"Better?" he wants to know.
"Not much."
"I'll throw out these brown shoes."
"That will help."
"How's Green treating you these days?" he asks casually.
"Pretty good," I reply. "Why?"
"If you were in my department," he offers with a cagey, more confident air, and the beginnings of a mischievous smile, "I would let you make as many speeches as you want to at the next convention. The salesmen are always very interested in the work you're doing for them and what you have to say."
"So long," I answer. "I'll see you around."
We both laugh, because we each know what the other wants and where the fears and sore spots are. Kagle knows I want to keep my job and be allowed to make a speech at the next company convention. (God dammit — it would be an honor and an act of recognition, even if it is only three minutes, and I've earned it and I want it, and that's all!) And I know that Kagle wants my help in defending himself against Green (and Brown) (and Black) (and White) (and Arthur Baron, as well).
"You'll let me know if you do hear anything, won't you?" he asks, as we walk to the door.
"Of course I will," I assure him.
"But don't ask questions," he cautions with a dark, moody snicker. "You might give them the idea."
We laugh.
And we are both still chuckling when Kagle opens the door of his office and we find my secretary outside talking to his secretary.
"Oh, Mr. Slocum," she sings out cheerily, because that is her way, and I wish I were rid of her. "Mr. Baron wants to see you right away."
Kagle pulls me to the side. "What does he want?" he asks with alarm.
"How should I know?"
"Go see him."
"What did you think I was going to do?"
"And come and tell me if he says anything about getting rid of me."
"Sure."
"You will, won't you?"
"Of course I will. For Christ sakes, Andy, can't you trust me?"
"Where are you going?" Green wants to know, as I pass him in the corridor on my way to Arthur Baron's office.
"Arthur Baron wants to see me."
Green skids to a stop with a horrified glare; and it's all I can do not to laugh in his face.
"What does he want with you?" Green wants to know.
"I haven't any idea."
"You'd better go see him."
"I thought of doing that."
"Don't be so God-damned sarcastic," Green snaps back at me angrily, and I lower my eyes, abashed and humbled by his vehemence. "I'm not even sure I trust you, either."
"I'm sorry, Jack," I mumble. "I didn't intend that to sound rude."
"You come see me as soon as you've finished talking to him," he orders. "I want to know what he says. I want to know if I'm being fired or not."
"What was Kagle talking to you about?" Brown asks when I bump into him.
"He wanted to know what you were up to while he was away in Denver."
"I was correcting his mistakes and protecting his God-damned job, that was what I was up to," Brown retorts.
"That's just what I told him."
"You're a liar," Brown tells me pleasantly.
"Johnny, that's what they pay me for."
"But everybody knows it.»
"So?"
". so I guess it doesn't matter."
"A diplomat, Johnny. Not a liar."
"Yeah, a diplomat," Brown agrees with a gruff and hearty laugh. "You lying son of a bitch."
"I was just coming to see you," Jane says to me. "I want to show you this layout."
I stare brazenly at her tits. "I can see your layout." She starts to giggle and blush deliciously, but I turn serious. "Not now, Jane. I have to go see Arthur Baron."
"Oh, hello, Mr. Slocum," Arthur Baron's secretary says to me. "How are you?"
"You look fine today."
The door to Arthur Baron's office is closed, and I don't know how to cope with it, whether to turn the knob and go right in or knock diffidently and wait to be asked. But Arthur Baron's twenty-eight-year-old secretary, who is fond of me and having trouble with her husband (he's probably queer), nods encouragingly and motions me to go right through. I turn the knob gingerly and open the door. Arthur Baron sits alone at his desk and greets me with a smile. He rises and comes forward slowly to shake my hand. He is always very cordial to me (and everyone) and always very gentle and considerate. Yet I am always afraid of him. He's got the whammy on me, I guess (just as everyone I've ever worked for in my whole life has had the whammy on me), and I guess he always will.
"Hello, Bob," he says.
"Hi, Art."
"Come in." He closes the door noiselessly.
"Sure."
"How are you, Bob?"
"Fine, Art. You?"
"I want you to begin preparing yourself," he tells me, "to replace Andy Kagle."
"Kagle?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Not Green?"
"No." Arthur Baron smiles, knowledgeable and reassuring. "We don't really think you're ready for Green's job yet."
There is a polite irony here, for we both know that Kagle's job is bigger and more important than Green's, and that Green would be subordinate to Kagle if Kagle were of stronger character. The proposition stuns me, and for a few bewildered seconds I have absolutely no idea what to say or do or what expression to keep on my face. Arthur Baron watches me steadily and waits.
"I've never done any real selling," I say finally, very meekly.
"We won't want you to do any," he replies. "We want you to manage. You're loyal and intelligent and you've got good character and good work habits. You seem to have a good understanding of policy and strategy, and you get along well with all kinds of people. You're diplomatic. You're perceptive and sensitive, and you seem to be a good administrator. Is that enough to encourage you?"
"Kagle's a good man, Art," I say.
"He's a good salesman, Bob," Arthur replies, emphasizing the distinction. "And you'll probably be allowed to keep him on as a salesman if we decide to make the change and you decide you want to."
"I know I'd want to."
"We'll probably let you keep him as an assistant even, or as a consultant on special projects with people he'd be good with. But he hasn't been a good manager, and we don't think he's going to be able to get better. Kagle doesn't go along with the rest of us on too many things, and that's very important in his job. He lies a lot. Horace White wants me to get rid of him just because he does tell lies to us. He still travels too much, although I've told him I want him to spend more time here. He dresses terribly. He still wears brown shoes. That shouldn't count, I know, but it does count, and he ought to know that by now. He doesn't send in my call reports."
"Most of the stuff on the call reports isn't true."
"I know that. But I have to have them anyway for my own work."
"Brown is in charge of that," I have to point out.
"He doesn't control Brown."
"That isn't easy."
"He's afraid of him."
"So am I," I admit.
"And so am I," he admits. "But I would control him or get rid of him if he worked for me. Would you?"
"Brown is married to Black's niece."
"I wouldn't let that matter. We wouldn't let Black interfere if it came to doing something about Brown."
"Would you let me fire him?"
"If you decided you really wanted to, although we'd prefer to transfer him. Kagle could have had him fired, but by now Brown has a better grasp of specifics than he has. Kagle never wants to fire anybody, even the ones who are drunks or dishonest or useless in other ways. He won't fire Parker or retire Phelps, and he doesn't cooperate with Green. And he still discriminates in the people he hires, although he's been warned about that, too."
"It's a very big job," I say.
"We think you might be able to handle it."
"If I couldn't?"
"Let's not think about that now."