Reb watched her go with regret. The panties had been the last straw. Not only had he lost out with Llona, but he’d lost his chance at the office lottery as well. But he had one consolation. At least his father and mother were reconciled.
Black power and his Jewish mother presented a united front. The only trouble was that he was the one who had to face it. He squared his shoulders and prepared for the ordeal.
“A shiksa!” His mother opened fire.
“A WASP!” His father loosed the second salvo.
“Intolerance,” Reb sighed weakly, “is the inalienable right of the underdog! “
CHAPTER TEN
“So Othello came a cropper.” Beulah summed up Reb’s confession of failure for the others in the office lottery. “Care to let us in on the details?” she added, curious.
“Just say it was a combination of black power and the B’nai Brith that beat me and let it go at that,” Reb replied.
“He doesn’t have to spell it out,” Raunch Rammer ruled. “Any more than the rest of us did.”
“That’s right,” Comstock Bowdler agreed quickly, remembering his own inability to perform with Llona. “All that counts is that it’s four down and two to go.”
“That narrows it down to Irving and me,” Pierre Strongfellow pointed out.
“But it’s what’s up front that counts,” I. M. Zihnzeehr retorted happily. “And what’s up front happens to be yours truly. When I come on the scene with our little Llona, her invisible shield will just evaporate like last year’s Nielsen ratings. And Pierre will never even get to make his pitch.”
“You’re pretty damn cocksure of yourself,” Pierre said calmly.
“A very apt description.” Irving smiled Rinso-white. “But face it. Hertz has put me in the driver’s seat. And the rest will be as simple as snap-crackle-pop!”
Irving might not have been so confident if he’d been privy to Llona’s thoughts following the incident with Reb. The higher you fly, the further you drop, and Llona had really been up there on Cloud Nine with Reb before the arrival of his parents spoiled things. She’d felt a solid rapport during that evening, and she’d also felt a greater physical attraction toward him than toward anyone since Archer. The disappointment was great when the idyll was shattered. It left Llona bitter.
An office romance just wasn’t in the cards, she decided. Four fiascos in a row was putting too great a strain on her business relationships. And besides, she didn’t like feeling guilty whenever the subject of her job came up during her visits with Archer.
Archer still wasn’t reconciled to her working. He steadfastly refused to display any interest in her job. He’d never even asked the name of the firm for which she worked, nor what sort of business it was in which they were engaged. And yet he was always implying that Llona’s job would lead her into infidelity.
The validity of his suspicions didn’t allay Llona’s feeling of guilt any. Technically she may still have been faithful to him, but impulse had carried her pretty far along the road of confirming his jealousy. And it was uncanny the knack he had for pinpointing the potentialities for adultery in her employment.
For instance, there was that night Llona visited him shortly after the pizza party with Reb. Archer was just hanging up the phone as she arrived. “That was Cousin Mortimer,” he told her.
“Oh?” Llona didn’t like Mortimer and made no secret of it.
“We were talking about this business of you working. Mortimer doesn’t think it’s wise either.”
“Oh, doesn’t he?” Llona frowned.
“No. Mortimer thinks we’re right and that you should quit immediately.”
“And did Cousin Mortimer offer to support me until you’re able to go back to work?” Llona asked sweetly.
“Of course not. But he says we’re right about how it could lead you into immorality. He illustrated it with a story.” Archer chuckled.
“It must have been a funny story.”
“It was. Seems Archer ran into this girl who used to be a receptionist for some magazine. And do you know what they made this girl wear on the job?”
“No. What?” There was a sinking sensation in the pit of Llona’s stomach.
“Nothing! That’s right.” Archer nodded vigorously. “Absolutely nothing! They made her work in the buff. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Llona said weakly and with honesty.
“Well, we know what to think! There ought to be a law! That’s what we told Mortimer! But wait ’til you hear the rest of it.” Archer paused dramatically.
“I can hardly wait.” Llona nibbled a fingernail.
“Well, it seems this girl ran into her ex-boss at and they were talking about her replacement. And boss told her, and she told Mortimer, and Mortimer us, that the girl they hired when she left IS married! Nobody knows it in the place except her boss. But she’s married! Can you imagine what kind of a jerky husband she must have letting her work stark naked all day? If it was our wife, we’d break her neck before we’d let her do a thing like that!”
“Naturally.” Llona was feeling a trifle ill.
“Mortimer says there’s more to the story too.”
“More? What do you mean?”
“We’re not sure. He had to hang up because his wife came in and whatever it was, I guess he didn’t want her to hear him talking about it. But he said he’d call us back next week—he’s going to be out of town until then—and tell us the rest. I wonder what it could be.”
“I wonder too,” Llona told Archer with honest trepidation.
“Anyway, you can see what kind of mess a wife gets into when she insists on going to work.”
“There’s no alternative.” Llona sighed.
“Ooh! Ouch!” Archer’s face suddenly contorted with pain.
“What’s the matter?”
“We’re not sure. It’s just that every time we see that our sphincter muscle contracts.” Archer was pointing at the enema bag being carried by the fat nurse who had just appeared in the doorway. “I guess it’s sort of a Pavlovian reaction,” he added.
“It’s time for us to have our you-know-what,” the fat nurse chirped cheerfully.
Llona kissed Archer good-bye and left. All the way home she worried and wondered if Mortimer knew she was the nude receptionist he’d told Archer about and if that was the rest of the story he meant to relate next week. Well, there was nothing she could do about it, she told herself later as she tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. But at least she could stick to her resolution not to get involved in any more office kanoodling, she decided. On that she would stay firm.
Of course, I. M. Zihnzeehr-—Irving, that is-—had no way of knowing that Llona was turning over a new leaf. To him it seemed only that she was rejecting his overtures while she had at least accepted sundry invitations from those who preceded him in the office lottery. To a man like Irving, such rejection constituted a challenge to the fundamental hucksterisrns on which he’d built his life.
Three invitations to have a drink after work were turned down. When he asked Llona to have dinner with him, her refusal was likewise firm. Nor would she go sailing with him on Sunday, to a beach party Saturday night, or even to a movie premiere he’d wangled tickets for during the week. She was polite about it, but there could be no doubt that she was giving Irving the cold shoulder.
“I think you should pass and give the next man up his turn at bat,” Pierre Strongfellow suggested.
“Ho-ho-ho! Jolly Green Giant! Go play with your corncob,” Irving replied. “Ford has a better idea-—and so have I!”
A few days later he put it into effect. “I have to entertain some of our out-of-town distributors.” he told Llona. “It'll be a small party at this basement pad a friend of mine is lending me. I’d like you to come.”