Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“But you will talk to him, Curt?”

“What else are old friends for?” Curt asked sourly.

“You’re very sweet-oh,” Gillian said. “Can you make it this afternoon? Five-thirty?”

It was almost seven now, and no word from David. She sat on the living-room couch and looked through the open kitchen door to the clock on the wall, her legs tucked under her, hating the clock, and hating David for not having called, and hating Curt Sonderman, too. She couldn’t concentrate on the script, it was impossible. She picked up an emery board and began frantically filing her nails. She felt as excited as if she were applying for the job herself. She knew instinctively that it would be something good for David, and she desperately wanted him to have it. She would not allow herself to consider its ramifications, the possibility that if once he found a good job, a job he liked, a job that offered a challenge and a future, then he might... no, she would not allow herself to think in terms of a stupid shopgirl waiting for a man to make her honest, what the hell am I, Bertha the Sewing Machine Girl? She looked at the clock again and frowned. How inconsiderate of that oafish lout, she thought, not to call me when he surely knows I’m waiting. That big fool knows I’m sitting here sandpapering my fingernails down to the bone and beginning to resemble Venus de Milo, but does he care? He and that other idiot Sonderman are probably drunk in a Third Avenue bar discussing their conquests while I sit here like Elaine the fair guarding the sacred shield.

When the knock sounded on the door, she leaped to her feet instantly, rushed to it, and threw it open.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

“Hold it, hold it,” David said.

“Hold it! It’s seven o’clock! Didn’t you pass a telephone? Haven’t you got a nickel? I’ve been sitting here—”

“Now hold it, just hold it.”

“Did you get it, or not?”

“Good old Gillian, straight to the point.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do, you moron? Beat around the bush for an hour? Did you get the job or did you not get the job? If you don’t tell me right this minute, David, I’ll—”

“I think so.”

“You got it,” she said.

“Now wait a minute. I only think so. I didn’t say—”

“You got it,” Gillian said again, and she collapsed onto the couch. “I knew you’d get it.”

“I’m not sure I got it. He said he’d call me later tonight. There was someone else he promised to see.”

“If he’s going to call you later tonight, you got it. Tell me what happened. Tell me all about it.”

“Well, I walked in, and this portly guy at the bar—”

“Portly? Curt Sonderman? He was as thin as a rail when I knew him.”

“Well, he’s portly now.”

“That’s because he’s rich now.”

“Yes, the rich are always fat. Stereotype number six-four-five-three-one.”

“Don’t be such a smart-oh. He came from the bar, yes, go on?”

“And he said, ‘Mr. Regan?’ and I said, ‘Yes,’ and he said, ‘I’m Curt Sonderman. Nice to know you.’”

“Yes, yes?”

“So we sat down at a table and began talking about the job. Do you know what it is, Gilly?”

“I have some idea. But tell me.”

“Well, he produces two or three television shows, all of them live variety-type programs. The commercials on these shows, for the most part, are live too.”

“Yes, yes, go on.”

“I am. Most of his sponsors have New York advertising agencies, but some of the sponsors are out-of-town firms, the Middle West, California, who—”

“Yes, yes—”

“—who are using Los Angeles agencies with just very small branch offices in New York.”

“I see, yes. Go on.”

“Will you please stop interrupting me?”

“I’m sorry, go on.”

“Well, one of those sponsors had an incident happen on one of the shows where a fresh pineapple was supposed to be sliced, and the pineapple they used looked as if it had been sitting at the bottom of a garbage can for a week. When they showed the... what do you call it, Gilly? The film of the program?”

“The kinescope, the kine, go on.”

“Yes, when they showed the kine, the sponsor blew his top and decided to make sure this never happened again. So he called his Los Angeles ad agency and asked them to contact the other out-of-town sponsors on this one particular show, the Sam Martin show, to find out—”

“That’s a very big show. He’s very big, Martin is.”

“Yes, to find out if they’d be interested in getting together to hire a man in New York whose sole job would be to monitor these things, go to the studio when the commercials were being done, make certain the props were the right ones and all in the right places—”

“Yes, I see, yes—”

“—make sure the person doing the commercial had the right copy, generally ride herd on everybody, the premise being that an on-the-spot representative was absolutely essential. Well, the other sponsors thought it was a good idea, and the agency contacted Sonderman, who also thought it was a good idea, and they asked him if he’d take care of the New York hiring for them.”

“And he hired you!”

“Well...”

“That’s your job. It sounds exciting.”

“I haven’t got it yet.”

“How much does it pay?”

“Two hundred.”

“What! A week?”

“Yes.”

“Two hundred a week! David!” She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “David, you’ll get rich and portly!”

“That’s only the beginning salary, Gilly. Sonderman’s talking about getting the sponsors of the other two shows into the pool. And if that happens, the salary’ll go up.”

“Let’s celebrate!” Gillian said.

“I haven’t got the job yet. Will you please calm down?”

“You got it. I know you did. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I wanted to get back here as soon as possible. I gave him this number, and I was afraid he’d call while I was frittering my time away in a phone booth.”

“Where shall we go?”

“What do you mean?”

“After he calls. After we know you’ve got the job for sure.”

“Gillian, can’t we wait and—”

“Oh, I know you got it. What time did you leave him?”

“About forty minutes ago.”

“He’ll probably call in a few minutes. Curt does things quickly.”

“He seemed pretty much on the ball.”

“Did he like you?”

“I think so.”

“Did you pay for the drinks?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Did he ask many questions about television?”

“No. He seemed impressed by the library background. I don’t know why. Maybe he figures he needs a human catalogue to keep track of all the products on the show.”

The phone rang abruptly, shrilling into the apartment. They both turned to stare at it.

“Curt,” Gillian said.

“It’s too soon.”

“It’s Curt. I know it is. He doesn’t fool around. I told you that.”

The phone kept ringing.

“Answer it,” Gillian said.

“I think you ought to answer it.”

“It’s Curt.”

The phone was ringing noisily.

“Suppose it isn’t Curt?”

“You’ve answered the phone here before! For God’s sake, David, hurry! He’ll hang up!”

“I don’t think it’s Curt.”

“Answer it!”

David walked to the phone and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” he said. “Yes, this is he.” He paused. “Yes, Mr. Sonderman.” Gillian suddenly clasped her hands together. “Yes. Oh, just a few minutes ago. Um-huh. Yes, I see. Yes. Yes, I see. Yes, I understand. Thank you. Goodbye.”

He put the phone back into its cradle.

“Yes?” Gillian said.