— What d'you mean?
— We got the Kanthold Korsets account.
— What's the tape over your eye, Morgie? Did she bite you?
— This party I was at last night. A bunch of scared intellectuals, you know? A bunch of goddam unamericans.
— But you told them, didn't you Morgie. Ellery turned to the third man. — Morgie's serious as hell. He was always serious, even in college.
— This is serious, goddam serious. Don't kid yourself, Morgie said. — They corrupt, these goddam intellectuals do. They corrupt.
— I told you Morgie was serious, Ellery said, and grinned. — See what he got defending his country?
— Don't kid yourself. Some bastard started in on how New York would change if prostitution was legalized. Clean honest whorehouses, see?
— In that case, you'll have to consider me unamerican too, in Alabama. .
— No, the point was sublimation, see? This is the whoring of the arts, and we're the pimps, see?
— You should have hit him.
— I did. That's where I got this. Morgie pointed to the tape above his eye. — No matter how much you talk to them, they don't get it. It's too simple. It's too goddam simple for them to understand. They still think their cigarettes would cost them half as much without advertising. The whole goddam high standard of American life depends on the American economy. The whole goddam American economy depends on mass production. To sustain mass production you got to have a mass market. To sustain a goddam mass market you got to have advertising. That's all there is to it. A product would drop out of sight overnight without advertising, I don't care what it is, a book or a brand of soap, it would drop out of sight. We've had the goddam Ages of Faith, we've had the goddam Age of Reason. This is the Age of Publicity.
— O.K. Morgie, you believe in it. Come into the control room and see your dancing girls.
— Goddam right I believe in it. You got to regard advertising as public information, that's what it is.
— O.K. Morgie, relax. Put out your cigarette.
Morgie dropped his cigarette on the floor, and stopped to put it out with his shoe. — I know it, but I get browned off the way some people talk. They talk as if we weren't respectable.
— It's the highest paid business in the U.S., said the old Alabama Rammer-Jammer man.
A man in shirt-sleeves came through the door. — You seen Benny? Ellery asked him.
— Benny who?
A girl going the other way heard this. — I know who you mean, she said to Ellery. — He's in OP, nobody around here knows him. I know who you mean, he was here earlier and he left.
— Thanks, said Ellery; hunching up one shoulder he dropped his cigarette, put it out, and watched the girl go down the hall as he held the door.
— You've only got two cameras up there? Morgie asked. They stood looking at three selective screens. Ellery nodded. — I don't think I'd call this even a B show, even for morning, Morgie said.
He was watching the close-up screen where a four-year-old girl, extended at the practice rail, smiled a personality smile into the wrong camera. Ellery looked at his watch.
— And look. What the hell are they doing now, is this part of this show? Ellery was watching that screen, where the facade of an ugly church quivered into focus. The image moved to the squat steeple, and turned up to follow the spire to its top. — There's a guy up there, there's a guy climbing up it…
Someone handed Ellery a telephone. — That's right, telephoto on number one as soon as you get number two camera set up down in the street, got me? Cut an announcement in right now, got me? First-hand coverage of a stark human drama, take it from there. Get the church in, nice if you can get a shot of the service going on but don't bust that up, got me? That's it, that's it… he went on, watching the screen. — Lift it a little, get the bells in…
— See if they can get the whole goddam cross in, Morgie whispered.
— Ladies and gentlemen, Necrostyle, the modern scientific aid to civilized living, interrupts its regular program, Today's Angels, to bring you on-the-spot coverage of a stark human drama. .
The close-up screen flashed into life again with the figure of a man mounting the shingled spire toward the cross. Ellery stood silent, gripping the telephone. — But wait a minute, he said. — Wait a minute. .
— Let it roll, let it roll, Morgie said beside him. — It's terrific.
— Wait a minute. .
— You can almost see the sweat on his face, Morgie said beside him. — Coming over like a dream.
— It's too bad they didn't get some pancake on him before he went up, said the old Alabama Rammer-Jammer man. — But that light blue necktie…
— That light blue necktie. .
Morgie took a step closer to the screens. He held his breath. When he realized that the man beside him was holding his breath, he commenced to breathe self-consciously. The man beside him realized this, and he commenced to breathe self-consciously.
Then at the same instant they both stopped breathing again.
— Our camera seems to be having some difficulty. . We're sorry, friends, but because of the crowd which has gathered in the immediate vicinity there on the sidewalk it looks like we are going to be unable to bring our camera in for a close-up. .
— Like a dream, said Morgie, as they breathed again.
When the scene was obliterated in favor of a sleek-haired oily countenance, they turned to one another. — Where's Ellery?
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— Where's Ellery?
In the background, an electric organ played The End of a Perfect Day.
… no harmful after-effects. For men and women over forty, start living again, with Pubies. .
— He must have gone out, do you think it got him down?
And so remember, friends, when you come to the end of a perfect day. .
They went out to the bright corridor where, after a moment, Ellery appeared from an office. He was walking very slowly and staring at the floor. — I just had to see B.F. for a minute, he said when they joined him, and he stood there by the door and lit a cigarette.
— Like a dream, Morgie congratulated him. But Ellery did not raise his eyes. From the office they could hear a voice. It was B.F. on the telephone. — Hello, hello Ben? Listen, there was a jump a few minutes ago, it… what? No, this was a man, off a church up in the Bronx, he… Yeah, that's the point, it was one of our own men, a guy named Benny. . what? I don't know, something must have went wrong. I know you can't hush it up, but try to keep us out of it… Yeah, they can play up this other one then, the woman. . Inside the office B.F. hung up the telephone. He stared vacantly for almost a full minute. Then he clicked his lips and took out a cigar.
Ellery blew a heavy ring of smoke toward the floor. It rolled, getting larger, dropping more slowly, and settled round the toe of his shoe.
All this time Morgie was talking. — You handled it beautifully, it came over like a dream. But look, what's the matter, did it upset you? A thing like that? Look at it this way. Those things happen. This happened. We happened to be there. What the hell, it's all in a goddam day's work. Come on, he said as they started to walk down the corridor. Ellery dropped his cigarette and paused to step on it. — Come on, I'll buy you the best lunch in town. You'll bounce back.
— Twenty-one? said the Alabamarammerjammerman.