fragmentary remarks I had overheard, or pretended to have overheard, about the two of them. They were usually imaginary, but they were also real enough to cause them concern or make them blurt out the truth, which is exactly what I was gunning for.
Whenever they lost their self-control they contradicted one another and revealed things I was not supposed to hear about. Finally I pretended to be really absorbed in the writing of the play and begged them to take dictation from me: I had decided, I said, to write the last act first—it would be easier. My true motive, of course, was to show them how this manage a trois would end. It meant a bit of acting on my part, and quick thinking.
Stasia had decided that she would take notes while Mona listened and made’ suggestions. The better to act the dramaturge, I paced the floor, puffed endless cigarettes, took a swig of the bottle now and then, while gesticulating like a movie director, acting out the parts, imitating them by turns and of course throwing them into hysterics, particularly when I touched on pseudo-amorous scenes in which I depicted them as only pretending to be in love with each other. I would come to an abrupt stop occasionally to inquire if they thought these scenes too unreal, too far-fetched, and so on. Sometimes they would stop me to comment on the accuracy of my portrayals or my dialogue, whereupon they would vie with one another to furnish me with further hints, clues, suggestions, all of us talking at once and acting out our parts, each in his own fashion, and nobody taking notes, no one able to remember, when we had calmed down, what the other had said or done, what came first and what last. As we progressed I gradually introduced more and more truth, more and more reality, cunningly recreating scenes at which I had never been present, stupefying them with their own admissions, their own clandestine behavior. Some of these shots in the dark so confounded and bewildered them, I observed, that they had no recourse but to accuse one another of betrayal. Sometimes, unaware of the implication of their words, they accused me of spying on them, of putting my ear to the key-hole, and so on. At other times they looked blankly at each other, unable to decide whether they had really said and done what I imputed to them or not. But, regardless of how much they detested my interpretation of their doings, they were excited, they wanted more, more. It was as if they saw themselves on the stage enacting their true roles. It was irresistible.
At the boil I would deliberately let them down, pretending a head-ache or that I had run out of ideas or else that the damned thing was no good, that it was futile to waste further time on it. This would really put them in a dither. To soften me up they would come home loaded with good things to eat and drink. They would even bring me Havana cigars.
To vary the torment, I would pretend, just as we had started work, that I had met with some extraordinary experience earlier that day and, as if absent-minded, I would digress into an elaborate account of a mythical adventure. One night I informed them that we would have to postpone work on the play for a while because I had taken a job as an usher in a burlesque house. They were outraged. A few days later I informed them that I had given up that job to become an elevator operator. That disgusted them.
One morning I awoke with the firm intention of gunning for a job, a big job. I had no clear idea what kind of job, only that it must be something worth while, something important. While shaving I got the notion that I would pay a visit to the head of a chain store organization, ask him to make a place for me. I would say nothing about previous employments; I would dwell on the fact that I was a writer, a free lance writer, who desired to put his talents at their disposal. A much traveled young man, weary of spreading himself all over the lot; eager to make a place for himself, a permanent one, with an up and coming organization such as theirs. (The chain stores were only in their infancy.) Given the chance, I might demonstrate ... here I allowed my imagination free fancy.
While dressing I embellished the speech I intended to make to Mr. W. H. Higginbotham, president of the Hobson and Holbein Chain Stores. (I prayed that he wouldn't turn out to be deaf!)
I got off to a late start, but full of optimism and never more spruce and spry. I armed myself with a brief case belonging to Stasia, not bothering to examine the contents of it. Anything to look business like.
It was a bitter cold day and the head office was in a warehouse not far from the Gowanus Canal. It took ages to get there and, on descending the trolley, I took it on the run. I arrived at the entrance to the building with rosy cheeks and frosty breath. As I glided through the grim entrance hall I noticed a huge sign over the directory board saying: Employment Office closes at 9:30 A.M. It was already eleven o'clock. Scanning the board I noticed that the elevator runner was eyeing me peculiarly. On entering the lift he nodded toward the sign and said: Did you read that?
I'm not looking for a job, I said. I have an appointment with Mr. Higginbotham's secretary.
He gave me a searching look, but said no more. He slammed the gate to and the lift slowly ascended.
The eighth floor, please!
You don't have to tell me! What's your errand?
The elevator, which was inching upward, groaned and squealed like a sow in labor. I had the impression that he had deliberately slowed it up.
He was glaring at me now, waiting for my reply. What's eating him? I asked myself. Was it simply that he didn't like my looks?
It's difficult, I began, to explain my errand in a few words. Terrified by the horrible scowl he was giving me, I pulled myself up short. I did my best to return his gaze without flinching. Yes, I resumed, it's rather dif...
Stop it! he yelled, bringing the lift to a halt—between two floors. If you say another word ... He raised a hand as if to say—I'll throttle you!
Convinced that I had a maniac to deal with, I kept my mouth shut.
You talk too much, said he. He gave the lever a jerk and the lift started upward again, shuddering.
I kept quiet and looked straight ahead. At the eighth floor he opened the gate and out I stepped, gingerly too, as if expecting a kick in the pants.
Fortunately the door facing me was the one I sought. As I lay my hand on the knob I was aware that he was observing me. I had the uncomfortable presentiment that he would be there to catch me when they threw me out like an empty bucket. I opened the door and walked in. I came face to face with a girl standing in a cage who received me smilingly.
I came to see Mr. Higginbotham, I said. By now my speech had flown and my thoughts were knocking about like bowling pins.
To my amazement she asked no questions. She simply picked up the telephone and spoke a few inaudible words into the mouthpiece. When she put the receiver down she turned and, in a voice all honey, said: Mr. Higginbotham's secretary will see you in a moment.
In a moment the secretary appeared. He was a middle-aged man of pleasant mien, courteous, affable. I
