“I don’t know that I get you,” I said.
“Sure, you do. You mentioned it yourself a few minutes ago. If you had to, you could pay three or four times as much for product as you are now and keep running. But you couldn’t pay six or seven times as much. Neither could Sol with less than a million-buck house. I mean, he couldn’t justify rentals like that.”
“I see,” I said. “But actually he won’t pay you any more than I do, if he pays that much. He’ll shave you down somewhere else in the chain.”
Al shrugged. “I showed you the answer to that, Joe. Panzpalace controls every important house in the state—the big city houses that play product on percentage instead of at a flat rate. As long as he doesn’t ask us to do anything out-and-out illegal we’ve got to play with him.”
“I’ll make you a little bet,” I said. “I’ll bet inside of ten-fifteen years Panzer has shaved you enough, you and the other exchanges, to pay for that house.”
“Maybe. I just work here.”
“You’re cutting your own throats, Al!”
“Better worry about yourself, Joe. What are your plans?”
“I—I haven’t thought too far ahead,” I said.
“Why don’t you go and see Sol? Maybe you could work out something. I happen to know he likes you.”
“Yeah,” I said, “he must.”
“He does, Joe.” Al leaned forward. “Look. Those big boys don’t look on things like you and I do. The way Sol sees it, it don’t make no difference if there’s a Barclay in Stoneville or not. Relatively, you know. It’s unimportant. But if he don’t put in this Panzpalace—and like I say he’s got to put it in Stoneville—he sees himself as losing several million dollars.”
I let that sink in, and, if there’d been a laugh left in me, it would have come out.
“I see,” I said. “It’s easy for a man to figure that way. You lose track of the fact that something that doesn’t mean a thing to you may mean a hell of a lot to the guy that has it.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“But how does he figure several million dollars?”
“Well, Sol has a reputation as a money-maker, doesn’t he? When he puts up a new house the public looks on it as another mint.”
“They’re not far wrong at that,” I said. “I see. Panzpalace stock will take a jump.”
“It will, but don’t get any ideas, Joe. This is Sol’s surprise and only he knows exactly when he’s going to pull it. He’ll drive the stock down first. If you got in anywhere besides the basement you’d lose your shirt.”
“Not bad,” I said.
“But that’s only part of the picture, Joe.” Al held up a finger. “A Panzpalace house will use around ten thousand dollars’ worth of paper and display matter a year. If you and I bought it, it’d mean a flat outlay of ten grand, but Sol uses the same paper over and over. And he owns his own paper company. It’s not a big outfit; has a capitalization of about a quarter of a million. But—”
But that was all to the good. Dumping ten thousand bucks’ profit into a company that size meant a four per cent increase in dividends.
“Then there’s his film-express company. It’ll take a jump in profits with practically no increase in overhead. And his equipment companies, Joe. You know what show-house equipment is; high-profit, slow-moving stuff. A big order suddenly dumped in on those companies—”
My head began to swim. I’d thought I was halfway smart but beside Panzer I wasn’t anything. He’d mop up in a dozen different ways, and the mopping up would be legitimate. His companies would be worth more. He’d have an actual operating loss in Stoneville, but it wouldn’t ever show, and the house wouldn’t cost him anything in the long run. He could show that he was increasing Panzpalace assets by a million bucks. That would stop any squawks.
Of course, someone was going to lose. The money had to come from somewhere. Suckers would be shaken out. The film companies would have to pinch a little, and there’d be wage cuts and layoffs. The— But what the hell of it? Sol would mop up and he’d be in the clear.
That’s business.
Al leaned back in his chair. “By the way, Joe, who tipped you off?”
“No one,” I said. “I just had a premonition.”
“I read the papers, Joe. Hap Chance seems to be your bosom friend all of a sudden. Well, all I got to say is I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. This is one time he’s got out beyond his depth. I suppose he thought this was just a little petty chiseling that he should be taken in on.”
I didn’t answer him. I didn’t want to talk about Hap. If he was washed up on the row—and Sol could wash him up if he wanted to take the trouble—he’d bear down that much harder on me.
“When’s Sol moving in, Al?”
“Only Sol knows that.”
“Where’s he going to build?”
“Well—” He hesitated. “Maybe I’ve been talking too much. But you can figure it out for yourself. Where would you build if you were in his place?”
“That’s simple,” I said. “You couldn’t pick a better show lot than the one I’ve got, and people are accustomed to going in that direction. But—but—”
I choked up. I could feel my face turning purple. Al looked down at his desk nervously.
“Now, Joe. You couldn’t expect him to talk it over with you.”
“Goddamnit,” I said. “I’ll make him wish he had! Maybe I won’t sell! Maybe I got some ideas on making money, myself! Maybe—”
“You won’t have any income, Joe. How long do you think you can play holdout?”
“A hell of a lot longer than Sol thinks! I don’t give a goddamn if I starve, I’ll—I’ll—”
I choked up again. I wouldn’t get a chance to starve. I wouldn’t even have time to get real hungry before Hap or Andy or Elizabeth or—
“You see, Joe? It wouldn’t be smart, would it?”
“No,” I said, “it wouldn’t be smart.”
I got up and walked out.
18
I’ve probably given you the idea that Elizabeth didn’t have much tact or, at least, that she didn’t go out of her way to use it. And that’s true and it was the cause of a lot of our trouble. But now that I think about it, it seems like the thing that caused the most hell was that I never knew quite how she was going to react to a given situation.
I don’t mean that I’d want any woman to be all cut and dried in her actions, or that I ever expected anyone to use me as a pattern. But I do say you’ve got to have some—well, some standard of conduct or you don’t have anything at all. You’ve got to know whether what you’re going to do will make a person happy or sore. You’ve got to know whether a person is actually happy when they—he—she looks like and says she is or at least you’ve got to know that she isn’t. And if that sounds mixed up I am and I was, right from the day we were married.
We closed the show up for two weeks for our honeymoon, since it wasn’t making a damned thing anyway; and, seeing that it was summer, we went to a resort up in the eastern part of the state. It was just a small place—but nothing cheap by a long shot—and everyone had you sized up the minute you walked in. Everyone knew that Elizabeth and I were just married, and everyone was doing a little under-the-breath kidding about it. And I thought that Elizabeth was taking it perfectly all right—as why the hell shouldn’t she have?
But when the waiter brought our dinner up that night she suddenly blew the lid off of things. One minute he was chuckling and just being pleasant as waiters will; and the next minute he was out the door so fast his jacket tails were flying. I don’t exactly remember what it was Elizabeth said to him. But I knew it was the wrong thing. And before I knew what was happening she was telephoning the manager and reporting this boy for insulting us.
“For Christ’s sake,” I said, when I finally got my breath, “what did you do that for, Elizabeth?”
“I’m sorry, Joe,” she said. “I should have let you do it.”
“Do what? Why should
I have done anything?”
“Oh?” Her mouth tightened, then relaxed. “I know you’ve been thinking about business matters, dear. But if you’d noticed—”
“I tell you what I have noticed,” I said. “I’ve noticed you standing right out in the middle of Stoneville, gabbing and laughing with some washwoman and her ragged-assed pickaninnies until—”
“Don’t use words like that, Joe!”
“All right, then, they were just ragged, but—”
Well, how can you argue with a person like that? Someone that’s absolutely determined to miss the entire point of a conversation?
I said, “Well, hell, let’s forget it and go to bed.” And we went, and there wasn’t any more argument the rest of that night. But I still felt bad about getting this boy in trouble and maybe letting ourselves in for a lot of rotten service. And, like she always knew, Elizabeth knew that I was bothered.
When we went down to breakfast the next morning, the waiter captain gave us a funny look and led us over to a table in the middle of the dining-room. And then he snapped his fingers, and this same boy we’d had the night before came running over.
“George wants to apologize for his conduct,” the captain said. “I’m sure you’ll have no more trouble with him.”
“Sure, why not,” I said. “Just give us a menu and skip it. We’ll get along all right.”
I almost jerked the menus out of the waiter’s hands, and shoved one at Elizabeth; and I got behind the other one fast. But it wasn’t any go. Elizabeth wasn’t ready to drop it until I looked like a complete damned fool.
“Why, sure, everything’s okay,” she said, letting out with a big laugh. “George and I are pals, aren’t we, George?” And right in front of everyone she reached out and grabbed his hand and shook it.
We ate breakfast. I guess.
We got out of there and went for a long, fast walk. Elizabeth didn’t say anything and neither did I. It wasn’t until noon, after we’d eaten at a little hamburger joint in the town, that we got to speaking to each other again. And then it wasn’t so good.
I did all I could, God knows. I admitted she’d played me for a chump, and tried to laugh it off. But right in the middle of my trying to make a joke of it she busted out bawling, and then she ran back to the hotel by herself.
I guess this waiter George must have been a pretty good boy because I had to pay the captain fifty bucks to fire him. That made things a little more comfortable; and after a day or two—a night or two, I should say—Elizabeth and I were beginning to feel that marriage wasn’t such a bad deal after all.
We were a little edgy with each other, but, generally, I’d say that that feeling lasted on through our honeymoon and for several months afterward. It wasn’t until I put Bower out of business that we had another real blowup.
“But you just couldn’t have done it, Joe!” she said. “The Bowers are one of the oldest families in town, and they’ve always been good friends of ours. You can’t deliberately ruin people like that.”
“I’m not ruining them,” I said. “If Bower wants to start another show it’s all right with me.”
“You know he can’t start another one!”
“Well, that’s his fault, then,” I said. “I’ve got to protect our investment. It’s up to him to look after his. What could be fairer than that?”
She sat and stared at me for a long time, and I began to get nervous. There wasn’t any reason why I should have, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Well, what’s wrong?” I said.
“What do you think, Joe?”
“I don’t think anything,” I said. “All I know is that I work my can off trying to put us on a good spot and you can’t do anything but find fault with me. Whose side are you on, anyhow? Mine or Bower’s?”
“Do I have to take sides against people who’ve never done me any harm?”
“Look,” I said. “This is business, Elizabeth. You just can’t—”
“Never mind, Joe. I think I understand.”
The smile she gave me wouldn’t have fooled me later on, but it did at the time. And when she said of course she was on my side, where else would a wife be? I was completely taken in.
I went ahead and told her about the other things I had planned. How I could get the work done on a new house for nothing. How I could get the marquee and other stuff for next to nothing. How I could use them to get credit to pay the bills that couldn’t be ducked. How we could run the house union at less expense than it cost to scab.
I must have shot off my mouth for an hour. And then, since everything seemed to be going so well, and we hadn’t been married very long—
We went up to the bedroom, and that—it—was the craziest goddamn thing that ever happened to me. Action? Sure; as much as you’d get on a roller coaster. Affection? The only twenty-dollar girl I ever had gave me a lot less. Heat? Like a furnace. It was lovely and wonderful, and so goddamn phony I felt myself gagging right into her mouth.
I jumped up and began jerking on my clothes.
“All right,” I yelled, “have it your way! I’ll let everything slide, and you can have your goddamn rattrap back as it stands and I’ll clear out!”
“But I don’t want you to clear out, Joe.” She got up and stood in front of me. “I happen to love you.”
“Damned if you don’t,” I said. “Just leave me alone. I won’t bother you again.”
“And I want you to bother me, too. Perhaps I’m a little disappointed in—in things, but—”
“You’re disappointed?” I said. “What the hell do you think I am?”
She didn’t answer that one, and I went ahead flinging on my clothes, trying not to look at her.
I finished dressing and started for the door, and she got in front of me.
“Well?” I said.
“Is this better, Joe?” she said. Then, cr-aack! She slapped me. “Do you like that better?”
And before I could come to my senses, before I could get over someone who was supposed to be a lady acting like a four-bit floozy, she’d shoved me out the door and locked it.
Well, I built the show. I did the other things I’ve told you about. And every once in a while, during those first few years, I thought we were going to be able to straighten things out and get along like married people should.
I thought so the strongest when she got pregnant, but then she miscarried and it was worse than ever. It was like I mentioned a while back. I never knew what she was going to do. I was never sure whether her actions and words meant one thing or whether they meant another.
About all I could ever be sure of was that she hated my guts, and that she hated them most right when she claimed to be loving me the loudest.
The funny part about it all was that with all her high-toned sneering, she wasn’t too good to profit by the corners I cut. She insisted on keeping the show in her name, and she made almost as big a job of running it as I did. Not that anything she ever did was a damned bit of help, but she kept her hand in and held in there right on up to the end.
No, I don’t think she was ever afraid of my skipping out if I wasn’t tied down. And I don’t think the main idea was to humiliate me, although that may have been part of it. I think—no, I don’t, either. If I really thought that, then nothing would make sense.
I don’t think I mentioned that she fired Carol that afternoon she caught her in my room. Well, she did, and I let her. It didn’t look like I had much grounds for argument, and I figured I’d see Carol later and slip her some money and fix it up.
Carol packed up her things, or started to. Before she could finish Elizabeth called her down to the living-room.
“I’m partly to blame for this,” she said to us. “Perhaps, by bringing Carol into this house, I’m entirely to blame. At any rate, I’m ready to assume some of the responsibility for it. Carol, exactly what are your feelings toward Mr. Wilmot?”
“None of your business,” said Carol.
“And yours toward Ca
rol, Joe?”
“There’s no use in me saying anything,” I said. “You’ve already got your mind made up.”
“I see. Well, in preference to having this affair carried on around the countryside, I think Carol had best stay here. Go and unpack your things, Carol.”
Carol looked at me, and I nodded. After she’d left the room Elizabeth stood up.
“I’m going to give you a little time to decide exactly what you want to do, Joe. And when you do reach a decision I expect you to stick by it. Do you understand?”
“Maybe I’ve already decided,” I said.
“And?”
“Let’s say I’m about as sick of you as you are of me.”
“All right,” she said. “Now, the little matter remains of what to do about it.”
From where I sit now I’d say she thought she had me; that she knew there wasn’t anything I could do and that I’d have to backwater on the deal. Looking back I’d say that she wasn’t really thinking about the insurance when she agreed to settle for twenty-five grand. It was just her way of saying that she wouldn’t trade at all.
I don’t mean that she wanted me herself, because everything that she’d ever done or said pointed to the fact that she didn’t. But she wasn’t going to let Carol have me, either. Not Carol. She didn’t hate Carol, exactly; she didn’t think enough of her even to do that. It was Carol who did the hating and she did a good job of it. But—
But that’s beside the point.
The insurance did get mentioned, and there was just one way we could cash in on it. And when I laid the plan out, little by little, Elizabeth went for it. It surprised me, but she did. She even took full charge of the plans, pushing them along faster than I would have myself.
Carol thought it was all a gag, that Elizabeth was just trying to land her and me in trouble. But I didn’t and don’t think so. Elizabeth didn’t need to pretend anything. She was in the saddle. And there was no way she could have made trouble for us without involving herself.
Why did she try to burn herself up there toward the last? The answer to that is, she didn’t. It just looked that way. She knew every trick to that rewind motor. She knew just how much she could play around with that short-circuited cord without being in danger. I didn’t move as fast as she thought I would and consequently she almost had herself a funeral party. But, anyway, it was a good trick and it almost worked.