A Remarkable Saleswoman

A Remarkable Saleswoman -- By Carolyn Edwards Boyce

Her thin left arm clutched the huge fraying bag, with all the power you might expect of a woman used to depending only on herself. From the outside, the bag appeared to be filled with rocks, the bulging circumferences of Avon cosmetic jars betraying her abundance of optimism regarding possible sales for that day.

On her right shoulder, she loaded a weighty handbag that held smaller cosmetics and more expensive jewelry, shifting the bag ever so slightly unto her back so her right hand could be free for her third obligation – the hand of her ten-year-old child. Off they went, mother and daughter, walking hand in hand in Saturday’s predawn darkness, as the woman’s knees buckled under the weight of her thoughts.

The one-mile walk to the main road was followed by a brief cab ride to the village of Lancelot. Daylight bathed the pair as the cab arrived at the village junction. Thus began the slow uphill trek by foot to the colorful wooden homes littered across the muddy hills. As a gentle island breeze fanned the rising Caribbean sun, Olga was hopeful that these women of mostly-modest means had set aside enough money to settle debts and purchase more goods.

Life had been hard for Olga. Her full-time job no longer satisfied her financial needs, which included helping extended family members. It also didn’t support the lifestyle of this proud woman who loved the pencil skirts and pointed-toe shoes that were a hallmark of the era. Olga had big dreams – to immigrate to America – and Lancelot had become a means to accomplishing them.

Each weekend, under the soft glow of the morning sun or blazing heat of the afternoon one, Olga would roam Lancelot’s hills, selling her panoply of cosmetics and jewelry on installments. It was the only way for Lancelot’s poorer population to acquire such exquisite items. Olga repaid her suppliers with a portion of the sales.

The load on her back was daunting and difficult in the best of circumstances. But walking the hilly dirt roads of this primitive village was near impossible in the heels and pencil skirt she chose to wear.

Olga instinctively knew that, in sales, the salesman was the embodiment of the product. So her flawless skin and bejeweled hands, neck, and ears were a part of the sales pitch as well. Customers often bought items from her person. In a heartbeat, she would sell any item she was wearing in exchange for crumpled dollar bills pulled from mattresses, shoeboxes, and biscuit tins. Negotiating the sales price seemed to be instinctive for Olga, who appeared unconstrained by the lack of formal education. Her customers knew and trusted her, which allowed Olga to roam freely in Lancelot’s racially tense, all-black neighborhood. It was a luxury not afforded the Indian jeweler who supplied the precious goods.

As Olga slugged her heavy bags uphill, her daughter kept pace along the sandy road, oblivious to the physical and spiritual weight carried by her mother.

The young girl whined, “Mammy, I am tired and sleepy!”

Silently, Olga trudged on, pausing only to pull out her little black notebook and check the first address on today’s list.

Based on prior orders, she normally prioritized her house stops to rid herself of the largest cosmetic jars first. However, while it lessened the load for uphill travel it was not as lucrative as the jewelry. So today, Miss Veronica would be her first stop. Olga hoped to get the full payment owed for a pair of dangling gold earrings shaped into a map of Trinidad. All the women loved it but few could afford it.

“How are you today, Miss Veronica?”

The older woman invited her pretty saleswoman past the rusty gate and into the two-room wooden house.

“I love the earrings, Miss Olga. Look, I have something here for you. It isn’t everything, but it is half of what I owe you.”

Olga smiled politely, opening her hand to take the crumpled notes from the older woman’s fat fingers. If she were disappointed, she didn’t show it. She carefully counted the brightly colored currency bearing the colonial residue of Queen Elizabeth’s young face and updated the amount still due in her black notebook to exactly half.

Miss Veronica’s installment could help with the back-due tuition for the little girl but Olga had a far more pressing mission for that money. On the first page of the black notebook was a boldly written note to herself that fueled her exhausted body to climb the limitless hills: “U.S. Plane Ticket!!” There, the saleswoman carefully wrote down every dollar she could eke out from her arduous weekend sales trips, prioritizing this purpose over other bills. Yet, the amount to date barely exceeded TT$800 (local currency).

Olga had only three months from the date of approval of her U.S. Holiday Visa to leave the country and she was now entering her fifth week. The slow pace by which the funds were accumulating often overwhelmed her. Time was precious and money, well, even more so. She wished the old woman was paying her entire bill today, but she had no time to mourn that loss. Besides, Miss Veronica was always good to her, keeping her little girl for the entire day as Olga walked the hilly dirt path to other customers. Her eyes welling with tears, Olga could feel her dream to visit America slipping away.

Olga thanked Miss Veronica and kissed the little girl. In that all-too-familiar weekend routine, it was often sundown before Nina saw her mother again – often in a better mood from the cash collected that day. In the meantime, Nina quietly watched television from Miss Veronica’s tattered couch, staring past the peeling blue wall paint to the window beyond. Gripped by boredom but grateful to not have to walk the hills today, she stared at the waning sun that would foreshadow her mother’s time of return. The weight of her mother’s bags when she returned always signaled just how successful a sales day she had had. Then the exhausted pair would head home, only to undertake the same journey the Sunday morning, except that the girl might spend that day by yet another willing old woman.

At dusk, an exhausted Olga – still in her pencil skirt and heels, jewelry no longer on her tired arms – walked slowly through the gates.

Miss Veronica hollered from the patio at the child inside. “Nina, your Mammy is here.”

The older woman offered Olga a bowl of soup which she quickly scarfed down, grateful for the dumplings and fresh produce that provided sustenance to continue the long trek back down the hilly terrain.

Nina noticed that her mother’s bags were significantly lighter and felt happy for the day’s obvious success. She knew little about her mother’s disappointment with collections on several large past-due bills, or of her imminent plan to relocate to New York City with the money she earned.

Tonight, her mother said they needed to hurry home as Mr. Khan, the jewelry supplier, was stopping by to be paid on some of the outstanding amounts she had collected on his behalf.

They returned home just in time to see the white Peugeot car in front of the house. It was a familiar sight so they both knew it meant that the jeweler was already there to collect his money. Olga quickly separated the money into three bundles, setting one aside for the Avon cosmetics distributor and handing a larger one to Mr. Khan, using her records from her little black notebook that had all her sales and collections. A much smaller bundle was her share.

“I see you have your Bible!” The youthful jeweler always seemed amused by Olga’s little black notebook.

The adults got down to business, the little girl sitting silently observing their interaction. Olga went through the list of names of her customers and what each had ordered. She carefully itemized the money still owed by each customer and how much was received today and on the prior weekend. Then she advised Mr. Khan on the items that were in hot demand for him to replenish in inventory and who was having trouble keeping up with their installments.

Olga took notes in the little black notebook as Mr. Khan proudly showed off his newest piece: “14 ct. gold wide-cuff bracelet with a Scarlet Ibis and two Chaconia flower etchings priced at TT$500”. The young girl marveled at the craftsmanship, the way the bird appeared three-dimensional, as if in flight on the band, the gold glistening under the room’s harsh lighting. Olga made a mental note to wear this beautiful piece next week.

Mr. Khan’s family were old-school jewelers and quite talented. Olga shared with him the customers’ love for items bearing the country’s national bird, flowers, and maps of Trinidad, though the price was prohibitive for some. It was not unusual for Olga to wear these prized pieces during her sales trip, her customers literally purchasing the earrings off her chiseled face. She often said it was the “last pair” to quicken the sale. She would then don a second pair she plucked from her jewelry-stuffed handbag immediately after leaving that customer. She was masterful!

The quiet Indian man seemed to be in awe of her selling abilities, listening with rapt attention to his star saleswoman. When she was done, he smiled and reached into his small, padlocked suitcase housing rows of neatly stacked jewelry in small plastic packaging and a ton of cash.

“You are a remarkable saleswoman, Olga. My best! I have often trusted you with thousands of dollars of my own jewelry and not once have you betrayed me. It is why I have decided to help you get to America. I would like to give you the TT$20,000 you asked for, as a special thanks for all the years you have successfully sold jewelry for my family. You don’t have to repay me. Consider it my investment in you. I have one condition though, that you continue to sell our jewelry in New York. The Trinidadians there are able to afford the more expensive pieces. It reminds them of home. Demand should be great and you’re the best!”

Mr. Khan continued, “I will arrange for my sister in New York to collect my share and give you more pieces to sell going forward. The U.S. sales will be more profitable.”

Olga’s 7th-grade brain went into overdrive. At TT$4.20 per US$1.00 exchange rate, Khan’s TT$20,000 was still shy of US$5,000. It would have to do. Life had long taught her to 'never kick a gift horse in the mouth.’ After purchasing her return plane ticket and handling some personal affairs in Trinidad, the rest would secure housing and food when she relocates to America.

“I wish you well, my friend. Next weekend we will talk some more.” Mr. Khan hugged the woman warmly.

Olga, speechless, simply began to weep. The remarkable saleswoman had sold jewelry and cosmetics to myriads of women over the years, but this was her biggest sale yet. She had sold Mr. Khan on her 'American Dream.'

Nina wept too, struck by the realization of her mother’s imminent departure and filled with uncertainty for what the future held. Despite the round-trip ticket, her mother curiously avoided all conversations about a return date. At that moment, she hated the man who made America possible.

The fat envelope with stacks of $20 bills now sat on the little black notebook. As Olga danced with glee to Peter, Paul, and Mary’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” she thought little of the broken-hearted girl staring intently at her.

As Mr. Khan drove off, Olga opened the black notebook one more time, taking stock of the names of debtors. She will have to hasten those collections. For now, she grabbed Nina’s huge red crayon and drew a neat line through one item in the notebook: “U.S. Plane Ticket!!”