Colin Johnson - The panty lovers

"The boss said you're to go right in," announced his secretary severely. "Mr. Benson's already come and gone."

Oh, that's the end, she thought grimly and considered the idea of simply going quietly away. But it was too late. Mr. Birindelli had opened the door to his office and was motioning her to enter.

"I told you that people who work for me make money if they produce," he announced in a serious tone of voice, "and that they get fired if they don't produce. Well, here it is!"

The piece of paper he was holding out to her seemed far too small to be a notice of dismissal and she took it, her hands trembling with apprehension.

It was Birindelli's personal check for a thousand dollars!

"Fantastic work!" he proclaimed, smiling at last, and shaking her hand energetically. "I've been trying to sell old Jud Benson for ten years now and he never so much as bought a sanitary napkin from us until you came along. Something gave him the idea I was evil a long time ago and he's opposed to evil, as you probably discovered. But you understood his psychology dead on!" The combined effects of the hangover and the surprise did their work on Ann's knees and she sank down weakly into the nearest chair.

"You mean… he placed an order with us?" she quavered, scarcely able to believe her ears.

"Of course he placed an order," responded Birindelli. "A massive order! I had it all figured and the only thing which could have gone wrong was you. If I'd assigned one of my other girls to the old idiot, he'd have suspected me of trying to get him laid and gotten on the first plane for Salt Lake City. But you, with that sweet innocence you've got, he never figured you, not even for a minute, and apparently not even after you got him into bed. Or he got you into bed, which is the way it apparently went. Ha! You should have seen him when he staggered in here this morning, wondering how he could ever make it up to you and crying great big alligator tears all over my mahogany desk. What a screwball! Well, I told him how he could make it up to you. A one hundred thousand dollar purchase order, that's how!"

Jenifer said that yogurt was the only thing for a hangover and Ann had three helpings of it as the two young models sat in Wonder-Wear's cafeteria and talked about their experiences. Normally Ann would never have dreamed of relating such a personal, intimate incident to anyone else, but she knew from what she had seen through the keyhole that day that her tall blonde friend was not precisely a candidate for sainthood herself. Besides, she was so troubled in her mind that she simply had to unburden herself to someone.

"It sounds like you had all the fun," complained Jenifer jokingly when Ann had recounted her adventures with Judson Ty Benson. "And collected a cool grand for it too. My assignment was a regular stick-in-the-mud. He spotted me as a company girl right off the bat and hustled me back to his hotel two minutes after you split with the holy Mr. Judson Ty Benson. After that it was slam-bam-thank-you-Ma'am! He didn't even give me taxi fare home, the cheap bastard."

"You mean… you mean, you knew ahead of time?" stammered the young doctor's wife. "I thought the business with Mr. Benson just sort of happened, an accident…"

"Honey, in this business, nothing just happens," confided Jenifer sympathetically. "These buyers come to town, leaving their wives, or whoever they happen to be screwing at home, and they see a bunch of girls like you and me running around half-naked modeling underwear or nighties and they get all hot and bothered. Wonder-Wear wants them to be completely happy for a couple of days so they can concentrate on buying our products and that's where we come in. After they've had some fun with us, they feel sort of guilty and old Birindelli gets their name on a contract."

"But… that's almost like prostitution," cried Ann in shock, realizing for the first time what it was she had gotten herself into.

"Honey, prostitution is when you stand on a street corner and sell your ass to drunken sailors on rainy nights. When you get a big fat paycheck every payday and an office with a rug on the floor, you're a lady executive, no matter what you do to earn it. Also, a prostitute has to hustle her customers. In this business you have to let them hustle you, because otherwise they don't get the illusion that they're making some big romantic conquest on a wild weekend in the big city. A prostitute is just what you ain't, honey, believe me!"

"I don't know, Jenifer, I just don't see it that way," wailed the anguished young woman, her illusions quickly being shattered one by one.

"Look at it this way," the sophisticated blonde woman persisted. "When a politician smiles at you through the television tube, do you think for a minute he's really sincere? Hell no! He's been rehearsing that smile for weeks in front of the mirror. He's using what he's got – in this case a big stupid smile – to sell his product, which is himself. Is he a prostitute? You're using what you've got, a beautiful body, to sell underwear. Are you a prostitute? About the same as the politician, I'd say. No more and no less!"

"Jenifer, I absolutely cannot do it," Ann said again, but the resolve in her voice had obviously been weakened by her friend's arguments.

"The way I see it, honey," replied Jenifer seriously, "you haven't really got much choice. Birindelli thinks you're number one and he isn't going to let you go that easily. It might be a little tough to get another job if you quit this one because he's got a lot of friends in this town, if you know what I mean. And secondly, you need the money, and thirdly, I get the idea you aren't getting all the loving from hubby you could use, and some of these businessmen can really handle themselves in the sack. All in all, I'd say you were hooked."

All in all, Ann thought bitterly, I'd say you were right. Hook, line and sinker.

"Oh, Jenifer, I don't know what to say. What happens now?"

"Now, we dawdle over our coffee until it's time to meet Mr. Birindelli down in the parking lot. He told me this morning that you and I are going to be working together as a team from now on and he wants to show us something. He didn't say what it was."

The vice-president for sales and promotion was waiting in the parking lot when the two models emerged from the Wonder-Wear building. He was leaning casually against the front fender of the longest, lowest, snazziest sports car Ann had ever laid eyes on.

"Like it girls?" Birindelli greeted them with a smile.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" breathed Ann sincerely. "How great it would be to come to work in something like this instead of wasting an hour on that smelly old subway. What is it?"

"This is a Ferrari, the four point even liter model," Birindelli responded proudly. "Goes a little over a hundred and fifty and costs about twenty thousand dollars. Most people think it's the finest sports car in the world."

"When I become vice-president of something," announced Jenifer wistfully, "I'm going to buy myself one just like it."

"Maybe you won't have to wait quite that long," Birindelli purred. "I have another Ferrari just like this one parked in the company garage. We have a customer coming in from Europe next week who can sign his name to a million dollar order if he wants to. Get me that signature and neither one of you will ever have to take the subway again."

He paused to let his words take their desired effect.

"You… you mean this isn't your car?" stammered Ann.

"Mine? Heavens, no, I'm a man of simple tastes and my little old Rolls suits me just fine. But we might as well take this one with us today. Hop in. I've got something to show you."

It was a short trip across town from the business area where the Wonder-Wear headquarters were located to a high-class residential district populated mostly by millionaires. Handling the sleek powerful Ferrari with typical aggressive skill, Birindelli sliced through the busy mid-afternoon traffic and pulled up in front of a massive luxury apartment complex.