—I always found brown ones . . . he sank lower in the corner of the seat,—been in the way since the day I could walk.
A train passed from the opposite direction with an enveloping shock and was gone, the door up ahead banged half open, half closed to the sway of the car past billboards, unfinished apartments Now Renting, another vacant platform, diaper service trucks marshaled against the day to come.—Do you stay in? she asked finally,—in town I mean? for the weekend?
—Will if I can get through Friday.
—But it’s almost over isn’t it.
—Friday? No it’s, I mean this is . . .
—It’s Friday, we had our Friday morning quiz on . . .
—Can’t be . . . he came up straight—can’t be, wait . . . he was twisting, digging the newspaper from the seat hinge—look.
—But it’s yesterday’s.
—But wait, wait, he was tearing through back pages,—if the, here. Christ. T’d Off and Marry Me God damn it, yes, that was yesterday’s double.
—It what?
—The daily double at Aqueduct yesterday, God damn it how could I have . . .
—And that’s why you’re upset? you missed betting on a race?
—No! it’s . . . he flung the newspaper to the floor and as abruptly caught his hand in air as though, too late to have it back, he realized that with it he’d flung the cool of hers which had enclosed it just that instant.—God damn it. Her hands lay lightly folded on her lap.—You’re sure you don’t have a cigarette? maybe a loose one in the bottom of your bag?
And she snapped it open, bent over it again.—No I’m sorry, but wait . . .
—You do?
—No but here’s a pin. For where your coat’s torn. You shouldn’t be so upset about this appointment, she went on, pulling the tear together,—but I’m glad it’s so important to you. There, she straightened the pocket flap and sat away,—but I wish it were a novel.
—Why would you say that, he muttered.
—The way you look, she said not looking.
—Like a novelist? Only problem is a novelist has to understand women.
—You don’t?
—Apparently not, from all the . . . turned full to share her smile he found it gone, only her eyes wide through the lenses.—What’s the matter.
—I wish you hadn’t said that, she said looking away as quickly.
—What?
—I hope it’s not true.
—But, but what . . . And he stared a moment longer, but with such concentration he might have been, given this final opportunity, trying to commit to memory for all time each delicate convolution of her ear, the lobe barely large enough to support the whirl of gold that pierced it.—There, you see? he slumped further, brought his hands up to draw them down his face and got that knee wedged over the other again—if I wrote a novel it would end where most novels begin.
—But this book you’re working on, is it . . .
—Is it what it’s, it’s like living with an invalid real God damned terminal case, keep hoping he’ll pick up his bed and walk like the good book says.
—If you feel that way maybe you should just, can’t you put it aside until . . .
—Till what! till I come out like Schramm? he brought his foot in, wedging it into the hinge of the seat ahead—marching around the room quoting Tolstoy’s something terribly lacking between what I felt and what I could do suddenly throws his pencil, sharp pencil with an eraser on it bounces back and goes right into his eye . . . there was a pull at his side, her arm coming up,—is that . . .
—Why did you tell me that.
—What, I . . .
—No please, never mind . . .
—But . . .
—Please . . .! she’d snapped her bag open for her handkerchief, brought it up turned toward apartments Fully Rented, a laundry displaying a stopped clock, cars queued at a traffic light.
—I, Amy? he freed his foot, hitched himself up in the seat again—I wanted to ask you something I, one day when I was in Penn station, I was in a phone booth and you brushed right past me and a boy . . .
—I’d just rather not talk for a few minutes . . . she snapped the bag closed on her handkerchief, squared the tinted glasses on her face again as the train drained to a halt at another platform and he sank in the seat beside her getting a knee crossed and that foot back in the aisle brushed by a passing trouser leg black serge all the way up to the round collar, easing into the seat in front of them.
—Well Christ.
—What . . .
—Why in the, why do people do this? Look, the whole front end of the car is empty, the whole God damned car is practically empty and he comes and sits right . . .
—Shhh . . .
—No why do people do it! Go into a lunchroom and sit at an empty counter some idiot comes in and sits one stool away, what is it? Twenty empty stools and he’ll sit right down beside you, what . . .
—Please . . .
He wiped a hand down his face and sank lower, knee thrust more sharply into the seat ahead and eyes on the serge elbow draped over it close enough to bite, it shook, ruffling a newspaper, and the buildings on both sides began to swarm with fire escapes, rising from sight as they dropped in a culvert, dropping back as they rose, until the tunnel enclosed them like a blow. Lights came on, and ahead the door clattered open on the young conductor and closed behind him, down the aisle calming the mustache wisp with a finger tip, brushing the protruding shoe, eliciting a muttered—heil!
—He doesn’t seem awfully friendly, she said,—after all your efforts.
—Well my, my German isn’t too good, he may . . .
—I’m sure it’s much better than his.
He got his knee out of the seat, straightening up.—What do you mean.
—That I know he isn’t a poor German boy, over here with his first job.
—Then why did you . . .
—I talked to him last week about train times.
—When I told you that then, why didn’t you . . .
—I don’t know. Why did you?
—I just, sometimes . . . he ground one hand in the other, suddenly brought it up to seize her shoulder—listen could we, later can I see you later, for dinner if you’re free for dinner . . . and he stood, stepped aside for her, caught her elbow as the train lurched at the platform—when you’ve done your errands I mean, if you’re free . . .
—I, I don’t know . . .
—Listen because there are some things I, if you could meet me . . . he came on up the aisle behind her—we could, that awful cafeteria around seven I’ll wait there for you there’s a place, a French place where we could have dinner it’s not far . . . he caught her arm again on the platform,—look I’ll wait there for you anyhow if you don’t come I’ll just, just get the next train . . .
—You’d better hurry and make your call, she said already a step away,—I’m sure they won’t mind about the appointment . . .
—Yes but, around seven . . .?
—I, I’ll try . . . she was already far from reach—and Jack . . .? beyond the vacant wonder of a woman lost with a suitcase,—your book? and beyond the weaving approaches of a sailor lost in uniform—I hope it’s true . . .?
—Excuse me, sir?
—Look sailor I’m in a hurry . . . he brushed past sorting bits of cardboard for the coin he found there making for a wall phone niched in plastic, thrust it in and dialed.
—But sir . . .
—Look beat it, will you? Hello . . .? Yes listen I just got off the train I . . . Yes I know it is! I . . . because I thought this was Thursday till a minute ago I . . . but couldn’t you just call and change her dentist appointment? wouldn’t she . . . No, no I’m not asking you to make your plans to suit my convenience but just this . . . Well listen if she’s standing right out there at the bus stop waiting for you could you call her in for just a . . . Yes I know she wanted to show it to me herself, that’s why I’m trying to . . . all right. All right! I’m sorry
it didn’t fit, I saw it in a window and thought it was something she’d . . . what? Well then get them for her, if she needs them get them and send me the . . . Well what the hell happens to the money I do send you . . . All right! It comes to you through welfare because that’s the way the court set it up who took it to the God damned court! Do you think it’s any less humiliating for me to . . . I don’t either but listen. Just let me ask you this. What time will you get her back from the dentist? I could still come out and . . . All right then listen, could you call her in from the bus stop for just a . . . what? No but maybe just once, just once in your life just once in your selfish, miserable God damned life you could . . .
—Hey, sir?
He smashed it down on the hook.—What the hell do you, look if you need money I haven’t got it, I’ve got one God damned dollar left here and . . .
—No sir I got my whole pay here, I just need Some change to call up my . . .
—So do I that’s where I’m going, now . . .
—Hey sir . . .? came after him bursting through doors to the pavement—could I go with you then . . .?
—Don’t give a God damn where you go, he came on down one curb, up the next bumped left, right by elbows, muzzled umbrellas, a yellow fender, finally through the whirl of a revolving door toward where it said desserts to thrust the crumpled bill under the glass and recover a spray of nickels bumping chairs, tables, coming up with a handful of cardboards for the one soiled white as he sank into the booth and dialed, a foot braced up against its open door eyed across an empty coffee cup drummed by a finger sporting a cat’s eye ring, shaken by the abrupt departure of an expanse of print dress for the next booth with the hasty removal of an earring, the clatter of the door.—Hello . . .? I’m calling a Mister Bast, is this his . . .
—Just a minute . . . came at his ear,—I’ll see if Mister Bast got back yet . . . echoed somewhere beyond his foot as the door of the next booth shuddered open.—Mister Bast? Is Mister Bast here . . .?
—Hello, Miss . . .? he came slowly forward lowering the phone.
—Hello? No Mister Bast didn’t get back to the office yet. You want me to say who called?
—It’s just a, a personal call . . . by now he was half out of the booth,—do you . . .
—He went away on this business trip but he should be back any time now, do you . . .
—Miss . . .? he reached round to tap the floral prospect bulging from the next booth—you wouldn’t happen to . . .
—Did you want to leave him a message?
—Say, Madam . . .? he reached in—look I’m standing right here . . . and he pulled his arm back as the doors crashed closed.
—Look buddy . . . the cat’s eye tapped him from behind,—can’t you see she’s on the phone?
—What? Thanks a lot . . . he grabbed the phone left dangling behind him—hello . . .? Sorry yes, I was calling Mist . . . yes but do you expect him back today? This is a pers . . . No look frankly I called to see if he could advance me ten dol . . . I don’t expect to bump into him no, that’s why I’m call . . . Fine yes, he should call in for an urgent message about an appointment with his boss tomorrow look why the hell do you think I’m calling him if I . . . hello?
—Hey sir . . .?
—Now look sailor I’m about at the end of my, wait got a cigarette? The next booth clattered open on its floral emergency—thanks I can light it! he came up with two more nickels to dial again—now beat it will you sailor? Things are getting, hello? Mister Eigen please, in . . . no Eigen, Thomas Eig . . .
—Hey sir?
—God damn it will you, hello? No, no in public relations, Eigen, e, i . . .
—But hey sir? Your shoelace is on fire.
—I said beat it! bugger, what the . . . he had a foot up, slapping it—bugger off! God damn it what, Eigen? Tom . . .?
Silence came summoned in the snap of a button to suffuse the line.
—You have a call on two nine, Mister Eigen.
—Tell them I can’t, no never mind. Hello . . .? Oh, Gibbs? Jack? I thought you’d call yesterday when you . . . oh. I can’t, I can let you have ten though, if you . . . your shoelace what . . .? Look Jack I’ll have to call you back, things here are . . . What key, to Ninety-sixth Street? No if you’ve lost yours . . . well borrow mine then come down after work, down . . . no down to the apartment I’ll go straight home, I have to pack for . . . What? No I have to go to Germany tomorrow, one of these damned . . . No but come down for a drink, I have to talk to you about Schramm anyhow before I leave, he’s . . . I can’t go into it now, he’s been giving them a rough time and they may release him before I get back, so you’ve got to . . . No he knows he’s lost the eye, they told him . . .
—Mister Eigen? Mister Davidoff is on two seven.
—Jack? I’ve got another call, I’ve got to . . . hold on then, give Florence your number and I’ll call you right back . . . Hello? Yes this is . . . Miss Bulcke? Is Mister Davidoff calling me on . . .
—Mister Eigen! Mister Eigen, quickly!
—What . . .
—Mister Eigen there’s this man out here you’ve got to come out, he says he wants to see you he’s shouting at Carol and he’s, there’s this dirty bandage all over his face and he can hardly . . .
—Yes yes wait Christ, excuse me Miss Bulcke just a moment, Florence? What’s the, call back the man who was on two nine and . . .
—He went off Mister Eigen, he said something about his shoelace but quickly, this man’s going to . . .
—Yes yes I’ll be right there, let me just . . . hello? Miss Bulcke, will you tell Mister . . .
—Hello. Hello? Mister . . .
—Eigen?
—Mister Eigen? Mister Davidoff is . . .
—Eigen you on deck there? I want, oh and Miss Bulcke call Colonel Moyst and tell him we’ll send a messenger down to hand carry Mister Eigen’s orders, he needs them tonight and oh and tell Carol to put my calls through here, Eigen? I’m topside in Beaton’s office small brush fire but before you leave I want to run through this speech again, we can’t have another Plato rhymes with Miss Bulcke? While you’re still on deck tell Moyst to make sure we have CIPAP in Mister Eigen’s orders, if he doesn’t go CIPAP he might as well stay at Miss Bulcke? Are you on? Where did she, Eigen? Before you leave I . . . what? Who’s out there look if it’s the man from this Taiwan medical relief outfit just give him the red carpet treatment, take him out and tie one on yes but before you leave I want to give this speech one more . . . oh he’s right there now? No go ahead go out and tie one on with him and when you’re back in the office we’ll give this . . . no, then I’ll call you at home, oh and Eigen . . .? He stood intent on the phone’s silence and then reached it across the desk toward its cradle.—Another brush fire, this Taiwan . . .
—I know all about it but we can’t go into it now . . . the phone was caught before it came to rest, a button came to light,—Governor Cates is out in the, oh Miss Bulcke, please don’t put any more calls through here until Mister Davidoff and I are finished, unless Mister Cutler . . . yes of course. Now. Governor Cates is out in the board room, and before I go in there I need every detail of the settlement you authorized on this threat of a minority stockholder . . .
—Look Beaton, before you go in there and shoot off your mouth you’d better have all the angles or you’ll walk out of that board room without a pot to piss in.
—Precisely. And I don’t think we have to conduct this discussion in the gutter. Now . . .
—And don’t precisely me. Go in there trying to dig my grave with your preciselys and you’ll be lucky to walk out with your hat and your ass.
The papers rattled in Beaton’s hands on the desk before him, and he cleared his throat.—All right. Now apparently on the basis of this rather, amateurish letter to say the least, if you look at the spelling, let alone the typing, you authorized payment to settle this threatened minority stockholder’s suit by the class of . . .
—Out of the PR budget, right, and any
. . .
—I think the point here is . . .
—The point here is the PR budget is my budget Beaton, and any interference from you or . . .
—Yes all right, all right. Let’s simply try to take one thing at a time then. Here is our check, drawn on your authorization, in the amount of one thousand eight hundred sixty-two dollars and fifty cents, returned to us paid by a bank somewhere in Nevada over an endorsement that appears . . .
—Will you tell me why you’ve got your balls in an uproar over eighteen hundred dollars? I’ve paid that much for one speech, Beaton. One speech. Do you know what I’m paying the name writer we’re getting to do the . . .
—Yes all right, can you simply tell me how you came up with the figure one thousand eight hundred six . . .
—Damages based on one hundred times holdings, Diamond was selling at eighteen and five-eighths, simple enough. Do you . . .
—But my God, one hundred times . . .!
—Probably because it was easy to multiply by so that’s why they claimed it. Do you know what I’m going to pay the name writer we’re commissioning to do this cobalt book? If I told you you’d cream your drawers, the point is the PR budget is my budget to make the best use of for the company I see fit while you pussyfoot around with your preciselys, I had a gal in here this morning with a topflight track record in curriculum management for the spot of project director the minute things get off the ground because this cobalt book is just a door opener and if you’re worried about another lousy eighteen hundred dollars, any time we can tie in with an old prestige publisher like Duncan and Company through this man Skinner I brought in to take us one step closer to what’s waiting out there for us in a field growing faster than . . .
—What’s waiting out there right now, Beaton said raising neither his voice nor his eyes to the calisthenic hazards beyond his desk—is Governor Cates, and if you think that he can be convinced that opening us up to hundred-times damage suits by every stockholder in sight is great PR, you’d better explain it to him yourself.
—You want me to tell you the reason you’re crapping your pants Beaton? It’s because you’re the one who left the barn door open on Monty picking up that stock option before he pulled out for Washington, and then liquidating everything to keep out of a conflict of interest, right? Without serving out the rest of the time with the company spelled out in the by-laws, just like they’ve got it right there in the letter. They’re a pretty savvy little bunch and you . . .