First, I had to approach Barrows in the proper manner; I had to conceal my actual feelings, my real motive. I had to hide anything to do with Pris; I would tell him that I wanted to go to work for him, maybe help design the simulacrum—bring all the knowledge and experience I had built up from my years with Maury and Jerome. But no hint about Pris because if he caught even the slightest note, there—
You’re shrewd, Sam K. Barrows, I said to myself. But you can’t read my mind. And it won’t show on my face; I’m too experienced, too much a professional, to give myself away.
As I dressed, tying my tie, I practiced in front of the mirror. My face was absolutely impassive; no one would have guessed that inside me my heart was being gnawed away, eaten at by the worm of desire: love for Pris Frauenzimmer or Womankind or whatever she called herself now.
That’s what’s meant by maturity, I said to myself as I sat on the bed shining my shoes. Being able to conceal your real feelings, being able to erect a mask. Being able even to fool a big man like Barrows. If you can do that, you’ve made it.
Otherwise, you’re finished. The whole secret’s there.
There was a phone in the motel room. I went out and had breakfast, ham and eggs, toast, coffee, everything including juice. Then, at nine-thirty I returned to my motel room and got out the Seattle phone book. I spent a good long time examining the listings of Barrows’ various enterprises, until I found the one at which I thought he would be. I then dialed.
“Northwest Electronics,” the girl said brightly. “Good morning.”
“Is Mr. Barrows in yet?”
“Yes sir, but he’s on the other phone.”
“I’ll wait.”
The girl said brightly, “I’ll give you his secretary.” A long pause and then another voice, also a woman’s but much lower and older-sounding.
“Mr. Barrows’ office. Who is calling, please?”
I said, “I’d like an appointment to see Mr. Barrows. This is Louis Rosen, I flew into Seattle from Boise last night; Mr. Barrows knows me.”
“Just a moment.” A long pause. Then the woman again. “Mr. Barrows will speak with you now; go ahead, sir.”
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” Barrows’ voice came in my ear, “How are you, Rosen? What can I do for you?” He sounded cheerful.
“How’s Pris?” I said, taken by surprise to find myself actually speaking to him.
“Pris is fine. How’re your father and brother?”
“Fine.”
“That must be interesting, to have a brother whose face is on upside down; I wish I could have met him. Why don’t you drop by for a moment, while you’re here in Seattle? Around one this afternoon.”
“Around one,” I said.
“Okay. Thanks and bye-bye.”
“Barrows,” I said, “are you going to marry Pris?”
There was no answer.
“I’m going to shoot you,” I said.
“Aw, for god’s sake!”
“Sam, I’ve got a Japanese-made all-transistorized encephalotropic floating antipersonnel mine in my possession.” That was how I was thinking of my .38 pistol. “And I’m going to release it in the Seattle area. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh, no not exactly. Encephalotropic … doesn’t that have something to do with the brain?”
“Yes, Sam. Your brain. Maury and I recorded your brain-pattern when you were at our office in Ontario. That was a mistake on your part to go there. The mine will seek you out and detonate. Once I release it there’s no holding it back; it’s curtains for you.”
“Awfrgawdsake!”
“Pris is in love with me,” I said. “She told me one night when she drove me home. Get away from her or you’re finished. You know how old she is? You want to know?”
“Eighteen.”
I slammed down the phone.
I’m going to kill him, I said to myself. I really am. He’s got my girl. God knows what he’s doing with her and to her.
Dialing the phone once more I got the same bright-voiced switchboard operator. “Northwest Electronics, good morning.”
“I was just talking to Mr. Barrows.”
“Oh, were you cut off? I’ll put you through again, sir; just a moment.”
“Tell Mr. Barrows,” I said to her, “that I’m coming to get him with my advanced technology. Will you tell him that? Goodbye.” Once more I hung up.
He’ll get the message, I said to myself. Maybe I should have told him to bring Pris over here, or something like that. Would he do that, to save his hide? Goddam you, Barrows!
I know he would do that, I said to myself. He’d give her up to save himself; I could get her back any time. She didn’t mean that much to him; she was just another pretty young woman to him. I was the only one really in love with her for what she actually, uniquely was.
Once more I dialed.
“Northwest Electronics, good morning.”
“Put me through to Mr. Barrows again, please.”
A series of clicks.
“Miss Wallace, Mr. Barrows’ secretary. Who is calling?”
“This is Louis Rosen. Let me talk to Sam again.”
A pause. “Just a moment, Mr. Rosen.”
I waited.
“Hello, Louis,” Sam Barrows’ voice. “Well, you’re really stirring up things, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “I called the Army arsenal down the Coast and there really is such a thing as an encephalotropic mine. How’d you get hold of one? I’ll bet you don’t have one really.”
“Turn Pris over to me,” I said, “and I’ll spare you.”
“Come on, Rosen.”
“I’m not spoofing.” My voice shook. “You think this is a game? I’m at the end of my rope; I’m in love with her and nothing else matters to me.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Will you do that?” I yelled. “Or do I have to come and get you?” My voice broke; I was screeching. “I’ve got all kinds of Service weapons here with me, from when I was overseas; I mean business!” In the back of my mind a calm part of me thought, The bastard will give her up; I know what a coward he is.
Barrows said, “Calm down.”
“Okay, I’m coming to get you, and with all the technological improvements at my disposal.”
“Now listen, Rosen. I suppose Maury Rock egged you into this. I talked it over with Dave and he assured me that the statutory rape charge has no meaning if—”
“I’ll kill you if you raped her,” I screamed into the phone. And, in the back of my mind, the calm, sardonic voice was smirking and saying, That’s giving it to the bastard. The calm, sardonic voice laughed delightedly; it was having a grand time. “You hear me?” I screamed.
Presently Barrows said, “You’re psychotic, Rosen. I’m going to call Maury; at least he’s sane. Look, I’ll call him and tell him Pris is flying back to Boise.”
“When?” I screamed.
“Today. But not with you. And I think you should see a Government psychiatrist, you’re very ill.”
“Okay,” I said, more quietly. “Today. But I’m staying here until Maury calls me and says she’s in Boise.” I hung up, then.
Wow.
I tottered away from the phone, went into the bathroom and washed my face with cold water.
So behaving in an irrational and uncontrolled manner paid off! What a thing to learn at my age. I had gotten Pris back! I had scared him into believing I was a madman. And wasn’t that actually the truth? I really was out of my head; look at my conduct. The loss of Pris had driven me insane.
After I had calmed down I returned to the phone and called Maury at the factory in Boise. “Pris is coming back. You call me as soon as she arrives. I’ll stay here. I scared Barrows; I’m stronger than he is.”
Maury said, “I’ll believe it when I see her.”
“The man’s terrified of me. Petrified—he couldn’t wait to get her off his hands. You don’t realize what a raving maniac I was turned into by the terrible str
ess of the situation.” I gave him the phone number of the motel.
“Did Horstowski call you last night?”
“Yes,” I said, “but he’s incompetent. You wasted all that money, as you said. I’ve got nothing but contempt for him and when I get back I’m going to tell him so.”
“I admire your cool poise,” Maury said.
“You’re right to admire it; my cool poise, as you call it, got Pris back. Maury, I’m in love with her.”
After a long silence Maury said, “Listen, she’s a child.”
“I mean to marry her. I’m not another Sam Barrows.”
“I don’t care who or what you are!” Now Maury was yelling. “You can’t marry her; she’s a baby. She has to go back to school. Get away from my daughter, Louis!”
“We’re in love. You can’t come between us. Call me as soon as she sets foot in Boise; otherwise I’m going to give it to Sam K. Barrows and maybe her and myself, if I have to.”
“Louis,” Maury said in a slow, careful voice, “you need Federal Bureau of Mental Health help, honest to god, you do. I wouldn’t let Pris marry you for all the money on Earth or for any other reason. I wish you had let things lie. I wish you hadn’t gone to Seattle. I wish she was staying with Barrows; yes, better Pris should be with Barrows than you. What can you give her? Look at all the things Sam Barrows can give a girl!”
“He made her into a prostitute, that’s what he gave her.”
“I don’t care!” Maury shouted. “That’s just talk, a word, nothing more. You get back here to Boise. Our partnership is off. You have to get out of R & R ASSOCIATES. I’m calling Sam Barrows and telling him I have nothing to do with you; I want him to keep Pris.”
“Goddam you,” I said.
“You as my son-in-law? You think I gave birth to her—in a manner of speaking—so she could marry you? What a laugh. You’re absolutely nothing! Get out of here!”
“Too bad,” I said. But I felt numb. “I want to marry her,” I repeated.
“Did you tell Pris you’re going to marry her?”
“No, not yet.”
“She’ll spit in your face.”
“So what.”
“So what? So who wants you? Who needs you? Just your defective brother Chester and your senile father. I’m talking to Abraham Lincoln and finding out how to end our relationship forever.” The phone clicked; he had hung up on me.
I could not believe it. I sat on the unmade bed, staring at the floor. So Maury, like Pris, was after the big time, the big money. Bad blood, I said to myself. Carried by the genes.
I should have known. She had to get it somewhere.
What do I do now? I asked myself.
Blow my brains out and make everyone happy; they can do fine without me, like Maury said.
But I did not feel like doing that; the cold calm voice inside me, the instinctive voice, said no. Fight them all, it said. Take them all on … Pris and Maury, Sam Barrows, Stanton, the Lincoln; stand up and fight.
What a thing to find out about your partner: how he really feels about you, how he looks at you secretly. God, what a dreadful thing—the truth.
I’m glad I found out, I said to myself. No wonder he threw himself into the Civil War Soldier Babysitter simulacrum; he was glad his daughter had gone off to be Sam K. Barrows’ mistress. He was proud. He read that Marjorie Morningstar, too.
Now I know what makes the world up, I said to myself. I know what people are like, what they prize in this life. It’s enough to make you drop down dead right on the spot, or at least go and commit yourself.
But I won’t give up, I said to myself. I want Pris and I’m going to get her away from Maury and Sam Barrows and all the rest of them. Pris is mine, she belongs to me. I don’t care what she or they or anybody else thinks. I don’t care what evil prize of this world they’re busy hungering after; all I know is what my instinctive inner voice says. It says: Get Pris Frauenzimmer away from them and marry her. She was destined from the start to be Mrs. Louis Rosen of Ontario, Oregon.
That was my vow.
Picking up the phone I once more dialed.
“Northwest Electronics, good morning.”
“Give me Mr. Barrows again. This is Louis Rosen.”
A pause. Then the deeper-voiced woman. “Miss Wallace.”
“Let me talk to Sam.”
“Mr. Barrows has gone out. Who is calling?”
“This is Louis Rosen. Tell Mr. Barrows to have Miss Frauenzimmer—’ ‘
“Who?”
“Miss Womankind, then. Tell Barrows to send her over to my motel in a taxi.” I gave her the address, reading it from the doorkey. “Tell him not to put her on a plane for Boise. Tell him if he doesn’t I’m coming in there and get her.”
There was silence. Then Miss Wallace said, “I can’t tell him anything because he’s not here, he went home, he honestly did.”
“I’ll call him at home, then. Give me his number.”
In a squeaky voice Miss Wallace gave me the phone number. I knew it already; I had called it the night before.
I jiggled the hook and called that number.
Pris answered the phone.
“This is Louis,” I said. “Louis Rosen.”
“For goodness sakes,” Pris said, taken by surprise. “Where are you? You sound so close.” She seemed nervous.
“I’m here in Seattle. I flew in by TWA last night; I’m here to rescue you from Sam Barrows.”
“Oh my god.”
“Listen, Pris. Stay where you are; I’m driving right on over. Okay? You understand?”
“Oh no,” Pris said. “Louis—” Her voice became hard. “Wait just a second. I talked to Horstowski this morning; he told me about you and your catatonic rampage; he warned me about you.”
“Tell Sam to put you in a cab and send you over here,” I said.
“I thought you were Sam calling.”
“If you don’t come with me,” I said, “I’m going to kill you.”
“No you’re not,” she said in a hard calm voice; she had regained her deadly cold poise. “You just try. You low-class creep.”
I was stunned. “Listen,” I began.
“You prole. You goof ball. Drop dead, if you think you’re going to horn in. I know all about what you’re up to; you fat-assed fart-faces can’t design your simulacrum without me, can you? So you want me back. Well go to hell. And if you try to come around here I’ll scream you’re raping me or killing me and you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail. So think about that.” She ceased, then, but she did not hang up; I could hear her there. She was waiting, with relish, to hear what I had—if anything—to say.
“I’m in love with you,” I told her.
“Go take a flying fling. Oh, here’s Sam at the door. Get off the phone. And don’t call me Pris. My name’s Pristine, Pristine Womankind. Go back to Boise and dabble with your poor little stunted second-rate simulacra, as a favor to me, please?” Again she waited and again I could think of nothing to say; nothing anyhow that was worth saying. “Goodbye, you low-class poor ugly nothing,” Pris said in a matter-of-fact voice. “And please don’t annoy me with phone calls in the future. Save it for some greasy woman who wants you to paw her. If you can manage to find one that greasy, ugly and low-class.” This time the phone clicked; she had at last hung up, and I shook with relief. I trembled and quaked at having gotten off the phone and away from her, away from the calm, stinging, accusing, familiar voice.
Pris, I thought, I love you. Why? What have I done to be driven toward you? What twisted instinct is it?
I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes.
14
There was nothing to do but return to Boise.
I had been defeated—not by powerful, experienced Sam K. Barrows, not by my partner Maury rock, either, but by eighteen-year-old Pris. There was no use hanging around Seattle.
What lay ahead for me? Back to R & R ASSOCIATES, make peace with Maury, resume where I had left off. Back to work on
the Civil War Soldier Babysitter. Back to working for harsh, grim, bad-tempered Edwin M. Stanton. Back to having to put up with interminable readings-aloud by the Lincoln simulacrum from Winnie the Pooh and Peter Pan. Once more the smell of Corina Lark cigars, and now and then the sweeter smell of my father’s A & Cs. The world I had left, the elecronic organ and spinet factory at Boise, our office in Ontario …
And there was always the possibility that Maury would not let me come back, that he was serious about breaking up the partnership. So I might find myself without even the same drab world I had known and left; I might not even have that to look forward to.
Maybe now was the time. The moment to get out the .38 and blow off the top of my head. Intead of returning to Boise.
The metabolism of my body was speeding up and slowing down; I was breaking up due to centrifugal force and at the same time I groped out, trying to catch hold of everything near me. Pris had me, and yet in the instant of having me she flung me away, ejected me in a fit of cursing and retching. It was as if the magnet attracted particles which it simultaneously repelled; I was caught in a deadly oscillation.
Meanwhile Pris continued on without noticing.
The meaning of my life was at last clear to me. I was doomed to loving something beyond life itself, a cruel, cold and sterile thingthing—Pris Frauenzimmer. It would have been better to hate the entire world.
In view of the near hopelessness of my situation I decided to try one final measure. Before I gave up I would try the Lincoln simulacrum. It had helped before; maybe it could help me now.
‘This is Louis again,” I said when I had gotten hold of Maury. “I want you to drive the Lincoln to the airfield and put it on a rocket flight to Seattle right now. I want the loan of it for about twenty-four hours.”
He put up a rapid, frantic argument; we fought it out for half an hour. But at last he gave in; when I hung up the phone I had his promise that the Lincoln would be on the Seattle Boeing 900 by nightfall.
Exhausted, I lay down to recover. If it can’t find this motel, I decided, it probably wouldn’t be of use anyhow…. I’ll lie here and rest.