It was as he had anticipated, only a bit bigger and gaudier than last year. Everything seemed to get bigger and gaudier every year. It was on the top floor of the hotel, in one of the middle-sized convention rooms. They were carefully checked at the door, and each was given a numbered badge to wear. On the left side of the room was sixty feet of bar. Along the right wall was the table where the buffet would be. There was a busy rumble of male conversation, a blue haze of smoke. Hadley nodded and smiled at the people he knew as they worked their way toward the bar. With drink in hand, he went into the next room — after being checked again at the door — to look at the mockup.
Hadley had to admit that it had been done very neatly. The mockup was one-third actual size. It revolved slowly on a chest-high pedestal, a red and white convertible with the door open, with the model of a girl in a swimming suit standing beside it, both model girl and model car bathed in an excellent imitation of sunlight. He looked at the girl first, marveling at how cleverly the sheen of suntanned girl had been duplicated. He looked at the mannekin’s figure and thought at once of Sarah and felt a warm wave of tenderness for her, a feeling that she was his luck and, with her, nothing could ever go wrong.
He looked at the lines of the revolving car and, with the glibness of long practice, he made up phrases that would be suitable for advertising it. He stood aside for a time and watched the manufactured delight on the faces of those who were seeing the model for the first time. He finished his drink and went out to the bar. With the first drink, the last traces of irritation at Bill Hunter disappeared. As soon as he had a fresh drink, he looked Bill up and said, “I’m the man who snarled this afternoon.”
“No harm done,” Hunter said promptly and a bit distantly. “Excuse me, Had. There’s somebody over there I have to say hello to.”
Hadley placed himself at the bar. He was not alone long. Within ten minutes he was the center of a group of six or seven. He relished these times when he was sought out for his entertainment value. The drinks brought him quickly to the point where he was, without effort, amusing. The sharp phrases came quickly, almost without thought. They laughed with him and appreciated him. He felt warm and loved.
He remembered there had been small warnings in the back of his mind, but he had ignored them. He would know when to stop. He told the story about Jimmy and Jackie and the punch card over at Shor’s, and knew he told it well, and knew he was having a fine time, and knew that everything was beautifully under control.
But, beyond that point, memory was faulty. It lost continuity. It became episodic, each scene bright enough, yet separated from other scenes by a grayness he could not penetrate.
He was still at the bar. The audience had dwindled to one, a small man he didn’t know, a man who swayed and clung to the edge of the bar. He was trying to make the small man understand something. He kept shaking his head. Hunter came over to him and took his arm and said, “Had, you’ve got to get something to eat. They’re going to take the buffet away soon.”
“Smile, pardner, when you use that word ‘got.’ ”
“Sit down and I’ll get you a plate.”
“Never let it be said that Hadley Purvis couldn’t cut his own way through a solid wall of buffet.” As Hunter tugged at his arm, Hadley finished his drink, put the glass on the bar with great care, and walked over toward the buffet, shrugging his arm free of Hunter’s grasp. He took a plate and looked at all the food. He had not the slightest desire for food. He looked back. Hunter was watching him. He shrugged and went down the long table.
Then, another memory. Standing there with plate in hand. Looking over and seeing Bill Hunter’s frantic signals. Ignoring him and walking steadily over to where Driscoll sat with some of the top brass from Detroit. He was amused at the apprehensive expression on Driscoll’s face. But he sat down and Driscoll had to introduce him.
Then, later. Dropping something from his fork. Recapturing it and glancing up to trap a look of distaste on the face of the most important man from Detroit, a bald, powerful-looking man with a ruddy face and small bright blue eyes.
He remembered that he started brooding about that look of distaste. The others talked, and he ate doggedly. They think I’m a clown. I’m good enough to keep them laughing, but that’s all. They don’t think I’m capable of deep thought.
He remembered Driscoll’s frown when he broke into the conversation, addressing himself to the bald one from Detroit and taking care to pronounce each word distinctly, without slur.
“That’s a nice-looking mockup. And it is going to make a lot of vehicles look old before their time. The way I see it, we’re in a period of artificially accelerated obsolescence. The honesty has gone out of the American product. The great God is turnover. So all you manufacturers are straining a gut to make a product that wears out, or breaks, or doesn’t last or, like your car, goes out of style. It’s the old game of rooking the consumer. You have your hand in his pocket, and we have our hand in yours.”
He remembered his little speech vividly, and it shocked him. Maybe it was true. But that had not been the time or place to state it, not at this festive meeting, where everybody congratulated each other on what a fine new sparkling product they would be selling. He felt his cheeks grow hot as he remembered his own words. What a thing to say in front of Driscoll! The most abject apologies were going to be in order.
He could not remember the reaction of the man from Detroit, or Driscoll’s immediate reaction. He had no further memories of being at the table. The next episode was back at the bar, a glass in his hand, Hunter beside him speaking so earnestly you could almost see the tears in his eyes. “Good Lord, Had! What did you say? What did you do? I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“Tell him to go do something unspeakable. I just gave them a few clear words of ultimate truth. And now I intend to put some sparkle in that little combo.”
“Leave the music alone. Go home, please. Just go home, Had.”
There was another gap, and then he was arguing with the drummer. The man was curiously disinclined to give up the drums. A waiter gripped his arm.
“What’s your trouble?” Hadley asked him angrily. “I just want to teach this clown how to stay on top of the beat.”
“A gentleman wants to see you, sir. He is by the cloakroom. He asked me to bring you out.”
Then he was by the cloakroom. Driscoll was there. He stood close to Hadley. “Don’t open your mouth, Purvis. Just listen carefully to me while I try to get something through your drunken skull. Can you understand what I’m saying?”
“Certainly I can—”
“Shut up! You may have lost the whole shooting match for us. That speech of yours. He told me he wasn’t aware of the fact that I hired Commies. He said that criticisms of the American way of life make him physically ill. Know what I’m going back in and tell him?”
“No.”
“That I got you out here and fired you and sent you home. Get this straight. It’s an attempt to save the contract. Even if it weren’t, I’d still fire you, and I’d do it in person. I thought I would dread it. I’ve known you a long time. I find out, Purvis, that I’m actually enjoying it. It’s such a damn relief to get rid of you. Don’t open your mouth. I wouldn’t take you back if you worked for free. Don’t come back. Don’t come in tomorrow. I’ll have a girl pack your personal stuff. I’ll have it sent to you by messenger along with your check. You’ll get both tomorrow before noon. You’re a clever man, Purvis, but the town is full of clever men who can hold liquor. Goodbye.”