A Singular Man Read online

  And hatless George Smith would go home. Out of the dark shadows of Golf Street to die lighted highway streaming with cars. A little pedestrian bridge to stand over watching them zoom by underneath.

  3

  AT four this Friday George Smith walked along Golf Street and west across town on the cold evening pavements. The tall buildings alight, long dangling jewels. Threading through the hurrying shopping throng and river of cars. Under the dingy trellis of the elevated train, down a street of dusty book shops. And out upon a splashing fountain and the great dark oasis of winter trees in the park.

  The marble lobby of The Game Club was full of hearty handshakes and members' backslaps. Lights twinkling with Christmas, the gift counter piled with white teddy bears and boxes of beribboned candies. Miss Tom-son said she loved to hug soft things and taste the sweet. And as I left number Thirty Three I said see you my apartment at seven.

  Smith after a few quick sparring rounds with the instructor followed by a beginner's lesson in wrestling, retired to the smoke room where he quaffed a tall beer overlooking the darkened park. Flagging a taxi back to Merry Mansions. The doorman with a brisk salute. Handing across an envelope.

  "For you sir."

  "Thank you, Hugo."

  Safely inside Merry Mansions. Don't like the look of this envelope. Relax. Miss Tomson will be here soon. Have another little rosner.

  "Matilda."

  "Good evening Mr. Smith."

  "Get me a whisky. And two omelettes. Miss Tomson will be here shortly to eat with me."

  "Leave the garlic out, Mr. Smith."

  "Leave it in."

  "If that's the way you want it."

  "Just get me the drink, please."

  Soon as Miss Tomson is mentioned Matilda's good natured fat frizzles. When she first saw Miss Tomson there was a half hour's heavy breathing coming from the kitchen, as I attempted to be an attentive host. Lifting the fur from Miss Tomson's shoulder. Tying up Goliath to a leg of the marble table in the hall. Then a crash from the kitchen. Matilda trampling the delfinrage. Miss Tomson looking all about saying, not bad, not bad, not bad at all, strictly not what I expected Mr. Smith. And at this cosy interval the hall table crashed with my Tang pot. Miss Tomson put her hand to her mouth. I was up and just got to the hall in time to see. Matilda was pulling a Iamb chop back into the kitchen on a string. Miss Tom-son said, Matilda just needs her legs opened.

  "Here you are Mr. Smith, a big whisky."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "You're welcome."

  Nice exchange. With the right amount of formality. Take a gulp of this corn stuff. And open up this envelope.

  Dear Sir,

  I am aware of the nature of your business. And perhaps it has come to your attention that you are infringing upon my own area of operations.

  I should like to take this opportunity of warning you of any further encroachments. I am sure you will be guided by expedience in this matter.

  I have witnessed the delivery of this letter to you by your doorman.

  Naturally you know who I am.

  Yours faithfully,

  JJJ.

  Get up and go over to the window. Witnessed delivery by your doorman. That denotes a certain sheepish vulgarity. A man over there selling roasted chestnuts. Or is this rogue renting yonder cold water flat outfitted with instruments of spying with the brass telescope on the automatic ball bearing swivel. To watch my eye-whites going brown. Gives that distinct stab of pain between the shoulder and up the keester too. Miss Tomson please come quickly. Ah, the doorman's buzzer.

  "Sir, a young lady, Miss Tomson."

  "Have her come up immediately."

  My Christmas gift to Hugo, was snuff, which some idle jokester sent me last year. Of the menthol variety. I treat him as an equal. Not using that handy maxim a man is what he makes his dough at and alas how much. Sometimes it is a gentle gesture to remind people of their big time possibilities. Makes them like you. big time possibilities. Makes them like

  "Miss Tomson, good to see you."

  "What's the matter Mr. Smith you look as if you've seen a ghost."

  "You're cold, Miss Tomson, do come by the fire."

  "Gee what nice big logs. But aren't they scared you'll burn down the building."

  "That's it, get comfy. The people upstairs have one too. Prevailed on the management. They finally allowed it, for a consideration of course."

  "You could barbecue in front of that with all that nice blazing ember. Would you take me for a campfire girl, Mr. Smith."

  "Ha ha, Miss Tomson. What would you like to drink."

  "I could really get stupid tonight. The girl living below my apartment is just driving me nuts. Always waiting to jump me with her troubles. I'll have what you're having Mr. Smith. What troubles that girl's got. She goes out into the back garden and starts making faces at me through the window. She hired a detective to watch her husband and catch him with the huzzy. But the detective catches him with a guy. How do you like that, Mr. Smith."

  "Irregular certainly."

  "Crazy. Say what's got you so nervous."

  "A letter, Miss Tomson."

  "Not again."

  "I'm afraid so."

  "May I see it Mr. Smith."

  "Of course."

  Smith reaching for his back pocket. Too near the keester for comfort. Put things there which are upsetting and sit on them. Handing it over to her long comforting fingers. With a flick of a talon across the paper. One blond lock falls forward as she reads.

  "This is a new one, Mr. Smith."

  "I thought so too."

  "You see anybody, Mr. Smith."

  "A chestnut vendor on the corner. I suppose someone could be on a rooftop."

  "Be no chestnut vendor. This guy prides himself. Sees himself as a big important operator. Coming on with the dignity. Get this encroach crap. Big bark no bite."

  "I'm not particularly anxious to be barked or growled at."

  "Old Goli put the wind up you didn't he, Mr. Smith, ha ha. But got to admit though this guy's approach is nicely sneaking in from die side."

  "Precisely why I'm not underestimating him."

  "But Mr. Smith if you want to know the truth you overestimate these things. And take it personally as well. Here now, don't you get up, let me pour you a drink.

  You really look white."

  "Thanks Miss Tomson, I suppose it has got under my skin."

  "Mr. Smith, don't let it."

  "You're right, Miss Tomson. I shouldn't let it. But it does."

  "Ignore it Mr. Smith and see what develops. Soon as you show you're worried that's when they've got you."

  "I do feel it's an imposition of the worst kind to involve you like this in matters which quite frankly are extremely distasteful."

  You're kidding."

  "I'm not."

  "It's life, Mr. Smith. I mean millions are trampling and struggling towards the top, I'd quit if I didn't like it.

  Anyway, you're not bad to work for. I thought working was going to kill me. Besides it's not me they're after.

  It's you."

  "Alas."

  "But whatever you do, don't let them shove you around."

  "Matilda's making us omelettes, that all right, Miss Tomson."

  "Are they going to reek."

  "Dear me, I hope not. I instructed her to leave out particularly strong ingredients."

  "Just so I don't leave here smelling like a dago. How did the sport go."

  "O sparred a few rounds. Let the instructor have a few on the button/'

  "You must be tough."

  "I can handle my dukes. Also took a beginner's lesson in the rudiments of wrestling, never know these days.

  Some terrifying physical specimens around that wrestling room."

  "Gee tell me about them Mr. Smith. I love hearing about these big tarzans, that's the way my brother's built, the one who gets his picture on the social page, he goes right out under the arms, you'd swear he had no stomach at all. Shape o
f a V. At home in our kitchen he'd come in without a stitch on and open up the ice box, take out the milk and drink a whole quart in one gulp. His body is really magnificent. Our parents brought us up letting us look at each other. I think that's the way it ought to be. He lifts weights. You should see him. And throws that thing they have at races, that round ball. But Mr. Smith aren't you afraid of being killed by one of these guys."

  "I can take care of myself."

  "Cut the kidding Mr. Smith one of these guys could break you in half, I'd be careful if I were you. You're just not built."

  "Miss Tomson, this is a club for sportsmen and gentle-men."

  "I don't know, Mr. Smith, you just seem too frondlike for that kind of thing. I just don't see it, you grappling with one of these tarzans, not one like my brother anyway, he's really beautiful. Even big as he is, he moves like he was a panther."

  "I'm sure he does, Miss Tomson."

  "Hey come on Mr. Smith, I hurt your feelings didn't I. Come on now, I did."

  "On on o."

  "I have, I know when I have. But you're just not one of these big apes. I mean you're no weakie Mr, Smith, you've got things they haven't got."

  "What Miss Tomson."

  "Well. Maybe you're not mentally weak, maybe that's what I'm saying. Like you're gentle. Got nice hands. You show consideration. Those things are something, Mr. Smith. I just could never, but never, you know see you stark at the ice box under a bottle of milk, that would be just, it would be just -"

  "I think dinner's served, Miss Tomson."

  "See there I go, can't control my mouth. How did we get on this anyway."

  "I believe you asked me how the sport went."

  "O yesh."

  Miss Tomson in black. She wore green this afternoon. And she's wearing flat shoes for my sake. Makes me half an inch taller. She stands up straight and walks swinging her hips. Those two handy melons wandering around under the backside of her skirt. As she flashes her head back and catches my globes glued.

  "You think I'm walking like I was compromised, Mr. Smith."

  "I don't quite get you, Miss Tomson."

  "You know, Mr. Smith."

  "I don't Miss Tomson, why are you shaking your head."

  "Because Mr. Smith you're one of the most innocent guys. Ha ha, I think. Can't you see I'm walking as if I'm looking for it."

  "For what."

  "For it. Don't force me to say it because I will."

  "Please, Miss Tomson. I don't mind myself but there's Matilda."

  "Don't think she's not looking for it either."

  "Miss Tomson, do you like asparagus."

  Miss Tomson tall, sat at the other end of the maple, Smith's favorite tree. George reaching out to push aside the thriving ferns which Matilda had placed squarely between the diners so they couldn't see each other. The asparagus comes in. Laid out cooked and dead on the moss green plates. Naturally I reached for my napkin and let it fall over my thigh. Miss Tomson spreading hers across her lap. She's looking and waiting. For the asparagus. Can't possibly take it lankly with the fingers until she does. Surely she'll use the knife on them. Not make a move till I see. She's going for the fork. Isn't there some rule don't use a fork when a knife will do. Goodness, she's after butter.

  "Matilda, the butter, please."

  "Sure. If that's what you want."

  A simple thing like the butter. Deal with it with careless nonchalance. Pretend I'm waiting for butter too. If I pick up this piece of asparagi and she cuts hers with a fork. Just wait and see. Adjust napkin. And reach for the bread. No. Offer some.

  "Miss Tomson, let me cut you bread. White or brown."

  "That brown looks good Mr. Smith."

  "Of course, brown. Ah, here's the butter. Thank you Matilda."

  Good appetite has Miss Tomson. And a forceful chewer.

  "Mr, Smith, you don't mind my gobbling this."

  "Of course not, Miss Tomson, I intend to gobble myself. Much healthier that way."

  "Say Mr. Smith, you really go in for this health."

  "Taken an interest in a certain robustness, Miss Tom-son."

  "Sure, but why kill yourself."

  "I'm not killing myself. A little exercise to keep my figure."

  "After thirty you can't go back. What's a little pot. Real cute. I like it. No kidding. Why don't you try a corset."

  "Miss Tomson, will you have your omelette runny in the middle."

  "Yesh, please."

  "Matilda, both soft in the middle please."

  "If that's the way you want it. You better get that wine while I'm cooking. I got my hands here full. Never enough time for nothing."

  Miss Tomson leaning across the table. She cocks her head towards the kitchen, whispering.

  "Mr. Smith, she distinctly dislikes me. Why don't you some evening come to my apartment. I've got a typewriter there."

  "That's kind, Miss Tomson, but I wouldn't think of such an imposition. You've got your own personal life to lead. I'm already imposing myself too much on your free time."

  "What free time. I go home now, mess around, listen to music, make some clothes. I do nothing."

  "Some nice young man will be around."

  "That's a laugh. My brother he likes to come around, crowds the apartment out with celebrities. Bunch of stuffy stuck up deads. I told him to stop bringing them around, that I just wasn't interested. They all have to do the talking. I used to be crazy for that kind of crowd. And one day living in the nest, everybody showing up for tennis. You know, seeing them standing in the hall, a really healthy bunch of looking people. You know and just like that, I took a look at this crowd. Just stood and listened, you know, Mr. Smith, I was hearing them for the first time. And same day I'm standing on the court with my racket, resting when I get this poke in the back through the fence. It's a guy passing on the street. I turn around, I'm going to say who the fuck, sony about that, but who the, and he hands me a piece of paper. It's my first sight of the poetic curiosity. There's a poem on the paper and his address on the back. Hey, am I talking like mad. Must be the wine."

  "Miss Tomson I'm most interested to hear you talking."

  "You're not kidding."

  "Certainly not."

  "I was crazy then, you know. Going up with that gold key to the nest, the elevator crammed with presents I'm buying with this guy's money. OS the roof garden socking tennis balls mad laughing, bounce them on the underprivileged, help keep them down. I said everybody get a load of this, some guy's handed me a note with a poem. I started to read it. I stopped right in the middle. I thought Christ, this guy might have meant this and the words are nice and they were about me too, that's why I stopped I guess. I went all moody. Threw a few real crazy tantrums. Turned on all the water in the nest till it was pouring right down the elevator shaft. I was thinking what's this kind of life, what good is it. It was pretty good. But I was selling myself for peanuts. Funny isn't it, there I got all interested in the real things, you know deep things and the poetic curiosity all the while is interested in the free meal ticket and big time living up in the nest. Boy."

  There was a tear in Miss Tomson's eye.

  "Miss Tomson, please don't say any more. Have a little sip of wine. Good mouthful of omelette too."

  "You know Mr. Smith, I do you injustice you don't deserve. You're a nice guy."

  "Fresh pineapple. Or apricots."

  "Sure. Love some."

  "Matilda, the apricots."

  Smith reaching to light the candles, scented and rumoured to be aphrodiziac. Out the window in the sky over the rooftops was a twilight of twinkling turned to a blaze of black and gold.

  "Mr. Smith, you know what."

  "What Miss Tomson."

  "You're a strange guy. Why some debutante didn't nab you I don't know. Weren't they swarming over you."

  "I regret to say, Miss Tomson, they weren't."

  Matilda brought on the raw pineapple all sugar soaked, and a glass bowl full of delightful apricots. Miss Tomson and Mr. Smith ea
ting from a knee in front of the fire. Cosier that way. Miss Tomson undoing a gigantic buckle to let it out a notch. Patting the tiny rotundity.

  "I'm getting a pot too. I need more padding on me. I could use more right here."

  "You're all right there, Miss Tomson."

  "How do you know these are reaL"

  "Come come, Miss Tomson."

  "Ha ha, almost caught you guessing though, didn't I Mr. Smith, come on admit it."

  "For a moment perhaps."

  "Mr. Smith, you give me laughs. Your face the day I brought Goliath to the office. Were you white."

  "Brandy, MissTomson."

  "This stuff made of apricots, Mr. Smith."

  "Fermented."

  "I could get stinko."

  "Shall we have some strong coffee."

  "I keep forgetting I'm here to do some work. Come on, let's work. Get the letters out. I'm really all set. Let's spread them all out next to each other. I got choice replies to all of them. Dear Buster, they're holding a big sale somewhere down town, full of kite bargains. You are invited. How's that Mr. Smith. You don't go for that one. Now this guy JJJ. how could he be aware of the nature of your business when I don't even know. Takes an opportunity to give a warning, why not Dear Jack, beat it or we'll give you a hot poker up the roosel. Sorry Mr. Smith, but I mean why doesn't he just come out with it. Ha ha, he might really give you a scare."

  "Have more brandy, Miss Tomson."

  "Sure. Funny in your house like this I feel relaxed. Mr. Smith I don't want to pry but why hasn't a guy like you got a wife and kids. It's none of my business, forget I asked."

  Faintly from the street scraggly children's voices singing a yule song. Miss Tomson going to the window.

  "Hey come here Mr. Smith look at this, isn't that sweet, group of urchins, they're singing. How do you get this window open."

  "I'm afraid it's sealed."

  "I'd throw the kids some money. Poor things singing out there all alone in the cold. Nobody I guess even listening. Can't we do something for them. Maybe I could run down there with a platter of stuff. Let's do that."

  "Miss Tomson, I'd rather you didn't."

  "Hey why."