Chapter 8

The tension seemed to simmer in the air and follow him around like a shadow. Everywhere he went, he felt it on his trail. At home. In the office. Even his dreams weren't safe from unrest. And those he remembered, he hesitated to repeat, even to himself. Stan began to wonder how much he could take before he reached the breaking point.

"You awake? Or is that hypnotic blur I see in your eyes a permanent thing?" Eileen's arms were filled with large sheets of cardboard. She stood, waiting in front of his desk.

Stan snapped to attention and smiled defensively. The awareness of Eileen's sheath-clad body, so close, sent a nagging finger of warmth beneath his collar. "Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night." Stan opened the top button on his shirt and reached across for the sketches she'd brought.

"I won't ask why." Eileen seemed to glow with an impish quality suggesting that she possessed some scandalous knowledge about him.

Stan smiled at the sight and wished that a scandal was warranted. "I wouldn't answer even if you did ask." He felt the need to preserve an appearance of security in front of this woman. He wondered why he suddenly wanted her to suspect he was sleeping around

-that there were many women who found him attractive. Women, other than his wife.

He erased this line of thought from his mind and stared down at the papers on his desk. What the hell was going on inside that skull of his? Why was he unable to think of anything else but sex these days? Sex, and escape and....

"Will you be needing me for anything else?" The efficiency of Eileen's tone sliced through his thoughts.

"No, thanks. These are just fine." Stan didn't know if they were just fine. He hadn't really seen the drawings, even though he'd looked at them. More important, he was aware of a sudden need for Eileen-and an equally strong need for her to disappear quickly, before he said something he'd regret later. Without another word, she turned and left.

Relieved, Stan slid a little lower in his chair. He stuck a soft yellow pencil between his teeth and tried to figure out what he could have said to Eileen last night in the restaurant. He remembered getting bombed, but that was all. It had to be pretty raw, he decided, from the way she'd been acting all day. Not that she'd said anything. It was that cautiously efficient air about her-almost as if she felt sorry for him.

He wished he had the nerve to ask her what was on her mind. He wished he had the nerve to do lots of things....

"Arlen!" Elliot's scratchy voice echoed through the office. "Put on your jacket and come in here for a moment, will you?"

Without answering, Stan got up and did as he was told. He couldn't imagine why Elliot wanted him to put on a jacket, but it wasn't important enough to think about. One thing Stan knew for sure, though. He was not in the mood for Elliot Barnes today.

"Well, Stan, old boy, how goes it?" Elliot stood, looking unusually neat, in front of his empty desk-Stan knew something out of the ordinary was going to happen. When Elliot Barnes had the opportunity to sit down or to take a drink, and he wasn't doing either, there had to be a good reason. Instantly, Stan searched his mind for some great mistake he might have made that day in his work. "I feel lousy, if you want to know the truth." Suddenly he didn't care about being pleasant to Elliot-especially not at the expense of his own integrity.

"Well, I've got something that'll snap you out of your fog in a jiffy." Elliot's matter-of-fact tone was not in keeping with the enthusiasm of his words. He adjusted his tie and buttoned his jacket. "Come on along with me."

"What's up?" Stan had a sudden premonition that he was about to be fired. Elliot's attitude was much too official for comfort.

"We're going into Eva Stillwell's office. Relax, she loves you."

"Sure. Sure." Stan followed Elliot out of the office and down a long hall. Perhaps Miss Stillwell was considering him for Carl's job and wanted to feel him out a little. On the other hand, maybe something had gone wrong with the advertising layouts for the television show and she wanted to give him hell.

Stan felt his underwear sticking to his skin. He despised himself for being so easily intimidated. He wanted to run-to bolt out of that stinking office and never come back. Mutely, he walked to the end of the corridor and paused, beside Elliot, in front of the ominous oak door.

"Miss Stillwell's expecting us." Elliot told the secretary, before she had a chance to ask.

"Come in," a rich, contralto voice ordered from inside.

"This is it, boy." Elliot nodded and turned the knob.

Eva Stillwell's authoritative bearing seemed to fill the room. She sat behind the largest desk Stan ever remembered seeing, and looked him over from head to foot as he entered. The afternoon sunlight trapped itself in her chestnut hair. Despite the mood and occasion, he found himself thinking about what a nice color it would be to paint

"How do you do, Mister Arlen." Eva stood up, ran her palms briskly over the grey jacket she wore and smiled curtly.

Stan knew immediately that she wasn't the type to charm ... or be charmed. "How do you do, Miss Stillwell." He'd seen her around the office and even spoken to her occasionally during his seven years with the firm. But this was the first time he'd ever been privileged to invade the privacy of her office. He wasn't sure he appreciated the honor.

"Sit down. Over there." Eva brought an end to their formalities and pointed to a green leather chair on the other side of her desk. "You, too, Elliot."

Stan glanced over at Elliot and marveled at how the man seemed to have shrunk three inches in Eva Stillwell's presence. The woman definitely had something strange about her. Just what, though, Stan didn't know.

"I suppose you can guess why you're here." Eva suddenly reminded Stan of a youngster, forced to address an assembly, and not quite prepared. He began to like her better.

"Yes, Miss Stillwell." He didn't like the sound of his own subservience. For Toni ... For Toni. He fought the urge to just get up and run from the somber room. He glanced around at the wood-paneled walls and the framed advertisements. He was out of his world, here. It was a cold, foreign place. He belonged where it was warm-where he could breathe. What was it she was saying? The woman was out of her mind. Who asked for it? What did he want with the position? Didn't he have enough troubles without her adding to them?

"I'll certainly do the best I can," he heard himself say, politely, about fifteen minutes later. Why wasn't he telling her the truth? Why was he accepting all this with a smile and a grateful tone which he didn't feel?

For Toni ... For Toni....

Wasn't this what his wife wanted for him? Wasn't this what he'd told himself he wanted, too? Or, at least, what he should want?

"Then we can discuss the definite arrangements in the morning," Eva was saying.

He only half-heard the words. His mind was buzzing with a mixture of elation and panic. He had to get out. He had to think....

"Nice going, Stan, old man." Elliot sounded almost sincere as they walked back down the hall. "I'm glad for you."

"Thanks, Elliot. Thanks." Stan shook the man's hand. He did not feel the contact. He didn't feel any contact. It was as if he'd suddenly been placed behind a transparent wall and separated from humanity.

"Come into my office, will you?" Elliot refused to allow him a moment's rest. "I want to go over the work you'll be doing tonight."

"Tonight?" Stan felt a white-hot anger growing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to go home ... He'd worked late last night. Wasn't that enough? "Is it absolutely necessary?"

"Why, of course!" Elliot seemed shocked. Maybe even a little annoyed, Stan noticed.

Stan didn't know why that should be, but he didn't question. Perhaps he'd missed something in Eva's office. Something that had been said.

The door to Elliot's office closed behind them. Stan felt suddenly caged. "What is it you want me to do?" He tried to sound willing, pleasant.

"It's not what I want you to do." Elliot sounded even more offended than before. "You just got a big promotion, boy. The days of loafing around are over." He reached for a pile of papers. "You've got to move, now. Really move. Here, check all these layouts ... this slogan's got to be re-lettered. Here's a tentative list of the sequence of commercials on the show...."

Stan saw half-a-night's work piling up before him. He wanted to protest-to tell Elliot that he was tired, hung-over, confused. But he simply accepted without further comment. He didn't dare open his mouth. The company was doing him a favor.

At least that's what Toni would say.

His desk welcomed him back silently. Stan sank numbly into a chair and stared dully at the work in front of him. It was almost as if Elliot had done it on purpose, to trap him there in that office. Nonsense, he was thinking like a madman. This was good ... very good. And eventually, he'd feel it, instead of assuming it.

Stan pushed a button on his intercom. "Send Eileen in here," he barked at the secretary, "and make a call for me ... please."

It felt like hours before Eileen showed up. Stan looked at her, felt her smile register and tried to respond sensibly. He couldn't. An overpowering sensation of desire swept away the last of his common sense.

"What's up?" Eileen didn't seem aware of his distress.

"I just got Carl's job. Should I feel good about it?" He searched her face for an honest answer-one he could believe.

"That's entirely up to you." Eileen's expression was noncommital.

Stan turned from her lack of help. He felt suddenly alone again.

"Did I say something wrong?" Eileen sounded slightly worried.

"No." Stan was glad she wasn't being flip any more. Then he smiled. "How would you like to do me a favor, Eileen?"

"Name it." She matched his smile with a bigger one. "Have dinner with me tonight?"

"Sure." Her answer was immediate.

Stan turned off his desk lamp. This time he knew it would be different. Tonight he had no intention of calling Toni first.

Or at all.