Salesman's Change of Heart

 

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Chapter 1

I sat at a table, waiting. All around me, other reps killed time hoping for the same thing—clients. We were all eager to have our stab at the opportunity to shine. But selling timeshare was no decent way to make a living.

We all had our skeletons hidden behind the fake smiles and firm handshakes. We were trained to have our facades, our impeccable manners, and our understanding nods. Deep inside, however, we were rotten.

“Marteen,” the manager shouted.

As I entered the sales deck, he pointed to my clients. “They speak only a limited English, so if they are NQ, kick them out before the ninety minutes.”
Ninety minutes . . . if I got rid of them, they wouldn’t count against my numbers. I quickly assessed their clothes, jewelry, and watches. They will be gone soon.

I made my way over, and stretched my hand out. “Marteen. Welcome to Santa Barbara.”
“Jose,” the man replied with a thick accent. “This is my wife, Maria, and there is our daughter, Christina.”
I turned. Christina . . . damn. My numbers no longer mattered to me.

I knew that there was no sale, but I ended up taking them on a full tour. Jose translated my pitch to his family, and while Maria appeared remotely interested, Christina kept silent. I took every opportunity to meet her stare and drown in the lovely brown of her eyes.

When the tour ended, both Maria and Christina kissed me on the cheeks. Back at the office, I got my ass chewed. Concentrating on the sensation of Christina's lips against my skin, I barely registered the manager’s words.

* * *

At night, I sat alone in my apartment, thinking of Christina. I wanted to see her. I got in the car and drove over to their hotel, but just as I was about to go in, I realized how insane it was. I sat on a bench, and lit a cigarette.
“Hola, Marteen,” Christina’s voice shook me awake. “Que haces aqui?”  
“Hi, Christina. How are you?” My instinct took over.
“Tu sabes que no hablo Ingles.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
She sat down next to me, and reached for my smokes. “Puedo?” She pulled one out. I lit it for her.
“Gracias,” she said as she exhaled. Then she leaned closer and rested her head on my shoulder.

As she smoked, our hands gradually found each other.

We stood up walked away from the hotel towards the beach. The shore was deserted, and the waves lapped lazily at the sand that, only hours earlier, was covered in umbrellas and towels.
“Christina . . .”
She put her finger on my lips. “Shhh.”
Then she lay down in the sand and pulled me down next to her. Our lips met. For the first time since I arrived on the island I felt in harmony with the place. We did not need words . . . I was falling in love.

 

 

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