Part 3 (1/2)
”No no, it doesn't matter.”
”Miss Tomson, it does matter. It matters to me now.”
”It was nothing.”
”Matilda will put it all out on a big platter. There's a silver one in the alcove.”
”It doesn't matter what it's on.”
”She'll give you a tray.”
”It doesn't matter now.”
Miss Tomson sitting, bending her head forward. Her book opened with the pages curled back, scribbling with her pencil. World of woe. Couldn't tell her. And I can't tell her now. She's hurt. Now I'll be blamed for hating children. I don't like them but I don't hate them. Miss Tomson, remember what you said, it's you they're after. I don't expect you to examine every little thing for signs of hostility. But how do I know this b.a.s.t.a.r.d watching me get the letter from the doorman didn't send these kids as a decoy. If I told you this you'd ridicule me for imagining things. For getting scared out of all proportion to the threat. Take the d.a.m.n platter, rip open the cupboards, load it all on. Get Hugo up here to help. We'll all march down.
”You'd like to go home now, wouldn't you Miss Tomson.”
”I've got my pad ready and pencil poised.”
”You're upset.”
”I'm just waiting for the dictation.”
”Well I'm so upset I can't dictate.”
”Well maybe we better leave it till another day then, Mr. Smith.”
”Miss Tomson, I apologise for not letting you go out to those children with a platter of chicken.”
”Let's forget it.”
”And see you sitting there miserable. Miss Tomson I'm not in the habit of asking people their feelings about me but because of this, do you think I hate singing.”
”Mr. Smith you're making a mountain out a mole hill, just a whim. Just a plain ordinary whim.”
”O.K.”.
Smith turning abruptly crossing into that s.p.a.ce the management likes to call the dining foyer. Sound of Matilda moving out of the kitchen. Smith pulling a cape over the shoulders. Opening the mechanically a.s.sisted door. Matilda's voice in the sitting room, talking to Miss Tomson.
”You upset Mr. Smith, what about.”
”None of your business.”
”Don't talk to me like that.”
”Look Gertrude.”
”Don't call me Gertrude, don't call me Matilda either.”
”Get off my ear.”
”Don't you talk to me like that. I'll pull that blond mop right out of your head.”
”You come near me you black b.i.t.c.h. Just dare.”
George nimbly stepping outside the door. Let that situation simmer. Pausing for the elevator. Flas.h.i.+ng down the stairs instead Whoosh. By Hugo out the front gla.s.s doors.
”Anything the trouble Mr. Smith.”
”Just fetching somebody.”
”Can I help.”
”No thanks. Just up the street. Only a second.”
George moving forward, elbows well in, ankles supple, chin up, fingers flapping and well relaxed. Loping past tenement stoops and garbage pails on the other side of the street. Lungs gasping as Smith cleverly switched to mental power to give the muscles a rest. Stopping to ask a slow moving pedestrian.
”Pardon me, see any little kids up this direction.”
”You want a fight bud.”
”No thank you.”
George hurried on. Overt good fellows.h.i.+p everywhere. Peering into the beer saloon on the corner. I've got to get them. If they climb onto a bus I'm whipped. Hold on heart, I hear the voices of urchins. Thin little sounds. Coming up out of warm young hearts in the distance.
Further on the avenue between the remains of two derelict buildings, the urchins standing together on a pile of rubble. Embers of a fire glowing from the wreckers. George stepping from brick to brick and up on an unwieldy plank. One two three four five six of them. Two sizeable girls and a small one. Three rather tough looking boys.
”Excuse me kids, weren't you just singing around the corner.”
”Who says so.”
”I heard you. What are you singing here for, there's no one to hear you.”
”We don't want to be heard.”
”Look I've got a proposition. You, are you the oldest.”
”Yeah I'm the oldest.”
”Look will you come back to my apartment and sing forme.”
”Hey what do you want mister. You a pervert, mister.”
”I've got my girl friend there.”
”We read in a book that don't mean nothing.”
”I see. Well she thinks you're all a bunch of swell singers. She'd just like to hear you close up. And there's cold chicken and lemonade.”
”We want dough.”