lenses. A lot of people are beginning to have
them."
"I'll find out about them when we get back," Celia said. "Anything else
while I'm at it? Any other changes?"
"I like everything the way it is."
To get where they were, they had walked a mile from their bungalow, hand in
hand down a winding, crudely paved road where traffic was a rarity. The
night air was warm, the only sounds the chirrup of insects and a cascading
of waves on an offshore reef. Now, in a tiny, roughly furnished caf6 called
Travellers Rest, they were eating the local standard fare-fried grouper,
peas and rice.
While Travellers Rest would not have qualified for the Michelin Guide, it
served tasty food for the hungry, the fish freshly caught and prepared in
an ancient skillet over a wood fire by their host, a wiry, wizened Bahamian
named Cleophas Moss. He had seated Andrew and Celia at a table overlooking
the sea. A candle stuck in a beer bottle was between them. Directly ahead
were scattered clouds and a near-full moon. "In New Jersey," Celia reminded
Andrew, "it's probably cold and rainy."
"We'll be there soon enough. Tell me some more about you and selling
drugs."
Her first assignment as a detail woman, Celia related, was to Nebraska
where, until then, Felding-Roth had had no sales representation.
"In a way it was good for me. I knew exactly where I stood because I was
starting from nothing. There was no organization, few records, no one to
tell me whom to call on or where."
"Did your friend Sam do that deliberately-as some kind of test?"
36
"He may have. I never asked him."
Instead of asking, Celia got down to work. In Omaha she found a small
apartment and with that as a base she drove through the state, city by
city. In each place she tore out the "Physicians & Surgeons" section from
the yellow pages of a phone book, then typed up record sheets and began
making calls. There were 1,500 doctors, she discovered, in her territory;
later she decided to concentrate on 200 whom she estimated were the
biggest prescribers of drugs.
"You were a long way from home," Andrew said, "Were you lonely?"
"Didn't have time. I was too busy."
One early discovery was how difficult it was to get to see doctors. "I'd
spend hours sitting in waiting rooms. Then, when I'd finally get in, a
doctor might give me five minutes, no more. Finally a doctor in North
Platte threw me out of his office, but he did me a big favor at the same
time."
"How?"
Celia tasted some fried grouper and pronounced, "Loaded with
fat! I shouldn't eat it, ' but it's too good to pass up." She put down
her fork and sat back, remembering.
"He was an internist, like you, Andrew. I'd say about forty, and I think
he'd had a bad day. Anyway, I'd just started my sales talk and he stopped
me. 'Young lady,' he said, 'you're trying to talk professional medicine
with me, so let me tell you something. I spent four years in medical
school, another five being an intern and resident, I've been in practice
ten years, and while I don't know everything, I know so much more than
you it isn't funny. What you're trying to tell me, with your inadequate
knowledge, I could read in twenty seconds on an advertising page of any
medical magazine. So get out!' "
Andrew grimaced. "Cruel."
"But good for me," Celia said, "even though I went out feeling like
something scraped off the floor. Because he was right."
"Hadn't the drug company-Felding-Roth-given you any training?"
"Oh, a little. But short and superficial, a series of sales spiels,
mostly. My chemistry background helped, though not much. I simply wasn't
equipped to talk with busy, highly qualified doctors."
"Since you mention it," Andrew said, "that's a reason why some doctors
won't see drug detail men. Apart from having to listen to a
37
canned sales pitch, you can get incorrect information that is dangerous.
Some detail men will tell you anything, even mislead you, to get you to
prescribe their