Crimson & Clover

Life of a Salesman

The morning began like every other August weekday.  Driving to work in my father's beat up Pontiac Chieftain station wagon could only be described by one word; interesting.  I was grateful to have a car but oh what a car it was; ugly, to say the least.  My best friend Tom would always call it the guy magnet.  Every guy that saw us it in would turn his head and laugh.  For a salesman on the road however, a car was simply something to get you from point A to point B.

I was a good salesman and I made more than enough money to buy one of those fancy new sports cars, except ever since my father passed I gave most of my money to ma, so that she wouldn't have to worry about finances.  I figured that when my younger brother came home from Vietnam he would be able to help and I would go out and buy the car of my dreams; any new car that had only two doors and no roof. 

So there I was pulling up to Orange County's fourth largest drapery store when out came Tom into the street, waving his arms frantically.  I pulled over to the sidewalk, taking great care to speed up quickly and then slam on the brakes right in front of Tom who dove out the way, falling flat on the sidewalk.  I scared the devil out of him!

"What the hell was that?" yelled Tom as I put the clunker in park.  "You nearly killed me!"

"But I didn't," I said through the open window.

"But you might've!" he replied.

"But I didn't."

Tom scared easily and I loved it.  Last year when I convinced him that the Lakers had traded Jerry West, I swear he nearly collapsed.  According to Tom, his dad and Jack Kent Cooke, the Lakers owner, were close friends.  Tom would always brag about how he could get the inside scoop on anything days before the press ever caught wind of it.

When we were young kids I would sleep over at Tom's house. I remember one night Tom was sleeping soundly but I couldn't fall asleep. I nudged him in the ribs to wake him...nothing. I blocked his nose but instead of waking up he swatted my hand away and then returned to his peaceful sleep. Then I grabbed our two flashlights and shone them in his eyes....still nothing, so with the flashlights still shinning brightly in his eyes I yelled, "Tom...wake up....... train!!!!" He sat up screaming. His mom had to hold him for an hour until he fell back to sleep. I had got him good... yet again. But I suppose that's what having a best friend was all about.

So there was Tom, standing on the street, angry that I had nearly hit him with my car.

"What made you run out into the street like a madman?" I asked him.

Tom seemed both nervous and upset all at the same time.  "I had to warn you; don't go into work today.  The boss is pissed.  He found out about Mrs. Johansson.  Her husband called about those "extra services" you provided her the other day.  Let me put it this way, her husband wasn't impressed when she called out your name in her sleep."

"She did what?"

"She called out your name, Adam, in her sleep." Tom sounded both annoyed and jealous, as I felt him judging me.

I hid a grin as I thought about Mrs. Johansson in bed yelling my name in what I could only assume was one heck of a fantastically erotic dream. "Ya, but that doesn't mean a thing.  She liked me. She wouldn't rat me out like that."

"She confessed."

I felt a lump in my throat as I saw my ass being booted from here to the Mexican border, but then I realized; what do I have to worry about?  I'm Big Al's best salesman, by far.  Then I got that nervous feeling all over again.  Big Al wasn't that kind of a guy.  There was a reason his was only the fourth largest drapery store in Orange County.  He was honest and that could only mean one thing, I would be history.