The Rip-Off (4 page)

"I seen some chasin' around the backyard yesterday, so they'll be in the house next. Can't be this close to a garbage dump without havin' rats."

"I see," I said absently. "Well, we'll face the problem when it comes."

"Time t'face it now," she asserted. "Be too late when the rats is facin' us."

I closed my ears to her gabbling, finishing what little breakfast I was able to eat. As I left the table, Mrs. Olmstead handed me a letter to mail when I went to town, if I didn't mind, o' course.

"But I was going to work at home today," I said. "I hadn't really planned on going to town."

"How come you're all fixed up, then?" she demanded. "You don't never fix yourself up unless you're going somewheres."

I promised to mail the letter, if and when. I tucked it into my pocket as I went into the living room, noting that it was addressed to the old-age pension bureau. More than a year ago her monthly check had been three dollars short-by her calculations, that is. She had been writing them ever since, sometimes three times a week, demanding reimbursement. I had pointed out that she had spent far more than three dollars in postage, but she still stubbornly persisted.

Without any notion of actually working, I went into the small room, at one time a serving pantry, which does duty as my study. I sat down at my typewriter, wrote a few exercise sentences, and various versions of my name. After about thirty minutes of such fiddling around, I jumped up and fled to my bedroom. Fretfully examined myself in the warped full-length mirror.

And I thought, All dressed up and no place to go.

There would be no call from PXA. If there was one, I couldn't respond to it. Not after the ordeal I had been put through last night. No one who was serious about giving me worthwhile employment would have done such a thing to me. And it had to have been done deliberately. An outfit as cruelly efficient as PXA didn't allow things like that to come about accidentally.

I closed my eyes, clenched my mind to the incident, unable to live through it again even in memory. Wondering why it was that I seemed constantly called upon to face things that I couldn't. I went back down to my study, but not to my typewriter. For what was there to write? Who would want anything written by me?

I sat down on a small loveseat. A spiny tuft of horsehair burst through the upholstery, and stabbed me in the butt. Something that seemed to typify the hysterically hilarious tragedy of my life. I was pining away of a broken heart or something. But instead of being allowed a little dignity and gravity, I got my ass tickled.

Determinedly, I stayed where I was and as I was. Bent forward with my head in my hands. Sourly resisting the urge to squirm or snicker.

Poor Lo
…

"Poor Lo…"

I chuckled wryly, poking fun at myself.

"Well, screw it," I said. "They may kill me, but they can't eat me."

There was a light patter of applause. Hand clapping.

I sat up startled, and Manuela Aloe laughed and sat down at my side.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I spoke to you a couple of times, but you didn't hear me."

"B-but-but-" I began to get hold of myself. "What are you doing here?"

"Your housekeeper showed me in. I came out here, because I was afraid you wouldn't come to the office after the terrible time you must have had last night."

"You were right," I said. "I wouldn't have gone down to your office. And there really wasn't much point to your coming out here."

"I did send a car to pick you up last night, Britt. I don't blame you for being angry, but I did do it."

"Whatever you say," I said.

"I don't know what happened to the driver. No one's seen him since. Our people aren't ordinarily so irresponsible, but it's not unheard of. But, anyway, I am sorry."

"So much for the driver," I said. "Now what about Albert?"

"Albert," she grimaced. "I don't know whether it was booze or dope or just plain stupidity that made him do what he did. I don't care, either. But he's out of a job as of this morning, and he'll be a long time in getting another one."

She nodded to me earnestly, the dark eyes warm with concern. I hesitated, wanting to swallow my pride-how could I afford pride? Remembering Connie's demands for money.

"There was something else," I said. "Something that came to me when I was outside your office yesterday."

"Yes?" She smiled encouragingly. "What was that, Britt?"

I hesitated again, trying to find some amiable euphemism for what was virtually an accusation. And finding excuses instead. After all, her office would logically have sound equipment in it; devices for auditing the tapes. And why, when I was so strongly drawn to this girl, and when I needed money so badly, should I continue to squeeze her for apologies and explanations.

"Yes, Britt?"

"Nothing," I said. "No, I mean it. Thinking it over, I seem to have found the answer to my own question."

That wasn't true. Aside from the woman's being slapped, there was something else. The fact that PXA had milked me for all kinds of personal information as a condition for granting my loan. My likes and dislikes, my habits and weaknesses. Information that could be used to drive me up a figurative wall, should they take the notion.

But I meant to give them no cause to take such a notion. And I am an incurable optimist, always hoping for the best despite the many times I have gotten the worst.

Manny was studying me, her dark eyes boring into mine. Seemingly boring into my mind. And a sudden shadow blighted the room, and I was chilled with a sickening sense of premonition.

Then she laughed gaily, gave herself a little shake, and assumed a businesslike manner.

"Well, now," she said briskly. "I've had a long talk with Uncle Pat, and he's left everything to me. So how about a series of pamphlets on the kind of subjects you deal with for the Foundation?"

"It sounds fine," I said. "Just, well, fine."

"The pamphlets will be distributed free to schools, libraries and other institutions. They won't carry any advertising. Just a line to the effect that they are sponsored by PXA, as a public service."

I said that was fine, too. Just fine. She opened her blond leather purse, took out a check and handed it to me. A check for thirty-five hundred dollars. Approximately twenty-nine hundred for the first month's work, with the rest for expenses.

"Well?" She looked at me pertly. "All right? Any questions?"

I let out a deep breath. "My God!" I breathed fervently. "Of course, it's all right! And no, no questions."

She smiled and stood up, a lushly diminutive figure in her fawn-colored pantsuit. Her breasts and her bottom bulged deliciously against the material, seemed to strain for release. And I thought thoughts that brought a flush to my face.

"Come on." She wiggled her fingers. "Show me around, hmm? I've heard so much about this place I'm dying to see it."

"I'm afraid it's not much to see any more," I said. "But if you're really interested in ruins…"

I showed her through the house, or much of it. She murmured appreciatively over the decaying evidence of past grandeur, and regretfully at the ravages of time.

We finished our tour of the house, and Manny again became businesslike. "We'll have a lot of conferring to do to get this project operating, Britt. Do you want an office, or will you work here?"

"Here, if it's agreeable to you," I said. "I have a great deal of research material here, and I'm used to the place. Of course, if it's inconvenient for you…"

"Oh, we'll work it out," she promised. "Now, if you'll drive me back to town…"

The car she had driven out in was mine, she explained, pointing to the gleaming new vehicle which stood in the driveway. Obviously, I would need a car, and PXA owed me one. And she did hope I wouldn't be stuffy about it.

I said I never got stuffy over girls or single cars. Only fleets of them, and not always then. Manny laughed, and gave me a playful punch on the arm.

"Silly! Now, come on, will you? We have a lot to do today."

We did have a lot to do, as it turned out. At least we did a lot-far more than I anticipated. But that's getting ahead of the story. To take events in their proper order:

I drove into town, Manny sitting carelessly close to me. I deposited the check in my bank, drew some cash and returned to the car- my car. It was lunchtime by then, so we lunched and talked. I talked mostly, since I have a knack for talk, if little else, and Manny seemed to enjoy listening to me.

We came out of the restaurant into mid-afternoon, and, talking, I drove around until sunset. By which time, needless to say, it was time for a drink. We had it, rather we had them, and eventually we had dinner. When twilight fell, we were far out on the outskirts of town; parked by the lake which formed the bulwark of the city's water system.

Manny's legs were tucked up in the seat. Her head rested on my shoulder, and my arm was around her. It was really a very nice way to be.

"Britt…" she murmured, breaking the drowsy, comfortable silence. "I've enjoyed myself so much, today. I think it's been the very best day in my life."

"You're a thief, Manuela Aloe," I said. "You've stolen the very speech I was going to make."

"Tell me something, Britt. How does anyone as nice as you are, as attractive and intelligent and bubbling over with charm-how does he, why does he…?"

"Wind up as I have?" I said. "Because I never found a seller's market for those things until I met you."

It was a pretty blunt thing to say. She sat up with a start, glaring at me coldly. But I smiled at her determinedly, and said I meant no offense.

"But let's face it, Manny. The Rainstar name isn't worth much any more, and my talent never was. So the good looks and the charm etceteras is what I've sold, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't!" she snapped; and then, hesitating, biting her lip. "Well, not entirely. You wouldn't have got the job if you hadn't been like you are, but neither would you have got it if you hadn't been qualified."

"So it was half one, half the other," I said. "And what's wrong with fifty-fifty?"

"Nothing. And don't you act like there is either!"

"Not even a little bit?"

"No!"

"All right, I won't," I said. "Providing you smile real pretty for me, and then lie down with your head in my lap."

She did so, although the smile was just a trifle weak. I bent down and kissed her gently, and was kissed in return. I put a hand on her breast, gave it a gentle squeeze. She shivered delicately, eyes clouding.

"I'm not an easy lay, Britt. I don't sleep around."

"What am I to do with you, Manny?" I said. "You are now twice a thief."

"I guess I've been waiting for you. It had to be someone like you, and there wasn't anyone like that but you."

"I know," I said. "I also have been waiting."

You can see why I said it, why I just about
had
to say it. She was my munificent benefactor and she was gorgeous beyond my wildest dreams, and she obviously wanted to and needed to be screwed. So what the hell else could I do?

"Britt…" She wiggled restlessly. "I have a live-in maid at my apartment."

"Unfortunate," I said. "My housekeeper also lives in."

"Well? Well, Britt, dear?"

"Well, I know of a place…" I broke off, carefully amended the statement. "I mean, I've
heard
of one. It's nothing fancy, I understand. No private baths or similar niceties. But it's clean and comfortable and safe… or so I'm reliably told."

"Well?" she said.

"Well?" I said.

She didn't say anything. Simply reached out and turned on the ignition.

Judging by his voice, the one telephone conversation I had had with him, I supposed him to be a towering giant of a man. But while he was broad shouldered and powerful-looking, he was little taller than Manny.

"Glad to finally meet up with you, Britt, baby." He beamed at me out of his broad darkly Irish face. "What have you got under your arm there, one of Manny's pizzas?"

"He has the complete manuscript of a pamphlet," Manny said proudly. "And it's darned good, too!"

"It is, huh? What d'ya say, Britt? Is she telling the truth or not?"

"Well…" I hesitated modestly. "I'm sure there's room for improvement, but-"

"We'll see, we'll see," he broke in laughing. "You two grab a drink, and come on."

We followed him through the small crowd of guests, all polite and respectable-appearing, but perhaps a little on the watchful side. We went into the library, and Pat Aloe waved us to chairs, then sat down behind the desk, carefully removed my manuscript from its envelope and began to read.

He read rapidly but intently, with no skimming or skipping. I could tell that by his occasional questions. In fact, he was so long in reading that Manny asked crossly if he was trying to memorize the script, adding that we didn't have the whole goddamned evening to spend at his stupid house. Pat Aloe told her mildly to shut her goddamned mouth, and went back to his reading.

I had long since become used to Manny's occasionally salty talk, and learned that I was not privileged to respond in kind. But Pat clearly was not taking orders from her. Despite his air of easygoing geniality, he was very much in command of Aloe activities. And, I was to find, he tolerated no violation of his authority.

When he had finished the last page of my manuscript, he put it with the others and returned them all to their envelope. Then, he removed his reading glasses, thoughtfully massaged the bridge of his nose, and at last turned to me with a sober nod.

"You're a good man, Britt. It's a good job."

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you, very much."

Manny said words were cheap. How about a bonus for me? But Pat winked at her, and waved her to silence.

"Y'know, Britt, I thought this deal would turn out the same kind of frammis that Manny's husband pulled. Banging the b'Jesus out of her, and pissing off the work. But I'm glad to admit I was wrong. You're A-OK, baby, and I'll swear to it on a stack of Bibles!"

Fortunately, I didn't have to acknowledge the compliment-such as it was-since Manny had begun cursing him luridly with his overripe appraisal of her late husband. Pat's booming laugh drowned out her protest.

"Ain't she a terror, though, Britt? Just like the rest of her family, when she had a family. Her folks didn't speak to mine for years, just because my pop married an Irisher."

"Just don't you forget that bonus," Manny said. "You do and it'll be your big red ass."

"Hell, take care of it yourself," Pat said. "Make her come across heavy, Britt, baby. Hear me?"

I mumbled that I would do it. Grinning stiffly, feeling awkward and embarrassed to a degree I had never known before. He walked out of the library between the two of us, a hand on each of our shoulders. Then, when we were at the door and had said our good-night, he laughingly roared that he expected me to collect heavy loot from Manny.

"Make her mind, Britt. 'S' only kind of wife to have. Tell her you won't marry her until she comes through with your bonus!"

Marry her?

Marry her!

Well, what did I expect?

I tottered out of the house, with Manny clinging possessively to my arm. And there was a coldish lump in my throat, a numbing chill in my spine.

We got in the car, and I drove away. Manny looked at me speculatively and asked why I was so quiet. And I said I wasn't being quiet, and then I said, What was wrong with being quiet? Did I have to talk every damned minute to keep her happy?

Ordinarily, popping-off to her like that would have gotten me a chewing out or maybe a sharp slap. But tonight she said soothingly that of course I could be silent whenever I chose, because whatever I chose was also her choice.

"After all we're a team, darling. Not two people, but a couple. Maybe we have out little spats, but there can't be any serious division between us."

I groaned. I said, "Oh, my God, Manny! Oh, Mary and Jesus, and his brother, James!"

"What's the matter, Britt? Isn't that the way you feel?"

What I felt was that I was about to do something wholly irrelevant and unconstructive. Like soiling my clothes. For I was being edged closer and closer to the impossible. I mumbled something indistinguishable-something noncommittally agreeable. Because I knew now that I had to keep talking. Only in talk, light talk, lay safety.

Luckily, Manny indirectly threw me a cue by pushing the stole back from her shoulders, and stretching her legs out in front of her. An action which tantalizingly exhibited her gold lamй evening gown; very short, very low cut, very tight-seeming on her small, ultra-full body.

"It looks like it was painted on you," I said. "How in the world did you get into it?"

"Maybe you'll find out"-giving me a look. "After all, you have to take it off of me."

"We shall see," I said, desperate for words. For any kind of light talk. "We shall certainly see about this."

"Well, hurry up, for gosh sake! I've got to pee."

"Oh, my God," I said. "Why didn't you go before we left the house?"

"Because I needed help with my dress, darn it!"

I got her to the place. The place that had become our place.

I got her up to the room and out of her clothes, and onto the sink.

With no time to spare, either.

She cut loose, and continued to let go at length. Sighing happily with the simple pleasure of relieving herself. She was such an earthy little thing, and I suppose few things are as good as a good leak when one has held it to the bursting point.

When she had finished, she reached a towel from the rack, and handed it to me. "Wipe, please."

"Wipe what?" I said.

"You know what-and where it is, too!"

"I will. If you'll promise to give me a tip…" Talking, talking. Even after we were in bed, and she was pressed tightly against me in epigrammatic surgings.