"You don't even know if you can talk to them, my dear boy. Didn't he kind of cut you off yesterday when you invited them over for a drink?"

"Yeah, he did," Harry winced in remembrance, handing the orange-colored drink down to Marsha and taking a seat beside her. "Gave me the impression he felt he was just a little too smart to mix with the likes of a used car salesman. He's been to college and all that. Even works in a bank as an investment executive, but it still don't cut no mustard with me."

"My dear, you're a very modest used car salesman. After all, you do own five agencies here in the County. That should make you just about the richest used car salesman in the country."

"Just a figure of speech," Harry smiled turning his glass up and draining a large swallow from it. "It doesn't seem to matter how far you go in this business, though, everyone still thinks you're just a salesman and there doesn't seem to be anyone any lower on the social ladder than one who sells cars no matter how rich they might be."

"I think it's just that put-on home-spun attitude of yours. You know, `I'm just a country boy type.' But you can't kid me, Harry. I've lived with you long enough to know that you push that image to the hilt."

"Never had a complaint in the business," Harry said. "Nobody likes to admit they've been had by a yokel even if you've taken the shirt off their back. They even brag to their friends about the good deals they get and then they come down to get their shirts taken off too. It's all one big merry-go-round. But we can't complain, can we? We're doin' pretty well."

"Mmmmm, Why do you think I left the chorus line in Vegas, my dear? Certainly not your good looks."

"Is it all money, baby? Is that why you've stuck around for eight years?" Harry grinned his broad grin again and placed his hand on the back of her thigh, massaging the soft, sensitive flesh gently.