Guess what this ‘smart, combative woman’ did next? I got married again to a nice guy, and the girls liked him. He was ten years younger than me, so the sex was great. Unfortunately, he turned out to be a drug addict. The girls were teens by then and I wanted them to have some semblance of a father, so I foolishly supported his habit for three years. Eventually, we reached a stalemate — he wouldn’t enter rehab, and I was tired of the financial burden. I was also concerned he’d screw up the girls and turn them into addicts. We reached a rather bizarre court settlement: he would forgo all visitation rights in exchange for three years of alimony payments.
“I got stung financially. The girls were rejected again. After those three years, he just dropped off the face of the earth. Maybe now you have some sense of why this ‘smart, combative woman’ is so belligerent.”
There wasn’t much to say after that. I blurted out the first thing that crossed my mind. “So, how did you meet Dawson?”
She assumed I was referring to the generally salacious rumor making the rounds. “I was selling triple-A investment contracts. He was one of my prospects. He liked my spunk. My product lines. My pitch. When AFA started to grow, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“Interesting.”
“In-ter-est-ing.” She had a phonetically peculiar way of enunciating the word. “Is that all you can say? And, no, despite what you may have heard, I never slept with him. It never even crossed my mind. Haven’t you noticed? The guy is homely, bald, and chubby. Not my type. If you and your buddies are going to play a game of rumors, at least make it somebody I’d actually consider.”
“I’m bald.”
“No, you’re married and bald.”
“So, why are you here?”
“I find you kind of sexy,” she purred.
I wanted to reach across the table and kiss her. Instead, I wrote a poem on a napkin and handed it to her. “Here’s a memento of the evening. Thanks for the time.”
She opened the white cloth napkin and read the title out loud, Should, Shouldn’t. “Sounds interesting. I’ll read it in bed later.”
Lights, action, camera.
Unreal set,
Noisy, crowded bar.
Surreal situation,
Dead silence.
Consuming dilemma
Can, can’t
Should, shouldn’t…
I paid the check. We got our cars from the valet. I kissed her gently on the cheek and we drove our separate ways.
~
A few minutes later, my mobile rang. It was 9:30 P.M. Lauren asked, “Are you all right? I was starting to worry.”
“God, baby, I’m so sorry I forgot to call. Two of our top advisors, Dave Lineman and Jim Cleveland, just dropped in out of nowhere, looking for a free dinner. Dawson was busy and I was standing nearby. Next thing you know, I’m the evening’s master of ceremonies.”
“No, you were asked because you’re his top schmoozer. And he knows you’ll do anything for AFA. Just be careful and don’t fall asleep; I want you home in one piece.”
“I should be home in about a half-hour; I’m just leaving downtown.”
As I drove, I wondered which was worse: lying to Lauren for the first time in 35 years, or the fact that she believed me, implicitly.
When I arrived home, Lauren was sleeping peacefully. I slipped in bed next to her soft, warm body. Instinctively, she knew I was there. She rolled over and kissed me gently on the lips.
12.
The inappropriate acquisition.
It was no accident that the weekly sales production board resided in a place of prominence. We all believed that good salespeople were very competitive and very sensitive. The production board served two purposes.
First and foremost, posting weekly results stimulated sales activity. Every account manager wanted to be at or near the top of the board every week; it was a public disclosure of their success with assigned advisors, and how much they made.
Second, the board was a slump-reducer. When an account manager was in a sales slump, their sensitivity meter would kick in and they would break their tail not to be near the bottom. We had an unofficial slogan: “Middle means slump, top means drinks for all.”
Alexandria had been mired in the lower half for eight straight weeks.
One late afternoon, I happened to be looking at the latest posted numbers on the way to my car.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not worried,” said Alexandria softly from behind. “A lot of my guys have been on vacation. It’s summertime. They’ll roar back in the fall.”
I nodded.
“There’s also something else I want to talk to you about that could be gigantic for the company… and for yours truly. Dan Whitman has been perfecting it for some time, so it’s field-tested.”
“Are you going to give me a hint?” I replied.
“No, we’re going to do this your way. I have some interesting materials, and I made a date with Courtney. Surprised?” She batted her eyes ever so slightly and slithered away.
~
I knew Alexandria wanted something when she appeared right on time, an unusual occurrence. She started with a few pleasantries. “I enjoyed the other night, and the poem was in-ter-est-ing. Nobody ever wrote me a poem.” Then she headed into her pitch. “What’s a financial advisor’s most important asset?”
I thought to myself, Who gives a damn? She turns me on.
Alexandria answered her own question. “Their time. That’s why an AFA-ContactPro partnership.”
“Contact who?”
“ContactPro. Don’t worry; we’ll get to that part in a minute. First, you need to understand their patented software package. It’s all based on the concept of merging toll-free telephony with the 24/7 capability of memory-based remote servers.”
I began to smirk.
“Why the shit-eating grin?” she asked, half-kidding. “This girl’s trying to make some money. I want you to listen!”
I couldn’t resist responding. “How does a woman who prefers phone calls to email suddenly know about the capability of memory-based remote servers?”
“Okay, okay, so Dan helped me with my presentation. But this thing is cool. ContactPro is a small technology company based in southern Litchfield, about thirty miles north of here. They’ve created a single-point communications application software designed for the road warrior. The
