"Well you're not working in that room."
"You want to fire me."
"No one said anything about firing."
"Fire me."
"No."
"Well you can if you want, just so you understand that."
"Stop explaining my rights to me and get some clothes on. And get me a towel."
"O it's business now. You don't mind a little bare tit on Fridays. You want it white now."
"I've got to be at the office."
"Sure, everything's black and white in the day time."
"I just hope that by tonight you're behaving in a civilized manner."
"Or what are you going to do."
"Stop pressurizing me. Just telling you to be out of that room. And have something to eat ready for a change."
George rose sadly in the direction of the bathroom. Reflecting upon the turkey cock unable to flap its wings in the floor. Life's getting like a merrygoround with people getting on and off and no one paying for the ride. I'll try to track Miss Tomson down. No I won't. If she can get more money and better conditions somewhere else, let her. That goes for Matilda too. I've never bought anyone in my life. Cheaply. Is treating people with warmth and concern buying them. And then being doused from behind. Answer me that. Hear her, standing on the verge of stark nudity having an argument with me.
Smith putting on a blue shirt and a black tie dotted with three legged golden stars. No Miss Tomson to reach out and give it a flick and say that's for the birds. Guess you might say I'm going to have a little freedom of expression around my office for a change. And take up the phone with my new adaptor that fades out my voice when the talking gets ticklish and sends the line dead at signs of disaster. Wear white shoes with red dots if urge denotes that attire. I lie. What an empty god forsaken place the office has become. When people are going home, sidewalks crowded. And I'm head in hands. Too sad to look up, out, forward. And late tonight I take the train.
"Matilda, I catch the train at eight and I want sandwiches."
"Sure if that's the way you want it."
"Shit."
"Ooo you said a nasty word, Mr. Smith."
"Are you locked in that room again."
"I'm delicately attired."
Smith clenching fists. He raised them slowly. Dropped them and spread out his fingers and looked at the nails. Not much moon showing. I'll just take so much from her and no more. O there'll be changes, no more of this if it's all right with you Matilda. Thinks she owns me. That I live to keep her.
Businesslike George Smith went to the kitchen. Taking four large elliptical white plates. At Matilda's door he raised them above his head and crashed them to the floor. A little white chip bounced right up on the hall table. Amazing.
Smith passing out of Merry Mansions. Dog trotting to Golf Street. To any new meantime of horror. Nearly stopping to ask a female pedestrian were she ever a feeding mother to give some human milk of kindness.
And Miss Martin with worried lines across her brow, stood at the top of the stairs of number Thirty Three, holding one hand in another.
"Good morning, Miss Martin."
"Mr. Smith I was so worried. I was going to ring."
"Just a little something, Miss Martin, held me up. Sudden conference. Top level, private, all that sort of thing."
"Shall I get you some apples."
"Please."
"Mail is on your desk. There were a few phone calls, you know when no one speaks on the other end. The breathing is awful. I switched the music in with die adaptor"
"The bag pipes record."
"Yes Mr. Smith. They hung up right away."
"Good."
Smith smiled and entered his office behind the frosted glass. Past the top of that desk which is like a desert. Lost on it without water. Letters, there they are, arranged [431 right in a row. I'm just not up to it. Examine the stamps. Always a nice distraction. Whoa, one or two countries I've not yet heard of. What could they be after. I'm putting my soul under lock and key. And by Jesus these three go in the safe, unopened. Miss Tomson come back. I must not weaken. Open this harmless one. With one neat slit. Goodness, handmade paper inside. No. Not one of these. Dear Sir, Quite obviously you intend overlooking the particular seriousness of this matter.Perhaps you will have to be made to dance a different tune. And we take this opportunity of reminding you that it shall be to our music.We know you have read this.Yours faithfully, JJJ. & Others
George Smith putting feeble hand to the buzzer. Still able to press down. Three shopping days till Christmas. Cigar store man has a big sign, Give Smoke For Yule. Soon as good will towards men comes round in the calendar they try to get in a sneaky boot to one's oxsters.
"Miss Martin, come in please."
"Yes, Mr. Smith."
"Would you get me a glass of water."
"Certainly. Will a paper cup do."
"Goatskin, anything."
"I wasn't trying to be funny, Mr. Smith."
"I know you weren't Miss Martin, forgive me. Put all this correspondence in the safe and lock it. Bum it, eat it-"
"I don't understand Mr. Smith."
"Forgive me Miss Martin forgive me, in my moment of mood."
"I'll get the water right away."
"And ice."
"Yes Mr. Smith, right away."
"Hold it Miss Martin. Stop right where you are. Gome here a minute. Right over to the desk. Don't be scared. I just want you to tell me something. In my eyes. See. Just tell me what color they are."
"I think they're green, Mr. Smith."
"I mean the whites, what are they."
'White. Mr. Smith."
"How white."
"Just white, Mr. Smith."
"You don't think they're going grey."
"No, Mr. Smith."
"Or brown."
"No."
"Miss Martin thank you very much. Really thanks. Stop all calls. I'll be away from tonight over Christmas. And just one more thing before you go. Make an account of Miss Tomson's wages, till the end of this week."
"Shall I mail them to her sir."
"Don't be distant Miss Martin."
"Sorry Mr. Smith."
"No, don't mail them to her. Leave it on my desk. That's some buckle you have on that belt."
"Like it Mr. Smith. Out of an antique shop. I was looking at a brass pig. And just behind it was this buckle."
"Where is this brass pig."
"Two blocks over and right across from a building has big sign in front which says Religious Fittings."
"Thanks Miss Martin."
Two thirty that unurgent time of afternoon with wandering minstrels toting signs on portable radios, it is possible I may cough again with a transplant throat. Madam I cannot speak but can feel. And past a window full of wines. And around this corner. There, Religious Fittings. With additional remarks. Crosses our speciality, everyone welcome to come in and look around. Get tacked up. Measurements free.
Smith viewing the large stuffed ape. Under which stood the little brass pig. Overshadowed by the anthropoid's private parts. Miss Martin says she was looking at the brass pig at the time. Mustn't betray eagerness in the shop. Just look as if I'm after a cane or an instrument for some neat little ulterior appetite. I like having satisfied alone. And which I keep tucked away in my personality. Don't like the look of this proprietor.
"Good day, are you the proprietor."
"What do you want."
"As a matter of fact I want canes."
"You want canes, mister."
"I want canes. Everyone in the shop."
"Mister wait a minute."
"No."
"Well wait a minute."
"No."
"You mean you want all the canes."
"Yes."
"I got two hundred canes."
"Wrap them up."
"Hold it. Do you know what you're saying."
"Wrap them up."