Beemer and Ginger

It is with great thanks to neuroparenthetical who took the time to review and edit this story so that you may enjoy it. I trust all who read it will enjoy this as much as I did writing it. This story is based partly on fact with some embellishment.

As I parked my car, I saw a man get out of the passenger side of the BMW I was interested in buying. I thought for a moment that my luck had run out and was thinking about starting up my old Ford Mondeo again and simply going home. Just then, I noticed that same man replacing the price board on the dashboard of the car; luck was still my lady after all.

Then I saw her, getting out of the driver's side. It was her long red hair that first caught my eye. Just to reflect upon my standards, I must admit first and foremost that I have a thing for redheads. Having dated a few in my time, I know that their reputation as firebrands is well-deserved. This particular redhead was shapely, with a toned body that was accentuated by dark jeans and an emerald-green, short-sleeved top which perfectly outlined her not-too-ample breasts. Not being a good judge of age, I could only tell that she was older than my 25 years, but I could not say by how much. Not that it mattered; her beauty has no age.

She gently closed the door and said something to the salesman as he walked back around the car toward her. She shook his hand and walked across the forecourt, her hair flowing in the light breeze as she went. She cast a look at me as she neared what I assumed was her car, and all I could do in my fascination was smile at her.

I mentally shook my head and remembered why I was there. I jogged and caught up with the salesman and asked him a few enquiring questions -- including whether I could take the BMW for a test drive. He seemed to snap from a mood of mild disappointment to a sense of opportunity, having failed to sell the car at least once already that day. He invited me over to the car, and as we walked, he talked it up like crazy. I'd already done my research, of course; it was a 1995, E34, 3.5-litre straight-6 BMW in diamond black. All I needed to do was drive the thing. If it lived up to its reputation, I was going to buy it.

I was pleased to notice, as he opened the driver door, that it was a manual. I got in the driver's seat, and he closed the door and walked around the car to the passenger side. We went for a short drive, and all the while he was extolling the virtues of the car. I kept a straight face, occasionally feigning a scowl to hide my sheer enjoyment. Once back at the forecourt, I mentioned a few issues I perceived, like the slight knocking I felt through the steering. If there had been any, it had been very faint, but that was how the game was played. I didn't love the car enough not to haggle a bit.

Purely by chance, I looked back down at the seat and noticed an emerald green and gold earring in one of the crevices next to it. The stone was drop-shaped, caught in a web of gold strands. It could only have belonged to her. I quickly pocketed it before the salesman saw what I had picked up. As he came around to my side of the car, I made like I was going to walk away. Sensing that his window was closing, he asked me directly if I was interested. I responded that I would only buy the car if we could negotiate on the price. He had advertised it for £7500; to be fair, that was the going rate, but nothing about buying a car is fair.

We walked and talked and negotiated till we got to his office. By then we had agreed on a price of £5675 with the Ford Mondeo as trade-in, road-tax for a year and a full tank of petrol included. We filled in and signed the paperwork, and I handed him my card for payment. We walked out to the Mondeo; I handed him the key and showed him the spare keys with the relevant documents in the glove box. We shook hands and I gleefully walked to my new car. I spent the rest of the weekend driving for miles and cleaning the BMW, but every now and then, my thoughts would stray to the flame-haired beauty who'd almost had my car.

On Monday morning, I proudly drove into work, and parked in my normal spot at the front of the building where my car would be visible from my glass-fronted office as well as to everyone else in the front office. I was one of the first ones there, so nobody noticed until much later in the day. As always, the guys were all about the grunt of the six-cylinder powertrain and the speed. In between discussions of the car, I busied myself with the monthly purchasing and inventory charts for David, the Commercial Director. For the next couple hours or more I was so deeply engrossed in what I was doing that I did not notice David walking toward my office with someone in tow. It wasn't until he knocked on the open door that I startled from my concentration to see him approaching my desk with her.

She was wearing a deep-blue skirt suit that gave a perfect view of her toned legs, plus a blazer that gently cupped the perfect formations I'd seen on Saturday. Her hair was tied back, which made her appear different I suppose more professional, but it was unmistakably her. It appeared as though she was not wearing a shirt, but I guessed she was wearing a camisole of something of the like.

David introduced her as Ellen, the new Accounts office manager he had hired. I stood up from my chair, took and shook her extended hand, and addressed her.

"Welcome, Ellen. Pleased to meet you. I'm Brad, the commercial manager. I work for David, so we will no doubt have the opportunity to work together."

As we ended the handshake, she responded with a hint of recognition in her eyes. "Brad, pleased to meet you, too. No doubt we will."

"Brad," David interjected, "Ellen is going to be taking over most of the financial aspects of the office to allow me to concentrate on the commercial planning with you, but that does not mean you are going to have less work to do. You two will have to work together in the early stages, as you will need to show Ellen the ropes as well as hearing some of the good ideas she has."

I nodded at David. Looking back at her, I added, "I look forward to it."

I watched in fascination as she walked out of my office, her toned rear swaying hypnotically. For the rest of the morning, I just couldn't hold my concentration on anything. It took me nearly twice as long to finalise my reports for David as it usually did. Images of her walking across the forecourt and out of my office threatened to replace every other thought in my head.

It wasn't until Thursday morning that the opportunity arose for me to go to the upper floor offices to discuss a few invoice issues with Ellen. Her desk was just outside and to the right of David's glass-fronted office, opposite the junior bookkeeper's desk. That was Susan, a pretty, young, blonde girl of nineteen. She wore thick-rimmed glasses that, coupled with her hair scraped back into a childish pony-tail, did nothing to improve her appearance. Although she wasn't unattractive, she did nothing for me, so I never engaged in or encouraged any flirtatious behaviour.

"Afternoon, all," I said as I walked towards the desks. It was my usual greeting to the upper-floor crowd.

"Hey, Brad," Susan replied, "what brings you to our lofty heights?"I waved the invoices I had in my hand at Ellen. "Gotta see your boss about clearing these."

David briefly looked up from his desk and lifted his hand in an acknowledgement to the greeting. Ellen looked up at me, then immediately back down to her work, undoubtedly thinking that I was there to see David.

As I approached her desk, she looked up at me. "Oh, it's me you want to see. Sorry, I thought you meant David. What can I do for you?"

"It's not what you can do for me so much, but what I need to go through with you." I put the pile of four invoices on her desk, off to her left, then came and stood next to her. I had inadvertently, and happily, given myself a perfect eagle-eye view of her cleavage, which was only slightly exposed by the short-sleeved, light blue, buttoned-collar shirt she was wearing. I leaned over on my elbows on the desk and proceeded to explain the invoices had been rejected, and the investigation that had been done to clear them. We went through the system process to release them to Susan for payment a couple of times to be sure that she had a grasp of what she needed to do.

I watched her complete the last two invoices. As she made the last few clicks of the mouse to close the screen, I asked, "Were you at Barry's Autos on Saturday, looking at a BMW?" Instantly I saw the recognition in her face.

"Yes," she responded, "I was there looking to replace my knackered old Rover. Was that you jogging after the salesman when I drove away?"

"Yep, that was me! Why didn't you take it?"

"He wouldn't come down to my price and I couldn't afford it. I really liked that car, too. Way too much grunt for me, I know, but I do like the way those cars handle when you throw them around. An old boyfriend had one and I used to love driving it."

"Well, your loss was my gain. I managed to get him down on his price and get a pretty good trade-in on my old Mondeo. I know what you mean about the handling; I've not owned one before, but I drove a friend's and was well impressed."

"If it's not too rude and if you don't mind, may I ask what you paid?"

"Not at all. He knocked three-twenty-five off the tag and gave me fifteen hundred for the Mondeo. Not a bad deal if I do say so myself."

"How'd you get him that low? I could have afforded that, but he wouldn't give me more than nine-fifty for the Rover and wouldn't budge on the price at all."

"I didn't show him that I really wanted the car and invented a couple of niggling bits that I mentioned I may need to have fixed. I also sort of showed him that I was prepared to walk away. When a salesman has lost one deal on a car, he is more likely to be receptive to another deal, even if it's not as good. I suppose it was lucky for me that he rejected your offer."

"Well, I suppose congratulations is in order. I trust you will thoroughly enjoy every moment you drive it." I could see and hear her desire to drive it again as she spoke, and that gave me an idea.

"Thank you. I am enjoying it and am sure I'll continue to." Then, after a short pause, I made my move. "If you want, I may let you take it for a spin one day, as long as you promise you won't stack it."

I saw her eyes light up at the thought. Standing upright again to head out the office, I turned back to her. "Thanks for sorting the invoices out, and if you have any questions about invoice queries, please pop down and see me. We do still need to get together for the financial reporting." Then I dropped my usual farewell on everyone else as I swung the office door open. "See y'all later, folks."

I had barely sat down in my leather office chair to reminisce about the fiery hair and perfectly formed breasts I had just been so close to when Ellen knocked on the door.

"Oh, Hello again," I said with a smile "What I can I do for you?"

Ellen came and stood at my desk. "I was wondering whether you would send me the raw data you use for your monthly reports and charts for David. I'd like to feed it into my own program and see what the data presents and how that compares to your results."

Knowing that I'd get the chance to get close to her again, I readily agreed. "Yeah, sure. What program do you use?"

"It's a little something I wrote myself a few years ago. If you'd like, I can show you how it works when I get going with it."

"That'd be great, but it'll have to wait till another day, as I have a mountain of ordering and progressing to get done before I go tonight." I looked back down at the pile of purchase requisitions and couldn't help but mutter under my breath. "I do wish David would get me another buyer."

"I'm not intending to run it till tomorrow," she said, "so if you're not too busy then, we could have a look at it."

"Let me see how I get on with this today."

Just before she turned to leave, she spotted my car. "Is that the one I almost had?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the parked BMW.

"Yep, that's the one."

"Are you serious about letting me take it for a drive?"

"Well, I was thinking about that. I know this little race circuit down the road where there is plenty of tar to burn and space to make mistakes. I'll get in touch with the manager and see if we can get in there some day."

Ellen instantly beamed a beautiful smile. "That'd be awesome. I've never had the opportunity to really let rip; too many muppets on the road when you want to do doughnuts and drift. See you later." With that, she glided out through the office.

It turned out to be another one of those real late nights. By the time I was done with the last of the purchase orders and emails, it was well past ten, and my stomach had gotten the sense that my throat had been cut. I shut off my computer and hit the lights as I walked out of my office. I walked through the production area, and then out through the front office. I went upstairs and did a quick walkthrough the engineering and accounts offices, all in the routine daze I had adopted over the last few months since David had had me locking up. I set the alarm at the side door, slammed it shut behind me, and heard the familiar beeping of the pre-set program.

My thoughts wandered to where I'd go for my take-away that night. I decided that an unusual Mexican meal was in order. As I got into my car, I popped my phone into its cradle, flicked it on, scrolled through the contacts list, and made the call. While the phone rang on the other end, I started my car and drove off. A female voice answered and took my order of a spicy burrito, a side of nachos, and a bottle of beer. Within thirty minutes I'd made the detour to the restaurant and was on my way home.

The house was in darkness when I got inside, but I walked straight through to the kitchen with my still-hot dinner. I switched on a countertop light, grabbed a plate that may or may not have been washed from the drying rack, unpacked the nachos onto it, then put the burrito on top of the nachos. I opened the bottle of Mexican beer with the bottle opener fixed to the counter top and wandered into the lounge. I tapped the light switch with the bottle and proceeded to scan the room for the TV remote. Once I located it on one of the couches, I sat down next to it, put the plate and beer on the coffee table, picked it up, switched on the TV, then selected a program at random. I dropped the remote on the couch and picked up the Tupperware box on the floor next to the coffee table. As I opened the lid I got a nose full of the familiar sweet smell of skunk weed. I unpacked all the paraphernalia and proceeded to roll myself a long, thick joint. As I was finishing it off, I grabbed my chrome Zippo lighter and wandered over to the French doors that opened into the back garden. No sooner was I over the doorstep than I'd lit the folded end of the joint and taken a couple of deep, satisfying drags.

A few minutes later, and after a few more drags, I felt the familiar sense of mild floating, and heard my stomach grumbling. Stoned and hungry! PERFECT! The thought eased through my mind. I crushed the end of the joint and left it on the ground. I slowly strolled back to the couch, flopped down, and picked up the plate of food and the beer. After an indeterminate amount of time, I took the empty plate and bottle to the kitchen, then rinsed the plate and put the bottle in the curbside box for recycling.

I sauntered back through the lounge and out to the garden, collected the remainder of the joint, relit it, and took a stroll around the back garden. It was beautifully dark. All the house lights were out as the whole neighbourhood slept; only a few streetlights remained. Some time later, I took the last few drags then put out what was left of the joint. I tossed it into the long grass and went back indoors, locking up as I went. I stripped naked and collapsed on my bed, not even bothering to get under the covers.

"Good night!" I said to myself. "Mmmmmm, she's walking back into my office again. I would really like to get closer to her. The racetrack! Stoned mental note: call Rick. Yeah, like you are going to remember that!"

Most of Friday morning went by in a sober daze, and although I had nothing specific to do, quite a few little things kept me busy until late morning. To my own surprise, I did remember to call Rick.

"Hey, BJ," he said, "no sweat, man. Sunday after three it's all yours. Keys in the normal place. Have fun!"

As I put the phone down, Lionel, the Production Controller, walked into my office with a tray of components, announcing, "Houston, we have a problem!" Lionel was a bald, thick-set older man probably in his late 50's and what he didn't know about managing a production environment could be written in bold on a stamp.

He explained that the devices we had in the trays were not the correct footprint for the board they were to be fitted to. Instead of having Pin Grid Array components, they were Ball Grid Array. While I started looking at the system to understand where the error had occurred, he carried on talking to me firstly, about my new car. Once again, the monologue was in reference to the grunt and speed of the car. My ears pricked up when he mentioned Ellen, though. "Have you seen the new lady upstairs? Just about in my age range -- if I was single! Have you met her yet?"

I sort of absentmindedly nodded my head and said, "Yep, Ellen's her name. These parts have been spec'd as BGA by Gary. Hang on, I'll call him."

I hit one of the speed dial pads on my desk phone. The first ring was interrupted by "BJ, Wazzzup?"

"Gaz," I replied, "what do you think the spec should be for the Xilinx on the Wissue guidance board?"

"Gimme a mo... Been in the accounts department recently, B? Dude, she's a fox."

Two mentions in short order was enough to distract me. Well, I thought to myself, Ellen has made one tremendous impact with all the guys. I'm going to have to move quickly if I'm to get my chance at her. Gary's harmless; he's more interested in cars and related gadgets; a bit of an anorak, if you ask me. But if the response I am seeing from two or three guys is this intense, I know there'll be a few who will want to try their luck. I don't even want to think about the idea of her with one of these guys. I'm not saying that none of them is worthy, but... she's mine!

By the time Lionel, Gary and I have resolved the pin issue it, was twenty past twelve and time to pack it up for the weekend. I could see the production guys already starting to wind down, and similar thoughts crossed my mind. For a moment, the thought crossed my mind that I had no particular plans. Then, suddenly, I remembered that I did. That memory sparked yet another: Ellen had said she was going to run that program of hers. She'd also said she would call me when she was ready to. I wondered if she'd forgotten, or had gotten too busy. I decided not to press the issue by calling her just then.

I shut down my computer, grabbed my keys, and made my way up through the offices, checking who may have been working late or over the weekend, as was my routine on a Friday. If anybody was still at it, it meant a relaxed weekend for me, as I would not have to be available as a key master in case of emergency; in that case, I would not need to be sober all weekend. I had no problem with the idea of being on call, but every now and then I liked to have a few glasses.

As I walked out of the engineering office, my luck was sort of fifty-fifty. No one was working late, but Mark and Clive were going to be in on Saturday and Sunday testing a new piece of Top Secret kit. As I walked into the Accounts office, I noticed that Susan had already packed up and was just waiting for a call from her boyfriend to say he was downstairs. Ellen looked still very much engrossed in what she was doing, and David was reclined behind his desk, talking on the phone.