SHAG IDOL
By
Bruce Lightfoot
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
Bruce Lightfoot on Smashwords
Shag Idol Copyright © 2006 by Bruce Lightfoot
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction which have been used without permission. This publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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CHAPTER ONE
Beginnings
Teresa
Teresa hung up the phone.
“I start on Monday,” she said excitedly.
She surveyed the room to take in the expected response. Her new flat was spacious and furnished with old comfortable couches and a bean bag. Her mother was on the couch sipping her hot tea, and her friend Amanda was lounging in the bean bag.
Her mother groaned.
“Why do you want to be a car salesman for? You have a degree in psychology for goodness sake.”
It was true, but five years of study and seven years of practice had taken its toll.
“Because she is sick of hanging around with nutters all day,” Amanda added supportively. A close friend of Teresa’s, Amanda would always find a good word for her. She was so empowering. Teresa appreciated it.
The dreary nature of people’s mind problems had worn her out. Listening to some recently had put her on the edge; the last few she had wanted to just grab by the throat and slap them stupid! It was time for a change.
“Well, you’re grown up, so you can do want you want,” resigned her mother.
Selling Mercedes looked different and exciting. She could use her training to understand the buyer and make the sale. It sounded easy. She was to start in the Service Reception Department for three to six months to learn the ropes. Then her training would start in earnest.
On Monday she would be a Sales Cadet at Mercedes on the Hill. She laughed at the thought. Here she was, nearly thirty years old and now a cadet!
Antonio
Across town in a well to do suburb, Antonio walked out of the gym carrying his bag and half ran down the long flight of stairs. The number of stairs did put some people off coming to this particular gym, but the fit and active loved the place - full of life, laughter and humour. The staff encouraged rather than scolded and people were well treated as they got their results and bodies into shape.
Antonio realized he would be late to an audition for a new play that was being produced in the city. He half suspected it was just another front audition for a Male Strip Revue - which was all he was being offered lately. He was getting a little tired of those and had told his agent to stop putting his name forward for them. But she kept doing it anyway.
He certainly fitted the part. Tall, handsome, with dark hair and strong features. Antonio was a favourite. Being French – Italian helped.
His father had met his mother in Paris when on weekend leave from the military. Love had blossomed and they settled in Gibraltar where Antonio had been born. His parents had both insisted he speak their own mother tongue, and so they taught him from birth. Antonio now spoke both languages, as well as English, fluently and switched easily between them.
His girlfriends had always loved to hear the story of how his parents had met. So romantic, they seemed to think. He had no girlfriend right now. Antonio was on a mission.
He reached his car and looked skywards briefly. I hope this one pays well, he thought. Being a gym instructor paid the bills, but he dreamed of so much more. Like a pile of money. That would be much more.
The new Reality TV Show - Shag Idol
In a large office with plush carpet and expensive furniture, a large leather chair was being rocked gently by its inhabitant. A mind was awash with ideas.
‘A new show for the new season.’ ‘A new concept.’ ‘A Reality TV show that really pushes the boundaries.’ ‘Breaking new ground.’
The inhabitant, Thompson McHerbert, was searching his brain for conceptual sentences to help promote his new brain storm; Shag Idol. Unfortunately, he could only think of ones that everyone else used. He needed a new catch-phase.
‘Shag Idol.’
It was rather brilliant. Contestants would be paired each week to shag behind a frosted screen. Only the judges would have access to all seven cameras that would be trained in on the action. The audience would have audio and visuals from the other side of the screen. They would be able to make out what was happening but not actually see anything - that was so censors would rate the show as Recommended for Mature Audiences, thereby capturing the largest audience available. The judges would vote by way of a points system and the winners each week would go through to the next round.
Thompson couldn’t believe it was going ahead. TV standards had gotten to the bottom of the barrel, and he was about to make a fortune out of it.
Nalina
The baggage carousel came around for the third time. This time, Nalina’s bag was on it. She grabbed it firmly and headed for customs. It had been a long flight from Brazil, but she was here at last.
Nalina, although approaching the end of her twenties, looked more like she had just started them. With long flowing brown hair and tanned body, she was the Brazilian Woman men’s dreams were made of. Her fifteen minutes of fame had come back home when she won a bikini contest on the beach one summer. No mean feat, given the quality of the contestants. It had lead to a local modelling contract that hadn’t paid as well as it had promised. Eventually Nalina had felt it was stale and wasn’t likely to take her anywhere. Not that she was exactly sure where that was. Anywhere. Where could it be? Not here, she had thought as she had gotten onto the plane and headed to this new country and city. A long way from home and further away from her old life – a life that she no longer wanted.
She planned to stay at a Backpackers until she could land a job. She would look at the wanted ads once she had gotten though customs and settled in.
Let’s see what this city has to offer, she thought.
Kevin’s off
Kevin was packing up the last of the things in his office. It had taken most of the day simply because he had kept putting it off. Now it had to be done. He was packing his boxes slowly. He was finally leaving. After seven years at Mercedes on the Hill, he was off to face new challenges and adventures. Or so he told himself.
Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. He looked around at his office. A functional, flat tidy desk with a large computer screen he hardly ever used for work. An ‘In’ tray that was empty and an ‘Out’ tray even emptier. He was good with his paperwork - everyone said so. Always up to date. No one ever bothered to look for a file in his office; if he had had it, it had been processed and completed that day. Was he doing the right thing by leaving?
Well, it was all a bit late to be asking now. A farewell party had been arranged, no doubt a including a farewell present, and everyone was wishing him all the best. They had even employed a new Sales Manager to replace him; Paddy, from a rival Mercedes Dealership, currently standing at the door holding his box of stuff, waiting for Kevin to finish.
Callous prick, Kevin thought. I hope he doesn’t come to my party tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
Teresa’s first day at work
“This is Patrick, our Service Manager.” Henry Greaves, the owner of Mercedes on the Hill, was introducing Teresa to her immediate boss.
Patrick, a youthful looking 50 year old with a sly look in his eye, looked Teresa up and down. Not in a sleazy way, but just to take her all in. About 5’6”, he guessed. Slender, but with bumps and curves in all the right places. Fine, dark hair, well groomed and down to the shoulders. He couldn’t pick her ethnicity. Mediterranean? Naturally tanned anyway, and looking lovely with it. She’ll be good for us, he thought. Attractive and well dressed. Smart, business like. The men who get their Mercedes serviced here will like her. Their wives will like her too. The husbands might hit on her, but she looks too smart to say yes. This girl will be good for us. Too bad she looks too clever to stay here long. Patrick was beginning to miss her already.
They were standing in the Service Department Reception area of Mercedes on the Hill - a very plush dealership painted in silver and dark grey to look very modern and expensive. It had been one of the best performing Mercedes dealerships in the city for many years, having the same owner for the last ten and very loyal staff. The dealership had its main reception just up some steps where the sales team and the new vehicles were on display. The building was on two levels, with the workshop, the mechanics and spare parts on the lower floor. Customers wanting their cars serviced would drive in at the lower level, directly to the Service Department and come to the counter where they were currently standing.
Patrick showed Teresa to her desk and explained the procedure. She was to take calls from clients wanting to get their car serviced. She had a menu for pricing and, if asked, she would pick up and deliver the cars as required. Lastly, she was to be pleasant and helpful. The city was a reasonable drive from the suburb they were in, but their customers where happy to cope with the distance; particularly when loan vehicles were provided with a pick and delivery service.
“One last thing,” Patrick said as he settled her in to her desk. “If anyone of our clients is mean to you, then just let me know, and we will adjust their bill accordingly.”
Teresa thought he was joking. She would learn later on in the week he wasn’t.
The Shag Idol Hopefuls Line up
The hopeful contestants had lined up from the studio foyer, the line stretching out the door, onto the street and back about two miles. Never had anyone seen such a huge interest in people wanting to be on TV, and given how one was to behave once on the show left many aghast.
The million dollar first prize may have been the reason.
Professionals were banned. No actors, especially porn actors, were allowed. Thompson had employed a couple of well known agents to check the door and look out for people such as this. His lead cameraman had volunteered to look out for porn stars. He claimed to know everyone in the city working in that field. Thompson decided not to ask how he was so well informed.
Thompson and his team looked at the line.
“This is going to take months,” he commented.
With the door guarded and security tight, one by one the wannabes were led through the door. This was to be ordinary people from all walks of life. The boy and girl next door kind of show. Still, they had to be camera friendly, and it had been decided that anyone bigger than an average size was not likely to impress the camera. These people were gently weeded out of the process.
All except Tess. The lovely looking, albeit large, young woman, was full of life and happy with herself. Her dedication was shown by being near the front of the queue.
Thompson ticked off the first item on his list.
Fat Chick
Bitch
Well-hung guy
Body Builder
Thompson would see to it that Tess did well and got to at least the sixth round. She would be in all the women’s magazines by then, and this would keep the show in the public gaze all the more. Then he wandered off to find himself a bagel. All this work was making him hungry.
Teresa’s afternoon
The phone rang. Teresa picked it up.
“Mercedes on the Hill, Service Department.” She had written out the greeting and put it next to the phone until she had got used to it. She was glad for her fore sight, as the phone ringing had startled her. She had been studying the sales manual.
“Yes” said a terse voice. “My car has stopped.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was driving along and it just stopped! Now it won’t start and I am going to be late to pick up some CD’s. Dad said I was to ring you.”
Teresa swung into action. Armed with the model of the car and the address it had broken down at, she ran to get Patrick. He was quick to get a service technician and replacement car underway to the address.
Mr Allsopp-smith was wealthy, owned three Mercedes and had all his servicing done here. Patrick was pleased that Teresa was so efficient. A tow truck was on its way, and Mohad, his best mechanic was on his way with a loan car.
Patrick went back to his desk to ponder his budget. It seemed the service department was a bit behind the eight ball. Patrick needed another $12000 worth of services done by Friday to reach target. Reaching target meant getting bonuses. Now, how was he going to get to budget? Hopefully, Mr Allsopp-smiths car had something really wrong with it.
Mohad, one of the more experienced technicians working at The Hill, pulled into the street he had been given, driving an E200 courtesy car. He could see the E350 had been hooked onto the tow truck and the driver was pulling away from the curb. A pretty young lady around seventeen was waiting for him on the side of the road. She was dressed in expensive clothes and dripped of money. Her make up was perfect, although unnecessary on one so young. No grunge clothing here. A Barbie doll if ever there was one, but this one was Bitchy Barbie, and she was full of attitude.
As Mohad got out of the drivers seat, she jumped in and took his place. She almost pushed him out of the way as she shut the driver’s door.
“About time. I’m going to be late,” she huffed. Then she drove off leaving Mohad standing in a deserted street. He watched her drive away thinking to himself ‘how does she think I am getting back to the yard?’ The tow truck has already gone. Then he looked around. Not a safe street, he thought, a rough part of town. Mohad suddenly wasn’t so proud of his Mercedes shirt and trousers. He reached for his cell phone.
Antonio and Nalina line up
Antonio was back about one mile in the slowest moving queue he had ever been in. He was looking in the shop windows to pass the time and was grateful for it. The crowd was mostly young. The contestant rules had stated eighteen to thirty years old, though some of the people near him looked either well past the cut-off age or still trying to get there. It seemed pointless, to Antonio, to try unless you were within the rules. Passports had to be produced to gain entry to the studio, so some were just slowing up the process for the rest of them.
Still, the mood was jovial and everyone was singing, telling stories and generally having a good time. TV crews where taking in the sights and interviewing many hopefuls for the evening news. A pizza delivery company was on tap and a radio show had just announced a rival Shag Idol competition to be run that day on the air. Shagging over the radio was not likely to have the same impact, Antonio thought. He looked at his watch; he had been here nearly four hours. Oh well, he mused, nothing else to do today, and it is a million dollars we are talking about.
A few hundred meters back, Nalina was chatting with some friends she had just made at the Backpackers the previous night. They had all decided to enter. Some had agreed that they would all share the prize money if one of them won. A very noble thought! Four Musketeers, all for one and one for all and all that! Nalina made sure she wasn’t around when that was discussed.
“If I win it, I’m keeping it,” she said to herself.
The Mercedes arrives at the Workshop
Patrick watched as the E350 was unloaded from the tow truck. Only six months old and in silver with full options. A stunning car costing $150,000. He looked inside to see rapper CDs strewn over the seats and floor. Even worse, a picture of the family dog Cello taped to the dash. Patrick shuddered. The way these people treated the finest cars in the world annoyed him. Mohad had just pulled up in a taxi and was walking up to the service reception where Patrick was standing. Teresa was walking from the other side. They both meet him as the tow truck driver gave him the keys and left.
“Who was driving it?” asked Patrick.
“That silly bitch of a daughter of his; Kyrstal,” Mohad replied.
Teresa added the rest.
“Mrs Allsop-smith was at the health club, and Kyrstal wanted to go and meet some friends, so she took the car. When it stopped, she rang her dad and he told her to ring us directly.”
Patrick looked at the car and pondered what would make it suddenly stop on the street.
“Well Mohad,” said Patrick, “Get to work; see what is wrong with it.”
Several mechanics pushed the car into the work bay and Mohad got to work going over his fault check list.
Teresa went to meet her friend Amanda for lunch. She had promised to come and see her on her first day.
Patrick went back to his office and his budgets.
Mr. Allsopp-Smith went to his board meeting.
“$150,000 for a fucking car that breaks down,” he muttered as he went though the door.
Teresa sat down at her desk after coming back from lunch. Lunch was fun and Amanda was fun as well. She was going overseas soon and Teresa knew she would miss her. China of all places, she thought.
“Come visit,” Amanda had said.
“Yeah, sure,” she had said back, but maybe she would. That would be something to look forward to. But right now she was at work and happy to be there. There was plenty to do and she was ready for it.
Mohad ran through his list of checks. Everything pointed to a fuel blockage, but there was nothing he could see. Could it just be out of gas? Surely no one was that stupid, even Kyrstal. Mohad sat back in the driver’s seat. He looked down at the picture of the family dog. Cellotaped to the dash. Cellotaped over the fuel gauge. Mohad gently peeled back the picture and looked. The needle pointed to E. Mohad burst out laughing. He knew Patrick well. The Allsop-smiths were going to pay. Oh how they would pay.
Patrick looked up as his right hand man Terence came into his office.
“Oh you are going to love this one. Mohad has got a beauty for you.”
Patrick looked at the service report and smiled. The target budget just got closer.
Later that day, Mr. Allsopp-Smith was standing at the Service Department Reception area and grimaced as he handed over his MasterCard. He looked as his bill.
Towage from Bright Street$ 250.00
Loan car usage$ 275.00
Full Diagnostic Report$ 375.00
75 Litres premium petrol$ 112.50
Labour 4.5 hours $ 540.00
Sundries$ 75.00
Cello tape$ 1.50
Total $1,629.00
Patrick looked on admiring his work as Teresa took the MasterCard and swiped it though the eftpos machine. Teresa held her composure. After he has left I can go out the back and laugh till I cry, she thought. Right now, this is just normal business. She would tell Mohad what the bill came to before he went home. He would want to know.
CHAPTER THREE
Shag Idol continues
What a week it had been. Thompson was so famous he could run for local office!
Thompson was in his favourite chair reading the newspaper. There was quite a bit about his show. Mostly bad. Thompson smiled as he read. A cunning scheme was working to plan.
The show had generated much more interest than even he had anticipated. It was being denounced by just about everyone. This was an almost guarantee of success. Dreary politicians were up in arms about the show’s intended content. The clergy were pointing out the moral decline - except those who had long given up any faith, and now pursued human acceptance, swaying to public opinion, or at least what they thought was the public opinion.
Thompson knew all about public opinion. The show was tacky and rude, and the more people in high places attacked it, the better the publicity. More people would then watch it, ratings would improve. Advertisers would pay more. We all get richer. It was ridiculously easy.
One of Thompson’s people had had a brainstorm while selecting the contestants. They had narrowed it down to about one hundred people and this had taken all week. But this was an unexpected bit of clever thinking.
Drug Testing.
The contestants had to submit to drug testing for performance enhancing drugs! Better yet, three people had failed the test and were disqualified.
Thompson loved giving that one out at the media release.
He found it on page three. ‘Shag Idol Drug Free,’ read the caption. Then the article went on to explain how the tests were carried out, by which medical department of the local university, and named the disgraced hopefuls. The banned substances were not disclosed, but people could figure it out.
Thompson turned the page and was quickly taken aback. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then as it sunk in, he burst out laughing.
The Viagra Company had placed a full page add admitting it was their product that had been banned and found in the disqualified contestants.
Thompson admired them. They could see how it all worked.
Belinda is out for a walk
Belinda and her younger sister were out walking through the park, which they did each Wednesday after having lunch. It was something of a ritual, which meant they saw each other and caught up. Although Belinda was older, her younger sister Amy was the one pushing the pram with two small ones in tow. Amy wasn’t married, and though the father, Jack, was a nice lad, he still though of himself as single and lived elsewhere. Belinda did not approve of this arrangement. Amy knew this.
“Pregnant again!” exclaimed Belinda. “You’ve got three now and you’re hardly 21 yet. What were you thinking?”
Amy knew Belinda was only looking out for her, but it was difficult thing to explain exactly.
“Well,” she replied “I wish I had been thinking differently. Whenever Jack comes around he gets me all hot and bothered and…”
“You shouldn’t be so quick to give him what he wants all the time. That’s what you should be thinking.”
“No,” Amy replied, “on the contrary, I should have given what he wanted at the time.”
“How is that then?” Belinda asked
“I should have let him come on my breast like he wanted to, at the time,” Amy replied.
At that point, a large African-American woman sitting on a bench with a brood of kids sitting around her looked up.
“I hear you sister, I hear you,” she consoled.
Belinda gave up. It was hard to argue with that kind of logic. She hugged her sister and headed back to work.
Patrick
Patrick looked at Mr Harrison, keeping a straight face and a firm grip on his composure. He was standing at the reception area of the Service Department of Mercedes on the Hill. Mr. Harrison was picking up his car.
“I doubt you will have any other problems Mr. Harrison, everything is in order and functioning perfectly.”
“I hope so,” replied Mr. Harrison as he selected a credit card to pay his bill with. Second time in two days; $1712.50 - and always $75 for sundries. Mr Harrison wanted to ask what the hell sundries were until he remembered he had already asked that last time and didn’t understand the answer then either.
“Best leave it to the experts I always say,” he said as he left.
“Thank you, Mr Harrison,” replied Patrick, “Teresa will show you where your car is parked.”
The last two days had been hectic.
Yesterday, being Wednesday, Mr Harrison had dropped of his car for a routine service. There were three main services required for vehicles, generally known as an A, B or C. Each one required replacing fluids such as engine oil, filters and periodically things such as brake pads. The manufacturer had laid out exactly what was to be done for each type of service, and how long it should take a competent mechanic to complete. With practice, trained technicians could do them more quickly. But dealerships normally charged out the number of hours the manufacturer recommended. The Hill followed this procedure.
Mr Harrison’s car required a C service, which took about two hours, but would be charged out at three. One technician was able to get through five of these C services in one day, and he got the best spot to work as a reward. His work bay was just below eye level of the mezzanine floor where the receptionist, Penny worked. To ensure adequate lighting, there was a large glass panel above this work-bay which allowed the mechanic to see the reception area, and more importantly, Penny.
Penny was blond, pretty, busty, and liked that the boys fought over Work Bay Number One. Penny made sure to wear tight skirts and loose tops. Morale amongst the mechanics was high.
But this particular Wednesday was a difficult day. Three unscheduled breakdowns came in, two quite difficult ones, plus three deliveries of new cars that needed to be prepared and have Sonar GPS systems fitted before going to their new owners. The Sonar systems hadn’t arrived and people were starting to worry over whether they would be ready that day. No one wanted to keep a customer waiting to pick up their new car. Everyone was working hard to get through the days work.
Teresa had put Mr Harrison’s E400 in car park 26 and the keys on the board.
Mohad had moved it to car park 31 to get one in front out to complete a pre-delivery check, which was to be delivered that day. Terence moved it to work bay 7 (Clive was away so it shouldn’t matter) to make room for a new car arriving from the wharf.
After that it got confusing. Mr Harrison’s car was seen outside the showroom where a salesman had mistaken it for a company car and tried to sell it to a Mr Chan and his wife. The effort was unsuccessful so the car was put on display on the yard - where a trainee mechanic had taken it around the back and removed the spare tyre and sonar GPS system to put on another car, assuming the parts would arrive on the courier the next day.
Patrick found the car at 4.30 parked across the road outside the lunch bar, and realized that not only had they not serviced it, but there were parts missing.
When Mr Harrison arrived 15 minutes later his car had been washed and had the tyres blackened, but not much else. He paid the bill of $800 by visa and left. Patrick had not told Teresa what had happened. To save face he had let her assume that the service had been done. He did not want to corrupt her too much too soon.
Mr Harrison was back at the Service Department the next morning at 8 am sharp, and he did not look happy. Patrick strode to the counter to take the complaint.
“Look,” he started, “Are you sure this car had been serviced? It’s still running rough, the service light is still on, the sonar doesn’t work and my spare tyre looks flat.”
“Best leave it with me,” Patrick said with conviction “I will take a personal interest in this and get it resolved.”
Mr Harrison left looking unconvinced. Patrick took a moment. As he walked around the car he thought about what Mr Harrison had said.
“It’s running rough and the service light is on because it hasn’t been serviced,” he thought out loud. He looked closely at the front of the car. “The sonar doesn’t work because it’s been removed.” He could see the telltale signs of missing screws and a blank where a small camera should be. He opened the boot. “The tyre - flat tyre,” he corrected himself, “is from another car! How on earth did it get in there?”
Patrick looked at the sky for inspiration. With great adversity comes great courage and great resolution. Patrick thought it was Churchill who had said that. How will I get out of this one?
Kevin
Kevin leaned back in his chair and surveyed his office. He had set it up to look just like the one he’d had at Mercedes. Same desk, even to the detail of having the same colour and type of trays for his files. The phone had been more difficult. It was an old type with lots of buttons and few of the modern features. He had searched second-hand shops to find one the same. The wall paper was easy and the windows were in much the same place as the previous one, so that hadn’t been too difficult. Some would say he wasn’t letting go of his old job. Since he was doing much the same thing he didn’t mind the criticism. He had set himself up as a Vehicle Broker. Clients paid him to buy their cars for them, sometimes for their company, but mostly for themselves and their families. He had met just about all the Dealers in town selling expensive cars, not just Mercedes but BMW and Lexus. And he had an impressive client base. Rich people were busy people. They also liked the idea of paying people to do things for them. Paying Kevin Wright to buy a car for them suited a great number of busy, wealthy people. He also took care of the trade-in, disposing of the existing car which was either last year’s model or now the wrong colour. For whatever reason it was to be replaced, Kevin would be sympathetic and efficient, and charged them a fee up front.
He had learnt that if fee was small, then the service can’t be that great. So he modelled himself on real estate agents. He charged a fee of 4.75% of the purchase price when buying and 7.25% of the value of the trade-in when selling. He needed to make three deals a month to break even. He had done four in first week. Fuck, I’m making a fortune, he thought.
He put his feet up on the desk and decided to take the rest of the day off.
Amanda and Teresa
Airports can be exciting places with so many adventures being begun or completed. People mill about in large numbers, and everywhere people run into each other’s arms and feel the warmth of love and belonging to one another. Others are saying goodbyes, with tears that come with parting. Sweet sorry, it is indeed.
Teresa had tears in her eyes as she hugged her dear friend Amanda. A new adventure in China, teaching English to students in a small town in the northern territories. She would her miss her completely and, now that it was about to happen, didn’t want her to go. Some friendships go beyond companionship and caring. Theirs was one born of an understanding of each other that Teresa had never found with another person.
“Will you be safe?” Teresa asked as she relaxed her grip and let Amanda go free.
“No, English teachers are regularly raped by the locals where I am going,” Amanda replied, drying her eyes.
“Oh well, one way to get a man I suppose,” Teresa offered as she felt the tears on her own cheek.
“It’s only for six months, and you are coming to visit right?”
“You bet,” Teresa confirmed. She let her friend walk through the customs area and towards her flight. Then she went into the viewing area to watch planes take off and land for an hour. Unable to be sure whether she had actually seen Amanda’s plane take off or not, Teresa left the airport and went back to work.
A part of her had just left, and she felt almost alone.
Patrick
Patrick had had a difficult morning. He had given Terence very explicit instructions for Mr Harrison’s car. He was to personally supervise the servicing of it, and he was to service everything that it needed, might need or will need in the next six months. Mr Harrison’s car was to be perfect when they handed it back that evening.
He had every confidence in Terry and would concern himself no more with that side of things. The next thing was how to present this monumental cock-up so they could come out of smelling like roses.
Patrick also had a problem with the budget. They were behind. He didn’t like being behind. He stood from his desk and strode around his office, then out to the reception area. Still no further ahead with a solution, he walked out the door and towards the paint and panel department. Patrick needed inspiration for a solution.
He had gotten to the building that housed the panel shop, but he walked past it to the park that it backed onto. It was a nice park, with trees, paths, seats to rest on and, of course, a playground for kids to play on. Mothers took their children there and bought them ice creams from the little shop in the centre. Many would stop and chat while the children played. Patrick saw one group quite close to him. The mothers talked about their inconsiderate husbands while the children sat on the ground eating their ice-cream. One toddler was sitting with a sibling who looked younger and smaller. The older one had dropped his ice-cream on the ground and obviously felt it was then spoiled. He had picked it up and was pulling on his mother’s dress to bring this disaster to her attention, but she was too engrossed in conversation to notice.
Patrick sat down slowly to see how this child dealt with things.
The older toddler looked at his younger sibling and offered a swap. The younger one had not seen the ice-cream cone hit the dirt and so took this as a fair deal. He took the unwanted cone and continued eating as heartily as before. The older toddler sat back, pleased with himself and began to eat once more. The mother was oblivious to all this behind the scenes negotiating. She was listening intently about someone else’s husband who snored and couldn’t get it up after a few wines.
Patrick sat and stared at them for a full minute. He had two pressing problems. Mr Harrison’s car, and a budget shortfall to address. Then it dawned on him that it would work if he kept a straight face. He got up and ran back to the Service department and his office.
Patrick sat down to write up Mr Harrison’s bill
Replace Faulty Sonar$ 750.00
Rectify slow leak in spare tyre$ 37.50
Replace Faulty Service Reminder
Diagnostic Computer input unit$ 850.00
Sundries$ 75.00
Total$1,712.50
Patrick always liked sundries. He learnt it at a General Motors Dealership where he had worked as a mechanic.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kevin and Teresa
“Mercedes on the Hill, Service Department,” said a woman’s voice.
Kevin paused for a moment. He didn’t recognize the voice.
“Oh, err, Hello, I was looking for Terence?” he offered.
“Sorry Sir, Terence is out to lunch.”
”Physically,
emotionally or mentally?” Kevin replied.
“Excuse Me?” Teresa wasn’t quite sure she had heard correctly.
Kevin’s quip had been lost.
“Oh just me trying to be funny; when is he back?”
“And who is ‘me’ exactly?” inquired Teresa.
“Kevin Wright. I was the Sales Manager there until recently”.
Teresa suddenly remembered. They hadn’t met but he’d finished the day she started. Everyone spoke highly of him. They all missed him and his humour. It was an unusual thing when someone left behind such a legacy of goodwill in a company. Teresa decided to be more pleasant and less efficient. He was almost staff.
“Terry is out playing squash with Patrick. They won’t be back for an hour” she replied.
“Oh yes, the monthly contest! What’s at stake, paying for the Friday Beers or the porn movies at the next training session?”
Teresa
laughed. He had worked here alright.
They ended up chatting for close to an hour, and the more they talked the more Kevin felt he could tell her. Kevin caught up on all the gossip and Teresa learnt which people she could confide in and which ones she couldn’t. She hadn’t known that Katie, the Office Manager was sleeping with Henry Greaves, the owner.
“But she’s married!” Teresa exclaimed.
“So is he,” Kevin defended.
‘Good point,’ she thought.
She also found out what not to say in front of the receptionist, who reported word for word back to Katie. Also, how to avoid becoming a snitch for the Company Accountant, who had it in for Patrick, and why Bob was running the panel-beating department.
“He caught Katie and Henry? At it? Where?”
“On the company boat down at the moorings. Henry had forgotten he had asked Bob to repaint the top deck. So he turned up with a tin of paint and a brush, and got a promotion!”
“Why for goodness sake! I mean, when do they get away?”
“You don’t think Katie really spends four hours at Gothlin, Hague and Smith going over budgets and contracts every Friday do you?”
Teresa smiled. Yes, she had.
“Best time for a long lunch is Fridays. Go at 1.30 and be back by quarter to 4. If anyone asks where you were, just say you had to run some extra documents through to Katie at the lawyer’s office. You’ll be safe as houses!”
As Teresa hung up she was grateful for the phone call. Kevin seemed very nice and she could understand why he was well liked. She had not thought to ask him how his new job was going. Was that rude of her?
Kevin put down his phone and thought he may had just made a new friend. He had certainly been loose with the tongue. He had given away nearly seven years worth of secrets in one phone call to a woman he had never met before.
‘Oh well, the secrets are no use to me anymore,’ he thought. Just the same, if she told everyone what he had said, he would be dead meat around The Hill. Kevin shuddered. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in confiding too much with her. He was also taken with her. Wasn’t she delightful? He had seen her the day he had left but not taken too much notice. Attractive of course, he had noticed that.
She was expecting to move into sales after three months and Henry had told her after training as a cadet, she would be selling 5-6 cars a month and make $100,000 per year. Henry had told the last three cadets that as well. They all left after six months, still consigned to the Service Department Reception. He had not wanted to tell her. Why spoil things? She seemed fairly clued up and would work it out for herself. Kevin didn’t like to burst people’s bubbles.
Antonio
Antonio sat in the large chair at his apartment and turned on the TV, switching to the sport channel. He needed a break. He had been studying the contract they would all have to sign tomorrow if they wanted to be part of Shag Idol. It was a fait accompli. You signed, or you were out.
The contract was four inches thick and seemed to cover every possible eventually including pregnancy (although precautions were to be taken), injury, or even death in the saddle. Medical staff would be on deck at the studio of course.
There was a complicated process of qualifying rounds and semi finals with a final to be held in about eight month’s time. There would also be play offs for third and fourth for goodness sake. Antonio had calculated he would have to shag about thirty girls to win the million, and he couldn’t afford to lose too many contests. When they got to the last thirty contestants, it was sudden death. You lose, you are out.
Antonio wondered what he gotten himself into.
Teresa
“Excuse me?” inquired a soft voice, “can someone help me with my car?”
Teresa was sitting alone in the Service Reception so she assumed that someone would be her. She smiled politely as she looked up.
“How can I help?”
Mrs Carrington was pleasant but best described as ditsy. Early forties at best guess and dressed in odd combinations; summery dress with flowers, but with a leather coat and boots. Expensive clothes that didn’t match, yet she still managed to be wearing around $7500 worth of clothing. Her husband was a financial advisor to some of the biggest corporations in town. He no doubt earnt a fortune and his opinions were sought by the well to do. His intellect was probably never in doubt either. Teresa tried not to judge his wife.
Mrs Carrington turned and walked towards the curb where her car was parked.
“I’m not sure what do to,” she said quietly.
Teresa saw that she was expected to follow and did so. She looked at the car expecting to find at least some damage. Mrs Carrington had that sound in her voice that you had when you’d broken something expensive.
“What exactly seems to be the problem?” she asked gently.
“That,” replied Mrs Carrington as she pointed to the front passenger’s door.
It took Teresa a few moments to realize there was a four inch scratch on the door. It was a fine scratch and not that noticeable. She decided to try to console Mrs Carrington.
“Only a minor scratch, is it worth worrying about?” she offered.
“Oh no, it will have to be fixed, just look at it!” came the reply. Teresa had been here just over a month. She had learnt to give up on these types of arguments with other customers. Best just to give them what they want.
“We will take care of it for you Mrs Carrington; just leave it with us”.
Shortly Mrs Carrington was driving off in a courtesy car and Teresa was taking the damaged car down to the panel shop to be repaired. She thought the Foreman would be pleased to see another job. He wasn’t.
“Mrs Carrington needs her scratched car fixed,” Teresa said to the foreman.
“Oh for fucks sake!” he exclaimed. He had too much work, was a week behind and two men down with the flu. “Leave it over there; we’ll squeeze it in later in the week”
Teresa parked the car, put the keys on their board and walked back to her reception, enjoying the warm sunshine on her back.
Nalina
Nalina had read her contract, signed it and taken it back in to the TV Studio. They had considered pretty much everything. If you made any money out of being in the show, then the Studio got a cut. If you get kicked out and sell the story to the tabloids, the studio got a cut. If you died on the show, the studio got the life insurance money.
First prize was worthwhile. One million in the currency of your choice (that was a mistake on their behalf she thought) plus a new Mercedes Coupe and a host of other rubbish prizes given by companies wanting publicity. A year supply of condoms (Who decides what a year’s supply is, Nalina thought), plus some clothes, make up and vitamins.
The contract also required the winner to be available for interviews, walk-on parts for TV shows that the studio produced, and to come back and shag next year's winner.
Nalina would be having none of that. If she won, and she intended to, she would disappear. She would choose her native currency and have it deposited into her father’s company account. Papa was a brilliant investor and would have it doubled inside two years. He moved the wealthy money in and out of investments around the world and had done so for two decades. He would make sure Nalina stayed rich.
Then she would disappear. Her mother worked for the secret service and could hide her from anyone.
She realized she could live off her parents, they were generous enough, but she wanted her own fortune.
She had laughed when she read the penalties in the contract for failing to comply with the requirements if you won. She wondered how they would sue her for breech of contract if they couldn’t find her.
In any case, no one got extradited for breech of contract.
If she won, she’d be gone.
Teresa
Teresa had picked up the phone before she had realized she had just taken a sip of coffee and couldn’t speak. No need. Mrs Carrington was speaking in that soft apologetic voice of hers. She hadn’t needed a hello from anyone.
“Is my car ready yet?” she enquired.
Teresa took the opportunity to swallow her sip of coffee and took a moment. The delicacy, in which Mrs Carrington had asked, with such innocence, had sucked the desire to be sarcastic out of Teresa. ‘What car?’ she could have replied ‘whose car?’, ‘who’s this?’
There was no point. Teresa was not given to nastiness and she knew who it was and why she was ringing.
“I will go down and personally check for you and call you back Mrs Carrington”.
Teresa hung up the phone and realized she felt sorry for her. It had been a week and she bet nothing had been done. She walked down to see Bob the foreman.
“Not even looked at it yet,” Bob said without even a hint of remorse. He was outside in the sun sanding down a large part of a very broken car. It may have been a bumper Teresa thought. She looked around. There were cars all over the place and every one of them half done. There in the corner was Mrs Carrington’s car looking very forlorn. It had a lot of dust over it from work being carried on around it. It looked a bit like a broken toy left outside in rain, abandoned by its child owner. Teresa felt a sense of sadness for it. Its owner was something of a child, but desperately wanted her toy repaired so she could get it back.
She looked down at Bob.
“So what do I tell her?” She was looking for help here.
“Tell her that we have to paint the whole side to get the colour blended correctly, and we can’t mix her colour in this humid weather we have been having.”
Teresa looked at him incredulously.
Bob was on a roll and continued.
“Cooler temperatures are forecast over the weekend, so we will work some overtime to get the colour mixed correctly.”
Teresa realized he wasn’t joking and was horrified. He really expected her to say all that to an adult who should know better.
Bob was firm. “She’ll believe anything you say if you say it convincingly.”
Teresa stood for a moment and looked around. One of the panel-beaters had come out carrying something else for Bob to sand. He chipped in the coupe de grace.
“Tell her we will put her car under the heat lamps to soften the paint so it will apply better. It really brings up the shine. It takes a couple of days, but it is worth the wait.”
Teresa walked away a little shaken. She consoled herself as she walked back to her reception. She was no painter, so how would she know? By the time she reached her desk she had given into the task.
“Really?” responded Mrs Carrington, “So should I ring back Tuesday then?”
“Tuesday would be fine,” responded Teresa. As she hung up the phone she looked across at her reflection in the glass window. When did you become so corrupt, she thought.
Tuesday came and the Mercedes was ready with no scratches on the passenger door. They had cleaned and polished the whole car with a buffing machine which really did bring up the shine. Teresa had no idea whether they had in fact painted it at all. She decided she didn’t want to know. She parked it somewhere safe away from other cars and rang the owner with the good news. The car seemed happy to be going home.
Twenty minutes later Mrs Carrington was at the counter looking through her hand bag for the correct credit card. So many! One was for her spending, one for the kids, and another for anything to do with the house…
Terence interrupted her thought. “I believe Mr. Carrington likes anything to do with the cars to go on the blue Amex, Madam”.
“Oh, thank-you,” she replied. She liked coming here. They were always helpful with remembering little things like that. It really is the little things that count, she thought.
She didn’t even look at the slip as she signed it.
Teresa did after she had left. Terence had stapled it to the job sheet and put it in the tray to be processed. She groaned in protest.
$4500.00
Patrick laughed all the way back to his office.
CHAPTER FIVE
Antonio and Nalina meet
“Bonjour mademoiselle,” Antonio said, as charmingly as he could. He and Nalina had bumped into each other at the water fountain. They, along with the other one hundred hopefuls, were attending the introduction day for Shag Idol. They had all met in the studio and handed in their signed contracts. A few had bought lawyers with them, but Thompson had refused to talk to them and thrown them out. It was his way or the high way. Nalina and Antonio had slipped out during a break to get some water. They’d both reached for the cups at the same time and almost collided. Antonio had recovered first and seen how pretty Nalina was. He had taken the opportunity to try his charm.
“Bonjour mademoiselle”
“Un desconocido guapo alto para encantarme?” Nalina replied. Although Portuguese was her native tongue, she had noticed Spanish worked better on French boys.
Antonio laughed out loud to disguise his interest. Spanish spoken by a pretty woman made him weak in the knees. He understood it a little, which is probably why it appealed to him. This was his Achilles Heel.
They settled on English, being the one language they were both fluent in, although Nalina had a lovely accent to go with it. They chatted and found they shared the humour over some of the antics so far. They both thought the drug testing was a set up. There was only one person who could be described as fat, and really everyone was reasonably good looking. Perhaps not stunning, but no-one stuck out as ugly - that is, apart from Horace. Antonio explained why he believed Horace had been chosen. Nalina shuddered at the thought.
The bell rang and everyone was expected back inside the studio. They were going to cover all the rules and how the point system worked. Antonio shook Nalina’s hand and said how nice it had been chatting. Nalina liked the look of him and agreed it was nice to chat. If they had met anywhere else, they both felt they would have arranged a date to go out. But here it seemed a bit surreal. Besides, the rules forbade dating amongst the contestants.
Antonio was sitting on the other side of the studio and so turned to his left and walked away. Nalina was sitting on the other side, so she should have turned to the right and walked away, but something made her stop and watch Antonio leave.
Maybe after the show we can be friends, Nalina thought.
Antonio had a very different thought in his head. “If I meet her in the finals, I’m done for”.
Clinton – Shag Idol
Clinton Shaw, Thompson’s right hand man, stood at the podium and surveyed the hopefuls as they sat expectantly in the auditorium.
“Now people, remember, it is only sex! You will be shagging people chosen randomly by a computer program and we will be keeping track via cameras in the room. Our judges have their criteria for evaluating your performance, and it is all covered in your hand outs. You will be given points based on your techniques and please, make sure you read when penalty points may be deducted. There is also a list of circumstances for disqualification.
“Remember;
it is only sex, don’t get too caught up in it all - and your
contract is binding.”
Clinton addressed them for an hour more regarding the rules, interpretation and judging styles. Some listened, but the young people mostly looked around wondering who they would be shagging first.
Kevin and Teresa
“Oh hello. Teresa, isn’t it?”
Teresa looked up. She had been enjoying her coffee at Marmadukes, a swish Barista on a side street near work. It had a view of the city and the sea, outside seating and free magazines to read. It was a great place to relax. She saw someone who looked familiar but she couldn’t place him. She knew his voice. As soon as he spoke again she would have it.
“Kevin Wright. We chatted on the phone a few weeks ago.” Kevin held out his hand to shake hers.
Teresa smiled and shook his hand.
“Yes, of course. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Would you like another?” he pointed to her near-empty cup.
“Why not?” she replied.
“What will it be?”
“Long Black, thanks.”
Kevin walked up to the counter and caught the sales assistant’s eye.
“A Naomi Campbell and a Gwyneth Paltro thanks Diane.”
Diane groaned at the joke. “Long Black and Flat White coming right up.”
Kevin handed over the money.
“Still chatting up the ladies then?” Diane enquired as she pointed a finger in Teresa’s direction.
“Only the pretty ones,” Kevin replied.
“I’ll bring them out,” Diane offered, and Kevin went to join Teresa.
“So how have the last few weeks been? That information any good to you?”
Teresa was pleased he had asked.
“Only gold! You saved me from putting my foot in it with the accountant yesterday. He was snooping around looking for budget forecasts. He wanted me to go through Patrick’s desk to find them because he was out.”
“Patrick runs two sets of figures, the accountant is always trying to find the second set,” Kevin explained.
“So I pretended the office was locked and I didn’t have the key,” Teresa explained.
“And he bought it?”
”Not
really, so I told him Katie had a key and would he like me to fetch
it for him from her. He said not to bother and hasn’t spoken to me
since.”
“Well done.”
The two stayed and chattered for nearly two hours before finally leaving their several empty cups and plates to go back to work. Teresa really enjoyed the company. He was relaxing and easy to be with. He was good looking, she thought, but that wasn’t the main appeal.
He communicated well and listened to her every word. He offered gentle advice and had a worldly sense of people and how they related - and hardly a criticism of even those that deserved it. She had made a new friend and she was pleased.
She had still not asked how his new job was going. He would think she was rude. She promised herself to ask next time they met. Opps! They hadn’t arranged anything! Oh well, such is life. She walked efficiently back into the dealership as if she had only been gone ten minutes.
Kevin had enjoyed Teresa’s company much more than he had expected. He liked feeling useful and the advice he had offered was helping her adjust to new surroundings. Not that she was a shrinking violet. She did have vulnerability about her that people would find appealing. But Kevin sensed a hardness deep inside her. Was that the right word? Hardness? Maybe strength was more correct. Kevin pondered this as he walked back to his car. I suppose, he confided in himself, it would depend if you liked the person or not. If you did, it would be strength. If you didn’t like them you would describe it as hardness.