by Packer, Vin
“What could you have done, papa-doodle? Get me another pair?”
“I don’t know that I could have done much more than talk with you, but that would have helped. I would have wanted to be able to help you that way.”
“I couldn’t. I’m not that way, papa-doodle. I’m from the pull-yourself-up-by-your-own-boot-straps-school ‘Member?”
“I’m sorry, Marge.”
“I’m fini, Charlie. How did it happen so fast to me?”
“You’re not finished, Marge. You finished? I’d like to see the day. Right now you’re drunk. You can see only the dark side. But you’ll bounce, Marge. I know you will.”
“I’m always drunk.”
“That’s not true.”
“Don’t tell me what’s true. I lean on a liquid crutch. Can’t walk with it; can’t walk without it.”
“Get a grip on yourself, Marge … Look, why don’t I run back to the office and pick up my things, and then take you home?”
“Don’t walk out on me, Charlie.”
“I’m not going to. You wait for me. I have to call my wife and Bruce, and get my coat.”
“You know what the night nurse at the hospital said?”
“Tell me when I come back.”
“She said I had the body of a woman of thirty. She was bathing me and she said I had the body of a woman of thirty. I haven’t even got stretch marks, papa-doodle.”
“Will you wait right here?”
“I’m broke, papa-doodle.”
“Well, you don’t need any money. I’m signing the check.”
“No, I mean I’m broke. My finances, as you say, are not in good shape, ‘fact, after I pay Bonwit Teller what I owe them, I’ll have $200 to my name.”
“What?”
“And all my stocks are phffft — liquidated, papa-doodle.”
“I thought you saved.”
“I had to pay those ovary-robbers, papa-doodle.”
“Did it take everything?” “I didn’t have that much.”
“I can’t believe it. Where did it go? You made a hell of a lot, Marge!”
“Phffft!”
“Listen, Marge, let me — ”
“I’m really on the ash-heap, papa-doodle. I don’t know why I just don’t give up the ghost. Any normal woman would go out and slash her wrists.”
“I have to stop in at the office, Marge,” Charlie said. “Now, do you want to wait here? I’ll take you home.”
“No. Jest put me in a cab. I’m fini!”
“I’ll put you in a cab, then,” Charlie said. “And you go home and sack out. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will,” Charlie said. “Waiter!”
• • •
Charlie guided her slowly through the lobby of the hotel.
“I’m a barren woman, boys,” she called to two bellboys who were standing near the door.
“There’s Miss Weather,” one murmured loud enough for Charlie to hear.
Out front, Charlie pressed a half-dollar into the doorman’s hand.
“We need a cab in a hurry,” he said.
Marge leaned against him. “Did you hear how I entertained them all at Continental Electric?” she said. “‘Sss very very funny … I sang.”
“I didn’t hear,” Charlie said.
“I sang Friggin In The Riggin, papa-doodle. Wanta hear?”
“No,” Charlie said. “Not now.”
She sang it anyway.
Charlie said, “Shhh, Marge, please.”
“I don’t have any,” she said.
“We’ll get a cab in a minute,” he said.
She lurched against him heavily. Her head fell on his shoulder and she kept singing the song. People passing snickered at them. The doorman stood in the street blowing his whistle frantically.
She was too drunk to make it on her own.
When the cab came, Charlie got in too.
It was ten minutes to five.
MARCH 6, 1957
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AT A quarter to five, Wally Keene got off the elevator on the twenty-first floor and walked up to Sandra Scott’s desk, his lean face breaking into a grin when he saw her.
“Mr. Cadence will see you in a moment,” she said. “When did the prodigal return?” She didn’t answer him.
He stuck his hands in his flannel trousers and rocked on his heels, standing before her desk.
“We thought we were going to have to break in a new girl.”
“We?” she said.
“Bruce and I.”
She put a piece of paper into her typewriter, ignoring him.
“Come on, Miss Scott,” he said. “I’m not a real sibling, you know.”
“Sibling?” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Keene.”
“Well, in plain words, I’m not rivaling with you for Bruce’s favor. I’m not a threat, Miss Scott. He thinks a lot of you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You shouldn’t let these inter-family relations traumatize you, Miss Scott.”
She said, “I’m very busy.”
“I’d like to be your friend. Is that plain enough? You and Bruce and I are all working on the same team, aren’t we?”
“Mr. Keene,” she said, “I don’t know what you want, but I’m very busy.”
“Did Charlie Gibson send up anything on the dummy?”
“There’s the phone, Mr. Keene,” she said. “Mr. Gibson’s extension is Four-o-nine.”
“Thanks, Miss Scott. I’ll remember that. That’s more or less what I wanted to know. Whether or not I could break down the defense mechanism … I see I can’t.”
Sandra Scott began to type.
“That’s a very sick attitude, Miss Scott,” Keene said, “and the sick get sicker … Like Marge Mann.” She kept on typing.
“Sometimes it pays to cooperate, even if you don’t feel like it. I thought we might cooperate, but I guess you’re too mixed up, Miss Scott.”
The buzz of the intercom interrupted him.
She answered it; then she said, “Mr. Cadence will see you now, Mr. Keene.”
“Thanks, Miss Scott,” he said. “Thanks for everything. And lots of luck.”
• • •
“Sorry to call you up at the close of the day like this, Wally, but — ”
“Not at all, Bruce. What’s the trouble?”
“I want to hold the dummy.”
“Look, Bruce, the mock-up should go out to advertisers on the twelfth. That’s less than a week away. We’re playing it too damn close as it is.”
“I know, I know. Sit down.” He motioned to a chair and sat down in his own. He bit the end off a cigar and poked the tobacco with a stick. Wally leaned forward, flicking his lighter to a flame.
“Thanks … The way I feel, Wally, to be perfectly frank, is that Charlie should have a chance to say how he feels about the book.”
“Then he hasn’t?”
“He’s been out all afternoon.”
“Out!”
“I know, I know … I don’t know where he is … But Marge Mann never returned from lunch.”
“Oooh. That’s it.”
“It could very well be. Bonnie said they had lunch together though, and then Charlie came back to the office. Shortly after he came back, he disappeared. Didn’t take his coat — just walked out. Didn’t say where he was going, and isn’t back yet.” Cadence glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s five to five.”
“Bruce, the dummy should be at the printers’ right now. You know that.”
“I phoned them. They can wait until six.”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it, that Charlie doesn’t care one way or the other? He’s never been particularly interested in it.”
“He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the idea of it.”
“All right, we went into all of that. And we agreed it was the only thing we could do under the circumstances to pull us out of
the red.”
“But is it, Wally?”
“Did Charlie come up with a better idea?”
Cadence puffed on his cigar thoughtfully.
Wally said, “Just because he doesn’t like the idea, doesn’t mean he should ignore it. We decided on it, didn’t we? So it’s policy, isn’t it? Charlie knew it had to be at the printers’ today. He should have said something. He was required to.”
“Yes, he should have said something … I keep thinking he’ll come through … I keep thinking that maybe the reason for the delay — maybe even the reason for his being gone all afternoon, has something to do with this problem … Maybe Charlie’s at work on it.”
“What’s to be done on it, Bruce? All he has to do is okay it. Or criticize it. What else?”
“I know Charlie, I think.” Cadence got up from his desk and walked to the window. “I keep wondering if he isn’t perhaps on the track of something else … It’s not like Charlie to be silent, the way he has been … about Marge — and now about this. I think it might be the calm before the storm.”
“You mean you think he’ll come up with another idea?”
Cadence said, “Maybe, Wally … maybe.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
“I don’t feel comfortable about the dummy, Wally.”
“Bruce, that’s obvious. But we’ve got to move fast! That dummy should go to the printers’ immediately.”
“We can afford a day’s wait, I feel.”
“I don’t think we can.”
“I’m sorry, Wally, but I think I’m going to insist on a hold until we hear from Charlie.”
“You’ve got to cut the umbilical cord some day, Bruce. It’s ridiculous to imagine that Charlie’s going to come through at the last minute with a miraculous answer to our problems. Look, Bruce.” Keene got up and walked over to the window by Cadence. “Charlie’s probably out on a wing-ding with Marge Mann. I told you not to depend on Charlie today. He’s in a tight situation. He’s probably loaded down with guilt. I told you all of that.”
“I’ve known Charlie a long time.”
“If he really had any strong objections to the dummy, he would have voiced them by now.”
“Maybe,” Cadence said, “maybe not. Charlie’s a funny guy.”
“Has he read it?”
“Bonnie said he read it after lunch.”
“Then it’s obvious he doesn’t care, Bruce. He knows it has to be at the printers’. He would have said something.”
“I don’t think he would have okayed it, Wally.”
“Then where are we?”
“Waiting for Charlie’s reaction,” Cadence answered. “And I just have a hunch it’ll surprise us.”
“That’s sheer fantasy, Bruce. I don’t mind telling you.”
“We’ll see,” Cadence said. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to hold it.”
He put his cigar in his ashtray on the desk and bent down to pick up his briefcase. He began stuffing it with papers from the desk.
Keene said, “I think you’ll be sorry.”
“Wait and see,” Cadence answered. “I think I know Charlie.”
Keene started for the door, then stopped. “I see Miss Scott came back.”
“Yes, shortly after you left.”
“I was just noticing her while I was waiting for you. She’s certainly a case of nerves, isn’t she?”
“Sandy?” Cadence looked surprised. “I didn’t think she looked any different. She was just in here.”
“Look closely,” Keene said. “I noticed it right away. A bundle of nerves, poor kid … Probably needs a rest.”
“Really?” Cadence said.
Keene was about to add more when the phone rang on Bruce’s desk.
He waited as Bruce took the call, and heard him say, “Are you sure, Bonnie? … I see … You’re sure … all right then, thank you.”
Bruce Cadence put the phone back in its cradle.
He said solemnly, “Well, that’s that, I guess.”
“What’s up?”
“Charlie just called Bonnie to say he wouldn’t be back this afternoon,” Cadence answered. “He told her to call me and tell me he okays the Vile dummy.”
MARCH 6, 1957
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“DID YOU call Bruce?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, “and now you better sack out.”
In the bathroom, she had vomited. Charlie had heard the repeated flushings of the toilet as she had tried to cover up the sounds of her gagging. He had smoked a cigarette and stared at the saffron-colored cotton rug in her apartment. There were four or five overflowing ashtrays scattered about on tables; empty beer cans, glasses with an inch of melted ice cubes and stale Scotch at their bottoms; a crossword puzzle book with all the puzzles worked, a plate of crackers and cheese on the floor by the hide-a-bed; and next to it, a large bottle of Bromo-Seltzer, and a spoon.
She looked pale and old standing in the doorway. Her hair was mussed, her lipstick smeared. There were wet stains on the front of her navy blue silk blouse. But she was more sober; not completely sober, but better.
Charlie thought, I can leave her now. She said,“Did yougive Bruce hellabout the dummy?”
“I didn’t talk to him directly,” Charlie said. “I put an okay on it … You better go to bed, Marge. Get some rest. It’s been a rough day.”
“Won’t you have one drink with me, papa-doodle?”
“I don’t want any more. I have to drive.”
“Will you sit with me while I have just one, papa-doodle?”
“All right,” Charlie said, “but you’ll have to make it a quick one.”
She went carefully into the kitchen, calling behind her, “You going to tuck me in, Charlie?”
“I can’t stay that long, Marge.”
“I’m going right to bed.”
“I have to go in about eight minutes,” he said. “Remember how you used to like to watch me undress?”
“I remember.”
“I’m going to undress for bed while I’m having my quick one,” she said, coming back with the bottle.
She set it on the coffee table before the couch and sat down next to Charlie. He could smell the odor of vomit and mouth gargle.
He said, “Marge, I’ll send some feelers out on a new job for you. I’ll ask around.”
“Sure,” she said. “You do that, papa-doodle.”
“You’ve got to pull yourself together and face this thing.”
“I’m face to face with it, papa-doodle.” “Seriously, Marge.”
“What am I supposed to do? Go around begging for a job?”
“No, but you should — ”
“Charlie,” she interrupted him, “why don’t you stay over?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you stay over tonight. We could go around the corner to The Gold Coin and have some dinner, and then we could come back and listen to records, maybe even read some poetry. Charlie, would you like that? It’d be like old times.”
“You know better than that,” he said.
“Don’t leave me alone, Charlie. I don’t want to be left alone tonight. I want to — recapture something. Something’s lost.”
“Marge, think about the future, not the past.”
“The past was swell, Charlie, wasn’t it? It was better than now.”
“The past always improves, Marge,” he said, reaching for another cigarette. She took it from his hand.
“I’ll do it. Remember how I used to always do this?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nothing’s different, Charlie. I’m the same. Do you think I’ve changed? Tell me honestly.” She lit the cigarette and handed it back to him, the tip of it wet from her mouth.
“Yes, you’ve changed. And I’ve changed. We’re older.”
“Physically I’m the same. ‘Course,” she laughed in a silly too-cry way, “I don’t got my organs, but it don’t show, papa-doodle. The nig
ht nurse at the hospital said I had the body of a woman of thirty. She was bathing me and she said I had the body of a woman of thirty.”
Charlie said, “You told me.”
“Did I?”
“This afternoon.”
“You wanna watch me undress, Charlie? You always used to like to, remember.” She got up and took a swig of the drink she had poured for herself.
Charlie said, “I really have to go.”
“Just watch me undress,” she said. “The way you used to like to. Remember? I stand right in the middle of the room.” She weaved across the rug. “And take everything off.”
“Don’t, Marge,” Charlie said. “Come back and finish your drink and then I have to leave. Come on, now. Come back and we’ll have a cigarette, and then I’m going.”
“First the blouse,” she said, undoing the buttons, kicking off her heels. Then, “Oops,” she said, “I forgot. You used to like it if I kept my heels on until toward the end.” She stumbled to get into her heels, the blouse open.
When her feet were back in her shoes, she took off the blouse and stood in her bra, smiling at Charlie.
He sighed and sucked in on his cigarette. He could not look too long at her.
“Now the skirt drops,” she said, “but first I want a little more of my drink.” She walked over to the table, drank from the glass, and stood in front of Charlie.
“Want to unbutton the skirt, darling?” His fingers fumbled with the button. “All right,” she said, “now help me like you like to do.”
“Marge,” he said — but he didn’t know what more to say. His hands remained in his lap.
“Pull it down, Charlie. Don’t you want to?”
“No, Marge. I’m going.”
“Charlie, just wait until I’m in bed, please. Don’t leave me alone until I’m in bed.”
“You’ll have to hurry,” he told her. “Take your clothes off quickly and slip into bed. Go in the bathroom and get undressed.”
“Don’t you want to watch me, Charlie?” she whined. “Am I that repulsive?”
“Marge, please. I’m in a great hurry.”
“Ping!” she said. “There goes the skirt.”
She stepped out of it, wearing now the bra and the half slip as she stood by the couch.
“Want to unhook me, Charlie?”
She turned around with her back to him, and stooped a little.