Buy Me

By: Cassandra Dee



The middle-aged man nodded furiously.

“Ye-yes, people call me Harry sometimes,” he stuttered. “You can call me Harry too.”

I smiled kindly again. There was no sense in picking on the weak, and despite the fact that he had a dozen years on me, clearly I had the upper hand due to my youth and confidence. I’ve never been a bully, so might as well do my best by this client, right? I smiled again encouragingly.

“Great,” I murmured. “Happy to call you Harry. You can call me Abby.”

Harris nodded furiously again, his head bobbing up and down like a buoy in choppy waters.

“Thanks, thanks,” he rushed. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know girls like you worked at the Club.”

Thoughts spun through my mind. What to say? That I’d been roped in by my best friend, that we had no idea what was going on, and I was relieved to discover that he was a loser? The fact that he was obviously so nervous and ill-at-ease made me comfortable because suddenly I knew I could handle the situation. So I just smiled and nodded convincingly once more.

“A friend introduced me,” I said glibly. “A friend convinced me to come, and I figured it was no big deal, I’m all caught up with work so I had some free time.”

Harris nodded fervently again.

“Oh you work?” he asked. “I’m a car salesman myself,” he said eagerly like a puppy seeking my approval. “I sell mostly minivans and station wagons at the dealership.”

I nodded, it wasn’t surprising to find out that this guy sold family cars, he hardly looked like he’d be the right dude to push Lamborghinis and Maseratis. But then again, a job well done is a job well done, even if you’re marketing the most boring products. So I nodded encouragingly.

“I’m sure you must be very good,” I cooed a bit, smiling. “You must be very good.” Maybe I was taking it too far, maybe this geisha act was ridiculous. But again, a job well done is a job well done.

And Harris’s chest literally puffed like a bullfrog, smiling proudly as he took off his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt. The lenses of his glasses were so dirty and cloudy, it was incredible he could see, and the rubdown on the plaid fabric only made it worse, like he was looking through goggles. But I guess he wasn’t bothered, because he popped the heavy frames back onto his nose and stared at me once more, face eager.

“Oh yeah, I’m real good,” he bragged. “I got the job because my uncle owns the dealership, but now I’m the number one sales guy!”

Something told me that his uncle was fudging the numbers to give Harris a boost to his self-esteem, but this wasn’t the time or place to say anything. Instead, I just nodded again.

“That’s wonderful,” I complimented, nodding pleasantly. “Really wonderful.”

And from then on out, I didn’t have to say much except for a couple more “wonderfuls,” “amazings,” and “wow, that sounds great.” Because Harris was so starved for female attention that he lapped it up, rambling on and on about himself for fifteen minutes straight, my smiles and occasional murmurs enough to keep him going. The man blabbed on and on about the car dealership, his job, his customers, his home life, and his eating habits.

“Yeah, I like to eat healthy,” he proclaimed proudly, chest puffing out. “I’m a fruitarian.”

I almost laughed. Wasn’t that where you only ate fruit? How did people survive, there was no way to get enough nutrients right? But no wonder Harris was so spindly and thin, his frame like a bendable Gumby.

“That’s great,” I murmured appreciatively. “Fruit is so nutritious, lots of vitamins and minerals.”

Harris’s chest puffed out even more, that narrow cavity expanding.

“That’s right, and not just any fruit,” he corrected. “Only fruit that’s already fallen from the branch.”

I scrunched my forehead for a bit.

“But I don’t get it,” I asked. “How do you know if it’s fallen from the branch? I mean, when you go the grocery store, they don’t exactly indicate that, right?”

And Harris nodded proudly.

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