What's in It for Me? (11 page)

“Martha,” I said, “I just had this suit pressed. You're going to take the crease out of these pants in no time. Sit over there.”

I pointed to the chair facing the couch.

“Where did you go last night? after we—after I—”

“I went to look up some friends I'd been neglecting for a long time,” I said. “People who like me because I'm such wonderful company that they don't mind putting me up for the night. They don't get tough with me or yell at me or walk out on me in taxicabs.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she said. “I guess I was a little hasty,”

“Among other things,” I agreed, “you were very hasty.”

“Well, I—”

“You were rude, too.” I said. “Very rude.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she said in a low voice. “I wasn't myself last night.”

“No, you weren't,” I said. “But today you are, eh?”

She smiled brightly.

“Yes. I feel much better today, and I'm sorry I acted the way I did last night. Now aren't you going to forgive me?”

“I should forgive you? What's there to forgive? What am I, a judge or something? This is a free country. You said yourself last night nobody owned you.”

“I said I'm sorry, Harry.”

“I heard you,” I said. “And I'm not exactly a dope when I say I believe you, too.” She began to smile gently. “In fact, I knew you'd be sorry the minute I opened the paper this morning and saw that they'd finally decided to close up that louse opera you been horsing around in for the last ten months.”

“Is that so?” she snapped, jumping up. “Well, I don't have to stand this from you. I've got plenty of friends, the same as you have. I don't have to—”

“If it's Teddy Ast you're referring to,” I said airily, “or if you're suggesting that he's one of your friends, why go right ahead, Martha. But if you want to take my advice, you won't go around making such bad investments.”

“Why not?” she sneered. “Mr. Ast happens to own his own successful business, while you're nothing more than a cheap little—”

I guess I was nuts. But when she dropped the air of fake gentility and stripped down to what she really was, a tough little businessman with a single commodity to sell, I not only liked her, I almost admired her.

“Mr. Ast won't own it for long,” I said with a grin.

She stopped short and scowled at me.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm going back into the dress business again,” I said. “And I'm going to make life good and miserable for him with a little of my brand of competition.”

She let the scowl simmer down to a puzzled look.

“But how can—?”

“And if you recall anything at all about my ability in that direction,” I continued breezily, “you'll concede right here and now that Teddy might just as well kiss the business good-by this minute.”

“But how can you get back into the dress business?” she asked. “How about the credit men?”

Next to a man in uniform, I guess women go for a guy with a line. I was no Western Union boy, but I could talk.

“Come on, kid. Come over here to papa.” I held out my arms forgivingly and grinned at her. “The hell with the credit men.”

I
LEANED ON THE
counter in the advertising department of the
Daily News Record
and worked on the ad. I knew what I wanted to say, but careful wording was important. This business of trying to swing people by means of the written word was all right for Shakespeare, but not for me. What I liked to do was meet them face to face and give them a chance to hear me talk. Finally, I settled for this:

SALESMAN: Excellent following, with capital to invest in going concern making better-priced dresses. Address by mail only. Box 33T.

“Okay,” I said to the clerk. “I guess this is all right.”

“That'll be three-seventy-five,” the clerk said. “Unless you want it put in a larger box with a border?”

I looked at him curiously.

“What'll it cost if I want it put in a larger box with a border?”

“Oh, well, there's really no limit,” he said. “Depends on how much space you want.” He laughed. “We could even sell you a full page with just those words in it, if you wanted.”

It wasn't a half-bad idea.

“Yeah?” I said. “What would that cost?”

He laughed again.

“Oh, I was only kidding you, sir. You wouldn't want to spend a few hundred dollars on—”

“How do you know I wouldn't? What'll it cost?”

He stopped laughing and watched me in a funny way as he turned the pages of a rate book.

“That would be five hundred and fifty dollars, sir,” he said finally. “But I'm sure you—”

“I'll take it,” I snapped. “Put it somewhere up front, with a nice heavy—”

He opened his mouth in amazement.

“A full page, sir?”

“Yeah, a full page. See that it gets a nice heavy border and center the words clearly in the middle of the page, with plenty of white space all around.”

“Yes,
sir!”
he said briskly and began to play around with a pad of printed sheets. “Will you want that in for one day only, or will you—?”

I guess he was working on a commission basis.

“One day is enough,” I said. “If they don't see it that way, the hell with them.”

“Will you sign this contract, please?”

I dashed off my name with a flourish and tossed the pad back at him.

“I guess you want a check in advance. Right?”

He nodded and as I wrote the check I saw him read the signature and look up at me again.

“Oh,” he said. “Mr. Bogen!”

I grinned at him.

“Remember me, eh?”

He smiled and shook his head admiringly.

“I certainly do. Six months ago, when that Apex Modes was in court, your name was on our front page for weeks.”

“If it would've been any other paper, they would've had my picture, too,” I said. “But I didn't give them enough notice, I guess. Next time I'll see if I can do better.”

“Oh, I hope that won't be necessary, Mr. Bogen.” He glanced at the advertising contract I had just signed. “Frankly, I'm a little surprised, Mr. Bogen, to find that you're going back into the—”

“Why?” I said sharply.

He looked flustered.

“Oh, well, I didn't, that is, I thought—” He stopped and started off again more brightly. “After all, Mr. Bogen, a man of your talents, I thought, heh, heh, you'd be taking over General Motors or something like that next?”

“I'm going to do that next,” I said with a grin. “I could go into a dozen businesses.” Yeah? Name some! “But I'll tell you the truth, and this is confidential, and I don't want it to go any further. Hear?”

He looked horrified.

“Oh, absolutely, Mr. Bogen. I wouldn't say a word to—”

That meant that in twenty-four hours the only three guys who wouldn't know about it would be the deaf scientists on expedition in Central Africa.

“But there are certain people I owe some debts to in the dress business,” I said with a leer, “and I want to pay them back, if you know what I mean.”

He looked wise at once and winked at me.

“I get it, Mr. Bogen.”

“Well, I've got to go,” I said. “You run that ad tomorrow and I'll—” I stopped. “Oh, by the way. Did you see
Smile Out Loud
yet?”

He glanced up, surprised and pleased.

“Why, no, Mr. Bogen. I—”

“I'll see that you get a couple of tickets. I'll see that Miss Mills gets you a couple of good ones.”

He perked up at once.

“Martha Mills? You're still—?”

I guess he'd read those front pages pretty carefully.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding and grinning. “I'm still.”

He looked embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I hope you don't think I meant anything by saying—”

What could he mean? I loved it.

“Forget it,” I said.

He started to scribble furiously on a scrap of paper.

“Maybe I'd better jot my name down for you, Mr. Bogen?”

“Don't bother,” I said. “Just tell it to me. I never forgot a name yet.”

“Selman,” he said. “Morton Selman. You can send them here, care of the
Daily News Record.”

“Selman,” I said. “I got it. It's as good as done. Selman.”

“Thanks again, Mr. Bogen.”

I stopped as though I had suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, by the way,” I said, “you want to do me a favor?”

He smiled quickly.

“Absolutely, Mr. Bogen. Glad to do anything I can.”

I liked his attitude.

“Well, I'll tell you. When those replies start coming in to the ad, I'm gonna be kind've busy uptown, and I was wondering, instead of me coming down here to Thirteenth Street to pick up the letters, why, if you'd mail them up to me at my office, I'd appreciate it a hell of a lot and of course, if there's any charge for it, I'd be glad to—”

He waved the thought away.

“Don't be silly, Mr. Bogen. No charge at all. I'll be glad to do it.”

I'd seen ass-lickers before, but my God, this guy did a regular simonizing job.

“That's the address,” I said, tossing him one of my cards.

“No trouble at all, Mr. Bogen,” he said, picking up the card. “It'll be a pleasure.”

“Swell,” I said and held up two fingers. “Two tickets. Orchestra.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bogen.”

“So long,” I said.

“So long, Mr. Bogen.”

In the street I whistled for a cab and fell into the back seat. It was getting to be as natural with me as walking.

“Rector Theatre,” I said.

“Where's that?” the driver asked.

“Forty-eighth Street west of Broadway.”

“Thanks,” he said and started the cab.

When we got to the Rector, I paid the fare and added a liberal tip.

I walked into the theatre through the stage entrance and found Martha perched on the ledge of Dumpor's window, swinging her leg and smoking a cigarette.

“Nobody is ever going to set their clocks by the way you keep appointments,” she said, raising her wrist watch for me to see.

“Sorry,” I said. “I rushed like hell. How late am I?”

“Twelve minutes.”

For a guy like me she could wait longer.

“I'll try to make up for it by buying you an extra nice lunch,” I said with a smile. “All right?”

“All right,” she said with a smile of her own.

For the time being I was the white-haired boy again.

“How'd the meeting of the cast go?” I asked when we were out on the sidewalk.

“Nothing doing,” she said, scowling. “The notices stay up. Closing in five and a half weeks.”

“What the hell do you care,” I said. “Don't take it to heart, Martha. Something'll turn up in the meantime.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sam Goldwyn'll come running in person to take me out west and make me a star.”

“Say,” I said, “you think he's so hot?”

She grinned and shoved my elbow.

“No, but he makes pictures.”

“First let's eat,” I said. “Then we'll talk about the rest.”

“All right,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don't care.” The hell I didn't. “Where do
you
want to go?”

“Twenty-One?” she suggested.

“Nah,” I said. “Some place downtown?”

I didn't want to be wading in actors and playwrights just then. I had business to transact.

“Wherever you say,” she said. “How about the Beaux Arts?”

She gave me a quick look.

“Getting back into the dress business rather promptly, aren't you, Harry?”

Her brain freshened up a little every time she changed her costume, too.

“I do everything fast.”

“Don't go around in circles that way. You're liable to meet yourself on the first lap and boy, Harry, will there be a flop!”

“Don't worry,” I said. “I watch my footing.”

We got into a cab and I gave the driver the address.

“Oh,” she said, “I almost forgot. Your mother called you just before I went out.”

I swung around on the seat.

“What'd you say?” I snapped.

She looked startled.

“Say, what's eating you?” she demanded. “I just told her you weren't in and I'd tell you she called, that's all.”

That's all, eh? Just wait till I got my hands on that little bastard Charlie.

“Who was at the board when you went out?” I asked.

She looked puzzled.

“Sam, or whatever his name is. The big colored fellow that—”

“Where was Charlie?”

She twisted her lips in puzzled fashion.

“How should I know? Out to lunch or getting his hair cut or something, I suppose. I don't keep track of the help in the—”

“All right, all right, all right,” I said. “Don't get excited.”

“I
shouldn't get excited! Say, what's going on here, anyway? I didn't say a word and you begin hopping down my throat!”

“All right,” I said more calmly. “Forget it.”

“How is she?” she asked finally.

“How is who?”

“Your mother.”

I kicked the wall of the cab angrily.

“God damn it, what the hell is all this, sudden affection for my mother? What do you want her to do, remember you in her will or something?”

“For God's sake,” she said, “control yourself, will you? You've been telling me for a week that she's in the hospital, and today she calls up and she sounds all right. Don't you think I've got a right to ask a simple question like how is she? Is that any reason to start yelling and raising—?”