Эд Макбейн - Strangers When We Meet

“A little cream, and two sugars.”

Baxter went to the intercom on his desk and flipped a toggle. “Nancy, some coffee, please,” he said. “Make mine the usual, and another with two sugars and a little cream.”

“Yes, Mr. Baxter,” a pert female voice answered.

“Do you want anything to eat, Larry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have something. Nancy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Some English muffins, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

He flicked off the toggle and walked back to Larry. “How’s the Altar house going?”

“We’ve got a builder,” Larry said. “A fellow named Di Labbia. Do you know him?”

“Yes. He’s honest. He’ll build you a tight house.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Have you broken ground yet?”

“This week, I hope. As soon as we get rid of this snow.”

“I take it Altar is pleased with the design.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t expect otherwise.” Baxter paused a moment, thinking. “This Di Labbia’s good. We used him on a bank in Westport. He’s fast, and he’s proud of his work. You don’t find many craftsmen nowadays who are. I admire men who take pride in their work, Larry. This is your product, and if it’s good, you’ve every reason to crow about it. Do you follow me?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Di Labbia’s fast. If he pours sometime this month, you should have your house by the fall. Ready for occupancy.”

“I was figuring on December.”

“Not with Di Labbia, believe me. Unless you’ve got a lot of special-order stuff.”

“Some big sheets of Thermopane, but I’ve been promised four months delivery on that. And some sliding glass doors from California. I’m not so sure on those.”

“Slipwell?”

“Yes.”

“A good outfit. You should have six months delivery at the outside. I suggest you get Di Labbia to order them right away.” Baxter began ticking off months on his fingers. “March, April, May, June, July, August... There, you’ll have your doors by August if you order now. I can help you on that, if you like. We’ve used Slipwell before. On really big orders. I might be able to pressure them.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Larry said.

Baxter jotted a reminder onto his memo pad. “Will there be an enclosure problem without those doors?”

“I don’t think so. We won’t have to worry about heat because they’ll be working during the summer. And tar paper should keep out the elements.”

“Your house’ll be ready in September. I guarantee it.”

Larry laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” Baxter said. “You don’t know Di Labbia. The man’s a demon on the job. Perhaps you met him over a cocktail where he looks like something out of The Barretts of Wimpole Street , but have you ever seen him with a hammer in his hands? He works like ten men, and he demands the same performance from his crew. This is a real builder. You don’t find them like him any more.”

“He underbid by about five thousand,” Larry said.

“Perhaps not. He’s thorough, but fast. He doesn’t get into those costly months of men piddling around doing nothing. When his men are on the job, there’s work to be done. He sees to it that they do it, and then gets them out quick. Larry, he’s a businessman. He knows the mortgage holding company will give him a quarter of his money at roofing and rough enclosure, and another quarter when his brown plastering is done. He gets his next payment when he’s fully plastered and has his heating unit completed. His final payment doesn’t come until C. of O. So why should he fool around? He wants to build and get out. If he bid five thousand lower than the next closest bid, it’s because he can damn well do it for five thousand lower. He’s organized and smart. I tell you Altar will move into that house in September. I know Di Labbia.”

“Okay,” Larry said, smiling. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’m not just making talk about Di Labbia,” Baxter said. “I’m a businessman myself. You may remember my telling you that.”

“I remember.”

“I’m lucky because I’m in a business I like, and also because I feel it’s a worth-while one. Suppose, for example, that I made ten million dollars a year manufacturing plastic practical jokes? I’d feel like a pimp.”

Larry burst out laughing.

“He laughs,” Baxter said. “There are men who do that for a living, Larry. When they die, they’ve left a plastic practical-joke empire built on Japanese labor. Maybe some Japanese factory town will erect a statue to the beloved departed benefactor. I doubt it. We’re dealing in essentials, you and I, basics. Architecture is a noble profession, and I’m proud to be a part of it. But at the same time, it’s my livelihood, and I’m forced to look at it cold-bloodedly every now and then. Which is why I’m concerned with when Di Labbia finishes that house. I’m not at all interested in Di Labbia, and even less interested in Roger Altar. I’m interested in you .”

“Me? I don’t understand.”

“Your direction, your goals. Are you happy doing private residential work? Because if you are, I’ve no right to interfere. But the job you turned in on the Puerto Rican development was superb. Building will begin as soon as we’ve completed the scheme. I was going to ask you to do that for us, but something else has come along. Larry, I’d be interested in knowing—”

There was a discreet knock on the door.

“Come in,” Baxter said.

The door opened, and a tall brunette came into the room carrying a tray upon which were the coffee cups and the English muffins.

“Ah, Nancy,” Baxter said. “Just put it down anywhere on my desk.”

Nancy moved aside some papers, slid some tile samples to the corner of the desk, and then put down the tray.

“Mr. Fandella called about five minutes ago,” she said. “I told him you were in conference. He asked that you call him sometime this afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

“You still don’t want to take any calls?”

“Not until Mr. Cole leaves.”

Nancy smiled at Larry and then walked out of the room. She was a very attractive girl who walked with certain knowledge of her quiet good looks.

When she was gone, Baxter said, “I like to surround myself with pretty people. It’s absurd, I know, but I have to look at my staff for from eight to sixteen hours a day. Take your coffee.” He handed Larry a cup and then picked up his own cup of black coffee. “Toasted English? There’s some jam here.”

“Thanks,” Larry said. He walked to the desk, picked up one of the muffins and spread it with jam.

“Eloise objected at first. She didn’t see why every secretary or receptionist I hired had to be pretty. I explained to her that it was all her fault.”

“How so?”

“She’d set such a high aesthetic standard at home that she’d spoiled me!” Baxter began chuckling. “She’s an angel, that woman. I love her.” He chuckled again. “She’s used to pretty girls around the office now. In fact, I think it pleases her. It’s completely unfair to plain people, I know, and I’m certainly no paragon of beauty. But I like what it does for the office. It’s American to be beautiful. Does that make any sense? I think of America as strong bodies and straight legs and good teeth and suntans and quiet beauty. Not the Hollywood junk. So I feel more like a working American in an office which employs pretty girls as file clerks. My weakness,” Baxter said, smiling and shrugging. “Quiet beauty.”

Larry nodded and said nothing, but he thought of Maggie’s shrieking loveliness.

“About you,” Baxter said, spreading jam on one of the muffin halves. “What were your impressions of Hebbery?”