FICTION: Finding Success with a ‘63 Thunderbird

I guess the first thing you should know about me is that I didn’t find the clitoris until I was well into my thirties. In my defense though, before then I had been granted precious few opportunities to search for the darn thing. I guess I’m what you would call a late bloomer. In all things, really. Not just the sex stuff. But that’s okay; I’m fine with that. And that’s beside the point, anyway. The point is, as a man in his thirties, it was rather shocking to me when I found it. Throughout my rather solitary twenties I overheard endless conversations from women complaining about men not being able to find it. And I heard countless men making all sorts of claims about the difficulty of finding it, some even doubting its existence, swearing it was just a mythical piece of anatomy conjured up by the female gender so that they could always have something to hold against the opposite sex. So when I found the clitoris in a rather easy manner (to be clear, in the beginning, I did have help, I’m not trying to say I’m some sex natural or something, she guided me the first few times, but I gotta figure most women would be willing to do this) I was very confused. 

“So, lemme ask you something,” I said to her after we had finished for the first time (it was very easy to ask her these sorts of questions because she was so willing to be helpful. It was part of the reason I liked her so much), “is your clitoris always right there?”

She laughed at this, but it was not a mean laugh. 

“Yes, of course, silly. Do you think it moves around when I sleep?”

“No,” I laughed along, not feeling much embarrassment because, again, she was good like that. “It’s just, well, ok. Lemme ask another question. Is it different for each woman, the location, I mean?” 

“Nope. It’s the same for all of us.”

“Huh,” I replied, before explaining my confusion. “So why do so many men have such trouble finding it?”

She gave me a smile here, one of those great half-smiles of hers where you can practically feel the warmth pouring out.

“Good freaking question,” she replied, before leaning in to give me a soft kiss on the cheek. 

I’ve thought a lot about the answer to that question. To this day it still baffles me. I know there are plenty of people out there who believe the answer is obvious. Most men simply don’t care about properly pleasing a woman. Certainly there is truth to this. But I don’t think that is the whole truth. I think part of the answer has nothing to do with the male gender at all, but with the human species as a whole. We have an aversion to success. No matter how clear or obvious the path to victory is, no matter how much we may want it, we find ways to sabotage ourselves. Whether it comes to finding a certain part of the anatomy that has stayed in the same spot for millions of years, or, to use a more relevant example, when it comes to selling cars. In either case we all know there are those certain measures one must take to achieve success, and if we do not take those measures, we will find failure each and every time. And yet it is only the precious few that use this knowledge to go out and grab victory. The rest wallow in their failure again and again, wondering to themselves why their girl appears so unsatisfied at the end of every night. Yes, the key to success is as obvious as the location of the clitoris, it has not ever, nor will ever, change. 

Anyway, everything I just said, starting from the first sentence to the one before this was what I had typed out, verbatim, and handed in to my bosses. This had become a recent requirement at work, specifically for me, because of some of the stuff I said in my speeches to the team in the past. My bosses now felt the need to go over anything I was planning on communicating to the rest of the team in any upcoming oral presentations and, if necessary, offer helpful suggestions and criticisms. I was fine with this. I am a team player after all. 

So I turned in my draft of the speech at 10:07 am on a Tuesday, and exactly twenty minutes later, at 10:27 am on the same Tuesday, my presence was requested in the conference room, immediately. Upon entering the conference room, I found all three of my bosses, Mr. Stevens, Mr. Morello, and Mr. Jordan, waiting for me. 

“Bob,” Mr. Stevens, the short one, said, “we have a couple of concerns…” 

I could see the other two, Mr. Morello and Mr. Jordan, staring at me with slightly raised eyebrows. I knew something was up. So I sat in one of those cushiony beige polyester chairs they have in there and prepared to listen to whatever they may have to say. 

“We feel, as a whole, that this speech, well, there’s a lot in here that just doesn’t seem appropriate for this sort of setting.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“Well, this whole business with the um, the, um, the…”

“The clitoris,” Mr. Morello, the fat one, finished. “We just don’t see how that’s relevant in a speech to car salesmen.”

“Or how old you were when you found it,” Mr. Jordan, the bald one, added.

“Nonsense,” I replied, “you absolutely know why it’s relevant. Unless you didn’t read my draft. Because I make the connection quite clear in my draft. Did you read my draft?”

“Yes, Bob, we read it.”

“Okay, so there you go. It’s a speech about fighting against self-sabotage. Highly relevant in the sales game, and highly important to me, as I suffered from self-sabotage throughout my younger days.”

This was true. My past was a minefield of obvious, self-inflicted, mistakes that left me an emotionally crippled person many a time. But these words seemed to have little effect on my bosses, who let the room fill with painful silence. 

“It’s just that, well, these speeches, as you know, are meant to motivate the team in a sort of fun, family-friendly sort of way.” 

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you there, Mr. Stevens,” I said, “five months ago John Hepper gave his speech to the team, during which he used the F word no less than seven times, the S word four times, and the C word one time, making a rather distressing comment about a former lover of his who used to work here. As far as I know, John received zero ramifications for this.” 

My three bosses looked away from me and leaned in toward each other and began to murmur. I have zero patience for secret murmuring when others are in the room, so I interrupted them.

“As far as I understand it, and please correct me if I’m wrong, gentlemen, the point of this speech is not to be family friendly, it is to have the Salesman of the Month address the team, sharing his or her beliefs regarding what helped them earn the award. A proud twenty two year tradition in this company, if I’m not mistaken, along with a small monetary bonus and two extra vacation days. This month I am the top salesman, just like last month, and the month before that, and the month before that. And just like I have for the last three months, I intend to deliver my speech and share my beliefs as tradition requires. If you intend on stopping me from doing this, my feelings will be quite hurt, I can assure you, and I will most likely be unable to stop myself from wondering if there are other car lots out there who would be more willing to let a man of my talents speak in the way that he wishes to motivate the team.”

In the end, my three bosses acquiesced. They did not seem thrilled about it, but they did concede that the previous issues they had with some of my speeches in the past were absent here, so they would allow me to give this one and see how it was received.

This pleased me.

Now, as far as the speech itself, I thought the team took it in pretty well. There were some in the crowd that seemed puzzled about what I was saying. I heard some awkward laughter a few times, and a couple of them, John Hepper and Pete Stolack, my enemies, walked away halfway through. But, for the most part, the team seemed to really soak in what I was telling them. Yes, I was quite happy with the speech overall.

However, it was what happened fifteen minutes after I gave my speech that really took me by surprise. I was sitting at my desk in the back office just past the display floor, when Tina LeFeau, the most attractive saleswoman on staff by far, in my opinion she has the classic beauty of an Audrey Hepburn, walked over to me and wordlessly placed a slip of paper in front of me. On the slip, her phone number and a smiley face. I found all this rather shocking and exciting. I’m not really what you would call a ladies man, if you couldn’t tell. But you know what? It kind of makes sense. I give one hell of a speech, if I do say so myself. 

Bob Reamor: top salesman, newly bonafide ladies man. 

That Friday night I took Tina out to the Rock-N-Bowl over on Carrollton. 

I’m a pretty good bowler, I’m not gonna lie. Lots of practice. And they have a bar in there, too. We could do the whole drinking thing. I’m not big on drinking, just to be honest. But I know that’s important to some people, especially when it comes to dating, and especially in this city, so I thought that was a nice compromise by me. Tina could have some drinks, and I could have my bowling. And all the while, we would get to know each other and see what came. 

“How can you say those things in public, so openly and honestly?” she asked me around frame three of our first game. 

I gave her a curious smile, not exactly knowing what she meant. 

“You mean my speeches?”

“Yes,” she said, giggling into her cocktail, “Your speeches. Where you talk about the clitoris, and when you found it, and all that other crazy shit.”

I frowned a little at this, as I am not a huge fan of vulgarities. But then I remembered the importance of compromise when it comes to dating so I pushed the issue away and gave her question some serious thought. 

“I guess I just don’t see the harm. Or rather, I see it as more harmful to not speak about things exactly in the way I see them. Most people think that masking the truth, or downright burying it, is a crafty path to success, but I disagree. There is a certain allure of honesty, and when that allure shines off of you, well, people will be willing to do a lot more than they normally would.” 

“Like buy a car from you?” she smiled. 

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“An honest car salesman… and a successful one at that. Who woulda thought?”

I left her there, with that gorgeous smile on her face, and took six quick steps up to the lane, pulling my arm back before launching my orange and black-striped sixteen pound bowling ball down toward the triangle of standing pins. The ball made impact exactly where I intended at board seventeen point five, maximizing strike probability, but only nine went down, one stayed up. That irked me.

“So if you’re such a hot shot in the sales game,” Tina asked as I came back to the ball retrieval for my second try, “how come you could barely sell a car your first three months?”

 I gave a playful shrug here. I don’t always know the best thing to say during a conversation, but here I did. “I’ve always been a late bloomer, remember?”

“Oh, yes,” she laughed, lightly slapping her knee with her hand, “I remember!”  

Yes, I thought as I approached the lane once more, ball in hand, I liked her smile and her laugh. Such classical beauty. Such a lady. I launched my second roll and watched as it headed straight for that last pin, before skirting away at the last possible second. This only furthered my irk.  

Tina and I continued to see each other for the next couple of weeks. And things were going well, if I do say so myself. We were the talk of the office, to be honest. That felt pretty good. Usually when people talk about me it’s only to point out my oddities. But that wasn’t the case this time. And she really seemed to like me too, quirkiness and all, which felt even better. It’s hard to find women that are willing to take me on. In truth, Tina was the first one that felt special since the girl I mentioned before, the one who helped me find the clitoris. Between Tina and my sales continuing to soar at work, I dare say that might have been the most enjoyable period of my life up to that point. Isn’t that something? 

And during those first few weeks things seemed to just get better and better. My sales numbers kept rising and my nights with Tina kept improving. It felt like the sun was shining a little more on me with each passing day. Of course, as my mother used to say, the sun shine doesn’t just make the flowers bloom, it also makes the weeds grow. I knew there were those at work who were growing more and more fed up with me and my success. Namely, my enemies: John Hepper and Pete Stolack.

 They hated me for the exact same reason Tina liked me, my quirkiness. To them I was just a freak. And now that I was number one with a bullet on the lot, and dating the most attractive woman there, well? I could smell the anger coming off them whenever I walked into work. They stared daggers at me when we passed each other, and I could hear them whispering and laughing at me from across the lot. They were the kind of guys that always needed to be number one. And they didn’t care for anyone who outdid them, especially the sort of guy like me. But that didn’t matter. I had my sales, I had Tina, I had found my path to success. Nothing could touch me. 

Bob Reamor: Top Salesman, Luckiest Guy in the World. 

And then, for the fifth month in a row, I won salesman of the month. Of course, I gave another speech, and of course it was met with a lot of derision by my bosses. And, I mean, a lot. Even more than the others, in fact. I would tell you what the speech was about, but frankly, considering everything that happened after, I’d just rather not. At least not now. Maybe I will later. If I’m feeling up to it. 

Anyway, soon after winning the award again, things went from great to scarily perfect. I walked into work one morning to find a 1963 Ford Thunderbird Convertible in hot red waiting for me on the interior display floor. This was both a treat and a surprise. We are not a vintage car lot by any means. Sure, we sell a mixture of new and used, but our used selection isn’t that old. The oldest model we have is from 2015.   

One of our bosses, Mr. Morello, the fat one, gathered everyone around and explained that this car was not for sale. Rather, it had been brought in as a motivational tool. He told us that because a good deal of salesmen as of late did not seem invested enough in winning salesman of the month, they were upping the stakes. The next winner of the contest would not only receive a small monetary bonus, two vacation days, but also this incredible antique automobile donated by Mr. Morello’s uncle. I was floored. What Mr. Morello and the rest of my bosses could not have known was that I had an unusual connection to this exact year and model, and color, of automobile.

 When I was a kid, me and my father didn’t get along much. I always got the feeling he was disappointed in me because I didn’t like sports or action movies or any of the other things he liked and because I was just kind of weird. I never knew for sure whether he liked me or not though, because he rarely spoke to me. The whole thing made me rather sad, to be honest. But there was this one time where things changed, if only for a little while. I remember I was playing out in the backyard, imagining I was a bird, flying high in the sky, when I heard my dad hollering for me. I remember thinking I was in trouble because up until then that was the only reason he hollered for me. But when I went into the house I saw that he had this sort of excited look on his face. I could tell he had just gotten off of work as he was still wearing his hat and coat and still holding his briefcase. 

“Come on, Bobby,” he told me as he flung his briefcase on the itchy blue family couch, “I want to show you something.” 

I remember following him, quite intrigued with whatever he was about to show me, as I had never seen him act this way. Honestly, it was like he stopped being a grumpy adult and started being a kid again. I remember it gave me a sense of hope, like maybe me and my father could be something special to each other after all. Anyway, I followed him out to the front of the house, where he then led me down the street, maybe about four houses down, where, parked across the street, was the most beautiful car I had ever seen in my life. A 1963 Ford Thunderbird Convertible, hot red. I had never been a big fan of cars much before then, but at that moment, for some reason, I fell in love. If you’ve never seen one it’s hard to describe, but imagine a slick crimson dream of sex, power, and cool and you have some sort of idea of what ten-year-old me witnessed that day. 

“Isn’t she a beaut?” my dad said, his eyes lost in that shiny beacon of hope on four wheels. I nodded my head vigorously. I then noticed something on the windshield. A For Sale sign. 

“Dad!” I yelled out, “Dad, it’s for sale! It’s for sale, dad! We could buy it! Oh my god, we should totally buy it!” 

My dad turned and with a terrific gleam in his eye he said: “Trust me son, I’m working on it.”

For the next week and a half my dad would come home, toss his briefcase on the itchy blue couch, and walk with me over to the Thunderbird, or “Tee-Bird”, as he used to call it, where we would gawk and imagine ourselves in it roaming through the countryside, me in the passenger seat, him at the wheel. 

This was a great time for me. 

And then, sadly, it all came to an end when one day at school during recess I had a nasty spill off the playground, breaking both my arm and leg, and our family didn’t have insurance. My dad never bought that Thunderbird. And our relationship went back to what it was before, nothing. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tina said, sliding up to me, secretly putting her hand on my back. 

“You have no idea,” I told her. I then left her side and went up to this exquisite hunk of metal and rubber and put a thumb on the pristine coat of shiny red paint and began to move it up and down in a rubbing motion. I was barely aware I was doing this, as I felt like the car had put me in a sort of trance, but then John Hepper’s voice snapped me back to reality when he loudly cried out: “Hey, Bob, buy it a drink first will ya, ya freak!” I realized now what I was doing, rubbing the hood of the car in the same way that my first girl had taught me to rub a clitoris. I know that might seem odd, but that’s what happened so I feel it’s important to tell you. 

Nervous laughter followed from the rest of the team and I could feel Tina’s eyes on me. Her voice came out kind of funny when she said: “I guess we better get out there and sell some cars, huh?” 

And so off we went, with me more determined than ever to become salesman of the month five times in a row. 

But the rest of my day did not go well, if I’m being honest. I kept screwing up all my customer interactions, saying the wrong thing or just appearing unfocused. It was the darn Thunderbird. It was a major distraction for me. It kept pulling me in with its maroon siren song. Just imagine if a single object could hold every childhood promise you ever had, that’s what it was like. Also, it wasn’t just the rest of the day that went bad for me, it was the rest of the week too. My sales numbers kept going down and my performance just wasn’t good. I tell you, it was like I was getting deeper and deeper into this Thunderbird trance. And the nights weren’t any better. Tina and I weren’t getting along as well, and in bed I would lay awake all night thinking about that car, thinking how if I could just have it now, it would solve all my problems. Not just my problems of today either, but also my problems of the past. Mostly, I thought if I could get this car I could fix the relationship between me and my dad. 

I don’t know exactly when, but at some point I got this crazy idea in my head. I could sneak into work late at night and take the car on a joy ride. I kept picturing it in my head, with me at the wheel, my dad in the passenger seat, laughing his head off while we zoomed down the highway. Of course, I dismissed this notion when it first came to me. But with each passing day I could feel the urge growing stronger and stronger. 

And then, finally, I gave in. It was the same night Tina and I got in some big stupid fight, I didn’t like the way she had been talking to my enemy, John Hepper, and I let her know that I wanted it to stop, and so after some screaming from both sides, she went back to her house and I found myself alone in bed, miserable. But it wasn’t even her or our fight I was miserable about. It was the car, of course. The Thunderbird! That’s when I decided enough was enough. I was going to do this. I was going to grab my destiny before some jerk like John Hepper or Pete Stolack stole it from me. 

On the drive there, I went over my plan. I knew I could get away with this. I knew the security password to get into the display floor, and I had the key for the huge glass wall so I could just drive my dream car right out into the street. Plus I knew which desk drawer Mr. Morello had put the Thunderbird key in the exec room. I could do this. Take the car out, pick up my dad, go for a fun drive, let twenty years of bad blood melt away, then return the car, and no one would be the wiser. There was no doubt in my mind that if I did this, this maddening spell would be broken and I could go back to focusing on my job and my relationship with Tina and everything would be right again. Even better, me and my dad would have that relationship I always wanted.   

I parked my 2010 Silver Honda Accord across the street from the lot, looked both ways before stealthily crossing the road, getting to the back entrance, unlocking the door and punching in the security code. I did all this in one minute flat. I felt pretty good about myself.

 Bob Reamor: top salesman, master ninja.  

And I felt even better fifteen minutes later when I was back on the road, in my dream car. There was this tingling sensation running through me as I sat in that pristine beige leather seat and gripped the steering wheel. I punched the gas once I had driven a few blocks away. The eyes of my work were no longer on me, I was all alone on the road with my destiny!

God, it felt great. 

That’s when I got another idea. Before I pick up my dad, I should go over to Tina’s and surprise her. Obviously, I knew she would still be sour about the fight, but this would fix that. Heck, she would love this. Her man displaying his boldness, his courage, his fearless desire for greatness. What woman wouldn’t melt for a man like that? So with another jab of the gas pedal and a swift pull of the wheel, I made the next left at Freret Street and went off to surprise my love. 

Now, my mother used to say that late at night there were only two kinds of people out and about. Cops and criminals. Well, at the next red light I came to, I found another car in the lane next to me. A black and white cop car. I looked over at the cop as we both waited for the light to turn. That’s when I thought about what my mom used to say. Cops and criminals. It occurred to me that both types of people were waiting at that red light right then. The car next to me was a cop, I was the criminal. That’s when the tingling feeling running through me began to transform into dark dread. All of sudden it felt like whatever mad potion I had mentally drunk before had worn off. I could see the situation clearly now. What the hell was I doing? 

Why was I taking this absurdly huge risk? Why was I putting everything I had on the line just for some stupid night drive? Had I completely lost all of my senses? I then began to feel even worse, when I realized I had completely abandoned the very thesis I had created in my finding success speech. I knew the path to glory, to victory, and I strayed from it. I was sabotaging myself. You know already I am not a cursing man, but right then and there I said a word out loud that I will not repeat here, and I said it with fire and venom. 

It’s okay, I told myself, you can just turn back, put the car back on the display floor and no one will be the wiser. 

So I became resolved to do just that. But that red light just kept going on and on. I tell you, I would be interested in finding the facts about this light, because I feel it was the longest red light in recorded history. And the longer I waited, the more the dread crept in. 

I tried not to focus on it. But I didn’t want to look over at the cop next to me either. So I looked over to the side of the street on the other side of me to distract myself, where I found a quaint tavern just off the road. I’m not a big fan of drinking holes, as I’ve said, but I had to admit this one had a real nice aesthetic, a sort of old-fashioned feel to it, with large, dark yellow tinted windows, a West European wooden exterior, and a big, decorative door with dark cedar spirals running down its frame. It reminded me of a pub you might find in Germany in the fifties, even though I had never been to Germany, especially in the fifties. And outside, just past the windows, were a couple of wrought iron tables that patrons could sit outside and enjoy while drinking their alcoholic beverages. In fact, there were two such patrons doing just that now. And as I stared at the patrons, I realized I knew them.

 I couldn’t believe it.

John Hepper and Tina.Yes, MY Tina, in all her Audrey Hepburn beauty. They were right there, sitting at a table not thirty feet away, drinking from big old tankards, talking and laughing. I just couldn’t believe it. I felt the dread inside me transform into fury. Why were they sitting together outside a bar, what the hell was going on?  

In the midst of my fury, I watched my girl excuse herself from the table and go inside the bar. Perhaps she was getting another drink, or using the restroom. Whatever the reason, I knew if I wanted to make a move against John Hepper now would be the time. I fantasized about hopping out of the Thunderbird, racing over there and breaking that big ceramic tankard over his stupid head. 

The Thunderbird! I realized in the middle of this violent fantasy. I couldn’t be seen driving this. Especially not by my enemy. He’d report me for sure! Dread returned and fought against fury for real estate in my brain. In the end, I became incredibly frustrated with the whole thing and punched the steering wheel. Except, in my anger, my aim was off, and instead of punching the actual wheel I punched the cushy center, and a horrible noise came from the engine. A honk. The worst, scariest honk I have ever heard in my life.

I looked over to my right and saw the cop was now looking at me. And I could feel another pair of eyes on me from the opposite direction. And the light was still freaking red! What choice did I have now but to look. So, I did. Slowly and fearfully I looked, and what I saw was a pure nightmare. John Hepper looking over at me, at the thunderbird, with squinted eyes. And I watched in horror, as if in slow motion, as his scrunched up face turned first into one of realization, and then of pure joy. I saw him reach for his pocket and pull out his phone and aim it right at me. I was positive he was trying to take a picture of me so he could have proof of my felonious ways. I just couldn’t have that. But the light was still red and the cop was still next to me, what was I to do? And then I saw that big wooden door of the tavern open again and I acted without thinking, punching the gas for the third time that night and breaking the law. 

Bob Reamor: top salesman, stupid criminal. 

I went right through the intersection which, thank God was empty, then I flew down the road and took the next available left turn. I was too afraid to look in the rearview mirror to see if the police car was following me, but I kept waiting for those red and blue bubblegum lights to fill the inside of my dream car. My only hope was that the police officer had chosen not to pursue me, which in this city, known for its lackadaisical police force, was quite possible. Nonetheless, I focused on the road, racing down the new street before taking another right, and then a left, then a right. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to vomit. But those bubblegum lights never came for me, and after another ten minutes of erratic turns and tire squeals, I found my way to City Park, and drove down a dark, quiet, narrow park street shrouded on either side with tall, thick oak trees and pulled over to the side of the road. 

Here I ducked down in my pristine tan leather seat and waited. Waited for the sound of police sirens or John Hepper’s deep voice bellowing for me, or perhaps Tina’s more high pitched voice scream-asking if I had lost my mind. As I waited in the dark, under the cover of the oak trees, I stared up at the leaves of the oak as they swayed in the night breeze. I looked up at this and became lost in my thoughts. And for some reason, my thoughts turned to my childhood, to that day I had my accident on the playground, to the moment just before I jumped. Recalling this, I felt a dark shame go through me. Then I moved on in my mental journey to that first girl of mine, the one that showed me how to find sexual success. I thought about how things ended between us, and realized that had very well been yet another notch on my rather long post of self-sabotages. 

Soon I became miserable, and determined I couldn’t stay in the park alone any longer, so I roared up the engine once more and headed back to the lot to see what awaited me. 

Twenty five minutes later, I was back in my Honda Accord heading home. I had successfully returned my dream car and despite my incredible anxiety, no cops, no John Hepper, no Tina, ever showed up. Had I really gotten away with it, I wondered crawling into bed. Had my self-sabotage failed? Could I still find success?

The next morning I took a long shower and worked on my breathing, which was still heavier than usual. I didn’t want to walk into work looking any kind of suspicious, just in case. I had no idea what I was going to say to John Hepper when I saw him, or what he would say to me. I am not a religious man but I let out a quick prayer that everything would be fine while drying off. I prayed my foolishness had not ruined me. 

When I arrived at work, my heart sank. I found the police were on the display floor, and the Thunderbird was not. The dread came back. Impossible. I returned the car. This was not possible. 

In my current state, I couldn’t think. My head was full of static. I looked over toward Tina but she wouldn’t return my gaze.

Feeling sick, I ran off to the bathroom.  

As I was splashing water on my face, I heard a nasty knock on the door. My heart went cold. 

“Bob, we need you to come out here, please.” 

I opened the door to find Mr. Jordan, Mr. Morello, and Mr. Stevens, along with two police officers, waiting for me outside the bathroom, all with stern faces and raised eyebrows. I knew something was up. 

I followed them to the security room where I was shown security footage of me going into the display floor late the previous night, opening up the big glass door, and taking the Thunderbird out on the road. It was all very silent in that room during this. I didn’t know what to say so I just went to page one of my playbook: I told the truth. 

“I returned it though. Look further into the footage, you’ll see me going back with it and putting it back in the same condition it was when I took it out.”

My three bosses all looked at each other and murmured. 

“Unfortunately, for some reason, the footage cuts out about five minutes after this, something went wrong with the camera,” Mr. Stevens said, almost sympathetically.

“But that’s really immaterial, Bob,” Mr. Morello added, “this is more than enough to prove your guilt.”

“But I didn’t steal the car, I just took it on a joy ride! I returned it! It was the only thing my father and I shared! You have to understand!”

I was taken out of the car lot in handcuffs, with everyone watching. Tina had her back toward me and was hunched over, perhaps crying, and John Hepper had an arm around her. Both him and Pete Stolack turned and smirked just as they put me in the back of the cop car. I suddenly saw the truth of it there. I realized this sabotage had now become a lot less ‘self’. 

I had been done in. 

Twelve hours later, I was bailed out of jail. By my father. We had not spoken in the five years before this and that tradition continued for the entire car ride. He did not utter a word til he dropped me off at my place, telling me I had a month to pay him back or he would sue. 

That night in bed, alone, I realized what I had to do. That Thunderbird was out there somewhere. I had to find it. I had to clear my name. I had to get out of this mess I had created for myself. No matter what, I decided right then and there, I was going to make this right. 

I could still find success. 

When I was a kid, I used my imagination and pretended I was a detective. I would walk around town and suddenly slide up against a wall, and poke my head around the corner, making believe I was following some dastardly criminal wanted for horrible crimes and I needed to track him and take him in alive. That was a lot of fun. 

But when I hid up in a thick sycamore tree across the street from John Hepper’s house the night after being bailed out of jail, it was a lot less fun. Maybe because as an adult I just felt silly. Or maybe it was because I was upset due to the fact that my life was pretty much ruined at the moment. I don’t know. But I was up in that tree for a good three hours that night before he finally came stumbling back home drunk. And he wasn’t alone either. Tina was with him. That hurt a lot.  

 I waited until they were both up to his door before I made my move. I jumped out of the tree, not fully realizing how high up I was. I came down with a thud and hurt my leg pretty bad. I grunted a little but made sure not to do anymore than that. I looked up from the ground to find I had gotten lucky, John and Tina hadn’t heard me. Too drunk, I suppose. Anyway, I got to my feet and limped as fast as I could across the street and through his front lawn before full on tackling John. He had opened the door at this point, so we both went crashing into his house. He made a surprised “Oaaaf!” noise when I took him down, but other than that he didn’t give much of a fight. 

Tina on the other hand, just screamed in surprise. Keeping my wits, I immediately rose up, grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the house before closing the front door and locking it. John was still on the floor, with a hand to the back of his neck. I think my tackle gave him whiplash, but I didn’t feel too bad about it. Tina was bent down, trying to help him, while looking up at me in terror. I didn’t like that. I was mad at her, but she didn’t have anything to fear from me. I didn’t see why she couldn’t see that. 

I pulled the gun out from my inner jacket pocket and pointed it at them. 

“Where is the Thunderbird, John?” The words came out of me cold and murderous. I felt a slight tap of pride. I was doing pretty good so far. 

Bob Reamor: top salesman, super detective. 

“What?” he asked in slurred words, “how should I know? You’re the one who stole it.”

I responded to this with a quick kick to his ribs. 

“I am not playing games. Where is the Thunderbird?”

“Bob stop this!’ Tina cried.

I kicked him again in the same spot just so he fully understood the truth of my statement.

“Okay! Okay! Just stop kicking me! I’ll tell you.”

I kicked him again.

“Tell me.”

“It’s at Pete’s house. His swamphouse out in Pearl River.” 

“Pete has a swamp house?” Learning this hit me in an oddly profound, and sad way. I had a strange love for the swamp. My uncle used to take me out there for bird hunting when I was a kid, and I used to find the smelly, sinking marshland to be fascinating and comforting. Creepy, but comforting. Even to this day I sometimes fantasize about owning my own place out in the devil’s country. The thought always gives me peace. And the fact that Pete had his own swamp house and I did not only furthered my irk, so I gave John Hepper another good kick.
“Will you stop that! Yes, he has a swamp house, it’s his family’s. We were gonna keep the car there covered up until we could figure out what to do with it.”

“Peter, what the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s enough with the cuss words, Tina.” I told my cheating lover. “And your new boyfriend here is a criminal. Much more than your old one, me, who is only a semi-criminal, with good intentions I might add.”

“Peter, is this true?”

“Tina, he’s a freak. I did what I had to do so he would be out of our lives.”

I gave him a good hard kick for this. 

“Take me there, John. Now.” I looked over at Tina, who was shivering. “Actually take all three of us there, so Tina can see with her own eyes.”

“Bob, I believe you, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do, Tina. This is the clearest path to success I can see, so I’m going to follow it to the end, until we find the Thunderbird and this idiot and his friend make things right. Now come on, we are all going for a little drive to the swamp. But first, maybe you could make John a cup of coffee, I need him awake.”

Ten minutes later, we are all in front of my silver Accord which I had parked around the corner. I had assured Tina numerous times that the gun was not for her and I would never hurt her, but I would not hesitate to shoot John if they both didn’t do what I said. She shivered again at this, but she accepted my conditions. 

“You’d better drive,” I told her as I opened the driver’s door.

“I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“John’s going to navigate, aren’t you John?”

John nodded and I threw him into the back seat before joining him myself, making sure the gun was pointed square at his chest. 

Now I knew how to get to Pearl River myself because like I said, my uncle used to take us duck hunting there back when I was a kid. So I instructed Tina to get us on the nearest onramp of Highway 10, knowing it would be another thirty minutes of driving on the highway before we would need John’s instruction. But then I had an idea. Just before we hopped on the 10 I told Tina to make a sudden right. That memory of my uncle made me think of my father, and I realized I needed him to be a part of this too. I was getting a full redemption arc tonight, no matter what. So I gave Tina instructions to his house and then I called him, telling him I had his money and would give it to him, but he would have to meet me on the curb in front of his house. He was cranky about this, but agreed. 

Five minutes later we were in front of his old creole cottage and he was poking his face up to the passenger window, looking at Tina in great confusion. 

“Get in dad,” I told him from the backseat, flashing my pistol, “no time to argue.”

“What the hell have you done now, son?”

“Just get in.”

My father grumbled but followed my orders. After his door slammed shut there was a terribly awkward silence in the car so I tried my best to fill it. 

“Dad, this is my girlfriend, Tina.”

My dad nodded at her with great confusion. “How do you do?”

“And next to me, this walnut head here is John Hepper, my enemy. He has been sleeping with my girlfriend. Can you believe that? Didn’t you always say that there is nothing worse than a cheater, dad?”

“To be clear, Mr. Reamor, Bob and I are no longer dating.” My girlfriend clarified. 

“You only say that because you think I’m a car thief Tina, but you’ll see.”

“No Bob, I think you are crazy! That’s why we’re not dating anymore. Not because of the car.”

“Trust me, you’ll see soon, I never stole that car. I only borrowed it to make things right with my father.”

“Son,” my father said from the passenger seat, “I do believe you are the biggest asshole I’ve ever known. And your girlfriend’s right, you are crazier than a shit house rat.” 

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“Drive, Tina,” I told my girlfriend, “get on the highway heading west.”  

The drive was quiet. I kept expecting someone in the car to ask me what my plan was once we found the Thunderbird, but no one did. Which I guess was a good thing because I didn’t really have a plan. But my eyes were open. I knew the obvious path would present itself once we arrived at the swamp house and I would be able to easily take the appropriate actions that would fix my life. 

It wasn’t long before the highway carried us above the mighty lake and I found myself staring out at the burbling water below, turned silver in the moonlight. As I watched the ripples of the lake a memory came to me and a deep sadness overcame me.   

“Hey, dad? Dad?”

“What is it, son?” he answered gruffly. 

“Do you remember when I had my accident on the playground. When I fell and broke my arm and my leg?” 

He grunted in affirmation. 

“There’s something I never told you about that. You see I, well, I don’t know why but before I had my fall I was up on the tallest structure of the playground and I was with my friend Jason Livingstone. Do you remember him?”

“You never had any friends.”

“We were up on the structure together and I remember just looking over at him, for no reason and I said, ‘I bet you won’t dare me to jump from here to the top pole of the swing set.’ Remember how they had those really tall swing sets at my school.”

He grunted at this, whether in affirmation or indifference. I didn’t know which. 

“And so of course he dared me to, and so I did it, and that’s how I had my accident.” I paused here, hoping he would fill in the blanks himself, but he just continued to sit there silently. “And the weird thing was, just before I told Jason to dare me, I was thinking about the car. You know, the ‘63 T-bird. The one you used to take me to look at. Remember? Anyway, I was thinking about that, and how you wanted to buy it, and I how I wanted you to buy it, and that’s when I thought the only thing better than that happening, is if that happened and you were proud of me for something I did. I figured I owed it to you to do something that would make you proud of me, since you were buying the car and all. So that’s when I dared Jason to dare me into jumping. Isn’t that strange? I mean, why would you even care if your kid jumped from the highest play structure to the top of the swing set? Why would I think that was important to you?

“I guess what I’m saying is, I know I have a reputation of being weird and messing things up, almost as if on purpose, but I’m done with all that. My last mess up was taking that thunderbird from work. But I’m going to make that right, you’ll see.”

There was another long pause here before my father grumbled once more. 

“…biggest asshole I’ve ever known…”

I wiped my tears away with the barrel of the gun, and just as I did this I noticed John Hepper to the side of me, turned away from me, with his hands at his lap and something glowing from between his legs. His phone! I realized. I gave him a good smack in the side of the head with the gun and then grabbed his phone away and tossed it out the car window. 

“Who did you text?” I demanded, the barrel up to his nose while he moaned in pain and rubbed at the temple I had bashed. “I said who did you freakin’ text?!”

“No one!” 

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Bob, you dummy, if you had looked at his phone before you threw it out the window you would know by now who he was talking to,” Tina said from the driver’s seat. It was a good point, but I still was upset with her about all the things she had done so I pretended it wasn’t a good point. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, anyway,” I said to John, “We’re almost at Pearl River, so whoever you tried to text will be too late. Your dastardly ways will be undone, John!” I said this last part with great gravitas, hoping someone from the front would appreciate my delivery, but there were only crickets from my scornful lover and the man that brought me into this world. That disappointed me. 

About thirty minutes later we arrived at the swamp house. We would have arrived there sooner but with the darkness of night coupled with John’s head injury and intoxication we took a few wrong turns before finding the right house. It was just as I pictured a swamp house looking like. Constructed out of old, creepy-looking wood, with peeling paint and dirty windows, surrounded by tall, spindly cypress trees, and thick, thorny bushes and shrubbies decorating either side of the driveway that made it so you really couldn’t see the house at all until you reached that final roundabout in the driveway. And everything seemed to glisten in that unsettling swamp fog. Creepy, but comforting. And the very end of the driveway, a vehicle hidden in a white fabric cover. My heart began to race. 

“Aha! I wonder what could be under there, Tina and Dad!”

“Bob stop. We all know what’s under there,” Tina replied, “John already confessed. That really isn’t the issue anymore.”

“Of course it is! Don’t you see, this clears my name! This clears my name! Tell her, dad!”

“…stupid son of a bitch…” 

I made everyone get out then, making sure John got out last so I could press the gun hard into his back. Once outside, I ordered John and Tina to uncover the car. I turned to my father, making sure he was watching. He was. That was good. Together Tina and John slowly lifted the cover for the car, and I have to be honest, just watching them work together filled me with anger. Bunch of jerks. But that anger quickly melted away when from under the cloth appeared that dream of sex, power, and cool. The ‘63 Thunderbird, standing on four wheels, just waiting for me.

“See that, Dad! See that, Tina! What did I say! What did I say!”

“God damn it Bob!” My girlfriend yelled at me, “for the last time, nobody has doubted you since John confessed. But you have a gun and you’re pointing it at us and you’re not acting rational. Do you see the problem here?”

I did not at the time, but now with everything that happened after, yeah I suppose she had a point. But I was still mad, so I didn’t want to admit she had a good point. Again.

Anyway, I turned back to my dad, intending to invite him for a drive with me. Sure, I needed to clear my name, but first, there was no reason I couldn’t tie up John to a cypress tree, and maybe Tina too, and go on that drive with my father that I had been dreaming about since I was a boy. How many years?

“Hey, Dad-” I began, but then my words were interrupted by the unmistakable priming of a shotgun  behind me. 

“Don’t move, asshole!” an angry voice called out, “Drop the gun!” 

I did as I was told, dropping the gun, letting fall in the dirt. 

“Now turn and face me.” 

Again I complied, turning around to face the person I highly suspected it was. The beady- eyed creep, Pete Stolack. My other enemy, 

“Stand over there next to the old man.” 

“That’s my father!” I said indignantly. 

“OK…” he answered, not understanding why I felt the need to add this detail at this particular time (and truth be told, neither did I), “Go stand next to your father then.” 

I sidestepped over to my father with my hands up. I heard either John or Tina move up and grab the gun from the ground. 

“Good job, Pete,” John said, picking up the gun and pointing it straight at me. Now everyone was staring at me, as if they weren’t sure what to do next, as if it were my fault we were all stuck here in the swamp together, in this situation, with two guns pointed at me and one mighty Thunderbird standing proud in the muddy swamp. 

“This is just ridiculous,” I heard my father say next to me. I don’t know why, but right then I remembered what he said about me not having any friends. I found myself becoming quite upset by this. Like real upset. Like more upset than Pete pulling a gun on me and my whole plan getting ruined. I found myself so mad I started to shake. The urge to strike my father was palpable. But why, I wondered? Why now, at this moment, with everything going on was my mind focusing in on this past insult? 

 And then the answer hit me. Follow the signs to success. Without giving it another thought, I suddenly turned to my father and cocked my fist back and with all my strength punched him right in his big wrinkled nose. The old man went down hard, screaming as blood gushing from his nostrils like a rushing waterfall of hot red, as if the paint of the Thunderbird was escaping through his nose. 

“Jesus Christ!” I heard John cry out behind me, moving his way closer to my old man,  trying to inspect the damage I had done to him. 

Follow the signs to success.

 When he was within striking distance, I turned again without thinking and laid John out with a solid nasty punch. He fell harder than my father did and I think his head may have landed on a rock or something because the noise that came from the fall didn’t sound right.

In any case, I could see Pete Stolack shaking in the dark, clearly completely unprepared for what to do next. Again without thinking, I leaped for the gun on the ground and was able to grip it with my finger on the trigger and aim it right at his chest. Both guns went off at the same time. But only one hit its mark, sort of. And I watched Pete drop the shotgun and grab his shoulder in agony.  I fired another shot just above his head. This made him drop the gun  and run into the darkness of the swamp, crying in pain as he did.  

With the gun still in my hand I turned around to where Tina had been before, next to the Thunderbird. But she was nowhere in sight. She must have run off into the swamp at some point as well. I frowned. I wasn’t happy about that. I was hoping to rekindle our relationship now that my enemies had been dealt with.   

“You broke my fucking nose!” my father cried from the ground. 

“I’m sorry about that, father, but it was the only way to achieve victory.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you crazy fuck!”

I frowned again at this, as you know I’m no fan of vulgarities. But I remembered my father had gone through a lot, so I let it slide. Besides, I had a very important question to ask him.  

“Dad, would you like to take a ride with me?””

Now, since I was first put in this unfortunate place, months ago, I’ve had a lot of time to think about that car ride. I remember at first thinking that maybe it wasn’t as good as I thought it should have been. What with my dad bloody and broken-nosed, and understandably angry with me. But with each passing day, that ride grows a little more grand in my memory. Now, when I recall it, I can specifically remember the best moment of that whole incredible drive, when my dad put a hand on my shoulder and told me all was forgiven and he loved me now and he had always loved me. Sure, it might have not actually have happened that way, but it also might have. I don’t really know anymore. 

What I do know is that I think I was right in what I said in my last speech to the team, the one I didn’t want to talk about earlier, remember? Anyway, that one was also about that first girl of mine, but this time it wasn’t about her clitoris. It was about how things ended. How I tried to make her into my dream girl and how that ultimately ended up destroying the relationship. There was also a part about Roman sexual orgies and premature ejaculation, which was what made the bosses so mad. Anyway, in the end of that speech I compared what I did into that relationship to what a salesman does when they try to rush a sale that needs time to grow. In the end, it’s simply another form of self-sabotage. And I feel now, finding myself here in this awful place, that I still haven’t kicked that habit yet. But it’s okay, because I know life will show me the path of success soon enough, and I know when it does, all I have to do is follow it.  

THE END