Narcissus Smiled

"Frank's; they any good?" Susan asked.

"It is the greasiest, nastiest half pound of ground chuck you'll ever put in your mouth," Sammy smiled. "Frank's uses those Vidalia onions? And fresh cracked black peppercorns in the mix. It is..."

"Okay, I know where I'm going for lunch," Susan interrupted.

"I usually have them add a fried egg; no, I'm not worried about cholesterol," Sammy said.

Uncle Rob had raised Sammy, using the Bible as his guide. Sammy didn't discover, until he was sixteen, but the reason Uncle Rob did not associate with his mother and father and older brother was because the other Coleman's despised Sammy. Sammy, to them, was a reminder of their own failings. Sammy was a reminder that, despite claiming to be Christians, they had not behaved in a Christian manner in regards to Gladys, or Gladys's son.

At seventeen, upon graduating from high school, Sammy went to the Myndee VO-tech and took up Heating and Air Conditioning. He knew he was not college material and Uncle Rob agreed that Vo-Tech made the most sense.

Upon completing his courses, Sammy was immediately hired by Robertson's H&AC. Sammy did his best for his employer and did his best to pay Uncle Rob for room and board.

Three years later, Sammy talked with Uncle Rob and struck out on his own. The money he'd been giving to Uncle Rob for room and board, Uncle Rob gave to Sammy so that Sammy would have the seed money to start his own company. Many of Robertson's clients learned they could trust Sammy; most of Robertson's repairpersons tried to sell new units to their customers. Sammy took the time to search for possible repairs. If he said a unit was too old to repair, or was not cost-efficient to repair, the customer knew it wasn't a scam. So, when Sammy went out on his own, he already had a good solid client base and his word of mouth advertising was as good as gold.

Even as Pam bad-mouthed her estranged husband to her associates, Lorie Knowles, a Gold Standard Real Estate agent sent a text to Sammy's H&AC. Deanna Stolzzle, an interior decorator also sent a text message to Sammy's cell, requesting service.

"I do believe I'd asked you to turn that off," Susan Morrison said tersely as Sammy's pocket gave off yet another 'ding.'

"No, ma'am, you did not," Sammy said. "If you had, I would have."

"Please turn it off," Susan requested.

At the end of the session, Sammy rose to his full six foot two inches and stretched. He then asked Susan if she wanted to bet that Pam had not paid for the session.

"A burger at Frank's?" Susan smirked.

"Probably not," Sammy said, turning on his cell phone again. "Looks like I'll be too busy earning a living."

"Two dollars a minute?" Sammy asked as he paid the ninety dollar charge.

"Yeah, well, we can't all charge as much as an AC guy, you know," Susan smiled and turned to the next appointment waiting in the cramped front room. "Hi; I'll be with you in just a minute, okay? Just got to clean up the blood from the last session."

"Kidding. She's kidding," Sammy hastened to assure Bobby Setters and an unknown woman.

Bobby Setters was the manager of a Burns & Burns Grocers grocery store; he was a customer of Sammy's. Sammy had even been to Bobby's home on one occasion during a brutally cold winter day to repair Bobby's heat pump.

"I know, Coleman," Bobby smirked. "We've met Ms. Morrison before. She thinks she's funny or something."

"I think she's funny," the unnamed woman smiled.

"Because she's always agreeing with you," Bobby smiled.

"Does not! Oh, okay, who here feels sorry for Bobby? Anyone? Anyone?" the woman said, looking around for any raised hands.

Sammy's appointments kept him busy until seven nineteen that night. Frank's was still busy at that time of the evening. A mother and father at two twin girls waited in line in front of Sammy and the two seven year old girls kept Sammy amused until they reached the counter.

"You got any?" the African-American mother asked, smiling at Sammy.

"Have a...had an eight year old step-daughter," Sammy admitted.

"Had? Aw, buddy, I'm sorry hear that, the red headed father sympathized.

"Hey, it happens," Sammy smiled. "But, thanks for letting me borrow yours for a while."

"Anytime you want borrow them, give us a call," the dad said and placed their order.

When he heard that Pam had skipped paying Susan Morrison, Jude Werner relayed to Pam that she was to pay his bill thus far or his representation of her would cease. Sammy listened to the long, rambling, tearful and accusing voice mail that Pam left on his cell phone.

"Hey, Pam, here's a crazy idea," Sammy responded to Pam's voice mail. "Apparently being a real estate agent ain't working out for you. Maybe might want get another job? Repeat after me...would you like fries with that?"

"But, listen, don't be calling me no more," Sammy continued over Pam's screaming response. "Need get a message to me? Go through my attorney, okay? Our next appointment with Susan is Thursday at ten; pay up front or we don't go in. Hear?"

"So, Pam, last week, I asked you to look at why you want to stay married to Sammy," Susan began the next session. "Last session? You spent ten minutes telling me, and Sammy about Sammy's shortcomings and failings. So, why do you want to stay married? Why are we here?"

Instead of answering Susan's question, Pam launched into more complaints. The complaints finally gave way to demands. Susan sat, face impassive, despite Sammy's amused face.

"Thank you, Ms. Hutchinson," Susan finally stopped Pam's tirade. "Sammy? You were the one that began the divorce proceedings, correct? Why? What prompted you to abandon the marriage?"

Sammy described house hunting. Pam had a specific house in mind but wouldn't, or couldn't elaborate on that. They'd found several suitable homes...

Pam started complaining about the other homes. She huffed when Susan stopped her.

Then Sammy talked about the carpet. Pam again opened her mouth. Susan dug out a pad and ink pen and handed that to Pam. Sammy continued about the seven different color paints Pam had insisted on, and the new drawer and cabinet pulls. Pam glared white-hot hatred when Susan stopped Pam's response and told Pam to write her responses.

"Think the final straw was furniture shopping," Sammy sighed. "You know, my trailer? Everything in it came from the consignment shops there in Gratchley's. Good, solid, dependable furniture. Jesus, I'm just glad Vokine's don't have a furniture department; sure as shit, Pam would have had us in there."

Sammy turned and looked at the fuming Pam. She opened her mouth to retort to his erroneous assumptions.

"Well, Pam, since my opinion don't matter and Estelle's opinion don't matter, you can get whatever you want," Sammy said.

"The reason I..." Pam began to justify herself.

Sammy said, "But I sure as shit won't be paying for it. So, Pam? You can get whatever the fuck you can afford. Hear? Whatever your ass can afford."

Susan said, "Well, our time this week is up. Pam? Ms. Hutchinson? Seriously? Will there be another session?"

"I, I sincerely doubt it; you haven't done anything," Pam snarled hatefully.

"By the way, Frank's? That is worth every extra push up and sit up I had to do," Susan told Sammy as he followed Pam to the door.

"Well, to fully round out your evening of decadence, you really need to stop off at Zydeco's for their doughnuts and their coffee," Sammy smiled.

"Shut up! Just, just shut up! I don't need any help breaking my diet," Susan laughed.

"That desk was..." Pam started as Sammy stepped into the hallway in front of Susan Morrison's office.

"Save it, Pam. No one gives a shit," Sammy said, turning on his cell phone and scrolling through his missed calls.

"No, listen, the desk was..." Pam insisted.

Sammy opted to take the stairs, rather than stand and wait on the elevator. He didn't know how long the elevator would take, and knew Pam was bound and determined that Sammy would listen to her explanations, listen to her justify her opinion on the desk, on the house, on everything. Since Susan Morrison's office was on the tenth floor of the Ubelhauser Building, Sammy doubted very seriously that Pamela Hutchinson would follow him down the stairs. No matter how important she believed her opinion to be, she was not about to walk two steps more than she needed to.

"That was rude," Pam said as Sammy finally exited the stairwell onto the second level parking deck.

"Wait, you, are you apologizing? You, you admit, you were rude?" Sammy asked, unlocking the door of his pickup truck.

"Huh?" Pam asked, giving Sammy the moment of silence he needed to make his escape.

Sammy smirked as he pulled away from the scowling Pam. He could see Pam's mouth moving, even as he reached the curve in the down ramp of the parking deck. His first appointment after their session even commented on Sammy's happy mood.

"Well, yes ma'am," Sammy said, wondering if the woman realized she was giving him a nearly unobstructed view of her red headed pussy. "You know, we can all find something to be happy about."

The beads of moisture Sammy could see on the woman's hanging labia told him, the customer knew very well what she was doing. He completed the simple repair and printed out her receipt. The customer gave him a knowing smirk as his eyes flickered down to her crotch again just before he turned and left her home.

At six thirty, Sammy completed his last repair and mentally flipped a coin. He could go home to his trailer; he had a twelve pack of Gratchley's in the fridge. Or he could go to The Captain's Table and watch some cute girls bounce around while he drank a Gratchley's draft.

Sammy saw some kids playing at the small neighborhood park and thought of Estelle. With a sigh, he decided to just go home.

"Twenty three years old and already a failure," Sammy told himself.

"Hello?" he answered the telephone. "Sammy speaking."

"I uh, hey, my, my air conditioner just went out," a man said. "God, I know, I know it's after hours, but come on, huh?"

Sammy got the address and drove three blocks from his last customer's home. He fixed the man's tempermental unit and tacked on an additional fifty dollars since it was after six o'clock.

Stepping outside, Sammy saw the several signs in the front yard of the home across the street. He also saw the 'Eviction' Notice taped to the front door.

"Yeah, I had the bucks? Man, I'd be at the courthouse buying that up," the customer said.

"You just go to the courthouse and buy them?" Sammy asked.

"Hmm? First Tuesday of the month? They auction them off. And that house? Two bedroom, two bathroom; it'll go for a song," the customer assured Sammy.

At his trailer, ice cold Gratchley's in hand, Sammy researched the sale of foreclosures and repossessed homes. The home he had seen that evening was not on the listing for the properties in and around Clarkston County; perhaps the bank had not submitted the paperwork to the county yet.

Pam's attorney did not throw any more roadblocks up; Sammy deduced Pam was not paying Jude Werner. Soon, he and Pam were standing in a busy courtroom, waiting to hear 'Coleman V Hutchinson' called out by the bored looking bailiff.

Along with his divorce, Sammy was given seventy percent of the value of the home upon sale of 1711 Cottonwood Drive. The judge was unmoved when Pam sobbed that she and her daughter would have nowhere to go.

"Then, Ms. Hutchinson, you may buy Mr. Coleman's portion of the home," the judge offered.

Sammy was fairly certain, all the repairs and upgrades helped, but the house sold quickly and he had forty three thousand dollars to play with. At the signing, Pam sobbed and sniffled; Sammy almost felt sorry for her. Not sorry enough to just let her have his seventy percent of the sale, but in a way, he understood her anguish.

Pam had an idea, a vision of what true happiness would look like. And for a brief moment, she had believed she had achieved that goal. She had a beautiful little girl, a carbon copy of herself. Pam Hutchinson had a successful career, a doting husband, and a home that reflected her intellect, her grace, her superior sense of style and color.

With a few scribbles from a judge, the doting husband was removed. Jeremy Leblanc, Estelle's father was suing Pam for primary custody of Estelle; he'd learned that his daughter had flunked the third grade, and was now living in a studio apartment in a less than desirable neighborhood in Clarkston County. Whatever successes Pam may have had as a real estate agent were few and far between. And now, her showcase was no longer hers.

"I hope you're happy," Pam screamed at Sammy as the notary stamped the last sheet of paper.

"Pam, if you had just once truly tried to make someone else happy? Maybe you would have found some happiness of your own," Sammy said, nodding his thanks to Sylvia Cox, the young attorney that slid his check, the seventy percent of the sale, minus closing costs.

"Instead, you were too busy demanding that everyone else make you happy," Sammy said, opening the door of the conference room. "So, in the end? No one's happy."

"Except for me!" Sammy said under his breath as he verified the amount of the check. "Aw yeah, Sammy's happy. Sammy's very happy."

Turning on his phone, Sammy saw he had a call from a blocked phone number. Listening to the voice mail, Sammy got the phone number and called the number.

"Hi, this is Sammy of Sammy's H and AC," he said when a gruff voice answered 'Sugarplum's.'

Sugarplum's was a 'Gentlemen's Club' near his trailer in Gratchley, Arkansas. Sammy drove out and lugged his tools toward the front door. A burly bouncer greeted him with a genuine smile.

"My man, you get this mother fucker working, I will buy you a lap dance, hear?" the man promised.

"Oh. My. God, yeah, I can see you needing some work done," Sammy gasped as a wave of heated air blasted them both when the bouncer opened the door.

"Nothing to it," Sammy smiled when he'd came back inside after checking the outside unit. "I'm betting y'all bought this unit with the building when y'all moved in?"

"Shit, I don't know," the manager shrugged, mopping his forehead with a sodden handkerchief.

"I guess," the bouncer said. "Think this was some kind of dentist's office before."

"And they went out of business 'cause no one in Gratchley's ever heard of a toothbrush..." the manager quipped.

Sammy laughed as he heard a chorus of 'Hey!' from a few customers and a few of the dancers protesting the manager's statement. He showed the manager and the bouncer where the contacts had worn down after years of use. He said he had the parts in his trailer and would be back in twenty minutes.

Two hours after leaving the attorney's office, Sammy was enjoying an ice cold Gratchley's and watching a cute brunette jiggle and gyrate to a hip-hop song. He smiled as 'Candy, she's oh so sweet' gave him an air kiss before bouncing off the stage.

"Sugarplum's, need put your hands together for Desiree," the DJ announced as another hip hop song started up.

Sammy's cock shot up painfully as a cute and chunky girl bounced onto the stage. Sammy ordered a second beer and a plate of nachos; he was going to stay and watch Desiree's entire set.

"Yeah, I kind of like them chubby bunnies too," Marv, Sammy's new best friend chuckled as he made his way from the front door to the bathroom.

"On the house, buddy," the manager said, sliding the cold beer and hot and spicy nachos across the bar. ""And, brother? Anyone asks me who I'd recommend for the AC? Better believe I'm giving them your name, hear?"

"Can't get no better than that," Sammy agreed, groaning inwardly when Desiree turned and wiggled her luscious buttocks. "Fuck, would just love to tear that up."

"Oh, you could TRY to put a hurting on that," Marv agreed. "You could TRY, but better believe you'd be the one hurting when she got done with your ass."

"Yeah, but I'd be smiling too," Sammy agreed.

"Heard that, heard that," Marv slapped Sammy's shoulder and returned to his post by the door.

With a little money in his pocket and a lot of free time on his hands, Sammy began buying one or two homes on the first Tuesday of the month. Some months he would be among the buyers on the courthouse steps of Clarkston County. Other months, Sammy would stand on the steps of the courthouse of Bloutchen County, buying foreclosures in and around Gratchley. After buying the homes, on evenings and weekends, Sammy would labor to clean the homes up, paint them, put in new carpet, new rooves. Then he would turn around and sell them for a pretty penny. After a successful sale, Sammy would stop off at Sugarplum's for a couple of cold drafts and a plate of hot nachos as a little reward to himself.

Sammy did work up the courage to ask Desiree, Mindy Welchen for a date. The chunky blonde admitted she hated dancing, hated being 'Desiree.' But she had amassed a considerable credit card debt and the money was good.

For someone who acted sexy, acted eager and raring to go, Mindy was not very good in the sack. She flopped on her back and waited for it to be over. Oral sex was repugnant, unless it was being performed on her. She declared anal sex was disgusting and perverted and would never, ever happen. The nail in the coffin of their relationship, though, was when Mindy made the comment that Sammy had plenty of money; why did he live in a shitty trailer? She then suggested that Sammy could 'loan' her the money to pay off her credit card debt.

"Uh, yeah, it's been nice, but you got to go, know what I'm saying?" Sammy drawled, pulling on a pair of sweat pants.

Sammy answered a call one bitterly cold winter morning; it was raining too hard for him to finish painting a recent purchase, so Sammy was taking a rare Saturday off.

"Sammy speaking," he answered.

"Hi, this, uh, this is Susan. Morrison," his former therapist said. "My heater's out; I don't know why, but I can see my breath. I know its Saturday and your web site says you don't do Saturdays or Sundays, but please?"

Sammy remembered, on their first session, the session Pam had walked out on, Susan Morrison had been wearing a pleated skirt. She had crossed her legs, unintentionally flashing Sammy a good bit of her very pudgy left thigh. As his Uncle Rob would have said, Susan Morrison had some good meat on them bones.

"Be right there," Sammy smiled, looking forward to seeing the attractive young woman again.

Sammy was slightly puzzled when Susan opened the door of 2905 Kent Avenue, dressed in sweat pants and sweat shirt. She was not bundled up against a frigid chill. The house was cool, but certainly not cold enough to see one's breath. He followed the attractive blonde to her furnace, admiring her casual, comfortable taste in furniture as he walked through her house.

Sammy saw that the pilot light was out. He also saw that someone had turned off the gas.

"I uh, who else lives here?" Sammy asked as he carefully turned the gas on and lighted the pilot light.

"Oh, just me," Susan said. "Coffee's done and the croissants are just about ready. I've got apple jelly, strawberry-rhubarb jam and blackberry jam; what you want on your croissant?"

"Strawberry-rhubarb please," Sammy agreed.

"It's nice and warm in my bedroom; I have a fireplace in there," Susan suggested. "I'm about to suffocate in all this getup."

"Well, then by all means, get out of that getup," Sammy laughed, following the attractive therapist up the stairs to her second floor bedroom.

It was very warm in the bedroom. The bed was large and looked comfortable. In front of the crackling fireplace was a bearskin rug, two leather wingback chairs and a small round table. Sammy sat in one of the wingback chairs, still looking around at Susan's comfortable, cozy bedroom.