I had thought a lot about it before I had asked Sarita to be my wife. Finally, I decided it was a risk I could afford to take. No one knew me as Gordon. I had grown up and altered considerably since I was in Los Angeles, although the scar persisted and so did the drooping eyelid. I felt I had seen the last of Rima and the last of my past.
We were married towards the end of the year. As a wedding present we got the job of building the new wing to the State hospital. It was a nice job and it made us money. That was Mathison’s influence.
It enabled Jack to move into a three room penthouse and Sarita and I into a four-room, more modest apartment in the better district. It allowed both of us to buy better cars and we entertained more.
Life seemed pretty good. We felt we had at last arrived. Then one morning the telephone bell rang and Mathison came on the line.
‘Come over here right away, Jeff,’ he said. ‘Drop everything. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’
This abrupt summons left me wondering, but I dropped everything, told Clara I’d be back when she saw me, told her to tell Jack who was out on a construction job where to find me, and hot footed over to City Hall.
Mathison and Webb were together in Mathison’s office.
‘Sit down, boy,’ Mathison said, waving me to a chair. ‘You’ve heard about the Hol and bridge?’
‘Why, sure.’
‘This morning we have got it fixed. We have the money, and now we’re going to build.’
This was a project that every construction engineer in the county and a lot outside the county had been waiting for. It was to take the up-town traffic out of Holland City across the river. This was the big job. The estimated cost ran into six million dollars.
My heart started to thump. Mathison wouldn’t have cal ed me just to tel me this piece of news. I waited, looking at him and then at Webb.
Mathison grinned at me.
‘Do you think you and Osborne could build it?’
‘We can build it.’
‘I’ve talked it over with Webb. Of course it’l have to go before the committee, but if you come up with the right figures and you can convince the bone heads you can build the bridge within a year, I think I can persuade them to let you go ahead. You’l have all the boys up against you, but I’m going to lean over backwards just a little and if your price isn’t right, I’m going to tell you so before the committee sees your estimates: that way you should get the job.’
For the next thirty days I scarcely saw Sarita.
Jack and I slaved in the office from eight o’clock in the morning until sometimes as late as three o’clock the next morning.
This was our big chance to break into Big-time and we weren’t taking any chances.
Finally, the pressure got so tough, I asked Sarita to come into the office to handle the typing so Clara could spend her time on the calculating machine, getting out figures for us.
The four of us slaved.
At the end of thirty days we had the estimates and the plan of operation ready.
I went around to Mathison and handed the document over. He said he would let me know, and that was that.
We waited three long, nerve-racking months, then he telephoned me and told me to come over.
‘It’s okay, boy,’ he said, coming over to shake me by the hand. ‘The job’s yours. I’m not saying I didn’t have a fight to convince some of them, but your figures were right, and you had half the committee on your side to start with. You can go right ahead. Talk to Webb. There’l be another meeting tomorrow. I want you and Osborne to be there.’
That happened exactly ten years, eleven months and two weeks since last I saw Rima.
II
I hadn’t considered what the building of a six mil ion dol ar bridge would mean until Joe Creedy, the City’s Public Relations Officer, breezed into our office and told me.
We had celebrated of course: just our own private celebration with Sarita, Jack, Clara and myself. We had gone to the best restaurant in Holland City and had had a champagne dinner. As far as I was concerned the celebrations were over and we had now to get down to the business of building the bridge, but Creedy had other ideas.
Creedy was a big, broad-shouldered man with a heavy, serious face and a likeable manner. He paced the office while Jack and I sat at our desks and listened to him.
‘There’ll be a civic banquet on Saturday,’ he told us. ‘You two wil be guests of honour. One of you will have to make a speech.’
Jack grinned broadly and jerked his thumb at me.
‘You’re the boy, Jeff. I wouldn’t know how to make a speech.’
‘I’ll write it,’ Creedy said. ‘I don’t care who delivers it so long as it gets delivered. On Sunday at three o’clock I’ve fixed it for you two to appear on television. I’l pick you up here and take you over to the studio.’
‘Television?’ I said and I felt a little stab of uneasiness. ‘What do we want to be on television for?’
Creedy smiled patiently at me.
‘We’re spending six mil ion dol ars of this city’s money,’ he said. ‘The public are entitled to see the two guys who are spending their money. There’s nothing to it. I’l ask the usual corny questions and you’l give me the usual corny answers. We’l have a scale model of the bridge prepared and you’l explain how you’re going to build it.’
I was now beginning to get even more uneasy. My past was beginning to come alive in my mind. I told myself not to panic. After all, the television hook-up covered the county: we were a long way from Los Angeles.
‘I’m trying to get Life to do an article about the bridge,’ Creedy went on. ‘They’re biting. It would be a fine thing for the city to get a coverage from Life.’
My uneasiness sparked into panic. Coverage in Life was world wide. I would have to make sure there would be no photograph of me in the magazine.
Jack said happily, ‘Sounds as if we have become a couple of famous people, Jeff. It’s about time.
We’ve worked hard enough.’
Creedy took out his notebook.
‘You’re famous al right. Let’s have some dope about yourselves. I want to prepare the TV interview.
Let’s get the basic facts: where you were born, who your parents were, what your training was, your war service, what you’ve done since the war, your future plans: that kind of junk.’
Jack gave him the information, and while I listened I began to sweat. I had to cover up on the time I had spent in Los Angeles.
When it came my turn, it was easy until I came to my return home from hospital.
Creedy said, ‘You began your studies again, and then you suddenly quit: is that right?’
‘Yes.’ I didn’t want to tel him any lies so I picked my way careful y. ‘I couldn’t set le to work. I left college after three months, and for a while I just kicked around.’
‘Is that so.’ He showed interest. ‘Where did you get to?’
‘Al over. I just loafed around and did nothing.’
He looked sharply at me.
‘How did you earn a living?’
‘I did a job here: a job there.’
Jack was now looking interested.
‘You never told me,’ he said. ‘I thought you had been in the engineering racket al the time.’
‘For a year or so I bummed around.’
‘This could make for colour,’ Creedy said. ‘Where did you get to? What kind of jobs did you do?’
This was now dangerous. I had to kill it.
‘I’d rather not go into that. Suppose we skip it if it’s al the same to you.’
Creedy stared at me, then shrugged.