Hit and Run

'I said put some whisky in it! Didn't you hear me?'

I returned to the table and sloshed more whisky into the glass and brought it back to him. He took the glass, stared at it, then drank the lot. For a long moment he held the glass while he stared over the top of my head, then he thrust the glass at me.

'Fix me another and come and sit down.'

I repeated the dose, put the glass on the table at his side and sat down.

We looked at each other, and he suddenly grinned.

'Don't mind me, Scott,' he said. 'When you break a leg you're helpless. There's a plot going on in this house to treat me like a sick man. I've been waiting all day for you to come and give me a drink.'

'I should have thought it was the worst thing you could have had.' I said.

'Think so?' He laughed. 'You leave me to judge that.' He took up the minutes. 'Smoke if you want to.'

I lit a cigarette and drank some of the Scotch. It took him about ten minutes to finish reading the minutes, then he dropped the papers on his knees, reached for his glass and took another drink.

'A pretty good beginning,' he said. 'More than that: I couldn't have handled them better myself. You go on like this, and the New York job is yours.'

This was praise indeed.

'Now let's see how you're going to make use of concessions we've got from them,' he went on. 'Let's have your ideas.'

I had thought he might ask this question, and I had discussed it with the heads of the departments before I had left the office so I was ready for him.

For the next half hour I explained my ideas. He lay still, listening, sipping his whisky, and every now and then nodding his head. I was pretty sure I was saying the right things. When I was through, he said: 'Not bad; not bad at all. Now I'll tell you a better way of handling it.'

It was my turn to listen to him and it was an object lesson. He used all my ideas, but in a slightly different way, and I saw at once where I had gone wrong. My way was just that much more expensive. His way gave us a saving of ten per cent, and made him a better businessman than I was.

By now it was a little after nine o'clock, and I remembered what Watkins had said about cutting the meeting short.

'Okay, sir,' I said and began to put the papers back into my brief-case. 'I'll take care of it. And now if it's all right with you, I'll run along. I have a date at ten.'

He grinned at me.

'You're a liar, Scott. You've been listening to that old fool, Watkins. But that's all right. You get off. Come and see me tomorrow at eight.' He finished his whisky, and as he set his glass down, he asked, 'Have you got a girl, Scott?'

The question startled me. I let some papers slip out of my fingers on to the floor. As I bent to pick them up, I said: 'No one in particular, if that's what you mean.'

'I don't mean that. A man needs a woman every now and then. Don't get yourself involved with them, but make use of them. That's what they are here for.' The cynical note in his voice riled me. 'I don't want you to be working all the time. I want you to get in some relaxation. Maybe you have lived long enough to know a woman can be a very satisfactory form of relaxation, providing you don't let her get her hooks into you. Let her do that, and you're a goner.'

'Yes, sir,' I said and stuffed the papers back into the briefcase. I was surprised. I didn't expect this kind of thing from him, and his cynicism made me angry. 'I'll be along tomorrow at eight.'

He lay back against his pillows, staring at me.

'You'll take the weekend off. I don't want to see you on Friday night. Give me a call on Monday morning. What's today – Tuesday? You make plans for the weekend, Scott. I want you to get some relaxation. Do you play golf?'

I said I played golf.

'Finest game in the world if you don't take it seriously. Golf is like a woman. Take either of them seriously, if either of them get a hook into you, and you're sunk. What do you go around in?'

I said on my best days I shot 72.

He stared at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.

'Why, you're quite a golfer!'

'I should be. I've played since I was five. My old man was wild about golf. He even got my mother to play.'

I started to drift towards the door. 'I'll be in tomorrow night at eight.'

'Do that, Scott.' He was still staring at me, his eyes quizzing. 'And arrange to play golf over the weekend.' His hard mouth twisted, into an ugly little smile. 'Then find yourself a pretty girl for the night: golf and a woman are the two best relaxations in life.'

I was glad to get out of the room. His cynicism left a nasty taste in my mouth, and I was in two minds whether to take the elevator or walk down the stairs. Then the picture she had made, standing before that mirror, came surging into my mind, and I walked away from the elevator to the head of the stairs.