volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

It’s too late to turn tail now. He’s going to have to go through
with it.
He just can’t look at her violet eyes.
Or gamboling breasts.
Instead, his eyes rummage through the cabinet.
“How much are they?”
Debi holds her smile steady. This might be tricky. Usually,
people at least pretend they can afford what they’re looking at. On
the other hand, she likes to recall the story her daddy told her as
they walked along the beach near Carmel, holding hands. He
had been a salesman all his life. As a young man just starting
out, living in Oklahoma, there had been two car dealerships
in town, right across the street from one another. One day, an
old coot walked into one of the dealerships and sat down. The
way her daddy told the story was funny, but she was no good at
telling things and making them funny. Still, she always smiles
when she recalls the way her daddy described the man. He said
he was “greasy and grimy and wore rubber boots.” And that he
sat there and told the salesman who didn’t want to talk to him
that he was there to buy a fleet of cars. The salesman laughed
at the old coot, convinced it was a practical joke, then sent him
packing. The greasy, grimy old guy in rubber boots was pissed.
He walked across the street to the other dealership and bought
fourteen brand new Coup de Villes.
And paid cash.
Debi always remembers this story when guys like Roy come
in.
And sometimes when she thinks of the story she also thinks
how ironic it is that the girls who turn her on are greasy, grimy
and totally into rubber.
Debi gazes into the top of Roy’s head as if seeking her
reflection.
“Depends on the features.”
Features?
Roy just wants it to play CDs.
“I mean—d’you want it to read MP3 compression? D’you
want G-Protection? Or a remote? D’you want it to play CD-
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 21