The Sourceranos: Isabella and Katrina

Katrina Fancazzista stepped into the phone booth, thumbed the calling card, dialed the 201 long distance number in Hoboken, NJ and waited.

“Hello?...Hello, hello?” came the anxious female voice on the other end, and right as she was to about to hang up Katrina spoke, surreptitiously, “You alone? Can you talk?”

Bella’s heart rate surged as she looked around, sighing as she realized that she was indeed alone, Rob having left just moments before. Beads of sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she reached for her robe and slipped it on.

“Yes, I can tawk,” she murmured in a low pitch. “Why you cawllin’ me hee-ah?” she demandingly squeeked, realizing the call was coming in on the apartment phone. She remembered one of the first things Tony taught her about the business – “Nevah, and I mean NEVAH, use a phone dat can be traced. If I evah find out dat yooz or any udder membah of dah bidness ah usin’ a landline, well, you ain’t gonna be high fivin’ – heh, heh, moah like a high foah en-a-kawtah.”

“I lost your cell phone number - the new one - sorry,” came the quick apology. “You get things set up with Tony?”

“No...not yet,” Isabella hissed on the down-low into the phone. “Yaw gonna hafta’ be patient! I tol-ja I’ll get it done!”

“I need you to get Tony to that conference. You know that. We’re depending on you - my attorney and business partner at NAPS said we have until Tuesday to get it done. When will his reservation be set?”

“Katrina, I told yah, how many toyms have you cawlled me about this? Like...toity? Quit awlready! Awl get it done!” Isabella snapped, annoyed at being made late for her nail appointment. She was looking forward to a new full French set and her weekly Brazilian waxing.

“I gawt ta go!” Isabella cried and was about to hang up when she heard Katrina say, “And the other thing - did you get the other thing sent?”

“Wawt? The UA directory? I sent that tah ya last week!”

“No, no...”

“Wawt? The ASME awg directory? I sentcha that at the same toym!”

“No...”

“Well WAWT?” Isabella counted off, in her head, the last few directories she’d sent that Katrina had demanded of her.

“The ASEE awg? The IEEE directory? WAWT THEN? I sent awl those!” Isabella almost screamed into the phone.

“No, no, I got all those - the new one - the Sourcers Guild - it’s already at almost 400 members - you get that yet?”

“I’m workin’ on it - I cawlled Mawreen but she says she’s not so anxious to give it up – she says she’s awlready given up plenty.

“I think she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I really do - she’s as dangerous as Tony.”

“Mawreen Shawreeb? Awe you kiddin’ me oh what?” Bella began laughing, thinking to herself, “What is with all these unstable people in recruiting? Afraid of Tony, shaw, I can see that, but Mawreen? What have I gotten myself into?”

“Maureen isn’t the brains in that organization. Sure she has a voice like a songbird on the first Spring day but it’s her husband Bob – everyone calls him ‘Big Nate’ - who runs the operation. I heard that once he ate 37 Nathan’s hot dogs in a single sitting before co-opting the entire finance org chart from one of the Big Three New York City investment banks without even burping or excusing himself to visit the men’s room. Big Nate is the problem there. She does nothing without his approval - did you know that?” Katrina asked.

“No, and I don’t care!” Katrina cried. “Stop. I gawta go! I’ll see wawt I can do to get the Guild list. I’ll try to weasel it out of somebody in there.” Bella looked at her alarm clock – whew, she thought, I my actually get off this call in less than 45 minutes.

“That would be most appreciated,” Katrina soothed, her voice turning to sugary sap. “What did Maureen say? Is she going to speak at SourceCon?”

“She did’n say – I think she has her hands pretty full right now gettin’ the Guild up and runnin’ – she did say that,” Isabella retorted. “That Mawreen shaw knows howta build out an org!” Isabella paused for a brief moment before imploring “I gotta go!”

“Okay – call me – see what you can do!” Isabella heard Katrina’s insistent voice trail off as she hung the phone up and headed to the bathroom for a fast shower. Feeling the hot water wash from the crown of her head down and all over her body, she wondered, as she lathered soap slowly down her left arm before moving it across her chest and down between her [CENSORED BY BLOGGER.COM], if she was ever going to be rid of this monkey on her back.

She knew they had her stone cold on charges stemming from a sting she’d been caught up in at the first “sourcing” job she did for Tony’s agency – a Florida operation for whom she’d answered a Receptionist Wanted ad. It turned out not only was she supposed to answer the phone for their dwindling directory business but also do organizational build outs on companies wanting information to sell to insurance brokers. The sting started when the Feds contracted with her company to obtain the names, titles and phone numbers of controllers and accounting managers at specific target companies that they provided. They had said they needed the names fast and the telephone sourcer they usually used was out sick so she devised a ruse where she was posing as someone from the California Franchise Tax board, calling regarding new changes that would effect their returns. She was given the names without question and she passed them along to her boss who passed them into the arms of the sting operator. Sorry thing was, they had her on tape; nobody, not even Tony, had ever told her it was illegal to represent yourself as being from a governmental body.

“Bella, I nevah told yah ‘bout dah screwy law ‘cause yah needed ta learn fawh yahself.”

What Tony was doing was testing her; had she “sung” to Tony’s plant in Fed, Tony would have hung her out to dry. Instead, the investigation miraculously ended. Tony always had it all figured out.

Isabella was now in the first week of her biggest assignment to date; the DiNaymo family was the biggest sourcing operation in the NY/NJ area. It had counterparts in California, Nevada and Florida with smaller competitors in Texas and Louisiana. And this didn’t even include the cheap labor that made up the Indian Names Sourcing Cartel. Bella heard there was trouble brewing in the Pacific Northwest between warring factions and she’d heard she’d be heading there next.

“If I make it out alive,” she wondered to herself. She’d seen Tony’s ruthlessness firsthand.

Three nights before she’d witnessed the torture warning a DiNaymo telephone sourcer had received for working a job “outside” the Agency. In the back room of the pork store, was this fellow down on the floor on his knees, pleading for his life when Tony erupted like Mt. Vesuvius, stepping on the four right digits of the pitiful man’s right hand, his dialing hand, saying as he did so, “Whaddaya mean ya din’ tink youse was doin’ nothin’ wrong? Nothin’ happens ‘roun here without me gettin’ the lion’s share – get dat? Va fungoo! See if you can dial a phone with your thumb you sfacime!” Isabella heard what sounded like all ten phalanges crunching – it was a sound she would not forget.

Tony actually seemed elated by his tap dance on the ciuccio’s hand, the same way a runner feels after a long hard workout. He took her back to her apartment that night (“Hey Bella, you gonna be mi cumare, si?”), opened up some Chianti, put his Dean Martin “That’s Amore” CD on, and played pastry chef games with some Zabaglione. He didn’t leave until past 4.

He was becoming more and more demanding, she was producing, and her power was growing. To a twenty-three year old, it was pretty heady stuff.