Chapter 17
WHAT NOW, MY LOVE....
"Oh, that's really rich." There was a look of disgust on Marg Smelton's face as she looked at the beaten, stooped form of her husband.
"Cut it out, Marg. I need you to help me, not make fun of me."
"So Mister Big needs help? Sorry, buster, I'm fresh out of it right now. Try me again in thirty or forty years."
"Why, Marg? Why are you acting like this? Why must you keep kicking me?"
"Because I'm fed up to the teeth. I've listened to your crap about what a hotshot P.R. man you were for years. All the rest were dopes and you ran the whole show. It took time, but I guess they finally figured out what a creep you are."
"But it wasn't fair. My own friend Mike helped put the knife in my back."
"Look on the bright side, Bobsy. You want to hear a funny? You're out, but little Austin is still in. Do you think they figure he's brighter than you? He's a hell of a lot better in bed."
Bob screamed a high pitched scream and ran out of the house. The sun was straight up and hot. He kept running despite the heat which he didn't really feel.
Inside the house, Marg congratulated herself on having played it just right. She heard the car roar to life out on the street.
When she began insulting him, she had done so only because she had lost all respect for the strutting peacock a long time ago. Now, seeing him stripped of his dignity and grovelling in the dirt, she just had to lash out.
As she watched him wince under the lash of her words, it struck her that in his condition, the sting of her words could drive him to suicide. When that thought registered, her mind told her other things.
One of the fringe benefits at the agency was a very fat life insurance policy on him. She wasn't sure of the amount, but it was something like seventy or eighty thousand.
Having been fired from his job, knifed by his best friend and insulted by his wife, it was very possible that he would drive badly, so badly that he could be killed.
It wouldn't really be suicide. It would be the bad driving of a man who was upset. With the insurance, the equity in the house and their investments, she would be on easy street.
Somewhere out there, there would be a man, a real man who knew how to handle a woman and keep her happy.
Until then, though, there was still Austin. Austin was always willing, eager and young enough so that he could always recuperate quickly for another ride. Even more important was the fact that he gladly did anything she wanted.
Waiting, hoping for the ring of the phone or the knock on the door that would tell her about a terrible accident, Marg gave a lot of thought to taking Austin or some other boy into her home to live with her on a full time basis.
If need be, she could move to some other city and they could pose as mother and son. It provided her with some exciting thinking while she waited.
The accident didn't happen though. Bob drove very badly, but, thanks to some alert driving by others along his route, he reached downtown safely.
When he left the house, he didn't know where he was going. Then, it had merely been a matter of escaping from the terrible, stinging words his wife was spitting at him.
Deep down inside, something told him that most of the horrible things she said were true. For a long time, he'd used words and fancy footwork to stay ahead of the game.
But it was over now and he was out. Washed up at thirty-five, he thought with a shudder. I can't be. I just can't. There has to be something. I've got my whole life ahead of me.
He thought of Kent Dowson then. Kent was older and wiser. He would provide comfort and show Bob which way he had to go. There would be another good job somewhere and Kent would help him get it. He would start rebuilding his career and climb right to the top next time.
Maybe it would be with another agency and he would use his contacts to raid Marks and Mountain. He would steal some of their biggest accounts and more heads would roll. Maybe one of them would belong to Darcy Sinclair and other would be that of his good old friend Mike Kalman who had stolen his job.
As he toyed with the dream, he felt the dejection slip away and become strength and excitement. It would be good to get to the top again and laugh at the dirty bastards who thought they had screwed him.
When he looked up again, Bob came to an abrupt halt. He had passed the building he was looking for. Turning, he walked back almost two blocks and turned into the entrance of Kent's building.
He had to wait in the reception room for about ten minutes before he could get in to see Kent. This time, although the receptionist flashed him one professionally correct smile, she didn't show him her legs at all. Bob wondered whether there was a code whereby that fringe benefit was for winners only.
The waiting was intolerable and he felt his courage slipping again. What if Kent didn't want to help him? Where would he go then? What would he do? Why is Kent making me wait like this? A possible answer appeared, but he didn't like it so he tried to push it out of his mind.
He turned to look at the receptionist again and saw that she appeared to be busy reading something on her desk. She still wasn't showing her legs.
Damn you, you bitch, he wanted to shout. Swing your legs out from under the desk and give me a look at them. I'm still important. I'm going to be even more important than ever before.
Maybe, he continued the fantasy, some day I'll be your boss. I'll fix you then just like I fixed Hope. He saw her bending over a desk, the front of her dress open, her bra removed, big firm breasts dangling.
Behind, her dress and slip were thrown over her back and her panties were pulled down. She had a nicely rounded bottom and it arched outward toward him. Perhaps there would even be red marks on the white cheeks where he had beaten her with his belt and made her cry.
His pants and shorts were down and he was just pushing it into her.
Just as she was begging and crying, a faint buzzer sounded on the desk and his dream was shattered. He heard her talk brightly into the phone for a moment, then replace it in the cradle.
"You may go in now, Mr. Smelton," she said without getting up.
The first time, she had opened the door and ushered him in. Now she merely sat at her desk and told him he could go in. He was going to have to speak to Kent about her. Perhaps a couple of months in a typing pool would improve her manners.
Bob glared at her as he passed her desk and walked into the office. She didn't notice him.
"This is a surprise, Bob," the man greeted him with an affable air. "How are you?"
"I hope you don't mind me barging in like this?" he countered weakly.
"Not at all, Bob. I don't have an awful lot of time though. It's one of those frantic days. Have a seat."
"I've been fired, Kent."
It wasn't the way he intended breaking the news at all. He had intended handling the whole thing casually and talking about bigger possibilities where talent was appreciated and knives didn't fly.
Instead, he realized, it sounded like the little boy who comes sniveling home to tell mommy that the big boys were picking on him. He wondered if there was still time to take a new tack and salvage his dignity.
"I'm sorry about that, Bob. It came as quite a surprise to me. Why didn't you tell me it was coming?"
"You heard about it?"
"Yes, the agency called this morning to tell me. Some chap named Kalman, I think."
So that was it, Bob realized. While Sinclair was breaking the news to him, Mike was in another office calling the clients to assure them that they would get improved service in the future under new management.
"You're not going to keep them on the account, are you?"
"Well, Bob, this is a business matter. We do have a contract and it looks as though Pete can do the job we want. I don't know about this Kalman chap, but he seems intelligent enough. What do you think of him?"
"But he's the guy who knifed me. I brought him into the department, trained him, and now he steals my job out from under me."
"I understand, Bob. The business world is a rough place. I guess maybe agencies are rougher than most. You just have to learn to roll with the punches and bounce back. That's the way it is."
"Kent, there must be something I could do here. How's your internal P.R.? I've got a lot to offer."
"Well, now, Bob, I really hadn't given the matter any thought. As far as I know, our department is set up pretty well, but I could check into it and see how it looks. Give me a couple of days. In the meantime though, keep looking around. There are a lot of agencies who could probably use a man with your background."
Bob spotted the stall. The next time he asked, Kent would look sympathetic and tell him that there just wasn't a place for him in the organization.
It was going to be that way everywhere he went. Always the expression sympathy, the promise of looking around for a spot and calling him if anything broke. Nothing ever would though.
People would hurry by on the street without quite managing to catch his eye. In restaurants and bars, they would become intent on their conversation and not be able to see him. They surely wouldn't invite him to join them at their table.
It's the contagious thing about being a loser, he sensed. A loser is a reminder that the same thing can happen to the man on top of the heap. If you talk to one, some of it may rub off and stick to you.
"Tell you what, Bob. Go on over to the apartment. I'll be able to shake loose soon and we'll have a little fun. I'll be there as soon as I can."
That was out of the question, Bob told himself. I have to find myself a job. I can't go on being an unpaid prostitute wearing panties and nylons and turning my bum up whenever he wants it.
As he watched the elevator doors close behind him, Bob was determined he was going to pick himself up and start climbing up the ladder again.
When he reached the street, he turned and walked directly to the apartment.