The whole afternoon was like that.
Norvie dictated and erased five tapes. He sent his- three assistants on three different errands of research, to find the best spectacle on the highest-rated Field Days in every major city. Nothing they brought back was any help. When Miss Dali came in to pick up the afternoon’s dictation and he had to face the fact that there was no afternoon’s dictation, he grumbled to her:
“What do they expect in that moldy gym they call a stadium here? Look at Pittsburgh—we’re twice as big, and they have armored halftracks.”
“Yes, sir,” said Miss Dali. “Mr. Stimmens would like to see you.”
“All right,” he said ungraciously, and dialed a chair for his junior scriptwriter.
“Excuse me, chief,” Stimmens said hesitantly. “Can I see you for a moment?”
“You’re seeing me,” Norvie had picked that bon mot up from Candella the week before.
Stimmens hesitated, then spoke much too rapidly. “You’ve got a great organization here, chief, and I’m proud to be a part of it. But I’m having a little trouble—you know, trying to get ahead, hah-hah—and I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for you chief, as well as me if——” He went through a tortuous story of a classification clerk’s mistake when he finished school and an opening in Consumer Relations and a girl who wouldn’t marry him until he got a Grade Fifteen rating.
Long before Stimmens had come anywhere near the point, Norvie knew what he wanted and knew what the answer had to be; but Candella’s bruises were fresh on his back and he let Stimmens go on till he was dry. Then, briskly:
“Stimmens, if I’m not in error, you signed the regular contract before you joined us. It has——”
“Well, yes sir, but——”
“It has, I say, the usual provision for cancelation. I believe you know the company’s policy in regard to selling contracts. We simply cannot afford to sell unless the purchase price is high enough to reimburse us for the employee’s training time —which, I might say, in your case is all the time you’ve spent with us, since you have clearly failed to master your job. I’m surprised you come to me with a request like that.”
Stimmens looked at him. “You won’t let me go?”
“I can’t let you go. You’re at liberty to cancel your contract.”
Stimmens laughed shortly. “Cancel! And go back to Belly Rave? Mr. Bligh, have you ever been in Belly Rave?” He shook his head like a man dispelling a nightmare. “Well, sorry, Mr. Bligh,” he said. “Anything else for me to do today?”
Norvie looked undecided at his watch. “Tomorrow,” he growled. As Stimmens slumped away, Norvie, already feeling ashamed of himself, petulantly swept the chair back into the wall.
It was almost quitting time.
He made a phone call: “Mr. Arnold Dworcas, please. Arnie? Hello; how’re you? Fine. Say, I saw that attorney of your brother’s today. Looks like everything will be all right. Uh-huh. Thanks a lot, Arnie. This evening? Sure, I was hoping you’d ask me. All right if I go home first?—Ginny’ll want ‘to hear about the lawyer. About eight, then. S’long. . . .”
Arnie Dworcas had a way of interminably chewing a topic and regurgitating it in flavorless pellets of words. Lately he had been preoccupied with what he called the ingratitude of the beneficiaries of science. At their frequent get-togethers he would snarl at Norvie:
“Not that it matters to Us Engineers. Don’t think I take it personally just because I happen to be essential to the happiness and comfort of everybody in the city. No, Norvie, We Engineers don’t expect a word of thanks. We Engineers work because there’s a job to do, and we’re trained for it. But that doesn’t alter the fact that people are lousy ingrates.”
At which point Norvie would cock his head a little in the nervous reflex he had acquired with the hearing aid and agree: “Of course, Arnie. Hell, fifty years ago when the first bubble-
cities went up women used to burst out crying when they got a look at one. My mother did. Coming out of Belly Rave, knowing she’d never have to go back—she says she bawled like a baby when the domes came in sight.”