re crap! That’s the problem. They’re crap, and I’ve got to pay thirty-five cents an inch for them!”

“Thirty-five cents!” Griff said. “Pete, that’ll knock our selling price way out of line!”

“Tell that to the dealers, Griff. They know they’ve got me over a barrel, they know I must have those skins. Before this started, I was getting good stuff for twenty-seven cents. Now they want thirty-five cents for crap! And I’ve got to take it. What happens when the cutters get this stuff? How the hell are they going to make a quality shoe out of garbage?”

“I’ll talk to Sven,” Griff said. “I’ll see what he…”

“Sure, and I’ll buy the skins,” Magistro said. “McQuade’s the boss, and he said buy whatever I can get my hands on. So I’ll buy. But don’t ask me what the hell this is going to do to the cost and the quality of the shoe! Damn it, Griff, I wish there was something we could do. I just wish there was something we could do!”

In the Cutting Room, Sven Jored lifted a piece of alligator lizard from one of the benches and held it out so that Griff could see it.

Griff studied the skin. He shook his head wearily.

“Even if the men were on straight time, they wouldn’t be careful with skins like these.”

“What do you mean? Has McQuade…?”

“He’s put my cutters on piecework! Piecework with reptiles! He says he wants faster production and can’t afford a bottleneck in the Cutting Room! He says orders are piling up, says we have to meet delivery dates. So look at the way they’re cutting! They’re breaking their asses to get that money. Reptiles! On piecework! Griff, can’t we do something about this? Is he trying to ruin the company?”

In the Pattern Room, Stan Zibinsky took Griff aside and said, “Sweetheart, your Georgia cracker is driving me nuts.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Except he ain’t going to meet delivery dates on this Naked bitch.”

“Why not?”

“We ain’t got enough lasts. We’re using the 1284’s, but we’re making about ten other shoes on that thing besides the Naked bitch. We can turn out about two thousand pairs of that shoe a week. He’s getting orders for at least five thousand. That means he needs more lasts. We can’t free more than about three hundred woods a day for his goddam shoe. He wants more. So he’s got me nuts shifting lasts around.”

“Which lasts?” Griff asked.

“He switched three shoes to the 1701. Another two shoes to the 1470. Griff, I tell you the truth, I don’t know if we can make those shoes properly on substitute lasts. What the hell happens when our shoes reach the consumer?”

“I hate to think,” Griff said.

“And the worst part,” Zibinsky said, “even after we’re done shifting these other shoes, we still ain’t got enough lasts! If that bastard meets delivery dates, it’ll be a miracle. I told Hengman. I told him just what the story is. Hell, Griff, I don’t want to lose my job because this stupid bastard is ruining our shoes!”

“Griffie!” Hengman said. “Where the hull you been? What’s so ’mportant in d’fect’ry, you can’t stey here in d’uffice?”

“I’ve been checking production on—”

“Listen to what your frand McQued wants!” Hengman said. “He wants I should order anudder five t’ousand pair of the 1284 woods. He wants I should hev dem made opp.”

“Another five thousand pair. Jesus Christ, does he know what that’ll cost us? Five thousand pair’ll run at least—”

“He knows, he knows. He says dis’s ah big shoe. He says we got t’hev more lests. Griffie, what’ll we do wit all dem woods if d’shoe is ah flop? Griffie, what I’m gung to do?”

“Well… I don’t know, Boris.”

“I ordered dem. I ordered five t’ousand woods made opp. He said so, didn’t he? He’s d’boss, ain’t he? All right, so he’s d’boss. So let him have de enswers!”

NAKED FLESH, the ads read. NAKED FLESH, and the ads were carried in all the fashion magazines, and all the national distribution newspapers, and all the local newspapers.