Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

These groups never seemed that clever to me to plan it so smooth.

Listen, we’re not psychologists and know beans about the subject, but in what these groups do and their customers, they are. They haven’t studied it but just know.

So I forget my call and even thinking about it?

You’ll see for yourself. Jackie’s wife will claim the body in a few days and there’ll be a funeral and we’ll attend.

We were his such good friends and nobody will mind we’re there?

No one. Neither his wife, who’ll be compensated for the lesson. And the people who did him in will even expect it of us, and some of them will be there too. They play it decent, very orderly and good manners, something Jackie didn’t do or have. That was his problem. Not much brains too. Hand in hand with his gambling, that can kill you. Being a smartass besides, you’re dead.

I’ll remember that.

It can save your life.

Look, a life worth saving might as well be my own. You know, I don’t think I like this business anymore. Money’s good and not too many hours and so far steady, but too much excitement for me and you never know who to trust. Your friend’s your friend one day, and next day you’re fingered by him on maybe even a lie, and there you go with his thumb pressed into your throat goodbye.

There’s a lot depending on it for everyone, that’s why. You just got to do what’s expected of you till one day you get the right to give orders. That takes time and you got to want it but not ask for it. No matter what, it’s true you should never think you’re absolutely safe. Like with any job, any business. Draw your own parallels.

But even when you’re right up there, company president and the rest of it, you can be giving all the orders and still get it in the head.

Not if you do nothing wrong. Everything’s protected. Or let’s say, all your moves are almost already made. Sure, accidents happen, flukes out of nowhere. New people move in, alliances fall apart and develop, but then you got to know who to be for. All in all, though, you got to stay in line.

But what you’re saying makes it seem even more impossible. This one, that one, time comes along, how do I know I won’t be dumb enough to pick the wrong one? You saw with that phone call. Suppose I’d made it and some power person found out and thought it a very bad move. And for all I know it could’ve been my third to fourth very bad move in a short time and they might decide that’s the max so now I also definitely belong away. You could’ve told them of all the moves I made that I didn’t know were so bad, and this last one, coming from someone else, could’ve been the clincher.

Me? Your best friend? Tell on you?

They can give you reasons. I’ve heard that it can happen. You know it yourself. No, I really want out, but total.

Too early. You got too much put in — and they with you the same — for you to go so immediately. You have to step back very slowly till everything you do’s being done by someone else or among a crew and you’re so unnoticed, you’re out. Something like that. But takes time. Anything else is suspicious.

Then I’m leaving the area.

Forget it. They see a small hole, means someone’s missing. You’re not around, means it’s you. They find you, you’ll have to explain. Most times, to be extra protective of themselves, they won’t believe you whatever way you say it. You should’ve thought of all this before you came in.

How could I have known?

Come on. You heard of it, read about it, grown up with it, seen it in the movies and still do. Well, it’s not so far from all those combined where you should’ve known what it was like beforehand.

Poor Jackie.

Stupid Jackie, you mean.

Poor. Because he’s dead. Little I knew, I liked him. Oh, let’s shut the light.

I want to read some more.

The newspaper ink will make your fingers dirty.

I can live with it.

You feeling like a little physical activity before I turn over?

Not tonight, love, not tonight.

The article about Jackie?

It’s not that.

Then good reading.

And you, sweet dreams.

“That’s it, I quit, I can’t stand it anymore,” and I put the broom into the closet and go downstairs to the locker room. The boss comes.

“What’s this? What happened? If it’s Pete again, I’ll sack him.”

“No, it’s not Pete, though he gives me a hard time all right. But it’s not him. I’m tired of this job. I’ve been at it too long. Tired of all this kind of work. I get no satisfaction from it and I don’t think I ever did, not just here but in every place. I don’t know, but I’ve got to get out of it for good.”

“What satisfaction you want? You sweep the floor, you clean the dishes and occasionally bus some tables. What possible satisfaction can you get in that, except in doing a good job? And you do a good job with your sweeping and cleaning and when I ask you to bus, not to say the way you take care of the windows. Those windows shine. And when they shine, people see them and know it’s a clean place I got and they come in and sit down and want to be served and eat and drink and spend money. Customers compliment me on those windows. So I compliment you and on everything you do besides. So why do you want to quit? Satisfaction, that satisfaction that artists and scientists and great teachers get from their work, will never come to me or you. But just small satisfaction, like those people complimenting me on my windows and food, and a compliment or two from me to you and just in your own self about the good job you do, that you’ll get. And that you deserve, so stay. I’ll raise your salary if you want — ten cents an hour starting when you came in today.”

“It’s not the money,” I say.

“Don’t be a fool. It is so the money, or has to be in some big way. Because what else you live on: the garbage you wipe off the plates or sweep up in the corners of the dining room? Maybe you do find something every now and then on the floor you don’t tell me about, like a diamond earring or dollar bill or a customer’s bracelet. That you deserve too if the person who loses the earring or bracelet doesn’t come in to say she lost it, though whatever loose money you find is yours no matter who comes in to claim. But money you earn is what you live on. And ten cents more an hour, though not a lot to most people, to you comes up to almost five dollars a week, which you can certainly use. So ten cents an hour raise you’ll get, and starting first of this week, not today.”

“It’s not the money. I don’t want a raise. I wouldn’t say no to it if I stayed here, but I wouldn’t stay here for a dollar more an hour. Like I said, I’m tired of the job and it’s probably tired of me, whatever that means.”

“Fifteen cents an hour then, but that’s my limit. At four-eighty an hour with the new raise, you’ll be making more than just about any restaurant cleanup man in the city.”

“No, please, I told you—”

“Okay, you got it. Twenty cents an hour raise, but only because you’re so damn dependable, though don’t try to hold me up for more. That’s almost nine dollars more a week you’ll be getting, plus I won’t even tell you how much it costs me in those two big meals a day you eat. Of course, you’ll have to work a little extra harder for it. I don’t give raises away like that just any day of the week.”

“Really, I’m through with this line of work. I have to try and do something else, but I don’t know what.”

Then why leave? Leave, and I can’t say you did anything but quit. And if you quit, the state won’t give you unemployment insurance.”

“I don’t want any.”