200 million dollars (An original short story)

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Trying to kill the remaining minutes of a Friday, Percy Tinkerton went to the lunchroom to get another cup of coffee. Two of his coworkers Dan Walker and Bill Paign were standing there already, with their coffee mugs half-full and laughing at a joke Bill had just told.

Percy added a timid "I missed a joke" smile, to their laugh.

"Well, let me tell you this one", Dan seized the initiative and winked to Percy.

"A son asked his father ‘What's the difference between theory and practice?'

‘Well son, I'd rather give you an example.'

So he is asking his wife. "Darling, would you sleep with another man, if he'd pay you a million dollars?"

The wife answered: "Of course."

Then the father is asking his daughter "What about you, my dear?"

And the daughter answered: "Oh, most definitely."

So the father is telling to his son afterward: "You see, son, in theory, we have two million dollars, but in practice, we only have two whores."

The men laughed and moved to other jokes. Percy looked at his wristwatch, saw that it was five to five and left the lunchroom. The memory of the joke kept the smile on his face all the way from the lunchroom to his desk and then surfing on his face while he drove home.

***

Once at home after changing into a robe and eating a Chicken Divan casserole, that his wife Meg cooked, Percy squinted his eyes, smiled while rubbing his chin and asked her playfully.

"Honey, what would you do if someone offered you a million dollars to sleep with him?"

"You mean, like in that movie 'Indecent Proposal'?"

"Kinda…"

"I'd take it, of course. Who would pass up a chance like that?"

"You mean just like that?" Percy felt a little dryness in his mouth.

"Just like that," she passed Percy his cup of cappuccino, "Why? Do you have someone in mind?"

"But darling," Percy's mouth felt even dryer, "I thought you loved me."

Meg looked at him with coldness for a moment but then broke into laughter. "Ha ha ha ha. I've got you, honey. Ha ha ha ha… I got you."

"Darling," Meg finally stopped and hugged him from the back, "No money in the world are gonna make me stop loving you, not a million and not 200 million dollars."

"Hahaha," Percy slapped himself on the knees, "you've got me, darling," his tongue wasn't dry anymore, "You've got me good."

"200 Million Dollars," Percy's face assumed a thoughtful expression, when the last bit of laughter, inside him subsided. "I wonder why you chose that number?"

"I don't know, it's just a big enough number I guess. Why?"

"No, darling. It's not just a big number. It's a number, that symbolizes the American dream. Because think about it, I mean nowadays a million is not that much anymore."

"It's big money, all right. We could have moved from this dump in a nice house, we could have bought nice cars, we could have gone traveling to South America or Europe. Instead, we're sitting here in this dump with all these credit card debts, and a leaking roof, a broken air conditioning and the old bed that squeaks."

"That's not what I mean. Yes, it's big money, and you could have stopped doing massage. I hate it when you touch other men and…and…" the expression of irritation momentarily struggled its way onto Percy's face, "but I'd still have to work and stuff. While 200 million…" Percy bit his lip and rolled his eyes, "200 million is …is a dream. How could you even spend that much money? Let's say you have it. What would you buy besides a new house?"

"Don't worry, hon. Just give it to me. I won't have a problem spending it."

"You know what I think," Percy lifted his finger and waved it, as if dismissing Meg's argument, "I think the government should limit the money one person can have to 200 million dollars. Really."

"Now you're talking like a commie."

"No, not like a commie. I don't want to take all the money from the rich, just the amount that exceeds the American dream."

"That's silly. Why frustrate yourself by thinking of such things. You're always such a... such a dreamer."

"Women," Percy waved at Meg dismissingly and got up to go to the bathroom, "Your kind have no imagination."

Sitting in the bathroom, Percy went over this scene: the glittery, impossible, dreamy amount of 200 million dollars and his wife's answer. A gust of warmth and tenderness for his wife filled his heart.

"Darling," returning to the kitchen, he interrupted her usual chatter, about the saving she made using manufacturer coupons and the new bedspread she eyed in Target. "I am so happy that you are my wife, that we are together, and that…" he couldn't finish because of the lump in his throat.

Meg looked at him inquisitively, picked up the empty plates and put them in the sink. "Yes. Me too honey, me too." Then after thinking a tad, she added "Did you stop by in the bar with the boys? I didn't notice any smell."

Later in bed, stopping in the middle of the action, Percy, still full of tenderness asked Meg: "Do you feel me, my love? Do you feel me loving you?"

"Of course, I feel you." She slapped him on the butt, "Why did you stop? Go on." Then after a moment, she started giggling.

This time Percy stopped again, this time in astonishment. "What's up?"

"It's the bed. We've got to save to buy another one. It's so distracting."

"Honey," Percy's voice trembled with reproach. "Just forget about all the bills and credit cards and the stupid bed!
Just be with me, only with me, at least, for these moments!"

"Sorry, hon. It just occurred to me. Go on, go on."

"Well, now, I sort of lost my momentum."

"Oh, honeeeeeeey, let me help you with that."

***

In the days following that evening, Percy was in an elevated mood. Work didn’t seem that boring, his boss, not as abusive and belittling, co-workers, not as nosy and backstabbing and on Wednesday he was up for a big surprise.

Instead of going right to the kitchen, Meg led him to the bedroom and made a wide "a la commercial" gesture in the direction of the bed "What do ya think?"

"Oh, it's beautiful." Percy went around looking, touching and testing it. "Oak?"

"Yes, honey, yes! And look." Meg jumped on it with all her might, "it doesn't squeeeek!!!"

Suddenly an unpleasant thought infiltrated Percy's mind. "It must be expensive? How much was it?"

"That's the best part," Meg got up looking away from him, "it cost us nothing."

"How so?" the "expect a miracle" smile was ready to return to Percy's face.

"Well, remember, I told you ‘bout Mr. Hanapen, the one that comes to me twice a week, for a full body massage. Well, he, Mr. Hanapen, you know he has the bed factory in the Valley." Meg continued looking away from Percy and his expression slowly departed the "expect a miracle" smile and traveled toward one of the Greek Theater masks of concern. "…and so Mr. Hanapen always talks so proudly about his factory. You know: what variety of products he has and how much profit he gets each quarter, stuff like that … and always is so friendly with me and gives me a good tip. So last week, on Tuesday, he told me he wants to give me a bed as a present. And I, naturally, go ‘sure' cus we need a new bed. And he goes ‘when do you want it to be delivered?' and I go ‘whenever' and he goes ‘how's next Wednesday sounds?' and I go ‘That'll be great' and so they delivered it today." Meg stopped and looked at Percy with a hopeful smile. By this time Percy's expression arrived at a mask of concern.

"And what did you do last Tuesday for this gift to all of a sudden decided to give you a present?"

"Nothing, honey," Meg grabbed Percy's hand. "I was surprised myself."

Percy didn't say anything, but his mood went down from the mountain it had been on for the last couple of days, to sea level. The memory of her constant nagging about the squeaky bed and its miracle emergence suddenly short-circuited in his mind.

"I know everything!" He said unexpectedly, after a substantial silence at the dinner table.

Meg blushed. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I know what happened that Tuesday."

"What do you mean? Lots of things happened last Tuesday. Which one do you have in mind?"

"You know which one! The one that happened between you and that fart. Mister... whatever his name was."

"Mr. Hanapen?"

"Yes, him."

"What are you talking about? I did a regular full body on him."

"Oh, come on. Don't try to cover it up. You let him fuck you, did you?" Percy got up and started pacing the kitchen floor like a caged moose. "I know it, I just can see it," he continued, while Meg waited, with the look of a person who has much to object, but who was waiting for her turn to intervene.

"And this is after you promised me, right here, in this very spot, that you'd never do it. Not even for 200 million dollars."

"Well, you hold right there, buster! What in the world are you talking about?" Meg finally blew up. "He is, at least, sixty years old. If I wanted to sell myself for money, I wouldn't have married YOU. I could have had a sugar daddy just like this," Meg snapped her fingers. "I could have had everything! A nice house by the ocean, a nice car, and …and I am not like all these money-sucking bitches. I work and work hard. And I don't fuck around and didn't fuck him. So what if I helped him to jack off? What can I do if they pay more for that stuff than for a therapeutic massage? Do you think I'd do that if you'd bring a normal bread home? Do you think it's so pleasant to hold on to a sixty-year-old dick?"

"It's still prostitution, cus you still did it for money," Percy mumbled.

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"For Money? For money! No, you nincompoop - for YOU. I did it for our family, so our bed wouldn't squeak at night. I am sick and tired of hearing your bullshit!" Angry tears rolled out of her eyes. "What 200 million got to do with anything? We can barely make our mortgage payment. We can't fix the damn roof. I can't even buy a decent dress. And it's all because of YOU are such a dreamer! Such a dummy!"

She bit her lip, yanked her apron off, crumpled it in her hands, threw it on the table and stormed out of the kitchen.

Percy sat looking at the bottom of his teacup and thinking: 'That's life for you. For some, it's 200 million dollars and for someone else, it's a bed that doesn't squeak. For some, it's an American dream and for others, it's a sixty-year-old dick'.