Chapter V (2)

    "The Calabash King." Lennox nodded modestly. He leaned across her again, his hand groping for hers. "Are you in this here theaterical game, Mister? I hear you're all pretty fly. Bohemian. Stay up all night and drink like sixty. Is it true? Speak."
    "Oysters," Audibon told the waiter. Clickety-click went the smile. "We smoke too, sonny. And ride bikes no-hands."
    "I'll bet my father can lick your father."
    "The hell he can. My father's a cop."
    "What have you got, Meccano or Erector Set?"
    "Meccano."
    "Yahh!" Lennox sneered.
    "What have you got, Lionel or American Flyer?"
    "Lionel. O-Gauge."
    "Pfff! Which do you get, Boy's Life or American Boy?" A "Both," Lennox said with a superior air.
    "Oh yes?" Audibon retorted with heat. "Well let me ask you one question. Just one question. Do you get Ropeco Magazine?"
    Lennox cringed and hung his head, then he and Audibon burst out laughing. Clickety damn click all over the place. I started looking for somewhere to hide. There was a war breaking out. They were hating each other and skirmishing in the tunnels beneath the glitter. They were hating for reasons I didn't know and probably they didn't know either; but that wouldn't make any difference, not on The Rock where you killed first and went to the head-shrinker later.
    "What are you going to do about that Kansas hassle?" Audibon asked with sincere concern.
    "It's been taken care of," Lennox smiled. "There won't be any suit."
    "Good boy. Glad to hear it." Clickety-click. "I know you wouldn't cross-ruff the network into a Donnybrook."
    "We aim to please, boss."
    "It's knowing how that scores. Damn it, Jake, I wish we had more like you. We could use you on our other sick shows."
    "How do you mean ... other?"
    "Now, Jake, we're a couple of Pros. We know how to count without fingers. You've got a pretty sick show, boy."
    "It's got a damned good rating for an invalid."
    "The best!" Clickety-click. "Of course your Sunday slot is rated at ten points better than you're doing, but that's not your fault. You can't maximize variety on Sunday."
    "The client doesn't think so." Lennox smiled till it hurt. "We've got 'em convinced they're going to rename it Shoeday."
    "Bless their dear little souls," Audibon enthused. "Of course they're not getting dollar and cents value percentagewise. Your package doesn't integrate with their product. There's a synthetic overlap but not a genuine structural mesh."
    A chill ran down my spine. When network veeps start talking like that the words don't mean anything because they're just the sound of a knife being sharpened. Lennox stiffened and returned Audibon's smile doggedly.
    "We welcome suggestions," he said. "Name a mesh."
    "Now don't ask me to sign this, but I think they need a Frontal Lobe show with a broad base of family appeal on a week night. They need a spacious universe type show. Something more galactic, with meaning."
    "With meaning," Lennox repeated in an ominous voice. He looked at Gabby. "It's awesome. How does it feel to have lunch with a frontal lobe?"
    Audibon laughed. Lennox laughed.
    "Steak," Audibon told the waiter. He transferred the charm back to Lennox. "Jake, why are writers so hyper-conservative? You people are the bottle-neck of the business. Every time we try to revaluate and mock-up a new concept, you come out of the garret and say no."
    "And what were you thinking of slipping into our Sunday night slot?" Lennox smiled. "A galactic 'How To' show?"
    Audibon had worked his way up by parlaying a series of 'How To' panels through the agencies. How To Sing. How To Dance. How To Make A Dame. Every time you turned around there he was in another agency with another How To.
    He gave Lennox the clickety-click again. "How To Educate Writers," he said. "Present writers excluded."
    "You're optimistic. We gave up all hope for vice-presidents years ago. Present restaurant excluded. Tell me, Miss Calabash. Would you rather be marooned on a desert island with a mink-dyed skunk or a mink-dyed vice-president?"
    "Gabby," Audibon laughed. "This is Jake Lennox. I pay him to entertain at lunch."
    "Society's Favorite Funster," Lennox grinned. "And the lady is...?"
    "My wife."
    "That's a genuine funny. Goody for you, Roy. What's your name when he isn't dreaming galactically, Miss Calabash? Are you—" Lennox stopped. He stared at Gabby, at Audibon, then back at Gabby.
    "Yes?" he asked quietly.
    She nodded. Jake's face turned black. He shoved our table out, knocking glasses and rolls all over the place. He stood up, grabbed a corner of Audibon's table and slewed it into the aisle. He seized Gabby's arm.
    "Out!" he said.
    "Jordan!"
    "Out."
    "Behave yourself."
    "Come on. Out!"
    "Lennox! What the hell is this?" Audibon demanded.
    "One more word out of you and I'll kill you," Lennox growled. He pulled Gabby to her feet and went out of the restaurant with her. Heitor saw the fuss and bustled up, ready to give Lennox a hard time. He took one look at his face and backed away.
    On the street, Lennox pushed through the lunch hour crowds, never relaxing his grip on Gabby's arm. Both of them were too angry to speak. Finally Lennox spat: "Married? To him?"
    "We're separated."
    "How long?"
    "A year."
    "How long were you married?"
    "Eight months."
    "To him! Married to that—"
    "Thank God it wasn't to you."
    "Thank Roy, dear. He's our local god."
    Gabby suddenly clutched his arm and dragged him to a stop before a sidewalk pitchman demonstrating a silver-plating fluid. The pitchman lost his audience.
    "You listen to me," Gabby said,
    "You answer me first. Why didn't you tell me?"
    "When?"
    "Last night."
    "When you were so charming? The way you're acting now?"
    "I mean later."
    "We were talking about you."
    "Exclusively?" Lennox showed his teeth. "You couldn't find a moment to let me know? It wasn't important enough even for a throw-away?"
    "Is it important to you?"
    "It's damned important."
    "Why?"
    "I don't know."
    "You're behaving like a fool."
    "That I do know."
    He started off again, plowing through the crowds, hustling Gabby along full speed. Her skirt was narrow, she was wearing high-heeled opera pumps, it was painful for her. Lennox knew it and enjoyed it. He didn't know why he was trying to punish her; but Gabby had an inkling of what chasm might be producing the rage, and she was so transparently honest that she blurted it out.
    "Dog in the manger," she said.
    "Is that supposed to have meaning?"
    "You're not jealous."
    "I never said I was."
    "You want revenge."
    "Revenge for what?"
    "Because you weren't the first."
    "What!" He stopped and backed her into the recessed show-window of a lunchroom. "What was that?"
    "You want revenge," Gabby repeated angrily. "You want to punish me because you weren't the first."
    "Damn you, Gabby...."
    "Isn't it true?"
    "No."
    "You didn't need me. You needed a conquest."
    "Shut up."
    "You thought you owned me. From the beginning. All of me. You're selfish, egotistical, self—"
    "Why didn't you say your date was with Audibon?"
    "It was none of your business."
    "Everything about you is my business. What did Audibon want?"
    "You moved in on me last night," Gabby said. "And now you'd like to move in on the rest of my life. You want to own everything."
    "Yes. Everything, damn it! You own all of me."
    "I don't want it. I don't want ever to own anybody, and I won't be owned. Don't interrupt, Jordan. Listen to me." Gabby was raging. "You think you've staked out a claim, but it isn't like that at all. There'll be days when we discover we need each other and then we'll be together. There'll be other days when nothing will happen. But no claims, no ownership, no possession, no habit. Do you understand?"
    "Do you think you're lecturing a child?"
    "You are a child. Selfish. Spoiled. Rude."
    "You're talking about manners. What the hell does that have to do with love?"
    "Everything. Do you want to love me or use me?"
    "Use you? For what?"
    "Your whipping boy. You were rude to Roy in the restaurant. I don't know why you were fighting but—"
    "He's knifing my show!"
    "I don't care. You were rude. You behaved dreadfully. Then you were ashamed and you tried to take it out on me. Is that your kind of love? Hurtful? Hateful?" She began to tremble.
    "Yes, it is. I'm not going to apologize. I told you last night ... you open me up. I look at you and my guts come out. If part is poison, I can't hide it. And I don't give a damn. I earn my living in a lying rat-race. There has to be honesty between us or what's the use?"
    "Not this kind. This isn't honesty. It's—"
    "I'm being honest," Lennox insisted savagely. "I can fake a romance with a woman any time, but I don't want faking between us. There wasn't any last night, Gabby. Not from me. Don't hand me that revenge routine. I didn't have any illusions. You were too good for me to imagine that I was the first—"
    She slapped his mouth with all her strength, and raised her hand to slap him again. Lennox caught her wrist and twisted it down.
    "Bitch!" he shouted.
    She burst into tears. "What are you doing to me?" she cried in desperation. "What are you making me do? Look at us ... fighting like this. It's horrible. But you like it, don't you? You want us to hurt each other. Don't you?"
    His heart constricted. "No. For God's sake. No. I—" He looked around. People were staring. Behind them, a chef at a window grill was gaping through the plate glass. There was no taxi in sight; no hiding place. There was an empty delivery truck parked at the curb. Lennox took Gabby across the sidewalk, opened the truck door and forced her into the driving cab. He got in himself and slammed the door. Gabby was crying without control. He was shamed and elated.
    "Gabby...."
    "Go away."
    "Listen...."
    "Be quiet. Go away."
    "Not now. Not when you're like this."
    "I never hit anybody in my life. I never wanted to hit anybody ... ever. I'm cheap and...."
    "No."
    "I'm so ashamed. My God! How you can fill me with shame."
    "I know. I warned you, didn't I!"
    She didn't answer. Lennox waited, then he said: "Look at it my way. I'm having a rough time this week. I don't know how I'm going to get through Sunday. That's why I'm acting like this. I said last night I wanted you to see me at my best. This is my worst."
    "It can't be just this week. It—"
    "Yes it is. And I thought: Thank God for Gabrielle. I'm in the worst hassle of my life, but I've found her when I needed her most. I can depend on her forever. I've got someone sane and beautiful to hold on to in this rotten war."
    "Well? Well?"
    "And then Audibon was sprung on me. 'My wife.' Bang."
    "Which meant you couldn't depend on me. Is that it?"
    "I don't know. I was scared. Maybe I'm jealous. I was afraid I was losing you."
    "Jordan—"
    "No. Let me finish." He took a deep breath. "I did everything wrong. But I couldn't help myself. I think I knew I was doing everything wrong. But I couldn't stop myself. You know how dangerous a drowning man is? He'll clutch at you and drown you too if you don't hit him. That's what happened. I was drowning.... You hit me.... I'm grateful...."
    Gabby turned to him, her dark eyes searching his face. He met her gaze steadily. Her expression slowly changed from anguish to compassion, and she reached out and touched his mouth gently. Lennox smiled a peace-offering, and it was answered. He pulled her to him and kissed her until the kiss was returned. Then they sat quietly, allowing the silence to speak for them and heal the quarrel.
    Suddenly the truck door was wrenched open and a burly man bawled: "What the hell are you doing in there?"
    "Listen," Lennox snapped. "We're from the phone company. Why the hell don't you pay your bill?"
    Gabby burst out laughing. Lennox helped her out of the truck and glared at the astounded driver. "This is your last warning, cheapskate. Next time we take the truck away."
    They scampered off down the street and flagged a cab. As they got in, Lennox exclaimed: "Jesus! Me mackinaws."
    "Jesus, me job!" Gabby said.
    "What about lunch? I loused your steak."
    "I'll have something sent up."
    They sat close together in comforting silence all the way to Houseways, Inc. At the office door Lennox took her shoulders in his hands for a moment, then asked: "Forgiven?"
    Gabby nodded.
    "See you tonight, please?"
    "Tonight."
    "Don't spring another husband."
    She shook her head.
    "You'd better divorce him. I've got serious-type intentions."
    "I can't."
    "Why not?"
    "He won't let me. He wants to own me too."
    "How can he stop you?"
    "Not now, Jordan. Some other time. But ... I've got problems too."
    She ran into the office. Lennox stood watching her and grinding his teeth on Audibon's name. Then he looked up and down the street, located a restaurant, went in and bought a lunch and had it sent up to Gabby.
    "This is Monday," he muttered. "Six more days. Christ, stand by me. Gabrielle, stand by me."
    He returned to Sabatini's, claimed his overcoats, and went home. Cooper was in the kitchen piling canned goods on the shelves while the Siamese climbed on him and begged shamelessly for food. There was a rigid law in the house that neither man ever questioned the other about his private life, but Cooper's face wore such an expression of blank dismay that Lennox was startled into breaking the rule.
    "Sam! What's the matter?"
    Cooper opened his mouth, then closed it.
    "Where were you last night? Has anything happened? Speak."
    "I'm famous."
    "What?"
    Cooper nodded, "You remember last month Mason wanted a song spot with the dummy? Comedy duet."
    "Sure. I couldn't come up with a suggestion and you cooked up a tune. 'We're The Most.' So?"
    "They released it last week. It.... So help me, it's turning into a hit. Suidi took me down for a disc-jockey interview last night."
    "Suidi? Who he?"
    "The ambassador's son."
    "Le Jazz Hot? Goggle-eyed guy?"
    "That's him. He owns a record company. They make race records mostly, but he took a chance on 'We're The Most' and it.... You should have heard them rave last night."
    "This is sensational, Sam. Man, this is the Most!"
    "It's an outrage," Cooper said. He was angry and perplexed.
    "What's burning you?"
    "I spend years writing tunes. I drudge like a sincere-type writer. A veritable Irving Beethoven. And what happens? Nothing. But a lousy little novelty I work up in half an hour during rehearsal.... It's a trappisty."
    "Lay there and bleed, long-hair. This is great. Can I shake the hand that shook the hand of Irving B. Cooper, author of 'We're The Most' and countless other hit tunes which their names are legion?" Lennox pumped Cooper's limp hand and dragged him into the living room. "This needs a drink. We'll all have a drink, by God. Bring out the skunk."
    He filled glasses and thrust one into Cooper's fist. "We'll plug it on the show. Maybe we can get Mason to use it for his theme. Tell me about last night. Why the hell didn't you say Le Jazz Hot was your publish—" Lennox did a take. "Hold the phone. You mean you were supposed to meet him at Alice McVeagh's party? It was a business date?"
    "Well...." Cooper began.
    "And you were supposed to go down for the interview afterwards. Yes or no?"
    "Not exactly, Jake...."
    "But you didn't tell me. No. You let me bellyache and offered to go looking for the gimmick book, and you would have too, you liar. You'd have given up the interview, you perjurer. Wouldn't you?"
    Cooper was flustered. "How about the book? Did you locate it?"
    "All taken care of. I figured out the Quaker and the blonde. I'll tell you later."
    "What about the knot?"
    Lennox flinched. "That's still hanging over me. I haven't remembered everything yet." He swallowed and tried to regain his enthusiasm. "To hell with it. Kit went down and rescued the book. Here it is. Now let's have your story."
    He pulled out his notebook to display it. The photostats came out with it and scattered on the floor. Cooper looked down at the white writing on the black background.
    "What's this?"
    "The letters we've been getting. To hell with them too. I want to hear about you." As Lennox picked up the photostats, Cooper took one and examined it curiously. "Forget the letters, Sam. I've worried enough today. Let me have a few jollies. How much money are you going to make? Will you hit the jukeboxes?"
    "I've seen this writing before," Cooper said.
    Lennox froze. "What?"
    "I've seen this handwriting before."
    "Sure?"
    "Positive."
    "Don't put me on, Sam. This is serious."
    "I am serious."
    "Where did you see the writing?"
    "I can't remember."
    "Whose is it?"
    "I don't know."
    "Sam. For God's sake! Everything hangs on this. You—"
    "Shut up a minute."
    Lennox sat down slowly and chafed while Cooper studied the photostats. Finally Cooper looked up and shook his head.
    "I'm sorry, Jake. I know I've seen it before, but that's all I can remember. It's like you and the knot. We're both stuck."
    "Holy Mother on Mike!" Lennox surged up from his chair and paced the room furiously. He noticed the drink in his hand and hurled it into the fireplace. As it smashed, he turned to Cooper.
    "But you'll remember, won't you?" he said. "We've got six days to Sunday. You'll remember."
    "I'll try."
    "And you'll do it. We'll lick it, won't we, Sam? We'll both fight it, and we'll come out on top Sunday."
    "I don't know, Jake. Fight what? Where's top? Fill me in, boy. So far I'm just a bystander."
    Lennox poured it out; the whole story up to that moment. He was discreet about Gabby. He merely indicated and let Cooper figure out the details for himself. Cooper listened in silence. When it was all finished, he looked at Lennox strangely. Then he exploded.
    "You God damned stupid idiot! Ass! Imbecile! Lennox, the Thinker. Why the hell can't you stop thinking? You haven't got what to think with ... Agency Man!"
    Lennox quailed before the storm.
    "What the hell is the matter with you? You've been tearing around looking for the villain in the piece like a soap opera hack. You want to find the villain who's writing the letters. You want to find the villain who's getting them. You want to find the villain who's threatening your career. Damn you, you're the villain. Can't you see that, dunderhead?"
    "Me!" Lennox was amazed.
    "Natch, you. You're the one who's making all the trouble for yourself. You insulted Ned Bacon. You insulted Tooky Ween and Blinky and Mason. You picked a fight with Roy Audibon. With Audibon! The one man who can ruin you in this business."
    "But...."
    "You've been fighting with this Gabby girl who sounds like one of the angel-type innocents. That's despicable. It's shooting a sitting duck. You even tried to pick a fight with me. You're so busy fighting the invisible villain you don't realize you're him ... he ... it.... To hell with the grammar. You're the only villain in the piece, Lennox. Face it."
    "Jesus." Lennox sat down aghast. "Me?"
    "Wake up, writer! Villains are for books. Only a Square thinks you find them in real life."
    "But the letters...."
    "Somebody sick in the head is writing them. You're in a nasty hassle right now. Admitted. But you're the villain who's making it worse. You're the one who's building it into a crisis."
    "I can't help myself, Sam. You said it's nasty. And I'm scared."
    "Like friend Fink said, it's smart to be scared. But don't turn Square. Squares think there are Good Guys and Bad Guys. But we know we're all Good Guys and Bad Guys inside ourselves. Half the time we build ourselves up, and the other half we're knocking ourselves down. When a Square knocks himself down he starts looking for a Bad Guy to blame. That's what you've been doing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
    After a long pause, Lennox said: "You're right. You're always right, damn you. I'm a noodnick."
    "Hear, hear!"
    "But I'm going to reform."
    "Don't start any reform routine. Every time you make up your mind to do something, we have to take to the hills. Just sit tight and behave."
    "I can't sit tight, Sam. I've got problems to buck and I know how to do it. I'm going to do it."
    "Oh God! Is there no mercy?"
    "Now don't worry. I'm going to keep on fighting, but like a goddamned Galahad."
    "Are we friends?" Cooper shouted.
    "Yes." Lennox was startled.
    "Will you listen to a friend?"
    "I'm listening."
    "Leave it alone. Will you do that for me?"
    "I can't."
    "Here's my last warning. If you go through with this ... if you attack it and fight it, no matter how ... you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Now, for the last time: Will you quit?"
    "No."
    "Then you're dead, Lennox. You're dead."