Page 62 of What I'm Looking For

“You can tell me in the car on the way home. I can’t believe I’m living vicariously through you these days. Definitely have to get me an actor of my own.” Rising, Alice tips her head toward the front of the diner, where a very attractive man waits to be seated. “Or maybe I’ll start with that guy.”

I shake my head as she sashays toward the cash register. Gotta love that girl.

* * *

At the endof a long day full of back-to-back meetings, after we stow my easel and posters, Steve takes a long drag off his cigarette and pats the trunk of his shiny BMW. “Another day, another dime.”

“Ha. I hope we earned at least a roll of dimes.” I get into the passenger side and relax into the comfy leather seat. “Thanks again for driving.”

He turns his golden-boy smile on me as he starts the engine. “Are you kidding? Driving my 325i is the best part of my day.”

I tilt the seat back further and close my eyes. “If one more old man tells me I’d be prettier if I smiled more, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“Well?…” I can hear a wince in Steve’s voice.

“Jeez, not you, too.” I scrub my hands over my face, muscles tired from the forced smiles I did manage to muster.

He stubs out his cigarette and shuts the ashtray. Thankfully, he’s trying to quit, so if a meeting goes well, he only smokes one on the walk back to the car. We’re both quiet as he navigates out of Hartford and shifts through gears to accelerate up the ramp to the Mass Pike toward Boston, our tour of New England institutional investors finally at an end.

He points to the back seat at his boxes of cassettes. Which is alphabetized. “You get to pick the tunage for the ride home.”

“Wow, I feel so special.” I peruse the collection. “How many of these cassette clubs do you belong to, anyway?”

“You gotta work it. Join, get the free tapes and then quit as soon as you can and move on to the next one.”

“Sounds like a way of life.”

“It is.” His sigh of satisfaction does not seem to include any irony. “I like having all my music available.”

I reach back for the end of the alphabet since we’ve been through most of the A-G box—Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, lots of Guns N’ Roses—groaning as I haul T-Z into my lap. “If only these weren’t so heavy.” Then I pull out the sole U2 album and stickThe Joshua Treeinto his fancy stereo. Our first few outings, he wouldn’t let me touch it, but now I’m allowed since I read the manual.

I’m not kidding.

I close my eyes again to listen to the opening of “Where the Streets Have No Name,” the keyboard, guitar and drums building to the lyrics. The words poke around in my brain and eventually I sit up to face the music. “Okay, hit me with it. I want to run and hide like Bono here, but I do want to do a good job.”

Steve bobs his head along with the music as he passes a semi. “We’re close. I mean, you’re not overwhelming them with too much information anymore, but honestly?…” He side-eyes me. “Promise you won’t hit me?”

“Yes,” I groan.

“Well, youcouldsmile more.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I thought I was supposed to be the serious one.”

“You are. They need you to be the authority, and they need to trust that you’ve got all the details covered so they can make these buys without having to think too hard. But you’re cute when you smile, and I think if you bump up the charm, we’ll get to the point where Rhodes Wahler will start sending us out to courtnewaccounts, not just hang onto old ones.” He wags a finger at me. “And that’s where the bonus money comes in.”

I bat his hand away. “I guess.”

“How do you think I can afford this baby?” He caresses the spotless dash and glances at me, brows up.

“I’m guessing from last year’s bonus.”

“Just think. You could trade in your ancient Volvo.” He punches my shoulder, now bruised from this habit of his. “Which you can never ever drive to a client meeting. If anyone sees that thing, they won’t believe a word you say.”

Not only is my Volvo the only thing my parents trust to get me through a Boston winter, but I love her. Ancient, my foot. She’s only six years old. No matter what Steve says, I have no need to impress anyone with a brand-new car every year. I just want to impress clients enough with actual facts and figures so they buy what we’re selling.

However, he’s probably right about the other thing. I have to be a salesman, too.

“Okay, okay. I’ll smile more.” I bare my teeth at him.

---