Maggie, My Heart

Bailey hated driving, and yet he drove all the time. He traveled the country selling units for a man named Walter, and he received a portion of whatever profit he made off “the handiest little sucker in America.”

Vacuums.

Bailey liked telling one joke when he met new people. “I sell vacuums,” he’d say. “My life sucks.”

Actually, that gem wasn’t generating so many laughs lately. He made a mental note to use it sparingly from now on.

The salesman traversed the country with his order forms and a vacuum for demonstration only. He’d taken to calling her—it, the vacuum—Maggie. She was a beautiful model, shiny and all black.

Now, Bailey could talk and think about and give names to vacuums for hours, but none of it would erase his big problem. This problem had come about very recently, and so it was pressing a rather radical mark on his brain. What he needed was to tell someone about it.

“Hey, Maggie…”

The vacuum sat in the backseat. There was a huge dent in the front. The cause of his problem, really.

“Wanna hear a story?”

She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no.

“Well I should be done by the time we get to Madison, so just sit tight, ‘kay, babe?

“So you remember that last house we stopped at? Hardwood floors and carpeting! You got to try out both of your settings! Lucky girl. Anyhow, I bet you also remember the lady that lived there. Her name was Katherine.”

The fog that hovered amidst the gray sky blurred the horizon. And then the sky made an offering of fat raindrops. Bailey activated the windshield wipers before continuing.

“Katherine needed a vacuum. That’s lucky. So I strutted you about, and the old lady watched you work. She was convinced that you were the machine for her after a few minutes.”

Pure delight had filtered through every facet in Katherine’s face, and it was all over a vacuum. The look was almost crazed, and Bailey had wondered whether she was a fetishist for household appliances.

“Do I take this vacuum?” she said, referring to Maggie.

Bailey hadn’t answered her at first. He was distracted by the décor of her house. Ugly cream-colored drapes presided over a room of neutral-toned furniture stained with unidentified substances. Probably just coffee. But there were some distinctly yellowish patches. And that carpet. It was the color of the sofas and equally stained, if not worse for wear. And he could spot crumbs tangled up in the threads. She certainly did need a vacuum.

Sick old woman.

“Um, no,” he had said. “This isn’t for sale. Here, I’ll give you an order form.”

“I gave her and order form,” he said to Maggie now. “She wasn’t so happy anymore.

“‘You salesman are always throwing the damnedest curveballs,’ she said. Can you imagine, Maggie? I play straight with every customer. But the bitch got all upset about a sheet that she’d have to take a few of her precious seconds to fill out.”

Bailey’s hands were getting real tight around the wheel, but he didn’t notice.

“She led us into the kitchen. That was an ugly room. Weird rosy walls. I hated that whole house. We sat at the table, and she read over the form.”

Bailey remembered how the woman’s frown had stretched lower as her eyes traveled down the paper. Then she had looked up at him and said, “This thing isn’t cheap.”

“‘This thing isn’t cheap,’ was what she said. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t have it. She insisted she ‘test your durability.’”

Bailey recalled the way her face lit up again, only this time she really did look the part of a maniac. Her deep-set wrinkles seemed to writhe like worms around her demon smile.

“And she got up and grabbed her chair. She drove the leg of that chair into your pretty face, Maggie! Left a huge dent.

“She said, ‘That’s what I thought. It’s crap, and I don’t want it.’”

The steering wheel was practically being throttled now. Bailey’s lip had quivered itself into a little grimace.

“Can you believe it?”

Bailey had jumped out of his seat and screamed at the old woman. “You piece of shit old bitch! What did you think would happen? What the hell were you going to use it for? To throw down the cunting stairs?”

“I yelled at her. And she didn’t seem so satisfied with herself anymore. She ran into the next room, but I followed. And I brought you with me.”

The vacuums Bailey sold came equipped with a long, taught suction tube for cleaning small spaces inaccessible to the rest of the unit.

“I took out that suckin’ tube of yours.”

He slackened his grip on the wheel now, and the blood rushed back into his knuckles.

“I grabbed the bitch, and she screamed, but I spun her around and shoved her against the w all with my knee. I told her she was crap, and then I wrapped your suction hose around her throat. I kept her pressed into the wall while I pulled back tighter around her neck. And I turned you on and let you roar so she could hear the high-quality machine she was losing her life to. And then she got all limp and died.

“I left her body on the floor, got my stuff together and left. And here we are.”

Bailey spotted a sign that advertised a restaurant ahead. He took the exit and drove on until he spotted it. The lot was almost empty. He parked in a spot near the back where he wouldn’t be seen, and then he climbed into the backseat.

His silent friend was staring at him with her dented face. “I need you to help me.” He slid the suction hose from its holster. “You’re going to send me to Heaven, maybe Hell. And when I get there I’ll ask God—or Satan, whoever—why in the last days of my life the only person I could really talk to was you. Now, where to end this?”

Outside, a van parked a few spaces away. Bailey cursed and looked out the window. A family of four climbed out. Father, mother, daughter, son. Middle-class. Nice clothes. A steady income. They lived in a well furnished home somewhere. And there were hundreds, thousands of families like theirs across the U.S., families ready to welcome new vacuums into their homes.

Bailey put the tube back and got out of the car. With the door held open, he said to Maggie, “I’m gonna go inside and get something to eat. Then we’ve…uh, we’ve got more vacuums to sell.”

Bailey shut the door and followed the family into the restaurant. Inside, an elderly man sat in the corner, wiping his hands clean with a crumpled napkin. A young man with freckles dotting his cheeks stood behind the register. He pulled his hat down lower over his orange hair and smiled at the family.

“Can I help you?”

The father supplied the orders, while another register was opened for Bailey. A bored brunette awaited the salesman’s request.

Bailey rested his hands on the tacky pastel pink countertop and said, “I’ll have a cheeseburger and a medium order of fries, please.” He really was hungry.

His eyes wandered to the family, the father, potential buyer in his striped polo shirt. He almost didn’t hear the woman when she asked if he’d like a drink.

“Pepsi.”

Bailey waited with the family. They received their food first and sat down at a booth. Bailey got his food shortly after and chose a spot where he could keep and eyes one them.

He watched as he ate. Chew some burger, look at the mother, imagine her pushing a unit like dear Maggie over her carpet. Eat a fry, stare at the kids, imagine them making the messes. Someone like Maggie would gladly clean it up. Take a sip of Pepsi, look at the father, imagine him testing out his new vacuum, waiting to use it in the future. This would be the cycle, and someone like Maggie would allow it to continue. It was meaningless, and yet it put money in Bailey’s pocket.

And he wanted to be driving with Maggie again.

I’ll sell a vacuum to these people and be on my way, and hopefully the cops won’t chase me down and charge me with the murder of that old useless woman.

Bailey stood. He walked over to the family’s table.

“Excuse me, I hate to bother you while you’re eating, but I wonder if you’d be interested in a brand new vacuum?”

All four stared at him, looking puzzled.
“Uh, we don’t need a new vacuum,” the father said finally.

Uh-oh. Wrong approach?

“Are you sure? It’s a fine model.”

“I can’t believe you salespeople. I don’t want to be disturbed with a sales pitch while I’m trying to eat lunch.”

Damn. Awful timing. Bailey hadn’t made that mistake since he was a novice.

The kids noticed their father’s anger and responded with nervous glances at their mother, then back to the man hovering over their table like a fly over a shit heap.

“Sorry to bother you.”

Bailey left the restaurant and started for his car. The man wasn’t going to buy a vacuum. But that was another cycle. Disappointments and successes. Take them equally. That was why the world rolled through so many centuries with equal parts pain and happiness. There was money to be found somewhere else.

He climbed into his car and looked back at Maggie. She was his only friend now, the only one keeping him from slipping. And she would help him make sales, and he’d share his money with her. They had a life together now.

With a smile, Bailey lifted Maggie from her spot and placed her in the front seat, next to him.

“Let’s go, baby.”