No matter how seductive a daffodil may be, it still takes someone to sell it.

The tedious and unglamorous trench work that must precede the blooming of golden trumpet daffodils in the workplaces of the San Fernando Valley this spring has begun.

The daffodil, as one of the first flowers to bloom in spring, has been adopted by the American Cancer Society as its symbol of hope and, in the same vein, as the medium for one of the more charming methods yet devised to hit people up for charity.

It’s called Daffodil Days.

The idea is to celebrate spring with thousands of the long-stemmed, delicately ruffled, star-shaped flowers scattered like wildflowers across bank counters, hotel lobbies, restaurant tables and office desks.

The daffodils are growing in the state of Washington. They will be shipped south in mid-March. The task at hand is to sell them.

You can’t beat the price--$3.50 for a bundle of 10.

But, no matter how seductive a daffodil may be, it still takes someone to sell it.

This year, as last, she is Kay Olender, a Burbank woman who brings both seasoning and organization to the job.

Olender is a manager in the direct-marketing network of Mary Kay Cosmetics. The company has put eight units under her command for the daffodil campaign.

“I have at least 100 girls selling,” Olender said.

That’s a pretty formidable corps.

And not the least formidable member is Olender, a tall, self-confident redhead. After 18 years in the field, she’s not afraid to call on a person cold.

I joined Olender last week as she visited the managers of a hotel, a bank and a savings and loan.

She was waiting Thursday, in a green silk suit and yellow ruffled blouse in the lobby of the Burbank Airport Hilton.

She had already made a sale there a few days earlier and was calling back on the general manager, Richard Messer, merely to close the deal, chat a bit and warm up for tougher work ahead.

Messer received us in a modest and tidy office, and rocked back easily in a blue swivel chair.

He asked how many flowers he had bought.

Olender told him 500.

He smiled with satisfaction. He said he had decided to give them out at the hotel’s restaurant.

“I think it’s nice in a restaurant to hand a little something to the female patrons,” he said.

He inquired about Olender’s interest in cancer.

She said she had lost an aunt, a brother, an uncle and a fiance to the disease.

He said his check for $175 would be ready in the morning.

Next, we drove to the headquarters of Valley National Bank in Glendale to smooth out a problem. Last year, the bank had bought 70 bunches for $245. But Olender had just received a reorder of only $70. She had called ahead to let them know she wasn’t happy.

A young manager was waiting.

“Are you going to do the same thing that you did last year?” Olender asked, showing the slightest touch of sternness.

The manager nodded. In fact, she already had a check made out for the difference.

Olender’s last call was the tough one.

A banker who had apologetically turned her down a few days earlier had referred Olender to a “young and aggressive” savings and loan down the street.

“Let’s go in and see whether this aggressive little bank wants to do me some good,” she said, pulling up to a modular office on Glenoaks Boulevard, the temporary home of Highland Savings.

Manager Sue Stamper, in a baby-blue sweater, sat at a desk in one corner, never failing to wave goodby to a customer even as she spoke on the phone.

She was talking to her headquarters about buying champagne and hors d’oeuvres for the mid-March opening of the branch’s new quarters across the street.

“Have you heard about Daffodil Days?” Olender asked when she was free.

“I heard about a lot of them, but I haven’t heard of that one,” Stamper said with a faint laugh. It was clear that, if the answer was no, she would have no problem saying so.

But she offered hope.

“Well, our company is very generous in giving to a lot of activities in the community,” she said.

“That’s why I came to you,” Olender replied.

Stamper said the bank had already given $750 to charities this year and, without consulting headquarters, she couldn’t venture how much more it would give.

Olender said she would be glad to call back the next day.

“Now, just hold on,” Stamper said. “I’ll have an answer in just a minute.”

She picked up the phone and got her headquarters back on the line.

She told her superior she was speaking to a Times reporter and “a beautifully dressed woman in green and gold” selling daffodils for the fight against cancer.

“I’m explaining to her that I’m sure we will donate something, but I don’t want to go out on a limb on how much,” she said.

“OK. That’s fine.”

She hung up.

“One hundred dollars,” she said.

Olender did some quick division and, realizing that $3.50 did not go evenly into $100, counter offered.

“Ninety-seven dollars for 27 bunches,” she said.

The arithmetic may not have been perfect. But the deal was.

“When can I pick up the check?” Olender asked.

That was her first miscue of the day. After all, it was a bank.

“That will be fun,” Stamper said while a teller was preparing the check. “We’ll have lots of fresh flowers here.”