Living Legends Pretty in Pink

BRENDA FENNER-BLONDE, BLUE-EYED, AND arms loaded down with flowers-burst through the double doors of James Wood Cadillac in Denton with husband Mark alongside. Brenda was rushing to receive her fifth Mary Kay Cadillac. I had finagled an afternoon riding shotgun in the pink trophy on wheels.

“Sometimes they come in here screaming and hollering.” Kay Watson had told me only moments before the Fenners swept in. Watson has been selling Cadillacs for 31 years and handing over the keys to Mary Kay models for the last 10. “The excitement’s the same whether they’re getting their filth car or their first,” For her part, Brenda was gushing like a schoolgirl, with braces to match. “I’m so excited.” she exclaimed, Several years had passed between Cadillacs. “I qualified three months ago. Every’ day the kids have been asking, ’Mommy, when do you get the pink Cadillac?’” During the long wait, daughter Kate-lyn, 4 1/2, informed Brenda, “When I grow up. I’ll get a pink Cadillac, too, ’cause I’ll be a mom.”

During the showroom celebration, Katelyn and Kyle. 2. scrambled out to the car and began pushing buttons and introducing the taupe leather seats to peanut butter and banana. Kyle found the steering wheel and began cranking wildly, as though he were driving the first pink NASCAR.

While Brenda and Mark ducked inside Watson’s office to go over the paperwork (the winners get the use of the car for two years, insurance included), I waited out front with Pat Danforth, a senior national sales director who had driven Brenda to the dealership in her own pearlized pink beauty. To see two at once is a rarity. For what might be the best-recognized symbol ol’ corporate sales success, there are presently only 98 pink Cadillacs in Texas: 1.000 in the United States. When the ears are retired, they are repainted and sold.

The heat was no match for Danforth in her national sales director’s suit, a black St. John’s knit. She explained the “family tree” philosophy at Mary Kay-independent beauty consultants working as a unit under the supervision and support of a sales director. The pink Cadillac is not awarded merely for a sales director’s individual sales success, but for her unit’s success. Actual numbers are hard to come by, but for a sales director to qualify for the Cadillac, her unit sales must track deep into six figures.



IN 1968, MARY KAY ASH ORDERED A CADILLAC FOR HERSELF PAINT-ed “Mountain Laurel.” the shade of the company’s popular lip and eye palette, today known as “Mary Kay Pink.” The owner of the dealership told her that she was making a mistake and would be back in a month. At least he was right about the month part. Thirty days later, the entire Mary Kay sales force wanted matching pink Cadillacs. Recognizing an incentive opportunity for her growing company. Mary Kay rewarded her top five sales directors in 1970 with pink Coupe De Villes and a legend was bom. Since the inception of the Career Car Program, which now includes Pontiac Grand Ams, Grand Prixes, and GMC Jimmys. Mary Kay has awarded 9,000 pink Cadillacs.

It is easy to forget that when Mary Kay started the company 37 years ago with her life savings of $5,000 and the help of her son Richard Rogers, women didn’t have the workplace opportunities they have today. Within a year of its founding, the company had 857 independent beauty consultants. Mary Kay consultants now number almost 600,000 in 35 countries around the world. In 1999, wholesale sales topped $1 billion.

ONCE THE PAPERWORK WAS DONE, THE pictures taken, and the trunk stuffed with pink balloons. Brenda and I made our way south to FM 1171 in Flower Mound. Brenda wanted to show off the car to the boys at her favorite car wash. While I sniffed the interior, expecting it to smell pink, perhaps a combination of cotton candy and bubble gum. Brenda started talking. “My mom is a sales director with Mary Kay in Kansas City,” she said. “She was a single mom. I had no idea how much money she was making until I applied for college financial aid. I started selling in school just to make a little extra money. I figured out pretty quick that I could make more money selling Mary Kay than I could as an accountant or the other things I thought I wanted to be. So I quit school.” That was 19 years ago.

We missed the turn to the Main Street Wash and had to double back. By then I had concluded that the interior smelled mostly like new leather, which is pleasing enough. When we pulled into the car wash, [he manager jogged heavily to meet us. a clipboard tucked under his ami.

“You got it!” he shouted over the whine of industrial vacuums.

“I got it!” Brenda beamed, her hands squeezing the wheel.

“That’s great!” he cheered, stepping back to take in the special Mary Kay pin striping. In a week, he’ll be asking to brighten the tires. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Come see me when it needs washing.”

We tore off in the direction of Brenda’s buddies at the nail salon. “We ought to call your mom,” I suggested, whipping out my phone. Brenda and Mark used to live in Kansas City near the folks. About a year ago. Mark was presented with a business opportunity and a choice of three cities: Chicago, Boston, and Dallas. “I like sunshine,” Brenda reasoned, “so we came to Dallas.” Ironically it was the stability of Brenda’s paycheck that allowed her husband to take a flyer-not an uncommon occurrence at Mary Kay. “Mom,” Brenda grinned, directing us into a strip center, “what are you doing?” Brenda’s mom was doing precisely what moms do: waiting for the phone to ring with good news.

“You got it?”

“I got it! And I’ve got a reporter with me and we’re out riding around.”

At that point I got distracted studying the reactions of other motorists and almost missed Brenda and her mother discussing a feature of the rear seat belts. Until then I didn’t realize that Brenda’s mother had the same pink Cadillac. No wonder little Kate-lyn thinks all moms drive pink Cadillacs. In her family, they do. After a long-distance introduction to the leather and the command console located above the rearview mirror, Brenda handed the phone to me.

“I’ve got to tell you.” her mother confided in the family’s earnest Midwestern accent, “I’m a very proud mom.”

As soon as we hung up, Brenda and I hustled up the sidewalk to a salon where cuticle technicians dropped their clients’ hands into soapy water and gaped out the storefront windows. Congratulations came from every comer. The lone man wielding an emery board mumbled “pink,” more bewildered than anything.

Men don’t quite know what to make of a pink Cadillac. As we were pulling out of the salon, two bearded Harley Davidson riders rumbled past. The leader lifted a finger off the throttle in a sort of salute and allowed himself a smile. Icon to icon. I thought I’d feel awkward getting spotted by bikers, but I didn’t. Maybe that’s because they never looked at me. Nobody did. Gawkers studied the car. then Brenda. I can’t say I blame them: when I spot a pink Cadillac, I look for the lady.

Nevertheless, I wanted to drive Brenda’s Cadillac but had been informed by the folks at Mary Kay headquarters that it would not be possible. 1 was relegated to the next best thing. “So what does it feel like,” 1 asked Brenda. “driving the car, I mean?” We were headed down 1-35 toward Dallas. Workers crammed in pickup trucks craned their necks to get a glimpse of the pink beauty. If we’d been gunning a new bass boat down the HOV lane, I doubt we’d have received more attention.

Brenda hesitated before answering. “First, you think, ’Wow. I earned this.’ Then you start to think that you are a spokesperson for the company. A representative. And you are.”

Brenda is not unaware of the snickering that sometimes accompanies a Mary Kay career. “People will say to me. ’So do you have one of those pink Cadillacs?’ And I’ll say, ’Well, as a matter of fact. I do.”’ The snickering stops. “’You’re kidding,’ they shoot back. Then they start asking a lot of questions.”

I suppose I was asking a lot of questions. I wanted to know her favorite pink car experience. “I was at a family gathering a few-years ago.” Brenda began. Traffic was stacked up ai the merge across from Texas Stadium. We were headed in the direction of The Prince of Hamburgers, my idea of the proper way to break in a new car. “My grandfather kept saying, ’I want to go to Californa,’” Brenda continued. “Nobody was paying attention to him.” 1 told my dad thai he ought to lake Grandpa out to California, only Dad’s afraid of flying and has that Midwestern frugality when it comes to cars. So 1 said, “Dad, why don’t you take him in my car?’” Brenda paused, squinted a little. She wasn’t wearing sunglasses. “And he did. They went to the Grand Canyon, Lake Tahoe, and California. For two weeks.”

Brenda sighed. “My grandfather died a year later. Didn’t get to see my wedding. Getting him to California was a gift that I got to share.”

WE WERE WONDERING THE QUICK-est way to The Prince of Hamburgers. “Let’s press the On Star button,” Brenda grinned. At that moment we were no different than 2-year-old Kyle with the turn signal in his hand. I pressed the blue button. The radio, without any prompting, faded, and a woman, far off and staring at a computer monitor, addressed Brenda. “Mrs. Fenner, this is On Star. I show you driving a 2000 Deville. Is that correct?” “Yes,” Brenda giggled, talking back to the button.

After a brief introduction to the fancy tracking system and word that Mary Kay-Cadillacs include the premium On Star package, featuring not only emergency roadside assistance, but also help with directions and restaurant reservations, I thought about having a little fun-asking the On Star lady to make reservations for us at The Prince of Hamburgers. But she was having enough trouble finding us on the screen.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got you. Turn onto Inwood. Cross the railroad tracks and turn right on Lemmon. It’ll be on your left.”

At the familiar landmark, I walked into the “Employees Only” door looking for Tom Patrick, chief cook and bottle washer.

“Ever had a pink Cadillac come in?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had one,” he answered, ducking under a cabinet to look outside. “But whenever I see one, il flashes in my mind, ’That’s a Mary Kay car.”’

Xiomara Osorto was rushing in and out. ferrying orders to cars, none of which I can remember because they weren’t pink. Xiomara is from Honduras. “I love their makeup,” she said, pointing to the Cadillac. “My mother has started selling Mary Kay. I bought the whole kit from her. Cleared up my face.” Xiomara’s skin was as smooth as the strawberry milkshakes I ordered. I thought she ought to meet Brenda.

Xiomara took in the sight of the pearl ized pink car and Brenda standing beside it When she spoke, it was as though Xiomara was talking to Mary Kay herself. The car has that effect. “My mother started selling Mary Kay because of a friend.” she explained to Brenda. “Now mom’s always trying to sell. Her house is full of boxes.”

Xiomara took one long last look at Brenda’s new car gleaming under the red-and-white awning. Onion ring orders were stacking up. “I bet she’s proud now,” she said to Brenda. “Your mom, I mean.”

She is. I heard it from her myself.