“Sit down, Ben. Sit down,” Brendan Mallory said in his light and casual voice. “Something that has to come directly to the top, eh?”
Ben knew that when Mallory learned of the request for the appointment, he would have checked with Bartlett, who would be just as much in the dark as Mallory. So he was outside normal channels, and in National, when you bypassed your immediate superior, you had to be sure of your ground. He sensed a wariness in Mallory. This was it, and it made all the day’s conjectures seem silly. It was an effort to grope for and remember his planned opening.
“This is a personal thing, Mr. Mallory. I guess it’s a request for advice.”
“You know I’m ready to help in any way I can, Ben.”
“Before I ask for advice, I’d like to make one general point, sir. In many ways I’ve been led to believe that I’m considered a valuable man. It may be bad taste to bring it up this way, but can we assume it’s true?”
“It’s definitely true. Bringing you into the bonus picture was a pretty good clue as to what we all think of you, Ben.”
“So if I am valuable, can I make the further assumption that an extra effort would be made to keep me happy, Mr. Mallory?”
Mallory reached for the small gold model of a military jet on his desk and gave it a quarter turn before answering. “That’s such a hypothetical question, I can only give a hypothetical answer, Ben. We will do our best to treat you fairly. Isn’t it time we came to specifics?”
“Of course. I’ve come directly to you because I know this is a policy question. It may sound petty, but I’m asking you to look at the broad implications of why I have to bring it up. I can’t live and support my family on what you’re paying me. We have no other source of income. I have here our budget figures, and a personal balance sheet. We’re in debt, with more probability of going further in debt than paying it off. I’d like you to look these over and—”
Mallory, with a slightly pained expression, raised his hand and said, “Please, Ben. I don’t want to pry into the personal details of your life. Statistically you’re in the top five per cent income wise.”
“That’s no comfort if it doesn’t work out, sir.”
“I don’t want to bore you with reminiscences, Ben, but Alice and I didn’t have an easy time of it, believe me.” He chuckled and shook his head. “The macaroni years, that’s what Alice calls them. We had to watch every last penny, and sometimes it was a wearisome thing, but I can’t say that it did us any harm. I think it did us a lot of good, as a matter of fact. It doesn’t hurt anyone’s character to be careful, Ben.” He smiled and his voice became more confidential. “We both know it’s harder on our wives than on us, those lean years. And sometimes a woman can force a man to make... a small error in judgment. You can tell Virginia that you made the old school try, and the man said not yet. And we’ll both forget this little chat.”
“I can’t let it drop, Mr. Mallory. That’s the point I’m trying to make. If you’d look at the figures I—”
“This isn’t like you, Ben. It can’t possibly be so serious. You have a beautiful home, handsome, healthy children, a lovely wife. I can get a little angry when I think of the way you live now compared with the way Alice and I lived during the lean years. It’s a sign of our times, I guess.”
“What do you mean by that, Mr. Mallory?”
“Nobody is willing to wait any more. They have to have it now. You people all seem to want to live the abundant life before you earn the right to it.”
“It’s the kind of abundant life I’m living that I don’t want. And I’m not yearning for a cabin cruiser or a mink coat for Ginny or an airplane of my own, Mr. Mallory. I want to get out of debt because I feel degraded by being in debt when I make so much. But too much of what I make goes to keeping up the front you people demand of me. Let me unload that house and stop being a clubman and stop doing semibusiness entertaining I can’t write off, and I can get out of the swamp.”
“We pay you as much as we do, Weldon, because we expect you to live in that style.”
“Then it isn’t enough. Somebody should make a study of the suburban budget, Mr. Mallory. Too many of us are trapped.”
“Trapped? By a need for economy? What kind of a trap is that?”
“We’re not communicating, Mr. Mallory. I wouldn’t have taken up your time if it wasn’t important. I hoped this talk would go better than it’s going. I’ve got to have thirty-five.”
“You’ve got to have thirty-five thousand dollars a year!”
“If I’m to go on in the same job, and live on the same scale. I got that figure from an expert who did study my figures, Mr. Mallory. The tax bite will be much larger, of course. But the difference will be enough for me to get out of hock and begin to save a little, build up an emergency fund, lay money away for the education of my kids.”
“Ben, how many people are on your approximate level of pay in this building, in this home office?”
“As a quick guess, fifteen.”
“Closer to twenty, I’m afraid. Though salaries are not supposed to be public knowledge, quite a few people work on payroll and on overhead-expense data. An eleven-thousand-five-hundred-dollar raise would not pass unnoticed. And it would be a source of discontent.”
“Why should it be? If I am slated for bigger things, as you have hinted, why wouldn’t it be considered merely a confirmation of those plans?”
“Traditionally the salary is matched to the job, not the man, until you become one of the top officers of the corporation. But is that all we’re here for, Ben? Is that all National is — a money cow to be milked as often and strenuously as possible?”
“On the other hand, Mr. Mallory, should National have an irresponsible attitude toward the personal problems of its junior executives?”
“That’s a rather large word, Ben.”
“It wasn’t said hastily. To maintain the façade of my existence I’ll have to get that thirty-five, sir. Somewhere.”
It was that final deadly word, with its implications of disloyalty, that immediately changed the atmosphere in Mallory’s office. Ben had vowed not to bring that factor into the discussion. It would be there, but only by implication. But he had been pushed into the position of saying it, and things would not be the same again.
Mallory studied him for a moment. Ben had the feeling that Mallory had put a small strong hand against Ben’s chest and walked him backward and, with a final push, had then slammed and bolted a big door, and now looked at him through an armored peephole.
Or, in a more fitting analogy, two ships had hove to, side by side, exchanging cautious messages, until suddenly one had run up its battle flags, opened the gun ports and cleared the decks for action.
“We certainly don’t want to lose you, Ben,” Mallory said heartily. “You belong in the National family.” He had watched Mallory in action too many times not to see that this was the Mallory attitude toward all outsiders. Cordial almost to the point of being effusive, the eyes clear and friendly, the smile correct to the final millimeter of spread.
“Thank you, sir.”
Mallory came around the desk as Ben stood up. He put his hand out and Ben took it. “I recognize your problem, Ben, and I’m glad you brought it to me, and you can be assured I’ll do my very best to find a solution. I’ll be in touch with you as soon as we can come up with something.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mallory.”
There was no escort to the office door, no light touch on the shoulder. Ben went back down to his floor, his office, his desk. He sat down and looked out the glass wall at the beginning of the rain. Everything is so gentle and delicate here, he thought. They don’t ride you down in the elevator and give you a swing, and bounce your pants off Lexington Avenue. But somehow it feels exactly the same.