The Sales Man

As always, all characters, events, companies, etc. are figments of our imagination and have no connection to any living or dead persons, true events or actual companies. In other words, this is all fiction.

M.P. "I've never met a man that sells anvils before."

C.C. "It takes a real salesman; I can tell you that. Anvils have a limited appeal, you know."*

The Sales Man

I'm Harold 'Harry' Collina and I've been drinking from this same coffee cup for the past fourteen years. It's chipped on the brim, the handle was superglued to the cup after it broke off several years ago and the original hand-painted pelican is almost faded beyond recognition. Why is this particular cup so important to me? Because it's the only souvenir of my Key West honeymoon with Gwen Collina, my first wife.

*****************************

After six years of mostly blissful marriage, Gwen died in an auto accident. That in itself was enough to throw me into a tailspin, but because the gods can be especially cruel, our daughter growing inside her was taken from me at the same time. The teenage girl that ran the red light and broadsided Gwen's car was busy at the moment updating her Facebook page.

I confess; at the time I wanted the young girl to suffer unbelievable horrors before dying a gruesome death. How could such a stupid act cause such pain? Not only my pain; but Gwen's parents as well, they lost a daughter and their first grandchild.

The seventeen-year-old girl, Katherine Mellon, was charged with vehicular homicide and a number of other crimes. I pushed the DA and any other authority I could contact to make certain this young criminal, that's how I viewed her, would go to prison for as long as the law would allow. I was ready to sit in court every day of her trial, holding a photo of Gwen and an ultrasound of my daughter. I was ready - until the day Katherine Mellon's father came to visit me; it was two months after the accident that took the lives of my family.

I was initially reluctant to meet Jacob Mellon when he called to ask for a meeting. I asked my grief counselor what he thought. My counselor was helping me recover and after he and I discussed the pros and cons; I agreed to meet Mr. Mellon.

"Mr. Collina; thank you for meeting with me. Please let me begin by offering my condolences and apologize for the pain my daughter has caused."

"Is there a reason why your daughter isn't the one apologizing?"

"Kathy wanted to come; I told her I should meet with you first. If you agree; she'll be here tomorrow. I assumed she's the last person you want to see."

"You're right; the only time I want to see your daughter is when the jury finds her guilty, when she's sentenced to prison and when she's burning in hell."

Even though Mellon expected a strong reaction; I could see he was taken aback by my venom. It took him a few moments to recover and continue.

"Mr. Collina; I will do anything I can to prevent Kathy from going to prison. We're not wealthy people; but is there anything Kathy and I can do to avoid a prison sentence?"

"Are you trying to bribe me with money?" I was beginning to shout. "Because if you think you can buy me; then fuck you!"

"I'm sorry; that came out wrong. I wouldn't dream of offering you money. I was told your wife was a nurse; I was thinking of a scholarship to nursing school in her name - something like that.

"I also want you to know that Katherine is accepting full responsibility for her actions; she's quite willing to plead guilty. She's willing to go to prison; it's me that's begging you to come up with a different punishment. I know what goes on in prison; even juvenile prisons. My daughter won't last a month in any one of those facilities. And yes; I understand that right now, you'd love for that to happen; for her to suffer; but I just can't let that happen."

I could see Mellon was doing his best to hold back the tears as he spoke; but, damn it, I wanted my pound of flesh.

"You have no fucking clue what it feels like to lose everything. Maybe if you lose your daughter, you'll understand my pain."

"There's where you're wrong, Mr. Collina. My wife died two years ago to cancer. I watched her fade away after all the chemo and radiation failed to save her life. It wasn't the same; her death wasn't caused by a thoughtless, stupid act. But; like you, my best friend and partner was taken from me. I do know how that feels."

My hatred for this man, who brought the girl into the world that took my family away, was starting to fade, just a little.

"Bring Katherine here tomorrow and we'll talk. I'm not making any promises; but I will meet with her."

Katherine came with her father the next day. Unless she's an actress with Meryl Streep's capabilities, Katherine's contrition and apology was genuine. It was an emotional meeting, to say the least; and I was proud of myself for resisting the urge to strangle her neck.

The following day I hired a PI to look into Katherine Mellon's life. The PI came back with information surprised me. Ms. Mellon was a National Honor Society student, a leader in her school with a wonderful reputation and volunteered at the local hospital in the children's wing. After her mother's death from cancer, Katherine began spending time at the children's cancer ward.

I also asked a few people in the know regarding Jacob Mellon's assertion that juvenile prison was as bad as he made it out. The answers I received was 'yes', kids like Katherine wouldn't come out of prison undamaged.

So, now I had to ask myself - did I want this young lady's life ruined? Did I hate her that much?

It wasn't an easy decision. I talked to Gwen's parents; I talked to friends whom I trusted; I talked to my therapist. It was almost unanimous; let go of the need for revenge. Find a way to give Gwen's life and her death a meaningful turn. Gwen's parents were the most adamant; especially when I discussed Jacob Mellon's offer for a scholarship in Gwen's name.

Gwen's mother kissed me on the cheek with tears in her eyes. "Harold; you know in your heart that if you asked Gwen; she wouldn't want revenge; she'd want something good to come out of this tragedy."

I met with the Assistant DA and we came up with a plan. Katherine would plead guilty; she'd receive a suspended sentence, but if she was ever pulled over for inattentive driving again, she'd serve out her term. She would perform thousands of hours in community service; not just at the hospital, but also giving talks to students on the dangers of texting and driving. She would have to give these talks and show the photos of Gwen and our daughter. She would be required to tell how she was responsible for snuffing out the lives of two innocents and causing the heartache of their loved ones.

You read about someone whose love turns to hate after a traumatic event such as infidelity; but I never considered the other side of that same coin; how someone could learn to love a person they initially hated. Now I know it can happen because after spending time with Katherine, my hatred for the young lady was melting away; I was learning to love her - no, not in a romantic way, but in the way an uncle loves a niece. By the time Katherine's hearing began, I was on board with the recommendation to suspend any prison term.

I don't know who exactly came up with the idea; I think it was some do-gooder working in the Sheriff's Office; but someone thought it might have more impact if I appeared with Katherine at her talks on the dangers of inattentive driving. I had my doubts; but was convinced that even if these sessions saved one life, I'd have done my civic duty. The sessions reminded me of the old TV series, "Scared Straight" in which hard case inmates would tell a group of teenagers just how awful their lives would become if they ended up in jail. Whomever designed Katherine's sessions did a fairly good job of it. Dry statistics were mixed in with real life tales of the carnage caused by texting while driving. The impact of each session would be increased because Katherine and I would be the presenters.

We did a session roughly every two weeks; at schools, churches, civic groups and scout meetings. For me; it was another way I might turn my personal tragedy inside-out. It was probably the tenth session when it hit me; I was watching Katherine give her part of that evening's presentation to a group of boy scouts when I realized - it was almost as if Katherine was getting some kind of endorphin rush from presenting her story of guilt and shame.

I spent an hour with my counselor two days later, discussing what I saw and felt. He agreed; there was every possibility that the sessions were becoming cathartic for Katherine. It wasn't that she didn't feel guilt or shame, it was she was using the sessions to deal with her inner turmoil. Whatever the reasons; I just couldn't be a part of the show and I quit the following week. Katherine and I lost touch with each other; she went to college, to become a hospice nurse, of all things.

Katherine sends a Christmas card every year; three years ago she wrote that she got married. This year she wrote that she's going to have a baby in March. She asked if she could name the baby 'Gwen' if it's a girl. I wrote back and told her I'd be happy if her child carried my wife's name. Somehow, it makes me feel better; knowing the young woman that took so much from me still cares and is trying to atone for that one, stupid mistake she made all those years ago.

**********************************

After I quit presenting these sessions with Katherine, my recovery took a setback; I started to drink. At least four or five evenings a week you could find my ass sitting on a bar stool at Donovan's, drinking bourbon or rye. That's where I met Hailey.

Hailey, the bartender, became my close friend and confidant. She became my friend for two very good reasons: Hailey always spent a few moments between serving other customers listening to my tales of loneliness and, more important, Hailey always gave me a heavy pour. Hailey's a beautiful woman; I could have done without the tattoos on her arms; but that's just me. Why fuck up a beautiful canvas with something you'll probably regret in ten or twenty years? She was a great listener; and not in that 'bartender looking for a big tip' kind of way. She listened as I told her about Gwen, her death and my job.

Hailey and I seemed to have a lot in common and I would have liked to ask her out on a date; but she had a boyfriend named Lonnie. Until one night when she started to tear up and told me she and Lonnie broke up because he kept cheating on her.

That's all I needed to hear; I waited a couple days, didn't want to appear like some vulture, and asked Hailey if we could have dinner together, "Somewhere away from this bar, just to talk."

Hailey looked at me with those big, beautiful green eyes, "Just talk? How disappointing."

Three nights later, I picked Hailey up at the bar after her midday shift. She asked if I would give her a few minutes to change out of her jeans and tank top before we went out. I sat and had a Jack Daniels waiting. Hailey came out of the manager's office and I nearly fell off my stool. Hailey wore a thin chemise for a top and a short skirt that barely covered her ass. Her long legs ended in a pair of four-inch heels that screamed 'come-fuck-me'. There were a few wolf whistles louder than the jukebox as Hailey walked to me, placed her arm around my waist and whispered in my ear, "Ready?"

I tried to think of some clever retort to her question while doing my best not to stare at those gorgeous nipples straining against that thin piece of silk and I was failing miserably at both missions. Hailey followed my eyes to their target and gave me a knowing smile. Without another word she pulled me off the stool and led me to the door; all while waving good-bye to the drunks and waitresses.

Dinner was fantastic; we just seemed to click on so many levels. As we sipped our last drinks, cognac for me, Bailey's for her; Hailey got right to the heart of the matter.

"Harry; I've liked you for a long time; but never did anything about it while I was with Lonny. But, Lonny is gone now and I can't think of one reason why we can't go to your place and spend the night fucking each other's brains out. Can you?"

Did I mention that while asking me this question, her bare foot found my cock under the table? Once again, I was at a loss for words; but at least this time I knew what to do. Without finishing my drink, I stood up (thank goodness I wasn't hard just yet) and pulled Hailey up by her upper arm. I kissed her on the lips, grabbed my credit card off the table and this time led Hailey out the door while calling an Uber with my other hand.

We were in my apartment within ten minutes and in bed, naked, less than three minutes after that. Our first fuck didn't require any foreplay; Hailey's pussy was soaked and my cock was hard as a rock. We kissed as I entered her, we kept on kissing as I pumped in and out, slow and fast, hard and easy; we kissed when Hailey had her first orgasm and we kissed as I came deep inside her. Who said missionary has to be boring?

Hailey sucked me hard; she seemed to enjoy the taste, relishing in our combined secretions; then with Hailey on her hands and knees, we fucked again. I squeezed her ass and separated her ass cheeks. Hailey urged me on, "Harder Harry, harder!" She came again and my cock turned a foamy white.

I must have seen it in a fuck film because I never spanked a woman before; certainly not Gwen; but the desire to spank Hailey overcame everything else and I gave Hailey a hard slap on her ass with the back of my hand. Hailey's response was to scream, "yes" and buck back harder. I slapped her again and her response was the same. The third time I slapped her harder than before; Hailey dropped her head into my pillow and screamed, "fuck yes" over and over after each slap. She came again when I pinched both cheeks at once, then collapsed on the bed. My cock popped out from the sudden drop.

I needed to cum; so I straddled Hailey's legs. I thought about fucking her ass; but decided against it; you never know how a woman is going to react to that and I needed relief. Instead, I was back in her pussy and pounding until my second load released. I rolled off her and lay on my back catching my breath. Hailey curled up in my arm.

"That was fantastic. Can we sleep for a while, then do it again?'

Who was I to disagree?

That was the first night in the life of Harry and Hailey. I worried we were both rebounding. It had been eighteen months since Gwen died; but I hadn't really dated in all that time. And Hailey had only been broken up with Lonnie a few weeks ago. Maybe we were moving too fast; but as I said, we just seemed to click on many levels and the sex was out of sight. We went out at least two nights a week and spent at least one day together every weekend beginning that night. I was dating a bartender; but drinking less. I didn't need to drink because the dark cloud I had been living under seemed to drift away. I cut back to a couple days a week at Donovan's.

Hailey moved in with me three months later when her apartment lease was up. We rarely argued and when we did, the make-up sex was fantastic. I think we each started fights at times just to make-up in bed. With my new outlook on life came an unexpected by-product; I received a promotion and substantial pay raise when my productivity increased. This was six months after Hailey moved in and I called her to tell her we had a reason to celebrate.

"See if you can take a four-day weekend off work next week. I want to take you out of town."

Friday morning, we flew first class (the first time for either of us) to Miami International. I had a suite at the Marriott, right on South Beach. We ate at some wonderful Cuban restaurant and danced until 2am at a nightclub. We slept in Saturday morning before getting brunch, then to the beach for the day.

Where do all these beautiful people come from? Hailey fit right in with the beautiful people on the beach and at the clubs. At first, I thought I made a mistake bringing Hailey to South Beach when an NBA star, who will remain unnamed, tried to pick her up Saturday night while we were dancing. Any doubts regarding my plan for this weekend were put to rest when Hailey shut him down with one sentence, "No, I'm here with my boyfriend!"

Sunday, another day on the beach; Hailey surprised me by wearing a new bikini. It was the first time I heard of 'Wicked Weasel'. It consisted of a tiny see-through top and a tiny thong bottom. Hailey's C-cup breasts were barely contained in the top and her beautiful ass cheeks glowed in the sunshine.

We had dinner that evening at a nice, quiet, upscale restaurant. When the waiter brought our after-dinner drinks; I decided it was time. Pulling the small box out of my dinner jacket, I got down on one knee and asked, "Hailey, will you marry me?"

Hailey looked at the two-carat diamond, then in my eyes, put both of her hands on my head while getting on her knees in front of me and answered, "Yes!"

Do you know those stories when the guy asks his lady to marry him in a restaurant and all the other diners clap or whatever? Well, fuck me; but I had to pick the one restaurant in the Western Hemisphere where every other diner has too many sticks shoved up their fucking assholes to even acknowledge what just happened. Worse than that - the damn maître-de came by and asked us to please refrain from such vulgar displays.

I paid the exorbitant bill and as we walked out of that over-priced shithole; I stopped, called out, "Hey, all you fucking asshole losers!" and mooned the entire dining room.

Neither of us stopped laughing all the way back to our hotel.

The small civil wedding in front of a judge took place four months later. For seven months, life was a whirlwind of pleasure. Then it wasn't.

Call me stupid, call me naïve, call me gullible, just don't call me a wimp. Little things in my relationship with Hailey started to change. Nothing I could point to at first and say - "Ah, that's it!" but there were the little things which - if I wasn't so busy with my new responsibilities at work - may have been more apparent.

Our sex life seemed to take a turn for the worse. Granted, married couples always make love more the first year of their relationship; but damn it, we were barely out of our first year. There were more unexplained hours every week when Hailey didn't seem to be answering her phone or where I thought she'd be. Lots of little things, lots of things a man in love with his wife will try to find any other reason except for the real reason. "Could my 'loving wife' be cheating on me?"

Any man who has experienced and considered such thoughts knows the feeling. "Please, anything but that!" After a month of suspicions, trying my best to ignore the signs, I broke down and hired a private investigator.

Maybe this is a good time to give my readers another small bit of information; something I haven't shared until this moment: When Gwen was killed in that crash, not only did she have a quarter-million in life insurance through her employer (Gwen was so concerned she would leave me with a child to raise alone that she had increased the policy); the policy paid double for accidental death. The Mellon's auto insurance company paid another half-million. All the money was sitting in a brokerage account - I never touched a penny of it. But I must have told Hailey, my friendly bartender, about the money at some point last year when I was drinking and sharing too much.

Which explains how, two weeks later when my PI came back with a preliminary report, I learned the definition of 'mercenary'.

"Mr. Collina; there's no easy way to tell you, but your wife is seeing a man by the name of Lonnie Douglas. I took the initiative to look into this Douglas character. He's been out of the state for the past year and a half; working down in the Gulf on an oil rig. He came back to town eight weeks ago. He lives down in a trailer park south of town. That's where they meet a few times a week. We have photos of her walking in and out of his trailer, but no way to get a photo of the two of them together - intimate like. Sorry."