Two Much!

25

Two days in a row,” Gloria said when I walked in. “Summer must be over.”

“When I’m with you,” I told her, “there’s always summer in my heart.” Then I went on inside to see what new outrages had been laid on my desk through the wonders of the postal service and the telephone.

Not many. I’d grown used to weekly accumulations, Wagnerian in scope and volume, while one day’s output barely showed up on the seismograph. Linda Ann Margolies had not made any more calls, which I regretted. Nor were there any from Liz, though there was one from Ernest Volpinex. Oh, really?

Click. “Gloria, get me that fellow Volpinex, will you?”

“Right”

On to the mail. Wastebasket, wastebasket wastebasket...

Buzz. “Volpinex.”

“Thanks.” dick. “Volpinex?”

A female voice said, “One moment, please.”

I considered hanging up. Didn’t Gloria know better than that? She should have insisted on the other secretary producing her boss first.

Ah, screw it Volpinex wasn’t likely to appreciate such subtleties anyway. Unless, of course, he had it in mind to keep me waiting. The clock on my desk has a sweep second hand, which I now stared at; I would wait exactly one minute, then hang up.

Forty-two seconds: “Mr. Dodge?” Volpinex’s voice, like curdled molasses.

“That’s right.”

“Arthur Dodge?”

“Come on, Volpinex,” I said.

“I suppose you know why I’m calling.”

“Dumb supposition,” I told him. “If I knew, I probably wouldn’t call back.”

He chuckled slightly. “I must admit I like you better than your brother,” he said.

“That’s why you called? Sorry, I’m already engaged.”

“As a matter of fact that’s why I called. Your engagement, the contract you signed.”

“What about it?”

“I drew it up, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Not willingly.”

“Of course.”

“I spoke against you as strongly as I could,” he assured me.

“Speak for yourself, John Alden,” I suggested.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “Elizabeth insisted. You were the only candidate she would consider.”

I chuckled deliberately into the phone. “Put your own name in nomination, did you?”

“In order to protect her, yes. I know you won’t consider that selfless of me, but in truth it was. Particularly when it’s Betty that I’ve always been the most fond of.”

I burst into sudden honest laughter. “That’s footwork, Volpinexl” I told him. “Now you’re out to be my brother-in-law.”

“I’m used to your cynicism,” he said. “And to be honest with you, I—”

“Oh, yes, do,” I said.

“I hold as low an opinion of you,” he said, “as you do of me. But whatever may happen between myself ands Betty, there is still the fact that I am your fiancée’s attorney. And a brother-in-law status in the future is not entirely inconceivable.”

“It is to me,” Bart told him.

“Don’t count too highly on your brother’s prospects,” he told Art. “I’ve seen Betty through this sort of infatuation before.”

“Have you now.”

“Yes, I have. Still, the point is, in one way or another you and I will have to reach some sort of accommodation. Whether we can rise above our personal dislike or not, we’ll have to construct a viable procedure for dealing with one another.”

What did he want now? I asked him: “What do you want now?”

“A truce,” he said. “Possibly productive, but at least not harmful. To either of us.”

“Fine,” I said. “You don’t knife my back and I won’t knife yours.”

“Possibly we could go into greater detail,” he said. “Would you be free for lunch?”

It was not yet eleven. I said, “Today?”

“Or tomorrow. The sooner the better.”

“All right, today. Where?”

“At my club,” he said, and gave me its name and address. He had, of course, gone to one of the correct New England universities — educational standards are not what they used to be — and it was that university’s club at which we would lunch. “Twelve-thirty,” he suggested.

“Fine,” I said, and we both hung up.

Now what? Did Volpinex really think I’d help him beat my brother’s time with Betty? If he did, he either had too high an opinion of himself or too low an opinion of me. And if that wasn’t what he wanted, what were the alternatives? “A viable procedure for dealing with one another.” How much was that, in American money?

Well, I’d find out soon enough. Right now, it was time to reestablish contact with sweetheart number two. Back to the phone I went, and dialed.

“Kairnair reseedonce.”

“Hello, Nikki, this is Art Dodge. Is Liz there?”

“Meez Leez? I go see.” There was a click as she put me on hold, and I spent the next minute or two going through the rest of the telephone message memos. Nothing from Ralph yet, but it was far too soon anyway; I’d only put him to work on Liz and her lawyer yesterday. As for the rest, it was wastebasket, wastebasket, wastebasket...

“Hello?” A voice as snotty as ever.

“Hello, there, my bride-to-be,” I said. “How’s my little dove this fine morning?” I’d very nearly said pigeon, but switched in the nick of time.

“You were going to call me yesterday.” She sounded imperious and annoyed, very like her tone when she’d thought she was talking to Carlos.

It was time to start fine-tuning the relationship. Casually I said, “I was busy.”

“When you’re supposed to call me, you—”

“Supposed to call you?”

There was a brief pause, and when she spoke again anger had been replaced by cynicism. “A little rebellion, eh? A sop to your self-respect Okay, Art, you showed me how manly and independent you are.”

“I don’t want to be independent,” I said. “When do we get married?”

“What’s your hurry?”

“No hurry, I just want to know when.”

“Some time after Labor Day,” she said.

“After Labor Day?” Impossible. I could keep Bart in California four or five days, maybe even a week, but no more than that. After Labor Day? Two weeks, maybe longer? No way.

Then, making it worse, Liz added, “We have till the end of the year, so why rush? Besides, we ought to wait till your brother gets back.”

“Bart? Back from where?”

“Los Angeles. He left this morning, some old girl friend tried to kill herself.”

“Old girl friend!” I expressed outrage. “What do I care about old girl friends?”

“You asked,” she pointed out.

“Why that dirty son of a bitch!” I yelled. “He’s supposed to be my partner, he’s supposed to help me in this goddamn expansion, he hasn’t been around the goddamn office all week, and now he’s in California? The son of a bitch, I’ll throw him out of the company, I swear to Christ”

“You do that” She didn’t sound very interested. “You want to come to the Island with me tomorrow?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I’ll take you out to dinner tonight. That is, if you don’t have to stay up with a sick housewife.”

“I’ll come to your place around seven.”

“Good.”

“About our wedding date, I’ve always—”

“Don’t push it, lover,” she said, and hung up.

Damn.