1979 - You Must Be Kidding (2 page)

Ken drew in a long, slow breath.

‘Mr. Sternwood must favour you, Miss Sternwood.’

She laughed.

‘Oh yes, I’ve handled him since I began to walk. He’s all wind and piss.’ She got to her feet. ‘Call me Karen.’

He was aware she was studying him, and her searching made him feel uncomfortable.

‘You’re not expecting to get business in Secomb dressed like that, are you?’ she said.

Ken gaped at her, then looked down at himself. He was wearing a lightweight charcoal coloured suit, a conservative tie, a white shirt and highly polished shoes. When he had dressed that morning, he had surveyed himself in the long mirror in his bathroom and had decided he looked every inch the up-and-coming assurance executive.

‘Like this?’ he said blankly.

‘You knock on a nigger’s door, looking the way you do now, and he won’t even open the door. Dress as I do. Look, suppose you go home and change into something casual? This is only a suggestion. You’re the boss, but you won’t get business in this godawful dump looking like my Pop. Okay?’

Ken stared at her, thought, then realized she was talking sense. The lush-plush world of Paradise City was now behind him. He had to adapt himself to these new conditions.

‘You’ve got something. I’ll be back in an hour,’ and he left and drove home.

On the way, his mind was occupied with this girl. What a girl! The way she had talked to her father! Her looks and her body! Then he said, half aloud, ‘Watch it, Brandon! You are married to the nicest and best woman in the world! You’ve been married for four years, and you have never looked at another woman. Okay, Sternwood’s daughter is sensational, so now’s the time to really watch it!’ Betty had already gone to work when he returned to their bungalow. He went to the bedroom, dug out a pair of faded jeans, a sweatshirt and loafers from his closet and changed. It was his outfit when gardening. He regarded himself in the long mirror. More the Secomb image, he told himself, but his sleek haircut was a giveaway. He ruffled his hair. That was the best he could do.

Getting into his car, he thought: ‘This girl’s smart! I should have thought of my image. Well, okay, I’ve - she’s - fixed it. Now to work.’

He didn’t return to the office, but parked his car on Trueman Street. On either side of this depressing street were broken down cabins, housing the black workers. He went from door to door, talking to black women about their children’s future, and he got a surprise. Most of the women, after regarding him suspiciously, invited him in and listened. He realized as he talked that Sternwood had an idea: a great idea. The women showed immediate interest. Their kids meant more to them than anything else in the world.

‘You come back tonight, mister. I’ll talk to my husband.’

Three women, obviously ruling the roost, signed up, and each gave him ten dollars to clinch the deal.

By lunchtime, he had three sales and ten possible sales.

Feeling elated, he drove to the office, and as he entered a cool blast of air greeted him.

Karen was typing on an I.B.M. Executive and she paused to grin at him.

‘I’ve got two sales,’ she said. ‘They just walked in. How did you make out?’

‘Three and ten possibles. So you’ve got your typewriter and we’ve got air conditioning. You are a miracle worker!’

‘Pop’s the miracle worker if you know, as I do, how to handle him.’

As he handed her the three contracts, he regarded her, again feeling a sex urge run through him. This hadn’t happened to him when looking at other women since he had married Betty, and it disturbed him.

‘Your father is smart,’ he said. ‘He has a great idea.’

‘Oh, he’s smart all right.’ She studied the contracts, then laid them on her desk. ‘I’m starving. How about you?’

‘I’ll stick around. I don’t think we should close the office lunchtime. Someone might want to do business. Could I ask you to bring me a hot dog or something?’

‘Sure. I won’t be long,’ and she walked over to the counter, lifted the flap and crossed to the entrance door.

Ken watched her. There was this sensual movement of her hips, outlined by her tight jeans that turned him on.

When she had gone, the office seemed utterly empty.

Leaving his office door open, he sat at his desk. He stared into space for a few moments, then called Betty at Dr. Heintz’s clinic.

‘Can you talk?’ he asked when she came on the line.

‘Make it fast, honey,’ Betty said briskly. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Looks good, but there’s the usual snag. I’ve ten prospects lined up for this evening. The trouble is the men are working and the wives can’t sign. I’m going to be late. Don’t expect me before ten.’

‘I’ll have some cold cuts for you.’ Betty was always practical about food. ‘But it looks good?’

‘Sure. Fine with you?’

‘The usual.’ A pause, then she asked, ‘How about Sternwood’s daughter?’

Ken was expecting her to ask that.

‘Seems okay.’ He made his voice casual. ‘Early days. I’ll give you details when I get home.’

‘Is she out of a freak show?’

Ken breathed heavily.

‘Well, no. I had a surprise, but she is a real toughie like her father. She’s definitely not my type.’

Immediately he had said this, he cursed himself. After living with Betty for four years, knowing how shrewd and perceptive she was, he realized he couldn’t have said anything more stupid.

‘Oh? This is news to me, Ken.’ Betty’s voice turned frosty. ‘I didn’t know you had a type.’

‘You are my type,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I just meant. . .’

What the hell had he meant?

‘I must go. See you sometime tonight,’ and she hung up.

Ken blew out his cheeks, then stared into space. His thoughts turned to Karen Sternwood. He now wished he hadn’t taken this promotion. At headquarters, his secretary, who Betty knew and liked, was fat, middle aged and smart. He wished he had had the guts to have told Sternwood he would either remain as head salesman, working the rich, or he would quit. But how was he to know he was to be landed with a sexy piece like Karen? He knew instinctively that she was one of so many girls who had no scruples, sex-wise. If she got the urge to be screwed, she got screwed. He thought uneasily that she and he would now be in constant close contact: just the two of them, often alone in the office.

He ran a sweating hand through his hair.

It takes two, he told himself. Watch it, Brandon! Watch it!

Then forcing his mind away from Karen, he began to work on this idea that had dropped into his mind.

Ken returned home at 22.45, hot, thirsty, hungry, but triumphant. Out of ten prospects he had visited, he had landed eight sales, and the other prospects were eager enough, but wanted time to think. This meant that he had made $195 commission on his first day as branch manager, and he hadn’t, as yet, scratched the surface. Yes, he thought, as he drove into his garage, Sternwood was smart.

While Karen had been lunching, he had drafted a prospectus, setting out in simple terms, what the Paradise Assurance Corporation could do for the young. Over the telephone, he had discussed his draft with the Sales Director at head office who had given him the green light. He had then hurriedly eaten the two hot dogs Karen had brought back with her, then telling her he would be out all the afternoon, he drove to the local school. He had talked to the Principal, a lean, youngish black who had welcomed his suggestions.

‘This may be shooting at the moon,’ Ken said, ‘but it could jell. If it does, I couldn’t cope at my office. Here’s what I suggest: would you be willing to let me use the school hall one evening so I can talk to the kid’s parents? Could I say I have your cooperation?’

The Principal didn’t hesitate.

‘Yes, Mr. Brandon. I’ll gladly cooperate, but may I make a suggestion? If you want a reasonable turn out of parents, I assure you, knowing them as I do, an evening meeting would be disappointing. The fathers have been at work all day, and they won’t be willing to go out again once they are home. The best time for a meeting would be Sunday afternoon at four o’clock. They will have had their Sunday dinner, rested and would then come.’

Ken grimaced. That would mean giving up his own Sunday, but he realized the Principal was talking sense.

‘Okay. I’ll make it Sunday afternoon.’

After more talk, the Principal gave him the names and addresses of four teenage blacks who he was sure, for a few dollars, would distribute the prospectus from house-to-house in the evenings, and could be relied on.

Ken then called on the local printers. They promised to have three thousand copies of the prospectus ready by Wednesday afternoon.

Satisfied, he had returned to the office. Sitting on Karen’s desk, he had told her what he had done.

‘How are you fixed for Sunday? I must have your help,’ he concluded. ‘Don’t tell me you have a date.’

‘I had, but it doesn’t matter. I think this is a marvellous idea. Pop will cheer.’ She smiled at him, and he was aware of the thrust of her breasts. ‘Anything else I can do? I do have a heavy date for tonight.’

‘Thanks a lot. This could jell, and I couldn’t handle it without you,’ Ken said. ‘You get off. I’ll be calling on these people. We’ve made a good beginning. See you tomorrow.’

He watched her leave, and the slow roll of her hips as she crossed to the door again turned him on. Again the office seemed utterly empty when she had gone.

Now, back home, he walked into his living room. Betty was watching television, but snapped it off as he came in.

She began to smile, then her smile froze.

‘Ken! You haven’t been working, dressed like that?’

‘This is the new scene,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Any beer? I’m starving!’

‘It’s all ready.’ She waved to the laid table. ‘I’ll get beer.’

He sat down and began to eat slices of beef and a mixed salad. Betty returned and placed a glass of beer on the table. She sat opposite him.

‘Tell me.’

While he ate, he gave her the details of his day. He didn’t mention Karen, nor did he tell her he would be working on Sunday for that day was strictly reserved when they were always together. He decided he would keep that news to end his recital.

‘I’ve made one hundred and ninety five dollars already in commission. How’s that?’

‘Marvellous! I knew you would be a success, darling.’ Betty paused, then went on, ‘But why this gear you’re wearing?’

‘When I got to the office—and what a dump!—I realized I was dressed all wrong,’ Ken said, helping himself to more salad. ‘Then Karen arrived, dressed any old way. So I came back and changed.’

‘Karen?’

‘The Sternwood girl.’ Ken pushed back his chair. ‘That was just what I needed. Suppose we go to bed? It’s getting late, and we’ve both got a hard day tomorrow.’

‘Tell me about her.’ Betty made no move to get up.

‘I told you. She’s like her father: tough and smart.’

‘What does she look like?’

‘Elaborately casual,’ he said, ‘The usual modern type you see on the streets. The usual uniform: skin tight jeans, T-shirt, dirty hair, but she’s smart all right.’

He regarded his immaculately groomed wife: her hair, glossy, her make-up, even at this late hour, perfect, her simple blue dress more than pleasing, and he thought of Karen in her with-it gear, throwing sex off like a laser beam.

‘Pretty?’

‘She’ll pass in a crowd.’ Now came the crunch. ‘There is something I forgot to tell you, honey. This school meeting has to be at four o’clock this Sunday.’

Betty stared at him, her eyes wide.

‘This Sunday! Ken! What are you thinking about? It’s Mary’s wedding anniversary!’

At the back of his mind, Ken had known that something had been arranged for Sunday, but he had been so carried away with his idea of talking to a room full of potential prospects, he had dismissed whatever had been arranged for something that could be postponed.

He looked at Betty in dismay.

‘I had completely forgotten! I’m sorry, but there was no way to get the school hall except this Sunday.’

‘But you can’t do this to Mary!’

Mary was Betty’s sister: a bossy, self-opinionated elder sister who Ken thoroughly disliked. Her husband, a corporation lawyer, was in Ken’s opinion, the biggest bore he had ever met. They had a large, imposing house in Fort Lauderdale. He remembered now they were to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. He remembered Betty and he had been invited to a barbeque lunch, then a big dinner with a firework display.

‘The prospectus is being printed, honey. I’m terribly sorry.’

Betty made a gesture of despair.

‘Oh, Ken!’

‘I just can’t cancel, honey. Sunday is the only day. I’m terribly sorry.’

‘When will you be through?’

‘Well, the meeting begins at four o’clock. It depends on the turn out. I should be through by seven.’

Betty brightened.

‘Then you could come for the fireworks.’

Ken thought of listening to Mary’s dreary yak and Jack’s pomposity. Their friends were all drags, but he nodded.

‘Sure. You’ll go?’

‘Go? Of course. The party won’t be over until midnight. You just must put in an appearance. Mary and Jack would be so hurt.’

Ken restrained a sigh.

‘Just as soon as this meeting is over, I’ll be on my way.’

She relaxed.

‘I’ll tell Mary and Jack why you have been kept. They’ll be impressed that you are in charge.’ She got up and began to clear the dishes. As Ken helped her, she went on, ‘Will you be working from now on, so late?’

‘I hope not. The trouble is, as I told you, the guy who has to sign is at work, but this meeting could fix it. If it is a success, then I don’t see why I should have to work late. We’ll have to see.’

They went into the kitchen and cleared up.

‘I suppose it’s worth it,’ Betty said suddenly.

‘What’s worth what?’

‘If you will have to work so late, Ken, I’m not going to see much of you.’

He put his arm around her and gave her a little hug.

‘Oh, come on, honey. Could be I won’t have to work late hours. This is my big chance, and it’s started well. I’ve already made a hundred and ninety five dollars.’