Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

The surprise turned out to be a large leather armchair with a matching hassock for Tom to put his feet on. Betsy had put a small table by it, with a box of cigarettes, matches, and an ash tray. She had also placed an ice bucket there, two glasses, and the mixings for cocktails. “You looked so tired when you got back from Atlantic City last night,” she said. “I figured you ought to have a place where you can just sink down and rest when you get home. I’m going to try to organize things so we have a half hour of quiet before supper. Kids, go upstairs, the way you promised you would!”

Janey grinned, and with unusual obedience led the others up the stairs. “I put ginger ale up there for them,” Betsy said. “They’re going to have a quiet period in their room, while we have ours down here. We’re going to try to do it that way for a half hour every night.”

“That’s wonderful,” Tom said. “It’s a marvelous chair.” He sat down in it gratefully, put his feet up on the hassock, and lit a cigarette. Betsy mixed the cocktails and handed him one. He took a sip and said, “Did you bring that speech in from the car?”

“Yes. It’s on the hall table. Why?”

“I’m anxious to see what you think of it.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

She sat in a chair across the room from Tom and took the speech from the envelope. He watched her face while she read it. Her expression was serene. At first she read slowly, but soon began to flip rapidly through the pages. Tom poured himself another drink. “What do you think of it so far?” he asked.

“Did you write this?”

“I helped. Do you like it?”

“Well,” she said hesitantly, “I don’t know much about the subject. My opinion wouldn’t mean much.”

“Come on. What do you think of it?”

“It’s kind of boring,” she said. “Maybe it’s just me, but I find it pretty hard to keep my mind on it. It seems to keep saying the same thing over and over again.”

Tom laughed. “Any other comments?”

“To be honest, some of it sounds pretty silly,” Betsy said. “Is this what Hopkins wanted you to write?”

“I didn’t really write it,” Tom said. “I think Ogden did most of it, or maybe Hopkins himself. And now Hopkins wants me to tell him what I think of it.”

“What are you going to say?”

Tom laughed again. “There’s a standard operating procedure for this sort of thing,” he said. “It’s a little like reading fortunes. You make a lot of highly qualified contradictory statements and keep your eyes on the man’s face to see which ones please him. That way you can feel your way along, and if you’re clever, you can always end up by telling him exactly what he wants to hear.”

“Is that what they do?” Betsy asked. She didn’t laugh.

“That’s what they do. For instance, I’ll begin by saying, ‘I think there are some wonderful things about this speech. ’ If Hopkins seems pleased, I’ll finish the sentence by saying, ‘and I have only the most minor improvements to suggest.’ But if he seems a little surprised at the word wonderful, I’ll end the sentence with, but as a whole, I don’t think it comes off at all, and I think major revisions are necessary.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Betsy asked. She wasn’t even smiling.

“As I say, it’s standard operating procedure,” Tom replied. “The first thing the young executive must learn.”

“I think it’s a little sickening,” Betsy said bluntly.

“Damn it, have a sense of humor. What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing’s the matter with me. I’m just interested in knowing the answers to a few questions. What do you really think of that speech?”

“I think it’s terrible,” Tom said. “My business education, you see, is not complete. In a few years I’ll be able to suspend judgment entirely until I learn what Hopkins thinks, and then I’ll really and truly feel the way he does. That way I won’t have to be dishonest any more.”

Betsy put the speech neatly back in its envelope, handed it to Tom, and without a word went to the kitchen.

“Betsy!” he said. “Come back. I want to talk to you.”

“I’m getting dinner,” she said.

“What’s the matter? It’s not time for dinner yet.”

“I’ve got some things that have to be put on the stove.”

He went to the kitchen and found her filling a kettle with water. “You’re angry with me,” he said. “Can’t you take a joke?”

“I don’t think you were joking.”

“Of course I was. I was knocking myself out with humor.”

“What are you going to tell Hopkins tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Why’s that so important all of a sudden?”

She put the kettle on the stove and turned toward him suddenly. “I didn’t like the look of you sitting there in that big chair talking so damn smugly and cynically!” she said. “You looked disgusting! You looked like just the kind of guy you always used to hate. The guy with all the answers. The guy who has no respect for himself or anyone else!”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly. “Do you want me to go in there tomorrow and tell Hopkins I think his speech is a farce?”

“I don’t care what you tell him, but I don’t like the idea of your becoming a cheap cynical yes-man and being so self-satisfied and analytical about it. You never used to be like that.”

“All right,” Tom said. “I’ll tell him I think his speech is absurd. And he’ll decide I’m a nice honest guy who just happens to be no use to him at all.”

“How do you know? Maybe he doesn’t like the speech either.”

“Sure, it might turn out that way. I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance if I play it straight, but if I feel my way along, I have a ninety per cent chance of giving him what he wants.”

“Maybe he just wants an honest opinion.”

“That sounds real nice,” Tom said bitterly. “You don’t know how guys like Hopkins are.”

“No, I don’t,” she said.

“You haven’t even met him.”

“No, I haven’t. What’s he ever done to convince you he’s dishonest?”

“I didn’t say he is dishonest.”

“He is if you have to agree with him all the time to keep your job.”

“That’s not true. A guy who disagreed with him most of the time simply wouldn’t be useful to him.”

“Not if you were right and he was wrong — if it were that way, you could be damn useful by disagreeing. There’s no two ways about it: either you think that he’d fire you for disagreeing, even if you were right, or you’re not sure you’re right. Either you’ve got no confidence in him, or none in yourself. Which is it?”

“Don’t be so righteous,” Tom said. “If you really want to know, I’m not too damn sure of either him or myself. I don’t really know whether that speech will do whatever he wants it to do or not — maybe all the slick advertising guys will think it’s wonderful, and maybe that’s what he wants. I don’t know how he’d feel about a guy who disagreed with him. The point is, you’d have to take an awful chance to find out.”

“And you don’t want to take a chance.”

“You’re talking like a typical American woman,” Tom said disgustedly. “You want it both ways. ‘Don’t play it safe,’ you say, ‘and can we get a new car tomorrow?’ ”

“You can’t imagine being honest and getting a raise for it.”

“My Boy Scout days are over,” Tom said doggedly.

“And so you’re going in there tomorrow and lie to the man if you figure that’s what he wants.”

“You’re damn right I am.”

“How long will it be before you decide it isn’t necessary to tell the truth to me?”