Jane Bowles - My Sister's Hand in Mine - The Collected Works of Jane Bowles

On Sunday morning Miss Goering woke up to find Andy in his shirt sleeves, dusting off some small tables in the living-room.

“What is it?” she asked him. “Why are you bustling around like a bride?”

“Don’t you remember?” he asked, looking hurt. “Today is the big day — the day of the conference. They are coming here bright and early, all three of them. They live like robins, those business men. Couldn’t you,” he asked her, “couldn’t you do something about making this room prettier? You see, they’ve all got wives, and even if they probably couldn’t tell you what the hell they’ve got in their living-rooms, their wives have all got plenty of money to spend on little ornaments and their eyes are probably used to a certain amount of fuss.”

“Well, this room is so hideous, Andy, I don’t see that anything would do it any good.”

“Yes, I guess it’s a pretty bad room. I never used to notice it much.” Andy put on a navy-blue suit and combed his hair very neatly, rubbing in a little brilliantine. Then he paced up and down the living-room floor with his hands in his hip pockets. The sun was pouring in through the window, and the radiator was whistling in an annoying manner while it overheated the room as it had done constantly since Miss Goering had arrived.

Mr. Bellamy, Mr. Schlaegel, and Mr. Dockerty had received Andy’s note and were on their way up the stairs, having accepted the appointment more out of curiosity and from an old habit of never letting anything slip by than because they actually believed that their visit would prove fruitful. When they smelled the terrible stench of the cheap cooking in the halls, they put their hands over their mouths in order not to laugh too loudly and performed a little mock pantomime of retreating towards the staircase again. They really didn’t care very much, however, because it was Sunday and they preferred being together than with their families, so they proceeded to knock on Andy’s door. Andy quickly wiped his hands because they were sweaty and ran to open the door. He stood in the doorway and shook hands with each man vigorously before inviting them to come in.

“I’m Andrew McLane,” he said to them, “and I’m sorry that we have not met before.” He ushered them into the room and all three of them realized at once that it was going to be abominably hot. Mr. Dockerty, the most agressive of the three men, turned to Andy.

“Would you mind opening the window, fellow?” he said in a loud voice. “It’s boiling in here.”

“Oh,” said Andy blushing, “I should have thought of it.” He went over and opened the windows.

“How do you stand it, fellow?” said Mr. Dockerty. “You trying to hatch something in here?”

The three men stood in a little group near the couch and pulled out some cigars, which they examined together and discussed for a minute.

“Two of us are going to sit on this couch, fellow,” said Mr. Dockerty, “and Mr. Schlaegel can sit here on this little armchair. Now where are you going to sit?”

Mr. Dockerty had decided almost immediately that Andy was a complete boob and was taking matters into his own hands. This so disconcerted Andy that he stood and stared at the three men without saying a word.

“Come,” said Mr. Dockerty, carrying a chair out of a corner of the room and setting it down near the couch, “come, you sit here.”

Andy sat down in silence and played with his fingers.

“Tell me,” said Mr. Bellamy, who was a little more soft-spoken and genteel than the other two. “Tell me how long you have been living here.”

“I have been living here two years,” said Andy listlessly.

The three men thought about this for a little while.

“Well,” said Mr. Bellamy, “and tell us what you have done in these three years.”

“Two years,” said Andy.

Andy had prepared quite a long story to tell them because he had suspected that they might question him a bit about his personal life in order to make certain what kind of man they were dealing with, and he had decided that it would not be wise to admit that he had done absolutely nothing in the past two years. But he had imagined that the meeting was to be conducted on a much more friendly basis. He had supposed that the men would be delighted to have found someone who was willing to put a little money into their business, and would be more than anxious to believe that he was an upright, hard-working citizen. Now, however, he felt that he was being cross-questioned and made a fool of. He could barely control his desire to bolt out of the room.

“Nothing,” he said, avoiding their eyes, “nothing.”

“It always amazes me,” said Mr. Bellamy, “how people are able to have leisure time — that is, if they have more leisure time than they need. Now I mean to say that our business has been running for thirty-two years. There hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t had at least thirteen or fourteen things to attend to. That might seem a little exaggerated to you or maybe even very much exaggerated, but it isn’t exaggerated, it’s true. In the first place I attend personally to every house on our list. I check the plumbing and the drainage and the whatnot. I see whether or not the house is being kept up properly and I also visit it in all kinds of weather to see how it fares during a storm or a blizzard. I know exactly how much coal it takes to heat every house on our list. I talk personally to our clients and I try to influence them on the price they are asking for their house, whether or not they are trying to rent or to sell. For instance, if they are asking a price that I know is too high because I am able to compare it with every price on the market, I try to persuade them to lower their price a little bit so that it will be nearer the norm. If, on the other hand, they are cheating themselves and I know…”

The other two men were getting a little bored. One could easily see that Mr. Bellamy was the least important of the three, although he might easily have been the one that accomplished all the tedious work. Mr. Schlaegel interrupted him.

“Well, my man,” he said to Andy, “tell us what this is all about. In your letter you stated that you had some suggestions whereby you thought we could profit, as well as yourself, of course.”

Andy got up from his chair. It was evident to the men now that he was under a terrific tension, so they were doubly on their guard.

“Why don’t you come back some other time?” said Andy very quickly. “Then I will have thought it out more clearly.”

“Take your time, take your time, now, fellow,” said Mr. Dockerty. “We are all here together and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t talk it over right away. We don’t really live in town, you know. We live twenty minutes out in Fairview. We developed Fairview ourselves, as a matter of fact.”

“Well,” said Andy, coming back and sitting on the edge of his chair, “I have a little property myself.”

“Where’s that?” said Mr. Dockerty.

“It’s a building, in the city, way down, near the docks.” He gave Mr. Dockerty the name of the street and then sat biting his lips. Mr. Dockerty didn’t say anything.

“You see,” continued Andy, “I thought I might hand my rights to this building over to the corporation in return for an interest in your business — at least a right to work for the firm and get my share out of the selling I do. I wouldn’t need to have equal rights with you immediately, naturally, but I thought I’d discuss these details with you later if you were interested.”

Mr. Dockerty shut his eyes and then after a little while he addressed himself to Mr. Schlaegel.

“I know the street he is talking about,” he said. Mr. Schlaegel shook his head and made a face. Andy looked at his shoes.