Free The Global War on Morris by Steve Israel Page A

them too close to his crotch. Folding them across his chest seemed standoffish. So he let them dangle awkwardly at his sides.
    â€œHow’d our Mets do last night?”
    â€œWe lost five to four. But we tied it up in the seventh, and if Looper hadn’t given up that run in the ninth, I think we would have won. Did you have a good evening?”
    â€œUccccch, don’t even ask. I had the worst date of my entire life. Watched old movies. And then reorganized all my old photo albums. Lucky for you I brought all the pictures in. Thousands of them. Want to see them? The thousands of photos of my life?”
    She giggled, but Morris burrowed his hands in his pockets, grinned, and said, “Sure, I would love to see them.”
    Victoria narrowed her eyes on him, noticing something new about Morris Feldstein. I bet he would do that , she thought. I bet he would stand there looking at a thousand pictures of my life! And I bet he would never get bored . He had been calling on Dr. Kirleski’s office for years, and just now, for the first time, she noticed something attractive about Morris. Not in the Ricardo way, or the way it used to be with Jerry. This sensation was new for Victoria. Morris was . . . different.
    She began tapping a pen against her desk.
    Where Ricardo projected charisma, Morris projected a belly slightly over his belt. Where Jerry cocked his head and turned up his nose at the world, Morris’s face seemed to succumb to gravity.
    Except when she spoke to him. Then, he seemed to perk up.
    Is this what’s between that good-for-nothing Jerry and that too-good-to-be-true Ricardo? Morris Feldstein? All this time, with his bulky case filled with drug samples and Celfex “customer-relations incentives,” like the unused Mets tickets, and those Celexpro® glow-in-the-dark Post-it notes.
    â€œMorris,” she ventured. “I want to ask you something. Since we’re talking anyway.”
    He bit his lower lip and began swirling loose change in his pants pocket.
    â€œHow long have you been coming here?”
    â€œOh, eight years, now.”
    â€œDo you know what your competitors do when they call on Doctor K?”
    He stared blankly.
    â€œThey invite me to lunch. Or sometimes even dinner. They say their corporate offices encourage that sort of thing. As a customer-relations incentive. What is your company policy on that?”
    She accelerated the beat of her pen against the desk, which accompanied Morris’s jingling of the change in his pocket. It sounded as if Gene Krupa were performing in Dr. Kirleski’s office.
    Morris dropped his eyes toward the floor, and mulled the question over as if Victoria had asked for his interpretation of the Internal Revenue Code.
    He shook his head and rendered his judgment:
    â€œWell, my district manager, Laurie, always gets a good laugh when I turn in my expense account. I’m not from the big spenders, to tell you the truth. Not big on the wining and dining thing. Laurie says, ‘Morris, if you’re not spending the company’s money, you’re not selling the product. And if you’re not selling the product, we’re not making the money. Take someone out for a drink. You won’t bankrupt us.’ But who wants a Celfex sales rep talking about products over lunch or dinner? People want to eat in peace. I think so, at least.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. I bet lots of people wouldn’t mind getting to know you . . . a little better.” Hello? Victoria to Morris. Do you read me?
    The pen thumping, the coins jingling, Victoria’s foot tapping, Morris’s heart beating.
    â€œMorris?” Victoria asked.
    â€œYes?”
    Thump-tap-jingle-tap-tap-thump-jingle .
    â€œNever mind. So I guess you want to see Doctor Kirleski now?”
    â€œIf he’s available. That would be nice. Unless you want to show me the pictures you brought in.”
    â€œI don’t think we