"There's one small thing that we didn't make quite clear in our telephone talk," Collins said with a smile to Atlas. "The matter of the notes. I assume you and Mr. Paperman are both signing them."
"Notes? I'm not signing any notes," said Atlas.
Collins' huge jaw sagged in astonishment. "But-surely you two gentlemen are acting together?"
"Paperman's the buyer. I'm on the bank loan as an act of friendship. There's nothing in this deal for me."
Atlas's tone was getting brutal again. Norman, afraid of a new last-minute difficulty that could wreck everything, struck in. "What are the notes, exactly, Lester?"
Atlas looked at him in real surprise, and took off his glasses. "Norm, didn't you read the contract?"
Paperman laughed nervously. "I'm not a lawyer or a tycoon. I didn't exactly follow it."
"It couldn't be simpler," Atlas said, rubbing his eyes. "There's a balance due here of fifty thousand, right? Amy's getting fifteen thousand from the bank, and she's accepting promissory notes for the other thirty-five thousand. That's all."
"But I also got five thousand," Norman said, waving his check. He felt foolish, exposing his confusion, but at this point he had to know the facts. It was getting to be life or death.
"Why sure, Norm. That's why the bank loan is for twenty," Atlas said with gentle patience. "That's the binder you paid, see? You're getting it back like I promised. You'll need that five for your new construction. You've got two years to pay off the bank. Amy's notes don't begin to come due until after that, and they stretch out over four more years. With interest and all, you've got about six years to pay off."
Paperman was becoming more and more alarmed; alarmed, and a little sick, as this deal of Atlas's began finally to come into focus. "Lester, I'm not the world's smartest businessman, I know that-"
"Neither am I, Norm. Just an old truth teller, trying to get along."
"Let me see if I understand this," Paperman pressed on, finding himself oddly hoarse. "I'm going to have to pay the bank twenty thousand dollars. Then after that, I've got to pay Mrs. Ball thirty-five thousand dollars. Is that it?"
"Sure. Plus interest. You agreed to that price, Norm."
"But this means I'm committing myself to pay out-what? Almost a thousand dollars a month, isn't it? Every month for the next six years."
"Right. The club's throwing off a good fourteen, fifteen hundred a month, so there's no strain."
Norman was doing some frantic pencil work on the back of one of the documents. "Lester, that's what I thought I'd be living on. Maybe my arithmetic's cockeyed, but that leaves me maybe five thousand a year for me and my family, at best. I've been living on twenty thousand a year, and more."
"Well, baby, that's why you're going to install the new rooms, see? They're going to put you over the top."
Paperman subsided, picking up the contract and peering at it; not to read it, but merely to avoid the eyes of the banker, the lawyer, and
Mrs. Ball, who were all looking at him with unbelieving amusement, as his ignorance of the transaction became naked.
Collins said, "Actually, it's a fine deal. With those new rooms you'll have a comfortable fifteen thousand a year, and after the debt retires, you'll be rolling in money. Mr. Atlas, we conducted our telephone negotiation on a gentlemanly basis." He put the sheaf of blue promissory notes in front of the fat man, who was regarding him coldly. "I assured my client that you were a gentleman, and would endorse the whole deal. I know you will."
Atlas glanced at his watch. Then he put a thick hairy finger within an inch of Collins' nose. "Listen, you, I'm getting a little tired." He spoke in a tone of growling power that made Norman quake, a sound like an earth-moving machine working in low gear. "Amy paid those two fags six thousand dollars for the Club. Don't you think I know that? I found it out before I'd been on this island four hours. She's walking out of here today with fourteen thousand dollars cash profit. The notes are just gravy on top of that. You expected me to endorse the notes? Me? You think I got to where I can borrow a million and a half on my name by getting into such deals? How much can you borrow on your name?"
The lawyer ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed, staring at the finger. "My dear sir, all property in the Caribbean has increased in value-"
"I know that. Otherwise I wouldn't have let Norman make this deal. I'm going on the bank loan so he can get into the business he wants. If he drops dead I'm stuck for twenty thousand dollars. That's my lookout. I'm not taking any more of this sucker deal. You knew I wasn't, so let's cut out the nonsense! Sign the notes, Norm, and I'll go back north. I'm busy."
Collins made a defeated gesture at Mrs. Ball with both hands.
The woman sat up straight and turned her smile at Norman. "I have perfect confidence in your signature, Mr. Paperman. I'm sure it'll be quite enough. So-" She gestured invitingly at the blue notes lying on the desk.
Collins took a pen out of a desk holder, and extended it toward Paperman.
Paperman looked at the pile of blue slips, and then at Atlas. He cleared his throat, and made no move. "Do I sign these, Lester?"
"If you want the Gull Reef Club, Norm, sure."
Norman Paperman was in a panic. The deal was not in the least what he had pictured. He knew now that he had been pitiably vague about it. Vaguely he had thought that Atlas would advance him fifty-five thousand dollars, and vaguely that he would pay it back some day. But Lester Atlas was different, Lester was not a vague man. He acted, it was obvious, on a clear hard rule: never part unnecessarily with a dollar. In arranging this deal he had put Norman into the hotel business. He had done it without parting with a dollar. He had even managed to make Norman pay for the new rooms by selling his client list. The five thousand Norman was getting back now was only his own desperately obtained money that had covered the check; he was just borrowing it again from the bank. All this was true, yet who could say that Atlas had not kept his word?
The four people in the hideously hot room were staring at Paperman. The fan hummed and clanked in the silence. He had the strongest possible impulse to bolt out, while he still had the chance. His heart was hammering, sweat trickled from his armpits, his mouth was dry, he could still taste the abominable grease of the airport doughnut. But what could he do if he did back out? Return to New York, try to find other clients, face the friends who had cheered his departure to a glorious new life? Face Henny with this grotesque fiasco?
"Lester," he said after a long time, in a strained voice. "This isn't what I expected."
Atlas was looking straight at him. "What did you expect, Norman? Charity?"
Paperman stood, taking a pen from his sweat-soaked inner pocket. He walked to the desk, and there, on all the blue slips, he signed his name.
Part Two
MINE HOST
Chapter Five
The First Day
I
Atlas went off in great spirits. The last thing he said to Paperman, out of the window of the taxicab, was, "Keep an eye peeled for any good land that comes on the market, hear? That's how we'll make our real dough on this island." He displayed not the slightest sense of having misled or injured Norman. From his point of view he had been Santa Claus throughout, complete to jingling bells and ho-ho-ho. He was nothing but a human rhinoceros, Norman decided, and there was no sense in wasting another ounce of nervous energy being angry at him.
He took his luggage to the Reef, and moved into the White Cottage, since Mrs. Ball was not quitting her suite in the main house until the morning. After a long, delicious shower, he dressed as befitted the host of a tropical hotel: a pink shirt, black shorts, black knee socks, black loafers, all casual, immaculate, smart. Crossing the lawn, Norman found his shattered spirit pulling itself together. Come what might, this was his lawn now. For the first time in his life, his feet were on ground of which he was the master. Authority and dignity flowed up out of this grassy coral island into his veins. He was in a tough spot, of course, the toughest of his life, and Atlas had behaved with slippery villainy. But why should he have expected anything else? And after all, what difference did it make whether he owed fifty-five thousand dollars to a bank and an Englishwoman, or to Atlas? Perhaps he was better off this way. In action, Lester had been a horror.
The dining terrace was crowded. It was getting on to December first, and the northern weather was already driving the fish down into his newly purchased net. It was a valuable net! The Club was charming, the climate was a golden enduring asset. He sat alone at a little table by the rail, and ordered a martini and an Iceland brook trout. Thor came out of the bar in his picturesque rags to serve the martini, with small European airs of welcoming his new lord.
"Lycka till, sor. Dat's Svedish for good luck."
"Lycka till to you, Thor. We seem to be doing well today."
"Not too bad. Maybe dis afternoon you vant to look at de books? I explain everyting, is not much to it."
"Very good. Let's say four o'clock in the office."
"I be dere four o'clock."
"This is a splendid martini, Thor. One of the things we'll talk about this afternoon is your raise in salary."
The bartender's blue eyes flashed brilliantly. "Sure ting."
"By the bye, ah, you haven't seen Mrs. Tramm today, have you?"
"No sor, I tink she not here."
The trout was excellent, the coffee was hot, there was a crisp salad with Roquefort dressing, and the service was very fast. Two pretty black waitresses in beige uniforms hovered over him, all coy smiles and quick attentions. Paperman began to perceive the advantages of being a boss; he had never been served with such deference in his life. Two o'clock. Just time, he thought, yawning, to get an hour's sun on the beach below the White Cottage, and a swim, and a nap; then would come the glance through the books. So far, so good! A few hours ago he had felt that the world was coming to an end. Perhaps, for him, it was beginning.
2
Thor had ledgers open on both desks when Norman arrived at the office, and he was taking rubber bands off thick bundles of receipts and checks. The office, behind the registration desk and the switchboard, was actually the space under the staircase to the second floor. The ceiling sloped sharply, with indentations of the underside of stairs. There was no window. A squeaky rattling wall fan did little to relieve the stagnant heat. Ceilings, walls, and floor were painted a smeary morbid green. The dusty furnishings were two old desks, two old chairs, a small safe, a large rusty adding machine worked with a handle, and an antique typewriter. There was also an inky-smelling mimeograph on a little stand beside a pile of blank menus. Fighting the boredom that filmed his brain at the sight of this room, these devices, and these records, still sleepy after his nap, Paperman sat down to his first lesson in hotel-keeping.
He asked the bartender, first of all, why the office wasn't air-conditioned. Thor said that Amy had priced the job; it would cost over three hundred dollars. This gave Paperman pause. But he foresaw many hours for himself and Henny in this slanting, choking green hole. "Well, it'll be a good investment. Let's do it."
Thor nodded and grinned. "Fine. Be more comfortable." The bartender went over the payroll, and sketched the workings of the hotel. Sheila, the cook, managed the scullery maids and the six waitresses, he said. There were also six chambermaids; their leader was de vun dat's so tarn pregnant," the unmarried girl named Esm,. Paperman expressed wonder at the size of the staff. The hotel with all its cottages held only forty-four people; and seventy on the dining terrace was more than capacity. Thor agreed that it was ridiculous. After Mr. Paperman had been on the island for a while, he said, he would understand. Kinjan help wasn't paid much, and didn't do much, and that was how things were. He showed Norman a large cork bulletin board hung on the wall, marked out for the months and the days, with colored cardboard strips tacked up for the room reservations. Each strip had the name of a future guest, and the length of the strip showed the duration of the stay. Norman noticed that January and February were already stripped in solidly.
"That's good," he said. "Your whole season at a glance."
"Oh, yes, I figure dat out," said Thor. "Dat work good. December and March, dey fill up last, but dey good monts too."
Next he launched his tale of the bookkeeping, handing ledgers and sheaves of vouchers to the new proprietor, indicating this column and that, and talking at great speed. After a quarter of an hour Norman gave up any effort to understand him. Occasionally a recognizable term would swim up out of the Scandinavian murk-inventory or current "balance or cash journal-and at such times he would nod brightly and perhaps say, "I see, yes, inventory." It was a mystifying but reassuring session. Obviously Thor had the books under tight control. The Negro accountant, Thor said, came in every Monday to double-check and balance the books. Norman could see that so far as financial records went, he had nothing to worry about. But he sat and smiled and nodded patiently for another hour in the slanting sweatbox. He wanted Thor to feel appreciated.
