Authors: The Demon
Linda turned on the radio and tuned in a quiet-music station and nestled into her seat and the warmth of her feelings, her gentle smile and attitude remaining as the trees turned into distant smoke stacks and cluttered buildings. Harry anticipated bumps in the road and fumes from the smokless stacks. I suppose Davis will have to move to the suburbs now that hes a big man. Some elegant cardboard box in Levittown— no, no in Jersey. Yeah, some anthill in Jersey.
What? Linda became aware of Harrys voice, but the bitterness had not as yet registered. She was still feeling the gardens and the sun and the laughter.
You know, when you have a high class title like junior veepee, you have to live in the suburbs. Linda looked at him, her smile still on her face, and blinked a few times. I mean, after all, a junior anything cant afford Central Park West. And anyway, its no good to get that close to Park Avenue, you might get some stupid ideas. Of course theres Connecticut, but the carfare would put him in the poorhouse. No, its got to be Jersey. In some miserable tract where everything freezes in the winter and they have a two-man volunteer fire department. And they can sit around and bullshit about the house theyll have some day with a lawn with automatic sprinklers and an azalea bush next to the front door.
What in the world are you talking about? chuckling and shaking her head.
What? Our new giant of industry. Our vice-prezeeeedent. That worldbeater, Davis.
O. You really had me confused. I had no idea—
Did you hear that speech he made? Jesus, what a bunch of bullshit.
I didnt notice anything wrong, peering at Harry and frowning.
Are you kidding? Krist, he sounded like he had just been given the Nobel prize, or at least the Man of the Year award:
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and I want to thank my sweet wife, who has stood by me (while I kissed ass) and has always encouraged me and given me—achh, what a bunch of shit.
Youre serious, arent you?
What do you mean?
I mean youre really upset by his promotion. Youre really angry.
About his promotion? No. Who needs it? Thats not it at all. Its just all the fuss over nothing and that dumb broad of a wife of his getting up there and squealing like a stuffed pig—
My God, you really are angry. I think youre jealous.
Are you kidding? turning his head to look at her, his grip tightening on the wheel, jealous of him? O, you have to be kidding. Ive got more going for me in my little finger, sticking it up in the air, than he has in that empty head of his. And I sure as hell wouldnt want to wake up in the same bed with that wife of his. Jesus, what a dumb broad.
I thought she looked very sweet, looking at Harry earnestly, very petite and pretty.
Yeah? Well, better him than me, shaking his head, and junior veepee sure isnt anything to write home about.
Me thinks the lady doth protest too much, looking at Harrys face in the blinking light from the street lamps. Youre the one whose making a big thing out of nothing, Harry.
He looked at her face for a moment. She was obviously relaxed and sincere. She wasnt putting him on. Listen, let me tell you something. If I wanted to be some kind of flunky junior veepee, I could get it in my sleep. Davis may be a nice guy and all that, but hes a simple-minded shit, his voice becoming louder and more intense, and anything that dumb bastard can do I can do a thousand times better with a finger up my ass whistling Dixie, and if you think Im just going to be some kind of schlunk while that ass-kissing sonofabitch gets somewhere, youve got another guess coming and youd better hang around and see whats going to happen because Im going to be long gone while hes still a junior vice stuck in some
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crummy shack in the Jersey swamp somewhere and— Harry breathed deeply and clutched the steering wheel and blinked his eyes rapidly for a moment. The rage in his voice was obvious to him now and it scared him. And, too, he could sense the pettiness of what he was saying and he was starting to cringe, inwardly, from embarrassment. Ah screw it. Its not worth getting bugged about. He clamped his mouth shut, then pushed in the cigarette lighter. When it popped out, Linda held it while he lit his cigarette. He nodded and mumbled a thanks, still fighting the embarrassment twinging inside him, worrying and wondering what Linda was thinking, afraid to look over and try to determine by her expression what was going on in her mind.
Linda stretched out and turned her ear to the soft music coming from the radio, a satisfied smile once more softening her face. Long before Harry started his tirade, or before they had even started the drive home, a part of her had reviewed the day and decided that it was a good day, a day to be enjoyed and that nothing could ruin it ... or anyone either. She had listened more with curiosity than real interest and had no intention of going to the trouble of remembering what had been said, but was content to allow it to drift away with the scenery and the passing of time.
The radio suddenly went dead as they entered the Lincoln Tunnel, and Harry tried, desperately, to join Lindas light chitchat, but found conversation almost impossible and was aware of the sweat dribbling down his sides, and he cursed the guy in front of him under his breath for not moving faster so they could get out of the tunnel and she could go back to listening to the radio.
When they finally left the tunnel and merged into the New York traffic, Harry started to feel a little better. But the closer they got to Lindas place, the more apprehensive he became. He just did not feel like sitting around and bullshitting with some broad and he knew he didnt feel like putting the make on her, and all they would do would be to sit around and
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talk about the day and how nice it was and all that sort of shit and jesus krist he sure as hell wasnt in any mood for that.
He parked in front of her building and Linda looked up at the third floor. The lights are out. I guess my roommates asleep already. Sorry, smiling, but I wont be able to ask you up for coffee. I dont want to wake her up.
Thats O.K. Im kind of bushed anyway.
I had a wonderful time, smiling broadly and sincerely, and thanks so much for driving me home. Harry waited until she entered her building, then drove away, anxious to get home and get some sleep.
Krist, the following Monday was a drag, a big, fat drag. The closer it got to the time to get up, the more restless was his sleep. He tossed, trying to find a comfortable spot, but couldnt, and hung, imprisoned, in a gray and painful limbo between sleep and wakefulness. His body ached and burned with fever, yet his head, in reality, was cool. He tried hard, very hard, to believe he had the flu and should stay in bed all day, but sleep was impossible, and to lie in bed, awake, and relive the outing and the ride home with Linda over and over again was much too torturous, and so, five minutes after the alarm sounded he got out of bed and cooled himself off with a hot shower.
And the goddamn subway reeked like a sewer. All those goddamn animals jammed into the train like the ark . . . yeah, thats what they are, a bunch of stinking animals. Like a zoo on a hot day. Yeah, New York is a Summer Festival. The rotten bastards. I got their festival . . . with this kind of weather. Just lovely weather. So goddamn hot and humid it was like being in a shower, you sweat so much. And those assholes smell worse than animals. Never heard of soap and water and toothpaste. Jesus, what a stink. Ugly goddamn slobs. They smell like they rubbed their armpits with garlic and onions . . . and chewed on dirty underwear. Like that
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goddamn baboon over there. Looks real natural hanging from the strap. He/d probably love it if I threw a few peanuts atim. Jesus, I/d like to see the orangutan hes married to. Can just see them sitting around watching the boob tube, picking nits off each other and eating them. Shes probably as hairy as that dog over there. Krist, shes got a bigger mustache than Groucho Marx. Shit, shes got more hair growing out of that mole on her cheek than I have on my head. I/d hate like hell to see her legs. Hair probably hangs off in festoons. . . . Jesus, its hot in this rotten trap. The sweats rolling down my back like a river. Sweet Jesus, what a miserable way to live, starting off the day jammed in a train with a herd of stinking animals. . . . Shit, no animal smells this bad ... or looks this bad. A bunch of goddamn peasant. . . . Slobs! Krist, look at the uniforms theyre wearing. The goddamn chimps in the circus are dressed better than these cretins. Those coordinated sets from Kleins basement. A dollar ninety-eight for the whole damn thing, including a free radio as a bonus. Red slacks! Red jacket! Pink knit shirt and a red asshole polyester tie. Krist. They must be twins, one guy couldnt be so dumb. And the broads. Jesus, what outfits. Uglys really in this season. Ahhhhhh, screwem. All but . . . Shit, maybe I should move to the city and get away from these rotten subways. Or maybe to the suburbs where you have a higher class of slobs riding the trains. Shit! Who needs it. Screw the suburbs. And these assholes. These low-life cretins. Screwim. Where they eat.... Suburbs. Shit! Who needs it.... Who wants.. .
He
bumped and jostled through the sweaty tunnel with the decades of stink and graffitied walls and the tomblike tile and Neanderthalic slobs hacking up phlegm from the depths of their bowels and sucking on it before splattering it onto the tracks or into the shadows of the girders and stomping it into the pores of the cement and hiding it under last years dirt
and
up into the joy of honking traffic and menagerie streets heated from a sun hidden by those goddamn slabs of steel and bull-
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shit, but you know the goddamn thing is up there somewhere because its so hot and God forbid there should be a breeze to cool it off because even if one did try to sneak up on the rotten oven of a city, it would get cut off by one of those phallic symbols except in the wintertime when nothing seems to stop the wind from freezing your balls off
but even the streets
are better than getting jammed in the elevator next to some broad loaded with cheap perfume that burns your eyes until they feel like two piss holes in the snow
and you finally get to
your desk and start going through the garbage on it, waiting for the air conditioning to break down.. . .
A deep
breath, a sigh, and a ahhhh, fuckit, and a new day, a new week, is begun. . . .
And
anyway, whats the big deal, what in the hell is everyone griping about? I didnt really say anything out of line. I didnt hit anyone on the head or rape their wife. Maybe it doesnt sound so hot, out of context, but its easy to misinterpret a joke or an off-the-cuff remark like that. You know, youre driving along with the radio playing and theres the noise of traffic and the breeze coming in the window and youre concentrating on driving and you dont quite catch a word and you say something like, hes got a good head, and it gets all jumbled up in someones ear and its liable to sound like—a— anything, you know—like, he should drop dead, or something, I dont know, maybe thats not a good example, but you know what I mean, or maybe you do say something like, he should drop dead, but you mean it in a joking way and if the person could see your face they would know that you were joking, but they cant see your face in the dark and theyre not used to your sense of humor and so they take you seriously and by the time they repeat it, it gets all twisted out of shape and it takes on a connotation and meaning that has nothing at all to do with what you said and meant . . . you know what I
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mean, right? I dont have to go into detail and run the shit into the hole—
and goddamn it, what happened to the spec sheet for the Clauson job? I know fucking well right I had it right here last Thursday and now the son of a bitch is gone. If Louise took it, I/ll. . . .
O.K., O.K., so here it is. Somebody probably moved it while they were looking for something. I wish to krist people would leave my desk alone. . . .
And for krists sake
keep those corny jokes to yourself. I dont have the time to stop and listen to every dumb joke some idiot heard. I have work to do. Some of these dumb broads think everyone is like them and theyre just here because they have nothing else to do and they dont give a shit about the job and only think about coffee breaks, lunch breaks and time off—
you know
better than that, Mr. Wentworth. You know I wouldnt say anything like that about any employee. Jesus . . . Ah, you know. . . . Im not going to say that whoever said that I said that is a liar, but I will say theyre mistaken....
I suppose it does sound like Im
jealous, but I/ll tell you the truth, Linda, the Gods Honest Truth. Im not. For one thing I like Davis, Harrys face relaxed with a sincere smile, and respect him. Hes as hard a worker as you will find and has been a lot of help to me. And after all, hes been here longer than I have and . . .
No, no, not at all, Mr. Wentworth. I dont mind tying up the loose ends of his work. After all, we/re all here to do the best we can, right? And if ...
Krist!
Its amazing how people screw things up and make a big deal out of nothing. You make some idle chitchat to some broad and someone has to make a federal case out of it. And anyway, its none of your goddamn business. Why dont you just butt the fuck out of it. I didnt ask you for your opinion. If you dont want to believe me, then thats your problem. I know I didnt
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say anything and thats enough for me, and if you dont like it, then up yours. Go peddle your bullshit somewhere else. I dont need it. I do my job and I dont have to apologize to you or anyone else for anything! Anything!!!!