Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Dystopian Trilogy Book 1)

Angels Mark Chapter 5

5

Paul Tracy left the seminar feeling as if he’d just sold his last vacuum cleaner of the day, in other words: victorious and vindicated. Funny how those old feelings resurfaced after so many years. It seemed like another lifetime ago that Paul had been a vacuum cleaner salesman, a job for which he had a natural gift. He outsold everyone, despite never getting a good client list. Most of his sales went to people who couldn’t afford them, and virtually all of his sales went to people who had no intention of buying a vacuum cleaner that day, not until Paul showed up on their door step.

He was initially motivated to hard-sell to impress his boss, to prove that he was not too young to hold down a job, but Paul was quickly bitten by the bug; he craved the gambler’s high that selling gave him. The rush, lasting for a few glorious moments, sometimes hours, was what drove him toward making the next sale. He became a master at conning homeowners and renters alike with his slick tricks to demonstrate how dirty their floors were from using their current sweeper, and then dazzling them with how clean the new sweeper got their floors.

Paul polished off his act until he had a fail-proof, show-stopping, demonstration and a one-in-three sales track record. Not bad for a kid fresh out of high school. Eventually, the job he viewed as a perfectly-legal con game was effortless. Paul was Salesman of the Month every month without fail, for the entire four years he worked for Morris Handley.

Morris was a weasel of a man. He even looked like a weasel: He had a slight build that couldn’t accommodate his extra pounds, giving him a small-animal-with-a-pouchy-belly physique. Add his oval head with wide-set eyes and pointy ears, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him as anthropomorphic vermin.

Paul, who enjoyed his own reflection in the mirror, noticed all of Morris’ shortcomings, especially the receding hairline that was poorly, and absurdly, masked by a cosmetic spray that looked suspiciously like black spray paint. And if the physical appearance wasn’t eye candy enough, Morris gave something special to the ears as well. He had a voice that defied explanation. It was both nasal and a low baritone; it was both gritty and strong. The rise in pitch went up two octaves when he was yelling at his salesmen, but would fall sharply and unexpectedly into the throaty bear growl of a mobster.

Saving the best attribute for last, Morris had an overbearing wife who called the office incessantly with her constant carping. When Morris was especially beleaguered by the steady barrage of nagging and barbs from his wife, he would vent his pent-up frustrations at Paul and the other young salesmen. All of the young men, and one unfortunate young lady who was perpetually the victim of sexual harassment by pretty much everyone (she only lasted two months at Handley Sweep & Repair), were reduced to putty when Morris bellowed, all but Paul.

Paul always took the abuse cheerfully and then set out to out-sell everyone else. Before long, he was the apple of Morris’ eye. Day after day, Paul set out with his vacuum kit until that fateful day that he landed at the front door of Miss Donna. Miss Donna was known in the area, and avoided. But Paul had never heard of her, or her conquests, of which there had been many.

Miss Donna, home all day without a job, was leery of a stranger showing up unannounced, but after looking Paul over, she ushered him inside. She was lonely with the kids all grown up all off to their fancy schools. Why they needed college, she’d never understand. Her kids would be in debt for the rest of the lives and for what? Did they think they were too good for a real job? Didn’t her daughter get it by now, that husbands leave or die? Why bother with more school when it won’t pay the rent? Don’t get her started on her son, he was a closed subject. And if the subject was opened, well, Donna had a lot to say.

Then along came Paul, who was the same age as Miss Donna’s own son. Paul was good looking, better looking than her son. Paul looked like he played sports and his skin was tan from sun – not like her son, who was pasty white and couldn’t catch a ball. Her son would rather stay inside and read a book all summer than join the team. Paul had a real job. She admired Paul’s full head of hair. He looked so young and virile. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, Miss Donna had reached out to touch Paul’s hair.