Never Leave Me (11 page)

Her voice was deceptively quiet. “In a way, Brad,” she said, “that’s just the way it will seem.” I didn’t answer. I had no words in me.

“Anyway,” the words were a knife in my heart and her tone twisted it, “I only called to tell you that Uncle Matt was in New York on business and mentioned that he might drop by your office, if he could find the time. Good-bye, Brad.”

The phone went dead in my hand. Slowly I put it down, sank into my chair, and stared across the desk. I felt chill inside me. No more dreams, no more glory, no more ecstasy.

The intercom buzzed and I flipped the switch without putting the bottle down. “Mr. Brady is here to see you,” Mickey said.

“I can’t see him,” I said. “Send him in to Chris.” Her voice seemed startled. “But Mr. Rowan——”

“Send him in to Chris!” I shouted. “I said I can’t see him!” I slammed the switch down, cutting her off. For a moment I stared down at the intercom, while the pain inside me rose up and gorged in my throat.

Right behind the pain lay violence. My foot tingled as I kicked my chair across the room. My ears roared as I swept everything off my desk on to the floor.

The door to my office started to open. Quickly I jumped across the room, holding it shut. Mickey’s voice came anxiously through it. “Brad, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

I leaned against the door, breathing heavily. “I’m all right,” I gasped. “Go away.” “But——”

“I’m okay,” I insisted, “Go away!”

I could hear her footsteps leaving the door, and then the squeak of her chair as she sat down at her desk. Quietly I turned the lock and looked back into my office.

It was a shambles. I tried to care about it but I couldn’t. It didn’t matter. I took the handkerchief from my breast pocket and wiped my face. I could feel the damp sweat of nausea on my cheeks. I crossed the room and opened the window.

The cold air came running into the room and the nausea went away. For a long time I stood there looking over the city. You’re a dope, I told myself. You’re acting like a teenage kid. You got everything you ever wanted in this world. Money. Position. Respect. What more do you want? No dame is that important.

That was it. No dame was that important. I knew that all the time. That’s what I always said. I closed the window and walked back through the office. I sat down on the couch and leaned back against the cushions. I was tired and beat so I closed my eyes—and she jumped back into the room.

I could feel the softness of her hair, see the gentle curve of her smile, hear the sweetness in her voice. I rolled over and buried my face in the cushions until I could hardly breathe. But it was no good.

I punched my hand into the cushions to drive her face away. I opened my eyes but she was still in the room, just out of sight.

I got to my feet defiantly. I was shouting now. “Go away! Don’t bother me!” I shut up guiltily as my voice bounced back in the empty room.

AS I checked past the desk in my club, I asked the clerk if there had been any calls for me.

He checked the call sheet. “No, Mr. Rowan.”

I went on up to my room. I had told Marge last night that I would be in town late on business and would stay over at the club. I felt dog-tired and beat. I decided to head for the steam room, then get me a rub-down and shower.

I lay flat on the rubbing table while Sam worked out the kinks in me. I rested my hand on my arms.

Sam was a good workman. He had strong, soothing hands and soon I could feel the tension in me easing.

A sharp stinging slap on my rump brought me out of my reverie. “Your shower’s ready now, Mr.

Rowan,” Sam said.

Lazily I rolled off the rubbing table. “Thanks, Sam,” I said, stepping into the shower stall. The cold water hit me and I really woke up.

Mickey had a peculiar look on her face when I came in. “Call Pete Gordy,” she said.

“Get him for me,” I said, going on into my office. I looked around. Yesterday’s mess had been cleaned up.

Mickey came in behind me and put some papers on my desk. She turned to walk out without saying a word.

I stopped her. “Thanks for fixing up, Mickey,” I said.

She stared at me, a puzzled bewilderment on her face. “What got into you, Brad?” she asked. “I never saw you like that.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I been working too hard,” I answered. “And it caught up to me.”

I could see she didn’t buy my story, but I was the boss so she let it go at that. A few seconds later she had Pete Gordy on the phone.

Pete was one of my best accounts. He owned the largest independent chartered airline in the East.

He accounted for about twenty-five per cent of my business.

After the usual greeting I got down to business and asked what I could do for him.

An embarrassed tone crept into his voice. “Well, Brad,” he said in his best New England twang, “I don’t quite know how to tell you this.”

For a moment I held my breath, then I let it out slowly. I guess he didn’t really have to tell me. I had known somehow from the moment I came into the office and got his message. “What, Pete?” I asked, making my voice flat and blank.

“I’m going to have to pull my account,” he said.

“Why?” I asked. I knew why, but I wanted him to tell me. “I thought we were doing a hell of a job for you.”

“You are, Brad,” he said quickly. “I got no beefs there, but——” “But what?” I insisted.

“Certain things came up,” he said. “My bankers insisted.”

“What the hell do they care who does your work?” I exploded. “I always thought you were the kind of a guy who ran his own business.”

“Brad, don’t make it any tougher for me than it really is,” he pleaded. “You know how I feel about you. I can’t help this thing. I gotta do it or they’ll close down my financing.”

My anger left me. In a way he was right. There was nothing he could do about it. Matt Brady had put out the word. Who would dare say no to him?

“Okay, Pete,” I said. “I understand.”

I put down the phone gently and hit the buzzer. I told Mickey to send Chris in. I spun in my chair and looked out the window. It was hard to believe that one little old man could have so much power.

The intercom squawked. I flipped the switch and Mickey’s voice came from it. “Chris’s secretary tells me he left the office before you came in this morning.”

“When will he be back?”

“She didn’t know,” came the answer. I turned off the switch. This was great. The house starts tumbling down and the fire chief takes off.

The buzzer rang and I picked up the phone. It was another client. Same story. Sorry, old man.

Good-bye. It kept up all day. One after the other called me. I didn’t even have time to go to lunch, I was so busy taking cancellations.

By five o’clock the phone had stopped ringing. I looked at my watch gratefully. I was glad the business day was over. Another two hours of this and I would be back in the telephone booth I started from.

I crossed the room to the liquor cabinet and opened it. All the Scotch was gone. I smiled grimly.

Mickey had taken no chances when she cleaned the office this morning. I opened the door and looked out on her.

“Where’d you hide the Scotch, baby? “I asked. “I need a drink.”

She looked up sceptically. “Brad, you’re not going to do that again?” I shook my head. “No, baby. I just need a drink.”

She took a bottle from the file cabinet next to her desk and followed me into my office. “I can use one too,” she said.

I watched her make two, then took the drink she handed me. I sipped it gratefully. “Hear from Chris yet?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “I wonder where he is.”

I had an idea. “Did he see Matt Brady yesterday?” She looked puzzled. “When I told you to send him in to Chris,” I added.

“Oh—yes,” she remembered. “For long?” I asked.

“Only a few minutes,” she said. “Then Mr. Brady left.” “Chris say anything?”

She shook her head. “Not a word. He left before you. He seemed very nervous.”

I took another pull at my drink. I didn’t like the looks of it. Even if Matt Brady did put the word out, how could he get the list of my clients so quickly? He had to have some inside help.

Mickey was watching me. “What’s wrong, Brad? What got into everybody? McCarthy label you Communist?”

I grinned. “Just as bad,” I said. “Brady marked me good and proper.”

I GOT home for dinner real tired and beat. Marge took one look at my face and steered me to the living room. “You better have a cocktail before you eat,” she said quickly. “You’re all wound up.”

I sank into the club chair and looked at her. It was as if I had been away for a long time. There was concern in her eyes but she didn’t say a word until after I had sipped the drink.

“What’s wrong, Brad?” she asked.

I leaned my head wearily back against the chair. I closed my eyes. “I got troubles,” I said. “Brady didn’t like the way I talked so he’s out to get me.”

“Is that bad?” she asked.

I looked at her. “Bad enough,” I said. “I lost about eight of my best accounts to-day.”

A kind of relief came into her eyes. She sat down on the arm of the chair. “Is that all?” she asked.

I stared up at her, bewildered. We were going broke and it wasn’t important to her. “Isn’t that enough?” I demanded. “There’s nothing worse that could happen.”

She smiled down at me. “Yes there is,” she said softly. “Lots worse. And I thought it was happening, too.”

I didn’t understand her. “Like what?”

She took my hand. “I could lose you,” she said seriously. “And I thought I was going to, you were acting so strangely. But now I know it was only business. Ever since this steel thing started you haven’t been the same.”

I didn’t answer.

“That’s why you were so upset all the time, why you didn’t come home last night. Wasn’t it?” I nodded, not daring to speak. My voice might have betrayed me.

“Poor, tired baby,” she said softly, pressing her lips to my cheek.…

Jeanie had a date so we had dinner alone. While we ate I told her what had happened during the day. Her eyes were solemn as I spoke.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked when I had finished.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ll have to wait and see what happens to-morrow. It all depends on how much business I have left, whether I can keep the agency going. At any rate, I’ll have to start shrinking it soon. We can’t afford the payroll the way it is now.”

“You’ll have to let some people go?” she asked. “There’s nothing else to do,” I answered.

She was silent for a moment. “What a shame,” she said softly.

I knew what she was thinking. “It’s not so bad for them, honey,” I said. “It’s not like when I was let out during the depression. There are plenty of jobs now. It’s just a shame to break up an outfit like this. It took a long time to build.

“What does Chris say?” she asked.

I knew she thought a lot of him. I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know what he thinks,” I answered. “I didn’t see him all day. He went out early in the day.”

“That’s peculiar,” she said. “Did he know what was going on?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I got a hunch that he does.” I explained my suspicions to her. “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed in horrified tones.

I smiled at her. “Ambition is a vicious master,” I said. “It pushes a man in many directions. Some

of them are not so nice. It’s one of the conditions of society.” “But not Chris!” she said. “You’ve done so much for him.”

“Have I?” I asked. “Look at it from his viewpoint. He’s done so much for me. Now he wants his cut.”

“I can’t believe that Chris could be like that,” she insisted.

I pushed my chair back from the table. “I hope you’re right, baby,” I said. “There’s nothing I’d like better to be wrong about.”

I heard the screech of a car stopping in our driveway. “Who’s that, I wonder?” I asked. “Probably Jeanie coming from her date,” Marge replied.

The door chimes rang. Marge started to her feet. I waved her back. “Finish your coffee,” I said. “I’ll see who it is.”

I opened the door. Paul Remey stood there. I stared at him in surprise for a moment. “Paul! What are you doing up here?”

“I had to talk to you,” he said, coming into the foyer. “Have you gone nuts? What are you trying to do, ruin yourself?”

I took his hat and coat and hung them in the closet. “We’re just having coffee,” I said, evading his question. “Come and join us.”

He followed me into the dining-room. After greeting Marge, he turned back to me. “What’s this I hear about your fighting with Matt Brady?” he demanded.

“I ain’t fighting him,” I said quietly. “I just turned down a job he offered me, that’s all.” “That isn’t what I heard,” he said irately. “I heard you threw him out of your office.”

“You know me better’n that, Paul,” I said. “I just don’t want to work for him. He came to my office and I didn’t see him. I was busy.”

Paul stared at me, his mouth agape. Finally he caught his breath. “You wouldn’t see him,” he said sarcastically. “One of the five most influential businessmen in the country, and you wouldn’t see him. You must be off your rocker. Don’t you know that by to-morrow he’ll close down your business.

Where’re your brains, Brad?”

“You’re late, Paul,” I said. “He did a pretty good job on me to-day. I dropped almost sixty-five per cent of my billings to-day.”

Paul whistled. “So fast, eh?”

I nodded. “How did you hear about it?” I asked.

“Pearson knows I’m a friend of yours,” he said. “He called to check on it before he ran the item. I told him I knew nothing about it. That all I knew was your outfit was being considered for the industry public relations plan.”

News travelled fast; the word was out. I slumped back in my chair for a moment. They were right.

Who was I to fight Matt Brady? It was like sending a fly out to get an elephant.

He looked over at me. “What’s the story?” he asked.

“Brady wanted me to give the industry committee the go by and come to work for him. I told him I wasn’t interested in working for anybody,” I said in a dull voice.