“Yes, yes, go on.”
“I am. Most of his sponsors have New York advertising agencies, but some of the sponsors are out-of-town firms, the Middle West, California, who—”
“Yes, yes—”
“—who are using Los Angeles agencies with just very small branch offices in New York.”
“I see, yes. Go on.”
“Will you please stop interrupting me?”
“I’m sorry, go on.”
“Well, one of those sponsors had an incident happen on one of the shows where a fresh pineapple was supposed to be sliced, and the pineapple they used looked as if it had been sitting at the bottom of a garbage can for a week. When they showed the... what do you call it, Gilly? The film of the program?”
“The kinescope, the kine, go on.”
“Yes, when they showed the kine, the sponsor blew his top and decided to make sure this never happened again. So he called his Los Angeles ad agency and asked them to contact the other out-of-town sponsors on this one particular show, the Sam Martin show, to find out—”
“That’s a very big show. He’s very big, Martin is.”
“Yes, to find out if they’d be interested in getting together to hire a man in New York whose sole job would be to monitor these things, go to the studio when the commercials were being done, make certain the props were the right ones and all in the right places—”
“Yes, I see, yes—”
“—make sure the person doing the commercial had the right copy, generally ride herd on everybody, the premise being that an on-the-spot representative was absolutely essential. Well, the other sponsors thought it was a good idea, and the agency contacted Sonderman, who also thought it was a good idea, and they asked him if he’d take care of the New York hiring for them.”
“And he hired you!”
“Well...”
“That’s your job. It sounds exciting.”
“I haven’t got it yet.”
“How much does it pay?”
“Two hundred.”
“What! A week?”
“Yes.”
“Two hundred a week! David!” She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “David, you’ll get rich and portly!”
“That’s only the beginning salary, Gilly. Sonderman’s talking about getting the sponsors of the other two shows into the pool. And if that happens, the salary’ll go up.”
“Let’s celebrate!” Gillian said.
“I haven’t got the job yet. Will you please calm down?”
“You got it. I know you did. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wanted to get back here as soon as possible. I gave him this number, and I was afraid he’d call while I was frittering my time away in a phone booth.”
“Where shall we go?”
“What do you mean?”
“After he calls. After we know you’ve got the job for sure.”
“Gillian, can’t we wait and—”
“Oh, I know you got it. What time did you leave him?”
“About forty minutes ago.”
“He’ll probably call in a few minutes. Curt does things quickly.”
“He seemed pretty much on the ball.”
“Did he like you?”
“I think so.”
“Did you pay for the drinks?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Did he ask many questions about television?”
“No. He seemed impressed by the library background. I don’t know why. Maybe he figures he needs a human catalogue to keep track of all the products on the show.”
The phone rang abruptly, shrilling into the apartment. They both turned to stare at it.
“Curt,” Gillian said.
“It’s too soon.”
“It’s Curt. I know it is. He doesn’t fool around. I told you that.”
The phone kept ringing.
“Answer it,” Gillian said.
“I think you ought to answer it.”
“It’s Curt.”
The phone was ringing noisily.
“Suppose it isn’t Curt?”
“You’ve answered the phone here before! For God’s sake, David, hurry! He’ll hang up!”
“I don’t think it’s Curt.”
“Answer it!”
David walked to the phone and picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” he said. “Yes, this is he.” He paused. “Yes, Mr. Sonderman.” Gillian suddenly clasped her hands together. “Yes. Oh, just a few minutes ago. Um-huh. Yes, I see. Yes. Yes, I see. Yes, I understand. Thank you. Goodbye.”
He put the phone back into its cradle.
“Yes?” Gillian said.
David had a dazed expression on his face.
“David! Please!”
“Yes.”
“Really? Oh, Da—”
“I start Monday.”
Gillian sat on the couch suddenly and began crying.
“I never, never for a minute thought you’d got it,” she said.
They were standing on the lawn and waving as the car pulled out. It was May, and the Minnesota sunshine was bright. It illuminated Martin and Priscilla Soames with a harsh flat glare, so that they looked like painted marionettes against a false backdrop, someone pulling the strings attached to their waving hands.
“Wave to Grandpa and Grandma,” Matthew said. “Wave goodbye.”
Kate lifted her hand and waved. She continued waving until the house and the lawn were out of sight. Then she folded her hands in her lap and looked straight ahead through the windshield. She was wearing a bright-yellow dress and white socks and black patent-leather Mary Janes and a big yellow bow in her blond hair. She sat quite still beside him and Matthew thought, Great, now I have to make conversation with a child.
“It’s always sad to leave someplace,” he said, and thought, Oh, that’s a wonderful beginning. Matthew Bridges, the Uncle Don of the highway. “But I think you’ll like Connecticut,” he concluded weakly.
The child said nothing.
Matthew shrugged slightly and then pulled a sour face. He glanced at the child to see if she had noticed his displeasure, but she was oblivious to him, staring at the Minnesota countryside as it flashed past. He felt an active dislike for her in that moment, and instantly blamed Amanda for this whole foolhardy venture, but first he blamed Priscilla for her letter, but mostly he blamed Amanda. “You’re pregnant!” he’d said. “For the love of God, you’re pregnant!”
“A child needs a young couple to care for her,” Amanda said quietly.
“You’re going to have your own child in July.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So how are we supposed to...?”
“We can take care of both. We’re young.”
“I’m not so young any more,” Matthew said. “I was thirty-two years old in February.”
“You’re still young, Matthew.”
“I’m getting white hairs in my mustache, do you know that?” he shouted helplessly.
“She’s only a child.”
“Amanda, don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t start crying. I can see you’re about to cry. Now don’t do that, Amanda. It’s unfair. Let’s discuss this like—”
“Matthew, I want her.”
“Why?”
“She’s my niece.” She paused. “She’s my sister’s daughter, and I love my sister very much.”
“Your mother’s been taking care of her. She can continue to—”
“Not the way I can. Not the way we would, Matthew.”
Matthew sighed heavily. “And what’ll you do in July?” he asked. “When the baby comes.”
“We’ll manage,” Amanda said, and that was that.
Now, sitting beside the silent child on the front seat of the automobile, he was more than ever convinced this was a mistake. You simply did not throw a fully grown, well, a half-grown, well, she was almost seven, you simply did not throw a young girl like that into the arms of people who barely knew her.