__Wheels__
By Jolene Beasley
Every man needs an automobile. Wesley Wyndam-Price was no exception.
'I'm transporting slayers, slayers' friends, weapons, and the odd werewolf to and fro like some supernatural taxi service.' He thought. 'This rental is far too small. I *need* a car. A large car. But not a van. Vans are too... blue-collar.' He strolled towards the showroom, feigning nonchalance.
Wesley's tailored suit and conservative appearance spoke of money well spent. Three salespeople spotted him, and descended on him like vultures. Once a well-dressed client set foot on the lot, he was fair game, by all rights. Whoever got there first got first shot... Rick won the surreptitious foot-race, barely.
"Hi, there! My name's Richard Owens, but call me Rick. Can I help you find the right vehicle to suit your lifestyle? That's what I'm here for!" Rick smiled his widest, most reassuring grin. He held out a hand, ready to make the man's acquaintance.
At first, Wesley didn't respond. He looked at Rick with the same fastidious distaste most people reserve for an unfamiliar species of beetle. Finally, good manners and upbringing won out, and he reluctantly shook the salesman's hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Price."
Rick beamed. "Well, sir, you've come to the right place. We have the largest selection of..."
Wesley held up a hand. "Actually, Mr. Owens..."
"Rick."
"Um, yes. I was rather interested in a large capacity vehicle. Not a van, you understand; a van just won't do. I thought one of these..." he gestured towards a Jeep Cherokee, "...might be just the thing."
"Excellent choice, Mr. Price..."
"Wyndam-Price."
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Wyndam-Price. We don't get that many men with hyphenated names. Mostly just ladies. Not that that means anything of course!" He tried to chuckle his way out of his embarrassment, to no avail.
Wesley sniffed. "Mr. Owens..."
"Rick."
Wesley sighed. "...I need a vehicle with rather a lot of power. Good passing speed. Quick off the mark. Lots of room on the inside."
"Sounds like you need one of our '99 SUVs, then. They've got a lot of fire in 'em!"
"SUV?"
"Sport Utility Vehicle."
"Ah. How quaint." Wesley fell silent again and started examining the nearest Jeep.
"This one seats eight."
Wesley circled the blue Cherokee, taking in the details... wide tires, good traction. Four-wheel drive... seems solid.
Rick fell in step beside him, trying to draw him out. "So, how many of the little rug rats do you have to haul around?" Wesley looked at him blankly, not comprehending at all. Rick tried again. "How many children? Do you have to carry around?"
Comprehension dawned, and Wesley's face showed some surprise. "Children? No, I don't have any. None at all."
Rick looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, it's just that, usually, when a professional guy, such as yourself, comes in looking for more room, it's usually because there's an unexpected bun in the oven."
"I'm not married, Mr. Owens."
"Rick." Then he realized what the other man said. "Oh, sorry, about the not being married thing. Marriage is great."
Wesley looked at Rick, but didn't bother to comment.
"But, vastly overrated."
Wesley didn't even blink.
Rick prided himself in being able to read his customers, but this one had him stumped. "Let's see if I can guess your reason for needing a new Cherokee. Hmmm. Hiker?"
"No." This was quickly becoming tiresome.
"Mountain biking?"
Wesley shook his head.
Rick wracked his brain. The guy looks like a desk-jockey. Can't be outdoor stuff. What then?
"You an artist?"
"No."
"Computer nerd. You're hauling CPUs all over Southern California!"
Wesley was fed up with the game.
"You breed and show dogs? Cats?"
"What I want this vehicle for, Mr. Owens, is *none* of your business."
Rick wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knew when to cry uncle. "Oh, hey, look at the time! Mr. Price, I'm sorry, but I've gotta go... Doctor's appointment... but I'll get Amanda to come and take care of you. She's a real nice girl. You'll like her."
Wesley studied the price sheet on the nearest Cherokee, and almost choked. "Ack... I'm sure I'll like her more than I like your prices."
He heard the second salesperson approaching. The distinctive click of feminine high heels made him turn. So this was Amanda. Foolishly, he remembered that the name meant 'worthy of being loved.'
She was breathtakingly gorgeous... brunette (his personal favorite) with the face of a movie star, and the body of a goddess.
She walked up to him with a lovely smile on her face. She took his arm gently, ignoring the flinch and the sudden shiver that shot through him.
"Mr. Wyndam-Price, I presume?" she purred, and his frozen demeanor abruptly thawed. "Rick had to leave. But I'd be happy to help you."
Wesley tried three times before words finally came out of his mouth. "Y-you would?"
"Oh, yes." She patted his arm affectionately. "All you have to do is tell me how much you want to spend. I'll show you everything I've got..." she tilted her head and watched as he blushed furiously, "...in that price range."
"Yes. Uh. Yes. Splendid. Yes." Suddenly, his collar was far too tight.
She lead him away, cooing and smiling. The smile faltered for a moment when she heard how much he wanted to spend, but she rallied like a trooper, and headed for the used car lot.
Two hours later, Wesley drove away in a van.
* * *