The Marketer By: Jude Ifeme

She was like fresh meat before a pack of wild dogs, still oozing blood. From the entrance she could get an eagle view of the large room, the pairs of eyes harassing the fabrics of her clothing, poking at every curve. The lurch in her stomach pulled up a sickly feeling. It was her fist day on the job – mean, incisive; she was caught in a game that took no prisoners at all.

She was not a virgin but it was most disgusting to be made an object of sheer lechery. Before she took the job, she had thought the worst was behind her. Mr. Ed, the magazine editor, had asked her to have a lunch out with him to get a feature on the cover page. She had naively thought lunch had a limited meaning around here, but when she played no ball, she ended up a street marketer for the new FAMOUS magazine.

“A beautiful girl like you, all you will do is just smile.” Mr. ED had said with a sense of glee when he assigned her to a beat, aware he was just about to send a lamb into the wild with a few marketing tips that would sell the magazine and render her defenseless.
While others were simply made, Imie knew she was carved – carefully cast and chipped into perfection. But time and again she just wished she was the average girl, not that it would make her a no-target, but she wouldn’t have to be the bull’s-eye. She had no other qualification besides her beauty, though she had plans to return to school, she knew men would always be on a queue to splash her with favors which were often too tempting for her. But now she was ready to make it all by herself.

Da Lounge is a cozy cafe offering expensive drinks, snacks and broadband internet to the fast-moving business class with the right means and taste. The man in grey suit at the right side of the large room wore a glittering wedding ring on his finger. A relief. There were five or so other men scattered around reading, having a drink or surfing the net on their laptops. She chose the married man, because such men shouldn't pressure girls like her.

“Sir, have a copy of Famous Magazine.”
“For free?”
“No sir.” The man had a hearty laugh; she found no harm in joining. “It’s just five hundred.”
“Five hundred? Wow! That takes care of my meal for a day, why should I lose a day’s meal on account of a magazine?”

“Sir, it is a monthly Magazine and it has all the latest entertainment news.”

“I don’t do entertainment; can’t you see my gray hair?” The hearty laugh again. This time she just smiled. Jovial, but he was the thirteenth jovial man today, the other twelve bought nothing.

“Sir, it has business news too.” That was a lie, she was told the truth don’t sell in business. you have to learn to fit into your client's need.

“Go and sell to the others then I will decide whether to stop buying my Business Daily.” He grinned.

She thanked him, like they said she should thank everyone – with an inviting smile.
The next man was the born again kind, he never lifted his face from a book ‘Forsaking Your Earthly Possessions.’

Next in the line was a hot, smartly dressed young man in tight jeans and a skin-hug coat. He leered at her as she spoke; his lockdown- look kept traversing her boobs and her lips. If he heard a word she said, or saw what she was offering for sale, that would be a topic for discussion a year later.

“Can I have your number?” he suddenly asked. She almost yelled – what for! But out of respect to what she was taught in the marketing seminar,she mellowed.Being rude was not an option. She wrote down her lost mobile number on a piece of paper and handed over to him, with a smile and a 'thank you'.

The remaining three or so attempts were utterly uneventful, with each of the men wanting some sort of rendezvous, she was depressed.
She turned to discover to her uttermost dismay that the first man had left – her only good chance of a sale. Dejectedly she walked out of Da Lounge, wishing she was someone else. Someone who didn’t have to convince people to buy something they didn’t need.


“Young girl!” she turned to a waving man in a Range Rover jeep. Her heart was elated. It was him, the first man at Da Lounge. Back in there he seemed quite youngish. She hurried to meet him.

“Go round, come in.” He said tenderly, motioning her to join him in the car. He was over twice her age; she had some sort of respect for him, besides he was the only prospective customer she has had today. She settled into the massaging softness of the luxury car’s seat, obediently caressed by the air-conditioned interior. Life felt so good.

“Do you realize how beautiful you are?” The man suddenly said. That jolted her back to the harsh reality of her job. She had no answer to that, didn’t know if it was a compliment instead.

“See, when I see pretty young girls like you wasting away like this, I wonder if you realize how much time it could have cost God to make such original copy.”

“Sir, I don’t…”

“Shhh… young girl, I want to take care of you. How much do they pay you to waste your life away like this?”

“Twenty thousand.” She lied, because that was the only thought that came to mind and also because that was the highest she’d ever been paid for anything, but not for this job. She has to put a tag to derive to her esteem some worth, the man’s onslaught had left her with no sense of dignity at all.

“What is your name?”

“Imie.” She muttered.

“Oh, Imie. Ok. Call me Doc. I will pay you fifty thousand every month.”

“Fifty – what? Sir…”

“Is that a lot of money?”

“Yes, eh, no sir if… I don’t know what I’m going to do but i'd like to earn ...” She stuttered whenever she was in a surprise, but she wasn’t sure she liked this surprise at all.

“How old are you?”,

“Twenty-four.” She meant twenty. Doc held her stare till she looked away.

“You wouldn’t do much. You just have to make me happy.”

“Make you happy?” she asked incredulously.

“Mhuh. Just that my little queen.” He beamed a large smile that only revealed his age and inanity.

Imie squinted at him, “you mean, have sex with you?”

“Starting from now, and you will leave this measly job and join the bigger girls of this city.”

She sighed and then glared at him, not knowing what to say anymore. Slowly an urge to charge at him, scratch and bite him till it took five men to pull her away reared in her soul but she quelled it. Should she just spit on his face and rain on him all the invectives she’d ever known?

“You know what, sir,” she said calmly to him, “take that money home to your wife, I’m sure she needs it.”

She got off the car feeling totally debilitated, as if her life was a ship deserted by the wind. She knew the man drove off in such a hurry that the screech from the tyres of the jeep jolted her, but that was the much she cared.

“Hi, buy a copy of Famous magazine,” she called out to another young man as she crossed the double tarmac on 57th Road. He walked past, and then as if not sure if he wanted to, he stopped.

“What is wrong with you, “he asked. She looked herself over in perplexity, and then at the magazine she was offering that the young man wasn’t looking at.

“There are tears in your eyes.” He said to her. She jerked her face away.

“Why are you crying?” There was something near compassion in his voice, but she wasn’t sure. At that moment all she knew was that she hated her job, she hated men, and she hated herself. But she couldn’t stop herself from just letting it all out.

“I market for this company,” she lamented, “and since morning I haven’t sold a thing… and I’m paid on commission.”

The young man picked a copy of the magazine from her, glanced at it. And then he reached for his breast pocket counted out some money, enough to buy three copies and handed to her, with the magazine.

“What about the magazines?” she demanded.

“I don’t need the magazine.” He replied blandly.

What do men think they are? Imie exclaimed in her mind. Before she could say another word the young man was gone.