Anything for the Sale

This story is in celebration of National Nude Day. I didn't quite get it done in time for the contest, but I'm publishing it anyway. Comments are always welcome.

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The doorbell rang.

Jackie Jerelsen walked briskly on four-inch heels over a fine-grained wood-plank floor to open the house's massive door. The 10 o'clock potential buyer had arrived, right on time. She threw her shoulders back and put her game face on. It was time to make a sale.

The house was, by far, the pride of all her listings -- a high modern-style mansion of angular white walls, pale maple floors, and vast, floor-to-ceiling windows opening to expansive views over a high bluff, looking over a river below. The house was much admired, but it was expensive, too. Few people could afford it. But she had little doubt that the man with whom she had her current appointment-- Victor Maxon -- could afford it. She just had to convince him to buy it.

She had the sales chops to do it. She knew it. She was the number two sales agent in her realty firm's regional office, close on the heels of her long-time rival and nemesis, Cynthia Beele. If she got this sale done, Jackie would beat Cynthia and be number one for the company's fiscal year, which ended on July 31, just over two weeks away.

She opened the door and gave Victor Maxon her biggest and most confident smile.

"Mr. Maxon!" she said. "Hello. I'm Jackie."

She almost faltered in her delivery. Victor Maxon was disarmingly handsome -- very tall, with wavy hair and broad shoulders, a powerful jaw line, and piercing eyes. He wore dark slacks of a fine wool and a neatly pressed cotton blue shirt. He radiated money and confidence, but he also projected an air of casualness, even indifference, as though he was keenly aware of his success but didn't care if anyone else knew about it. He carried a slim, dark briefcase. He had come by himself, unrepresented by a real estate agent of his own.

"You're right on time," Jackie said. Her voice sounded thinner and less confident to her than she wanted it to. She beckoned with her hand and Maxon walked through the door.

"I'm always on time," he said. "I said I'd be here at ten, and I'm a man of my word. And please call me Victor."

"OK Victor." Jackie turned away from him to lead him to the kitchen, where she expected to begin the house tour. She was aware, as she walked ahead of him, of the brevity of the gray skirt she had chosen to wear that day. It was fashionable, and form-fitting, and it showed a lot of leg. She had asked around about Victor Maxon before his visit, and she felt sure this was the best skirt to wear to get his full attention. She imagined his eyes on her firm, rounded ass as she walked ahead of him.

"I heard that about you," she said. "That you keep your word. You have a good reputation."

"You did your homework," he replied as he set his briefcase down on the kitchen floor. "I did too. I heard that you're very good at what you do, and honest. On your company website you're listed as number two in sales in your office. Right behind Cynthia Beele."

"You saw that? You really did do your homework." Jackie pivoted on her high heels on the floor to face Victor again. She was ready to show him around. He seemed to be in no hurry, though. He looked intently at her.

"I saw Cynthia yesterday," he said.

Jackie was startled. She hadn't known that. "You did?"

"Yes. At another house. On Crawford Avenue. You know the one? She showed it to me yesterday."

Jackie knew that house well. It rivaled the house she was showing right now in opulence and size -- and in price. It hit her in the gut, suddenly, how important this sale was. Whoever sold her house to Victor Maxon would win the realtor of the year prize in her firm's regional office -- and the recognition and substantial bonus that would go with the win.

Jackie wanted that bonus, badly.

Jackie resolved to herself to beat Cynthia.

Putting on her best smile and hiding her thoughts about the competition with Cynthia, Jackie showed Victor around the house. She took him through the living room and dining room, inspected the kitchen with him, took him around the back yard and showed off the seemingly endless views from it, and then escorted Victor upstairs to look at the bedrooms. She started with the master bedroom and then showed him the guest bedrooms. She knew that Victor was single, and she was surprised that he was interested in buying a house with so many rooms.

But, as she was aware, rich men often wanted more than they needed. And Victor Maxon was rich. He, too, was in the real estate business -- he had been buying and developing land in the area for over 20 years. He was famous in the industry as a shrewd operator and tough negotiator. It was said that he never made a bad deal.

They entered one of the guest bedrooms. Out of the corner of her eye Jackie noticed Victor running his gaze up and down her body. It felt like she was being undressed, but she didn't wholly mind. Cynthia might have been her senior as a realtor, but Jackie had a better figure, and she knew her looks gave her an advantage over Cynthia. She threw her shoulders back and her chest out and knew that as she passed by Victor, he would be looking at her firm and full breasts, encased in and molded by a cream blouse, in profile.

She felt a twinge of guilt at what she was doing, but just a twinge. She was a realtor. A saleswoman. The sellers had entrusted her the task of selling their house at a good price, and she was bound and determined to do it. And her fee would be significant. So, too, would be the bonus from her firm if she beat Cynthia Beele as the realtor of the year.

She turned around again to face Victor and held her hands out to show the room to him, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking off somewhere else, into the depths of the room, with a distant and hard-to-read expression on his face.

"A pity I don't have any kids," he said. "So many nice bedrooms. But I have many friends, Jackie, in many places, and they can visit me. This room would be a nice room for them to stay."

Jackie nodded and almost spoke, but Victor interrupted her.

"You have kids, don't you, Jackie?" he asked. Now he looked at her, with steady and almost unblinking eyes. Jackie felt uneasy.

"I do," she said. "Two. How'd you know?"

"I do my homework, like I said. You have one that's about to go off to college, don't you?"

"I do. My son Matthew. He's going to Duke next year. I'm very proud of him. I have a daughter, Lillian, who has two more years of high school."

"Duke," Victor replied. "A private school. Very expensive tuition. That's a lot of money to pay for college, even for a successful realtor. And another child will be going off to college, not far behind. You've got your hands full."

It was unnerving to Jackie that Victor seemed to have such a clear view into her own needs. It was true that Jackie was doing very well as a realtor, but the upcoming expenses for college were going to be enormous, and she knew that her deadbeat ex-husband would be no help. He'd lost his last job and could barely make his minimal child support payments already. There was no chance he was going to contribute to paying for the children's college. Jackie knew it was up to her to do that, and she fretted about being able to cover the expenses in full.

It was cool in the house, but Jackie could swear she felt a bead of sweat on her forehead. Nobody ever made her sweat, but somehow Victor Maxon did.

"Why don't we continue the tour?" she asked, and she led the way through the rest of the house.

They finished the tour in the kitchen, where they began.

"So, what do you think?" Jackie asked. "It's an amazing house, isn't it?"

"It's an excellent house," Victor replied, slowly. "You've done an excellent job showing it off. I'm definitely interested."

"That's great!" she said. "I'd be happy to answer any more questions about it."

Victor paused, for a long time.

"I do have a question, Jackie," he said.

He paused again.

"Do you know what day it is?"

Jackie was nonplussed. Victor Maxon was very hard for her to read.

"It's Tuesday," she said.

"Well, I don't mean that. I mean, do you know what's special about this particular Tuesday?"

Jackie vaguely recalled that there was something unusual about this day -- something odd -- but she couldn't remember what it was.

"I don't know," she confessed at last.

"It's National Nude Day," Victor said, with a thin smile and eyes wide and steady on Jackie's face.

"Oh, I didn't know that," Jackie said, not knowing what else to say and wondering where this was going.

"Ah," said Victor. "I thought everybody knew. Yes, it's National Nude Day. So, I assume, since you didn't know about it, that you have no plans to celebrate it?"

"Oh no," Jackie said, trying to keep her voice serious and steady and feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. She laughed uneasily. "Do you?"

"Oh yes," Victor said, looking away from her, through the large window to the river beyond it, saying nothing more.

He was silent again, unnerving Jackie.

"What's your plan?" she asked.

Victor turned his eyes back on Jackie.

"It involves you," he said.

"What?" she asked, staring at Victor and not knowing what else to say. She felt very small, suddenly, and felt that a hole might open in the maple floor under her expensive heels and that she might fall through it. Victor stared at her, and it seemed to Jackie that his eyes grew larger and darker and more unblinking.

"I'm a businessperson, and a salesperson, like you," Victor said. "I buy and sell property. I'm always trying to make the best deal. I have to. I have people -- employees, investors, family members -- who count on me. I always want to make the best deal possible. And I'll do just about whatever I have to do to get that deal done. I hear you're the same way.

"I know you want to sell this house. You'll make a big commission, and you'll be realtor of the year, and you'll get a nice bonus. It would be great relief to you to know you can pay all that college tuition.

"I like the house. I like it about the same as the house Cynthia showed me yesterday. I might like to buy it. But there's something I want you to do for me, first. For National Nude Day.

"I want you to get naked, Jackie. Now."

Jackie stared at Victor, her jaw dropping and her mouth wide open, saying nothing for several seconds.

"Victor," she started to say, "That's ridic ---"

He cut her off, holding his hand up.

"I knew you'd say that. You're a woman with self-esteem and class. You're educated. You make good money. I'm sure you've dealt with male clients and male buyers ogling you and leering at you. I have no doubt you know how to deal with them. But you've never had any make a proposition like I'm making, right?"

"That's right," she said. Her voice sounded very small to her.

"You have your reputation to think of, don't you?" he asked, his voice pressing her.

"Of course. In this business, reputation is everything."

"Same with me," Victor said, his words pouring out in a confident torrent. "My reputation is everything. I'm very discreet." Jackie saw his eyebrows rise, and his eyes bored into hers. "As are you. What happens during business negotiations . . . stays in business negotiations. Nobody needs to know. Nobody but us. Nobody will ever know."

Jackie still had trouble grappling with what Victor was saying.

"Victor, what are you --"

He interrupted her again.

"I want you to take off your clothes," he said. "All of them. I want you to be completely naked, and I want you to put on a little show for me. I'll tell you what to do. All you must do is follow my instructions. I know you can do it. Do it, do it well, and please me, and I promise you, I will buy this house. Today. I've already read all the paperwork you sent me yesterday. I can contact my banker in 30 seconds with my phone. You'll get your sale, your commission, your prize, and your bonus.

"All you have to do is get naked for me, now. And it's done.

"You have my word."

Jackie's head swam -- with outrage, anxiety, nervousness, a burning competitive desire to beat Cynthia and to be number one, but also a fierce, internal pride, and disbelief and anger at what Victor had asked her to do.

"Your word?"

"My word. I told you I always keep my word. You did your homework, so you know I do. You said it yourself."

They stood athwart each other, neither saying nor doing anything for a moment. Jackie felt the force and persuasiveness of Victor's personality behind his next words.

"Jackie, listen. You're not married. I'm not married. There's no reason you can't do this. It's . . . irregular, I admit. But there's nothing immoral about it. And I think you'll like it."

"And why would you think that?" She folded her arms over her chest, aware of her breasts pressing against them.

"Look how you dressed today," he said, his chin pointed up toward her. "You dressed for me. To impress me. To be sexy for me. I'll bet that skirt's a bit shorter than usual. I'll bet that blouse is tighter than normal. I'll bet those heels are higher than normal. You dressed this way, today, for me, to get the sale done. Because you'll do what it takes, including looking good for me, the buyer. You know it. You already were prepared to put on a show, and you have -- a good one. I'm just asking for a little bit more of a show than you planned for."

Jackie didn't move or speak for a moment.

"Even if that's true," she said, slowly at first, but gathering in pace, "It's not the same as what you are asking, and you know it. What you are asking is completely different, and it is outrageous. There's no way I can do what you ask." But she shivered with nervousness as she said it. The words were confident, but she didn't feel confident.

"Did you do this to Cynthia, too?" Jackie asked. "Ask her to get naked?"

Victor said nothing at first, and then he laughed. The laughter struck an odd, but welcome, note to Jackie's ears. It dispelled some of the tension hanging over them and she felt glad to hear it.

"Cynthia?" he asked, laughing more. "No. I didn't want to see Cynthia naked. You might have the wrong impression. This isn't just some sicko power trip. It's not just a business deal -- although it is partly that.

"You're a beautiful woman, Jackie. You're one of the most beautiful women I know. I want to see you naked. I want that so much; you have no idea. As I said before, I did my homework. I knew how beautiful you were. And I admired your success, too. It makes you even more attractive, makes me want this even more. I've asked around about you."

"Asked around?" Jackie asked. "You're a strange man."

"Maybe I am," he said. "But I don't care. I'm a man who knows what he wants and knows how to get what he wants, and what I want, right here and right now, is for you to take your clothes off. Do that, Jackie Jerelsen, and I'll buy this house."

Jackie stared at Victor, paralyzed. What he asked was impossible, but . . . was it more impossible than letting the deal fall through? Those words bored into her -- "I'll buy this house" -- and the impossibility of turning away from that promise tussled with the impossibility of doing what he wanted her to do. Two impossibilities. Which was more impossible?

"I have a reputation --" she started, instantly feeling ashamed for saying the words.

"I know, and so do I," he said. "My biggest client now is the First Covenant Church. Heard about them? Very conservative evangelical church. I'm buying and developing land for them for their new sanctuary. I can't lose that deal. If they heard about this -- what I've asked you to do -- well, the church vestry wouldn't be too happy about that. There's no way they'd continue doing business with me. I need discretion every bit as much as you do. If I spilled the beans about you, about today, and word got out -- that could really hurt me. You don't have to worry about me telling anyone.

"No one will ever know, Jackie. No one will ever know. No one but you and I."

Jackie didn't say anything. She felt mute. She felt her feet rooted through her high heels to the wood floor beneath her. She felt unable to say anything or do anything.

She wanted to shake her fist at Victor Maxon and tell him to go to hell and tell him that there was no way, ever, that she would or could do what he was asking her to do.

But she didn't do it. She couldn't quite do it.

And she knew that Victor Maxon was watching her, closely, and that he knew, already, that she hadn't told him to go to hell when she could have.

Victor walked two paces to the side of Jackie and pulled a tall stool away from the kitchen island. He pulled it back, and Jackie heard its legs whine across the floor, and she hoped that they didn't scratch it.

"Jackie," Victor said, hopping up on the stool, and holding up his phone and pointing to the time display on it, "It's 10:35 am. I booked a two-hour appointment. No one will be here until noon. We have this house to ourselves for almost an hour and a half.

"Take off your clothes. Get naked for me. Do it and I will buy this house."

Somewhere, inside her, amid the sky-high anxiety and conviction that she had gone mad, Jackie knew that Victor spoke the truth. He wasn't shitting her. If she got naked, he'd buy the house. She'd win, and she'd get her bonus. She knew -- somehow knew -- that however obnoxious and absurd his request was, he would keep his word.

She didn't do anything, still, but her shoulders slumped and her body sagged. She looked into Victor's eyes and she knew he knew he'd won.

"Hop up onto the island, Jackie," he said. "It's Nude Day, Jackie. Just tell yourself it's Nude Day. It's Nude Day and you're going to celebrate. By getting nude. Now. For me."

It was Nude Day and she was going to get nude. Something snapped, and she made up her mind. Jackie put her hands behind her, against the granite island counter, and lifted herself up, until her butt rested on the cool granite tile and her high heels dangled in the air below.

Her short skirt pulled up, shorter still, exposing long, lean legs, bent over the edge of the counter to Victor's view. Jackie held her knees together, but she knew he could see a lot, regardless. Victor sat still and upright on the stool, several feet from her. His eyes were fixed on her. Jackie knew she had his full attention.

But she did not know what to do. She waited. She knew the tall, handsome, and charismatic man sitting a few feet from her and staring at her knew exactly what he wanted her to do.

"That's a nice blouse you're wearing, Jackie," he said. "Unbutton it. Slowly."

She thought about the firm bonus and what it would mean for her -- and for her son's college tuition -- as her hands lifted off the mottled granite counter and moved to the top of her blouse.

Slender fingers moved deftly over the top button, and then it was undone.

Jackie breathed deeply, chest heaving. She felt more sweat gather on her brow. In different places on her body, her skin flushed.

"Next one," Victor said, his voice strong and even.

She unbuttoned the next one, and then the next one. Without looking down she knew that the skin of her chest lay exposed to Victor, and that he could see her cream-colored bra under the now-opened blouse.

Here mind scarcely understood what her hands were doing. It was focused elsewhere: on the hum of the air conditioner, on the goosebump-inducing coolness of the circulating air, and on the sweet scent of roses she'd picked from the garden in back and set in a vase now four feet from her on the island. It couldn't quite focus on her hands -- those mischievous hands, now heedless of decorum and busy unbuttoning her shirt to bare herself to a man she had met only forty minutes earlier.