Possessive Best Friend

“Dean Ashman,” he says, introducing himself. “Good to meet you.”

“Yes, good to meet you as well.” Uncle Ron gives him a smile. “I’ve been enjoying my truck.”

“I’m sure you have been. It’s a beautiful machine.”

“It is, it truly is. You know, I never was a truck man, until I drove one a year or so ago. Haven’t been able to get the thought of a big, roaring truck out of my mind since. You’ve fulfilled that desire, Mr. Ashman.”

“Call me Dean, please,” he says. “If I can call you Ron.”

Uncle Ron smiles. “Yes, that would be fine. Cigar?”

“Absolutely.”

Dean slips past me and the men step into Uncle Ron’s sitting room. I linger by the door and sigh, shaking my head.

Boys will be fucking boys, I guess.

Uncle Ron gets Dean set up with a cigar then they sit in easy chairs with glasses of whiskey and talk cars. Uncle Ron seems to know a lot about them, so I sit nearby, ignoring my own glass, and listen. Dean holds his own in conversation, lets Uncle Ron do most of the talking, and only adds in where appropriate.

An hour passes. I sit there, bored out of my skull, but I let Dean take the lead. Finally, after their second glass of whiskey, Uncle Ron stubs out his cigar. “My word, Dean,” he says. “I’ve been talking your ear off. I didn’t know I was so interested in cars, but here we are.”

“You know more about them than most people, Ron,” Dean says. “I’ve just been learning, that’s all.”

Uncle Ron laughs, clearly pleased. “I’m sure I haven’t taught you a thing, but I appreciate the pleasant lie.” He tilts his head and nods toward the stack of papers Dean put on the coffee table when we first arrived. “Say, what do you have there?”

“Ah,” Dean says. “I have to be honest with you Ron. We didn’t come here for a social visit.”

“You didn’t?” Uncle Ron laughs. “But my niece here seems so fond of me. She’s always visiting.”

I don’t take that bait, just smile politely while both of them laugh.

“Really, Ron, we’re here about the warehouse.”

“Ah, yes, of course. The warehouse.” He frowns. “I gave her my price.”

“I was hoping there was some flex in the final number. We were leaning toward $1.2 million, which is really the best we could do, given the economy around here.”

Uncle Ron laughs. “That warehouse is enormous and once serviced an entire region. No, I’m sorry, I couldn’t do $1.2 million, not at all.”

“Come on then. Give me a price, something you’d consider.”

He frowns, shakes his head. “I’d come down to $1.8, and only because Lora is family.”

Dean chuckles and sighs. I can see him mirroring Uncle Ron’s own personal habits. He’s being more erudite and acting like he belongs in a country club.

It’s kind of impressive, actually. He’s falling into a role and pushing Uncle Ron to negotiate, even though Uncle Ron clearly doesn’t want to.

“I appreciate that,” Dean says. “I really do. I’ll play ball then. One point four million, best offer, really is. I don’t think we could go higher.”

Uncle Ron shakes his head. “I’m not playing this game,” he says. “I’ve enjoyed our chat and the cigars, I really have. But I’m not negotiating. I’ll do $1.8 million and not a cent more, I’m sorry.”

I feel my heart sink. He doesn’t come back with another lowered offer, not even a little bit. He actually looks annoyed, but Dean seems unfazed. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, and suddenly start to think we might be losing this deal after all.

“Well, okay,” Dean says, standing. “Ron, I appreciate the good whiskey, the good cigar, and the great conversation. I can see you won’t change your mind, and I respect that.” He holds out his hand.

Uncle Ron stands and shakes it. “Well, yes, well. You’re welcome back here, if you ever want to talk cars again.”

“I’d really like that. Only if you have more of that whiskey.”

Uncle Ron grins. “I’ve got cases of it.”

Which I’m pretty sure is literally true, based on the way the man drinks it.

“Great.” Dean turns away and glances at me. I stand hurriedly and smile at Uncle Ron.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say.

“Any time, Lora,” he says, sounding kinder than normal.

I follow Dean to the door, my heart hammering. Uncle Ron follows and we step out into the hall. He lingers at the door, watching as we begin to walk away.

“One point six million,” Uncle Ron says.

Dean slows and stops. I see the smile on his face. I want to slap him. Maybe hug him. I can’t decide.

He turns around. “One point six million?” he asks.

“Best offer,” Uncle Ron says. “It’ll hurt. But you and Lora seem like a good team. I can do $1.6 million.”

“Let’s shake on it.” Dean grins. “Better yet, let’s sign.”