Such was my general condition when I met Grant. I was twenty-two years old, strong, healthy and good-looking. I was saving $35.00 a week, I had ambitions for my future. Our manner of meeting was not in the least romantic, in fact the other way around. I remember the day: it was the 13th of August, two years ago, for it was the date of the big organization meeting for the Karb waitresses, as it was the only one of the big chains still unorganized, under a big op deal that had been made by one of the four Karb brothers, one of whom had once been president of some printers’ union. Indeed the local we were going to form, and all the big plans for the night, were very much in the air, and the girls could hardly talk about anything else. Personally, I was not greatly excited, but I felt if a union would do us any good we might as well have one, but possibly because I took such an unbiased attitude, the other girls kept gathering around me to know what I thought. Then in the middle of the lunch rush, one of them came back with a tray, and muttered out of the side of her mouth at us as she went up to the counter, “Company spy, girls, watch your step.”
“Where?”
“By the rail, and he’s asking me plenty.”
“In the brown suit?”
“That’s him.”
I looked, but what I saw certainly didn’t look like a company spy. He was big, and black-haired, and shaggy, and sunburned almost the color of copper. But the rest of them knew at once what he was, and began saying what they thought of him, and then Lula Schultz, my roommate, started for him. “Who do they think they are, snooping around on us? Can’t we have a union if we want to? Isn’t it in the Constitution or something?”
Lula is very impulsive, that is one of her main troubles, but another girl grabbed her. “Where you going?”
“I’m going to tell the bum where he gets off.”
“And tip him to what we’re doing?”
“What do we care?”
“You stop that, they’ll know everything.”
“We going to let them get away with this?”
Then one of them shoved her against the counter. “You stay right where you are. Let Carrie talk to him.”
“That’s it. Carrie can handle him.”
“Sure, leave it to Carrie.”
I didn’t see that it made much difference what he was up to, but they seemed to place some kind of reliance in me, so it was up to me. One of the girls took the ammonia and cleared two or three places in my station. I mean she wiped the tables with ammonia so the customers that were sitting there had to get up and leave, and another on duty as hostess that day, brought Grant over and sat him down, and I went and put the menu in front of him, and there we were. But if he had been inquisitive about the union, he didn’t bring it up then. He seemed to be in a sulky mood, and after he studied the menu he looked up. “What in the hell is Korn on the Karb?”
“Sweet corn on the ear, sir. Would you care for some?”
“No, just asking.”
“The corn all comes from our selected farms, and the contract specifies that it must be pulled the morning of delivery, and arrive by special truck. If you like the dish, you might try the Mess o’ Karb Korn on the a la carte — three large ears, cooked to order and served right out of the pot. The order includes drawn butter and a Karbtassle brush. It’s really quite good.”
“It’s a socko sales talk.”
“Would you care to try it?”
“I’ll try it, but no silver handles, no drawn butter, and no Karbtassle brush. Now listen to what I tell you. That corn goes in the pot in the husk. Six minutes in the pot, put it on a plate, and bring it over. Give me a double hunk of regular butter, and that’s all. The idea is, I don’t want you to take trouble with it. I want it as is. Do you understand me? No Karbnificence.”
“Did you say — in the husk?”
“Indian.”
“Oh.”
“And besides it stays tender. And it stays hot. If Montezuma had 50,000 slaves to serve his table, you could certainly trust him on this.”
“Yes, sir.”
When I went over to the counterman they gathered around me like flies. “What does he want?”
“Korn on the Karb.”
“Boil three, Charlie.”
“Not so fast.”
I then explained how the order was to be cooked, and Charlie’s eyes almost popped out. He picked up three ears in the husk and shook his head. “One for the mule, girls. This is a new one we got.”
That was a big laugh, but I kept thinking it was a very peculiar way for a company spy to act. So I decided to find out what he was, but first I would have to know his name.
I filled a water glass and went up behind him. As I reached over him to set it down, I spilled a spoonful of it on his shirt, where his coat was hanging open. He jumped, but I had my napkin ready, and before he could say anything I was apologizing and wiping the water off. Then I pretended there was some on the inside of his coat, and began wiping that off. As I did so, I turned down the inside pocket, and there, sure enough, was his name, written in by his tailor. It said: Grant Harris.
I went to the pay telephone, took the receiver off the hook, and came back. “Pardon me, are you Mr. Grant Harris?”
He looked up, very surprised, and I stood right over him, looking down into his eyes so I could see everything they did. “Why yes. Harris is my name. Why?”
“They’ve been trying to locate you. Mr. Roberts is on the line. He wants to speak to you.”
Nobody was on the line, but if he went over there and got no answer, I could pretend they must have hung up. What I wanted was to see how he reacted to that name Roberts when I spoke it that way, suddenly, because Mr. Roberts was general manager for Karb’s, Inc. He didn’t react at all. His face screwed up, and he looked at me as though I must be crazy. “Roberts? I don’t know any Roberts.”
“He’s on the line.”
“I don’t know him, I didn’t tell anybody I was coming here, so it must be some mistake.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“What for?”
Not once did his eyes give that little flicker that a man’s eyes will usually show when he is trying to hide something, so I felt all the more strongly that the girls were wrong about him. I went to the phone, pretended to hold a little conversation in case he was looking, hung up, and then went and got the corn. I put down the plate, butter, and the little platter with the three ears, still in the green husks. “May I remove the husks for you, sir?”
“No, thanks, but you can watch, so you’ll know how next time.”
“Yes, sir.”
He began stripping the corn, very neatly, as though he had done it that way often. “...Why aren’t you watching?”
It came like a shot, and his eyes were drilling me through. They were big and perfectly black, but now they were hard, as I found out they could be when there was reason. “I am watching.”
“Me, you’re watching, not the corn. I’ve been keeping book on you in that mirror.”
“I’m sorry if I—”
“What is this, anyway? What was that phony call?”
Now there is such a thing as knowing when to stop the fooling, and besides I couldn’t help having some admiration for the way he had caught me, even if I felt very silly. “All right, I’ll tell you.”
“Please do.”
“They thought you were a company spy.”
“Who did?”
“The girls. You asked some questions.”
“Oh. So I did. Oh, now I begin to get it. That’s why they’re all watching us out of the corner of their eyes, is that it?”