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Something Happened :: Хеллер Джозеф
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"But now I know I'm better than you are, aren't I?»
"Amn'tI. There's no such construction as 'aren't'."
"Puddy poo."
"What'd you say?"
"Puddy poo."
"Where'd you get that from?"
"From you. You say it in your sleep."
"I'm going upstairs. I can't take this."
"Puddy poo. What about dinner?"
"Count me out. I'll celebrate upstairs alone. I've got to start working on my speech."
"What speech?"
"The big speech I'm going to have to make to open the convention. I'm head of the department now. That might not mean much at home but it means a hell of a lot there. I run the whole show. I can do what I want."
"Can you get Andy Kagle his job back?"
"Fuck you," I tell her.
"You're just no good, are you?"
"I told you. I warned you. I don't want you ever to say that to me again."
"I'll say anything I want," she shouts back at me heatedly. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Yes, you say that to me often," I remind her. "And then you sober up, and discover that you are."
She shatters. "You bastard." The tears form quickly and are streaming down her face. "You won another argument, didn't you?"
I don't feel I've won. I feel I've lost as I mount the stairs wearily. It's been a harrowing day at the office. The meetings were concluded at five to allow the rumors to spread and percolate through the company overnight. Kagle lingers later than the rest of us to confirm them appreciatively.
"I want you to know I had a big hand in it," he tells me. "I fought for you with Arthur Baron when he asked me to recommend someone who I thought could really handle it. They were thinking of someone like Johnny Brown or one of the branch managers. I told them you knew more about it than any of them. Now I'll be free to do the kind of troubleshooting work I like. Don't be afraid of any of it. I'll be around to help you all I can."
No, he won't.
"Thanks, Andy. What's that you've got there?"
"It's a perpetual-motion machine Horace White gave me. I'll bet you'd never be able to figure out how it works if you didn't know where the battery was hidden."
(Batteries run down. He'll have about ten days after the convention and then he'll have to take a leave of absence for a few weeks and move. Or retire. I have a plan.)
"What about me?" I maintain to Johnny Brown, who blocks my path skeptically with smoldering belligerence, his muscled jaws knotted for combat (and I wonder, perhaps, if he might not mercifully end my suspense by giving me my punch in the jaw right at the start).
"But now I know I'm better than you are, aren't I?»
"Amn'tI. There's no such construction as 'aren't'."
"Puddy poo."
"What'd you say?"
"Puddy poo."
"Where'd you get that from?"
"From you. You say it in your sleep."
"I'm going upstairs. I can't take this."
"Puddy poo. What about dinner?"
"Count me out. I'll celebrate upstairs alone. I've got to start working on my speech."
"What speech?"
"The big speech I'm going to have to make to open the convention. I'm head of the department now. That might not mean much at home but it means a hell of a lot there. I run the whole show. I can do what I want."
"Can you get Andy Kagle his job back?"
"Fuck you," I tell her.
"You're just no good, are you?"
"I told you. I warned you. I don't want you ever to say that to me again."
"I'll say anything I want," she shouts back at me heatedly. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Yes, you say that to me often," I remind her. "And then you sober up, and discover that you are."
She shatters. "You bastard." The tears form quickly and are streaming down her face. "You won another argument, didn't you?"
I don't feel I've won. I feel I've lost as I mount the stairs wearily. It's been a harrowing day at the office. The meetings were concluded at five to allow the rumors to spread and percolate through the company overnight. Kagle lingers later than the rest of us to confirm them appreciatively.
"I want you to know I had a big hand in it," he tells me. "I fought for you with Arthur Baron when he asked me to recommend someone who I thought could really handle it. They were thinking of someone like Johnny Brown or one of the branch managers. I told them you knew more about it than any of them. Now I'll be free to do the kind of troubleshooting work I like. Don't be afraid of any of it. I'll be around to help you all I can."
No, he won't.
"Thanks, Andy. What's that you've got there?"
"It's a perpetual-motion machine Horace White gave me. I'll bet you'd never be able to figure out how it works if you didn't know where the battery was hidden."
(Batteries run down. He'll have about ten days after the convention and then he'll have to take a leave of absence for a few weeks and move. Or retire. I have a plan.)
"What about me?" I maintain to Johnny Brown, who blocks my path skeptically with smoldering belligerence, his muscled jaws knotted for combat (and I wonder, perhaps, if he might not mercifully end my suspense by giving me my punch in the jaw right at the start).