'Tis the Season Read Free Page A

Insoles. As we can see in this chart—” Georgian Number Two flipped through the charts while Georgian Number One drawled on “—the primary function of Pep Insoles is to increase athletic performance. Now here we calculate the vertical jumping ability of basketball players using Pep Insoles as compared with a control group without the insoles. As you can see by the calculations…”
    How about the losing-control group? Evan wanted to snap. “This is all fascinating,” he broke in, “but I’ll tell you what’s really got me concerned. You said about a half hour ago that the insoles are being manufactured in Honduras. I want to know if they’re being made by ten-year-old kids for a dime a day. Because if they are, I’mnot going to stock them, even if they give your average high-school basketball player the air time of a Michael Jordan.”
    â€œWe haven’t gotten to our labor chart yet,” Georgian Number Two told him. “I promise you we’ll address that very subject when we get to our discussion on our production facilities.”
    â€œRight now,” Georgian Number One added, “we want to complete our discussion of the performance-enhancing abilities of the Pep Insoles. We prefer to give our presentation in order, Mr. Myers. It works better that way.”
    It works longer , Evan thought glumly. Next to him, Jennifer kicked him under the table. She was his vice president, and she knew him well enough to recognize apathy when he was suffering a near-fatal case of it.
    She’d been the one to set up this meeting; she was the one wowed by the product, the one who wanted to carry it in the Champion stores. He, on the other hand, was the one who had to put together the Tank Moody promo to take advantage of the holiday shopping season, and he ought to be focusing on that right now, not on Pep Insoles. He was also the one who had to make sure inventory was high enough to cover the expected surge in shoppers at this time of year, and to confirm that the clerks at all his stores were maintaining good cheer despite the inevitably frazzled nerves and frayed tempers of the customers. And if that wasn’t enough to distract him, he was worried about the kids. They’d been acting strangely ever since they’d come home from a hike through the woods yesterday afternoon.
    Once they’d gotten home they’d stayed put and played quietly. During dinner, no bickering, no sniping, no fighting over the salt shaker, no competition to dominate the conversation. Gracie had looked so pale Evan had considered taking her temperature, but she’d insisted she was fine, and her forehead had felt cool to the touch. She and Billy had watched The Simpsons sitting side by side on the sofa in the den without tussling over the remote, and they’d gone to bed without a quibble.
    There was pre-Christmas good behavior, and there was weird behavior. Billy and Gracie hadn’t been exercising pre-Christmas behavior Sunday afternoon. They hadn’t appeared to be suppressing their natural hostile instincts or struggling to mind their manners. After Gracie had vanished into her bedroom, Evan had asked Billy if anything unusual had happened to them while they’d been outdoors earlier, but Billy had sworn nothing at all had happened—and then he’d lifted his Bunnicula book and started to read.
    Without Evan’s telling him to turn off the TV and find a book, Billy had started to read. Definitely weird.
    One of the Pep reps was elaborating on the comments of a U.S. Olympic track coach who believed the Pep Insoles might improve the performance of hurdlers. Evan sighed—not too audibly, but Jennifer obviously heard him, because she kicked him again. For a compact woman, she packed a wicked kick. Maybe she had Pep Insoles stuffed inside her stylish leather pumps.
    He glanced at his watch and grimaced. Four-thirty, and the reps hadn’t even