The Black Mass of Brother Springer Read Free

hand for a second and then withdrew his limp paw quickly and glared at me.
           "You mean you're quitting? Just like that?"
           "Yes." I looked at my fingernails. "Unless you want to match the salary Hollywood has offered me for doing the scenario...fifteen hundred a week."
           This was a bald lie, of course, but Mr. Carlisle didn't know the difference, and at that very early stage of being a novelist I thought this offer very likely myself.
           "All right!" Mr. Carlisle set his lips in a tight line. "Go ahead and quit! Give up a good job without notice. Leave me in a hole. But you'll get no severance pay without giving two weeks notice!"
           I smiled, turned casually and sauntered out of the office. At $25 a year, my severance pay would have been $260, more than the advance on my novel, but it was worth that amount and more to leave the building without a backward glance. I did not say goodbye to any of my associates nor to any of the employees at the company. There would have been many false congratulations, but every one of the remarks would have been tinged with envy and bitterness. I knew this, and my abrupt leave-taking gave my departure an air of mystery I rather enjoyed.
           I withdrew my savings, a small nest egg of $2400, telephoned the Beacon Storage Company to pack our belongings, and Virginia and I left for Miami on the midnight coach flight after a tearful farewell scene with my mother-in-law.
     
    Sitting in my study in my project house in Ocean Pine Terraces, I had relived this scene many times in my memory, and it never failed to put me into a good mood.
           I looked out the window and observed my wife hanging up wet sheets on the line in the backyard. A new washing machine, a new refrigerator, and a new electric stove had been included in the new house and had only added a few dollars a month to the house payments. My wife found great pleasure in these appliances after the inconvenience of the small apartment in Columbus. But except for the appliances and the television set, the woman had few pleasures in life. She hated Florida, although she never said so, and her memories were concentrated on Columbus, Ohio. After a year in Florida, her conversation was almost entirely about her former friends and bygone days in Columbus. Lately, she even talked about the good times she had had at John Adams Junior High School.
           At first she had been elated by the published novel; and then excited by the magic of Florida, she had written too many glowing letters about our house in Ocean Pine Terraces, the fabulous beach, the night clubs we had gone to upon our arrival, the wonderful climate and so on, and as a consequence she no longer had any friends in Columbus. Except for her mother, no one answered her letters any more, and she had not made any new friends in Miami. I was unconcerned about my wife's happiness.
           This way of life suited me fine. I slept well, I ate well, and each morning after a hearty breakfast I retired to my study, sharpened a dozen pencils and sat at my desk all day. Although I had never managed to think of a new idea for a novel I had written several stories and an extremely brilliant essay on D. H. Lawrence's novel, The Plumed Serpent. The fact that the essay and none of the stories had been purchased by any of the magazines I had sent them to did not bother me in the least. I was a writer and I expected a few setbacks. And besides, the short stuff was merely fill-in work until I could get embarked upon another novel.
           After the $250 advance from the Zenith Press, I had received no more royalties. The book had not sold very well in hard covers. But six months after moving to Florida, the Zenith Press had sold the reprint rights to a paperback house, and I had received a check for $1100 as my share. I considered this a handsome share and I had sorely needed the money when I received it. The