A New Role

No one was more surprised that Harry liked his new job than Harry. It was soothing, relaxing, numbing to do something as simple as selling belts.

"This is gorgeous, that's a runner, the one with the inlaid brass buckle comes in cabretta and suede."

All Harry had to do was show up to work. Once he was in the showroom, the rest took care of itself.

Brew a pot of coffee, open a box of poppy seed cookies, place them on the showroom table and let the buyers stuff their faces. Throw in a few jokes, flirt, ooh and ah over the latest styles and by the time the the chi chi boutique owner left the showroom, there was a sale of at least a grand.

Harry was plagued with guilt about his unabashed enjoyment selling belts in a showroom. Stupid-fucken-strips-of-leather-that-hold-up-your-pants. Or skirts and dresses as a fashion accessory. But what was there not to like about luxuriating the days sequestered away in a comfy showroom with dolled-up sweeties whose mission on earth was nothing more than dispensing good taste?

And so Harry found himself dressing better:

"I love your cashmere sweater, Harry."

Splashing on designer colognes:

"You smell so yummy, Harry. Is that Yves St. Laurent?"

Initiating inane chat:

"Did you see what Meryl Streep wore to the Oscars?"

Land of the brain-dead. Home of the beaver. Where still the mighty moose wanders at will.

Boom tittie boom boom. Boom tittie boom boom. Boom tittie boom boom. Boooom.

Showroom sales rep: the role that the strapping, tall dark and handsome Harry Starr was born to play? And it made him ill. He had recurring dreams of belts turning into hissing snakes and biting him.

He could't allow himself to get too caught up in the pleasantries of the job, Harry still had a mission in life, he just hadn't figured out what it was. But it certainly wasn't selling belts for his chiseling cousin Alvy.

"No commission on Boutique Glitz, that's a house account."

"Commission on the House of Iris, you're kidding? They take a 60% mark-up with a 3% warehouse discount!"

"Of course I docked fifty bucks off your paycheck, Harry! You don't expect me to pay for  getting your teeth polished at the dentist? This ain't Hollywood, pretty boy." That was true.

And so on and so on, until Harry chose to play a new role.