From making comments upon the action on the screen they progressed to prediction and then to direction; urging the girl-shy male star to kiss her, she wont bite ... tittering, laughing, reaching for the bottle (clink) watching the wine being poured into the cup (plop, plop, plop), putting the bottle back (clink) -whatzamatta with that guy, is he nutsor somethin? If I had a broad like that runnin afta me I/d - swaying, wine sloshing in the cups; laughing, swallowing, bubbling, choking, wine splashing on their noses, dribbling down their chins, dark spots blotted by pants and shirts - reaching (clink), only a few drops left, watching the last drop plop into the cup, still one left (clink); two empties; good show, eh Chubb? Cups refilled (getting soft and soggy, dented, dont squeeze too tight, please dont squeeza the banana - held by the bottom in the palm of the hand); wheres the otha ones - all gone - no more haha - no (clink) more (bottle resting on his lap) - come fill me with the old familiar juice -HUH HUH - she slinks, semidressed, toward him, hair over the side of her face, hips liquid, rubs his cheeks then pushes her hands thru his hair, down his neck and back, sways in front of him, all virtues and charms (almost all) displayed, the voice throaty, begging ... he asks her what she wants - _OOOOO whattza matta? ya crazy? HAHAHA_ - He/d betta go ta Denmark - HUH HUH (cups squashed and dropped to the floor, the bottle passed back and forth), drinking in large gulps, small drops trickling down their chins and adams apples - she forces him back onto a couch, bends over him, gives him the look and kisses him... he kicks and waves his arms - I toldja they was all fruits in Hollywood - the struggling stopped, soft music -dont fight it, enjoy it HAHAHA - holding the bottle up, not much left, get somemore - OOOO please dont squeeza the banana; only a drink left; save me some, a gulp, ahhh... here rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, empty bottle passed back (clink) - no more; all gone, three dead soldiers - HUH-HUHHUH -hey daddy, I wanna ice cream. Shaddup an drink ya beer. HEHEHE, that guys nuts - HUHHUHHUH, I cant HAHAHA - whatz he HEHEHEHE - the screen wavering and blurred ... images tumbling about ... HAHEHHUHHOHO-HEHHUHHHO...
Please be quiet, sir. Youre disturbing the others. The usher finished his prescribed speech and duty and was turning to walk away when Chubby suddenly jumped up, whipped out his hero sandwich and started fencing with him, Un Guard!!!! He brandished the sandwich in front on the ushers face, parried thrusts, stepped aside as a lunging sword just missed his chest; parried again and with perfect execution and grace watched another thrust pass, then stooping low, left knee bent and right leg extended behind, he parried the last lunge and thrust home, TOUCHE!!!! piercing the usher, mortally, a little to the left of his second brass button. Chubby watched him slump to the floor, proud of his victory, yet with some regret at having killed so noble an adversary ... The sandwich bent slightly with the thrust and a piece of liverwurst fell on the ushers shoe. He stared at it for a moment (all he had intended to do was deliver his speech and leave and now he was standing in front of a drunk waving a hero sandwich and there was liverwurst on his shoe) until his head was forced up by the tip of Chubbys sword. Harry stood up and tried to speak in a high falsetto, but phlegm stuck in his throat causing his words to sound gargled, My HERGGO! Then he roared, leaned on Chubbys shoulder; Chubby roared, the sandwich hanging from his hand, the liverwurst dropping to the rug. Harry tripped over the bottles as he pushed Chubby out into the aisle, and they bounced clinkingly down the steps.
Harrys eyes were tearing and he bounced off the banister as he went down the stairs, Chubby behind him. They reached the first landing and turned to continue, half bent with laughter, stumbling, falling ... Chubby raised himself to his knees, holding his stomach, whining hysterically, saliva dribbling from his mouth - Harry felt sand under his nails, pulled himself up, heard a thump and continued stumbling down the staircase; banged through the doors (turning to look for Chubby expecting to see him roll down the stairs, ass and head, ass and head, ass and head, then careened out to the street. His momentum carried him to the corner where he leaned against the fender of a car, laughing ... just laughing... not trying to stop or continue, not wondering where Chubby was; not thinking about the fencing scene or CHARLIES and the group or how he felt; not conscious of the saliva dripping down his chin; not even thinking of having another drink ... just laughing ....
Then there were shadows, voices ... then people. Thats the other one. O.K. buddy, comeon. A policeman grabbed his arm and they followed the usher and the manager back into the theater, hurried through the lobby and into the managers office. Chubby was sitting on a stool in the corner, another policeman in front of him, smoking and still smiling. Youre sure it was these two? O yes sir. Theyre the ones. Im sure. I dont know which one turned over the cigarette urn, but Im absolutely certain theyre the ones. You see I heard a dis - O.K., O.K. Thanks. You can go now.
The usher backed out of the office and the cop walked between Chubby and Harry, rubbed the knuckles of his right hand with the palm of his left and asked what-in-the-hell they thought this was, a gymnasium or something? Annoyed at being called and at Chubby's stupid grin (appearing insolent to him), but wanting to make an impression on the manager, knowing he never forgot a favor. He stepped in front of Chubby and slapped the cigarette from his mouth. His aim wasn't perfect and in knocking it out he burned his hand. He grunted, held his hand for a second and when he looked back, Chubby had the same stupid grin on his face. He grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, slammed his head against the wall, slapped him a half dozen times, then shoved him into the chair.
Harry watched, not unseeingly, but uncomprehendingly, still incapable of forcing his mind to work. Somewhere there was a vague remembrance of a sound, but the only thing definite was laughter, thats all, laughter. He was leaning against the chair, laughing. That wasn't a memory. That must be what hes doing now, and all this is something else. What was wrong? That was Chubby. He recognized him. Hes still laughing; and it looks like wine trickling down his chin. Theres nothing wrong. We/re both laughing ... He started to take a step toward Chubby, but the other cop poked him, hard, in the stomach with his nightstick. Go ahead you sonofabitch. Start something. Just start something, tough guy.
Harry instinctively clutched his stomach, confused and still unable to understand what had and was happening. The cop turned back to Chubby and told him to give them his identification. Chubby handed him his wallet and the cop slapped him on the chest with it and told him he wanted his identification, not his wallet. Who do you think youre tryin to buy off? He grabbed the draft card from Chubbys hand. 19. Another one of those punks who thinks hes a big brave man because he has a draft card. Cant you think of anything better to do than sit in a movie drinking cheap wine and damaging property? The cop growled in the accustomed manner, no longer deliberate, but habitual, and stood in front of Chubby glaring at him as he did everyone else in the same position, expecting the face to be lowered and some sort of apology murmured and then he would yell for him to speak up, and when it had been repeated he would curse him, tell him hes lucky that hes not going to lock him up and then tell him ta get the hell home ... yet hoping, looking at the still smirking face, that he would give him some sort of wisecrack and afford him an excuse to slap his face again. Chubbys first attempt at speech was incoherent and slobbering. What? It washnt sheep. He didnt take time to enjoy the fulfillment of his wish, but swung immediately, knocking Chubby over the chair and to the floor. Chubby gradually sat up, his head hanging and rolling. The cop turned to Harry and asked him how old he was. Perhaps Harry didnt understand the question, or perhaps it just got jumbled in his mind. He didnt know (nor would he remember later), but for some reason (if there was a reason) he said, 76 (still a hint of laughter that needed only to hear someone else laughing or for Chubby to turn and smile to revive it, and then theyd be back outside [I dont think we/re there now] and could start over again, go to CHARLIES) he heard the slap, then another. Still nothing, but vaguely aware that now the laughter was gone, yet still not understanding. He thought he remembered a sound. Or was that imag
ined?
What do ya want us to do withem, Mark? The manager, upset at the slapping, looking at them on the floor, thinking of the reports that would have to be made, the explanations and reassurances given, if they were arrested ... Nothing, Jim. They didnt break the urn. No real damage done. Just kick them out and forget about it.
They were quickly jerked to their feet, taken out to the street and walked to the corner. They told Chubby to go up to 4th Avenue and Harry down to Ridge Boulevard. And if you give anybody any more trouble we/ll split your skulls open.
Harry turned when he reached Ridge Boulevard and staggered over to the school steps and sat down. He rested his head on his hands then noticed the small smear of blood on his palm. He couldnt taste it, but it must be real. But it didnt make any sort of sense. There wasnt any fight. Just laughing. We werent even drunk ... How? There wasnt even a beginning to go back to. I dont even know what time it is ...
He rubbed his face, the back of his neck, and looked at the tree a few feet in front of him and tried to find the sky. The red and amber traffic lights on the corner were blinking.
He fumbled through his pockets looking for a cigarette but couldnt find any. O shit! SHIT!!
He stared at the sidewalk for a moment, then slowly stood up, holding on to the fence, and started walking home ...
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Fortune Cookie
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Harry sat in a rear booth of the Chinese restaurant, alone and worried, toying with his chicken egg drop soup, occasionally eating a spoonful. The boss had not said anything to him directly, but he knew his time was coming ... soon. He had not given Harry an ultimatum, but the looks and remarks - more than that, the feeling Harry got when he was around him, and was starting to get when he stepped into the office, and even over the phone, forced Harry to accept the fact that his time was coming. And he did not mean a feeling of anxiety. Harry knew what that felt like. He should, he had been living with it all his life and lately it had been getting worse by the day... day? Krist, it was getting worse by the hour and right now by the minute. It was more than anxiety, it was a realization.
A salesman sells. It is that simple. A salesman sells and when he doesnt he is not a salesman and who needs a salesman who is not selling. Firms do not carry non-selling salesmen for long. Actually he was lucky they carried him this long, even giving him his draw. But last week was his last draw and today could be his last chance. No sale today and ... he stared at the soup for a minute, then pushed it away from him, the waiter quickly picking it up and replacing it with a dish of food. Harry moved his mouth into a quick smile then took a deep breath and started mixing the soy sauce into his chow mein.
He had to make that sale today. He had no choice. It was do or die ... the knot in his stomach quickly started gnawing its way up to his throat and Harry took a deep breath and tried to relax, at least enough to eat. He ate some food and tried a little positive thinking. After all, he can do it. He can make this sale. He/ll just go in there, smile and relax, and let the product, and the customer, do the selling. Right! Thats all there is - but Ive been doing that for months and still no order. The chow mein looked heavy and soggy. But I lit another candle this morning and prayed and made the stations of the cross and I cant fail with all -but Ive been doing that for months too. He took another deep breath and tried to relax ... then took a few mouthfuls of food. Cant get all caught up in superstition - not that praying is superstition, but I mean all that business about a lucky tie or suit ... have to forget all about that... Yeah, even if I had a lucky tie or suit. Pretty soon I might not have a suit or tie - this is ridiculous. This suit and tie are just as lucky as any I have. He shrugged, Ive lost as many sales with them as with any other suit and tie ... he chuckled inwardly and even smiled and turned his attention to the food for a while, the noodles seeming to be a little crispier. The knot of anxiety started growing and travelling again and he suddenly thought of his shoes, maybe these are my lucky shoes, and he started his silent chuckling again and kept the anxiety enough in control to finish most of his chow mein.
The waiter quickly cleared away the plates and brought a fortune cookie and the check. Harry played with the cookie for a few minutes, tapping it on the table, then eventually, almost absentmindedly, he broke it open and tugged the fortune out and glanced at it, the words not getting through his preoccupation at first, but a glimmer of something registered and he looked carefully at the fortune: Take courage, today is your day for success. He nodded his head, Yeah ... sure. Then he stopped frowning and read it again and straightened, Why not? Why shouldnt it be my day? It has to be somebodys day and Ive had enough losers. Yeah ... thats right, Ive had enough losers This can be my day as well as anyone elses .... Thats right ... absolutely right. They need our material and they may just as well buy it from us as anyone else. We/re just as good as anyone and better than most. And we can deliver on time. Thats the big thing in this industry, guaranteed delivery as well as guaranteed quality. And we have it... all! Hed be doing himself and his firm a favor to place the order with us. Youre damn right! Harry nodded his head emphatically and reached in his pocket for his money, then stopped and reached instead for his credit cards, the ones he had been afraid to use for many months, and dropped one on the tray with the check and sat back, relaxed, exhilarated. He smiled broadly as he added a generous tip, then signed the slip with a slight flourish. He pocketed his card and stepped briskly from the restaurant.
His appointment with Mr. Dasher went smoothly and was successful beyond all expectations. Harry seemed to speak at exactly the right time and say exactly the right thing and was quiet at exactly the right time in the right way, listening intently and exuding an aura of relaxation and confidence. His whole attitude was one of having already made the sale and he was here to simply help Mr. Dasher in whatever way he could. At the end of their meeting Mr. Dasher was as happy as Harry and their final handshake and words were extremely cordial. Harry knew he had a lifetime customer.
Harry of course was elated as he headed back to the office with the signed order, so happy over making the sale he did not stop to figure out what his commission would be. When the thought did enter his mind he quickly shrugged it off knowing he would probably still be behind on his advances anyway. And he did not want to ruin the way he felt by thinking about the state of his finances. He had made a sale, a big sale. That was the important thing. He had broken his losing streak. He was a winner and for that he was grateful.
As soon as he gave the order to the proper people in the office he called his boss and told him. At first Mr. Wells sounded surprised, but that quickly changed to a tone of delight, Thats wonderful, Harry. Congratulations. I knew you could do it. Harry beamed and leaned back in his chair, nodding his head and thanking Mr. Wells for the compliments. He hung up and just sat for a few minutes allowing that good feeling to flow through him ... then called his wife and told her the good news.
Harry sat quietly for a few more minutes, then looked at his watch, and started calling and making appointments, having no trouble getting appointments with the people and before he stopped his calendar was filled for the next couple of weeks.
Harry lit a candle the following morning, not wanting to break any part of the routine that led to the previous days success, but his attitude was different. He did not kneel and beg like a condemned man going through a ritual for the sake of propriety, knowing all along that it was useless and he would be led to the gallows anyway, but rather like a friend bringing a feeling of gratitude for the gift he knew he would be receiving.
Naturally Harry had lunch in the same restaurant. He was even going to order chicken egg drop soup and chow mein, but thought it safe to deviate slightly and have won ton soup and sub gum chow mein. The big difference today was again his attitude. He sat at a small table in the middle of the restaurant, smiling, and ate the food with deep enjoyment and relish.
When the plates were cleared away and the waiter brought
his fortune cookie he leaned back in the chair, one arm over the back of the chair, nonchalantly toying with the fortune cookie and feeling a warm glow inside. He picked the cookie up and smiled as he rolled it around in his hand, tapped it on the plate, spun it around playing spin the fortune cookie and eventually leaned over and snapped it in half and extricated the fortune: Today is a day to assert yourself. He pulled his shoulders back, yeah, thats right. His back was straight as he walked from the restaurant, and self-confidence exuded from him.
He had scheduled two appointments for the afternoon and both went smoothly and ended in large orders just as he knew they would. He had the right combination now and had the world by the tail. He could not lose. That he knew. He could not lose. He was a winner.
The following day he started to get a slight premonition, a tremor, when he realized he would have to change his routine, but was steadfast in his refusal to allow it to shake his confidence. He had made a lunch appointment with one of his prospective clients who was across town and so there was no way they could have lunch in the Chinese restaurant next door. So Harry checked the yellow pages for Chinese Restaurants in the vicinity of the customers office and found one listed only a block and half away. When he suggested going there for lunch the other man agreed quite readily.
Harrys relaxed attitude helped relax his customer and they had a very enjoyable lunch. Harry did not toy with his fortune cookie, but ignored it as long as possible as they continued their discussion, then casually cracked it open and smiled as he read his fortune: Success comes to the successful man. Harry nodded inwardly, thats right, success breeds success and Im for inbreeding. The other man did not bother with his fortune cookie, so when they got up to leave Harry surreptitiously picked it up and put it in his pocket. Just might come in handy.