Closed for Miss Vivi
Charles Xavier Davis led me through the convention with the practice born of half a lifetime of sales experience. It seemed like there wasn't a face in the crowd that he hadn't sold to, bought from, or competed with. And he knew them all by name.
Of course, now so did I. While I was a relative neophyte to the market for prenatal early childhood products and services, I knew how to market and sell. I was taking careful mental notes of each mover and shaker he introduced me to. Davis had paid a small fortune to lure me across the country in part because I didn't need months to find my sailor's legs; I learned fast and worked faster and the companies that hired me got better as a result.
"Well, Travis, I suppose you might as well meet our rivals. They'll have already heard I brought in outside talent, so no point trying to keep you a secret. Might as well know who you're up against."
I nodded my agreement and let Davis lead me up to another man in his sixties. "Howard, let me introduce you to my new VP of Distribution - Travis Matthews. Travis, this Howard Plover of Plover Manufacturing."
Howard shook my hand and gave me a warm smile, but his eyes signaled a much cooler regard for me. This duplicity seemed to be an industry standard. The family-oriented nature of the business predisposed everyone towards appearing warm and fuzzy. Davis had actually had a little reluctance hiring me because I was single; married - usually with kids - was by far the industry standard. Since 100% of the customers were current or soon-to-be parents of infants and toddlers, everyone in the industry strove to appear family-friendly.
Beneath that soft exterior lurked a steely mindset I found more familiar. Parents spent crazy money on anything baby-related. With that much potential income at stake, folks like Plover quietly fought tooth and nail to maintain their company positions.
I gave him a similar grin in return . I'd swum with sharks in my previous jobs, so I was used to it. I'd have to learn how to dress like a sheep to fit in with the other wolves in disguise.
Davis and Plover chatted a bit, both clearly old hands at feigning congeniality with a fierce rival. I let my attention wander a bit, so I missed some of the details. I only tuned back in when I heard my name and Plover pointed towards my 5 o'clock. I turned idly, expecting to see another middle-aged executive whose name I'd need to commit to memory.
What I saw was something far from it. The woman approaching was more my age - late 20s, perhaps early 30s. A thick mound of chestnut curls was coiled up into something professional atop her head. But what really riveted me were her eyes. A pair of delicate glasses framed them, but the jade orbs gleamed with intelligence and warmth - even from a dozen yards away.
I'm a big guy, so I'm used to having to look several inches lower to catch a woman's eye. Not this one; she had to be at least 5'8". Moreover, she had on modest heels, so she wasn't going to sacrifice fashion to appear shorter. I found myself liking her confidence already.
That sent a chill of deja vu up my spine. I'd had that same thought before about a woman. For some reason, that recollection seemed important. But why? Whom had I been thinking about?
My memory failed me for a moment more before the crowd shifted and the woman stepped fully into view. Her height was far from her only attribute that made her stand out in a crowd. To say she had width as well wasn't entirely accurate, but she certainly was no slender beanpole.
Still, a woman of narrow frame could scarcely have carried off her figure. Her attire I was professional and well-tailored, but the forward sweep of her torso indicated a bosom of spectacular size. Her suit didn't emphasize her impressive breasts in the slightest, but I was left with the impression that, like an iceberg, considerably more lurked beneath the surface.
Even in the suit, her waist narrowed sufficiently to give "hourglass" new meaning. Her hips were likewise prominent and decidedly feminine. Their curves promised an ass that would provide considerably more than a delightful handful of firm flesh.
As I took in this voluptuous vision, the deja vu sensation intensified and finally hit me with a memory jolt so hard that I opened my mouth in a silent gasp. I'd seen this woman. I knew her. I knew who she was.
My Georgia peach.
God, the years had gone by. College was nearly a decade ago now. My buddy Dale had scored some tickets to see Georgia Tech in the Final Four. So we'd driven across three states to catch the game. It proved to be an excellent game and afterwards we'd gotten swept up with the celebrating crowd. Thus had I found myself in some strange fraternity house with a red plastic cup of beer in hand. And about a half hour in is when I'd seen her across the way, tucking one of those chestnut locks behind her ear.
Lust had motivated me to cross to her and introduce myself without hesitation. At that age, I was driven by little else. I didn't get much objection from girls, either. While a handful found my height and broad shoulders intimidating, most giggled with delight when the hunky blond with the rumbly voice gazed down at them.
Grace - that was her name - liked it, too, but she wasn't quite so bowled over. Like her body, there was a certain strength to her personality. I could see in her green eyes a bit of challenge in addition to the charm. It only turned me on more.
Things escalated from there. My memory is a little hazy - we both had several drinks along the way - but we eventually wound up in some darkened corner of the frat house with our hands all over one another. We were both still fully clothed, but Grace's last bit of "good girl" reluctance was fading fast to her exhortations for me not to stop what my hands were doing between her thighs. I could still remember just how turned on I was at that moment, surely just moments from this luscious beauty begging me to take her to bed.
Then it all fell apart. The thumping music of the stereo downstairs abruptly shut off and was immediately replaced by irritated bellows of authority. The cops had arrived and shut the party down, threatening arrests for any guests who didn't vacate the premises immediately. In the rushed exodus, Grace was pulled away by a couple of sorority sisters and I lost her in the crowd. That was the last I saw of her.
I didn't even bother trying to find her again. I only knew a first name for a campus of thousands. I couldn't even remember her sorority; I'd been more interested in the massive mounds beneath her jersey than the Greek letters stretched across it. Besides, I lived a thousand miles away and she'd mentioned a boyfriend. I wrote the incident off as simply the greatest "One That Got Away" story of my life. My Georgia peach - I'd never see the likes of her again.
And yet here she was.
Charles Xavier Davis led me through the convention with the practice born of half a lifetime of sales experience. It seemed like there wasn't a face in the crowd that he hadn't sold to, bought from, or competed with. And he knew them all by name.
Of course, now so did I. While I was a relative neophyte to the market for prenatal early childhood products and services, I knew how to market and sell. I was taking careful mental notes of each mover and shaker he introduced me to. Davis had paid a small fortune to lure me across the country in part because I didn't need months to find my sailor's legs; I learned fast and worked faster and the companies that hired me got better as a result.
"Well, Travis, I suppose you might as well meet our rivals. They'll have already heard I brought in outside talent, so no point trying to keep you a secret. Might as well know who you're up against."
I nodded my agreement and let Davis lead me up to another man in his sixties. "Howard, let me introduce you to my new VP of Distribution - Travis Matthews. Travis, this Howard Plover of Plover Manufacturing."
Howard shook my hand and gave me a warm smile, but his eyes signaled a much cooler regard for me. This duplicity seemed to be an industry standard. The family-oriented nature of the business predisposed everyone towards appearing warm and fuzzy. Davis had actually had a little reluctance hiring me because I was single; married - usually with kids - was by far the industry standard. Since 100% of the customers were current or soon-to-be parents of infants and toddlers, everyone in the industry strove to appear family-friendly.
Beneath that soft exterior lurked a steely mindset I found more familiar. Parents spent crazy money on anything baby-related. With that much potential income at stake, folks like Plover quietly fought tooth and nail to maintain their company positions.
I gave him a similar grin in return . I'd swum with sharks in my previous jobs, so I was used to it. I'd have to learn how to dress like a sheep to fit in with the other wolves in disguise.
Davis and Plover chatted a bit, both clearly old hands at feigning congeniality with a fierce rival. I let my attention wander a bit, so I missed some of the details. I only tuned back in when I heard my name and Plover pointed towards my 5 o'clock. I turned idly, expecting to see another middle-aged executive whose name I'd need to commit to memory.
What I saw was something far from it. The woman approaching was more my age - late 20s, perhaps early 30s. A thick mound of chestnut curls was coiled up into something professional atop her head. But what really riveted me were her eyes. A pair of delicate glasses framed them, but the jade orbs gleamed with intelligence and warmth - even from a dozen yards away.
I'm a big guy, so I'm used to having to look several inches lower to catch a woman's eye. Not this one; she had to be at least 5'8". Moreover, she had on modest heels, so she wasn't going to sacrifice fashion to appear shorter. I found myself liking her confidence already.
That sent a chill of deja vu up my spine. I'd had that same thought before about a woman. For some reason, that recollection seemed important. But why? Whom had I been thinking about?
My memory failed me for a moment more before the crowd shifted and the woman stepped fully into view. Her height was far from her only attribute that made her stand out in a crowd. To say she had width as well wasn't entirely accurate, but she certainly was no slender beanpole.
Still, a woman of narrow frame could scarcely have carried off her figure. Her attire I was professional and well-tailored, but the forward sweep of her torso indicated a bosom of spectacular size. Her suit didn't emphasize her impressive breasts in the slightest, but I was left with the impression that, like an iceberg, considerably more lurked beneath the surface.
Even in the suit, her waist narrowed sufficiently to give "hourglass" new meaning. Her hips were likewise prominent and decidedly feminine. Their curves promised an ass that would provide considerably more than a delightful handful of firm flesh.
As I took in this voluptuous vision, the deja vu sensation intensified and finally hit me with a memory jolt so hard that I opened my mouth in a silent gasp. I'd seen this woman. I knew her. I knew who she was.
My Georgia peach.
God, the years had gone by. College was nearly a decade ago now. My buddy Dale had scored some tickets to see Georgia Tech in the Final Four. So we'd driven across three states to catch the game. It proved to be an excellent game and afterwards we'd gotten swept up with the celebrating crowd. Thus had I found myself in some strange fraternity house with a red plastic cup of beer in hand. And about a half hour in is when I'd seen her across the way, tucking one of those chestnut locks behind her ear.
Lust had motivated me to cross to her and introduce myself without hesitation. At that age, I was driven by little else. I didn't get much objection from girls, either. While a handful found my height and broad shoulders intimidating, most giggled with delight when the hunky blond with the rumbly voice gazed down at them.
Grace - that was her name - liked it, too, but she wasn't quite so bowled over. Like her body, there was a certain strength to her personality. I could see in her green eyes a bit of challenge in addition to the charm. It only turned me on more.
Things escalated from there. My memory is a little hazy - we both had several drinks along the way - but we eventually wound up in some darkened corner of the frat house with our hands all over one another. We were both still fully clothed, but Grace's last bit of "good girl" reluctance was fading fast to her exhortations for me not to stop what my hands were doing between her thighs. I could still remember just how turned on I was at that moment, surely just moments from this luscious beauty begging me to take her to bed.
Then it all fell apart. The thumping music of the stereo downstairs abruptly shut off and was immediately replaced by irritated bellows of authority. The cops had arrived and shut the party down, threatening arrests for any guests who didn't vacate the premises immediately. In the rushed exodus, Grace was pulled away by a couple of sorority sisters and I lost her in the crowd. That was the last I saw of her.
I didn't even bother trying to find her again. I only knew a first name for a campus of thousands. I couldn't even remember her sorority; I'd been more interested in the massive mounds beneath her jersey than the Greek letters stretched across it. Besides, I lived a thousand miles away and she'd mentioned a boyfriend. I wrote the incident off as simply the greatest "One That Got Away" story of my life. My Georgia peach - I'd never see the likes of her again.
And yet here she was.
