These next few pages I guess are just my imagining of what must have happened in the next few months. I have nothing to prove this—only from knowing what Jo was like, so it’s not beyond the realm of reality that this may have occurred. I’m going to indulge myself with a little fantasy. After all, nobody’s going to read my printed thoughts.
My dad, Pat Tucker, worked at Pitts Auto Agency. By the time Miss Jo snagged him, he had become by far Pitts Auto’s best salesman, and newly promoted to manager.
Bobby Pitts was given the store when his daddy decided to retire. Since Bobby knew little about the auto business other than driving new cars off the lot at all hours of the night, my dad pretty much ran the place. He was focused, dedicated and honest.
One late morning, shortly after Jo had become a lady of leisure, she walked the five blocks to the auto store in her strappy, toeless heels, a tight skirt, orange in color, with a snug sleeveless yellow top. Gobs of gaudy jewelry completed her ensemble. Waving her freshly manicured nails in the breeze to dry, wobbling along the uneven concrete sidewalk and occasionally stumbling on a crack, she was bringing our dad the lunch he’d forgotten.
She had yet to meet Bobby, and was eager to do so, for his reputation with the women of the town had preceded him. When she arrived, she stopped short of entering, and took a full five minutes to pat her curls, apply a smidgeon of fresh makeup, and wipe a bit of perspiration from her upper lip. Dabbing a finger full of ‘My Sin’ behind her ears,on her wrists,and into her cleavage with one hand, she straightened the seams of her stockings with the other.
Tapping on the door of Pat’s sparsely furnished office, she opened it, minced across the wooden floor with her heels making staccato clicks, planted herself in Pat’s lap, and kissed him seductively. She hoped he got a good taste of her new lipstick fron the Avon Lady.
“You sure are tempting, Jo, but who knows when the boss might drop in, so save a little of this for later, and behave yourself.”
Reluctantly, Jo crossed the room and pouting, plunked herself into a chair. At that moment, who should swagger in but Bobby himself.
” Bobby, I’d like you to meet my wife, Jo. Jo, this is Bobby Pitts, my boss and the proud owner of this place,” Pat said.
“Well, little lady, I’ve heard a lot about you, and I must say, Pat described you perfectly.” With that, Bobby looked Jo up and down, hesitating slightly at her firm, perky breasts, her tiny waist, and her sexy shoes, making a mental note that Pat’s wife definitely had possibilities to be explored at a future date.
Jo pulled a cigarette from her gold case, waggled it between her fingers, crossed her legs provocatively, and before Pat had a chance to light it, Bobby took two steps at a time to reach her first.
“Why I do thank you, kind sir,” Jo drawled, bouncing her curls close to his face.
In one short hour, Jo had nicknamed him ‘Bobby Bubba’ which both amused and intrigued him. Laughing at his jokes, she told a few suggestive ones of her own, much to Pat’s displeasure and embarrassment, but Bobby seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
Rearranging her skirt seductively from time to time, exposing the snaps on her garter belt, she dangled one of her petite high heels from her brightly painted toenail.
“You’ll have to see that Pat takes you out for a ride in that new red roadster out on the lot,” Bobby chuckled. “Better yet, Pat, if you’re too busy, I’d be happy to take Jo for a spin some day soon–if that’s alright with you, of course.”
“Why, of course it’d be all right, Bobby Bubba–ma baby wants me to have a good time–and what better way to do it that than to make the boss happy,” she responded innocently.
Somewhat perplexed by this exchange, Pat answered, “Well, Bobby, I guess I could spare her for a while, but only if I’m too busy to take her for a ride myself. ” Looking at Bobby, he said, “Maybe Bobby’d let me take a longer lunch hour and you and I could take that roadster and have ourselves a picnic, Jo.” Bobby remained silent, and Jo registered little emotion.
Staying a while longer, she made delightful little small talk in her melodious southern drawl, which languidly wrapped its way around and into Bobby’s ears, as she lightly caressed the hair on his arm, as if to make a point of her flirtatious and trivial conversation.
As she got up to leave, Jo gave her husband a peck on the cheek, then went to Bobby, shook his hand delicately–just long enough for the scent of her exotic perfume to linger on his skin after she was gone. As she closed the door, a smile appeared on her cupid bow of a mouth.
Bobby spent a good ten minutes making idle talk with Pat, sitting across from him in the old leather office chair with a couple of Popular Mechanics magazines placed strategically across his lap. Bobby Pitts had definitely met his match. “Strange,” he thought, “if Pat’s wife hadn’t died, I never would have had the chance to mee this juicy little tidbit.”
It seems that the new manager of Pitts Auto Agency may have been hard working and honest, but he was also terribly naive.
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