Tom

Tom sat looking at the wedding invitation. Shona had met a divorcee businessman and they'd fallen for one another in a big way. Apparently the couple a long time and began the relationship with an interest in marriage and that had led to the inevitable.

Tom had asked Marion who he'd been running with lately to accompany him but she was apologetic, saying she was actually married and her husband would arrive home at the end of new week. He called for Fiona at Briscoe Partners but she had left for six weeks touring Africa with her parents. Well there was always Jane' even if she was married she'd go with him. She was that loyal sort of girl. Ha!

He called Ana but she said no, she was planning her own wedding. Anyway, after that one night with him she'd taken a full day before she was walking properly again.

After going through dozens of names Tom had a list of ten names of females, any one of whom he'd happily spend with sitting through a wedding and the after-function. He looked at the list and corrected himself. One name was down twice: Julie. Tom regarded that as an omen and looking in his contact book found Julie's address and went there by cab.

Mrs Stevens was the only person home.

"Oh hello, Tom the thong man and guitar player.

"Hi Mrs Stevens. Could I talk to you about Julie?"

"Come in but not that it will do you much good Tom. You are too much fast track for Julie and she's been in a long relationship but that's over. He's decided on another study buddy with long blonde hair and bigger breasts than Julie's."

"Men can be such swine Mrs S."

"Dorothy is okay. I'm glad you recognize the trait as you have it too. But at least I sensed a touch of humility. I had wondered if you were without it. I really enjoyed that evening when you were here. You got my family swinging. Here's Julie now."

"Hello darling. We have a visitor."

Julie came around the corner of the room and stopped dead. "No, go away. This is not supposed to happen."

"Steady on Julie. It's just a courtesy call."

"Oh."

"Or something."

"Meaning?"

"Perhaps we could have coffee first?"

"I'll get coffee and then leave you two."

"Thanks Dorothy. But please stay; I think Julie would be more comfortable if you stayed."

"Damn right. So already you are calling my mother Dorothy. God you are smooth with a skin like a rhinoceros."

"You have a right to react with hostility."

"Hostility. If you think that's being hostile I'll show you... Oh what's the use? You have the skin of a rhino."

"Credit me for not deceiving you Julie. From the outset I suggested a date as a oncer."

"Indeed you did. But after that evening, when you had my family and me eating out of your hand I didn't want you to go, ever."

"And I'm to blame for that?"

"Be a gentleman and carry the blame."

"No, that's chicken shit. You carry the blame for your own foibles."

"Foibles. How do you know a word like foibles?"

"My mom uses it occasionally and grandma uses it."

Dorothy soothed. "Here is your coffee. If I put it down promise not to throw it at one another?"

"It's cool Dorothy. We won't trade blows. We are just two turkeys who have been strangers for a while shifting about to find our pecking order."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Julie!"

"It's cool Dorothy. Everyone but you uses the F-word when finding themselves up a creek without a paddle these days."

"I'm sorry Tom but no one is permitted..."

"Dorothy please. Lay off. Julie is riled like a newly weaned calf. She doesn't know whether to charge the fence to get through to her mom and or to run off with the older weaned calves who are having such fun."

"Calf – so I'm a calf now?"

"No, you are in emotional turmoil which is very common among women. You are delighted to see me again and yet you hate me for coming back. And if that's not enough you are busting to learn why I am here?"

"I thought you said Tom don't have much substance to him?"

"Mom!"

"I'm getting by Dorothy. I'm holding down a $75,000 job with one hand resting in my back pocket and have just been given a $30,000 super performance bonus so it would appear I have sufficient brain power to impress some people. Dorothy, guess what thong is currently number one sell in the country right now."

"Locus," Dorothy grinned.

"The bonus I just mentioned came because I cobbled together two graphics of models talking about the Little Black Dress..."

"And The Long Black Coat for Winter," Julie said, finishing the sentence. "Both mom and I bought one. Are you something of a genius Tom Briscoe?"

"It appears some people are using the term but I don't really know. I just work instinctively like my horse does when pressuring a cow thinking one step ahead and watchful for the unexpected."

"That sounds like chicken shit."

Tom grinned and said perhaps just a little.

"Why are you here."

Tom grinned at Dorothy who shook her head, looking at him in admiration. "You certainly are one jump ahead on this one Tom Briscoe."

"Well Julie, four things happened to me yesterday. A fat bonus check was given me. My latest girlfriend confessed she was married and her husband was due home Saturday and then I decided I really was not cut out to be a business executive because I lack the necessary self-discipline and can't sit still for long."

"That's only three things."

"Oh yes, well spotted Julie. Yesterday I received an invitation to a wedding and with my latest romance just hitting the rocks I trundled out here to ask would you please consider accompanying me to this event. The bride is a former girlfriend, one of the three founding partners of the agency I work for."

"It won't be just beer and yelling drunken men?"

"I wouldn't know, but who can tell how weddings end up. I've only ever been to one wedding as my mom was pregnant when she and dad married after living together for seven years."

"Oh how interesting."

"Please don't divert him mom."

"When and where is the wedding?"

"Here in Manhattan on three Saturdays' time counting this Saturday. I would very much like you to accompany me."

"Very well. I have only been to four weddings myself. I accept your kind offer Tom.

"Oh that's great. The bride's name is Shona Peebles and the bridegroom is Saxton Lynn."

"What, the insurance multi-millionaire?"

"Actually it's his son and heir. He's thirty-eight and Shona is forty-three."

"What you had a girlfriend who was forty-three?"

"Yes, it's not PC to discriminate on age."

Julie giggled.

"Oh here's the invitation."

"Oooh, very ornate. Cards like this cost a fortunate. Ohmigod, Ohmigod."

"What?" asked her startled mom.

The venue is the Waldorf-Astoria.

"Ohmigod," said Dorothy.

Puzzled, Tom asked, "Does that please you Julie?"

The women looked at Tom as if he was from somewhere remote, like Loving, Texas.

Although Tom had Julie as a partner to attend the wedding, dating was not on her agenda. Julie in her final year at music school was shutting herself off to indulge in something she called her recital. Tom figured that sounded too deep to interest him. But he didn't seek a fill-in liaison – it just came to him and from an unexpected quarter. Shona took him out to lunch.

"Do you have someone to take to my wedding darling? I haven't heard any talk about you being seen with a female lately... or with a male for that matter."

"Yeah, a lovely young music student practically untouched by human hand."

"Then what is she doing in even the slightest association with you darling?"

Tom looked at where Shona's heart lay mostly under her drooping left breast and then looked at the knife and forks in front of him and finally decided on the slender one-piece butter knife with its long point as being suitable to slide off a rib bone and into the narrow gap between them to reach the heart. How dare Shona suggest he was without morals. Her wine and his beer arrived so the beer took his attention.

"Darling," Shona said, pausing after a tiny sip of her wine and dabbing at her lipstick as if she'd just slurped half a pint of wine. "My mother-in-law-to-be has invested in the Manhattan Small Car Company and wants me to do something to stimulate sales for the company as it is bleeding financially. She agreed to me flicking that request to one of my minions."

"You mean executives?"

"Almost the same thing darling; I thought I'd throw the task to you."

"What do I know about small vehicles? I can't drive."

"I think what is required darling is promotional creativity, not to be a racing car driver. Please do it for me darling. Remember you did love my ass."

"Oh I suppose so. Does this new guy Saxton, um...?"

"Darling that is really none of your business and discussing ass over lunch is rather unappetizing."

"I don't mind discussing it."

"That is because you are from Texas darling."

The maid answering the doorbell took Tom to a side room and told him to wait. He was asleep when Nicci Finch-Lynn shook him awake.

"Oh hi. Is your mother off her ass and ready to see me?"

"I am the person you have come to see. I am the wife of Mr Lynn senior."

"Golly wolly Miss Polly. You are younger than Mr Lynn's son."

"Oh, I was hoping no one would notice," Mrs Lynn giggled. "I'm two years younger but don't blame me; Saxton's father did the proposing. I was just a maiden living in South Yarra with my parents when Mr Lynn senior came to dinner."

"Maiden?"

"My claim had never been publicly disputed."

"Then it's totally defensible. You have style Mrs Finch-Lynn."

"Call me Nicci Tom. You are here to revive my personal fortunes. I am facing the loss of the thick end of $2 million invested in a car company that was supposed to return me 15% per annum on my seeding funding but the cars are not selling."

"I see. How many cars does the company need to sell for you to take your money out?"

"Three hundred. That is stated in my contract."

"Have they 300 to sell."

"They have 700 stored in eleven warehouses in New Jersey."

"All pristine new and value for money?"

"Absolutely. I have a photo of five of the cars in our company showroom. Follow me."

They walked up the curving staircase in the center of the magnificent apartment with its white and gold décor to the master bedroom – well judging by the quarter-acre size bed Tom assumed it was the master bedroom.

"Wait here," Nicci said. Tom noticed she locked the door and checked that it was locked.

She went into the dressing room and returned with a photo and smelling as if she'd dunked in her perfume bottle and all the buttons down the front of her top were now undone. Tom thought this was peculiar behavior for a maiden. Not that he had much time to think because Nicci grabbed him and said, "Take me."

Stalling for time, Tom looked at the cute Australian and croaked, "Where, to the car showroom?"

"No you fool," Nicci said and with the expertise of a hooker had him unzipped and pulled out and was down on her knees before he'd had time to blink twice. She looked up and he brushed aside her hair so she could see him.

"I agree to being charged by your agency for this work I want you to do for me. Take the paper clipped to the photo. It has the address of the premises and the name of your contact, chief executive Ruben Hall. Now, where was I?"

Tom felt one of his balls slide into Nicci's mouth before he could say where she was. He thought he shouldn't distract her from the job in hand... and mouth.

Nicci turned out to be next to useless at fellatio – she failed to ignite Tom and herself. But she fell back on to the bed and didn't mind at all Tom slobbering over her big juicies (tits). That was a change; most women carry on as if they'd been hosed with semen all over their best clothes.

It became more interesting when Nicci slid on to the floor, resting on her shoulders and facing Tom, leaving him to stare at a large and a much smaller hole without a hair in sight. But she then spoilt it by yawning before saying, "Take your pick." Fortunately Tom made the right choice and when he sent a wet finger tentatively exploring, Nicci yelled in delight – "An ass fuck. Oh how wonderful!" Now everyone in the house and in apartments beyond would know what Tom was doing to Nicci Finch-Lynn.

An hour later after carrying Nicci to the shower and propping her up to soak, Tom dressed and let himself out thinking the wives of rich men actually did have a role to fill in this world. He felt sated.

The half-page ad ran in two Sunday newspapers. It showed a woman luridly dressed and obviously a hooker behind the wheel of one of The Small Car Company's cars:

'Darlings, these cars are beautiful for driving around Manhattan as they are so small and nippy and can park virtually on top of a parking meter or you can take yours into the store with you if that's allowed. Loaded to the roof with shopping they look great and all women wave at you with big smiles. The kids turn their noses down at them, and that's a real plus. Think about it! Dad has to take them to sport and parties and bigger kids borrow his car. If you don't have a car because you don't have off-street parking then these cars are just right for you – you simply replace the cat with one of these cars and still have plenty of room in your lounge. They only come in four colors so choosing a color should take no more than a day. Men think their legs are too long for them, even short men with large egos think that. But when you entice one into your baby car darling, I'm telling you... he's yours for the duration. How long does it take you darling? It doesn't matter; the comfort is such you might chose to take all week. They are great for toilet stops – you just drive straight in, if that's allowed. Finally darlings, the problem of rising fuel prices. Siphon a pint of gas from your lover or husband's car with his implied consent and you can happily motor for... well all month if you keep the car parked sufficiently. Oh, another thing. These cars have real personality. I call mine Giggles because the short-legged men who want to ride with me believe in the theory of the Big Bang and when I talk about it they giggle in nervous anticipation and I'm not taking about my bad driving here. Get your Little Car today or tomorrow at the latest, won't you darling. Happy giggling.'

TV that Sunday evening showed lines of women blocking the street outside The Little Car Company waiting patiently to buy a new car. The TV reporter presenting the item wiped away tears. "The rush produced a sell-out of these darling wee cars with their huge personality. Some of the waiting women I interviewed were dubious about the car being great for sex or for carting anything much larger than a cake-mixer but they all seemed desperate to get their hands on a car the kids wouldn't be keen to ride in and certainly would turn their noses up at the thought of borrowing it. The only gripe appeared to be the color range restricted to four colors. Most women I spoke to want anywhere from forty to one hundred color choices. I agree. I'm on the six weeks waiting list to get my car. That should be ample time to decide which of the four colors I prefer."

Nicci took Tom to dinner after celebrating with a Big Bang. "Darling can you suggest an enterprising way in which I could invest this almost $2 million and make oodles of money?"

Tom's head whirled like a computer hard drive and he smiled because Nicci had just wet his fingers.

"Yeah, you buy a 70% share of a large car painting business in New Jersey and we'll look after the advertising for you. You change the name of the company signage to Nicci's Paint Shop for Changing the Color of Women's Cars."

"Oh darling, I do believe that will be a sensational success and my business will have many satisfied clients back for repeat business as color preferences do change seasonally and with fashion. Fingers back please darling – I'm burning in excitement and must go again."

Tom went home alone from the restaurant because a chauffeured car arrived to take Nicci somewhere else to join her husband. He arrived in a happy mood and looking around at his small dwelling though he was happy enough to stay there.

Happy enough? Well he could well afford to upgrade two or three levels. He was becoming well heeled. That made him think he'd salt away even more money if he stayed put. It was just that the thought at the back of his mind was he'd not like to bring a woman like Nicci back to his abode. Then what was he doing in the company of a woman like Nicci?

Indeed.

Tom called Julie. No she was too busy to go out with him between now and the wedding but he could come around for the occasional meal if he wanted to do that.

Was that an invitation or was it what? A brush-off?

"Is that a brush off?"

"No, whatever gave you that idea?"

"You said you were too busy to go out with me and the mention of going around for a meal was lukewarm, scarcely an invitation."

"I'm under pressure at school what with my recital and attempting to lift my marks. I have decided to become a college music teacher, so high marks will be vital in competing for jobs."

"You hadn't explained the pressure you were under."

"I didn't believe you were interested. Please come to dinner on Saturday night. Some of the family will be there – they might all come if told you'll be there."

"Thank you, I accept your kind invitation."

"Oooh, that sounds rather gentlemanly for you. Bye – 7 o'clock, I'll tell mom now."

Rather gentlemanly for you? The little bitch, Tom grinned thinking the artistic academic was rather up herself. He pulled out a beer and sat staring at the blank TV screen thinking.

"Where was his life going? He'd withdrawn from the opportunity to advance into an executive position at work and in all probability, although without academic qualifications, would be invited to become a partner if one of the present three left. Most likely it would be Shona and perhaps soon. He was also in fucking other men's wives.

Tom sighed and turned that into a smile. Well he'd come a long way since coming to New York, leaving behind an empty life completely without a future in sight and becoming a seasoned expert at finding jobs and then being fired, not always being his fault as some of those jobs had been described as short term positions. But boiled down the real difference between Texas and New York was he now had a steady job paying big money.

What this what he wanted? Tom thought no, not being alone in a tiny apartment. Perhaps he would be better off in a serviced apartment with maids to fuck? He supposed such apartments existed but he'd never seen any advertised with bed service provided.

Well money, a comfortable bed and a good fuck pretty much summed up what he wanted out of life. But really he hadn't thought much beyond that, had he? Not like cousin Jane and now Julie who were committed to achieving their planned future. Women like that would not plan to have a Tom Briscoe in their life.

Hmmm. He really needed to find a woman happy in her work who liked fucking and would never nag at him or try to tell him what to do. Perfect. He would then marry her and they would have a couple of kids out of the city where they could go hunting and fishing and sit in bars and yarn.

He grinned. That really would be the perfect woman... and who would be minding the kids? God he was a no-hoper. Tom pulled out his guitar and sung himself almost to sleep before staggering off to bed. He thought of Nicci, his cum leaking out of her mouth as she sucked him. He'd never seen a woman in that position looking so happy. Tom reached out for her but found the bed beside him empty.

He sighed, sleepily.

Tom had thought something would come along but hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. Jane called. They talked like excited kids and arranged to meet for lunch that day.