The Sales Man

"He's building the house on spec? He doesn't know if you're going to accept his proposal?"

"I think he knows; but in any case, it gives him something to do. He hates golf and his knees won't hold up to tennis. He reads books; but can only sit still for a few hours at a time. It doesn't matter anyway; I'm going to say 'yes'. I love the guy."

I related some stories growing up in Chicago; but stayed away from anything related to my two marriages; trying to keep the conversation light.

After dinner, Ronny asked me to play catch with his Andrew Luck signature youth football. We went into the backyard and tossed the ball back and forth while discussing his favorite movies and TV shows; none of which I knew. I did my best to appear interested. After a half-hour, I figured it was time to go. I thanked everyone for a great meal and headed off to my motel. It took me a couple of hours to fall asleep, staring at the TV and then the ceiling. Something was happening to me; I was thinking of Marian less as a conquest and more as a woman I'd like to get to know.

At one the following afternoon, I was back at Marian's desk. She greeted me with a smile. We sat down and went over the answers I received from the head office to yesterday's questions. Then I gave her an estimate of how much the system would cost. I'd submit a formal proposal within a week.

"Harry; I have to ask. How is it the Biblia-tekna system is so much less than the other proposals I've received from your competitors? Even the high end of the estimate you just quoted is fifty-thousand less than the next lowest bid. I can't afford to make a mistake here. The library Board of Trustees already think I'm over my head. If I don't recommend the right system, I'll be out of a job and I need this job."

I must be out of my head because the next words out of my mouth couldn't come from a sane man. "Then don't accept our proposal. You might get three good years out of our hardware; four or five, if you're lucky. After a few years you'll notice more failures and you'll get lousy customer support from our call center in India."

"What about the difference in price? My Board will wonder why I didn't pick the lowest cost supplier."

"I'll raise the price; that way you won't need to justify choosing another vendor."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm tired of selling crap, tired of selling my soul. I let the bad things that happened to me turn me into someone I can't recognize. You obviously didn't allow your husband's death to turn your soul inside-out. I'm quitting this job, right after I write your proposal; you'll get our bid tomorrow and it won't be any less than what you already have received from the others."

I stood up, suddenly needing to leave her office. "Thanks for dinner last night and thanks for sharing your table. Thank your mother-in-law, too. Tell her I wish her all the best when she marries that guy in Tampa. Give your son a hug; he's going to be a fine young man."

As I left her office, she called out, "Bye, Harry. Good luck."

I gave Biblia-tekna my notice of resignation. They weren't pleased since I was one of their two top salesmen. They only lasted another two years anyways; equipment was failing and another, well-established company selling a superior library system sued them for having a similar name and infringing on some patents. It ended in Biblia-tekna going bankrupt and shutting its doors.

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

I went home and looked at my shitty apartment. It wasn't a bad place to live while I was on the road over half the time, but it would sure suck to live here full time. I thought about what I should do to make a living; I didn't need to hurry with over a million bucks in my accounts. I thought about where I should live. I considered putting a world map on the wall and tossing a dart at the map. Luckily, I didn't have any darts.

I sat in my one decent piece of furniture; the leather recliner Gwen gave me on our fifth anniversary. I thought back to how she used to snuggle in my lap in this chair as we talked about the future; our dreams and our fantasies. We once played the wishing game; what would you be if you could be anything in the world? Gwen's wish was to be a mother. My wish was to be a professional baseball player, preferably the second baseman for the Chicago Cubs.

Gwen reprimanded me, "No, silly - it has to be something realistic."

"What? You're saying I'm not good enough to play for the Cubs?"

"I'm saying I've watched enough of your softball games to know you'll never turn the double-play if one of those guys comes sliding in high."

Well, she was right about that; so, no use arguing the point. Now I had to come up with a different fantasy occupation; my second choice was Indy racecar driver. But our conversation that evening reminded me of another dream I had - if I had the money and the know-how.

"I would love to restore vintage automobiles or be a tech on a racing crew."

Gwen was surprised, "Really, cars? I never knew you had an interest. How could I not know that about you?"

"Probably because I left that dream behind after my third year in college. Throughout high school and for the first two years at college, I worked part-time in a garage. Doing simple stuff; changing oil, tune-ups, simple repairs. Then, after my junior year, when I got an internship at Merrill Lynch, I turned into the broker-wienie, 'Mr. Suit and Tie' that you met and married. My grease-monkey days got left behind."

Gwen laughed, "This explains why you get that dreamy look in your eyes whenever one of those Italian sports cars ride by. If it was a woman, I'd be pissed and jealous at the way you stare. So, how come we don't have a fancier car?"

I had to think about this before I could answer Gwen. "Probably because if I can't own one of those, I don't care to own what's in second place. So, I just as soon own the Toyota sedan that's sitting out in the garage. Does that make sense? Besides, if we're going to have kids, a two-seater won't cut it."

Gwen gave me a hug. "Thanks Harry; I love you." Gwen didn't have to say it; we were going to make her fantasy career come true, she would be pregnant before the end of the year.

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

Roughly four years after that conversation, I'm sitting in that same chair; thinking back to that wonderful evening. It took every ounce of will-power I had; I wanted to get up and grab the bottle of Jim Beam sitting in the cupboard. Instead, I thought - why not? I have the money, the time, no obligations. Best of all; I still have the desire. So - why not?

And, as it turned out, I have the aptitude. I enrolled at a technical school near Atlanta. All my worldly possessions, including my leather recliner, went into storage outside Chicago. I stayed in a furnished, one-room apartment for the eighteen months while I was in school.

Then I ended up in Phoenix, eight months working as an apprentice with an outfit that restored high-end cars (old Ferraris, Lotus, Lamborghinis) mostly for all the newly minted millionaires working for high tech companies in Silicon Valley. I had to laugh at some of these guys. Many had never driven a manual transmission with a clutch and here they were pulling out of our shop driving quarter-million-dollar vehicles capable of a couple-hundred MPH. We made a bundle offering the option to give lessons on driving a stick-shift.

During the last month of my apprenticeship, a wealthy gentleman, the CEO of a steel company that just happens to sponsor an Indy car, came into the shop with his twenty-five-year-old bride. They recently purchased a red 1997 Ferrari F355 Spider "she just had to have". The trouble was, the damn thing wouldn't run right and neither of the first two mechanics they contacted had a clue why. His own racing team's mechanics couldn't take the time because it was in the middle of the race season (besides the fact that their Indy car is a 'new school' computer driven Honda). Someone suggested they bring it to Phoenix. The car was on a trailer towed behind their Escalade.

Carlos, who would typically diagnose this model, was visiting his parents in Palm Springs. Damian, who backed up Carlos, was in the hospital with his wife after her water broke two weeks early. It fell upon the lowly apprentice to check the car in, take the pertinent information and inform the owners that it would be at least a week before either Carlos or Damian would be back to look it over. Mr. and Mrs. Steel CEO left after I unhitched the trailer, both looking quite peeved at the turn of events. Their plan was to spend a few days at Saddleback while we diagnosed and fixed the problem, then get back on the road to their vacation home in Sedona. These were people accustomed to hearing the response, "How high?" when they said, "Jump!"

I offloaded the Ferrari from the trailer, got it in an open bay, and just for kicks, decided to stay and look it over after everyone else left for the night. This was old school stuff; working with gauges and meters, no plugging into a computer and running a diagnostic program.

After a few hours, I was certain I found the issue, but only because I had Carlos' notes on a similar issue with a car he restored eight years prior. I made the adjustments following Carlos' notes; by now it was past midnight, but it seemed like a perfect time to take a test drive.

I spent the five miles getting to I-10 warming it up, then took the west bound ramp. Ten miles west of the city, I opened it up, but kept it under ninety. At exit 69 I turned around, drove east to exit 81, keeping my eyes open. At exit 81 I turned around once more and went west again. This time I let the Ferrari loose, slowing down to ninety only the three times I passed drivers heading in the same direction; no need to give anyone a heart attack. I made the twelve miles between exits in just under five minutes. Back in the shop, I texted the owner, "Your Ferrari is ready to pick up."

My boss was a little bit pissed and a little bit pleased the next morning when I filled him in. He almost smiled when he said, "Fucking showboat." He did smile when he wrote up the invoice for twelve-hundred-seventy-five dollars. He was ready to send me home just as the owners pulled in. When Mr. CEO found out I was an apprentice (although a thirty-four-year old apprentice) who would be looking for a permanent position within a month, he gave me his card with his head mechanic's name on it and told me to call him. Nothing came of that first call; but the next year I received a call when they needed a temp to fill in for another mechanic.

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

I was working in the pits two days before the big race at the Brickyard. Our car had finished its practice laps an hour earlier and we (the crew) were completing a few tweaks our driver recommended. As I got up to stretch my muscles, I heard someone call my name.

"Harry Collina!"

I turned to the sound and saw her beautiful face. Standing beside her was Audrey and beside Audrey, a seventy-year-old mountain of a man.

"Marian, what a surprise! Audrey, you're looking beautiful, as always." I held up my greasy hands to signal why I wasn't offering to shake hands or hug.

Audrey smiled at my compliment, "Harry, this is my husband, Daniel Morrison. Daniel, Harry used to sell library computer systems and now it seems he works on race cars. Quite a transition, Harry. I'd love to hear how that came about."

"I could buy you dinner tonight and tell you. I still owe you for the delicious pasta and gravy meal we shared with Ronny." I looked at Marian. "How is your son doing? He must be eight by now."

Marian's smile only grew brighter. "What a memory you have! Donny just turned eight last month. He's at home with my parents; they came up from Tucson so I could go to the races with Mom and Daniel. It's my first time at Indy."

Audrey filled in the blanks. "Daniel comes at least every other year and does the whole shebang. His old boss has a Suite and still invites Daniel. That's how we got these pit passes. We decided Marian should do it up right with the entire experience. What luck to run into you."

"I have to finish up here. Will you join me for dinner? It will have to be a little late; I'll be working until six, then it takes at least an hour to get clean and deodorized. Where are you staying?"

Daniel got a word in edgewise. "The Hyatt Regency. We can eat in their dining room, if that's all right we'll make reservations for eight." We made the final arrangements before they left to get some autographs and souvenirs; I went back to work.

Dinner that evening reminded me why I enjoyed sitting down for a meal with this family. Daniel seemed to take the place of Ronny as a lubricant for conversation. He told some great tales and kept the three of us laughing. I learned a little bit more about Marian's early years. Told them how I came to find myself on the pit crew for one of the Indy teams. Had to confess that I was a substitute for one of the crew whose father had taken seriously ill and that I'd be looking for another job before the end of June, if not sooner. Confessed I had some money saved up and wouldn't mind opening my own shop someday. It was just a matter of finding the right place to settle down.

"No finer place than Florida." was Daniel's opinion. The guy really loved the Sunshine State.

We finished dinner and I needed to get back to get some sleep. Tomorrow was the race and it wouldn't do if I wasn't well rested. We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers before I grabbed a cab back to my hotel.

Racing is an interesting pursuit; I wonder why so many companies and individuals get involved by owning a car and competing at the championship level. There are thousands of components to each car, a good majority of these components can fail; and when there's a failure, the car doesn't finish the race. Then there are the drivers; you can have a great driver who may make a single mistake during the 200 laps which will change the outcome from a podium to a crash. Then, of course, there are the thirty-two other cars and drivers all vying to keep your car and driver off the podium. The worse-case scenario is when another driver does something stupid or irresponsible and ends your race by crashing into your car.

That Sunday afternoon everything went our way. The car performed beautifully, our driver kept his cool and drove wonderfully; it was magic. We came in second, our first podium that season. Only one black cloud interrupted my feeling of euphoria. The guy I was substituting for came back Monday morning; ready to get back on the team. I got my last paycheck, a decent bonus and a pat on the back. I probably would have missed the race; the guy tried to get back Saturday, but all the flights into Indianapolis were booked solid until that Monday morning.

I did get a nice email from Marian; congratulating me on our second-place finish and hoping we had another chance to get together again. It was signed, "Your friend, Marian" which meant a lot to me. I stopped by the Hyatt Monday after finishing up at the track; but she had checked out.

I considered traveling to Polk; but thought I was being stupid. I was now an unemployed mechanic with nothing but a feeling that maybe Marian and I connected on some level. She is beautiful, charming, smart and has an aura about her that made me want to know her better; but for some reason I just couldn't take the chance again. What if she doesn't think of me as anything other than a friend? Could I stand the heartbreak a third time?

I decided, what the hell, and headed down to Florida instead. Spent a long weekend with Audrey and Daniel; Daniel took me out on his boat and we spent a great day fishing, drinking and sharing life stories. I headed down to the Keys and up to Miami where I found a great job.

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

I was working for a high-end dealer of used luxury automobiles down in Miami. The Phoenix garage gave me an excellent reference and this dealer hired me on the spot. All these nouveau-riche professional athletes and pop stars hung out with the other beautiful people on South Beach and they all needed an expensive automobile to pull up to the nightclubs and restaurants on Ocean Drive. We sold them used hundred-thousand dollar cars, I made certain the cars performed.

I'd been working there for three months when I received an email from Marian. There were two attachments; one was a screen-print of an ad from Polk's weekly newspaper:

FOR SALE

Turnkey business: Auto & Service Station. Includes building and all equipment for servicing older model and current models, foreign and domestic. Owner/operator retiring. One current mechanic plus one receptionist, both anxious to stay with business. Price negotiable. Excellent business opportunity, solid customer base in mid-size town. Serious inquiries only. Contact Jason Martin, Atty/Broker at 555-555-5555.

The text of the email read:

Dear Harry

I've written and rewritten the letter below because I don't know how you feel about me. We've only had two evenings together and never alone; those and the two meetings in my office. But, every time I look at you, I see you looking back at me and I think it's a look of something more than just lust.

I never told you how much I appreciate what you did for me. By refusing to sell what you called, 'a crap system', you probably saved my job. I know you lost a commission by doing it. I also know you contacted Rose and helped her renegotiate the terms of her contract (don't worry, Rose shared that info with me only, she didn't tell anyone else it was you 'behind the curtain'). She used the money to upgrade the servers and some of the monitors.

Thank you from both of us.

I'm a thirty-four-year-old mother with an eight-year-old son. I'm not looking for a man to support me because I have a good job and my own home. I probably want to have another child, maybe two. I like living in Polk and I think you'd like it here, too. I remembered you saying you would like to own your own auto shop; don't know if you can afford the shop here in town; but I thought you should know it's for sale. I have a friend at the local bank; maybe I can put in a good word for you and she can help secure a loan.

Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself here (OK - maybe more than a little); but let me just come right out with it. I would like you to move here and give us a chance to get to know one another. I already know you are a wonderful man; you are kind and honest. I think we can be friends and I hope we can become lovers.

There, I said it. I want you to move here, fall in love with me and be my husband.

You may think this is extremely naïve of me, practically proposing to a man who I've only been with a few times; but I have to confess to the fact that Audrey and Daniel shared much of what they learned about you when you stayed with them last summer. I know about Gwen and Hailey (and why your heart turned cold for those years you call your 'angry' years) and why you're still single at thirty-six. I know you want to settle down some day and have children, but only with the right woman. They shared all that and they encouraged me to write you this letter.

Of course, you'll have to share me with Ronny and you'd have to love Ronny like a son; but you already know that.

So, let me know if there is anything else you need to know to convince you to at least give us a try. This is the most insane thing I've ever done in my life; but isn't being in love some kind of insanity?

All my love,

Marian

The second attachment to the email was a photo of Marian and Ronny, standing on their front porch, both of them smiling at the camera.

I called Jason Martin, the broker handling the sale of the repair shop. I asked him to overnight the prospective and all the recent tax filings and at the same time made plans to come up the following weekend to review the business and property. The asking price was well within my means; I'd still have most of my funds for any subsequent expenditures. I called Marian and told her I would be in town and asked if we could have a real date; just the two of us, while I was in town. I didn't tell her I was in town to look at the shop; no need to build up expectations.