moment. He watched her and she enjoyed his watching her. Finally he
said, “Murphy’s in a good mood today.”
Caroline nodded. “He’s real happy today. He wants to go out in the
country. He always wants to do that when he’s feeling good.”
“He’s some character,” said Robert Holton. He sat down on the railing.
“It would be nice,” said Caroline thoughtfully, “to go out in the
country; have a picnic maybe.”
“Sure, that would be nice, but you couldn’t do that.”
“No, I guess _you_ couldn’t.” Caroline was contemptuous but
because she was a very pretty and popular girl she didn’t show it. She
was sensitive herself and that was what she wanted in life: a man who
was as sensitive as she, someone who would respond to her moods. She
looked at Robert Holton. He was sitting uneasily on the railing. No,
he could never understand her great sadness. Perhaps no one would ever
understand her. Caroline was sad, for it is a sad thing to be both
pretty and sensitive.
“You’re going out tonight, aren’t you?”
Robert Holton nodded. “I’m going to a cocktail party; I’m going to Mrs
Raymond Stevanson’s.”
“Oh, is that so? You’re really going around in high circles. I guess
I shouldn’t be associating with high society like you.” She had meant
to speak lightly and humorously but somehow the words had come out all
wrong and there was a bitterness in her voice that embarrassed her.
Robert Holton looked surprised; he smiled finally. “Well, it never
hurts to know these people. She was a friend of my mother’s,” he
explained, trying to explain these things, to make himself appear like
her; she hated him for his kindness.
“Those people are O.K., I guess,” said Caroline. She started to say
something about her own family, some improbable but soothing lie,
something to prove to herself that she was the same as Mrs Stevanson
whose picture was so often in the papers. But she said nothing. She
played with the ribbon of her typewriter.
“I hate staying in one place,” said Caroline, after a moment of silence.
“It’s no fun traveling,” said Robert Holton. “Moving around all the
time; that’s what I didn’t like in the army. No, traveling’s pretty
lousy.”
“That kind is, but I mean to go ... well, you know ... where you want
to go, that’s what I mean. I don’t like sitting around here day after
day. I want to go some place.”
He shrugged. “A lot of people do, I guess. Marjorie, you know, the
waitress, she wants to go to Sicily.”
“Well, that’s different. I mean she’s not ... well, you know what I
mean, she’s probably happy doing what she’s doing.”
“I don’t see why,” said Robert Holton. They thought of Marjorie Ventusa
for a moment then they didn’t think of her again.
Robert Holton shifted his position on the railing. Caroline looked
about the familiar room. The older women were typing and using their
adding machines; the younger women were watching Robert Holton; and the
younger men (there were three of them) looked up occasionally to see
what Caroline was doing. She posed a little for them. She didn’t pose
haughtily, though. Caroline was too clever for that. She just looked
girlish and rather innocent. None of them could understand her sadness
and her longing. It pleased her to think how well she hid herself. Not
even Robert Holton, talking to her now, could realize these things.
“No,” said Robert Holton, “no, I want to stay in one place.”
“You don’t want to be doing the same thing all the time, do you?”
“I don’t know, I’d like to make more money.”
“I think you’re crazy,” she said. She watched her fingers as they
tapped lightly on the keys of the typewriter. Her hands weren’t quite
what she wanted them to be. She thought of them as long and slender and
faintly exotic; actually her hands were short and square and not very
clean. The red enamel was beginning to chip off her thumbnails.
“Why’m I crazy? Because I want to make more money?”
“Not because of that, of course. Just because.”
“Oh.”
Robert Holton shifted his position on the railing. Caroline suddenly
didn’t want him to go. Then Richard Kuppelton got up from his desk near
the door and came over to them.
“Why, hello, Dick,” said Caroline.
“Good morning, good morning,” said Dick heartily. He was a very hearty
person and Caroline liked him. He was so different from Robert Holton.
Dick always seemed the same; he acted the same, anyway. Caroline could
almost always tell what he was going to say and that was a lot better
than being around a person who never said the right things. Dick wasn’t
sensitive, however. He and Robert Holton were the same that way but
then Caroline couldn’t have everything.
“How’s every little thing?” asked Dick Kuppelton.
“Fine,” said Robert Holton. Caroline only smiled; she smiled with her
eyes as well as her mouth. It was important to smile that way.
“Been pretty slow today,” said Dick. “Not much business. I think the
market’s falling off.” Someone had told him that, thought Caroline,
delighted with her perception.
“It may be,” said Robert Holton without much interest.
“We should have a big rush soon. I’m doing a report now. Well, not
really a report; I’ve been getting some statistics on aircraft stock
ready for the front office. It’s been some job.” He shook his head to
show the largeness of the job.
“I’ve got a report like that to do, too,” said Caroline.
“Something for Golden?”
“Yes.”
Dick nodded knowingly. “Some report, I bet.”
“It’s certainly long,” said Caroline, pointing to the notebook on her
desk.
Robert Holton got off the railing and stretched. “I better get to
work,” he said. “Murphy might be back soon.” He went back to his desk.
“He’s real eager,” said Dick unpleasantly.
“What? Well, I don’t know about that. He’s sort of funny. He doesn’t
want to get anywhere but he doesn’t want to get in bad. I don’t know;
he’s awful funny.”
“I’ve seen those guys before,” said Dick. “I know that type. They come
in a place and get in good with the top people. Then they get your job.
That’s just what he’s up to.”
Caroline smiled and said nothing. She was pretty and popular and she
couldn’t always, therefore, say what she thought. She knew, though,
that Dick Kuppelton, who had been with Heywood and Golden for six
years, disliked Holton. Mr Murphy had never liked Kuppelton and at the
end of the year changes were always made and Robert Holton might take
Dick’s place. Things were very complicated, thought Caroline.
“I don’t think he’s that smart,” said Caroline.
“I think you’re wrong.” Dick started to straddle the railing, then he
changed his mind and leaned against it. He was a large man. He was
thirty and pink and blond. He wore large rimless glasses which made
his face look clean and blank. He enjoyed what he was doing, thought
Caroline. Everyone enjoyed working except herself.
“I’ve got to do some typing,” said Caroline. She wanted him to go away.
“Certainly; I suppose I’d better be getting back.” He stood up straight
and stretched. “Well, back to work,” he said.
“See you,” said Caroline. Dick was so dependable: you always knew what
to expect.
Caroline coughed. Her cough had a consumptive sound to it which rather
appealed to her. When she was a young girl she had seen a play about a
beautiful woman with white flowers and a cough. The beautiful woman had
been so interesting that Caroline had never forgotten her although she
had forgotten the play. Caroline coughed again, quietly, dramatically.
“How’s that report coming?” Oliver L. Murphy had returned from the
front office.
“Pretty well, Mr Murphy.”
“Had quite a session with Mr Golden.”
“I bet,” said Caroline with sympathy. “I’ll bet he was something.”
“Well, I handled him O.K. today. He’s not so hard to get along with. Of
course, he’s got some queer ideas. Those people often have.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” Caroline arranged the paper in her typewriter.
Mr Murphy leaned over and smelled the carnation in the imitation silver
vase.
“Smells nice, don’t it?”
“It certainly does, Mr Murphy.” She smiled. Mr Murphy went back to
his desk and Caroline typed. Several times as she worked she coughed,
quietly, almost to herself.
_Chapter Four_
Richard Kuppelton left Caroline reluctantly. He liked her because she
was pretty and much more sensible than the other pretty girls he had
known.
He stopped at his desk. It was a dull olive color. His different books
of statistics were piled neatly on one corner; notebooks and papers
were scattered over the top and it looked as if he were busy.
Kuppelton decided not to work, not just now. From the top drawer of
his desk he took a magazine. It had a vivid cover of a large-breasted
young woman being carried into a machine by an octopus. He enjoyed this
magazine’s stories very much.
He slipped the magazine under his arm, the cover toward his side; and
then, busily, he left the room for the lavatory.
There was something cozy about a lavatory, he thought as he opened the
door marked “Men.” No one was inside and he would be able to sing.
The room was large, white and very clean. The urinals, four of them,
stood polished and shining, like soldiers on guard. A thin waterfall
constantly descended down their white enamel surfaces; the smell of
disinfectant was in the air, but not too strongly.
Richard Kuppelton glanced at himself quickly in one of the four mirrors
which shone over the four wash basins. Then he walked to one of the
four black-doored stalls. He chose the one nearest the wall. There was
strategy in his choice as well as habit, for the light was over this
stall.
With the feeling of having come home after a long journey, Richard
Kuppelton opened the black door and stepped inside. Then he closed the
door and locked it. He was completely alone now; no one could disturb
him and he was safe.
Deliberately he hung up his coat and then, after some preparation, he
descended with a sigh upon the cool smooth seat. He relaxed happily.
On the subway he had started a story called “The Mad Moon Maidens”;
unfortunately, it had been a little dull and he had decided not
to finish it. He thumbed through the rough pages of his magazine.
Grotesque black and white drawings decorated the pages. There were
monsters and ghouls, beautiful women (usually screaming) and lean young
men with pongee hats. The title “Satanic Underworld” appealed to him
and he started to read.
After only a few minutes, however, he found himself studying the tile
floor. Black and white tile in neat one-two-three pattern across the
floor; he liked things that were black or white. The pattern was
familiar to him and gave him a further feeling of being home.
Great ideas came to Richard Kuppelton enthroned. Here in this retreat
the entire world assumed a pattern of great simplicity. All problems
could be rendered answerable and in this world he was sovereign. The
lavatory was his study. He thought of Robert Holton: the person who
currently threatened his career.
Robert Holton was deceitful; he knew that. On the surface he appeared
simple and a little shy but Kuppelton knew differently. Little things
that the others had not noticed he noticed. For instance, Holton
was always trying to get friendly with Mr Murphy. He always called
him “sir”; treated him as if he were a colonel or something in the
army. That was another thing: the army. Holton had been a soldier and
Kuppelton had not. Most of the others in the office had not been in
the war either. Both Mr Heywood and Mr Golden had declared that they
would do all that they could for the veteran. So far this hadn’t been
very much, but still it was their intention. Richard Kuppelton wished
suddenly that he could stay forever in this shiny black stall with the
tile floor.
There was a noise in the lavatory. Someone had come in. Footsteps
clattered on the floor. The door to the stall next to his opened and
someone sat down.
He wondered who it was. The person wore plain brown shoes: he could
see them through the foot-high space beneath the stall partition.
This person also wore brown trousers. Richard Kuppelton thought for a
moment, strained to remember who it could be. Then he remembered.
“Hello, Bob,” said Richard Kuppelton.
“What? That you, Dick?”
“The same.”
“You catching up on your reading?”
Richard Kuppelton closed his magazine guiltily. “No, no. Just nature.”
“It’s a good place to think.”
“Well, I suppose it is.”
“What’s wrong with Caroline today?” asked Robert Holton.
“I haven’t the slightest idea. I didn’t notice anything wrong with her,
did you?”
“Yes, I thought she was sort of irritable.”
“I didn’t notice it.” Richard Kuppelton sighed. He was beginning to
get uncomfortable, sitting on the hard seat. He was, also, a little
surprised that Holton was as aware of Caroline as this. “Caroline’s a
lot of fun,” he said.
“Yes.”
“She’s a lot of fun to go out on a party with. She can be real funny.”
“I suppose so.”
“You ever go out with her?”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never went to a party with her. We had dinner once.”
“She didn’t want to go dancing?”
“No.”
“That’s funny.” Richard Kuppelton tried to remember whether he had ever
taken Caroline out and they had not danced. No, they had always gone to
a dance. He wondered whether she liked Robert Holton better than him.
This was a new thought and even more unpleasant than the suspicion that
Robert Holton was trying to get his job. “She just likes to talk?”
“Yes, I guess everybody does.”
“That’s right, I guess.” Richard Kuppelton studied Holton’s plain tan
shoes gloomily. One of the things he could not understand was why
Robert Holton had come to work in this office. It was rumored that he
was a friend of Mr Heywood’s but no one had ever been able to prove
that. He had gone to Harvard before the war and to Richard Kuppelton
that was the most important thing about him. It was also suspicious;
he could not understand why a person with that education would do
this job in Heywood and Golden unless--and Richard Kuppelton became
gloomier--unless he were to be promoted over everyone.
“Looks like there’ll be a lot of changes after the first,” said
Kuppelton.
“They tell me there usually are.”
“I suppose you want to end up in the other office, being one of the
contact people.”
“I don’t care much. Whatever they want to do. I’d like to move up, of
course.”
“We all would.”
Robert Holton mumbled something and stood up. Kuppelton watched the tan
shoes as they moved about the stall. There was a swirling of water and
Robert Holton left the lavatory, whistling.
Richard Kuppelton studied the tile again. It seemed, somehow, less
comforting, less private since Holton had been here. He tried to read
again but “Satanic Underworld” had lost its attraction. The seat was
becoming harder every minute and he would have to leave soon.
Then he remembered that the acoustics were unusually good in this
lavatory. In a low voice he sang an Irish ballad which he had learned
in school. His voice came to him pure and vibrant and like no other
voice that had ever sung. He finished with a low note, although,
strictly speaking, the ballad called for a high note. He sang a popular
song next. It was not as great a success as the first because he only
knew the chorus. The words that he made up, however, were quite good
enough.
At last, his songs finished, Richard Kuppelton stood up. He ached
slightly from the strain of sitting on the narrow seat. Deliberately he
arranged his trousers, deploring slightly the heaviness of his waist as
he did.
The sound of swirling water was in his ears as he crossed the lavatory
to the wash basin. Deliberately--he was a deliberate person--he washed
his hands. He dried his hands on a paper towel and then, like a king
abdicating, he moved slowly but deliberately to the door. With a sigh
Richard Kuppelton left the lavatory.
The office had not changed. Mr Murphy was sitting behind his railing,
smoking a cigar and reading a letter. Caroline was typing. Robert
Holton was copying a row of figures into his notebook. The other men
and women in the office were working busily.
Richard Kuppelton sat down at his desk. He enjoyed the sensation of
being a part of this great house. Neatly he arranged his books of
tables and statistics across the top of his desk. The various books
were open at aircraft stock. His statistics would form the basis of a
report which would be used in an overall survey of aircraft stock to be
used by the front office. His responsibilities were heavy.
He took his fountain pen out of his pocket. It was leaking a little and
he had to handle it carefully. Slowly, with pleasure, he copied the
figures from the books. He wrote the numbers carefully, making them
round and legible. When he had finished copying all his numbers they
would be typed up by one of the stenographers in the office.
A tall white-faced boy in a blue suit came into the room. He went to
Richard Kuppelton's desk and put some papers on it.
“Good morning, Jim,” said Kuppelton heartily. “How’s the boy?”
“Fine. I think Golden’s coming this way.”
“Really? Wonder what he wants.”
“Hard to say. He always wants something.”
“That’s his privilege,” said Kuppelton righteously.
“I suppose so,” said Jim.
The white-faced boy went on to the next desk, handing out letters and
inter-office memoranda.
Richard Kuppelton put his fountain pen down carefully. There were
several letters for him. He opened one of them and started to read.
He had read only a few lines when Mr Golden came into the office.
Even without looking up from his letter Richard Kuppelton could have
told that someone from the front office had arrived. The typewriters
clattered more loudly. The usual low buzz of voices died away, and he
could hear Mr Murphy’s swivel chair being pushed back from his desk as
he stood up to welcome the visitor from the front office. Kuppelton put
his letter under the blotter and then he looked up casually.
Benjamin Franklin Golden stood behind Mr Murphy’s railing. He stood
very erect, his eyes moving from desk to desk as he studied the office.
He was a short man and plump. His eyes were small and black and shiny.
Mr Golden had iron-gray hair which he allowed to grow a little longer
than necessary. He was proud to have kept his hair. He had a small nose
and a rather foolish little mouth and he looked more like a South
American or Italian or something like that, thought Kuppelton.
He pretended to write figures in his notebook, while he listened
carefully to what Mr Golden was saying to Mr Murphy.
“Everything all right here, Murphy?” Mr Golden had a high thin voice.
“Yes, sir, we’re getting your reports out. I’ll have the special one
for you this afternoon.”
“That’s good. I really need that report. That’s an important one. Some
of our big steel clients are interested in it. I know you’ve done a
good job on it.” There was almost a threat in his voice. It was well
known that the two did not like each other.
“Well, I’ve got our best girl, I’ve got Caroline here typing it.” He
waved at Caroline who looked up and smiled at Mr Golden who smiled back
at her. Richard Kuppelton wondered what Mrs Golden was like.
“I’m sure she’ll do a good job. How’s that aircraft stock report
coming?”
“Kuppelton’s doing it.” Mr Murphy pointed to him.
Mr Golden nodded. “I’ll be interested to see it.” Richard Kuppelton
copied figures quickly.
“Should be a good survey,” said Mr Murphy. “Is there going to be a
board meeting this morning? You said they hadn’t decided earlier.”
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot; there’ll be a meeting at eleven-thirty.” Mr
Golden had an irritatingly brusque manner.
“Fine,” said Mr Murphy and he made a note of it on the pad on his desk.
Mr Golden didn’t seem to want to go. He looked around the room again.
He looked at Robert Holton and said something to Mr Murphy which
Kuppelton couldn’t hear. Mr Murphy smiled and nodded.
Mr Golden finally opened the door of the railing. “See you at the
meeting, Murphy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr Golden hurried out of the office. There was an immediate change
in the sounds of the room after he had left. The hum of voices began
again. Richard Kuppelton put down his fountain pen.
Caroline and Mr Murphy were talking together and laughing. Robert
Holton was still working quietly at his desk. The women of the office
talked about Mr Golden in low voices.
Richard Kuppelton wondered what Mr Golden had said to Mr Murphy about
Robert Holton. He looked at Robert Holton with dislike.
“O.K.,” said Kuppelton, “Mr Golden’s gone, you can stop working.”
Robert Holton put down his notebook and smiled. “It doesn’t hurt,” he
said. “It doesn’t hurt to look busy.”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t meaning to criticize.”
“I didn’t think you were. Did you hear what they were talking about?”
This was malicious, Richard Kuppelton knew; it would have been very
hard for Holton not to have heard. “Oh, they were just talking about
reports.”
“That’s what I guessed.” He started to work again.
“You live uptown, don’t you?” remarked Kuppelton.
“Yes. I’ve got a room in a hotel.”
“That’s funny, I thought you lived with your family or something. I
thought Caroline said something about it.”
“My father used to live here. He lives in Boston now. He used to work
here but he retired when I got out of the army.”
Richard Kuppelton nodded. “That’s right, I remember your telling me
that once. Me, I live with all my family in Queens. We all live there.
I wish sometimes that I lived alone.”
“It’s not much fun, living alone,” said Robert Holton.
“Think you’ll get married soon?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I think _I_ might,” said Richard Kuppelton weightily; he had no
one in mind, though; except possibly Caroline.
“I guess it’s a good idea if you’ve got the right person,” said Robert
Holton.
“That’s very true.” They thought of this a moment. Each thought of it
seriously and each regarded it distantly. Richard Kuppelton had no real
desire to be married. He supposed that Robert Holton felt the same.
“I wonder,” said Kuppelton subtly, “what the conference is going to
be about this afternoon. I wonder if it’s about promotions in the
departments.”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Since the war, seniority doesn’t make much difference.”
“I thought it did.”
Kuppelton shook his head, convinced of Holton’s insincerity. For weeks
now everyone had discussed the new policy and everyone had watched the
veterans in the different offices, especially Holton; it was expected
that they would all be promoted: in any event Holton would be.
“No, it doesn’t make a bit of difference.”
Robert Holton smiled. He had small white teeth and an agreeable smile
which Kuppelton resented. “That’s good news for me. I haven’t been here
very long you know.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” and Kuppelton laughed loudly to show that he was
friendly and that it made no difference to him who was promoted.
He glanced toward the windows. Mr Murphy caught his eye and motioned to
him. Quickly Richard Kuppelton got to his feet and walked across the
room to the railing. He was careful not to let the gate slam when he
came into Mr Murphy’s presence.
“Yes, sir?”
“I just wanted to check with you on that aircraft stock report. I just
wanted to make sure it was coming along well.”
“I’ve been working on it right along, Mr Murphy. They’ll start typing
it up tomorrow.”
Murphy compressed his lips and nodded slowly. “Mr Golden was asking for
it. I wanted to be sure, Dick.”
Kuppelton was suddenly glad that Mr Murphy had called him by his first
name. He did this only when he was well pleased or when he wanted
something.
“It’s been quite a job getting those things together but I finally ...
got them together.”
“I know how it is. How’s your family these days?”
“They’re pretty well. My mother’s been better. Her legs don’t bother
her so much now.”
“That’s good. Arthritis is pretty bad. I had a grandmother who had it
once.”
“It’s pretty bad,” agreed Richard Kuppelton.
They both paused and wondered what to say next. Kuppelton began to
edge toward the gate. Murphy stood up. “Let me see that thing as soon
as you get it done.”
“I certainly will.”
Mr Murphy turned to Caroline who was typing at her desk. “I’m going to
be in conference for a while,” he said. “Take care of the calls, will
you?”
“Yes, Mr Murphy.”
“Big conference?” asked Kuppelton when Murphy had gone.
“I don’t know,” said Caroline and she stopped typing. “They were
talking about it. Something to do with policy, I think.”