Mustang Sally

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people, whether living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*

Gerald Wilson loved driving his Mustang aggressively, pushing the pedal to the metal, braking noisily on tight corners and gunning the engine as he straightened out again.

Growing up as a teenager in Scotland, Gerry had admired Ford's pony cars from afar. He was delighted when the Americans finally got around to selling Mustangs in the UK. Now in his early thirties, working as a criminal defence lawyer in Glasgow, Gerry didn't hesitate for even a nanosecond to part with a large chunk of his annual bonus, splashing out on a shadow black, top-of-the-range Mustang V8 GT Fastback with dark tinted windows and a 32 valve 5 litre engine packing 415 bhp and a top speed of 155 mph.

Gerry had considered opting for the convertible version, but the hardtop was better suited to Scotland's maritime climate. The high price of fuel and the Mustang's low mpg, plus the hefty annual road tax, made the running costs astronomical. And then there was the cost of having the car washed, waxed and valeted once a week. But all that didn't bother Gerry. As a partner in his father's law firm, he was able to reclaim very generous reimbursements of business expenses and he got a kick from knowing that not one single penny of the car's running costs came out of his six figure annual salary, not even the occasional parking ticket.

Gerry drove everywhere in his Mustang, absolutely certain it was attracting admiring gazes from pretty young ladies and jealous glances from envious young men. His need to have his Mustang admired meant he often parked the car directly outside the office building in the city centre where he worked, even though he had a reserved parking space in the building's underground car park. At home he invariably left the Mustang sitting on the driveway of his four bedroom townhouse in the city's west end, even though he had plenty of spare space in the double garage attached to the house.

The Mustang was far more than simply a vehicle to get Gerry from A to B. Gerry saw it as an extension of himself. He considered himself meaner, faster and more powerful than other people and the car's appetite for fuel was a metaphor for his own hunger for success. Gerry had admired and test driven some very fine examples of other top car marques, including Ferraris and Lambos, but they were all too overstated in his estimation. The gleaming black Mustang was his true soulmate and his most prized possession.

Gerry's wife had to get used to living with a man-child when they first got together and she knew better than to get between him and his favourite toy. They were unencumbered by children and it was likely to remain that way, something Sally occasionally regretted, but she was well aware Gerry was not cut out to be a family man.

Sally Masterson and Gerry Wilson first met as guests at a so-called 'society' wedding, where wealth was on ostentatious display. The beautiful bride was the offspring of aristocracy, the venue for the wedding reception was a castle, most of the men wore kilts and the women wore haute couture outfits. Photographs of the bride and groom were later published in a very boring glossy magazine for the admiration of women in hairdressers' salons the length and breadth of the country.

Sally wasn't an aristocrat or from the nouveau riche set. Her family was modestly middle class, but she was one of the bride's many female acquaintances from their student days. Now in their late twenties, the cream of these vivacious, young and attractive women had been invited to the wedding by the bride's family in an effort to counterbalance the contingent of elderly aunts, great aunts, step-aunts and second or third cousins. For his part, the bridegroom ensured the guest list included plenty of good looking young men to match the beautiful young women.

Gerry was very taken with Sally from the minute they met at the wedding reception. Tall and elegant, she was the epitome of a cool blonde. Dark-haired and handsome, Gerry was an accomplished conversationalist and Sally found herself drawn to him. He was never far from her that evening, taking time to dance with her and charming her with his conversational ability and keen wit. Other people noticed his attentions were focused on her and more than one of Sally's girlfriends remarked to her that he looked like he would make a good catch.

In the weeks and months that followed Gerry and Sally dated, became a couple and started living together in Gerry's townhouse. Their social lives were caught up in a maelstrom of weddings of friends and acquaintances and it seemed only natural that they should follow their friends' examples and tie the knot.

*

Newly married, Sally had initially enjoyed a life of self-indulgence and meaningless activities while Gerry went off to do lawyerly stuff at his father's firm. However, with a qualification in business management she was no dumb blonde and she quickly began to feel unfulfilled, bored and restless. Now, five years later, she was a well-respected commercial director and partner in a small advertising agency, with a vibrant, high-paced business life of her own.

The key to business success for Sally was her ability to connect with her clients' targeted audience and get that audience to buy into the client's message. Easy to say, but not so easy to do when the world is awash with bullshit and people have the attention span of a newt. However, using a range of social media, inspirational creative ideas and imaginative graphic design, Sally and her colleagues had carved out a niche for themselves with some prize-winning campaigns for Scottish food and drink manufacturers.

Sally considered graphic design to be an art form. She was disappointed, but unsurprised when a talented member of her graphic design team found it impossible to resist the lure of more money and a high profile job at a leading agency in London. Filling the vacant post was a priority, but Sally needed someone with both artistic skills and creative ideas, so she set aside a full day to interview six candidates. Although they all looked good enough on paper, she felt uninspired by the first five during the face-to-face interviews.

The final interviewee that afternoon suspected he might have been invited along simply to make up the numbers. Stuart Andrews had graduated a few years earlier and had been working in local government since then, producing images and designs for campaigns to connect public services with local communities. His experience was comparatively limited, but he was ambitious. He knew this interview was an opportunity to take a big step up and build a career in the world of commercial advertising.

Sally was amazed by the portfolio of work Stuart showed her at interview. She had been expecting some boring examples of public signage. Instead, it was abundantly clear that Stuart had done his homework and he showed Sally some inspirational images of brands and products that belonged to some of her key clients. His illustrations of chocolate bar wrappings were more than simply eye-catching. He had used a chequered pattern of bright colours on a black background to produce a series of clear-cut images for chocolate bars with a range of fillings, including mint, bitter orange, caramel, chilli and coconut.

Sally took an immediate liking to Stuart. As the interview progressed it was apparent the two of them were on the same page, in terms of both the commercial focus and the creative direction the agency required.

*

A few days later, Stuart was delighted to receive the formal job offer by email with hard copy to follow. He got the good news when he checked his personal email account at lunchtime that day and he quickly arranged to take the afternoon off work. His girlfriend, Tracy, had no idea Stuart had been interviewed, much less that he had been offered a new job. She was somewhat sceptical about Stuart's future job prospects and he found it easier to say nothing to her about how his search for a better job was progressing.

Working as a paralegal, Tracy earned more than Stuart, but his new job would change that. Stuart knew she had been preoccupied recently, preparing documents for a legal case. The two of them had been living together in her apartment for the past year and she had taken to working from home a couple of days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, to avoid getting distracted at the office. It was a Thursday and she was working from home, so no one would know if she knocked off early. Stuart expected she might put up some resistance to cutting her working day short to help him celebrate. He was sure he could convince her, but the best way to do that would be in person, not in a phone call.

Stuart bought a small bunch of fresh flowers at the corner shop across the street from the tenement building where they lived. The streets in this area were designated a controlled parking zone, with parking permits for residents and metered parking for visitors. Tracy had a resident's parking permit for her Ford Focus, but Stuart didn't own a car. The city's public transport network was excellent, whereas it could be difficult to find a space to park a car, even with a resident's parking permit.

As he crossed the street, Stuart's eye was caught by a bright yellow fixed penalty parking notice that had been stuck on the windscreen of a sleek black sports car. The parking fine would be fairly hefty, but Stuart expected the car belonged to a boy racer with money to burn. No normal person would run the risk of getting a ticket. The zealous parking wardens were ruthless and showed absolutely no mercy, irrespective of the make and model of any offending vehicle. Stuart expected they would have particularly enjoyed ticketing a flashy sports car. Schadenfreude, the enjoyment of other people's misfortune, was a feature of Tracy's sense of humour and this was literally right up her street, so he snapped a photo of the car with the parking ticket, intending to show her it later.

Stuart climbed the communal stairs to the first floor of the building and let himself into the apartment. Built over a hundred years previously, every apartment in this type of building featured a small vestibule; an enclosed area between the front door and the internal door to the hallway of the apartment. Stuart hung up his jacket in the vestibule and took off his shoes, slipping on his comfy slippers. As he opened the internal door he could hear the television blaring away in the lounge. Tracy was a fan of daytime TV, claiming it provided 'white noise' that filled the void with background chatter and helped her get on with her work.

Stuart was about to call out and announce his arrival when he heard moaning coming from the other end of the hallway, where the master bedroom door was slightly ajar. Either Tracy was playing with herself or someone was playing with Tracy. Hoping it was the former, but fearing it was the latter, Stuart made his way quietly along the hallway towards the bedroom. Through the gap between the door and the doorframe he was met with a sight that instantly brought him bitter disappointment and anger.

He found himself looking at the pale white backside of a naked, dark-haired man moving to and fro as he fucked a woman doggy style on the king-sized bed. He could clearly see the stranger's slimy prick sliding in and out of the woman's juicy pussy. The bed sheets and various items of clothing lay in disarray around the bed as the copulating couple moaned and groaned passionately, totally unaware of Stuart's presence. Gazing in horrified fascination, Stuart saw the stranger withdraw his prick from Tracy's cunt and rub it up and down the crack of her arse before probing for her arsehole.

"Stop it, you naughty man!" Tracy immediately protested, clenching her buttocks and frustrating her lover's attempts to insert his prick in her anus.

"Come on, Tracy." the man pleaded. "Just relax and you'll love it."

"Maybe next time," she panted. "Now stick your cock back in my cunt and keep on fucking me. I'm almost there."

Unnoticed, Stuart turned away without waiting to see whether or not her lover did Tracy's bidding. There was no need for him to continue watching the couple in action. Witnessing them for a few moments was more than enough for Stuart to decide Tracy was history as far as he was concerned. Confronting her and her hairy-arsed lover right now wasn't worth the aggravation, but he would have a showdown with her before he moved out. He went back to the vestibule, put on his shoes, grabbed his jacket and quietly let himself out of the apartment.

A little old lady passing by outside the building was surprised and delighted to be the sudden recipient of a lovely bunch of flowers. She barely had a chance to thank Stuart for the unexpected gift as he strode purposefully in the direction of the nearest pub. He had some thinking to do, but a beer or two wouldn't do any harm and might just help him come to terms with the shock of Tracy's betrayal.

By the time Stuart had finished off a pint of draft IPA he realised he was fortunate to have caught Tracy getting a bit on the side. It was better to have found out sooner rather than later. He would be better off without the cheating bitch and he had come up with an idea how he could leave on his own terms and make sure she never forgot him. Despite his circumstances he was smiling, albeit grimly, as he ordered a second pint, which he intended to savour slowly before making a couple of phone calls and doing some shopping.

Stuart returned to Tracy's apartment at his usual time later that afternoon. Tracy was working on some documents in the lounge, with a banal quiz show on the TV noisily providing entertainment in the background. He changed out of his good suit in the bedroom and noted the room had been tidied up and the bed was neatly made, with no sign of the afternoon delight he had the misfortune to witness. Only a faint whiff of air freshener lingered, taunting him as he pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt. His nostrils flared and his anger briefly stirred, threatening to resurface, but he forced himself to remain calm and behave normally.

"How was your day?" Tracy asked when he joined her in the lounge as she put away her papers and laptop.

"It started off well, but ended up badly," he replied.

"Don't tell me you lost your job?"

"No," he said, annoyed that she had immediately leapt to that conclusion. "It's nothing to do with my job, just a problem I have to fix, but it'll be sorted tomorrow. How was your day?"

"It was just the usual sort of thing. Checking disclosure documents for the Anderson case and noting issues our team needs to tackle. It's a necessary evil, but someone has to do it."

Stuart didn't offer any reply, but he couldn't help thinking his plan for later in the evening was in the same vein; a necessary evil he just had to do.

After dinner, as they sat watching television before bedtime, Stuart offered to make Tracy a cup of hot chocolate. He knew she would never turn down the offer. It was almost always the way she liked to finish off her evening, claiming the hot chocolate soothed her soul and helped her sleep more soundly.

Early the next morning Stuart awoke to the sound of Tracy groaning in the bathroom. The distinctive noise of loose bowel movements cascading into the toilet bowl punctuated her groans. Unhurriedly, he got dressed and started packing a couple of holdalls with his clothes and other belongings.

It took Stuart less than twenty minutes to get his stuff packed up. He decided to abandon his toothbrush and shaving kit in the bathroom cabinet, but before leaving he stopped outside the bathroom door to have a few last words with Tracy. The sound effects in the bathroom had died down to low moans and an occasional wet fart.

"How are you doing in there, Tracy?" he asked.

"Oh Gawd!" came the faint reply.

"It sounds like you're not having much fun. Don't worry. It's not the wrath of God. It's just a bad dose of the shits and the worst of it will be over by tonight. I put a double dose of laxative in your hot chocolate."

"Oh no!" she moaned. "Why on earth did you do that?"

"Good question," he replied. "I came home early yesterday afternoon, while you were busy fucking someone else. You could say the bottom dropped out of my world. Now it's your turn to suffer some pain and it's the other way round. The bottom hasn't dropped out of your world, but it probably feels like the world dropped out of your bottom."

"Bastard!" she groaned.

"Swear at me as much as you like. I'm leaving and I won't be back. My farewell gift to you is a reminder of what your arsehole is supposed to be for. On the other hand, maybe you'll be happy it's been loosened up and you can let your friend stick his dick up your Hershey highway next time he asks. Either way, I hope you have a shitty life. Bye!"

*

It wasn't difficult for Stuart to find somewhere else to live. Luckily, an old friend from his college days was looking for someone to share with him. Eric was a relaxed, easy-going type, who shared a lot of Stuart's views on life, the universe and everything. It wasn't long before Stuart began to get over his break-up with Tracy, but he wasn't in a hurry to go fishing for a new girlfriend. Over the next few weeks he worked his notice and was soon enjoying his new job.

Sally made sure her team had plenty of opportunities to use their creative skills and she took time to make sure they had a shared understanding of what they were trying to achieve. Not long after Stuart started working for her, the two of them were discussing brand values one day. Sally's view was that brand values could be firmly fixed by strategic marketing and then reinforced by tactical marketing. Stuart accepted an active marketing strategy could have the desired initial impact, but he was keen to point out the brand value of a product could also be affected by consumers. Stuart thought this was particularly important for market segmentation and tactical marketing campaigns, acknowledging that the link between product and consumer was a two-way street and consumer behaviour could affect brand values.

"Take cars, for example," Stuart said. "BMW, Mercedes and Audi all push the brand value of German technical excellence, but people who drive those cars are often thought to be selfish and arrogant drivers. Without marketing interventions, that perception of selfishness and arrogance could adversely affect the purchasing decisions of potential customers who don't want to be associated with those negative qualities."

"So what you're saying is we should try to stop some people buying products and poisoning the brand?" asked Sally.

"Not really," replied Stuart. "What we need to do is use product differentiation and market segmentation to get the consumers we are targeting to empathise with the product. The consumer has to feel comfortable that he or she is part of a group with a positive image."

"You make it sound easy," said Sally, "but the big challenge is that one size doesn't fit all."

"That's right. There are plenty of commercials for family cars that show happy families doing enjoyable activities, but marketing gets more difficult at the premium end of the market, selling expensive vehicles to different types of individual."

"I think you're right, but why is it more difficult?" she asked.

"People who spend lots of money on a car want something that makes a strong statement about who they are. There was a survey in the USA that found one in four dentists owned a Porsche, for example. Of course, the decision isn't just about which make of car to buy, it's also about the model, the technical specification, the power of the engine, the colour and so on."