Carolyn Shamis samples the shoe business

Carolyn Shamis says she can sell anything.

Six-million-dollar ranches. Hundreds of chic condominiums. North Dallas haciendas with interiors the color of Nova Scotia lox and swimming pools as big as supermarkets.

Getting to the "Sole" of a Super Saleswoman

Years ago, while working as a banker's secretary, she entered the banking chain's contest to bring in new business, and beat out 6,000 other employees to win first prize. Today, she reigns as the Queen of Upscale Dallas Housing and heads her own all-woman real estate firm.

We meet Ms. Shamis in her opulent office, a chrome and glass affair filled with cream-colored couches, news clippings about The Boss mounted on white marble, and constant talk of Big Business. Ms. Shamis sits behind a glass desk, poring over a fresh, hot contract. She has rings on every finger, and the bumblebee brooch on her shoulder looks ready to fly straight onto the tiny flowers painted on each of her red toe nails.

She opens her Gold Book -a diary in which she has inscribed hundreds of quotations- and reads a favorite.

"A mediocre salesman tells. A good salesman explains. A superior salesman demonstrates. Great salesmen inspire buyers to see the benefits as their own."

Says Ms. Shamis: "I'm not forceful in selling. I deal from the heart. I do what's best for the customers. My mother and father were both dynamic salespeople, and I have tunnel vision with people when it comes to sales. I can sell anything."

We cannot, however, put that statement in the magazine without first putting it to a test. And there is this little discount shoe store right around the comer from Ms. Shamis' office that is perfect for what we have in mind. It is called Rogers Fabulous Shoes, and it is a place where women trade their worn-out moccasins for something soft on their calluses and smooth on the pocketbook.

Would the Condo Queen test her sales ability on discount slippers?

Of course. Ms. Shamis is just a nice, sincere country girl from McComb, Mississippi, where her family runs a retail store called The Hollywood Shop.

"My daddy was the shoe king of the South," Ms. Shamis says. "And I was posting accounts in his store at fourteen."

We are all ready to depart for Rogers when the telephone rings. Important call! Ms. Shamis is selling a $1.5 million swankienda, and the deal is about to close. She has a seller and a contract. And she has a five p.m. deadline to get the buyer to sign or make a counter offer.

The time is three-thirty p.m.

Ms. Shamis grabs the telephone. It is the buyer's agent, wanting to haggle. "Honey, what did you find out?" asks Ms. Shamis.

Pause.

'Well, what if you didn't have to pay a commission on the three hundred thousand until they paid you? Would that help? Look, I really wanna make this work."

She hangs up, and dials the seller's agent. .'Just tell your man that we've got a counter offer on the contract," she says. "And we need to put all this together before five.

"But first come the shoes. Ms. Shamis gives the shoe store's phone number to her secretary, passes through her office's glass doors and hops into her brand-new, cream-colored Zimmer, a mile-long number with a telephone on the console and a bronze eagle on its long, glistening hood.

She drives around the block to the shoe store and parks in front of Wyatt's Cafeteria. Walking into Rogers, she carries the stack of contracts for the $I. 5 million deal, just in case she gets The Call. Inside, women crowd around the sale rack, where shoes with names such as Man Traps, Chic Lady and Air Steps are marked down to fifteen bucks a pair.

"I love selling," says Ms. Shamis, eager to begin. "I love selling shoes.

The store's manager, an imposingly purple-turbaned cosmopolite from India, has dark, brooding eyes and a hunger for constant profit. On a normal day, he says, he sells fifty pairs of soles. He takes one look at Ms. Shamis, listens to our idea about testing her selling ability on his shoes, and puts her to work.

"She looks okay," says Purple-Turban, studying Ms. Shamis' jewels, her $125 California slippers, her smart red dress and her Dale Carnegie disposition. "She could be a plus for the company. "

And she is. Her first customers are two women on leave from their jobs in a South Dallas day-care center. One feels as though her size 8-½ foot should fit into a 6 1/2 thimble.

"You're looking for something comfortable, right?" asks Ms. Shamis, down on her knees, fitting the shoes and staring up into the customer's face.

'Yeah, I'm looking for something real comfortable. "

Ms. Shamis pulls out a larger pair, and I begin talking. She is calm, genuine and not too pushy.

"Oooh, that feels better," the woman says. 'But I think my feet are kinda swollen." She seems dubious. She and her friend stand to put their tennis shoes back on, but suddenly, they forget the shoes and notice the sales woman.

"Gosh, you're pretty," one says, "And you've got beautiful rings! "

They are blinded by diamonds. Ms. Shamis sells the women two pairs of shoes apiece, and pushes for more.

"Fifteen dollars a pair," Ms. Shamis says, walking the women and the shoeboxes to the cash register.

"Fifteen seventy-five, with tax," says Purple-Turban, following close behind.

Four p.m. Two women with two small children are at the sale rack. The younger woman, a red-headed escapee from the Park Cities, is looking for something chic and comfortable, maybe a "Man Trap" copy of an Oscar de la Renta. The older woman is "just looking." She declares that she will buy nothing.

Ms. Shamis dives in.

"How're y'all? "

The older woman does a double-take

"Gosh, you're pretty," she says. "You work here all the time?"

"Just part time," grins the new sales-woman.

Ms. Shamis begins selling the younger woman on a clear, plastic slip-on.

"Aren't these CUTE?" she asks. "I've got about ten pair myself. They'll go ANY-WHERE. You can wear 'em with stockings, without stockings. You can dance in 'em. You can wear 'em to the pool. REALLY! "

She sells the young woman two pairs of shoes. The older woman breaks down and buys a pair.

"Now, I've got a pair of these shoes in every color, she says, and smiles at Purple-Turban, who is still watching his new sales help. "I get a kick out of this lady, "he says. "She has good taste. She looks like she's having fun. "

Four-thirty p.m. Halfway through another sale, Destiny calls. The telephone. The million dollar deal. Ms. Shamis leaves the sale rack and runs to answer it.

The buyer's agent is on the line.

"Honey, hi," says Ms. Shamis. "They can live with the price, and they'll carry five hundred thousand if you can put fifty thousand down. "

Ms. Shamis spreads her contracts across the bright blue Formica counter. Purple-Turban, who has been selling shoes for a decade -moves in to sneak a peek at the numbers.

"What did you say the name of her company is?" he asks us, eagerly.

We tell him. After all, he works on commission, too.

Ms. Shamis continues talking. Purple-Turban listens. The ladies at the sale rack keep browsing, oblivious to the new saleswoman's Big Deal at hand.

When she hangs up the phone, Ms. Shamis is all smiles.

"I think they're gonna do the deal, .she says. "He said, 'Write it up, and we'll do it tomorrow."

She returns to the sale rack, where two satisfied Wyatt's customers chew toothpicks and graze among the fifteen-dollar shoes.

"Hi, folks!" booms the woman who can sell anything. "Aren't these shoes CUTE?"