Sunday, July 18, 2004


We have a wholesaler who reminds me of Michelle Pfeiffer. She’s blonde with legs from here to there, always dressed sharp as a tack and has a wit that doesn’t mess around. She’s a rep for a mutual fund company I won’t mention (AIM) and comes by my branch once a month. Her products are strong, stronger than they used to be at least, and she knows them inside and out. She’s more than easy on the eyes and likes to host golf outings for those of us who invest with her.

The problem is she thinks her body is a selling point. She walks in my office, never asks first, and plops her pristinely manicured thirty-something ass into a chair across from me. Then she assumes the position. Both elbows hit my desk and I’m treated to a magnificent view. Big smile, flirty eyes, nice rack, the whole nine yards. She’s divorced and has never dated a broker, or so she claims. So obviously she’s not interested in me socially, she’s merely using her tits to make a sale. I will gander her goodies, oh yes, but I will not be duped into buying her products.

This afternoon Jazz and I went downtown to a place called The Aquarium. It’s filled with sharks, rays, ‘cudas and numerous other fish in a walkthrough acrylic tunnel. They also have a restaurant that offers a meal and a movie. I suggested we grab lunch there and watch an episode of Flipper on the big screen before we head home. Jasmine went to the restroom and I walked up to the bar to order a couple of cokes, which for you Yanks does not necessarily mean I ordered two Cokes. While I waited I heard, “Jay? Well, hello!” I turned just in time to see Michelle coming at me with her arms extended.

I don’t care who the hug-ee is, if you’re out with your lady and another very attractive woman approaches for a hug you’ve got two options: dodge or punch that bitch in the mouth. Otherwise, you might fuck up your nookie supply for the rest of your relationship. As level as Jasmine is, I was not about to test her understanding by letting her walk out of the restroom and find me with my arms wrapped around another woman, this one in particular whose reputation Jazz is very familiar with. I chose to dodge.

She touched my hand, I moved it to my hip. She touched my forearm I scratched some pretend dandruff. She stepped closer, I coughed, spraying her with my germs. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Michelle. I’ve had this gross lung thing.” Quick thinking, witty boy. She stepped around me, grazing my other arm with her breast. Oh shit, bitch, off with thee!

That’s when I glanced over Michelle’s head and saw Jasmine leaning against the wall across the room, her arms crossed…smiling. She was watching me suffer and enjoying every damn second of it. Michelle turned to order an ice water with a slice of lemon on the side, not in the glass, please, and small cubes if you have them. I gave Jasmine the big eyes which in any language means, “Help me!” I saw the flash of teeth when she laughed and went into the movie room, stranding me on Octopi Isle to fend for myself, surely a test of some sorts I was destined to fail.

I managed to escape and finally go about my business. I asked Jasmine on the drive home why she didn’t rescue me and mark her territory. She said, “And ruin her fantasy?”

See, that’s the kind of twisted shit women do to each other.