Heart-Stopping Stuff

Samuel J. Weinberg secretly possessed the untenable theory that all women are sluts. It was rather a one-sided belief because he'd never attempted to ponder the converse poser: then what did that make men?

Of course it didn't really matter what Sam thought provided he stayed out of the way of women and allowed them to have a nice day.

Sam also knew why he was happy: There was no woman in his wife, er, a little lady to dominate his life including his thoughts, his bank account, his apartment and practically everything else when he was with her.

Before arriving at his AWAS (all women are sluts) theory it should be pointed out that Sam was stood up on the eve of his graduation from high school, at college on three occasions he had babes leave him for someone else (and why?); and his fiancée - left him waiting at the church -- twice. The first time she failed to show up and cited acute anxiety and on the second occasion when she arrived, although pumped up with sedatives she renounced her affinity with him as soon as she entered the church and then left.

Very distressing.

Late on the night of being rejected in the church Sam the drunk was slugged by a women cop and spent four hours in a cell before he was declared fit to be released without being charged.

Totally humiliating.

He went home with two chipped teeth that required expensive remedial dentistry. God that bitch hit him hard, he thought -- and with a fist, not a nightstick.

Enter Fiona.

The pretty Fiona White with bleached blonde curly hair, blue eyes, a pert chest deeper through that Sam's and a full-on personality, arrived at Sam's pre-used car sales lot at lunchtime. Receptionist Bess Weinberg called and said the only two salespersons available were attending to prospects, so could Sam attend to Miss White?

"Tell the bitch to wait till Frank or Lionel come free."

Sam's door burst open and a blonde with her hands on her hips demanded, "What did you just call me?"

"I haven't a clue. Who are you?"

Fiona White, office manager for a group of attorneys. "A retraction now buddy or you're in big trouble."

"So what's upsetting you Fiona? No need to get your ass swinging on a fine day like this?"

"What?"

"Coffee?"

"Who said anything about coffee?"

"I did?"

"Oh?" After thinking about that she said, "Well yes please. I suppose one of us needs to be civil."

Fiona took her coffee and sat in front of Sam's desk.

He learned back and twiddling his thumbs said, "I suppose this is about my reference to bitch when I was replying to my mother."

"Your mother?" Fiona said in astonishment. "She looked quite normal."

Sam's left eyebrow rose high.

"Oh God, what did I just imply? Um, that makes us even, doesn't it?

"Yeah, agreed. Fancy lunch?"

Sam was putting on his jacket when she said, "What, with you?"

He walked around the desk and waited at the door. "Come on, get ass into gear."

She shot out of the chair ready to engage, saw his grin and with a little smile waved her hands feebly and sighed.

Fiona thought this guy had to be the number one jerk in the city by a country mile. However she should remain vigilant and she had to concede he wasn't 100% stupid, gross and other unflattering tags.

When he told his mom he was out to lunch her ears burned when his mom said she thought the woman had gone in to murder him.

"The tigress decided to turn into a pussy cat mom."

Fiona curled her claws and almost blurted out ouch when they dug in.

"This café down here is cheap and okay. Good enough for you or do you wish to take me somewhere with better chairs and higher prices and you pay?"

"This one will do Mr Weinberg."

He walked to the bar and sat. She looked at a table and the sighed and walked over and sat with him at the bar.

"Why are we here?"

He grinned and said was she wishing for a date wasn't she. But quickly went into business mode and told the bartender to fetch him a dry white wine. Sam then turned to Fiona and said she better order something as he didn't like drinking alone. She was tempted but then though a dry white wine sounded appealing, so ordered.

"Are you married?"

She thought that was a reasonable question so said no.

"Any kids?"

What, was this guy for real? She just snorted.

"I suppose you think you can drive well and you want something fairly powerful, comfortable and rides like a dream?"

She nodded realizing as last this interrogation was about fitting her up with a car.

"A trade?"

"No, my mother wants my car; I'm giving it to her."

"Not much of a businesswoman are you? I saw you arrive and without an inspection would say your car is worth around three grand, perhaps $3400."

"That much?"

"As a trade $2400 but selling to your mom you could squeeze her with a clear conscience for $3500 which would be top market price."

"I couldn't do that; she's my mom."

"Told you were weren't a businesswoman."

Fiona slowly counted five, the drinks arrive and so Sam survived verbal assault

For lunch Fiona had a piece of lightly grilled chicken sliced into a green salad while Sam consumed half of a cow and a sack of fries, no salad, and then delivered the biggest burp she'd ever heard in her life.

Mr Weinberg then asked for Fiona's color preferences, carmaker, model and did she want gas or diesel, American or foreign, what was her height and then asked for her breast size.

"You can't ask me that."

"I just did."

"Well I demand to know why you asked that question?"

"For seatbelt size."

She said oh, almost apologized and then told him 34C.

He said with a smirk, "Very nice" and only then did she realize she'd been duped. God, this guy ought to be the District Attorney.

Fiona scowled and thought about walking out but he said, "What's wrong with you -- some guy dump you?" Fiona burst into tears and fell against him when he lifted her arm to receive her.

She sobbed out the story. She'd committee to marrying this guy and the very next day he called her to say he'd been fired and was leaving the city to return home and said goodbye meant goodbye. That was a week ago. She'd hired an investigator and found it was true he'd been fired for misappropriating a small amount of money that he'd claimed was to use to get married. It was confirmed he had returned to California.

Sam Weinberg sympathized and said there were more crooks in California than in their state and she broke free of his grip and said she'd agree with that. He left the money on the table and told her than since they were now intimate she should call him Sam.

"Fiona."

"No, Sam for Samuel."

"No I meant I will call you Sam and you should call me Fiona."

"Well, it took time to get that name thing sorted didn't?" he said, looking at her as if knowing who to blame. She looked at his quite handsome face, unruly hair and green eyes and thought she could go to bed with him except he was such a jerk.

They walked the two hundred yards to the lot and he pulled out a white car, quite luxurious, and it quite took her breath away.

"Take the wheel," he said, and they drove off without a hitch or she showing the things males love seeing in a woman, nervousness. Sam pointed her two streets to the west and then into a huge yard storing containers where a guard in a box beside the notice -- No Entrance, Intruders Prosecuted -- waved him through.

"Drive down this straight," Sam said.

Fiona thought the rude man could have said please. It was a bit bumpy but the vehicle absorbed the bumps beautifully.

"Right turn at the end here. Okay go though these S-bends. Round to the right. Hard turn left here, over the narrow bridge. Around to the right, right again and here we are back at the start. You drive well. Can you remember the track?"

"What track?"

"The route we just covered."

"Oh that. Child's play for a memory like mine."

"Good, I want you to power this baby around as fast as you can without killing us."

"You've gotta be kidding?"

"Do what you're told Fiona. Get those tits heaving with a bit of passion."

She saw red and took off. Christ, what had he just said to her! They flew down the straight and she worked the brake and hit the gas or eased right off as her dad had taught her and they went around the first corner in a drift and she saw with satisfaction his grin had gone and he'd taken hold of the grip handle. She went at a fast clip through the S-bends and slowed to a crawl to go over the bridge and then she powered around the final corner and he motioned her to slow and indicated the exit.

Sam called, "See you in a few minutes Desmond; thanks buddy."

They drove back to the lot almost in silence apart from Fiona saying she'd take the car; she loved it.

At the car sales lot grumpy asked, " So you liked the car?"

"Yes. It's so me. It's a beautiful car."

Sam called to a salesman, "Ian, put this piece of crap away."

Ian came over and grinning at her breasts backed the vehicle into a free slot.

"But that's my car. I want, I want," Fiona said, stomping her foot.

The jerked grinned at her and said something idiotic about at last he was glimpsing passion.

"I told you I'd really fit you to a car. That one was the car I thought you'd pick. This one is my choice for you."

Sam got into a same-make and near identical vehicle, except it appeared lower and had fatter tires and when he stopped he flicked the gas pedal and the snarl almost made her pee in fright.

"I hate it. It's black, noisy and its lower, not quite so easy to get into. I want my white car."

"Drive and stop whining," said the rude man.

Gosh, she thought, wiggling into the snug seat and looked at all the extra dials and lights. Of fuck, he's gotten her aboard a boy racer vehicle.

Grinning, Sam told her to return to the yard. She belted around the track to show the jerk she could drive and had him staring big-eyed as she went over the bridge at almost 30mph. Her blood was up and she felt like yelling, "Yeeh hah."

He looked at the stopwatch in his hand she'd not notice before.

"Seventeen seconds faster than in the white car. What do you think?"

She feathered her foot lightly over the gas pedal and couldn't help herself. "I think I could extend that to thirty seconds better."

"Right, off you go."

She planted her foot, and grinned at the squeal of rubber and drove almost recklessly, had to brake rather hard in a couple of places, went over the bridge at almost 40 mph and he yelled go through the start-stop line full throttle and she floored it.

She reversed to the start-top line as he looked at the stopwatch and shook it as if in doubt of its accuracy. She just smiled, knowing she'd gone around much faster.

He unbuckled and said, she thought with pride, "Thirty-three seconds faster."

He leaned over and kissed her, full on the lips and her mouth was slightly opened because she was a bit breathless. As he pulled away she pulled him right back and kissed him passionately.

"How do you feel about this car?" he asked.

"Passionately."

"If I sell it to you will you promise not to kill yourself."

"I promise."

"Do we have a date for tonight?"

"Yes."

He grinned and she looked at him feeling a bit goofy. He then said, "You drive okay for a woman."

She'd known he was bound to offer that slur. Why couldn't he just say she'd almost scared the pants off him he'd been driven so fast?

She grabbed the stopwatch and unbuckled saying, "You drive me around the circuit buster and no holding back."

He laughed and said okay.

In front of the vehicle, still pumping adrenalin, she grabbed him and using her full body kissed him. He said nothing and took his seat. He tightened her seatbelt and she felt a little compressed but said nothing. He buckled in.

"Your very best," she said.

He turned pale and said she didn't mean that did she; couldn't he just try to beat her time by a shade?"

"Your very best," she said sternly.

"Christ!" she yelled, as they were thrown back into their seats and hurled around the track, going over the bridge at sixty and then he just seemed to gun the motor. They finished the circuit; she had been terrorized and had throughout wondered when they'd crash. She hit the stop on the watch when she'd saw the yard entrance flash by.

When Fiona's eyes refocused, she asked Sam for her best time and knew it was true when the time differential between her fastest and his heart-pounding circuit came out at 52.3 seconds.

"Not bad," he said. "My fastest on this circuit; almost suicidal really but you left me with no option, challenging me to do my very best. How do you feel?

"Passionate in a number of ways. Could park behind some of these containers for a cuddle to calm me down? And if you are a good boy tonight perhaps I'll offer you something you might really like. You are as rough as dry crap but I reckon I can retune you."

THE END