Clemmie (31 page)

“How do you think it looks?” Craig asked, hoping his anxiety was sufficiently concealed.

“I couldn’t make a definite commitment. I guess you know that. But I’d say it looks pretty good. I realize the situation is a little delicate. We can’t make the sort of investigation we’d normally make. Al vouches for you, and the job you hold in the outfit you’re in is a pretty sound recommendation in itself. All I can do is present
it to the old man. He’ll want to have you stop in for a talk with him. Just between us, I think it should be okay. We’re getting damn hungry for people with your qualifications, with production experience and supervisory experience. We’re going to be spread awful damn thin before we get the new plant into operation.”

Craig felt enormous relief. It had gone far easier than he had dared hope. The drink was no longer a threat. He picked up his glass and finished half of it and set it down.

“One thing the old man will want to know. How soon can you make the move?”

“Immediately,” Craig said.

Maleska looked at him curiously. “No notice? Don’t you have to break somebody in?”

Craig felt confused. “I—I guess that was the wrong word, Johnny. I mean I can give notice as soon as I hear definitely. I’ll leave it up to them, up to Ober, as to how long he wants me around. But things are changing pretty fast there. There may be no need to break anyone in. I mean I
may
be able to leave right away. I don’t know.”

“Would they eliminate the job you’re doing?”

“No. That would have to be done.” He suddenly saw an out, and regretted that he hadn’t thought of it before. “I’ve naturally been thinking of a change for some time. I’ve organized my own section so that it can carry on pretty well.”

“Then the work is pretty routine?”

“No. There’s plenty of decisions to make.”

“If you left immediately, who would make them?”

“I might not be able to leave immediately.”

“I don’t think it would be very good policy to leave them in a jam over there. We wouldn’t want that done to us.”

Craig felt that something had slipped away from him. Johnny Maleska seemed to have become cooler toward him. A quick and logical answer would repair the situation. The seconds seemed very long. He sipped his drink, lit a cigarette, tried to smile in a relaxed way. Maleska seemed to be watching him very closely. “Ober put a man in with me a while back. His name is Upson. I suppose you could say that I’ve been breaking him in on the job.”

“Did you ask for additional help?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What was Mr. Ober’s reason for putting this Mr. Upson in with you?”

Craig regretted opening up that subject. “He explained that it’s a survey of the plant. An industrial management survey.”

“Then Upson isn’t actually an employee of Quality Metals?”

“No. But … well, the fact that he put him in my section …”

“I’m not following this very well, I guess. You sound as if you think Ober plans to have Upson take over your job.”

“I admit that I’ve thought of it as a possibility.”

“If you thought of it, why didn’t you go to Ober and ask him?”

“I don’t believe I would have gotten very far.”

Maleska waited a few moments and then smiled and said, “Let’s go in and eat. Want a drink at the table?’

“I—I guess so, thanks.”

They found a table for two in the dining room. Craig’s drink was brought. He noticed that Maleska was not having another one. He was about to remark on that, and then thought better of it. He decided to leave his own drink. He thought he could leave it untouched without making it too obvious.

Maleska seemed unwilling to get back to what they had been talking about. They ordered. Maleska talked about the continuing heat wave, about a swimming pool his neighborhood was building, about the improved airline service into Stoddard. Craig felt that he was saying the right things at the right times to Maleska, but he felt uneasy. This was not the way the conversation should have gone. Now, at lunch, it was more logical that Maleska should talk about Donner Plastics, about the expansion plans, about company policy. This was more the sort of conversation two strangers would have on a train in the dining car.

The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. He had ordered liver and onions. It was stringy and he found himself chewing pieces interminably, swallowing them with difficulty. Until he had given one incautious answer, he had gotten along very well with
Johnny Maleska. Damage had been done somehow, and it was necessary to retrieve the situation. Obviously Maleska had become dubious of him. And no small wonder. If any plant executive could leave immediately, it meant either his job was of no importance, or he planned to have no consideration for the firm he was leaving. It would have been so much better to have shrugged and said, “As soon as I can get away without leaving them in a jam.” Then when the offer came, he would have had the opportunity to explain he could report sooner than he had expected.

If the situation was going to be repaired, it would have to be done now. Johnny Maleska was saying, “They figure on finishing the new school before Labor Day. Betty and I feel a lot better with Karen out of that fire trap. She’ll be in second grade this year.”

Craig reached for his drink and found the glass was empty. He did not remember finishing it.

“Johnny,” he said, and his voice sounded odd.

Maleska looked at him curiously, and glanced at the empty glass.

Craig smiled. “I’m not drunk. But I can feel the drinks. I’ve been taking some cold medicine, and I guess it doesn’t go too well with alcohol.”

“It’ll do that sometimes.”

“Johnny, I want to go back to the way we were talking before. I mean I want to be frank with you. I sensed that somehow I got my foot in my mouth. And this is important to me. I want to make the right kind of impression. I know I can do a job for you. That’s the only important thing, isn’t it?”

Maleska looked ill at ease. “Yes. I suppose that’s right.”

“That’s the important thing. Nothing else matters. I’m loyal, Johnny. I’m a loyal son of a bitch. I lay it on the line. I put out. Al will tell you that. John Terrill can tell you how I’ve performed on my job. I don’t want you wondering about me because I said immediately and then talked about Upson and so on. I’m loyal and I can do a job.”

“Certainly,” Maleska said, and Craig felt he wasn’t getting to him.

“That’s why it would be a good thing for you to hire me. John Terrill can tell you the job I’ve done at Quality
Metals. You’ve got to talk to somebody in production to understand. I’m loyal, and I put out.”

Now he wanted to stop, but he could not. He sensed that it sounded as though he were whining and begging, but he could not stop talking. He knew he was making Maleska very uncomfortable, and that he was hurting his own chances, but the repetitious phrases kept pouring out. He felt divided in two. The rational part of his mind wanted to turn the other part off, but the switch was just out of reach. He knew his voice had begun to tremble. Now he had begun to tell Johnny Maleska how they didn’t understand or appreciate the job he’d done for them over there. Maleska looked down at his cigarette, his face like stone.

Finally he was able to stop himself. He drew a long shuddering breath, and wished he was dead. In the silence Maleska stirred his coffee slowly and intently.

“I’m sorry,” Craig said. “I guess I’ve torn it, haven’t I?”

Maleska shrugged.

“Just don’t blame Al. He was trying to help out. My nerves didn’t hold out. The sad part of all of this is that I would have made you a good man.”

Maleska looked at him directly. “They letting you go?”

“I think so.”

“I didn’t think so at first, and then from the way you acted …”

“I started botching it in the bar, didn’t I?”

Maleska gave him a startled look. “Botched it? No, it was okay until you started all this funny-sounding quack. Why are they letting you go?”

“I went off the deep end. I botched things up. I’m back on the rails now, but a week from now I could have handled this better. I couldn’t wait that long. Anyway—it nearly worked. Thanks for the lunch.”

Maleska offered him a cigarette. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a few contacts. Try to work them.”

“If you don’t make out, stop around. Ask Personnel to give me a ring when you come in.”

“What would it be?”

“Not seventeen five.”

“How much?”

“It would depend on what’s open. Maybe five hundred a month.”

“That isn’t much.”

“I’d keep an eye on you.” Maleska sighed, leaned back, looked at the burning end of his cigarette. “We lose a lot. It’s a funny kind of tension. There’s a mythology in business, in manufacturing. The ladder is supposed to end at the top. Be bright, clean and industrious and you get to the top. But you don’t get there. The top is the top. Your picture in
Time
. Stock deals. Consultations in Washington. There are about four hundred men at the top, and no room for more than four hundred. And there has to be forty thousand of us, Fitz. Company and battalion commanders. Top kicks. We’ve got everything but that final indescribable ingredient. We tell ourselves we’ve got it. I thought I had it until I started working close to Kyle Webb. You’ve got to eat, sleep, live and dream the work. You don’t get a minute off. You have no mercy on yourself or on anybody else. I’ve tried. I can’t do it. I can’t keep that close a focus on attention and ambition. So I won’t get into the real gravy. I’ll get some good drippings, but I won’t get hold of the plate. So my future is in conflict with the mythology. The ghost of Horatio Alger haunts the business schools. That’s a tension that cracks men up. They get as far as they can go, and refuse to believe they’ve been climbing a short ladder. Then comes the persecution complex. Somebody is knifing them. They’ve been shunted into a dead-end job. The joker in the next step up is related to the Chairman of the Board. It’s so damn much easier in the shop. Do your work, draw your pay and your fringe benefits. Bitch to the steward when the foreman leans on you. Protect your seniority.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get back.”

They stood up, walked to the lobby and stopped by the door.

Maleska stuck his hand out. “Try to roll with it, Fitz.”

“What will you tell Al?”

“You tell him. It ought to be easier that way.”

After Maleska left he went to a pay phone in the club and caught Al at his office.

“Are you in?” Al asked.

“No. I botched it up good. I got on a talking jag. I
whined to him. I whined and snuffled. I showed him my built-in cringe. He knew the score. He’s seen it before. I wasn’t ready yet. If I was Maleska I wouldn’t have hired me to empty trash baskets.”

“You better come right over here. I’ll wait for you.”

“No thanks. I’m all prettied up. I’ve got a good color and I smell good, and I’m wearing a miracle fabric. I’ll never be any more ready for Ober than I am right now.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Moderately. Isn’t that what you write on an employment form?”

“Where are you now? I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks for everything, Al. It was a good try. But you didn’t start with the right material.”

He hung up. He went out into sidewalk heat, into the blistering afternoon of the fifteenth day of August.

While he waited, knees crossed, cigarette in hand, for Paul Ober to see him, he was aware of the way Miss Commerford was watching him. Whenever he glanced toward her, he had the feeling she had just looked away. He felt utterly calm. He wanted to attract her attention and then make some horrible face or some grotesque sound to see if her calm, which was that of an icy crevasse, could be disturbed.

John Terrill came hurrying out of Ober’s office, a roll of prints in his hand. He glanced at Craig, glanced back again, eyes wide.

“Hello,” he said, hurrying by.

“Hello, John.”

Paul Ober had come to the open door of his office. “Come on in, Craig,” he said pleasantly.

Craig got up, not too hastily, rubbed out his cigarette in the chrome stand and went in. Paul shut the door. Craig waited until Paul had gone around to the other side of his table and then sat down without an invitation.

“You look as though you’re feeling better, Craig.”

“Much better, thank you, Paul.”

A side door to the office opened and L. T. Rowdy came in. He nodded at Paul Ober, crossed the soundless rug and sat by the windows, his face as empty as an insect’s.

“During your unfortunate absence, Craig, we took the liberty of making some basic changes in the production control setup. I’m certain they would have had your approval.”

“I imagine my approval would have been automatic, Paul.”

“Hmm? Yes, of course. The setup has never been entirely logical, you know. I realize that you and John Terrill worked well together for many years. But your functions logically belong under Terrill, don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course. But as I remember, that was the only way I could be given the title of assistant plant manager. I got that more because of the complexity of that job in this plant. In any other facility I realize it would require less ability and less pay.”

“I’m pleased you’ve understood the situation so clearly. You understand, of course, that if your job and Terrill’s job were held by two men who didn’t see eye to eye, there could be a lot of confusion. The two men might be working at cross purposes.”

“That’s quite correct.”

Ober took time out to knock out his pipe and reload it. He was ostensibly taking time out to think. The interview was apparently not progressing as he had imagined it would.

He lighted the pipe, smiled wryly at Craig and said, “I am now in the bad graces of Baylor and Killian. I made a change without waiting for the report of their two field men, and I have hired Bud Upson away from them. They’re sending a replacement, but they aren’t happy about it. That’s the calculated risk in the industrial consultant field. Sooner or later your field man may find himself face to face with too much of an opportunity to turn down.”