"Well,that's life," I grinned. Then I shook my head again. "It's thedamnedest thing...."
"What?" Fred asked. He'd been over at the sideboard mixing drinks forthe gang while I'd taken Joe over the bumps. Now he brought the trayover and shoved a tall one into Joe's hand. "Don't cry, Joe. What'sthe damnedest thing, Jerry?"
"You know ... that funny feeling that you've been some placebefore--the same place, the same people, saying the same things--butyou can't remember where the hell or when, for the life of you. Had itjust a moment ago, when I told Joe he owed me fifteen bucks. What dothey call it again?"
"_Deja vu_," said Allen, who's sort of the scholarly type. "Means'seen before' in French, I think. Or something like that."
"That's right," I said. "_Deja vu_ ... it's the damnedest funniestfeeling. I guess people have it all the time, don't they?"
"Yes," Allen said.
Then he paused. "People do."
"Wonder what causes it?"
Joe's blue eyes were twinkling. "Dunno. The psychologists have anexplanation for it, but it's probably wrong."
"Wrong why?" Knowing Joe, I expected a gag. I got it.
"Well," Joe said. "Let _me_ make up a theory. H'm ... hoo, hah ...well, it's like _this_: there are monsters all around us, see, but wedon't know they're monsters except that every once in a while one ofthem slips up in his disguise and shows himself for what he really is.But this doesn't bother our monsters. They simply reach into our mindsand twiddle around and--zoop!--you're right back where you were beforethe slip was--"
"Very funny," Fred said boredly. "Maybe losing fifteen bucks made youlose a little sense, Joe. You wouldn't want to lose more than fifteenbucks, would you? You need some caution in the games we play, no? Socut the nonsense and let's run 'em."
Ray licked his lips. "Yeah. Let's play, huh, fellows?"
Ray's always eager to get started.
* * * * *
We played until 3 A. M. I won forty-six dollars. (I usually do win ...I guess over a period of six months or so I'm about five-hundred bucksahead of the game. Which is why I like to play over at Joe's, eventhough I _am_ always so damned tired when I leave. Guess I'm not asyoung as I was.)
Sometimes I wonder why the odds go my way, right down the line. Ialmost _never_ lose. But, hell, it _must_ be an honest game ... and ifthey're willing to go on losing to "Lucky" Bixby, I'm perfectlywilling to go on winning.
After all, can you think of any reason that makes any sense forsomeone to rig a game week after week to let you _win_?
Frederik Boles, Author's Agent Oct. 20
2200 Fifth Avenue
New York, N. Y.
Dear Fred,
Well, here's a new story. I've cleared it with Joe ... he says it's okay to use his name; you know his sense of humor. I've used your name, too, but you can change it if you want to, being the shy retiring sort you are.
Frankly, I'm a little dubious about the yarn. It's the result of last Friday's poker-session.... I actually did have the _deja vu_ sensation, as you'll recall. On the way home I stopped in to pick up a chaser, feeling tired as all hell (like I always do--these long grinds are too much for me, I guess, just like the guy in the story) and the idea came to me to slap the old "we are fodder" angle into the thing as it happened and write it up.
But it's still an old plot. And one angle is left unexplained: how is the narrator able to know all about the _slizzers_ and write about them after Joe gives him the _deja vu_ treatment?
Well, maybe the readers won't mind. I've gotten away with bigger holes than that. Try it on Bob Lowndes ... I still owe him on that advance. It's up his alley, hope-a-hope.
Jerry
Oct. 22, 1952
Jerome Bixby
862 Union Street
Brooklyn, N. Y.
Dear Jerry,
I don't go for "The Slizzers." It just ain't convincing. As you say, it's an old idea ... and besides--again as you say--how does the narrator know what happened?
The manuscript looks good in my wastebasket. Forget about it.
Sympathies.
Fred
Oct. 23, 1952
Frederik Boles, Author's Agent
2200 Fifth Avenue
New York, N. Y.
Dear Wet Blanket (and aren't you a little old for that?)
Respectfully nuts to you. After proper browbeating I think I'll try the yarn on Lowndes ... it's no masterpiece, but I think it's got a chance; he likes an off trail bit, now and then. I made a carbon, natch, so your ditching of the original comes to naught.
Funny thing ... every time I read it over I get the doggonedest _deja vu_ feeling. Real dynamic thing ... almost lifts my hair. Hope it does the same for the readers, them as can read. Maybe Joe didn't quite do the job of making me forget what happened that night, ha, ha. Say! ... maybe that could explain the _narrator's_ remembering what happened ... or maybe--hey! A _real_ idea!
Remember Joe's kidding us about monsters?--remember, you got a little sore because he was holding up the game, you money-hungry son? I think I'll rewrite the ending to include that! ... which oughta take care of the narrator's remembering: Joe can be sort of a dopey _slizzer_, a blat-mouth, and his screwy theory (which is _true_ in the story, or will be when I write it in--say, isn't this involved!) can trigger our hero's memory just a bit, shake the block a mite, undiddle the synapses etc ... and then I'll have you, platinum-butt, step in to head Joe off, under pretense of a poker itch.
You know, it's wonderful the way there are hot story ideas in plain old everyday things! S'long ... gonna revise.
Jerry
Oct. 23, 1952
Mr. Robert W. Lowndes
COLUMBIA PUBLICATIONS, Inc.
241 Church Street,
New York 13, New York
MASTER,
Herewith a story, "The Slizzers," which Fred and I don't quite see eye to eye on. He thinks it stinks on ice. I'm sure you will disagree to the tune of nice money.
J.
ENCL: THE SLIZZERS
1952 OCT 24 AM 9 06
NB168 PD=NEW YORK NY 63 110B=JEROME BIXBY=862 UNION ST APT 6H=BKLYN=JERRY=
URGE STRONGLY THAT YOU DON'T TRY TO SELL SLIZZERS STOP IT'S JUST NO DAMN GOOD STOP YOU'VE GOT YOUR REPUTATION TO THINK OF STOP WHY LOUSE UP YOUR GOOD NAME WITH A LEMON AT THIS LATE DATE STOP KILL IT STOP I'VE TALKED IT OVER WITH JOE AND HE ISN'T FEELING HUMOROUS ANY MORE STOP PREFERS NOT TO HAVE NAME USED STOP REPEAT KILL THE THING FOR YOUR OWN GOOD=
FRED
1952 OCT 24 AM 11 14
KL300 PD=NEW YORK NY 12 604B=JEROME BIXBY=862 UNION ST APT 6H=BKLYN=SON=
LIKE SLIZZERS STOP PREPOSTEROUS BUT CUTE STOP DISAGREE WITH FRED TO THE TUNE OF NICE MONEY BUT NICE MONEY STAYS IN MY POCKET STOP YOU NOW OWE ME ONLY FIFTY DOLLARS OF ADVANCE AUGUST 16 STOP DO I HEAR A SCREAM POOR BOY=
BOB
Oct. 24, 1952
Frederik Boles, Author's Agent2200 Fifth AvenueNew York, N. Y.
Dear Fred,
Your telegram came too late, and besides, the hell with it. Sent the yarn to Bob yesterday (groceries and rent wait for no man, you know) and he bought it, like the sensitive and discern
ing editor he is. What're you and Joe getting your tails in an uproar about? It's only a gag, so relax. Joe'll change his mind when he sees his name in print.
Would like to have included another angle, by the way: if the narrator's amnesia-job _had_ been botched, wouldn't the _slizzers_ decide pretty damn quick that he was a menace to them and get rid of him? Think I'll send Bob a line or two to stick on the end ... you know, the old incompleted sentence deal ... just as if, while the narrator was finishing the story, the _slizzers_ came in and
* * * * *
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