Magician's Wife Read Free Page A

certainly apologize. Just the same, blackmail or not, another chain of restaurants, that I won’t call by name, gets it—and gets it quick—unless you start making sense. Once more, how’s my salthorse doing?”
    â€œWhy, O.K., of course. It’s big.”
    â€œFine. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
    â€œAnd where’s somewhere, Clay?”
    â€œI want a year’s commitment.”
    â€œCommitment? What are you talking about?”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake!” exclaimed Clay, and then, bellowing loudly: “Miss Helm, get me Coastal!” Then, “Be seeing you,” he told Mr. Granlund, and hung up. But he stayed Miss Helm’s hand when she reached for the phone, and waited. Sure enough, it rang, to a big laugh from the meeting. “We were cut off, Clay,” said Mr. Granlund when Clay answered. And then: “That commitment—you want it in writing?”
    â€œStop clowning,” said Clay. “Your word’s plenty.”
    â€œThen we’ll make it a year, but give me a week on exact amounts. It’s too early yet to be sure how much we can sell. On a daily basis the demand might drop once the novelty wears off.”
    â€œTake a month.”
    â€œBut now, Clay, I want your commitment.”
    â€œ My commitment? How so?”
    â€œI must have this thing exclusive.”
    Caught by surprise, Clay tapped the desk with a pencil, taking a moment to think. Then, parrying: “You mean, in the area?”
    â€œWell, we have no interest elsewhere.”
    â€œSo let’s see, let’s see.”
    â€œI want no knife in my back from Coastal.”
    â€œThen, O.K.—it’s yours alone provided we get menu credit. This must be Grant’s corned beef you’re selling—Grant’s corned beef, cabbage, and spud.”
    â€œWell, I thought that was understood.”
    â€œThen, Steve, we’re set.”
    He hung up to a round of applause, not only from the salesmen but also from everyone in the room, clearly implying pent-up resentments that his triumph had handsomely requited. He nodded, then got up and took a bow, saying “Thankew” like Bob Hope and “How sweet it is” like Jackie Gleason. Then a bit sheepishly: “ So, our meeting’s over before it’s started! It’s all wrapped up and presold—but thanks for the memory!” They all laughed and he laughed, but once again, as when drinking in Bill Jackson’s praise, he betrayed deep emotion in sharp contrast with his temper, so marked with Sally, Portico’s Earl, and Mr. Granlund. And yet they seemed somehow related, as though facets of something else, a deep, consuming vanity that on the one hand hated frustration and on the other thirsted for praise, for understanding, for fellow human warmth. In the end, as they all started filing out, he rapped for quiet again, and told them. “I would forget the best news of all! Without my saying a word, he let drop all by himself: It’s to be a daily feature! ”
    This got a hand and a cheer.
    He sat down, quite overcome for a moment.
    Back in his office, he put in a call to Mankato, Minnesota, where the company’s main office was, and asked for Pat Grant, the president. Ostensibly he was requesting outsize beef, “the bigger the better—I can sell all you let me have. Big meat is on the way back, and I don’t know what looks prettier on the plate than a half-acre slice of roast beef.” But then, almost as an afterthought, he mentioned the day’s coup and swelled again to Pat’s praise. By five he was at the yacht club, playing billiards with Mr. Garrett, one of the habitués. It was a pleasant, rambling place, with a glassed-in balcony running around the second deck, its front facing Chesapeake Bay, its rear the yacht harbor, a pretty jumble of jetties, cruisers, and sailboats on a cove that made in from the river. By six he was