The Rosy Crucifixion 3 - Nexus (16 page)

One morning I awoke with the firm intention of gunning for a job, a big job. I had no clear idea what kind of job, only that it must be something worth while, something important. While shaving I got the notion that I would pay a visit to the head of a chain store organization, ask him to make a place for me. I would say nothing about previous employments; I would dwell on the fact that I was a writer, a free lance writer, who desired to put his talents at their disposal. A much traveled young man, weary of spreading himself all over the lot; eager to make a place for himself, a permanent one, with an up and coming organization such as theirs. (The chain stores were only in their infancy.) Given the chance, I might demonstrate … here I allowed my imagination free fancy.

While dressing I embellished the speech I intended to make to Mr. W. H. Higginbotham, president of the Hobson and Holbein Chain Stores. (I prayed that he wouldn’t turn out to be deaf!)

I got off to a late start, but full of optimism and never more spruce and spry. I armed myself with a brief case belonging to Stasia, not bothering to examine the contents of it. Anything to look business like.

It was a bitter cold day and the head office was in a warehouse not far from the Gowanus Canal. It took ages to get there and, on descending the trolley, I took it on the run. I arrived at the entrance to the building with rosy cheeks and frosty breath. As I glided through the grim entrance hall I noticed a huge sign over the directory board saying: Employment Office closes at 9:30 A.M. It was already eleven o’clock. Scanning the board I noticed that the elevator runner was eyeing me peculiarly. On entering the lift he nodded toward the sign and said: Did you read that?

I’m not looking for a job, I said. I have an appointment with Mr. Higginbotham’s secretary.

He gave me a searching look, but said no more. He slammed the gate to and the lift slowly ascended.

The eighth floor, please!

You don’t have to tell me! What’s your errand?

The elevator, which was inching upward, groaned and squealed like a sow in labor. I had the impression that he had deliberately slowed it up.

He was glaring at me now, waiting for my reply. What’s eating him? I asked myself. Was it simply that he didn’t like my looks?

It’s difficult, I began, to explain my errand in a few words. Terrified by the horrible scowl he was giving me, I pulled myself up short. I did my best to return his gaze without flinching. Yes, I resumed, it’s rather dif…

Stop it! he yelled, bringing the lift to a halt—between two floors. If you say another word … He raised a hand as if to say—I’ll throttle you!

Convinced that I had a maniac to deal with, I kept my mouth shut.

You talk too much, said he. He gave the lever a jerk and the lift started upward again, shuddering.

I kept quiet and looked straight ahead. At the eighth floor he opened the gate and out I stepped, gingerly too, as if expecting a kick in the pants.

Fortunately the door facing me was the one I sought. As I lay my hand on the knob I was aware that he was observing me. I had the uncomfortable presentiment that he would be there to catch me when they threw me out like an empty bucket. I opened the door and walked in. I came face to face with a girl standing in a cage who received me smilingly.

I came to see Mr. Higginbotham, I said. By now my speech had flown and my thoughts were knocking about like bowling pins.

To my amazement she asked no questions. She simply picked up the telephone and spoke a few inaudible words into the mouthpiece. When she put the receiver down she turned and, in a voice all honey, said: Mr. Higginbotham’s secretary will see you in a moment.

In a moment the secretary appeared. He was a middle-aged man of pleasant mien, courteous, affable. I gave him my name and followed him to his desk which was at the end of a long room studded with desks and machines of all kinds. He took a seat behind a large, polished table which was almost bare and indicated a comfortable chair opposite him into which I dropped with a momentary feeling of relief.

Mr. Higginbotham is in Africa, he began. He won’t be back for several months.

I see, said I, thinking to myself this is my way out, can’t confide in any one but Mr. Higginbotham himself. Even as I did so I realized that it would be unwise to exit so quickly—the elevator runner would be expecting precisely such an eventuality.

He’s on a big game hunt, added the secretary, sizing me up all the while and wondering, no doubt, whether to make short shrift of me or feel the ground further. Still affable, however, and obviously waiting for me to spill the beans.

I see, I repeated. That’s too bad. Perhaps I should wait until he returns…

No, not at all—unless it’s something very confidential you have to tell him. Even if he were here you would have to deal first with me. Mr. Higginbotham has many irons in the fire; this is only one of his interests. Let me assure you that anything you wish conveyed to him will receive my earnest attention and consideration.

He stopped short. It was my move.

Well sir, I began hesitatingly, but breathing a little more freely, it’s not altogether easy to explain the purpose of my visit.

Excuse me, he put in, but may I ask what firm it is you represent?

He leaned forward as if expecting me to drop a card in his hand.

I’m representing myself … Mr. Larrabee, was it? I’m a writer … a free lance writer. I hope that doesn’t put you off?

Not at all, not at all! he replied.

(Think fast now! Something original!)

You didn’t have in mind an advertising campaign, did you? We really…

Oh no! I replied. Not that! I know you have plenty of capable men for that. I smiled weakly. No, it was something more general … more experimental, shall I say?

I lingered a moment, like a bird in flight hovering over a dubious perch. Mr. Larrabee leaned forward, ears cocked to catch this something of moment.

It’s like this, I said, wondering what the hell I would say next. In the course of my career I’ve come in contact with all manner of men, all manner of ideas. Now and then, as I move about, an idea seizes me … I don’t need to tell you that writers sometimes get ideas which practical minded individuals regards as chimerical. That is, they seem chimerical, until they have been tested.

Quite true, said Mr. Larrabee, his bland countenance open to receive the impress of my idea, whether chimerical or practicable.

It was impossible to continue the delaying tactics any longer. Out with it! I commanded myself. But out with what?

At this point, most fortunately, a man appeared from an adjoining office, holding a batch of letters in his hand. I beg pardon, he said, abut I’m afraid you’ll have to stop a moment and sign these. Quite important.

Mr. Larrabee took the letters, then presented me to the man. Mr. Miller is a writer. He has a plan to present to Mr. Higginbotham.

We shook hands while Mr. Larrabee proceeded to bury his nose in the file of correspondence.

Well, said the man—his name was McAuliffe, I believe—well, sir, I must say we don’t see many writers round these parts. He pulled out a cigarette case and offered me a Benson and Hedges. Thank you, I said, permitting him to light the cigarette for me. Sit down, won’t you? he said. You don’t mind if I chat with you a moment, I hope? One doesn’t get a chance to meet a writer every day.

A few more polite parries and then he asked: Do you write books or are you a newspaper correspondent by chance?

I pretended to have done a little of everything. I put it that way as if modesty compelled it.

I see, I see, said he. How about novels?

Pause. I could see he wanted more.

I nodded. Even detective stories occasionally.

My specialty, I added, is travel and research.

His spine suddenly straightened up. Travel! Ah, I’d give my right arm to have a year off, a year to go places. Tahiti! That’s the place I want to see! Ever been there?

As a matter of fact, yes, I replied. Though not for long. A few weeks, that’s all. I was on my way back from the Carolines.

The Carolines? He seemed electrified now. What were you doing there, may I ask?

A rather fruitless mission, I’m afraid. I went on to explain how I had been cajoled into joining an anthropological expedition. Not that I was in any way qualified. But it was an old friend of mine—an old class-mate—who was in charge of the expedition and he had persuaded me to go along. I was to do as I pleased. If there was a book in it, fine. If not … and so on.

Yes, yes! And what happened?

In a few weeks we were all taken violently ill. I spent the rest of my time in the hospital.

The phone on Mr. Larrabee’s desk rang imperiously. Excuse me, said Mr. Larrabee, picking up the receiver. We waited in silence while he carried on a lengthly conversation about imported teas. The conversation finished, he jumped to his feet, handed Mr. McAuliffe the signed correspondence and, as if charged with an injection, said:

Now then, Mr. Miller, about your plan…

I rose to shake hands with the departing Mr. McAuliffe, sat down again, and without more ado launched into one of my extravaganzas. Only this time I was bent on telling the truth. I would tell the truth, nothing but the truth, then good-bye.

Rapid and condensed as was this narrative of my earthly adventures and tribulations, I realized nevertheless that I was genuinely imposing on Mr. Larrabee’s time, not to mention his patience. It was the way he listened, all agog, like a frog peering at you from the mossy edge of a pond, that urged me on. All about us the clerks had vanished; it was well into the lunch hour. I halted a moment to inquire if I wasn’t preventing him from lunching. He waved the question aside. Go on, he begged, I’m completely yours.

And so, after I had brought him up to date, I proceeded to make confession. Not even if Mr. Higginbotham had suddenly and unexpectedly come back from Africa could I stop now.

There’s absolutely no excuse for having wasted your time, I began. I really have no plan, no project to propose. However, it wasn’t to make a fool of myself that I barged in here. There come times when you simply must obey your impulses. Even if it sounds strange to you … after all I’ve told you about my life … I nevertheless believe that there must be a place for one like me in this world of industry. The usual procedure, when one tries to break down the barrier, is to ask for a place at the bottom. It’s my thought, however, to begin near the top. I’ve explored the bottom—it leads nowhere. I’m talking to you, Mr. Larrabee, as if I were talking to Mr. Higginbotham himself. I’m certain I could be of genuine service to this organization, but in what capacity I can’t say. All I have to offer, I suppose, is my imagination—and my energy, which is inexhaustible. It’s not a matter of a job altogether, it’s an opportunity to solve my immediate problem, a problem which is purely personal, I grant you, but of desperate importance to me. I could throw myself into anything, particularly if it made demands on my ingenuity. This checkered career, which I’ve briefly outlined, I feel it must have been to some purpose. I’m not an aimless individual, nor am I unstable. Quixotic perhaps, and rash at times, but a born worker. And I work best when in harness. What I’m trying to convey to you, Mr. Larrabee, is that whoever created a place for me would never regret it. This is a tremendous organization, with wheels within wheels. As a cog in a machine I’d be worthless. But why make me part of a machine? Why not let me inspire the machine? Even if I have no plan to submit, as I fully admit, that is not to say that tomorrow I might not come up with one. Believe me, it’s of the utmost importance that at this juncture some one should put a show of confidence in me. I’ve never betrayed a trust, take my word for it. I don’t ask you to hire me on the spot, I merely suggest that you hold out a little hope, that you promise to give me a chance, if it is at all possible, to prove to you that all I say is not mere words.

I had said all I wanted to say. Rising to my feet, I extended my hand. It was most kind of you, I said.

Hold on, said Mr. Larrabee. Let me catch up with you.

He gazed out the window a good full moment, then turned to me.

You know, he said, not one man in ten thousand would have had the courage, or the effrontery, to engage me in such a proposition. I don’t know whether to admire you or—. Look here, vague as it all is, I promise you I will give thought to your request. Naturally, I can’t do a thing until Mr. Higginbotham returns. Only he could create a place for you…

He hesitated before resuming. But I want to tell you this, for my own part. I know little about writers or writing, but it strikes me that only a writer could have spoken as you did. Only an exceptional individual, I will add, would have had the audacity to take a man in my position into his confidence. I feel indebted to you; you make me feel that I’m bigger and better than I thought myself to be. You may be desperate, as you say, but you’re certainly not lacking in resourcefulness. A person like you can’t go under. I’m not going to forget you easily. Whatever happens,! hope you will regard me as a friend. A. week from now I suspect that this interview will be ancient history to you.

I was blushing to the roots of my hair. To get such a response suited me far better than finding a niche in the Hobson and Holbein enterprises.

Would you do me a last favor? I asked. Do you mind escorting me to the elevator?

Did you have trouble with Jim?

So you know, then?

He took me by the arm. He has no business running that elevator. He’s absolutely unpredictable. But the boss insists on keeping him. He’s a war veteran and distantly related to the family, I believe. A real menace, though.

He pressed the button and the lift slowly ascended. Jim, as he called the maniac, seemed surprised to see the two of us standing there. As I stepped into the lift Mr. Larrabee extended his hand once again and said, obviously for Jim’s benefit—Don’t forget, if you’re ever—and he stressed the ever—in this neighborhood again, stop in to see me. Maybe next time we can have lunch together. Oh yes, I’ll be writing Mr. Higginbotham this evening. I’m sure he’ll be deeply interested. Good-bye now!