Chapter 7

SERVICING WAS THE NAME OF THE GAME....

There was a dirty taste in his mouth when he woke in the morning, but Carl knew it had nothing to do with booze. The next thing he realized was that he wasn't going to work.

It wasn't that he was hung over, he just couldn't face the thought of Marks and Mountain Advertising Agency again until he had done a lot of thinking.

He knew that his schedule was clear for at least two days and that was all he needed. Because the two days involved were Thursday and Friday, that really meant four days before he would have to face the agency and the people involved in it.

Checking the clock, he saw that it was five after eight. Elaine would still be at home. Staggering out of bed, he made it all the way to the phone and forced his thick feeling fingers to dial her number. She answered on the first ring.

"You sound awful, Carl. Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing physical, probably nothing at all. I just wanted to let you know I won't be in the office until Monday."

"Are you sure nothing's wrong, Carl? You don't sound right. Can I do anything?"

"Thanks Elaine. The reason I called was to let you know that I'm all right and there's nothing to worry about. I'll call Bob and give him the word as soon as he gets to the office."

"What are you going to do, Carl? You can't just sit around your apartment and mope for four days. That isn't like you."

"Don't worry, Elaine. I know a little lodge a couple hundred miles to the north. The place is quiet and there's a golf course that's never busy. I have a lot of thinking to do and the rest will do me good."

"You're sure you don't need anything, Carl?"

"Thanks dear," the word was out before he could stop it, "I'm not in trouble now and I'll be completely under control when I get back."

"All right, Carl. I think you're doing the right thing. I won't say have fun, but I will wish you all the success in the world. Will that do?"

"That will do just fine, Elaine. Thanks a lot. By the way, are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at all. I have no reason to be unless you keep on asking stupid questions like that. As a matter-of-fact, if ifs your sudden departure last night you're so concerned about, it just could be that I'm bright enough to figure out the reason. If my guess was right, I'm not only not mad, but I also like you even more than I did before."

"Thanks, Elaine, thanks for everything. I'll figure out that last statement on the golf course. I'll call you as soon as I get back."

"I'm not pushing, Carl, but do you have any idea when that will be?"

"Sometime on Sunday, I guess. I'm just not sure what time."

"I won't be doing anything Sunday except writing a few letters and catching up on laundry. If you feel in the mood, give me a call and I'll pour you a drink when you get back."

"Thanks. I think I'll be in the mood."

Their conversation ended then. Carl made a pot of coffee. While he waited for it to perc, he reverted to his sometime eye opener of a cold beer. The first four mouthfulls were good but after that it tasted like hell. He dumped the rest of it in the sink and decided to kill time with a shave and shower.

When he returned to the kitchen, naked and feeling a lot better, the coffee was ready. Soon, he thought as he poured it into the big mug, I'm going to feel even better.

The coffee was good, as usual. He carried it to the window and looked out. Far below, the city was going to work.

There was a fleeting thought that he should envy all the people who knew where they were going and why, but it didn't last long. For one thing, he refused to accept the premise that they knew where they were going even to the extent that he knew.

There were two or three or four days of thinking in the offing and he hoped that would be time enough. He guessed it would, but wasn't prepared to make book on it.

If nothing else, he thought, I'll sharpen the hell out of my golf game. The course at the lodge claimed a par seventy-one.

Like most lodge courses he had played, it was set up to flatter paunchy old men and women. He had shot it in as low as sixty-five. It didn't offer a challenge, but there was the exercise and fresh air. Above all, Carl had learned to do his best thinking while walking a golf course and right at the moment, that was appeal enough.

Bob Smelton screamed with such vehemence when Carl informed him of the two day vacation that he seemed to be in danger of a heart attack. Carl laughed.

"Screw it, Bob," he snapped back. "My desk is clean, my clients are happy and my conscience is clear. I need time to think a lot of things over. No matter what happens, I'll be in Monday morning. We can take it from there."

"You're not thinking of resigning, are you Carl?"

"That's only one of about twenty things, Bob. Just sit tight and I'll get it all worked out. Whatever the decision is as far as the job is concerned, you'll be the first to know."

"Look, Carl, we've known each other a long time. If the memo upset you, I'm sorry. You know how it is. That bastard Sinclair chewed the ass off me.

"Forget the memo, Bob." Carl wished the man would stop crawling. "The job is the least of my problems. I have a lot of things to go over in my mind. I'll see you Monday."

Bob wanted to keep the conversation going, wanted to get an assurance from Carl that he wouldn't quit. What really concerned him, Carl knew, was the fear that he would move to another shop and take a couple of fat accounts with him.

When he couldn't take the snivelling anymore, Carl said good-bye and hung up. The phone rang less than a minute later, but he ignored it.

There was a chance, he knew, that it could be Elaine calling. It was almost enough to tempt him into picking it up. Almost, but not quite.

Just before nine-thirty, he wheeled the Buick out of the basement garage and pointed it toward the street leading to the highway. Allowing for a leisurely breakfast during which he would read his morning paper, he estimated that he would reach the lodge in plenty of time for a drink and an afternoon swim while the sun was still hot. After that, he would destroy the golf course.

He had promised to save the heavy thinking until he reached the lodge, but the little men kept swarming over his shoulders and demanding to be heard.

Holding his speed at a steady seventy, he began listening to them and realized just how much thinking he had to do before the weekend was over.