Any Sunday, page 6
* * *
—
Marjorie checked her watch and was grateful to note that she was free to leave in fifteen minutes. After her second day back at work she was eager to get home and relax. Her afternoon hadn’t gone well. She’d crossed swords with Al Swanson when he’d attempted to steal a sale. One of her clients had taken out a sedan for a test drive, and when he’d returned, Al had explained that Marjorie was out to lunch and had asked him to wrap up the deal. Luckily, she had overheard him, and quickly inserted that she was back and would take over for him.
Incidents like this had happened in the past, and she refused to stand for it. She didn’t like tattling to the manager, but she wasn’t about to let Al cheat her out of her commission.
The bell chimed as the large double doors opened, indicating that a customer had entered the showroom. The salespeople took turns dealing with the influx of prospective buyers. She’d only recently finished helping a young executive, so she left the field open to Jim Preston, the senior salesperson.
“Marjorie,” Jim called, and stuck his head in her office doorway. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Once again, she glanced at her watch. Staying late hadn’t been a problem before, but she tired easily now and was eager to head back to her apartment. “Thanks, Jim,” she muttered, and pushed herself away from her desk with both hands.
Out in the showroom, she paused in mid-step and nearly faltered in an effort to disguise her surprise.
“Sam.” His name came out in a rush of confusion and delight.
Sam turned away from the light blue convertible he’d been examining. He liked the sleek lines and the classic style of the SLK, but fifty-five thousand dollars for a car, any car, was more than he cared to spend.
“Hi.” Some of Marjorie’s composure had returned, and she greeted him with a careful smile. She didn’t want to appear overjoyed to see him, although her heart felt as if it were doing somersaults inside her chest.
Sam couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked wonderful. If he’d found her attractive before, it was nothing compared to the way she appeared to him now. To think he’d once pictured this woman as a lost kitten trapped in a storm. This kitten wasn’t an ordinary, run-of-the-mill stray. She was of the highest pedigree.
Without even realizing what he was doing, Sam gave a low wolf whistle. He couldn’t stop looking at her and finally managed to say, “I see you’ve recovered.”
“You promised I’d live and love again.”
Sam grinned and, still a little bemused, rubbed the side of his jaw, unable to carry on the conversation.
Marjorie knew that men found her attractive, but what amused her was the shocked look on Sam’s face. “I didn’t think the brochure had time to reach you,” she said, her gaze holding his.
“Brochure? What brochure?” He suspected he was beginning to sound like an echo.
“I mailed one off to you yesterday afternoon,” she said, and casually crossed her arms over her double-breasted tweed jacket. “You’d mentioned something about wanting a Mercedes, and I extended an invitation for you to come in and take a test drive.”
“I’d enjoy that,” Sam murmured, glancing toward the sticker on the side window of the car he’d been inspecting.
“Perhaps it would be best if I explained the different models,” Marjorie continued, her gaze following his. “Our cars start in the range of fifty thousand dollars,” she said in an even, smooth voice, “depending, of course, on the options you decide on.”
“Naturally.”
Leading the way into her office, she turned back and asked, “Would you care for a cup of coffee?”
“Please.”
Marjorie’s thoughts were racing as she directed him toward a chair. From the corner of her eye she happened to catch a glimpse of Lydia, who flashed her a triumphant grin and the universal signal for okay.
Once Sam was comfortably seated, she poured him a mug of coffee. Although she remained outwardly poised, her heart was pumping so fast that she felt dizzy and a little shaky. She knew her face was flushed.
When Marjorie was dealing with a prospective buyer, she usually approached them with an angle. This involved asking a few subtle but pertinent questions and discovering their individual concerns. Some potential buyers were looking at a Mercedes for performance—the German-made automobile was built to cruise at twice the speed of U.S. freeways. Marjorie realized, though, that Sam wasn’t interested in traveling over a hundred miles an hour. From what she knew about him, he wasn’t the type who cared a great deal about prestige, either. The safety issue would evoke a response in him.
“The Mercedes-Benz is one of the safest cars in the world.” She handed him a brochure from her desk drawer and took her seat.
As a saleswoman, she was as slick as frost on mossy rocks, Sam thought. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but once she had a customer’s attention, it was cars she was there to sell.
“I like to tell prospective buyers that purchasing a Mercedes-Benz is another form of life insurance,” she continued. “As a physician, I’m sure you can appreciate our cars’ many safety features.”
Sam flipped through the pages of the glossy pamphlet and nodded. She knew her stuff, he had to give her credit for that. “You’re very good.”
Marjorie paused. “How do you mean?”
“As a salesperson. I don’t think many men would be able to turn you down.”
A couple of the salesmen had protested that very point when Marjorie was first hired, claiming she had an unfair advantage over the rest of them. They claimed that, sitting across the table from a good-looking female, a man would have a difficult time negotiating a price. The men might have convinced a few of the others that they had a point, but Bud, the manager, was behind Marjorie. Her sales record spoke for itself. She sold cars, and that was the purpose of the dealership. If she possessed an unfair advantage, the manager didn’t care, as long as cars moved off the lot. But Marjorie knew that she didn’t need to use her feminine wiles; the cars sold because she was a good salesperson.
“I get turned down plenty of times,” she responded, her smile fading.
Sam turned the page of the brochure and read over the information on the E350. “I’ll take this one.”
“Pardon.” Marjorie wasn’t completely sure she had heard him right.
“This sedan—in a light blue, if you have it.”
“You mean you want to buy one now?”
“Is that a problem?” He withdrew his checkbook from inside his coat pocket.
Marjorie had sold plenty of cars, but never any quite this way. “Don’t you want to drive one? Negotiate the price?”
“Not particularly. I know you aren’t going to cheat me.”
“But…” Experience told her to shut up. She didn’t need to kill a sale by arguing with him. She clamped her mouth closed and swallowed her questions. Sam was an adult; he knew what he wanted. Far be it from her to stand in his way.
“I trust you to be fair,” he continued, adding the pertinent details to the blank check. “How much should I fill in for the amount?”
* * *
—
Hours later Marjorie was still completely bemused. She wandered around her apartment, moving from room to room, listless and bored and, at the same time, excited. She’d seen Sam again, and even if he had come into the showroom to buy a car and not just to see her, she was thrilled. At the same time, she regretted the encounter. Knowing that other patients fell in love with him had been reassuring, but to her dismay she’d learned that the attraction she’d experienced toward Sam hadn’t lessened with time. It had been weeks since she’d last seen him, and he looked better to her than ever. All the emotions she’d struggled so valiantly to bury had surfaced the minute she’d walked into the showroom to discover him standing there. All the pleasure of seeing him again had returned to remind her how strongly Sam Bretton appealed to her.
* * *
—
When Sam walked back into Dixon Motors late the following morning, every word that Marjorie had rehearsed so carefully, every scenario she’d spent hours plotting, fell by the wayside. All she could see was the gentle man who had sat at her bedside and held her hand.
“Hello, Sam.” It was amazing that she’d been able to utter those few words. She was trembling inside. No longer an inept hospital patient, she was a woman who knew what she liked—and Sam Bretton was it. The thought terrified her.
“Hello again.”
“Everything’s ready.” She straightened the French cuffs of her sleeves, bemoaning the fact that virtually everything she owned was blue, black, or gray. It wasn’t any wonder dates were few and far between. Marjorie swallowed her self-doubts and gestured toward the customer-service counter. “Lydia will need you to fill out a few forms.”
Sam looked mildly surprised, but he followed Marjorie anyways. Lydia greeted him with a wide smile, and Sam was left with the impression that he’d done something very right to have gained her undying gratitude.
Surely buying the Mercedes couldn’t have been any more obvious, even to Marjorie. Against his better judgment, he’d decided he wanted to see her again. He’d planned on getting a luxury car someday, and now seemed as good a time as any. Besides, he wanted her to have this sale. He remembered her telling him once how she lived on commissions alone. This was his way of helping her through what was sure to be a difficult month, since the first three weeks had been spent recuperating from surgery. Because of that, he had even decided against negotiating the price.
While Sam was with Lydia, Marjorie stood on the showroom floor, pacing back and forth while she waited for him to finish. Her hands felt damp, her throat dry, and yet from all outward appearances she was as cool as a pumpkin on a frosty October morning.
When Sam was finished, she approached him with a grin and handed him the keys to his shiny new E350 sedan, which she’d arranged to have waiting for him in front of the dealership.
“That didn’t take long,” she said, as if surprised, but it was just a means of starting a conversation. From experience, she knew the paperwork didn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes.
“Have you got time to take a spin with me?” Sam invited.
She nodded, hoping she didn’t appear as eager as she felt. “Of course.”
Like the true gentleman he was, Sam held open the passenger door for her, and she gracefully slipped inside. He joined her a moment later, inserted the key into the ignition, and paused to inhale the fresh scent of new leather and study the dials in front of him.
It was on the tip of Marjorie’s tongue to give him another sales pitch and quote what Car and Driver had to say about the E350. She knew her stuff, but the sale had already been made, and he only had to drive the vehicle to be impressed.
Wordlessly Sam eased the sedan into the busy Tacoma traffic, quickly acquainting himself with the mechanics of the car. They rode past the digital signboard above the Puget Sound Bank.
“Actually, you being able to pick up the car this morning works rather well,” Marjorie said.
“How’s that?” Sam looked away from traffic long enough to glance in her direction.
“I can treat you to lunch.” As soon as the words slipped from her lips, she was flabbergasted. She didn’t know where the invitation had come from.
“Marjorie…”
“That is, unless you can’t…I mean, if you’re due back at the office…The reason I asked is that I always treat new customers to lunch. It’s my way of showing my appreciation for your business.” She was convinced her lies would someday return to haunt her.
“But I was thinking of taking you out.”
“I owe you this one,” she insisted. “For the car, yes, and everything else.”
“You’re a difficult woman to refuse.”
How Marjorie wished that were true. “How do you like Mexican food?”
“Love it. But I really would prefer it if you allowed me to buy lunch.”
“You’d break tradition.” She was convinced her nose would start growing at any minute.
Sam grinned. The more he came to know this woman, the more he learned about pride. “Are you always so stubborn?”
“Always,” she answered evenly, and pointed to the left-hand side of the street. “The restaurant is about a block farther on. There’s parking on the street and a small lot around back.”
Sam parked easily. Once inside, they were forced to put their name on a list, but Marjorie assured him the food was well worth the wait. They were seated within ten minutes; the waitress seemed to know Marjorie.
“Do you come here often?”
She nodded and finished munching on a warm tortilla chip before answering. “At least once a week. I’m worthless in the kitchen, and it’s easier for me to eat out.”
Sam’s insides tightened. He should have guessed that she would be a terrible cook, and he felt almost guilty because it bothered him. He’d always thought the woman he was looking to build his life with should possess at least the rudimentary culinary skills.
“The last time I experimented with a recipe,” Marjorie continued, “I set off the fire alarm and cleared the entire apartment complex. Under direct orders of the building manager and the Tacoma Fire Department, I’ve been asked to refrain from any kitchen activities,” she joked.
The sound of Sam’s strained chuckle mingled with the chatter in the small restaurant.
“My sister swears that I’ll make someone a wonderful husband.” In many ways what Jody claimed was true; Marjorie could fix just about anything. But cooking and sewing were lost arts to her.
Sam found the food to be as good as Marjorie had claimed. He watched her eat with undisguised gusto and then pause, obviously embarrassed, to explain that she was only now regaining her appetite.
As she dabbed a drop of hot sauce from the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin, Marjorie’s gaze fell to her empty plate. No doubt most women Sam dated were dainty things who ate like sparrows and wore a size two. She downed the remainder of her Mexican beer, equally sure she’d done the wrong thing by ordering it. Sam’s women probably drank tea diluted with milk. For once in her life she wished she could be different. She wanted Sam to like her even with her healthy appetite and appreciation of good beer.
The waitress returned for their plates and served two cups of coffee. Sam noted the sudden lag in the conversation that followed and picked it up easily, entertaining Marjorie with anecdotes from his youth.
She was so engrossed in his stories that when she finally checked her watch, she saw that it was one-forty-five.
“Oh Sam, I’ve got an appointment at two.” A stockbroker was coming in to test-drive a S600 sedan, and she couldn’t be late.
They hurried out of the restaurant, and Sam had her back at the dealership with minutes to spare. Even though her customer was due to arrive any minute, Marjorie was reluctant to get out of the car. She turned to face him, her hand on the door handle, wanting to tell him so many things and not knowing where to start.
“Thank you, Sam,” she said softly. That seemed so inadequate. “It seems I’m always having to thank you for one reason or another. Have you noticed that?”
“No,” he answered evenly. “Besides, I should be the one thanking you.”
“It was only lunch.” And she owed him so much more than a simple meal. He’d given her another argument when the tab arrived, but she’d won. She realized now that it probably would have been better if she’d let him pay, male pride being what it is.
“Next time it’s my turn.”
Marjorie was outside the car before his words registered. “Right,” she answered, and her smile broadened.
He waved. “Bye, Marjorie.”
“Bye, Sam.” She waited until he’d driven away and was out of sight before she entered the dealership.
No sooner had she stepped onto the showroom floor than Lydia appeared. “Where in heaven’s name did the two of you take off to? You’ve been gone for hours! Where’d you go? Did he ask you out again? I told you he was interested. Remember what I said?”
“We went to lunch.”
Lydia nodded approvingly. “I bet he took you to a fancy place on the waterfront for lobster.”
Marjorie had a difficult time containing her amusement. “Actually, I treated him at The Lindo.”
“That Mexican place you’re always bragging about?”
“The food’s wonderful.”
“And you paid?”
“I…I told him I do that with all first-time car buyers.”
Lydia’s frown relaxed into a soft, encouraging smile. “Hey, not a bad idea.”
“He said he’d treat next time.” Marjorie cast her gaze longingly toward the street. “Do you think he’ll phone?” She hated feeling so insecure, but more than anything else, she wanted to see Sam again.
“I bet you ten dollars he calls by tomorrow.”
* * *
—
Lydia lost the bet.
Two days later Marjorie had chewed off two fingernails and was quickly becoming a nervous wreck. She’d never been a patient person, and waiting for Sam to contact her was slowly but surely driving her crazy.
“You aren’t going to sit still for this, are you?” Lydia said over lunch.
“What other choice do I have?”
“Oh come on, Marjorie!” Lydia declared, crumpling her napkin and tossing it atop her empty plate. “I’ve watched you chase after a sale when anyone else would have given it up. You have a reputation for putting deals together when others would have thrown their hands in the air.”
“Yes, but selling cars and dealing with a man are two entirely different matters.”
