The Silent Salesman

by Michael Z. Lewin

  “Oh, God,” she said. And threw up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mom helped me carry Mrs. Pighee to the room in the rear. I went back to the luncheonette to clear up before the Saturday lunch crowd started filing in. I finished with an aerosol spray, giving the affected area the works. The ozone layer couldn’t have protected the customers’ sensibility any better than the aerosol spray did.

  At a quarter to twelve I traded posts with Mom. She had eased Linn out of her clothes and laid her down on the couch covered with a sheet. The evening dress was soaking in the sink. The patient was conscious.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “How do you feel?”

  “So-so.”

  “Are you sick? Do you want a doctor?”

  “I’ll be . . .” She hesitated. Then she said, “It’s the first time I’ve been out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Out. Of the house.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since . . . the accident.”

  “But that was in January.”

  “Yes,” she said, and closed her eyes.

  I watched her fade into sleep and tried to imagine what it must be like to be her. Married too young, for the wrong reason. Difficult husband; difficulties with sister-in-law. Stripped of her children. And left in a personal limbo for seven months while the husband was neither alive nor dead.

  All I had was superficial information and superficial empathies. But I felt sorry for her, hurt with her hurt.

  Not out of the house for seven months. Mrs. Thomas would hardly credit her with the reason she hadn’t tried to visit her husband: that she couldn’t bear to leave the walls, which, in turn, restrained her.

  At 2:15, having slept through the chaos of lunchtime in a luncheonette, Linn Pighee was awakened by a sparrow that landed on the sill of the open window and, deranged by the August heat, chirped.

  “Huh? What?” She cried for a moment and then stopped.

  I got her some coffee, which she seemed to take gratefully.

  “When you’re feeling ready,” I said, “I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’m O.K.,” she said. She started to get up, only then realized she didn’t have her dress. I pointed to the sink.

  “Is there something I could borrow? To wear?”

  I went to ask my mother.

  Mom asked, “She’s awake? What are you going to do with her?”

  “Take her home.”

  “What is she, Albert?”

  “A client,” I said. A moral client, if not a paying one. “Do you have some clothes she can borrow?”

  We settled on a long smock thing, and before the resolve faded, I helped Linn Pighee into my panel truck.

  “I look like a sack of dog food,” she said as I slid into the driver’s seat.

  “You feel all right?”

  “I feel terrible. I . . . you . . .”

  I started the engine.

  “Don’t take me home.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t go home. I don’t want to go home. I can’t. Not in the light. Not . . .” And she started crying again.

  I thought about it.

  “Please!” She curled up on the seat and put her hands over her eyes.

  “I’ll take you to my place. Let my daughter look after you.” She didn’t say anything.

  I double-parked in front of my office door and helped Linn Pighee up to my office. It was the slowest ascent ever made; the revitalizing her sleep at Mom’s had provided was all used up. Being out of doors, even in a car, destroyed her.

  I got the door open and led her through the office to the living room, where we found Sam typing at the desk. “Up, Sam. Got a patient for you.”

  I sat Linn down, then went back downstairs to move the truck.

  And found a cop writing me a ticket.

  “You got to be kidding,” I said. “I help a sick lady upstairs where she can lie down and it takes two minutes. You got to be kidding.”

  “Sorry, buster,” the cop said. “I’d like to give you a break, but you see, when I get to this place on the ticket form”—he pointed his pen ambiguously—“I gotta go ahead and fill it out. Sorry for your sick friend. Hope she makes it up to you.”

  I stood silently while he finished his handiwork. He gave me my copy, got on his putt-putt, and went away. I watched him till he turned a corner. Then I put the ticket he’d handed me under the windshield wiper of the green Ponty parked in front of my office. It was all his fault, really, and he might even pay it without reading the ticket.

  When I got back upstairs, Sam had put Linn Pighee to bed. In my bed.

  “Charming,” I said. “And where do I sleep? With you?”

  “You’re not my type, Daddy. Isn’t she staying all night?”

  “We didn’t work it out that far ahead. I suppose she is.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Linn Pighee. John Pighee’s wife.”

  “Oooooo,” Sam said.

  I told her about Linn’s visit to Bud’s Dugout.

  “I wondered why you were gone so long. I just thought you’d gone off to see the lawyer and were keeping me out of your hair.”

  “The lawyer,” I said. I’d forgotten about him. No real opportunity to get a signed authorization from Linn, anyway. “I think we can kiss him goodbye.”

  “Daddy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “While you were out. A man came here.”

  “Anybody special? Cop writing me a ticket because I don’t keep a lid on my wastebasket?”

  “No. A man. He was very tall. I mean, like a basketball player. And he had curly yellow hair.”

  She had my serious attention. It had to be Lee Seafield. “What did he want?”

  “Well,” Sam said slowly, making it clear that the encounter had not been a pleasant one. “He wouldn’t say, but he wasn’t friendly. I came out to the office when I heard someone there, but he wouldn’t believe you weren’t here. He pushed his way in here and he even looked in the bedroom.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” I said.

  “He scared me,” Sam said.

  “He didn’t leave a message?”

  “No.”

  I frowned. “You’re sure it was me he was looking for?”

  “Yes.”

  I could see she was upset. With some cause. But I tried to distract her. “Well,” I said. “Starting tomorrow, I don’t expect to be too hard to find. Unemployed, and with a child and a sick lady to look after.”

  After a moment Sam said, “It’s a disease, Daddy.”

  “What is?”

  “Not being able to go outdoors. It’s a phobia.”

  “Terrific. All we have to do is wait till . . .” But I stopped myself I was going to say wait till October, when they take the building down, but there was a limit to the amount of sympathy even I was willing to trade upon.

  “What? Wait till what?”

  “Till the cows come home.”

  She shrugged. “By the way, did I mention that Ray is coming over tonight?”

  “Ray? McGonigle?”

  She nodded.

  “No, you didn’t mention it.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Me? Mind? Me? Hell, no. Let’s have a party. Linn can tell us all about the people she’s known who’ve died. Ray can tell us about laboratory explosions. I’ll give my standard lecture on bankruptcy. Should be a real gas.”

  “Daddy? Are you going bankrupt?”

  “No more than usual. Shall I make a cup of coffee?”

  “It’s just that, as your daughter and heir, I have a right to know.”

  “Laugh a minute as advertised, aren’t you, kid.”

  “Daddy, is it all right if I go out for a while? I’ve been in all day and I’d like to go out for a while.”

  “Go out! Go out! I’ll let you know how the party goes if you don’t get back in time for it.”

  I was getting a little t
ired of company. In the same way I get tired of my own company.

  Sam went out.

  I sat. Then made some notes. Then called my woman to invite her over. My first party since my ninth birthday. Our last visit before she went on vacation.

  Sam got back at about 5:30 with two shopping bags full of foodstuffs.

  “I didn’t have time to take the price tags off, Daddy,” she said. “So promise not to look.”

  “Who is your heir?” I asked. Then left her to it and turned on the TV.

  My cupboards nearly buckled under the weight of food in them.

  At six I was startled out of my lethargy by an inordinate pounding on the office door.

  “That’s not the tall nasty man, is it?” I asked Sam.

  “I don’t think so,” she said without ruffling. “I think I know what it is.”

  It was the delivery of a folding bed. “Put it over there,” Sam said, pointing to one of my barer office walls. “Move the bench and put it over there.” To me she said, “You will want to sleep in here, won’t you. Daddy? Or would you rather I did?”

  “Make up your mind, Miss,” the delivery man said impatiently.

  “I’ve got to get home.”

  “I know you do,” she said, “but you were promised something to come out tonight. Could you take it out of its box, please, so we can have a look at it? I’ll get my purse.”

  She disappeared into my living room and came back with a tightly clenched fist. The contents of which she handed to the delivery man.

  He had a look, smiled, and helped pick up the cardboard shreds and wrapping tape before he left.

  Sam looked pleased with herself. “The toaster didn’t seem so urgent, so it will come on regular delivery. Probably on Wednesday. Cheer up. Daddy. It’s only money. Have you ever heard of the redistribution of wealth?”

  [1]Linn Pighee woke up about seven. We heard her give a little cry. But before we could decide which of us should go have a look she appeared at the bedroom door. She looked firmer on her feet than she had in any previous sighting that day. “My God,” she said.

  “Where am I? Where is this?”

  “This is Daddy’s apartment behind his office,” Sam said, and bounced up to her. “Hi. I’m Sam. He’s my dad.”

  Linn frowned, tilted her head. “This is your crippled daughter?”

  “Any kid with me as a father must count as a cripple.”

  She nodded slowly. Then she gave a sign that she was feeling better. She walked into the room.

  “Hungry?” Sam asked.

  “A little.”

  “I went shopping today. There’s lots of food,” and Sam went to the kitchen side of the room to find some while Linn sat down.

  “You wanted to see me,” she said.

  “You feel like it?”

  “I didn’t before.”

  “I want to look at the various legal agreements you have with Loftus Pharmaceuticals, but I need your authorization in writing.”

  “Why?”

  “Your verbal permission wasn’t good enough for your lawyer.”

  “Do you have a piece of paper?”

  I also provided a pen. She gave me the paper after she finished with it. It read, “Walter, I order you to let Mr. Albert Samson see any of our family papers that he wants to. Mine or John’s. Linn Pighee.” She dated it.

  “That should do it,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Is this the sort of thing my sister-in-law hired you to do?”

  “Nope,” I said. “She wanted to be allowed to visit John, and I managed to get that. Only someone from Loftus went to see her yesterday afternoon and bought her off.”

  “Bought her off?”

  “Yeah. Talked her out of it and gave her some money for her troubles.”

  “That doesn’t sound very good,” Linn Pighee said.

  “It stinks, doesn’t it,” Sam said. “I want to know what they’re trying to cover up, don’t you?”

  “Cool it, Sam,” I said.

  Linn Pighee seemed aware of the undercurrents between father and daughter, but didn’t quite understand them. “Is there anything to drink?” she asked then. “I mean like a beer.”

  Sam said quickly, “I forgot to buy any. I really feel like one, too.” She looked at me pointedly. “And I did go out for food.”

  I scowled.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Linn said. “I just wondered if you had some.”

  “I’d really like some. Daddy,” Sam said. “And I know Ray likes beer, too.”

  “Then he’ll probably bring some when he comes.”

  “Is someone coming?” Linn asked.

  “He won’t. I mean he probably won’t. I’d go out again, but I don’t like walking the streets alone after six.”

  “All right,” I said, “all right. Make the lady some food, then, will you?”

  I went out to get some beer. It took about fifteen minutes.

  When I got back, Sam was standing by the stove stirring the contents of a pan with a spoon. There were opened cans of baked beans and caviar on the counter.

  “That’s food?” I asked.

  “She said it was O.K.,” Sam said. “I think Linn has something she wants to tell you.”

  “Does she indeed,” I said, and went to the refrigerator to put the beer away. It was hard to find room. There were three six-packs there already. I pulled one out. “And just what are these?”

  “Good heavens,” Sam said. “I must have bought some and forgot I did it.”

  “Do they teach acting at Madame Graumier’s?”

  I took three cans, opened them, and carried two over to where I sat down with Linn.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I was thinking that I’m curious, too.”

  “Curious is an understatement for what’s going on here,” I said.

  “I mean I want you to find out what really happened to John.”

  “You mean my absurd daughter has tried to talk you into hiring me, so she can amuse herself better on her vacation, is that it?”

  “I really want to know. I just hadn’t thought about it before. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to hire you. I appreciate her suggesting it.”

  I looked over at Sam, who was beaming, but turned away when I looked. “And did she ask you whether you can afford to indulge her by hiring me?”

  “I have money,” Linn said. “At least I think I do.”

  “You must have had less to live on the last couple of years,” I said. “From being a full-time fast-talking salesman, your husband went to part time because of his work in the labs. And Henry Rush said he was working there ‘on his own time,’ so you must have had less money.”

  She seemed uncertain. “It didn’t feel like less. He never . . . I don’t think so. I . . . I don’t really know about the money. I got the impression he was doing really well. That he had more money recently. But all I ever did was write checks. I never kept track.”

  “Since the accident, haven’t you gone through his things?”

  “No.”

  “But you have to live, to care for yourself”

  “I live. I do what I always did. Except I seem to have stopped going out.”

  “Until today.”

  “Until today. And I seem to feel rotten most of the time.”

  “Look, Mrs. Pighee—”

  “Linn,” she interrupted.

  “Linn. Would you mind if I went out to your house tomorrow and looked through your husband’s financial records?”

  “You can have the fucking place, for all I care,” she said. “I’ve been inside for seven months and now I’m out. I feel a lot better. You can do what you like. I’ll give you the keys. Where’s my purse?” She got up, but quickly, and felt dizzy. I moved to help, but she said, “I’m all right,” and went to the bedroom.

  “So you’re going to do it for her,” Sam said.

  “If you try to manipulate this woman, I’ll send you back to your mother on the first available bicycle. I’m no
t going to have it, Sam, and the sooner you understand it the better.”

  She was distressed immediately. “All I said was that I’d pay all that it cost because I have lots of money but that I didn’t think you’d do it if I asked you to. But she said she really wanted to find out what’s going on. She really does, I’m sure. I just think she didn’t think of hiring you.”

  “It hasn’t occurred to you, I suppose, that it is possible she might be better off not knowing any more than she does, on the one side. And that other people’s lives are not there for rich girls to play with for no better reason than because they have more money than they can use constructively.”

  She started to cry. “I thought I was using it constructively.”

  Linn appeared at the door and said, “I sat down on the bed for a minute to get my balance again.” She threw me her keys. Then she noticed Sam’s snuffles. “What’s happened?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Just a little fatherly lesson in minding one’s own business,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t,” Linn said with passion. “I really want you to find out all there is to know about John. I really do. She only put in words what was already inside me. Please don’t scold her for it. Please don’t. You have so little time with her. One does. Please do this for me. I want to hire you. I do.”

  She sat on the edge of the desk next to the bedroom door and started crying, too. Sam went over to her and they held each other.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A few minutes before eight Raymond McGonigle appeared.

  “Long time no see,” I said.

  He said to Sam, “Your old man is a funny old man.”

  Linn got up from her chair and said, “I feel very tired.”

  “This is Ray McGonigle,” Sam said. “This is Linn Pighee.”

  “Pighee?” McGonigle said.

  “John Pighee’s wife,” Sam said. “The man that was hurt.”

  “Oh,” he said. His eyes opened wide, then narrowed. “Glad to meet you.” He shook her hand.

  “She’s staying here,” Sam said.

  “I’m going to bed,” Linn said, and left the room.

  “After thirteen and a half months split between home and Sir Jeff,” Ray said, “you two are the breath of life to me.”

  “Beer?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, please. Man, that is no joy spot. Her husband is well out of it.”