O.K., her face bursting into a quick smile. She paid for the ties, had them gift-wrapped, and they left the store. Harry looked at his watch, then at her and shrugged. Looks like its time to go. Tempus sure does fugit when youre enjoying yourself.
I really cant tell you how much I appreciate what youve
(59)
done for me. I might still be there trying to decide which ones to buy.
O, it was my pleasure.
Well, you simply saved my life, looking at him with a smile of complete sincerity. I wish there were some way I could express my appreciation.
Well, the charming smile on his face, there is something you can do. You can have lunch with me tomorrow.
All right. That would be delightful. Where?
Well . . . how about across the street, at one.
I/ll be there.
Krist, she had a lovely smile. Sort of warm and . . . real.. . yeah, I guess thats what it is. Its genuine. He rushed back to the office and just did manage to get there on time—actually two minutes late—and had been partially involved with his work for a while before he realized what he had done, that he had made a date with her for tomorrow. A slight jolt of fear and apprehension singed his gut and grabbed his bowels. O well, whats the big deal. Having lunch with her isnt going to kill me. No need to get my bowels in an uproar over a couple of ties and lunch. He dismissed all concern with a wave of a mental hand. One lunch date never killed any one.
Especially when it is as joyful and exhilarating as this was. She was simply bubbling with enthusiasm and glowed when she told him how much her father liked the ties. And I know he wasnt just trying to make me feel good—you know how you can tell those things, Harry nodded—but genuinely liked them. He tried them on right away.
It was a delightful lunch. One of the most pleasant hours he had spent in ... he couldn't remember when. They chitchatted about nothing in particular, laughed frequently and, no matter what they talked about it was enjoyable and relaxing. When it was time to leave, Harry was so caught up in the lightness of the mood that he almost asked her if she would like to have lunch tomorrow, but stopped with the words half out of his mouth. How about Friday, you free for lunch?
Yes, I believe so.
(60)
Here again?
Sure. It seems nice enough. Just before she left she grabbed Harrys hand, the smile still on her face. Thanks again.
Any time, smiling, then waving as she turned to go.
Harry rushed back to the office, almost trotting the last half a block, and got to his desk a few minutes late again, but less than five. Thank God. No one seemed to notice anything. There didnt seem to be any frowns or stares of dissatisfaction behind those executive doors. Yet he had a vague uneasiness. There was something disquieting smoldering inside of him. But it was ridiculous to feel like that. After all, he was only having lunch with her. Whats the big deal. Shes nice company, is all. He wasnt going to let the situation get out of hand. There was nothing to worry about. He could control it.
The next day Harry found himself a little restless at lunch time, not that he was thinking so much of—krist, I dont even know her name. I/ll be damned. Thats kind of funny—but just not knowing exactly what to do with his time. The usual strolling through the streets and stores seemed inane and aimless. He walked a few blocks to a coffee shop he had never tried before and ate as slowly as possible, then walked back to the office, his head lowered slightly and looking straight ahead of him.
Their lunch the next day was marvelous and they laughed frequently and by the time they were halfway through lunch Harry realized that he had started the game. He was startled for a moment by the realization, then mentally shrugged and continued it. Helen was different than Mary, so naturally the game was a little different.
One of the differences was that Helen never mentioned her husband, and so Harry avoided that area too. Harry was curious about him, but figured that she would mention him sooner or later, and Harry just continued with the usual eye-fucking and open-hand-on-the-thigh routine, carefully interspersed with compliments and smiles.
Harry got back to the office ten minutes late and quickly buried his head in his work, trying to look as if he had been
(61)
there for fifteen minutes. He wiped the pressure of work from his brow with the back of his hand; but although his head was buried in his work, it was not involved in it. He suddenly flushed slightly as he remembered asking her if she would like to have lunch Monday— That would be swell. Good. Here at one. He had meant to be casual and leave it, bumping into each other some time for lunch, or some such thing—or at the most to make a date for the middle of next week. O well, its no big deal. He let it get out of hand today, but he wouldnt let that happen again. Next week would be different.
And different it was. They had lunch every day, and Harry found himself thinking the night before of how he would smile or touch her, of what direction the game would take, only to find the next day that he was running after the game. And he made a few elementary mistakes at work. Things that he never had to think about before, things that he did automatically and now he was screwing up. Louise caught two of them and he quickly corrected them, but one got through to Mr. Wentworth and he looked at Harry with an expression of surprise that soon seemed to turn to disgust. Are you all right, Harry?
Yes sir. Fine. I just somehow—
Well, you sure as hell dont act it lately. I suggest you get back on the track.
Yes sir, nodding and leaving Mr. Wentworths office.
What did he mean by that? Was he trying to tell me something? Jesus Krist, you cant crucify a man for being a few minutes late at lunch time. Harry corrected the error, then left for lunch. He waited for a few minutes, but Helen still hadnt gotten there. He looked at his watch. Ten to one. Krist, he must have left fifteen minutes early. Damn! O well, screw it. The work is done anyway. Or at least part of it. I can stay late if necessary.
Helen arrived and the game continued and Harry absorbed himself in it. When he got back to the office, he tried to concentrate even harder on his work and make up for lost time, but he found his mind slightly muddled. It was not that he
(62)
was consciously preoccupied with other thoughts—it was just that he was looking at familiar things, knew they were familiar, but somehow they seemed vague and alien. He was forced to double- and triple-check procedures that he should have been able to do with no conscious effort at all. And though he was even further behind at five than he thought he would be, he did not stay late to finish. It was just impossible. And anyway, tomorrow was another day. He/d be able to take care of it then. After all, everybody has a bad day once in a while.
But they continued. Not that he could really call them bad days. But he sure as hell couldnt call them good days. As a matter of fact, he did not know what he could call them. Something was not right, that he knew, but he had no idea what was wrong. Whatever it was, it remained undefined and vague; and, actually, the only evidence of this a ... malfunctioning was the fact that his work was not going as it should. Making errors where he never had before; taking longer to do routine work, and even finding it a little fuzzy at times; and an almost complete inability to bring anything new to his work. It was probably just the fact that there really wasnt anything new in his work right now. That was probably it. Different accounts, but the same basic routine. Yeah, thats it. As soon as something demanding comes along, I/ll perk up and everything will be all right. Nothing to worry about.
But thank God for those lunches. This week would have been one hell of a drag without them. Dont exactly know how we ended up having a lunch date each day, but Im sure glad it happened that way.
And finally Friday came and with it the end of the week and the knowledge that the following week would be better. At lunch that day Helen asked Harry if he would like to go to a show that night, we got a few free tickets at work.
Sure, I/d love to, wondering about her husband and wha
t sort of scene they had, but determined not to bring up the subject.
That afternoon Harrys head was involved in the game, no
(63)
matter what he buried it in. He found himself tensing as he tried to concentrate on his work, more confused by his inability to solve simple problems than anything else. From time to time his head felt like it was going to burst, but then the feeling would pass and he would push the work aside momentarily, again, and think of the game and wonder about Helens husband and what he was doing tonight. Maybe this was his night out with the boys.
The dinner was delightful and the show was a comedy and very funny. When it was over, they walked along Broadway for a short time until Helen said it was time she got home. I dont have my walking shoes on, and Im tired and sore from laughing so much. That was a marvelous show.
Yeah, it was really funny. Where do you live?
Near Gramercy Park.
O well, thats nice and easy. We could even walk that.
No thank you, both of them laughing.
The light and enjoyable conversation continued during the trip downtown, and when they got to her apartment she opened the door, turned on the light and walked into the apartment, Harry following, accepting the tacit invitation. He looked around, then closed the door and finally asked her where her husband was.
O, Im not married, Harry looking at her bewildered and surprised. I just wear this, waving her left hand, to keep some of those obnoxious office wolves at bay, smiling then chuckling, and it works very well. Of course it doesnt stop them from asking, but I just tell them I have to meet my husband. Harry started to get over his shock and started to smile. Then I show them a picture of my older brother and tell them that he is my husband, see, opening her wallet and showing him a picture of a man who was obviously at least six feet two and at least two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. Harry burst out laughing. It never fails, and they both laughed loud and hard.
It was a lovely weekend. Saturday morning she made him the traditional breakfast of soft scrambled eggs, à la Sorren-
(64)
tino, and later in the day they took a ride on the sightseeing boat around the harbor. Then dinner, a movie, a walk (she wore her walking shoes) and back home. A simple, enjoyable and relaxing weekend; and when Harry left Sunday evening, with a kiss and a pat on her lovely ass, there was no mention of lunch Monday, or any other day. He left the apartment, left Helen and the weekend and, he thought, the game.
On the ride home he realized that he had spent the weekend with a single broad (unless that guy really was her husband), and it was no hassle. He did not spend much time with the thought, but simply allowed it to register and to file itself for future reference. If nothing, else, it meant that he did not have to go out of his way to avoid them in the future.
His parents were sitting in the living room when he got home. He started to wave a cheery hello at them, but his mothers lost and injured look stopped him. You missed your grandmothers birthday party last night. She was seventy-five. Harry winced, and the pain was so sharp and instant that he could not speak. He stared at her for endless seconds. He somehow climbed the stairs to his room. Nausea twisted his gut and throat. He wanted to punch something ... to wrap his arms around his head and yell ... to tear the door from its hinges and crumble it ... to cry . . .
anything . . .
something . . . but all he could do was to sit and shake and wonder what had happened and why. He loved her. Jesus Krist, he really loved her. Why???? Why????
There was no problem getting to work on time Monday morning and taking care of the work on his desk, which was routine. There was plenty of work to be done, but all of it was familiar; there was nothing new and challenging that would make tremendous demands upon him.
His lunch hours were routine too, walking and browsing through the streets and stores. Halfway through the following
(65)
week he was bouncing his legs up and down as he sat at his desk, doing a lot of fidgeting and getting up occasionally to go to the water cooler, which was something he had not done before because he did not particularly like to drink water, but he wet his lips and actually drank a drop or two. His restlessness made him leave a few minutes early for lunch and return a few minutes late. He found himself thinking about his feelings as he walked the streets, trying to analyze them until he became so involved with them that he started to feel a blackness wrap itself around his head and crawl through his gut, and he automatically reached out for the only answer he had ever found.
He had lunch in a cafeteria and looked around until he found a vacant seat at a table where a broad was eating. A little chitchat, a walk to her office and then back to work ten minutes late. Lunch did not stop his fidgeting, but it did stop the analyzing.
As days followed disquieting days, Harry continued to fidget and take extended lunch hours to afford himself ample time to reconnoiter unfamiliar ground, which kept him from looking within himself.
He also started neglecting his work and waiting until he was backed into a time corner before finishing a job, completing it at the last minute. He could feel that this would get him into difficulty, but he refused to define it when the thought started to materialize and dismissed it with a mental shrug. One Friday he was finishing a job that had to be ready by Monday, but imperceptibly he slowed down, took an even longer lunch hour and played around with the work the remainder of the day, figuring on finishing it in a hurry Monday morning. It was a simple, routine job, and the time pressure would give him something to look forward to on Monday.
Sunday night he met another Olga and did not get to work until a few minutes after ten Monday. Mr. Wentworth just looked at him as he walked into the office. It was not necessary for him to say anything, and Harry shriveled inside himself as
(66)
he said good morning. He plunged into his work and the job was done on time, but the damage was done. Thank God it was time to go to lunch.
He was existing in a drift of confusion as he walked to the cafeteria nearest the office. Self-analysis was becoming a habit and he felt fuzzy as he tried to understand just what was happening and how and why. He could almost feel when it started happening—it wasnt so very long ago, of that he was certain—hoping that if he could just isolate that point in time he would see the why of the events and be able to change everything. Or if not the why, then the how, and then be able to prevent these things from happening. Yet the more he tried to find that point, and the closer he felt he was coming to it, the more vague and confused everything seemed to become, and all he could do was shake his inner head and allow all the images to tumble.
And when he did, he was left with a question like how could he be coming into work late suddenly, and when he did, why was Wentworth there waiting to pounce? And why should he be having trouble with his work? He liked his job and his work and he was burning with ambition. Nothing made any sense.
His mind was still a jumble of words, thoughts and images, when he found himself, tray of food in hand, smiling at a broad and asking her if this seat was taken.
No, nodding and continuing to eat and read.
Harry settled in and after a few minutes excused himself and asked her how she was enjoying the book. I remember reading a review, but Ive never gotten around to reading the book, smiling at her.
I like it. Its really interesting. Its—a—different.
Yeah, thats what I read. I didnt know it was out in paperback.
O yeah, for over a year I think, looking at the front of the book for the date of the printing. Yeah, here it is. Almost exactly a year.
(67)
What do you know? I wonder where Ive been, smiling and shaking his head, the confusion, fuzziness and conflict of feelings smoothing away as he continued to eat and talk.
After lunch he walked her back to her office, making certain, as he had done lately, not to make a date for the next day. He was only a few minutes late in getting back to the office and thou
gh he still fidgeted slightly, there was no turmoil inside and he went about his business at his newly acquired pace of indifferent slowness.
The next morning he was early for work, but still had to rush to finish a job on time, a job that he had had on his desk for over a month. That in itself would not have been a problem except that Mr. Wentworth called him about nine-thirty and asked him to do a rush job for him, and Harry had to explain that he had the other job to finish and he could hear the annoyance (disgust?) in Wentworths voice when he said he/d give the job to Davis.
Harry was almost muttering out loud as he went about his work. Something was all botched up, and he sure as hell couldnt figure it out. And what does Wentworth want from my life? Calls up at the last minute for a job, then gets bugged because Im working on something that has to be done this morning. I thought you finished that weeks ago. You did, eh? Well thats too damn bad. If you didnt keep yourself locked in your damn office all day, maybe youd know what in the hells going on out here.
So give the job to Davis. Who gives a damn? What am I supposed to do, cry because you give someone else a last-minute job? Up yours.
A quick trip to the water cooler and cold water hitting his lips, then back to the desk. He attacked the work and finished it rapidly and accurately then left for lunch, unaware that he was leaving twenty minutes early.
He walked rapidly for a few blocks, his inner voice mumbling and blithering, until he once again found himself standing with a tray of food and asking if the seat was empty.
Her boss was out of town for the week and she was in no
(68)
hurry to return to work and so they spent a leisurely time talking over coffee, then walking around for a while before returning to their offices. Before leaving, Harry asked her if she ate there every day, and she told him she did. Then if Im lucky, I/ll see you tomorrow.
The Demon Page 7