The Salesman by Maxine Davies
Bible
In those days it was common for men to come by peddling pocket bibles from their briefcases. That’s how I met Thomas Muir Jr. He had on a buttercream panama hat with a grosgrain trim and a black Angora vest. I told him my husband was at the store. ‘The Lord has plenty time for little ladies, too,’ he said.
Letter
An envelope arrived addressed to me. The letter inside read:
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so but I felt we had a real connection. I could use a friend. Meet me at The Listening Room, Friday, 8pm. Thomas Muir Jr.’
I tore the paper into small squares and buried the fragments under the daffodils in the front yard.
Knife
He held up his hand to a passing waiter. ‘An Aviation, for the lady,’ he said. He took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and cut one in half with a little silver penknife. ‘Trying to quit?’ I asked. ‘Stretching them out,’ he said. ‘Not much pay in the Good Book.’
Motel
The motel room had a mirror opposite the bathtub. He sat between my legs and I slicked his hair back with a folding comb, wetting the teeth with the bath water. ‘I look like an angel,’ he said. When we were dry he put on striped cotton pyjamas, two of the five imitation pearl buttons missing. We fell asleep holding hands.
Gone
My husband took me to see Gone With the Wind. He bought me an ice cream at the intermission. The cup had a picture of a dancing polar bear on it. I looked up at the screen, tasted salt and sweet vanilla.
Maxine Davies is a writer from the north east of England. She works for a women’s writing charity.
Photo by Julian Majer via Pexels
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