Jesus, I said. Yeamon’s already talking about leaving.
He laughed again. I don’t care. Fuck him. I’ll sign anything. It’s the right thing to do.
Ah, Moberg, I said, you’re a nutty bastard.
Yes, he said. I’m about as nutty as they come.
Lotterman didn’t show up all afternoon. Sala claimed he was making the rounds of the banks, trying to float a loan to keep the paper going. It was only a rumor, but everyone in the office was talking as if the end had come.
About three, Yeamon called to say he’d been to see Sanderson. He gave me a few shitty articles to do, he said. Says he’ll get me about thirty bucks apiece for them — wouldn’t give me an advance, though.
That’s not bad, I said. Do a good job on those and demand something bigger — he has more money than God.
Yeah, he muttered. I guess so. If I could get one thing worth about five hundred, I’d have enough to take off.
Sanderson called an hour or so later. Can you be at the airport by seven on Thursday morning? he asked.
Good God, I said. I suppose so.
You’ll have to be, he said. Figure on staying most of the day. Zimburger wants to get back before dark.
I’m not coming back, I said. I’m going over to St. Thomas for the carnival.
He laughed. I should have known you’d be attracted to something like that I’d stay out of town if I were you. The locals get a little wild. The best parties are on the boats — the yachting set has a carnival of their own.
I’m not making any plans, I replied. I’m just going over there and plunge into it — a good relaxing drunk.
After work I stopped by Sala’s place and picked up my clothes, then drove out to my new apartment I had no gear to speak of, so all I had to do was hang a few things in the closet and put some beer in the refrigerator. Everything else was furnished — sheets, towels, kitchen tools, everything but food.
It was my place, and I liked it. I slept for a while, then I drove down to a little colmado and bought some eggs and bacon for breakfast.
I had already cooked the bacon the next morning when I realized I’d forgotten to buy coffee. So I drove down to the Condado Beach Hotel and had breakfast there. I bought a Times and ate by myself at a small table on the lawn. It was a fairly expensive place and no one from the News was likely to be there. The hacks who weren’t at Al’s would be at The Holiday, a crowded outdoor restaurant on the beach near the edge of town.
I spent all afternoon on the waterfront, trying to find out if the paper was going to be shut down by a strike. Just before I got off I told Schwartz I wouldn’t be in the next day; I felt a sickness coming on.
Jesus Christ, he muttered. You guys are getting like rats on a sinking ship. Sala tied up the darkroom all afternoon with his own work, and I caught Vanderwitz making a long-distance call to Washington. He shook his head. We can’t have a panic here; why don’t you guys calm down?
I’m calm, I replied. I just need a day to straighten out my affairs.
Okay, he said wearily. It’s none of my business. Do whatever you want.
I drove up to Al’s and ate dinner by myself, then I went home and wrote the article that Sanderson wanted to send to the Times. It was a simple thing and I wrote it mostly from the material he’d given me — prices going down for the summer, more young people on vacations, various outlying spots to visit. It took me about two hours and when I finished I decided to take it on over to him and have a few drinks before going to bed. I had to get up at six the next morning, but it was still early and I wasn’t sleepy.
There was nobody there when I arrived, so I went in and made a drink, then went out to the porch and sat down in one of the long chairs. I turned on the fan and put an album of show tunes on the phonograph.