—You, you must understand that I, that your father that, that for anything to happen to you would be, because you’re such a a stunning woman a stunning young woman I I, I . . .
Her hand turned that sharply on the tremor enclosing it—please there’s, Mister Beaton there’s nothing you can . . .
—No no I, all I can do honestly . . . he stared there where his hand lay hidden, and then it fled hers for the phone—hello Bea, Beaton . . . he cleared his throat.—It’s Senator Broos I’d better, hello . . .? Yes sir yes I . . . he called a few minutes ago yes sir if you could hold on for one moment I . . . he no sir his daughter is here she . . .
—No please Mister Beaton go ahead, there’s nothing else is there?
—Yes wait no there’s a form, there yes if you’d just sign it and, yes just one moment sir where it says age last birthday it’s just a formality, you can write over twenty-one if you, sir . . .?
—Right here? Twenty-seven, it’s still just a formality and thank you Mister Beaton . . .
—Sir . . .? Yes no sir no I believe it’s cleared up, General Blaufinger’s statement in the foreign press urging intervention was apparently made on the assumption that we would support the secessionists but when it was made clear to him that Washington sediment sed, sentiment favored the joint resolution backing the Nowunda regime the General immed . . . not a no sir not a retraction no a clarifying statement simply saying that the press had distorted his pos . . . his position yes sir exac . . . yes exactly sir your position on Chile regarding Kennecott during the . . . yes sir sir? If you could excuse me one moment Mrs Joubert? Thank you for coming in, please call me if there are any sir . . .? Yes sir she’s . . . yes sir Mrs Joubert? Senator Broos sends his . . . on which matter sir . . .? No sir I’m drafting the legislation on the banking bill now for him to . . . Oh I see yes sir no I don’t think you need to be concerned, it’s the state senate he’s running for sir, not your . . . just the state yes sir I’m certain he . . . I’ve never met him no sir but . . . no sir it’s c, c, i an Italian name not, not peachy no sir . . .
The door closed behind her, freeing one hand from the other she turned—oh . . .!
—I think we’re all set and, oh Miss Bulcke we’re going to camp out in the chief’s office here so Mrs Joubert can run through these proofs, we . . .
—But Mister Davidoff I . . .
—No trouble oh and Miss Bulcke tell Carol to put my calls through here, tell her to screen them I’m waiting for one from Washington and the, call Florence and tell her to tell Mister Eigen I want him on this speech draft for General Box ask him where the captions are for this Annual Report feature that we, sorry . . .! he’d made an abrupt end to a glide from a lost dance step.—One of us has an electric personality lady, he steered her—right in here, we can lay them all out. Static electricity, it piles up in the carpet you touch a doorknob and, you want to sit right here? he came on rounding the clear expanse of the desk still settling the acrylic sheen on his shoulders, put down the pictures and shot his cuffs to display gold simile coins of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.—You can sit down right there if you . . .
—But I am in a hurry Mister Davidoff, I . . .
—Right, this will save you a trip to my office.
—But, there must be a hundred of them.
—Two eighty-six, I know how important this project is to you that’s why we want you to make the picture selection yourself, now I thought we’d lead off with that one on top there, one second . . . He stabbed the button-studded console and picked up the phone as he sat, his feet parting from the floor.—Pretty classy looking guy, am I right? Your Dad really, oh Miss Bulcke get the Waldorf, tell them the General won’t be back till the twentieth and I’ll be using his suite . . . he came forward hanging up the phone, feet treading air.—Your dad really comes across doesn’t he, a real statesman of ind . . .
—This looks like a picture of a, a nun cutting up a frog.
—What? What’s that. There’s no caption on it? I gave this top priority . . . he stabbed at the console,—make it clear we’re backing your educational effort with these youngsters getting a foot in the door of this whole field of visual literacy and they send up pictures with no captions as though Eigen? Hello? Where’s Mister Eigen . . . At lunch? now? What man from Thailand . . . no just tell him to call me, is somebody typing the captions for this Annual Report story . . .? can’t find what . . .? No, just tell Mister Eigen to call me.
—All your pictures look very nice Mister Davidoff, I’m sure you can select . . .
—Now this one here, we have to have Crawley of course but we’re angling your story more along the lines of the share itself, corporate responsibility to this one, must have been when Crawley was picking up the coins one second, I’m expecting a call from Washington, Senator Broos hello . . .? No tell him I’ll call him back now there, that one’s not bad, not bad of Crawley but it looks like that pig is climbing in the window over his shoulder wait, here’s my call now, hello? Senator? Mollenhoff? What does Mollenhoff want? . . . No that was his memo to me not my memo to him . . . what? Wait a minute . . . He was pushing buttons as though playing an instrument—who? No this isn’t the maintenance department . . . Hello? Where’s that call I had in to Senator Broos? Miss Bulcke? Who’s this? Eigen? What’s this about somebody from Thailand . . . Taiwan? No, that’s a Chinese medical relief group he was supposed to come over for the fifty cent tour before lunch, did you check his hotel? . . . No a donation, just take him out to lunch and tie, one, on, I said tie . . . never mind, look. This Box speech for Gandia you’ve got a delicate situation, you’ve got the defense minister Doctor Dé and President Nowunda both up there on the platform, work them both in but so one of them can come out at the last minute . . . Yes it’s top priority the General’s in Bonn waiting for it now, one of us may have to go over there and spoon feed it to him we can’t have him pull another one of those Plato rhymes with tomato . . . Oh Mrs Joubert? Wait you don’t need to leave, just a couple of brush fires but you can tell your dad when you see him what it’s like tending the store here with no executive officer on board. They’re typing those captions up now, if we run out for a little lunch we could look over the whole package when we got back there’s a little place . . .
—Oh I’m afraid not Mister Davidoff I, that’s why I must leave now in fact, I have to . . .
—Don’t worry about it I’m too busy to leave the shop myself, we’ll just get something sent in . . . he had the phone again.—Oh Miss Bulcke send out for a couple of, what would you like? The ham, cheese . . .
—Honestly I haven’t time Mister Davidoff, and I’m . . .
—Just cancel that Miss Bulcke and oh Miss Bulcke, while you’re on there get hold of Colonel Moyst, he can begin cutting orders for me for a week, make it a ten day TDY for Germany and, just make it Europe and Africa, CIPAP, they’ll have to give me a field grade equivalency rating, Colonel, probably a GS sixteen I’ve got to have CIPAP or I might as well stay home. Now . . . Empty-handed, he stood knuckled under at the desk,—that one’s better, a little less of Crawley and we can touch it up to get that pair of horns out of his here, this one’s better, you’ve got your stock certificate right up front and center the kid though, too bad we didn’t get a kid up there with a haircut and a sweater that wasn’t ripped down the, let’s see this one. Same kid. Same kid seems to have pushed himself into all of them with the stock certificate, he . . .
—He has been sort of, this boy’s been sort of acting as a class secretary on our . . .
—Wait, wait! Up came his hands framing nothing—look. It fits right in. A share in America, right? And these kids, this kid here, that must be a pretty what you’d call culturally deprived area where you’re teaching? Well anyhow we can play up the wait . . . His hands dropped scattering pictures—looking for, no blacks? I don’t see any blacks in any of these, don’t you have any blacks in your class? he swept them together again—don’t worry about it, we’ll make do one second, this must be my
Washington call. Hello? . . .? No it’s not. He stabbed buttons.—What happened to my Washington call, Senator . . . what? he stabbed again and began to pace—hello? Senator . . .? Oh he’s not? When will he . . . At the end of the cord he paused, his back on the room—well just get him this message then, confidential. Background for handling the press on this Gandia thing playing up the angle of the US getting in bed with the USSR, China, Albania and the rest of them on it, he can talk to Frank Black at that end on the canned editorial content side, capture a what? Me? Davidoff . . . Davidoff, d, a, v, i . . . well tell him I called for Mister . . . hello? Hello? . . . He walked back to the desk, cleared his throat as he hung up the phone.—Yes, we’ll want this boy’s name for the captioning . . . he looked up, and then stabbed at the console.—Miss Bulcke? Is Mrs Joubert out there? has she . . . probably just went to the ladies’ room, the . . . who? Who’s this, Carol? Hyde who . . . Well what does he want with . . . what appliances . . . Oh. Well tell him to talk to Mollenhoff about it . . . Oh, well if he works for Mollenhoff why did Mollenhoff tell him to talk to me about it . . . Oh. Well tell him I’ll talk to Möllenhoff about it, is he right there? Put him on the blower Carol and stay on yourself, I’ve got a couple of brush fires that . . . Carol?
—Yes sir he’s right here . . . she leaned across the litter to cradle the telephone and reach a button on the far side of the desk, drawing the figure looming behind her forward till her skirt stopped just short of revelation.—Mister Hyde this is Mister Davidoff, she recovered, pointing at the speaker beside the spilling out basket.
——Yes hello Mister, Carol? turn it down, you’ve got some feedback in there that’s bursting my . . .
—Hello, Mister Davidoff . . .? He followed the course of the stocking seam again and remained sagged over the litter toward the speaker as though seeking recognition in its face.—I’m . . .
——Hyde? Get further back from that speaker we’re running into some feedback, I’m topside in the chief’s office tending store here can’t get away right now, you’re in sales? over in Mollenhoffs stable? Good thing I got hold of you I just had him on Carol while you’re on deck, you still on deck there? Pull Mister Eigen off those captions tell him I’ve just come out of conference on it, rethinking the whole feature in inner city terms culturally deprived black slice of the corporate pie probably need an airbrush on some of those pix too Hyde? still with me? Mollenhoff can’t keep his communications lines straight good thing I got hold of you on this, Justice Department on our tails this vertical integration policy’s the big must right down the line, bending over backwards keeping our skirts clean if he’s handing out that appliance inventory on a tax write-off tell him our legal boys switched the game plan clearing the whole thing out through sales till we get the loud and clear from Justice on Carol? While you’re on deck get hold of Miss Bulcke on this TDY she’s lining up tell her to make sure CIPAP includes commercial travel authorized means I’ll need a field grade equivalency that’s colonel or better get this other call, the Senator call me back on that line? Must be on this other line, heeep . . .
—I guess he signed off Mister Hyde, is there anything else?
—Ahhh . . . he got upright,—better see if you can get Mister Mollenhoff for me.
—Yes sir. She found a company directory in the litter,—is that Herbert B? or is that . . .
—Herbert B.
—That’s the only Mollenhoff anyway . . . she dialed.—Did you want to, hello? Mister Mollenhoff? Yeah this is Carol, Ginny? He did? Thanks. You want to go shopping at lunch . . .? By the cooler, yeah. She hung up.—He went to Akron, Mister Mollenhoff. Is there anything else?
—When will he be back?
—She didn’t say, you want me to ask? She had the phone again.
—No, no, don’t, don’t bother, he turned for the door—oh, while I think of it tell Mister ah, Mister Davidoff, tell him that major is field grade too.
—Major what? I better get a pencil.
—Field grade includes major, not just colonels.
—Field grade includes major, yes sir, she said from her pad,—you know the way out? I’m going down toward the elevators you can just follow me okay? He did, eyes lowered till she turned.—We can just go through this way and, here. Here they are.
—That’s some painting you’ve got on this floor.
—It’s real big isn’t it.
—I wouldn’t cut off my ear for it.
—Your, gee no she said as the doors opened silently and he stepped in, closing as silently on her—come see us again, and the figure rounding the corner behind her fighting loose a tie with—Oh Carol . . . descending to Don’t Fence Me In and a lobby filled with policemen which he got through and as far as the city ambulance at the curb before his—What happened? provoked response, a dulled obscenity from a lounger against the granite sill unbuttoned to the waist in the cool air where Don’t Walk flashed as he crossed at a lope, down the block, down the ramp into the garage.
—Kinda car?
He handed over the ticket folded in bills.—A brown . . .
—You not suppose to get this car till five o’clock. We got it all blocked in down there, you say you don’t want it till five o’clock.
—Look I’m in a hurry, here’s an extra buck. Can you get it out?
—Can’t just get it like that . . .
He watched the dollar stuffed among greased folds in a turn toward a group lunching on the hood of a distant Cadillac where, as he began to pace under the roar of an exhaust fan, he glanced with each about face to look at his watch in a heavyweight’s gesture, and back, paused to study racing cars on end, in mid-air, in flames, taped to the wall, the distant picnickers again, his watch in an awkward left cross, and back; pitted navel, graveled nipple, calendar for July simmering under the exhaust fan, his watch, that lunch, dimpled cheeks bared on a diving board for August, racing car in flames, one in mid-air, on end, he sat, stood, paced, returned to gauge the cleft in August’s cheeks yawned at him from the diving board, and back, muttered, called out, sat, stood, at last himself descended, ramps, caverned ranks of cars and his, free-standing, as the third inning began, feet dislodged from the dashboard, loud words dulled to muttering as he drove up the ramp, two men on, one out, and a called strike nearing the bridge stopped for a light, window rolled down where his arm rested from a thrust for a look at his watch and from its face up to one in the car stopped close beside him for the light, black, black in the driver’s seat, black behind,
——and it’s . . . a hit, a line drive toward third . . .
and a roar as the light changed, the watch was ripped from his wrist and the car beside him swerved across oncoming traffic, horns sounded around him and the cry—Wake up buddy! from a cab wheeling past as he pitched his car forward with the gasped—I . . . don’t believe it, over the bridge on a double play and well along the expressway ribbon of filth, battered hubcaps, rusted twists of tailpipe, curls of tire tread before the engine missed once, twice, and he pulled off to the side in the seventh inning stretch, got out, opened the hood, lifted out the air filter and was reaching in to free the butterfly valve when the whole car shook to a wrench of twisting metal. He came round it holding his head where he’d just hit it on the hood straightening up, another tearing wrench and the car’s trunk flapped open.—What the, hell are you doing!
—At’s all right, you here first, you take the front.
—You, what do you . . .
—You got the front, ain’ that fair? Even gettin the battry just leave me the back, ain’ that fair? I ain’ . . .
—You you crazy son of a bitch you you, you . . . get out of here!
—What you want to hog it all, got everything in the front can’t just leave me the back?
—Youg, it’s mine, get out of here it’s mine!
—You the meanest shit I ever . . .
—Youc . . . come back here you . . . he advanced on the car pulled up behind as its door slammed, a duplicate of his own but for dents and
color—my car, you come back here you son of a bitch look what you did to my car . . .!
—You just a real mean shit, came back to him from the dented car pulling away, into the stream of traffic.
—You come back here you, you son of, you . . . He stood there panting, staring, sagged, finally found a wire coathanger in the trunk to secure its twisted lid down and got round to replace the air filter, slammed the hood, the door, pitched back into traffic still muttering—I don’t believe it . . . when he pulled up at the school in the top of the ninth and down the corridor for a futile try at slamming the hollow core marked Principal behind him.
—No we’re looking in the ahm, come in Major yes the budget that is to say we’re going through the budget right now I don’t see any mention of . . . no well of course they may be part of the federally subsidized cafeteria lunch program if the freight office says the shipper is the ahm, some branch of government they . . . No of course that’s why the children are prohibited from bringing their lunch to school in the first place, we can’t . . . class six J? Yes well we can ask Mrs ahm of course we can’t ask Mrs Joubert no she’s still out on sick . . . how many? No well look at it again Leroy there can’t be a hundred and sixty-eight thou . . . from a total shipment of what . . .? Gross yes that means gross no that’s impossible you’d better go down there and ahm, in terms of the ongoing situation enrollmentwise yes you’d better go down there and ahm, and count them that is to say . . .
—Hello Hyde, been in a gang fight?
—Now listen Vera, don’t . . .
—Yes sit down Major you look ahm, Vern just dropped in to excuse me a minute, hello . . .? Oh for yes the District Superintendent he’s right here yes, Vern . . .?
—Hello? Who is it . . .
J R Page 32