1979 - You Must Be Kidding Page 2

  ‘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 appear
ance. 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.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything.’

  ‘It helps, doesn’t it?’

  In bed together, Betty sleeping, Ken lay awake. The brilliant moonlight made patterns on the wall. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get Karen’s provocative body out of his mind.

  It wasn’t until the sky turned pale, as dawn approached, that lie drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  * * *

  The school meeting was a flop.

  Ken realized this the moment he entered the hall and now there were only a few whites and blacks, sitting in the chairs that he, Karen and Henry Byrnes, the School Principal helped by the four young blacks who had distributed the prospectuses, had set up: enough seats to accommodate five hundred people.

  As he stood on the platform, surveying the people he made a rapid count: thirty-four!

  A flop of flops, he thought, but with a wide welcoming smile, he went into his carefully prepared sales talk. This time less than ten minutes, then he asked for questions.

  The questions came, and he answered them. There was a panic, then a white truck driver said it was a hot idea and he would sign. There was a flurry of voices, and by 16.30, twenty-eight of Ken’s audience had taken out insurance policies for the future of their kids. The remaining six said they wanted to think about it.

  The meeting closed at 16.45.

  When the last of the parents had gone, Byrnes came over to Ken.

  ‘I’m afraid, Mr. Brandon, you are disappointed,’ he said, ‘but I can assure you, you have a big success. I know these people. They don’t like meetings. That’s why there was such a poor turnout. For thirty-four of them to come here is an achievement. These thirty-four will be your salesmen. They are going to brag about what they have done for their kids. Here, in Secomb, people are all close neighbours. The word will go around. You wait . . . you are going to be busy.’

  Ken thanked Byrnes for his cooperation, shook hands and walked out into the hot sunshine with Karen at his side.

  ‘I hope he’s right,’ he said. ‘To me, that was a godawful flop.’

  ‘I think he’s smart,’ Karen said. ‘He could be right.’

  He regarded her. They both had agreed that they should present a better image for the meeting. She had on a simple green cotton dress. He wore a blue, lightweight jacket and grey slacks. He had only recently bought the jacket. It sported miniature golf balls as buttons which he thought made the jacket pretty sharp. As they stood in the hot sunshine, he thought Karen looked sensational.

  The past five days had passed quickly. Twice Alec Hyams, the Sales Director, had looked in. Ken was secretly amused to see that Hyams was most obsequious when speaking to Karen, asking her if she was happy with her typewriter and the air conditioning. Karen treated him as if he were of no importance, and pointedly went on with her typing.

  While waiting for Sunday, Ken had called on the various stores and shops up and down Seaview Road, introducing himself and talking fire and accident insurance. He didn’t expect to get any business as everyone was already covered with other insurance companies, but he wanted to make contact and friends. His reception was good. Several of the storeowners said it would be more convenient for them to take out policies with the Paradise when the present policies ran out, and would talk to him later.

  Ken saw little of Karen who was kept busy card indexing, typing letters and talking to the various people who drifted in, making inquiries. In one way, Ken was relieved not to be in such close contact with her, but always, at the back of his mind, especially at night, he kept thinking of her, sexually.

  The office closed Friday evening. He spent Saturday tending the garden, then he and Betty went to a movie in the evening and had dinner at a seafood restaurant. He kept wondering what Karen was doing. She had said she had to spend Saturday afternoon on her father’s yacht.

  ‘That’s a real drag. Pop’s friends are creeps. Maybe I can find an excuse. . .’

  He had seen Betty off on Sunday morning. She had again urged him to come to Fort Lauderdale as soon as he could, and he had said he would.

  Now, with the meeting over at 16.45, he realized with dismay, he could be at Fort Lauderdale within the hour.

  This meant he would be stuck with his dreary sister-in-law and brother-in-law until midnight!

  Karen said suddenly, ‘Are you a handyman around the house?’

  Surprised, he stared at her.

  ‘Why sure. Why the question?’

  ‘Just wondered. I guess you have a date right now. You couldn’t spare a couple of hours?’

  Ken’s heart began to thump.

  ‘I’m in no rush. I do have a date, but not until eight o’clock. Anything I can do?’

  ‘I’ve just moved into my beach cabin. There are shelves to fix. Are you any good at fixing shelves?’

  ‘The best shelf fixer in the business. Beach cabin? Do you have a beach cabin?’

  ‘Strictly for weekends. I was there last night after I got rid of Pop and his creeps. It’s nice, but the shelves need fixing.’

  They looked at each other. Ken hesitated. A red light began to flash in his mind. He thought of Betty. He told himself to make some excuse and drive over to the gruesome party, but no excuse came to mind. Karen, looking at him, a provocative smile on her full lips, was blatantly offering herself.

  ‘Maybe you want to go home,’ she said. ‘Some other time, huh?’

  The red light snapped off and the green light came on.

  ‘I’ll be glad to help out,’ he said, aware his voice was husky. ‘How about tools? Maybe I had better go home and . . .’

  ‘I have everything,’ she said. ‘No problem. Let’s go.’

  They got in his car.

  ‘It’s a godawful drag,’ she said, as she settled herself beside him. ‘Last week, I got caught speeding for the third time, and the fuzz have taken my licence away for a month. Last night, I had to take a taxi to the cabin.’

  ‘The cops here are sharp,’ Ken said, as he set the car in motion. ‘Where do we go?’

  ‘Paddler’s Creek. Know it?’

  Ken registered surprise.

  ‘That’s the hippy colony.’

  ‘Right. My cabin is about half a mile from them. When I get bored, I visit them. They visit me.’ She laughed. ‘I dig them.’

  ‘That’s a pretty tough quarter.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  Ken stopped at the end of the lane and waited for a break in the Sunday traffic to move onto the highway. He kept telling himself he shouldn’t be doing this. He should be heading for Fort Lauderdale, but when the break came, he turned left, away from Fort Lauderdale, and drove along the busy highway.

  Very aware of Karen as she sat by his side, he found nothing to say. His heart was thumping, and his hands on the steering wheel were moist.

  Karen seemed content to relax, humming under her breath, one long leg crossed over the other.

&
nbsp; After a mile or so, she said, ‘Take the next turning on the left.’

  Ken slowed, signalled, and then, as other cars whizzed by him, he turned onto a narrow sandy road that led down to the sea. Ahead of him, he saw a thicket of Cypress and Mango trees.

  ‘Park here,’ Karen said. ‘We walk the rest of the way. It’s not far.’

  He parked in the shade of the trees, and they both got out. The evening sun was still hot. As he locked the car, Karen walked into the thicket, following a narrow, sandy path. He stood for a moment, watching the swing of her well-rounded, provocative hips. Her walk really turned him on.

  In the far distance, he could hear faint shouts, the sound of guitars and the thump of drums. The hippy colony was expressing itself. This part of the sandy beach was deserted. The citizens of Paradise City kept clear of Paddler’s Creek. Following Karen for a longish walk through dense thickets and flowering shrubs, watching the movement of her body, his heart now slamming against his ribs, Ken threw all caution to the winds. He knew he was going to be unfaithful to Betty. As he walked after Karen, he tried to assure his conscience that most men were unfaithful to their wives. He told himself he loved Betty, and no other woman could replace her, but this girl, walking ahead of him, had set him on fire. Betty would never know.

  They came out of the thicket into a clearing. Ahead of them was a small pine wood cabin with a veranda.

  ‘Here it is,’ Karen said. ‘All mine!’

  He followed her up three steps and onto the veranda.

  Taking a key from her bag, she unlocked the door. Together, they moved into one big room, and she closed the door.

  The air conditioner was on. The sunblinds were down and the room was dim and pleasantly cool.

  He stood by her side, looking around.

  Simply and comfortably furnished with a big settee and three lounging chairs, a T.V. set, a cocktail cabinet, an oval table with four upright chairs, and in the far corner, a king’s sized divan, the room presented itself as a relaxing love nest.

  His voice unsteady, Ken said, ‘Nice . . . well, to work. Where do you want your shelves?’