Clemmie (18 page)

As he walked toward the metal door he thought he heard something move in the impenetrable shadows beyond the unused loading platform. He waited and listened, looking toward the shadows, but heard nothing more.

He put the key into the lock, and it turned easily and silently. When he stood outside her door he could hear, in his own ears, the coursing of his blood. It was like hearing, in the night, the roll of distant surf.

He opened her door and walked into the darkness and pulled the door shut behind him.

Though apprehensive of his interview with Ober, he was in good spirits on Friday morning. Betty showed him the folders she had borrowed from accounting. Helen was making good progress on the tabulation. He made a point of being particularly cordial to Bucky, to make up for yesterday’s snarls.

Betty brought the four copies in at five minutes of
eleven and stood beside his desk as he looked the original copy over.

“Okay?”

“Nice work.”

“Don’t forget to sign them. How many will you give Mr. Ober?”

“Three, I think. He’ll probably want to send at least one to New York with his own comments. Maybe two. What do you think of it, Betty?”

“You must have worked terribly late.”

“Until after ten. Are you trying to hedge the question?”

“Oh, no. I thought it seemed—very well thought out and well said. But—well, I don’t know anything about these things.”

“Skip the false modesty, Betty. You’ve got a good head and you know the work. If you see anything wrong, for God’s sake let me know before I have to go see Ober. I’m perfectly aware that there may be factors I’ve overlooked.”

“Well, just one thing. Some of these nuisance orders, don’t they come from firms that give us good orders too?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it sort of easier for them to use one supplier for several items. I mean the billing and shipping and all. So if we won’t take the orders we don’t like, maybe we won’t get any.”

“That’s covered in the report, Betty.”

“Clearly enough?”

“I think so. Don’t worry so much.”

She smiled crookedly. “I guess I can’t help it. Anyway, I can make good potato salad.”

“What?”

“For the picnic. Gosh, you didn’t forget, did …”

“No, I didn’t forget.”

“If you can, pick me up at nine o’clock Sunday.”

Miss Commerford said, in her robotic, electronic voice, “You may go right in, Mr. Fitz.”

“Thank you, Miss Commerford.” He paused outside the office door, knocked twice, turned the knob and went in. There were four men in the room. Three of them were laughing heartily—Ober and two strangers. L. T. Rowdy sat by the window, barely smiling.

Ober got up and the two strangers stood up slowly. L. T.
Rowdy did not move. He had the knack of being inconspicuously apart from every group.

“Thanks for coming up, Craig. I want you to meet two young men who are good friends and ex-students of mine. May I present Bud Upson and Charlie Montgomery. Boys, Mr. Fitz is my assistant in charge of the grief department. Nobody has it exactly easy in this antediluvian sweat shop, but Craig is on a hotter spot than most.”

Craig shifted his report to his left hand and shook hands with the two men. They were both in their late twenties. Bud Upson had a crew cut, the open rugged face of an ex-wingback, alert eyes, and an easy smile. Charlie Montgomery was taller, blond, with a face that was at once ugly, likable and satanic. His eyes were set at a slant, and blond tufted eyebrows slanted up even more sharply above them. His nose was long and large, and his smile was wry and inverted. Both men, though casual and respectful, were dressed in a way that gave them a curious air of importance. Lightweight suits, dull gleam to expensive shoes, gold glint of cuff links and tie tack, conservative yet interesting ties. Haircuts, shaves and fingernails had the gloss of barbershop attention.

Craig saw himself in them, the way he had been, polished, easy, confident, avoiding both the too casual and the too formal. He wondered what had happened to himself along the way, why now he should react like a clerk to Paul Ober’s easy charm. He wished he had remembered to get a haircut, and he wished he had not tried to get another few days out of the suit he wore.

They all sat down. Craig was not close enough to Ober’s table to casually lay the three copies of the report there. He put them on the floor beside his chair, propped against the leg.

“These two agnostics,” Ober said, “were unfortunately in the same class. Very distressing to their instructor. They had no mercy.”

“That’s funny,” Montgomery said. “I sort of remember it being the other way around, don’t you, Bud? I recall being flayed in public. They used to claim Paul bound his lecture notes in human skin. And if you could give up sleeping, which of course is a time-wasting habit, you could almost get all of the assignments in on time.”

“I used to wake up dreaming about that course,” Upson said in a tone of nostalgia. “Screaming.”

“Craig, Bud and Charlie work as intermediate consultants with Baylor and Killian. You know the firm?”

“Industrial management, isn’t it? Offices in Chicago?”

“That’s right. They work as a team. Right now we’re going to have them conduct a preliminary survey. It may take a month; it could take six months. Our contract with Baylor and Killian has no termination date. I hope that when their survey is over, they’ll come up with some miraculous recommendations. We’ve decided the first thing to do is split them up. Charlie is going to concentrate on the paper end, accounting, personnel records, reports, and so on. And Bud will be under your wing, Craig. I warn you, no six-year-old ever asked more questions. But he has one advantage over a six-year-old. He never asks the same question twice. I want him to get the entire production picture. He is to have access, naturally, to all records, will attend all pertinent conferences. And they’re both ready to start now. All set?”

Ober, Montgomery and Killian stood up as though on signal. This time Rowdy stood up also. Craig got up, then remembered his report, stooped awkwardly and got it. “Paul, you asked me for …”

“Yes, of course. Your own recommendation. How many copies have we? Three? Excellent. Charlie, you and Bud each take one copy. Here you go. I’ll keep one. We’ll go over it independently, Craig, then put it in the suspense file until Bud and Charlie are ready to come up with their formal report. Then, I assure you, your suggestions will be given consideration in conference, and we will bounce them around and see how they fit into what these boys come up with.”

“My report is pretty informal, Paul.”

Paul laid his hand gently on Craig’s shoulder, subtly moving him toward the door. “I realize that. I realize that, old man. It’s the integrity and originality of the idea that counts, not the presentation. You see, you and I are two old hats and we’re too close to our own problems. These two young moderns will set us on our corporate ear. Someone said that if a man is overly fond of the existing order of things, to invite management specialists in is as unthinkable as lending your wife to the Navy.” He gave
Craig’s shoulder a little pat, and enveloped him in an aromatic cloud of pipe smoke. “Don’t let Bud grind you down.”

“Illigitimi non carborundum,”
said Montgomery.

“Smile when you call me that,” Bud said.

Once they were clear of the glacial area around Miss Commerford, Bud Upson said, “Unless you’ve got to get your hands back on the reins, Mr. Fitz, coffee is indicated. Have you got a cafeteria that’s open?”

“The name is Craig. There’s a thing down the street.”

They got black coffee in heavy mugs and carried them over to a plywood booth. Upson dumped in sugar and stirred it and grinned across at Craig and said, “We’re always on a spot when we first come in.”

“How so?”

“Young jerks, full of theory. We alarm all the cliques, and thus unite them against us. That makes information hard to get.”

“You won’t find cliques.”

Bud raised one eyebrow. “No?”

“All right. You would have found some before Paul Ober came in. He served that purpose before you got a chance to.”

“All united against Paul?”

“I don’t mean that. I would say everybody is anxious to work with him, for him. Pick your own word. A certain reputation preceded him. I guess you would know that. The suspense, waiting for him to jump, has been a little wearing.”

“I can see that.”

“We can’t—I better say, I can’t figure out what kind of a man he is.”

“He’s quite a guy.” It was obvious to Craig that a fishing expedition was useless.

“You won’t find information hard to get.”

“It’s a relief to hear that.”

“Will you need secretarial help?”

“Maybe later, but then we’ll have somebody sent down. About all I’ll need is a corner somewhere, out of the way. Could you take me around and introduce me to the key production people?”

“I could take you on a tour of the whole setup.”

“I don’t want you to take time doing that. I’ll just drift
around for awhile. Paul says it isn’t something you can cover in an hour. It’ll take me a long time to get it straightened out in my head. I’m the plodder type. Charlie is the bright half of the team.”

Craig knew there was nothing stupid about Upson. He would say nothing unguarded. His face and expression were without guile, yet there seemed to be very little change of expression. His eyes were quick. For a moment Craig was puzzled, and then he knew exactly what the expression was. It was that of a man in a poker game who has been dealt his cards, but feels there is more to be gained by watching the way the others pick up their cards and sort them. His cards are always there. He can look later.

As they left the booth, Craig looked back and saw the copy of his report on the table. “Forget something?” he said.

Upson went back quickly. “Pretty stupid. I wouldn’t want to lose this.”

“It’s easy enough to make another copy.”

He could not escape the feeling that Upson had left it behind on purpose, and had gained something by analyzing his reaction.

As they walked back Bud said, “Paul says your family is in England for the summer.”

“It seems strange to have them away.” In a sense Bud had jabbed him again, probing. It was clear they had talked about him in Ober’s office. And if they had gotten as far as the detail of Maura being away, the talk had been more than casual. Though the sun was hot on his forehead, he had a sense of chill. Ober had been too elaborately casual about his report. He could hear Ober’s voice. “Here’s a man who’s been in the same slot too long. My guess is that he’s stale. And he acts as if his nerves are a little shot. My instinct says get rid of him. I don’t think his recommendations will be worth a damn. Bud, instead of putting you with Terrill, who satisfies me completely, I’ll put you with Fitz. Give me your best judgment.” Then Bud had asked questions, and it had come up about Maura being away.

And all the time L. T. Rowdy would have been sitting there, larded and owlish and still, waiting for the questions from Ober, and then he would take out his dime-store
notebook and turn immediately to the right page and say in that thick choked little voice, words dripping like wet pastry, “The suspect drove last night to a warehouse area and, using his own key, entered the studio apartment of a woman known as Clementina Bennet at exactly twelve twenty-three last night. The apartment lights were turned off at twelve fifty. The suspect emerged from that apartment at seven twenty this morning, made one stop at his home for a change of clothing, a second stop for breakfast, and arrived in his office at four minutes of nine.”

It was entirely too easy to see L. T. Rowdy down there in the alley darkness, with the faintest gleam on heavy lenses, motionless, tireless, inhumanly patient. Or Rowdy behind the screen of lilac bushes, listening to the scene with Floss, then writing pertinent notes.

The power of negative thinking, Craig thought. Take it another step. Ober, Upson and Montgomery, watching with their cold Martian eyes, while Rowdy and Miss Commerford demonstrate, enacting the parts of Floss and Craig, Rowdy, blindfolded, laying his wax hand on the narrow gray belly of the arched Miss Commerford, her skin puckered by the air conditioning, her bandeau and bikini improvised of letterhead and transparent tape so that across one buttock which, exposed, would have the look of a half cantaloupe, there is inscribed
QUALITY
METAL
PRODUCTS
DIVISION
.

“So that was how it was,” says Ober, and all three nod and repeat in unison, “So that was how it was.”

Rowdy strips off his blindfold, Miss Commerford rises effortlessly, hauled erect by the piano wires spot-welded from steel socket of hip to knee, concealed under the clever forgery of the neoprene thighs. They link arms and, in sideways rhythmic shuffle, exit to outer office with duet—wet baritone against steak-knife soprano—“That was how it was, we swear. That was how it was.” After final wave of blindfold, door closes with a Chase Bank click and Ober, standing, removing pipe, mustache, hair, plastic nose and lenses of eyes, is exposed as an egg-thing from Galaxy Q which says, “Now you know what we must put up with.”

“I beg your pardon?” Craig said.

Bud Upson gave him a puzzled glance and said, “I just
said you must get as much heat here as we have to put up with in Chicago.”

“It gets rugged. The hills aren’t high on either side of the river, and the valley, if you can call it a valley, is fifteen miles across. But there’s just enough contour here to cheat us out of breezes. So we sit and steam and bake. Have you got a place to stay yet?”

“Paul arranged it. He got us two rooms with connecting bath at the Downtown Club. It’s old-fashioned, but it’s comfortable, and damn cheap.”

“Are you married, Bud?”

“No. Charlie is closer to it than I am. It would be a hell of a life to wish on a girl. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for five years, Craig.”

He took Bud into his outer office, introduced him to the staff. Craig asked Betty to arrange to get a desk and chair for Mr. Upson. He offered to rearrange things to put Bud near the windows, but Bud stated firmly that he would be perfectly happy in the corner half behind the door. Craig was aware of Betty’s curiosity and her instinctive wariness. He took Bud around and introduced him to key production personnel. By that time he had fallen behind in his normal routine, so when Betty came into his office, obviously anxious to hear the score, he sent her out to get him a sandwich and coffee. That gave him a few moments to think of his curious flight of fancy, so like a nightmare. Unlike most thoughts of the same nature, the continual fleeting grotesqueries that infest the mind of every man, this had had a vividness and a continuity that had, for a time, blocked him off from conscious awareness of where he was and who he was with. It half amused and half disturbed him. This would indeed be a peachy time to go nuts. He knew that he would never again be able to look at Ober, Rowdy and Commerford in precisely the same way. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the unexpected mental aberration, and he groped cautiously for it. With a feeling of slight shock he realized what it was. Though such a weird tableau was alien to him, it would come naturally and almost automatically to Clemmie. Knowing all the people and all the facts, it was just what she would come up with. He wondered if there was any contagious aspect to the uncontrolled imagination. She, last night, had so expanded and embroidered
the slave girl motif that it had been impossible to talk in any realistic and serious way.