“I thought maybe you did,” MacGregor said. “An extreme athlete such as yourself needs extreme nutrition, like Extreme Nuggets.”
“Don’t I know it,” Fred agreed. “Extreme Nuggets has the nutrition I need to get me through the most grueling competition.”
MacGregor laughed. “You’re a natural! When you back in the States, son? We’ll sign you up. If you’re interested.”
“Sure am, Mr. MacGregor.” Fred twisted the valve on the IV tube. Last thing he needed now was more painkillers muddling his brain.
“Son, call me Mac. All the extreme athletes call me Mac.”
“Sure thing, Mac. Hold on a sec.” Fred was distracted by a brief knock on the door, then it was pushed open by a man with all the confidence in the world.
“You a doctor?” Fred asked. The guy was in a sport jacket and tailored slacks. Fred had the impression he made more than any lousy doctor.
The man rested a briefcase on the foot of the bed—a briefcase of hand-polished leather with the complexion of a supermodel. He took out a flash card. It read, “Tell Mac that you will call him back.”
Fred read it twice, then mouthed, “What the fuck?” The man showed his next card. “I’m with Fence Flour Company.”
Fred rolled the words in his mouth. “Fence Flour Company. Fence Flour Company?”
The next card was a picture of a cereal box—one of the most recognizable cereal boxes of all time. Oaties.
“Uh, my schedule’s not final yet, Mac,” Fred said to his caller. “Can I call you back when I know for sure?”
He took the number and promised to call within a day, then hung up.
“How’d you know it was Sherm MacGregor on the phone?” Fred asked the guy with the briefcase that looked as if it were made from the perfectly smooth skin of swimsuit models.
The man laughed, full of confidence. “Listen, Champ, Mac’s my second cousin, once removed. I’m Fellows Fence, vice president of marketing. Fence Flour Company.” The man shook Fred’s hand. It was a vigorous shake, but his skin was softer and more supple than his briefcase. “Mac and I grew up together. I know how he operates.”
“So how come he’s kicking your ass in the cereal aisle, Fellows?”
Fence hadn’t expected it, and the wind slackened in his sails. “Well, that’s not quite true, is it? Look at the brand names in any supermarket in America and tell me what you see. Super Sucrose Smacks, Marshmallow Good Luck Charms, Oaties, you name it.”
“Oaties Is for Pussies,” Fred said, and saw Fellows Fence cringe visibly. “Don’t take it personally,” Fred added.
Fellows shook it off, then acted as if it never happened. “We have some things to talk about. Most importantly, there’s the launch of new Extreme Oaties.”
“Never heard of it.”
“As I said, we’re launching it and it’s new, so of course you haven’t heard of it But we’d like you to be on the front of the very first boxes.”
“Wouldn’t that be something!” Fred exclaimed, laughing delightedly. Everybody he knew hated Oaties. Even he hated Oaties. It was part and parcel of the animosity between the traditional athletic culture and the rebellious extreme-sports subculture.
“You’re famous, Fred, as of right now. But what if you had your own Oaties box? Now that’s publicity! Everybody would know you on sight”
Fred Magnum had to agree with that. “But I’ll get that if I go with Extreme Nuggets.”
“True. But the compensation package that we’re prepared to offer—”
“There’s also the image problem. You know, Oaties Is for Pussies.”
“This isn’t Oaties, Fred. This is Extreme Oaties.”
“For extreme pussies?”
Fellows was hemorrhaging self-confidence. “Forget all that nastiness. It’s behind us. This is something new, with a whole new image. We’ve got a huge promotional budget, enough to drown the bad publicity.”
“You mean, that with enough cash you can buy enough advertising to make people think what you want them to think?” Fred scoffed.
“Exactly.”
“Man, you don’t get it. We’re not what you know, see? We’re not pretty-boy football players or lazy-assed baseball dudes standing out in some field for three hours. We’re extreme athletes. We’re rebels. We hate that old-time establishment shit. We’re a different breed, and you can’t buy us.”
“You haven’t heard the price yet.” Fellows Fence gave him a price.
“That’s a hell of a lot,” Fred Magnum admitted, “but it ain’t nearly enough.”
“How much is MacGregor offering? We’ll beat it”
“You already did. But it’s not the money. It’s the image, dude. MacGregor has the faith. All you got’s a bunch of advertising bucks.”
Fellows was flabbergasted, but he kept his cool and implored Fred Magnum to not say no, not yet. “I’ll meet with you again. Soon. I may have what it takes to change your mind.”
“More money?” Magnum said disdainfully.
“More money, sure, but maybe something even more convincing. I can’t tell you what it is until the deal is final…”
Without the pain juice flowing into his blood, Fred Magnum’s head felt cleared up. He trusted his instincts. His instincts told him loud and clear that the fruitcake from Fence was bluffing big-time.
When Fellows Fence was gone, Fred ordered up a carton of orange juice from the nurse, then tossed her out and placed a call to Battle Creek, Michigan.
“Hi, Mac. It’s Fred Magnum.”
“Magnum! How are you doing, kid? Man, you have got the greatest name ever! Look great on a cereal box.”
“Thanks. Sorry I had to cut you short. I had a visitor! Said he was a cousin of yours.”
Steph Mincer entered her boss’s office to drop off some paperwork. Sherm MacGregor was on the phone. “Sure thing, Fred,” he said in his friendliest voice, but he gave Steph a look that promised death, and he pointed at the door. She left fast.
Steph waited a little while. It was five o’clock, and she had stopped being a dedicated, stay-late kind of employee when her boss turned into a loudmouthed asshole. But she really ought to get these papers in front of Sherm today. What the hell? She entered his office again.
This time, he was smiling, and it was genuine. “Excellent. Man, you know it.” He took the papers, signed them without looking and handed them back. Steph almost felt disappointed.
Sherm MacGregor was on an emotional roller coaster of a phone call, but all the big dips were behind him.
He had handpicked this kid Fred Magnum to win the outback marathon. The kid was on record as being a fervent supporter of Extreme Nuggets. He spouted the Extreme Nuggets sales pitch for the newspapers when he won the Pensacola Obstacle Marathon last year. He was an active member of the online Extreme Nuggets Web Site Community. Not too bright, but dedicated to Extreme Nuggets for God knew what reason—and Mac had yet to pay him dime one. The perfect spokesperson for Mac’s cereal.
Magnum had delivered the unpleasant news that Fence was trying to horn in on his territory. Launching their own extreme cereal. They sent one of their bigwigs all the way to Australia to sign the marathon champion to be on their cereal boxes when the product launched in a month.
In a month? You don’t conjure up a major product launch in one month.
Fred Magnum wasn’t having anything to do with Fence. He had come out and declared undying loyalty to Extreme Nuggets. Mac spewed sympathetic bullshit by the barrelful. “You know I’m a true believer in the extreme athlete, Fred. That’s why I created Extreme Nuggets. You people are my kindred spirits. So who did Fence send to badger you, anyway? Was it Adam? Big guy with a buzz cut?”
Fred said something about supple hands.
“You mean Fellows?” Mac laughed aloud. “That’s perfect. That’s rich.” It was perfect. It was rich. Fellows was exactly the wrong person to use to approach the extreme crowd.