ONE DAY HARRY WAS looking around the mens department of a store, when a woman suddenly turned around and knocked into him, dropping her pocketbook, which opened, the contents spilling out. O, excuse me, Im sorry.
No, it was my fault, I shouldnt have turned so suddenly.
Here, let me help you, helping her pick up the contents of her pocketbook and noticing the sheen of her stockings as she knelt beside him.
Thank you, putting the last of them in and closing the pocketbook, Im really sorry.
No harm done, smiling.
I saw a sign that said sale, chuckling apologetically, and I guess I just started to charge like a bull in a china shop.
If bulls ever looked like you, I/d be a matador. She smiled in acknowledgment of the compliment and started to relax. Where is that sign you saw?
Over there, in the tie department.
O … yeah. Looking for something for your husband?
No, smiling, my father. Its his birthday.
Then why dont you let me help you? Im an expert on ties and fathers.
Really? smiling.
Absolutely. I have both. They both chuckled and went over to the counter and started looking. Now, I assume you want silk.
Gee, I dont know. Im such a ninny when it comes to things like ties.
Well, fear not, your problems are over. Now, what color hair does he have?
Well, squinting and twisting her mouth, its sort of dark with a little gray. Mostly on the side. Sort of distinguished you know.
Of course, your father would have to be, returning her smile. Does he usually wear gray and blue suits?
Ahhh … yes, I guess he does. How did you know? looking at him with astonishment, youre amazing.
O, gesturing, nothing to it my dear Potson. Now, here are some stripes that will go with any shade of gray or blue. Just about, anyway.
O, gee, at those prices I can afford to get him a couple of ties. Harry showed her various ties from the rack, and she looked, shook her head and finally told Harry she didnt know which ones to choose.
Well, we cant have a beautiful young damsel like you in such a state of confusion. Here, taking two ties from the rack, why dont you buy these? Im sure he/ll like them. Theyre perfect for any occasion.
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 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.
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 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 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 what sort of scene they had, but determined not to bring up the subject.
That afternoon Harrys head was involved in the game, no 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 Sorrentino, 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 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 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.
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 though 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 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.
Could be, smiling.
As Harry walked back to the office he felt a slight twinge of apprehensive nausea, but quickly shoved aside the vague thoughts that were trying desperately to define themselves. It was nobodys business if he wanted to have lunch with some broad, and whats the big deal? It aint interfering with anything, and it sure as hell aint hurting anybody.
He got back to the office even later than usual, and could feel the eyes burning into his back, and the clock, as if they were trying to brand him with the time. He squeezed his pencil hard as he rustled papers, announcing the fact that he had just returned, his inner voice telling all and sundry to go to hell, and that goes double for you Wentworth.
The next day he managed to keep his anger alive, having nurtured it from time to time during the night, but could not seem to focus it or direct it—it just seemed to be there, jumbling around inside him trying to find a way out. He slowly ate his cheese danish and sipped his coffee until it was too cold to enjoy, but continued to sip it anyway, not starting work until both were finished.
When he finally did start working, he attacked his calculator and almost shoved his pencil through the pad a few times, then jammed the papers into the proper order. He worked as slowly as possible, trying not to finish the job until late in the afternoon, but there was so little left to do that he finished before lunch in spite of his efforts. When he finished the goddamn job, he tossed his pencil on the desk and left for lunch.
She was just getting on line when he got there. As they talked and moved slowly along the line, picking up plates of food, the turbulence within him subsided, and when they were finally settled at a table, he quickly became involved with her. The strain drained from his arms and back and he could feel himself relaxing as they talked about nothing in particular.
Halfway through lunch he could feel a knot forming in his gut, a small one, and it started tugging at the back of his throat, and he could feel a change flow through him inwardly and outwardly. He could feel his thigh muscles twitching and he could feel his eyes closing slightly as he looked at her, the tip of his tongue wetting his upper lip, and his hand reached over and brushed a few crumbs off her lap and then his open hand was on her thigh and he looked more intently into her eyes, unclothing her and himself, feeling somewhere within him another Harry looking at what was happening and wanting to want to stop. She returned his gaze and put her hand on top of his and smiled in answer to whatever he was saying.
When they left, they walked along the street for a while, Harry leaning out of the way of passers-by and brushing her tit with the upper part of his arm and smiling into her eyes, and feeling that tug in his gut as the other Harry tried to pull him away from the game, but it was completely out of control and Harry was more a witness to his actions than the creator of them; and they talked about movies and then skin flicks, and Harry could feel the knot tightening, and the tugging increasing, and was aware, too, of the passing of time and an intense feeling of the intoxication of danger, but first and foremost he felt a rapport with his lust as he looked at her. He led her to the side of a building, out of the stream of people, and stood almost touching her as he told her that he would like to fuck the ass off her, continuing to look at her, the naked thrust of his lust exciting her; then, taking her hand, he led her to the Hotel Splendide, all his various feelings welling into one turbulence of excitement.
When they left, Harry went to a nearby bar and sat in the corner trying to disentangle the mass and mess of feelings within him. He did not understand them. It was as if he was sorry for not getting back to work on time, as if he had done something wrong, but did not know what; having a vague desire to change something, but not knowing what. He finished his drink and thought about going back to the office, but the mere thought made him turn red and he could feel his skin flush and the sweat form under his eyes and at the base of his spine. He could not go back to the office a couple of hours late. He tried to force himself, but the ability to move had been taken from him. He was paralyzed. He ordered another drink, then decided to call and tell them he was sick and was going home. He called Louise and told her he had gotten violently ill after eating and was on his way home, that he had spent over an hour in the rest room and this was the first chance he had to call, and he could feel that other Harry watching him and could feel his head shaking and he finally mumbled a goodbye and hung up the phone.
He slowly sipped his drink and thought of getting drunk, but somehow the idea not only did not appeal to him, he did not know exactly how to go about it, never having been able to force down enough liquor to get drunk. When it started to make him woozy, he stopped.
As he sipped his third drink he tried to find something to rage about, something to isolate and attack, something that would prove to be the reason for the disturbing and unfamiliar feelings burning through him, but there was no coordination within him between desire and ability. Eventually he gave up trying and finished his drink and left.
The next day he left the house at the usual time, so his mother would not question him, then called in sick. He still could not accept the idea of explaining his absence the previous afternoon, and even in the quiet of his room he could not fabricate a story that he would be able to relate believably. By taking off today there would be no doubt that he really was sick, and they probably would not question him.
He went to Forty-second Street and sat through a couple of old westerns, then walked up to Bryant Park and sat on a bench, avoiding all eyes, even those of the pigeons. He felt strangely conspicuous and had the vague feeling that people were looking at him and wondering what he was doing there. He stayed there as long as he could, watching the pigeons peck away at food thrown them, vaguely hearing the music of the recorded concert and trying to get involved with the way in which the sunlight glanced off the leaves of trees and slanted through the branches, casting moving shadows … the flowers, shrubs, statues … to no avail. No matter how hard he tried to stay on the bench and wish time by, he could not and had to get up and walk around the perimeter of the park, keeping his eyes on the path.
He continued walking until he reached the library and went inside hoping to get involved with something in there, but all he could do was wander aimlessly through rooms and tiers of books until he once more found himself in Bryant Park. He walked to Forty-second Street, then down to Times Square and another movie. He tried to sit through both films, but had to leave after seeing the second half of one and the first half of another. He rode the train back to Brooklyn and went to Caseys.
He walked to the end of the bar, where Tony and Al were sitting. Holy Krist, look whos here. It must be Sunday.
Yeah, or six oclock. Hi, whatta ya say?
Hi.
Holy shit Harry, whats the occasion, your boss die or something? both of them laughing as Harry pulled up a stool and sat.
Up yours Al—hey Pat, give me a beer. Youd better give them one too, they look like theyre waiting for a live one.
Thats the kind of talk I like to hear, quickly draining the glass and pushing it forward.
All shit aside though Harry, whats the occasion?
Nothing. Why? Cant a guy take a day off without everybody going apeshit?
Yeah, sure, laughing, but not you. You never take a day off and then come here.
Well, I am today. Im taking a day off and Im going to have a couple of beers.
Yeah, how come?
I thought I/d do a survey.
Yeah, what kind of survey?
An investigation into the nature of being a bum, and I cant think of anyone better qualified to help me than you guys.
Hey, I resemble that remark, laughing, Pat joining them.
You think just because I dont go to an office every day—
Whata ya mean, aint this our office—
Yeah, all of them laughing. You think because I dont ride the subway, I dont work? Look, I bet I work harder playing the horses than you do at your job. They all laughed again.
Yeah, I bet you do.
Speaking of jobs, how come you took a day off? Aint you afraid your job will disappear?
Harry smiled at their laughter. I thought I/d live dangerously.
Well, I always said, you hang around Caseys long enough and youll see a miracle, and Im seeing one. Harry taking a day off from work and sitting in Caseys. This calls for a toast. Tony raised his glass, then Al raised his. To Harry the Hump, and they drained their glasses, then put them down on the bar as Harry smiled, trying to stay involved in their game to keep from going back inside himself.
Hey Pat, give us three more.
Hey, man, why dont you come to the Fort with us tonight? There should be some good fights.
Yeah, the main events got a couple of welters that look pretty good.
Yeah? shrugging, maybe I will.
Harry drifted through the day, sipping on his beer, staying with his third one for an hour, Al and Tony trying to get him to keep up with them. Harry listened, smiled, laughed, talked, not completely involved with any of it, but not involved with that twinge inside either.
He went to the fights with them, and a couple of other guys, after stopping in an Italian restaurant, and could feel himself relaxing slightly as they sat in the outdoor arena. It was a clear night and there was a pleasant breeze from the harbor and he got caught up in the horsing around of the guys, and then the action of the fights. Most of the prelims were pretty good bouts, one was really good, a knock-down, drag-out kind of fight, but the main event was a real winner and Harry got completely caught up in the excitement and was standing along with everyone else and yelling and cheering.
After the fights, they all went back to Caseys, but after a short time Harry waved goodbye and went home. He lay in his bed thinking about the day, then yesterday and the past weeks and months, and suddenly a cold knot twisted in his gut and he involuntarily raised his knees to relieve the pressure, and when the knot finally started dissolving, he no longer reviewed the day or any other part of his life, but closed his eyes and, with the aid of the beer he had drunk, drifted off into a shallow sleep.
If, indeed, such restlessness could be called sleep. He was not twisted, turned and tormented during the night, but was part of a continuing dream—maybe it only occurred once and he dreamed that it happened over and over again—that did not drag him from unconsciousness, but kept him just on the brink of wakefulness so that his mind and spirit never got the complete rest they needed. It was such a simple dream that it almost did not seem worth dreaming. A dream that is going to keep you from getting the proper rest should at least be a little, spectacular, or loaded with sexual symbols.
Certainly not as simple as driving along the street in a normal flow of traffic and seeing the brake lights go on on the car in front of you and you lift your foot from the accelerator and it gets caught under the brake pedal and you get closer and closer to the car in front of you as you struggle to get your foot out from under the pedal so you can jam down on it and not hit the car in front, and, of course, everything is happening in slow motion and it seems like you go through this time after time and you never hit the car in front of you, but you never find out exactly what happens either….
Harry did not remember the dream in the morning, though he had a vague idea that he had dreamed something, but he felt sluggish and more or less dragged himself through his shower and shave. His step, as he went down the stairs to the kitchen, was slow and flat.
As was his voice. He could hear it when he said good morning to his folks.
Are you all right, Harry?
Yeah, sure Pop, why?
Well, I dont know exactly, its just that you seem sort of out—well, out of sorts lately. I cant quite put my finger on it, but you just dont seem to be yourself.
Gee, trying to manage as sincere a look as possible, I dont know. Theres nothing wrong.
Harry bought a paper and tried to concentrate on it as he rode to work, but his mind kept drifting back to his fathers question and he kept asking himself if something was wrong. What could be wrong? Things werent going exactly right lately, things were getting a little goofed at work and Wentworth seemed to be getting on his back, but there was nothing wrong. At least not that he could pinpoint. He tried to get involved in the comic strips, but the vague uneasiness persisted and he kept dismissing questions from his mind. If anything was wrong, it wasnt his fault. That he was sure of.
Harry had been sitting at his desk a few minutes when Louise came over and asked him how he was feeling.
Pretty good. I think I/ll live.
Well thats good to hear. Have a stomach virus?
He suddenly felt trapped and had a second of panic until he remembered that he had told Louise that he had gotten sick after eating and had to go home.
Yeah, I sure did. Couldnt stray too far from home, smiling at her knowingly.
I thought you might be coming down with something.
Why? frowning.
O, you just didnt seem to be your usual self. You know, not as relaxed and sort of preoccupied. But Im glad youre all right now, patting him on the shoulder, then going back to her desk.
Harry puzzled over his coffee and cheese danish and wondered what in the hell was going on, why people were sticking their noses in his business. He wished to krist they/d keep them where they belonged. The only thing wrong with him was them.
He worked aggressively that morning and by the time he became aware of people coming and going and realized it was time for lunch, he felt relaxed. He looked at the work on his desk. He had done a good mornings work. Damn good. The Wilson job was all ready to go and neatly packaged.
He nodded at the work he had done and left for lunch feeling exhilarated. He started walking along Fifth Avenue, but by the time he reached the first corner the exhilaration was replaced with that vague uneasiness, and he turned and went to the coffee shop in the building to eat lunch. When he finished, he went back to the office and spent the remainder of the hour in the lounge.
For the next week, until the company outing on the following Friday, Harry had his lunch sent up from the coffee shop and spent the hour in the lounge reading, having absolutely no desire to go out for lunch, unable to force himself even if he thought of trying. He had gotten a few science fiction books from the neighborhood library and read them on the subway as well as at lunch time, and they seemed to absorb the energy from the surface of his mind and he could ignore any twinge he might feel.
Although he wanted to, he could not keep up his aggressive attitude toward work. He would manage it for an hour or two, but that was all, and then usually because he had fallen behind schedule again and had to work frantically to finish the job.
From time to time Harry White would start to question himself about his inability to work consistently as he once had, and his inability to leave the office for lunch, but as soon as he could feel these questions vaguely forming, a fear gripped him and he shoved them aside and inundated his mind with something, anything, else to avoid facing those questions.
The day before the company outing Mr. Wentworth called Harry into his office. Harry knew it was serious when Mr. Wentworth told him to sit down, and something inside him turned over and a slight twinge of nausea tugged at the back of his throat. I wanted you to hear this from me, Harry, rather than at the banquet tomorrow night. As you know our firm is growing rapidly, and, I say this with pride, growing at a very accelerated pace. As a matter of fact our growth over these last two years has been phenomenal.
Thats wonderful, trying to look dutifully impressed.
Thats right, it is. Now, because of this growth a need for more executive-level personnel has developed, and just recently the title of junior vice-president was created—he looked at Harry for a moment, leaning back in his chair. Harry could feel the ball in his gut leap up and jam itself in his throat—and its been given to Davis—plop, down it goes, twisting his windpipe and groveling around in his bowels—upon my recommendation. And I want to tell you why. You are sharper than Davis—Harry could feel his eyes blinking, and he hoped to krist he wasnt going to cry. He didnt really want to, but he could feel a pressure behind his eyes and could feel a tired sadness veil itself over them, and he tried desperately to keep the proper expression on his face, whatever in the hell that was. He sure as krist didnt know—you have more imagination and have the capability of being more aggressive; in other words, you have all the attributes of a successful corporate executive (o for krists sake shut up and let me get out of here) except the most essential, leaning forward to emphasize the point—consistency and reliability. I would like to see you as junior vice-president, I think you could give a lot to the firm, but I cannot depend on you. Davis may not have much to get him beyond a junior vice-presidency, but he is reliable and consistent. He is a family man, with three children. A man who has settled into life and does a good job every day. You see, thats the important thing. He doesnt skyrocket one day just to fizzle out the next. And thats more important than aggressive imagination to the firm at this point in time, and in this particular position.
Now, I do not know whats been happening with you lately, but I cannot rely on you the way I could. When I need something done, I want to be able to push this button and know that it will be done, no questions, no delays. Lately I cant even find you when I need you, so obviously youre no help to me when something suddenly needs attention. You seem (holy krist, stop the shit. Let me get out of here) to have acquired an irresponsible attitude, and you can take it from me, there is nothing more detrimental to a successful career. Personally, I think its time you thought about settling down, raising a family, accepting the responsibilities of a man. Theres nothing like it for giving you a clear perspective on life and clearing away the fog from the goals we want to attain. Personally, I think its the incentive you need.
But these are not the only reasons I recommended Davis for the position. You see, I have not changed my opinion and/or the evaluation of your ability. I think you have unlimited potential and can be a great asset to the firm. A great asset. But you are going to need a change of attitude to realize that potential, and I am hoping that this will shake you up enough to realize that you are jeopardizing a great future and that you will change your attitude.
I believe in our firm. I believe in it completely and absolutely. We are growing and will continue to grow as long as men are willing to dedicate their lives to it and give their absolute loyalty to it. Theres no other way. It is all in the attitude, Harry. And I want you to be the asset I know you can be. Being passed over for a junior vice-presidency now is nothing, if you will just take my advice and change your attitude. You got me?
Yes … yes I have, Mr. Wentworth. I—
Good. Think over what I said. You know, Harry, someday you will thank me for this. You will look back on this day as the turning point in a spectacular career, Harry nodding his head and blinking his eyes rapidly. O.K., end of lecture. I will see you tomorrow.
See me tomorrow, going back to his desk and plopping in his chair, his eyes still blinking rapidly, the twisting ball still bouncing from his gut to his throat and lodging and tugging, see me tomorrow. Some day youll thank me for this. What kind of shit is that? Who the hell does he think hes talking to? I break my back for him and look what he does.… O screw it. He went to the mens room, pissed, splashed some cold water on his face and killed a few more minutes until it was time to leave.
The science fiction books didnt seem to help much during the ride home, as he wondered who Wentworth thought he was coming on so high and holy. You/d think I was the only one who played around with the broads. Who is he to talk???? Yeah, who are you to cast the first stone, you and your public relations team.… Ahhh, screw it … its not the only job in the world … they need me more than I need them … just see what happens if I dont take care of the work … yeah, how long would Mr. junior veepee last then … ah, I dont know … I cant seem to figure … shit! What the—why cant they just get off my back … ahhh …
Tony, Mike and Steve were going to the ball game that night, so Harry went along with them. From time to time, during the night, Harry would find himself reaching down into the dark hostile corners of his mind to abuse Wentworth and let him know what an asshole he was, and he was going to show him, but he had already dissipated a lot of his energy, and found himself partially involved in the excitement of the game, and so that inner hand was unable to bring the hate up into the light of the night.