He’d stayed here on business once. The Nittney-Lyon. He’d met Lace in strange places before, but this was the strangest. Imagine their names thrown fifteen floors by Mopiani’s walkie-talkie. “Nate?” “Ben.” Quicker than prayer.
Nate’s floor was lighter than the lobby. He glanced at the ceiling of the long corridor. Here two bulbs burned in their fixtures; there, three were out. There was no pattern. Probably Nate had unscrewed them.
The door to the suite was open, Nate at a desk watching him, his walkie-talkie next to the phone. He grabbed Nate’s hand. “Hail to the Chief,” Flesh said.
“Hey come on, let go. What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“I’m glad to see you, so I shake your hand.”
“Nothing’s settled.”
“Yeah. Right. You can have it back when I’m finished. So how are you?”
“I ain’t no greeter.”
“No? Ain’t this Las Vegas? Didn’t you used to be Joe Louis?”
“What are you doing here? We didn’t have no appointment.”
“This place is spooky. Come have a drink with me.”
“I’ve eaten. You still driving? I see the Cadillac out front. What is it, you afraid to fly? Do you think you’ll fall on the ground? More people are killed on highways each year than in the airplanes. You should know that. What are you doing here anyway? We don’t have no appointment. Why don’t you fly? It’s more convenient.”
“I’m loyal to the highway.”
“It’s crazy. Loyal to the highway. It’s crazy. How’d you know I was here?”
“I read about the distress sale.”
“You see? If you flew you’d have been here first maybe. Now maybe whatever you wanted I already sold it.”
“I knew Bensinger’s troubles weeks ago. I called him about the the TV’s, but he thought the Sheraton chain would bail him out.”
“Me. I bailed him out.”
“You’re Geronimo, Nate.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? How do you like my new store? Hey? This is really some store I got. TV’s?”
“How much?”
“Sealed bids.”
“What sealed bids? I need a few color TV’s. I’m opening a Travel Inn.”
“I’m sorry. It’s the only way I do business. Sealed bids.”
“What is it with you, you like to get mail? I’ll pay you cash and send it in a letter.”
“I can’t do it, Ben. Listen, I’ll go this far for you. You need TV’s. I’ll give you a price on some black and whites.”
“Black and whites? From the Nittney-Lyon? Eight years ago I stayed in this hotel. They were old then. The white was fading. Even if they were still in their boxes with the silicon pouches I couldn’t use them. I already told you, I need color. It’s in my contract.”
“How big’s your Travel?”
“A hundred fifty.”
“I ain’t got 150 color.”
“The Nittney-Lyon has 360 rooms.”
“Right. Three hundred color’s what I got. All in good condition.”
“Bullshit on your good condition. I figure it’ll cost me a hundred a set over the purchase price to get them in shape.”
“Never. Why do you say a thing like that?”
“It’s cable TV. The guests flip the channels like they’re winding their watches.”
“They’re in good condition.”
“What time is it?”
“Three. I don’t know. Around three. Why?”
“We’ll watch Merv Griffin. If his suntan works for me I’ll give you a hundred twenty-five a set.”
“I have to be truthful, it’s not a bad price. But you’d have to take two hundred.”
“Businessman! All right. I need a hundred and a half. I’ll take two hundred. I’ll use the extra for spare parts.”
Nate smiled. “You’re a tonic, Ben,” he said. “I figure seven weeks I got to be in Harrisburg. With no one to talk to but Mopiani. You know what that Cossack does when he’s not on duty? Army-Navy stores. He window shops Army-Navy stores, checks out all the Army-Navy stores to see if there’s something new he can strap to his belt.” He sighed. “I don’t know. I bought a great hotel. A beautiful store. I think I’m in over my head this time. A million one it cost me. Two weeks going day and night to do an inventory. What am I going to do with this stuff?”
“You know.”
“I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t know.”
“Come on, Nate, you know what to do with the little soaps, the paper shoeshine cloths, the switchboard, the telephones, the dance floor and bandstand. A million one. You’re here two months you’ll clear five hundred thousand. Four Otis elevators you got like Apollo space capsules. When you’ve picked the bones dry, you pay your taxes and sit on the thing till the city condemns. They pay to knock the hotel down and you parcel the property into small lots and sell it off for more than you put up in the first place.”
“Hangers. You need hangers?”
“Richmond sells me hangers.”
“And not television? Richmond don’t make you take their televisions?”
“I’m not a sharecropper, Nathan. It ain’t a company store.”
“The shipping is your responsibility.”
“I haven’t bought anything yet. I haven’t seen the color.”
“Turn it on, turn it on.”
“What? Here? In the Presidential suite, sky-high, where the reception’s like a page from National Geographic, the test pattern like an engraving? No. We’ll go to—309. We’ll watch with interference. I want to see the ghosts, the squiggle Mopiani’s walkie-talkie makes on the screen — the Number 12 bus going by, rush hour, all the city’s tricky electric shit. I want you to take your worst shot. Then, then the shipping’s my responsibility.”
We went to 309. Nate had to get Mopiani to hunt up a key, to scrounge around in the hotel’s cellar for an hour looking for a way to turn the juice on in that part of the building. He had to fetch five more sets from rooms I selected at random and fix plugs he’d taken from lamps to the wires he’d cut behind the TV sets that ran through the walls to the master antenna. The whole thing must have taken four hours. Then we shoved plugs into every socket, stuffing them full, caulking, tuck-pointing the electric slots tight. Putting on different channels, spinning a roulette of network and U.H.F. Channel 6’s closed circuit, the camera panning from a barometer to a dial that showed the speed and direction of the wind, to a clock that told time, to another that gave the temperature, to ads on signs. I guess the Nittney-Lyon was still paid up for the service. It was in black and white but almost the only thing I watched with any interest. On other sets grave Cronkite spilled the beans, Chancellor’s glasses reflected light, Howard K. Smith and Harry Reasoner sat connected at the shoulder like Siamese twins. After a while Nate left and took his palace guard with him, and I watched the wind speed and direction, the barometer and temperature, keeping my eye peeled for the slightest change.
Nate returned in an hour. “Satisfied?”
I nodded. He put out his hand and I took it. “At last,” I said, “the Nate Lace Special.”
“Listen, I never once went back on a handshake.”
“I know that, Nate.”
“That’s why I jerked my hand back from you before. It wasn’t nothing personal.”
“I know that.”
“I got a handshake it stands up in court.”
“Yes.”
“Your feelings shouldn’t be hurt.”
“My feelings feel fine.”
“Just so you know.”