Stuart Kaminsky - Tomorrow Is Another day

"Phil?"

He looked across at me. "I'm on suspension," he said, on the verge of more explosions. "Maybe pushed into retirement. There wouldn't be a maybe about it if the war was over and the place was running with M.P.'s looking for work. You know what my record looks like, Toby?"

"You've worked the streets and you're honest," I said.

"I break heads and I've got a bad temper."

"You?"

Phil scratched the back of his closed right fist. A very, very bad sign.

"I think I'll be going now, Phil," I said, getting up.

He looked at me but didn't answer, and I got up.

"Tell Ruth and the kids I stopped by. Happy birthday."

"Monday, Veblin's office, Toby. You lie. You save my job. I've got nothing but that job."

He advanced on me and we were face to face, inches apart. Deja vu, a thousand times like this, maybe two thousand since I was four.

"I'm not putting on a security uniform and punching a warehouse time clock," he said.

"I'll lie," I promised.

"Good night, Toby.".

"Good night, Phil."

I left.

There had been much better days and this one could have been worse. It couldn't have been much more confusing but it could have been worse, at least for me. I was still alive.

My things were in the Crosley. I wondered if Spelling had followed me to Phil's. I looked around. Nothing, but then again I hadn't spotted him before. But then again, I hadn't been looking before.

No point in going back to Jeremy's model apartment. I headed for Mrs. Plaut's and made it there in about an hour. There was no waiting landlady. The house was quiet. I took off my shoes and tiptoed up the stairs slowly. In my room, I turned on the lights and put my bag on the sofa.

Dash sat on the table. He didn't purr. He didn't scold or make noise. He waited for food. I gave him some and then I kicked off my pants and threw my shirt on the chair. I was too tired to wash, too tired to shave, too tired to think, and my back was starting to complain again. I turned off the lights, plopped on my mattress, and hugged my third pillow.

My fingers touched something, paper. I groaned and sat up, crawling to the light with the paper in my hand. I found the switch and looked at the envelope, a Selznick International envelope complete with the drawing of the Selznick office building in the corner. My name was on it. I Opened it. Single sheet. Simple message.

"Tomorrow has finally come."

I hit the light switch, lay back, and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I discovered that Spelling or whoever he was was right. Tomorrow had come. The sun was coming through the window and my back hurt. A lesser man or a greater one would have been discouraged. There were three things to do. First, I lifted Dash off of my stomach. His claws tickled my skin and his weight threatened my lower back. Second, I pulled myself up by the couch and balanced, clutching the pink-and-blue pillow Mrs. Plaut had given me, with "God Bless Us Every One" stitched in pink on blue. I staggered slowly to the refrigerator, pulled out the nearly empty bottle of milk and an almost-full box of Hydrox vanilla cookies with the cream centers.

I made it to the table, kicked the chair a few inches from the table, and sat. There was a reasonably clean coffee cup on the table. I filled it with milk and began dunking cookies. After six cookies I was feeling decidedly better, not yet human or able to walk, but with something to live for. After six more cookies, I was confident that life had meaning, but what that meaning might be was nowhere near my understanding.

I was considering whether to finish the last three cookies and the rest of the milk when the door opened.

"Toby," said Gunther, dressed, pressed, and ready for the day in a three-piece suit and perfectly matched striped tie. "What is wrong?"

"Wrong?" I said with a grin. "Nothing. My brother's about to lose his job and it's my fault. My ex-wife, who, by the way, I still love, is seeing my lawyer. My back is out. I am nearly broke and I've got an actor to protect and a killer to catch who makes no sense."

"That, if I may say so, does not seem that unusual for you," said Gunther with concern.

"I'm running out of cookies," I tried.

"That," he said, "can be remedied. It is the look of protective madness hi your eyes that concerns me."

"I'll be fine," I assured him.

"You have a phone call," he said.

I nodded wisely and stood up, with effort.

"Some focused meditation would help your back," he said.

I grunted and used the furniture and the walls to make it past Gunther and inch my way along the wall toward the phone.

"I suggest you lean against me," he said.

I grunted again and leaned against Gunther, which made my back hurt even more but I didn't have the heart to turn down his offer of help. Gunther was sensitive about his size.

"Hello," I said.

"You got my note?"

"What's your name?"

"I didn't sign it, but you know my name. Spelling."

"Nope. Try again. Spelling had no relatives," I said.

"Not officially."

"Not unofficially either," I said. "I just read the autopsy report. Lots of stuff I didn't understand, but I did understand this-he couldn't have children. Born that way."

No sound on the other end at my less-than-brilliant but apparently effective lie. I was feeling better already.

"Let's hear a poem," I suggested. "The day is young."

"The actor dies tonight," he said, probably between clenched teeth. "And then you."

"Good-bye," I said and hung up.

I was feeling much, much better, though I didn't know why. Gunther stayed with me while I called Shelly at the office. Violet Gonsenelli answered, all businesslike, "Dr. Minck's office."

"Dr. Minck and Private Investigator Peters," I corrected.

"Dr. Minck told me…"

"Minck and Peters, like The Spirit and Ebony, Plastic Man and Woozy Winks, Captain Midnight and Ichabod Mudd," I said.

"I don't understand," Violet said.

"Is this the first call you've taken?"

"Yes."

"It gets more confusing," I said. "Let me talk to Shelly."

I talked to Shelly, fast, few words, and to the point. And then I turned to find myself facing the new boarder.

Her sudden appearance didn't dampen my senseless glee. I couldn't remember her name, but I'll never forget the look she gave me as Gunther and I said good morning and she hurried down the stairs.

"I don't think she cares for you, Gunther," I said.

"I suggest it is your countenance which disturbed her, Toby," he said.

I was dressed only in a pair of undershorts of doubtful cleanliness and protection. I needed a shave, a shower, a comb, and the impression that I could stand without the support of a wall and a very little person.

"What's your day like, Gunther?" I asked.

"Well, it is in fact a rather complex one, Toby," he said, helping me back to my room and to the chair at the table. "I have a luncheon engagement with Miss Stoltz, and Gwen is in the city and has asked if I could possibly meet with her at some point. I was thinking of tea or, perhaps… did you need my services before tonight?"

"No," I said. "Just so you're in your tux and ready by six."

"I will be," Gunther said. "If you have need of my help before eleven twenty-two, simply knock on the wall. I will be working."

And Gunther departed.

Ten minutes later I made my way to the bathroom down the hall, carrying a pair of pants and a shirt from the closet. My pants from the night before were still on the floor. I could think of no way of picking them up and then coming to anything like a standing position without massive military assistance.

I managed to shower, shave, shampoo, clean my ears with Q-tips, brush my teeth, and look myself in the face in the mirror.

I wasn't perfect, but I was better and better. I sat on the sofa, clutched Mrs. Plaut's pillow, looked down at Dash who was washing himself, and fell asleep.