This is the first in a series of stories following Ed and his adventures as a door-to-door salesman. I hope you enjoy them and please do leave me feedback -- it's always welcome. All rights reserved, © Northern_One, 2013.
*
The temperature was already rising. Even now, at this relatively early hour the sun beat down on the cracked, parched earth beside the pavement on which Ed sat, feet in the road, his head between his knees. He was engaged in his daily battle with inertia and distaste for what he had to do, a task made all the more Herculean today by the jumbo-sized hangover that was currently poisoning his body. Ed gingerly massaged his temples in the vain hope that his fingertips could rub away the pain caused by the tiny pneumatic drill-wielding man that he was convinced had crept in through his ear in the night and was now seemingly frantically searching for a way out of Ed's head.
Ed groaned quietly and finished the last of the water he'd brought with him. He looked around him at the area that would be his patch for the day. The suburb looked much like the one he'd worked yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. They all looked the same: modern, identikit houses, skinny, unloved plants in perfunctory gardens, a car or two in the driveway, in this part of the world perhaps a boat. This suburb, like yesterday's, and the one the day before, could have been almost anywhere, a node on a freeway, a highway, a motorway; one insignificant part of the sprawl of a hundred different cities in a dozen different countries. He tried to rouse himself. The first knock was always the hardest. Whether he sold anything or not, it didn't really matter. Once that first hurdle was surmounted, that first door tried, the day could begin properly and Ed knew he would be able to turn on the charm, light up the smile, switch on the patter, but for these few minutes after the team leader had left him with his area map and no hope of rescue until the end of the day, Ed had to force himself to move.
The dry heat was turbocharging his headache, parching his dehydrated body further. Drinking more water wasn't really an option -- there were no public conveniences on housing estates - he'd only have to hold it in until dusk when he could finally hide behind a tree and relieve himself. The last few weeks of door-to-door sales had taught him to put as little as possible into his body until he knew he could safely expel it too. What was foremost in Ed's mind, though, far worse than the headache and the aching muscles, was the scarcely conceivable level of horniness he was feeling. Normally on a hungover morning he'd have seen to himself in the shower but this morning he'd not even had time for that and now here he was, a day's door-knocking ahead of him and no prospect of releasing the filthy, sordid sperm that were swelling his balls and clouding his thinking.
He knew he couldn't sit there much longer, there were only so many times even his weak-will could stand the mental countdown from ten without actually acting on the implied lift-off that zero brought. He looked at the date on his watch. Just over a week until his visa expired. Whether he liked it or not he had to earn enough in the next few days to pay for his onward ticket, either that or face being ejected by the authorities who would certainly then look dimly on his plans to return in the future. Ed sighed deeply and hauled himself to his feet, pleasantly surprised by this minor triumph of mind over matter and dusted off the seat of his cheap navy blue trousers. He checked his white shirt was neatly tucked in, pulled down the clean but worn cuffs, fastened his top button, straightened his polyester tie and, smoothing out the map on his clipboard, took a deep breath, walked purposefully across the road and up the concrete drive of his first house. It was still quite possible he'd lose his nerve at this point so he made sure he walked quickly, reaching the door and extending his finger to press the doorbell before his brain caught up and realised it had been tricked into allowing him to go through this ordeal yet again. Inside the house the faint electronic chimes and approaching footsteps signalled the battle had been won. Ed took a step back so as not to intimidate the potential customer and smiled.
"Hi there, how are you this morning?"
"Whatever it is, I don't want it."
"No problem at all, sir. Sorry to trouble you."
As the door closed and Ed walked back down the drive, his clipboard under his arm his day had begun.
***
As the morning wore on Ed's headache gradually began to recede. He'd made a couple of sales which always helped his mood and, ahead of a nationally revered race at the weekend had had a pleasant conversation with a man in his garden about the relative merits of one major car company over another, a topic Ed knew little about but was somehow able to contribute to safe in the knowledge that a happy customer was more likely to spend more. As he walked between houses he'd been mulling over the events of the night before which had mainly consisted of the consumption of beer and tequila in and outside a number of establishments popular with short-term visitors to the country determined to have as much fun as possible before the money or visa ran out or, as in Ed's case, both. He'd been drinking with a Canadian guy who had spent several months selling door-to-door after, he said, losing a lot of money to a scam whilst he was in New Zealand. Ed's memory was decidedly patchy but the Canadian, whose name evaded him, had had some good tips on sales technique and, judging by his generosity, had been putting them to good effect. In Ed's current state, however, something else the Canadian had told him was of much greater interest.
"Seriously dude, it's so easy out there. You've just got to look for the signals," the Canadian had told him as they washed down another slug of tequila with yet more beer.
"Bull shit, it's a myth," Ed had slurred, rolling a baggy spliff on his knee beneath the table.
"I shit you not, man. I've lost count of the number of opportunities I've had in this game." The Canadian was shouting to make himself heard over the thumping bassline of the sweaty bar's sound system.
Ed laughed and shook his head. "It sounds like a readers' confession in Razzle."
"Believe what you want buddy," the Canadian said, his eyes on the topless podium dancer writhing and jerking in time to the music. "Bored, lonely housewives are your best bet. Husband works away, they're stuck out there in the 'burbs, Rabbit the only fun they get." The Canadian turned to Ed. "Just gotta keep your eyes open," he said, a look of deadly seriousness on his face. "Right, you managed to roll that joint yet?"
"Just about," Ed laughed, holding aloft the result of twenty minute's drunken work.
"Fuck me, man, you really must be wasted," said the Canadian. "Come on, let's go. I wanna get that chick's number before I forget how to talk."
The spliff had been the final straw for Ed but now, as he made his way along his route, his libido soaring, the sincerity of the Canadian's words made Ed wonder. As he walked up the next drive he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window. Not too bad, he thought. Tall, reasonably smart, good hair -- thick, blond and stylishly messy - still in decent shape despite barely eating since he started this job. Yeah, why wouldn't an attractive young mum want to spend an illicit hour with him on a Wednesday afternoon? As he pressed the bell Ed, his mind now filled with filthy images of what he was going to do to the horny MILF he was about to meet, unconsciously adjusted the swelling in his boxer shorts and cleared his throat as the screen door opened.
"Oh, hi there," he said, his toes curling in embarrassment at his ridiculous daydreaming. Scantily-clad the figure filling the doorframe might have been; a sexy young nymph he was not. Heartening for Ed, though, was the Star Wars logo on the stained singlet the generously-proportioned man in front of him was wearing. "I see you're a film fan. How would you like to save fifteen per cent on your next ten cinema visits?"
Five minutes later Ed was on his way to the next house, his profit for the day greatly enhanced by the movie-going obsessive he'd just encountered; his aching desire unquenched.
