Nelson Algren - The New Black Mask Quarterly (№ 1)

Without any notion of actually working, I went into the small room, a one-time serving pantry which does duty as my study. I sat down at my typewriter, wrote a few exercise sentences and various versions of my name. After about thirty minutes of such fiddling around, I jumped up and fled to my bedroom. Fretfully examined myself in the warped full-length mirror.

And I thought: All dressed up and no place to go.

There would be no call from PXA. If there was one, I couldn’t respond to it. Not after the ordeal I had been put through last night. No one who was serious about giving me worthwhile employment would have done such a thing to me. And it must have been done deliberately. An outfit as cruelly efficient as PXA didn’t allow things like that to come about accidentally.

I closed my eyes and clenched my mind to the incident, unable to live through it again even in memory. Wondered why it was that I seemed constantly called upon to face things I couldn’t. I went back down to my whilom study, but not to my typewriter. What was there to write? Who would want anything written by me?

I sat down on a small love seat. A spiny tuft of horsehair burst through the upholstery and stabbed me in the butt, something that seemed to typify the hilarious tragedy of my life. I was pining away of a broken heart or something, but instead of being allowed a little dignity and gravity, I got my ass tickled.

Determinedly, I stayed where I was and as I was. Bent forward with my head in my hands. Sourly resisting the urge to squirm or snicker.

Poor Lo...

“Poor Lo...”

I chuckled wryly, poking fun at myself.

“Well, screw it,” I said. “They may kill me, but they can’t eat me.”

There was a light patter of applause. Hand clapping.

I sat up, startled, and Manuela Aloe laughed and sat down at my side.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I spoke to you a couple of times, but you didn’t hear me.”

“B-but — but—” I began to get hold of myself. “What are you doing here?”

“Your housekeeper showed me in. I came out here because I was afraid you wouldn’t come to the office after the terrible time you must have had last night.”

“You were right,” I said. “I wouldn’t have gone down to your office. And there really wasn’t much point to your coming out here.”

“I did send a car to pick you up last night, Britt. I don’t blame you for being angry, but I did send it.”

“Whatever you say,” I said.

“I don’t know what happened to the driver. No one’s seen him since. Our people aren’t ordinarily so irresponsible, but it’s not unheard of. But anyway, I am sorry.”

“So much for the driver,” I said. “Now what about Albert?”

“Albert,” she grimaced. “I don’t know whether it was booze or dope or just plain stupidity that made him do what he did. I don’t care, either. He’s out of a job as of this morning, and he’ll be a long time in getting another one.”

She nodded to me earnestly, the dark eyes warm with concern. I hesitated, wanting to swallow my pride — how could I afford pride? Remembering Connie’s demands for money.

“There was something else,” I said. “Something that came to me when I was outside your office yesterday.”

“Yes?” She smiled encouragingly. “What was that, Britt?”

I hesitated again, trying to find some amiable euphemisms for what was virtually an accusation. And finding excuses instead. After all, her office would logically have sound equipment in it; devices for auditing the tapes. And why, when I was so strongly drawn to this girl, and when I needed money so badly, should I continue to squeeze her for apologies and explanations?

“Yes, Britt?”

“Nothing,” I said. “No, I mean it. Thinking it over, I seem to have found the answer to my own question.”

That wasn’t true. Aside from the woman’s being slapped, there was something else. The fact that PXA had milked me for all kinds of personal information as a condition for granting my loan. My likes and dislikes, my habits and weaknesses. Information that could be used to drive me up a figurative wall, should they take the notion.

But I meant to give them no cause to take such a notion. And I am an incurable optimist, always hoping for the best despite the many times I have gotten the worst.

Manny was studying me, her dark eyes boring into mine. Seemingly boring into my mind. A sudden shadow blighted the room, and I was chilled with a sickening sense of premonition.

Then she laughed gaily, gave herself a little shake, and assumed a business-like manner.

“Well, now,” she said briskly. “I’ve had a long talk with Uncle Pat, and he’s left everything to me. So how about a series of pamphlets on the kind of subjects you deal with for the Foundation?”

“It sounds fine,” I said. “Just — well — fine.”

“The pamphlets will be distributed free to schools, libraries, and other institutions. They won’t carry any advertising. Just a line to the effect that they are sponsored by PXA as a public service.”

I said that was fine, too. Just fine. She opened her blond leather purse, took out a check and handed it to me. A check for $3,500. Approximately $2,900 for the first month’s work, with the rest for expenses.

“Well?” She looked at me pertly. “All right? Any questions?”

I let out a deep breath. “My God!” I breathed fervently. “Of course it’s all right! And no, no questions.”

She smiled and stood up, a lushly diminutive figure in her fawn-colored panstsuit. Her breasts and her bottom bulged deliciously against the material; seemed to strain for release. And I thought thoughts that brought a flush to my face.

“Come on.” She wiggled her fingers. “Show me around, hmm? I’ve heard so much about this place, I’m dying to see it.”

“I’m afraid it’s not much to see anymore,” I said. “But if you’re really interested in ruins...”

I showed her through the house, or much of it. She murmured appreciatively over the decaying evidence of past grandeur, and regretfully at the ravages of time.

When we finished out tour of the house Manny again became business-like. “We’ll have a lot of conferring to do to get this project operating, Britt. Do you want an office, or will you work here?”

“Here, if it’s agreeable to you,” I said. “I have a great deal of research material here, and I’m used to the place. Of course if it’s inconvenient for you...”

“Oh, we’ll work it out,” she promised. “Now, if you’ll drive me back to town...”

The car she had driven out in was mine, she explained, pointing to the gleaming new vehicle which stood in the driveway. Obviously I would need a car, and PXA owed me one. And she did hope I wouldn’t be stuffy about it.

I said I never got stuffy over gifts of single cars. Only fleets of them, and not always then. Manny laughed and gave me a playful punch on the arm.

“Silly! Now, come on, will you? We have a lot to do today.”

We did have a lot to do, as it turned out. At least we did a lot — far more than I anticipated. But that’s getting ahead of the story. To take events in their proper order:

I drove into town, Manny sitting carelessly close to me. I deposited the check in my bank, drew some cash and returned to the car — my car. It was lunch time by then, so we lunched and talked. I talked mostly, since I have a knack for talk, if little else, and Manny seemed to enjoy listening to me.

We came out of the restaurant into mid-afternoon, and talking, I drove around until sunset. By which time, needless to say, we were ready for a drink. We had it, rather we had them, and eventually we had dinner. When twilight fell we were on the outskirts of town, parked by the lake which served as the reservoir for the city’s water system.