Chapter 1

Mike Kassler stood looking out the plate glass window of Herring Motors at the rain swept used car lot. It was a cold, heavy, late October rain, the type that clears the trees of their autumn leaves leaving them bare for the coming winter. He felt a strange uneasiness inside himself, but he wasn’t exactly sure about what. Perhaps, he thought, it was about his life in general. It probably looked to outsiders as if his life was good; he was Herring’s top salesman, he had a beautiful wife, and a nice home. It all seemed perfect, but he knew it was going sour.

He’d started at Herring’s eleven years ago out in this same used car lot, the summer of 1975. He had a knack back then, a way with matching up potential buyers with the right car. He’d talk with them, find out just what they were looking for and steer them to the right vehicle. He’d been part of the car crowd, so he understood the machines and understood what people were looking for in them. He could tell which ones were after economy, which ones wanted reliability, which ones were willing to sacrifice both for performance, and which ones were strictly after status; the luxury car crowd. Every one of these groups was different and he understood which cars in the lot were best suited for each. Herring always had a large selection and only dealt with quality automobiles. They were not willing to risk their reputation by selling junk.

Part of the problem was the newer cars weren’t as exciting to him as the ones from the sixties and early seventies. The later models seemed bland, too similar, and simply too uninspired. One four cylinder mini-van was pretty much the same as another in his mind. It was hard for him to get excited about K-cars. So as the vehicles he loved gave into to rust and age, ending up in the salvage yards, he lost a lot of his enthusiasm for the job. In short, he’d become just another car salesman.

Then there was his marriage. He knew other men were envious of him when they saw him with Joanie, she was indeed beautiful. Blonde, well formed, and elegant looking, she was the perfect trophy wife. The problem is all trophies need to be polished, they require an expenditure of money and effort to maintain them, and trophy wives are no exception. Joanie worked in the accounting department of The Homestead, a local department store, and almost all of her salary went for clothes, make up, time at the beauty parlor, and trips to the day spa. That left Mike paying all the bills. And of late, she’d been acting oddly, leaving him with the impression that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, just a gut feeling that something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t happy with his life in general, things might not really as bad as he thought, but they weren’t as good as he’d expected. The nice house was in a development outside of town, one of a hundred others just like it. There were some minor variations, but it was a whole field of ranch style homes. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but it wasn’t what he’d always dreamed of. He had a good job, but he’d always wanted a business of his own, but had never been in a position to start one, besides that, he had no idea what type of business to get into.

None of this had mattered to him until two months ago, when he’d turned thirty six. Now, that age isn’t normally considered a milestone year in most lives, but it gave Mike cause to think. He realized that this was it, he was going to spend another thirty years doing the same thing, then they would give him the traditional gold watch and a plaque at his retirement party and sent him out to pasture. By then Joanie would probably have left him, the house would be decaying, and he would be look forward to dying. It was a depressing thought.

“It doesn’t look like we’ll have much action tonight, almost not going to be worth staying open.” Mike turned, it was Donny Herring, the owner’s son standing behind him.

“No, not many people going to turn out in this downpour.” Then a thought hit him. “Look Donny, like you said, it’s going to be dead; any objections if I leave early tonight? No point in my sticking around, is there?”

“No, go ahead, if it was up to me I’d shut the whole damned place down, but like the old man always says, you never know when somebody will show up to buy. So I’m stuck here. But you, go, enjoy.”

He was glad to leave, Thursday nights were usually busy nights for some reason; he never was sure why. As a result he usually worked until closing time, so having a Thursday off was something special. As he walked out to his car he had that same giddy feeling he used to get when he was a kid and school was canceled because of snow. He felt like he was getting away with something; it was the adult version of a snow day.

He came home to an empty house. There was no great surprise there, he always worked late on Thursday and then usually stopped off for a burger and a few drinks before coming home. Joanie probably never came straight home on these nights. As he wandered through the empty house, it occurred to him this night off wasn’t going to as much fun he’d thought. This was beginning to be the story of his life, even an impulsive action like this was boring.

He went to the refrigerator looking for something to eat, and had no ideas. He opened the freezer and took out a chicken pot pie, it would do. After reading the instructions, he put it into the oven, then went into the living room to watch the television. He lost track of time and didn’t hear the timer ring. When he remembered the pot pie and went out, the top crust was pretty well burnt. He shrugged his shoulders and mashed the blackened crust into the filling, figuring it would add to the flavor. He went back to the living room and ate his culinary delight while watching Kim Novak entice James Garner and his buddies in an old comedy.

When he finished eating, he set the empty foil bowl down on the end table and continued watching the tube. He fell asleep watching the local news. When he woke up it was dark, the only illumination in the house from the television and the reading lamp on the end table; Joanie still wasn’t home. After years of his not returning until late on Thursday, it was natural to assume she wasn’t in the habit of sitting home alone waiting for him. He picked up the empty container from the pot pie and took it out to the trash. His night off was turning into a first class bore. He should have stayed at work or gone to the bar. No, he thought, if he’d hit the bar this early he’d be shit-faced drunk by now.

He wandered down to the basement. The house was built on the slope of a hill; in the front the first floor was at ground level, at the back the basement was even with the land. A pair of sliding glass doors opened onto a patio. Mike had a hot tub installed inside in front of the doors, he liked soaking in it in the winter, especially on snowy nights, looking out through the glass at the cold world outside. Tonight there was nothing to see, just the rain drenched patio. He closed the heavy thermal drapes, blocking out the dreary exterior.

Pulling the cover off the tub, he turned on the filter and let the water begin circulating while he went upstairs and put on a bathing suit. When he returned, he went into the adjourning game room where there was a small refrigerator, opened it and took out a bottle of O’Keefe Ale. He was all set. He opened the beer and set it on the edge of the tub, then checked the water for temperature. Then he turned the jets on high and eased himself into the hot, foaming liquid.

The spa was one luxury in the house that was his. Joanie used it, but often complained about the odor, the damp smell of chlorine and bromine, that permeated the basement. Mike didn’t care; he loved soaking in it and relaxing. It was one of his great pleasures. He sat there, savoring the feel of the turbulent water, sipping his beer, enjoying the cold malty flavor of it. Then he realized he’d forgotten something; music. He gulped down the beer, got out of the tub got another then turned on the radio to an oldies station. He slid back into the water and leaned back sipping his beer and listening to the music in total contentment.

Halfway through his beer, he heard footsteps on the floor above him, Joanie was home. He couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed; his evening to himself was over. It was back to his hum-drum married life. He’d wasted his night of self-indulgence when he’d fallen asleep earlier and now it was over. He heard her coming down the stairs, then the door opened.

“Mike! What are you doing home, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, it was dead down at the lot tonight, so I figured I’d play hooky.”

“Well, you should have let me know, I’d have come home sooner. I stopped to have dinner with the girls. You’re never home on Thursdays. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright, I understand.”

He couldn’t help noticing she seemed to be in an agitated state. His guess was that coming home and finding him there had unnerved her slightly. She walked over and took a swallow of his beer. It struck him as funny since she seldom drank beer; she was more of a cocktail type of person.

“Yes, but still, I wish you’d called me, we could have done something together.” She looked at the closed drapes, “It’s still not too late, a hot soak would be nice. Like some company?”

“That’d be nice,” he gestured over the surging water, “there’s plenty of room.”

She nodded and left, returning about ten minutes later in her robe, holding another O’Keefe in one hand and a high ball in the other. Setting the drinks down, she removed the robe and gingerly stepped into the spa and sat down beside him. She handed him the fresh bottle of beer then took her own drink, tipping it back in a large swallow.

“Damn, this is good,” she murmured, then looked at him, “we haven’t done this in a long time.”

“It’s been a few months,” he agreed, “we should do it more often.”

He looked at her as she relaxed in the tumultuous water, thinking she hadn’t changed all that much in the thirteen years he’d known her. He was twenty three when he first met her, she was twenty one. It was at a local tavern that was popular with younger people. He didn’t know it but it was her first time in a bar and like a lot of the uninitiated, she was overdoing it. At first all he knew was this beautiful young women seated at the next table was extremely friendly and talkative, and slightly drunk. When she leaned over to talk and flirt with him, Mike became aware that she was more than slightly drunk, she was quickly becoming pie-eyed.

Her good looks aside, she was just another drunken kid and he found her attempts at flirting to be kind of annoying. He and his friend went on with their conversation. That would have been the end of it all, but suddenly there was the unmistaken sound of someone vomiting at her table, followed by some shrieks, laughter and catcalls from the crowd. He looked over and saw the blonde beauty had gotten sick. She sat there, glassy eyed and pale, looking bewildered. Then she started to cry. Even in this condition, her clothes soiled, her face twisted in fear and humiliation, she looked adorable. Finally she looked at her two friends and spoke.

“Oh, God, what am I going to do? I can’t go home looking like this, my parents will kill me.”

“I don’t know, Joanie,” one stood up, “we’ll figure something out. For now, let’s go into the ladies room and try and clean you up.”

She helped her friend up and began to lead her towards the restroom. When the third girl got up and started to follow, he impulsively reached out and took her elbow.

“Look, I think I can help you. If you want, we can take her to my apartment, let her clean up, run her clothes through the washer, and she can go home in good shape.”

The girl looked at him skeptically without answering. Mike understood, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and held it out.

“Nothing’s going to happen, trust me. I just want to help. There’s my license, all my ID, one of you copy it all down and stay here if you want. We’re not going pull anything or take advantage of her when you know my name and where I live.”

“OK,” she held up one finger, “wait, let me talk it over with my friends. It’s a nice offer, but I’m not sure.”

“Of course, go ahead, we’ll be here.” He watched her hurry off, then turned to his friend, “I hope you don’t mind, it just seems like the right thing to do.”