by The Demon
The morning went easily enough, and quite rapidly, as he stayed completely involved with his work. He thought of calling down for a sandwich and having a quick lunch at his desk, but decided against it and went out. After eating he de-
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cided to stroll around for a few minutes and get the kinks out of his neck. Actually, it was a beautiful day for strolling around. It wasnt too hot and humid and so it was comfortable in the shade, so he stayed on the shady side of the street and stretched his legs for a few minutes. . . .
I/ll be a son
of a bitch, ten after. Damn it. Again he turned and rushed back to the office. How in the hell did it get to be so late? And he wasnt even following a broad. Just sort of roaming around, maybe looking a little, like any guy would do. Thats all. Not even— O, shit. Now the elevators got to take all day. He could feel his feet squirming around inside his shoes as he waited for the goddamn elevator to get down so he could get back to his desk. Shit. A quarter after. I/ll be a rotten son of a bitch. Its about time. He jostled himself into the elevator and rushed back to his desk and quickly surrounded himself with papers.
After a few minutes he glanced around and realized that Wentworth wasnt in the office. Thank krist for small favors. He relaxed a bit and concentrated on his work, but found himself stopping from time to time to look around. Everybody just seemed to be doing their work, yet he continued to get this feeling that somebody was watching him, though Rae and Louise never seemed to be looking in his direction. It was strange, and very puzzling, how the feeling just seemed to grow slowly until he found himself looking around, again, against his will. He didn't really want to keep looking around, and actually he wasnt aware he was doing it until he was doing it. Screw it. He just turned back to his work. Again ...
And the damndest thing was that he still had that disquieting feeling after work too. He didnt exactly feel like someone was watching him as he rode home on the subway, but there was a vague disturbance sort of rolling around within him.
And the damn
thing was still there after dinner. He strolled up to Caseys and talked with the guys for a while and listened to them bullshit
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about the horses and the ball games, not really knowing what they were saying, then went home early. He went to his room and tried reading for a while, then closed the book and squeezed it and shook his head. It was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. There really wasnt any reason why it should, yet something kept tugging at him in the back of his head. Shit! He tossed the book on the chair and called Linda.
Krist, it was a long time before she answered the phone. And the whole time it felt like his stomach was attached to his throat, and he was hoping she wasnt home, and at the same time he wanted to talk to her because he somehow sensed that that was the only thing that would calm this strange and disquieting feeling. It was an interminably long time before she picked up the phone, and by the time he heard her say hello, his fingers were starting to cramp from squeezing the phone so hard.
And then the fumbling hello, how are you? and the apology torturously squeezed out by the churning in his gut, and then the gradual relaxing until he was holding the phone loosely and was stretched out in his chair . . . and then the sound of her laughter and they chitchatted, and when they finally hung up he wasnt exactly certain just what he had said, or what she had said, but he knew that everything was all right. He was all quiet inside. Except for a little whirl of excitement, a whirl that seemed to grow a little when he thought about her laugh. Harry spent the rest of the evening thinking about Linda.
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6
Wentworth wasnt kidding when he said he was going to give him a lot of work. He really piled it on, and Harry thrived. He stayed late quite often, not out of necessity, but simply because he did not want to leave a part of a job in the middle, and wanted to see it through to the end before leaving.
There was another significant change too. He was almost leading a life of celibacy—at least for him. Thats not to say that he took a vow or a pledge with a solemn oath and sent it out to pasture; he still knew what it was for, but for him there was a vast difference. There were some nights when he just stayed home and read or studied, sometimes a couple of nights in a row (his parents developing a sense of security and hope, seeing their son starting to settle down), and he kept his activities to the weekends. As a matter of fact, he let a couple of weekends pass without even a serious thought of
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copping some broads drawers—not many, but it did happen on occasion.
And then there was Linda ... the Lady of the Laugh. The feelings Harry had when he was with her or thought about her perplexed him, primarily because he had never experienced such feelings. But with time they became more familiar and thus less and less disturbing until he was so accustomed to them that he found he enjoyed them. There was an excitement, yet there did not seem to be any tension. Actually, he could not tell exactly how he felt, but he did know how he did not feel. He knew what was missing, and what was missing he did not miss.
There were occasional lunches, dinners, movies or the theater, and on all those occasions, a lot of fun. Yeah, fun. Somehow that seemed like exactly the right word. It was not the hysteria of a Fire Island weekend, or the screaming at a ball game or the fights, or balling some chick and splitting before her old man got home ... or any one of those other fun things. Somehow no way in which he had used the word before fit how he felt now, but yet fun was the only word that registered within him when he thought of their times together.
Fun . . . walking along the street looking or not looking, talking or silent . . . Yeah . . . Fun tossing nuts to squirrels. Fun seeing Shakespeare in Central Park. Fun arguing over politics with a bleeding-heart liberal woman . . . No, that cant be fun. It just doesnt make sense. Political arguments— well they certainly werent arguments, but whatever they were . . . yeah, fun. Thats the only word. Linda the Laugh is fun. Jesus krist, thats goofy. You spend time with a woman doing all sorts of things and only one word sticks in your head, fun. Goofy. But thats the way it is. Fun. Fun.
With the passing of time and the beginning of fall, Harry started back to school a couple of nights a week. One of his classes did not start until eight oclock, so on that night he
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had dinner with Linda and they lingered over their coffee, chatting, until it was time for Harry to leave.
Harry did well in school, better than he ever had before. It rather surprised him because he wasnt aware of trying harder than usual, or putting forth any extraordinary effort, yet his marks indicated that that must be what he was doing. He somehow felt more relaxed, unpressured and was intensely interested in what he was studying. It was obviously something that was going to help him up that ladder of success rapidly.
And his ability to concentrate seemed to have increased tenfold. There somehow didnt seem to be a barrier between himself and the work. He listened to the instructor and read the books and they made sense, and the material seemed to penetrate his head with a minimum of trouble, and stay in his mind. He spent many hours studying, but he wasnt aware of the time because he felt free of conflict and its resulting tension; and because he enjoyed studying, the time passed with speed and ease.
To see their son staying home frequently and studying, and so relaxed and content, truly pleased Harrys parents, but their big thrill came when he took them out for their anniversary. At first they were speechless and almost declined the invitation. Harry had never bothered sending a card in the past, or indicating that he even remembered the date of their anniversary. When one of them would mention that today was their anniversary, he would smile and say thats great, congratulations, and kiss them and then act as if he had dismissed it completely from his mind, which is actually what he did.
But this year he not only remembered it, but he was taking them out, alone. And he had even gotten tickets to a Broadway musical, which meant he had had to plan it in
advance. Ohhhh, it was wonderful. Just so wonderful. Even the weather was delightful.
Their Harry took them to a lovely French restaurant and they had one of the most delicious meals of their lives, and they had a little wine with their meal, and Mrs. White felt so special and Harrys father laughed and chuckled and squeezed
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his wifes hand and kissed her on the cheek from time to time, and Harry glowed inside watching their excitement and happiness. In some inexplicable way he felt very close to his parents this night, closer than he had ever felt in his life. And knowing that he had something to do with the happiness they were experiencing filled him with a joy that he never knew existed. The fact that he was contributing to their happiness overwhelmed him, and bewildered him. He couldnt consciously draw the relationship between his actions and his feelings of well-being. But he didnt strain to understand. He just enjoyed the moment.
Unfortunately the evening was over much too soon. But the mother and father of Harry White would relive that evening many times amongst themselves and with their friends, sharing their joy with them and smiling broadly and deeply when telling them about their loving son.
It was more than an evening out. It was a confirmation. A confirmation of hopes and dreams—and more importantly, a confirmation of success: their success as parents and his success as a son. They felt justified in the way they had lived their lives; in the methods they had used in raising their only child. And justified in keeping their hopes and dreams for him: that he would be healthy and happy and enjoy a good life.
Of course his life was not complete yet, but someday, maybe someday soon, he would have a family and children. For years they had been afraid that they would spoil him because he was an only child and had actually looked into adopting a child, many years ago, but the process looked endless and hopeless, and so they never pursued it. But now their fears were melted with the warmth of the food and the music, and the warmth of the memory of the night. It would be cherished and relived over and over again.
Gradually, as time passed, Harry spent more and more of his free time with Linda, to the point of seeing her almost
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exclusively. Of course he still got laid occasionally, but it seemed like he could go weeks, sometimes, without even thinking about it. Between work, school and Linda there just did not seem to be enough time, or room, to think about the broads. He spent his lunch time quietly, usually with Linda, so getting back to the office on time was no problem. All the areas of Harry Whites life were running smoothly and routinely.
One day Wentworth asked him to join him for lunch again. When they had settled in their seats and ordered their drinks, he got right to the point. This is not for general distribution, so keep it to yourself, but there are going to be some significant changes made next year. Some rather large changes. We/re growing. Expanding. Especially our foreign operations. And I would like to see you become a major—major—part of the change.
Harry smiled and nodded his head, So would I.
Yes, smiling, Im sure you would. And I would because I believe you could not only be an invaluable asset to the firm, but to me personally as well. You see, I will be responsible for effecting those changes. Harry looked and nodded appreciatively. The waiter brought their drinks and they both tasted them before Wentworth continued.
Things have been going well these past months for you. At least I assume that from your work and your attitude.
Yes, they have. Very well.
Good. Good. Glad to hear that. But of course it has been obvious. They smiled at each other. Weve talked before and I do not want to go over old ground again and again, but I have the idea that maybe youre ready to move up—Harrys gut suddenly went flop and he could feel the excitement suddenly surge through him—or at least almost ready—Harry suddenly felt hollow. He wasnt sure what was going on now. Wentworth continued to look at him, and Harry didnt know how he was supposed to feel or how he did feel, other than
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confused. He took another sip of his drink and waited Wentworth out.
You have to be responsible to be successful. Without that you have built-in barriers. As an example in point, I am constantly entertaining other successful executives, and these men are like myself: responsible. We are family men with good, solid roots in our communities. We keep things in the proper perspective. We know how to—a smile and a gesture of the hand—relax and have fun, but. . . but! we go home to our families. The right thing, in the right place, at the right time. It is imperative that a corporate executive be a good family man and a responsible member of his community. Wentworth continued to look at Harry for a moment, then picked up the menu and started reading.
Harry, of course, was no dummy. He knew exactly what Wentworth was talking about. He had told him the same thing more than once before. In that world, as Wentworth saw it, you had to be a family man to be trusted. And Harry supposed he was right, at least to some degree. By being conscious of your obligation to your family you are less likely to become irresponsible at work, and to Harry that was of the utmost importance.
But that wasnt what Wentworth was really talking about today. No. He was talking about doing something about changing his marital status soon if Harry wanted to be an important part of the major changes that would be occurring soon.
And, the other thing that Wentworth was obviously reminding Harry of, in his own way, was the fact that he had the power of life and death over him with respect to his future with the firm. Harry had the choice of doing it Went-worths way and going to the top—and there was no doubt in Harrys mind that that is what would happen—or he could just flop around somewhere in the middle and maybe some day be a junior vice-president. The facts of the situation
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settled into place immediately. But whatever was going to happen wasnt going to happen until next year. In the meantime he would keep pushing the way he had. It was working so far.
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7
The first Sunday in December
Linda and Harry visited her folks. Rather than worry about snow and ice on the roads they rode the Long Island Rail Road. Linda was familiar with the hazards and unpredictabilities of this mode of travel and so they brought a thermos of hot coffee with them.
Harry looked out the window from time to time at the drab-to-ugly surroundings, conscious only of how good he felt.
"When I go to sleep, I never count sheep,"
Their breath was
steaming from their mouths and they drew silly pictures on the window with their fingers, then breathed on the window and watched the pictures appear in the mist that formed from their breath.
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"I
count all the charms about Linda. And lately it seems"
Harry
looked at the funny little drawing and then at Linda. Whats that supposed to be? O, smiling, you should be able to figure that one out.
"in all of my dreams, I walk with my arms about Linda"
Harry
smiled and shrugged. It beats me. Linda laughed, Nanook of the north. The steam puffed from their mouths as they laughed,
"and after a while I will get to know Linda"
the sight and sound of her laughter pulsing a warm glow through him.
Lindas father met them at the station and though it was only a ten- or fifteen-minute drive to the house, the scenery changed drastically, and Harry felt like he was driving through a Christmas card. His smile seemed to start on the inside and then flow up to his face. The snow was banked high on the sides of the road and sloped off in pristine whiteness, and icicles hung from the snow-covered trees and glistened in the sun. And the sky— Krist the sky was beautiful.
"But miracles still happen, and when my lucky star begins to shine
A light winter
blue, and crisp, with white fluffy clouds moving just fast enough to let you know it was real.
When they got to the house, Harry was introduced
to Lindas brother and sister, her mother and an aunt—the mothers older sister. They sat for a while drinking coffee and warming to each other. Then it was game time. Harry, Lindas
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father and brother went into the living room to watch the football game while the women remained in the kitchen to prepare dinner and talk to Linda about her fella.
Harry had a ball watching the game with them. They both knew and liked the game, so the running commentary was enjoyable. He had been a little apprehensive, afraid they might be like those crazy old broads in the office who hoot and holler during the World Series and seem to be especially delighted when your team is losing; then they ask you who is up, the Rangers or the Knicks? But this was different, and to top it off the game was really exciting, and so Harry didnt feel as if he was being constantly inspected.
And the dinner was positively delicious, and the conversation enjoyable. And when they finally left the dining room table two hours later, they continued talking and sipping coffee in the living room, every one feeling tranquil from the food and the burning and glowing logs in the fireplace.
Time slipped warmly and gently by, and it seemed that the warmth of the day, the home and its people, was infinite, and the mirth and laughter that tickled ones bones endless. God, it was beautiful. And no one would know what was said. But the feelings would be remembered, as feelings always are, long after the words and the circumstances have passed beyond recall.
And then the laughter was interrupted with the announcement that it was time to go, and the thermos was refilled with steaming coffee and Linda and Harry were bundled into their coats and there were hugs and embraces and pats on the back with more laughter, and kisses and the shaking of hands and, Goodbye, goodbye, dont forget to call as soon as you get home, dear.