Market Week - continued

"Come with me to my cousin's wedding, Harry. I promise you a good time."

"For like the tenth time, Pauline, forget it. I can't go... Did you serve that customer in the purple fur coat?"

"I can't. I don't do purple."

But chicks in purple are wild.

"That's ridiculous."

"Purple is bad luck in my family. No one will go near it. Sorry."

"Well, the potential customer just turned around and left our booth. I guess she felt your vibes."

"For sure, Harry. We can't see the forces at work in the unseen world."

Like the Curse of the Flunkers.

"Harry, come with me to my cousin's wedding."

"Drop it already, or I'll wear purple tomorrow."


But keep on begging.

"Come on, we'll have fun. And I promise to put a smile on your face."

"Just don't sit on it...Can we focus on work, Pauline? How about looking after the customer with the red hair and anklet who just walked into our booth?"


The Anklet; Sign of the Harlot.

"That's Colleen from St. John. Such a sweetie!"

Using his special X-ray pussy vision, Harry scanned Colleen from head to toe.


Nice firm breasts. Nipples slightly off center, ass in need of toning. Not quite Ginger or Mary Ann, but wouldn't mind being stranded with her on Gilligan's Island. Massage her bod with fresh coconut oil, skinny dip in the lagoon.

A half hour later; Colleen and Pauline are coddling their mugs of market week coffee while working the fall belt order. "You're glowing, Colleen.  You must be in love."

"Can you tell, Pauline? I'm with... my boss...Earl."

"Earl...I never went out with a man whose first name started with an E," Pauline said. "My sister once tried to fix me up with an Ernie, but I couldn't see myself kissing a Muppet. Even worse, Ernie was an accountant. Never go out with an accountant, ma chére. They're cheap-cheap-cheap-cheap. I once went out with an accountant who paid for dinner with a coupon. Mon dieu, I almost fell through the floor."

"I once dated an accountant who chose which restaurants to go to based on an MPC rating."

"You mean MSG."

"No, MPC - Maximum Plate Coverage. He actually invented that unit of measurement and got a copyright for it. He tried to set up an MPC ratings guide for diners, like Zagat. Lost his shirt in the venture. I broke up with him after he got banned from a Chinese all-you-can-eat buffet. He ate so much shrimp, his eyes turned pink. I told him to take his MPC and shove it up his ass...Thank God my Earl isn't cheap. He's spends more on me than on his wife!"

"What's Earl's love sign?"

"He's a Taurus, a bull all the way," Colleen giggled.

"Ooh la la. And he's rich?"

"Well, I guess so, for St. John at least. He has two Mont Blanc pens and a closet full of Polo shirts."

"I like a man dressed in Polo. Even better if he wears zebra striped underwear like my ex-boyfriend, Dudas Dubrofsky," Pauline giggled.

"Earl likes his boxers. He's got sagging balls," Colleen whispered. "If only he wasn't married," she sighed while studying her hand. "But God bless these market weeks. It's the only time we get to sleep together in peace."

"You can't have it all, Colleen, so you might as well have fun. That's what I'm telling Harry." Pauline motioned to Harry to join them at the table. "Isn't he good-looking? We're going to my cousin's wedding together."

"No we're not," Harry said while sitting down at the table.

"Playing hard go get?" Colleen said. "Sounds like more fun than Catch Me, Catch Me!"

"Ha ha ha. Maybe I should try Catch Me, Catch Me with Harry? Maybe he could try to catch us both!"

Maybe a menage? 

Pauline stared at Harry's bulging crotch. "All you have to do is look at him and he gets a hard-on."

Harry blushed when he realized that he was indeed packing a hard-on.

"Oh my! " Colleen said while giving Harry the once over.

Baby.

Pauline grabbed Harry's crotch and squeezed. "What did I tell you?"

Colleen picked up her ringing cell phone and slapped it against her ear. "Baby," she nodded. "Aha...Aha..." She mouthed to Pauline, "It's Earl...Aha...aha..." Colleen giggled and nodded some more. "Aha...aha...Right now?...Aha...aha!" She hung up her phone and stuffed it back in her purse. "I gotta run now, Pauline. Earl lucked out on an early check in and got upgraded to a suite with a Jacuzzi...Yeee-haaa!" Colleen grabbed her purse. "Be a sweetie and finish the rest of my belt order? You can mail it to me." And then Colleen vanished into thin air.

"Maybe we should also get a hotel room, Harry?"

"I don't do hotel rooms. I can't sleep in a bed that's been used by thousands of Colleens and Earls."

"That's okay. After my cousin's wedding we can go to my place...So you're coming with me?...Pleeease.?

And he said yes. And he didn't know why, just that he was starring in Market Week.

"Just go ahead, Harry, and write my belt order. I sold out of everything I bought from you last season."

The boutique owners: Harry's new constituency.

"I trust your taste, Harry. If you say I can sell $100 belts with buckles that look like sculptures, then add  it to my order."

Not exactly the kind of fans he once imagined.

"Whatever you say, Harry. You're the star."

Some star, selling belts. Life in the marginal lane. Another Harvey Potashner, Prince of the Lonely, host-on-call for those Sweet Sixteen debs whose Saturday night dates were tubs of Ben and Jerry's -- Rocky Road, Cherry Garcia, Ethan Almond. Those sad girls, camped out in their sweats in front of the TV, taking their virtual cruise on The Love Boat, teleporting their dreams to the custody of Mr. Roarke of Fantasy Island, safe from the daily grind of rejection. But for just one night of their aching teenage lives, for one enchanted magical night, their Sweet Sixteen party,  those left-overs could be princesses, flanked by the star of the lonely hearts club band,their muckle-mouthed Prince Charming, Harvey Potashner.

Until the clock struck midnight.

That thought: then: Harry yearned to weep. A moment of clarity; he'd been beamed down to the wrong transporter pad.

"Stop dreaming," Pauline said. "There's a customer over there who only wants to work with you."