by Randy Reynolds
The furniture man was idling at the credit desk in the middle of his store. Sherry, the radio station sales representative, said, “Hey, Mr. Bruce. Sorry I’m late.”
“Not the words a man ever wants to hear,” said Bruce, leering.
The woman at the credit desk giggled.
Sherry frowned, determined not to give him the satisfaction of acting like she’d caught his meaning. “What did I say?”
“Never mind. Just wait for me in my office.”
“Let’s just run the same thing as last month, Mr. Bruce.”
“Wait for me. I’ve got something to discuss with you.”
She knew what he wanted to discuss; same as always—anything that made her blush.
“I don’t have time today," she said. "Can we just take the details from your newspaper ad and write a commercial from that?”
“My office,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something here.”
She went into his private office and settled into the chair farthest from the door, the best place to avoid having him caress her hair or shoulder when he walked by.
She watched Bruce stroll to the doorway with his armed draped over a guy wearing a work shirt with a name-tag on it.
“Take ‘em the six inch foundation on this one.”
“But they bought the nine inch …”
“Don’t argue. Just do it.”
Bruce stepped into the small office, closed the door and pulled the shade.
“Can’t we just run what’s in your newspaper ad?” she asked.
He smoothed his blonde mustache with a thumb and forefinger, slid onto the desktop, as close to her as possible and allowed his foot to touch her leg. She repositioned herself to break contact.
“How bad do you need a sale today, Sherry?”
“Not bad enough for what you have in mind, Mr. Bruce.”
“How do you know what I have in mind?”
“It’s the same thing you always have in mind,” she said. “And the answer’s the same as always.”
“You and I could make beautiful music together,” he said.
“Oh, God, Mr. Bruce, is that the best line you’ve got?”
He chuckled. “I’ve got a few more. How about I spend my whole ad budget with you? How grateful would you be?”
“Not as grateful as you might like,” she said. “Now, come on, I’m in a hurry. I don’t have half an hour to spar with you today…”
“Why don’t I lock this door and you sit up here on this desk?”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the door swung open and a middle-aged woman with big hair poked her head in and said, “Are you gonna be long, honey?”
He snapped to attention and said, “Johnette, this is Sherry, from the radio station.”
“Hi, Sherry,” said the woman in the doorway.
“Sherry, this is my wife, Johnette,” he said in a strained voice.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Sherry.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” said the wife. “How long are you going to be, sweetie?”
His face was flushed. “Oh, we were just finishing up.”
Sherry said, “I’ll have one of the guys cut a spot using your specials from the newspaper ad. He’ll call you for approval. And we’ll double the schedule you ran last month. Right?”
“Oh, uh, right,” he said, edging away from her.
Sherry gathered up her things and smiled at the wife. “It was so nice to meet you at last, Mrs. Corstairs. He talks about you all the time.”
She smiled sweetly and said, “Really?”
Sherry looked over her shoulder at Bruce who was watching them like a hawk.
“See you next month,” she said.
He responded with a nod.
Ba-yam! she thought as she walked away. I love it when the wifey comes in!