Page 49 - The Myth and the Moment

Afternoon

“Well, I got you in the door. Rest is up to you. Good luck, man.
Hope you get your act together. Here’s my card; got an old answering
machine out of the trash. Works pretty well. Later.”
“Uh, right. Thanks, Ham. Are you sure you—”
Bzzzzzzz!
“Go, man! That electric lock waits for no man.”
As heavy as it looks.
Bang!
It’s closed. What did she say? 205. Second floor. Elevator’s on the
way down. Now, be cool, Nate. She must be friends with Phil or she
wouldn’t have been at his show-biz party this morning. But how
close? He’s married now, but—
“Excuse me.”
Wake up, Nate. Old guy and his dog were in the elevator. Looked
at me like ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Guess I am a bit
shabby. Is there a service elevator, sir, in which grubby petitioners
like myself may ascend the lofty heights of this empyrean domicile?
Bet that dog gives him plenty of grief; nothing like a little canine
incontinence to sour the disposition. Here it is. Second floor: ladies
foundation garments, household furnishings, and metaphysical
trappings. Just a little scared, aren’t we, Nate? So stuff it. What is the
secret knock? How about rappity-bap-bap-bap? No, too familiar.
Bomp. Bomp. Bomp. No, like the secret police at midnight. All right,
we’ll settle for a timid tap-tap. Ignore the heart, old brain; it’s just a
pump without a handle. “Come in, Nate. This is a surprise.”
“Yes, thank you. For me, as well.”
Strange layout for a living room: about a dozen stuffed chairs and a
bunch of end tables. Must get really dark in here when those heavy
curtains are drawn. What am I going to say? Help!
“Why don’t we sit in the kitchen, Nate. There’s a table and more
light. Would you care for a drink?”
Fine with me. Don’t want to get her fancy armchairs dirty. Got to
look her in the eyes sooner or later; merely the organ of sight; an
input device only, approved by Underwriters Laboratory. Ah, a cozy
breakfast nook in a conventional kitchen.
“Oh, thank you. Maybe a glass of water.”

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