rs.toomanywomen-第3章

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　or　lower　in　age；　contours；　skin　quality；　voice；　or　level　of　intellect；　but　from　where　I　stood　at　nine…fifty…two　Wednesday　morning　it　was　enough　to　take　your　breath　away。　At　least　half　a　thousand　of　them；　and　the　general　and　overwhelming　impression　was　of…clean；　young；　healthy；　friendly；　spirited；　beautiful；　and　ready。　I　stood　and　filled　my　eyes；　trying　to　look　detached。　It　was　an　ocean　of　opportunity。
　　A　voice　at　my　elbow　said；　〃I　doubt　very　much　if　there's　a　virgin　in　the　room。　Now　if　you'll　e　to　my　office。。。〃
　　It　was　Kerr　Naylor；　the　head　of　the　stock　department。　I　had　reported　to　him　on　arrival；　as　arranged；　and　he　had　introduced　me　to　a　dozen　or　so　of　his　assistants；　heads　of　sections。　All　but　two　of　them　were　men。　One　of　them　I　had　regarded　with　special　interest　was　the　head　of　the　Correspondence　Checking　Section；　since　Waldo　Wilmot　Moore　had　been　a　correspondence　checker；　but　I　was　careful　not　to　give　him　any　extra　time　or　attention　there　at　the　start。　His　name　was　Dickerson；　he　could　easily　have　been　my　grandfather；　and　his　eyes　watered。　I　gathered　from　our　brief　talk　that　the　function　of　a　correspondence　checker　was　to　mosey　around；　pounce　and　grab　a　letter　when　the　whim　seized　him；　take　it　to　the　checkers'　office；　and　give　it　the　works　on　content；　tone；　policy；　style；　and　mechanical　execution。　So　it　could　safely　be　assumed　that　his　popularity　quotient　around　the　place　would　be　about　the　same　as　that　of　an　MP　in　the　army；　and　that　was　bad。　It　presented　the　possibility　that　any　letter…dictator　or　stenographer　in　the　department　might　have　felt　like　murdering　Moore；　including　those　who　had　lost　their　jobs…and　the　turnover　had　been　twenty…eight　per　cent。　For　one　man　to　sort　out　the　whole　haystack；　a　straw　at　a　time；　was　not　my　idea　of　the　pursuit　of　happiness；　but　it　did　have　its　good　points　as　suggested　above。
　　Kerr　Naylor's　office　was　also　a　corner　room；　but　was　considerably　more　modest　in　every　respect　than　the　president's；　two　floors　up。　One　whole　wall　was　behind　ceiling　high　filing　cabinets；　and　there　were　piles　of　papers　around　on　tables　and　even　two　of　the　chairs。　After　we　were　seated；　him　at　his　desk　and　me　at　one　end　of　it；　I　asked　him：
　　〃Why；　do　you　refuse　to　hire　virgins？〃
　　〃What？〃　Then　he　tittered。　〃Oh；　that　was　just　a　remark。　No；　Mr。　Truett；　this　office　has　no　prejudice　against　virgins。　I　merely　doubt　if　there　are　any。　Now　how　do　you　want　to　begin？〃
　　His　voice　matched　his　appearance。　The　voice　was　a　thin　tenor；　and　while　he　was　not　a　pygmy　they　had　been　all　out　of　large　sizes　the　day　he　was　outfitted。　Also　they　had　been　low　on　pigments。　His　skin　had　no　color　at　all；　and　the　only　thing　that　made　it　reasonable　to　suppose　there　was　anybody　at　home　inside　it　was　the　eyes。　They　too　were　without　color；　but　they　had　a　sharp　dancing　glint　that　wasn't　just　on　the　surface　but　came　from　behind；　deep。
　　〃This　first　day；〃　I　said；　〃I　guess　I'll　just　poke　around　and　get　my　directions　straight。　No　virgins　at　all？　Who　has　picked　all　the　flowers？　You　might　as　well　call　me　Pete。　Everybody　does。〃
　　The　name　I　had　chosen　to　be　introduced　by　was　Peter　Truett；　liking　the　implication　of　the　first　syllable　of　the　Truett。　Pine　had　thought　my　own；　Archie　Goodwin；　might　be　familiar　to　someone。　I　went　back　to　virgins　again　because　I　wanted　to　keep　the　talk　going　to　get　acquainted　with　this　bird。　But　apparently　it　had　really　been　just　a　remark　and　the　virgin　question　had　not　e　to　a　boil　in　him；　as　it　often　does　with　men　over　fifty；　for　he　ignored　it　and　said：
　　〃As　I　understand　it　you　are　going　to　study　the　whole　employee　problem；　past；　present；　and　future。　If　you　want　to　start　with　a　specific　case　and　spread　out　from　there；　I　suggest　the　name　of　Waldo　Wilmot　Moore。　He　was　with　us　last　year；　from　April　eighth　to　December　fourth…a　correspondence　checker。　He　was　murdered。〃
　　The　glint　in　his　eyes　danced　out　at　me　and　went　back　in　again。　I　kept　my　own　face　under　control；　in　spite　of　his　splashing　it　out　like　that；　but　it　is　only　natural　and　proper　for　anyone　to　betray　a　gleam　of　interest　in　murder；　so　I　let　one　show。
　　My　brows　went　up。　〃Gosh；〃　I　said；　〃no　one　told　me　it　had　gone　that　far。　Murdered？　Right　here？〃
　　〃No　no；　not　on　the　premises；　up　on　Thirty…ninth　Street　at　night。　He　was　run　over　by　a　car。　His　head　was　smashed　flat。〃　Mr。　Naylor　tittered；　or　maybe　it　wasn't　a　titter　but　only　a　nerve　untwisting　somewhere　in　the　network。　〃I　was　one　of　those　requested　to　e　and　identify　him；　at　the　morgue；　and　I　can　tell　you　it　was　a　strange　experience…like　trying　to　identify　something　you　have　known　only　as　a　round　object；　for　instance　an　orange；　after　it　has　been　pressed　to　make　two　plane　surfaces。　It　was　extremely　interesting；　but　I　wouldn't　care　to　try　it　again。〃
　　〃Could　you　identify　him？〃
　　〃Oh；　certainly。　There　was　no　question　about　that。〃
　　〃Why　do　you　say　murdered？　Did　they　catch　the　guy　and　hang　it　on　him？〃
　　〃No。　I　understand　that　the　police　regard　it　as　an　accident…what　they　call　a　hit…and…run。〃
　　〃Then　it　wasn't　murder。　Technically。〃
　　Naylor　smiled　at　me。　His　neat　little　mouth　wasn't　designed　for　anything　expansive；　but　it　was　certainly　meant　for　a　smile；　though　it　went　as　quick　as　it　came。　〃Mr。　Truett；〃　he　said；　〃if　we　are　to　work　together　we　should　understand　each　other。　I　am　rather　perceptive；　and　it　would　probably　surprise　you　to　know　how　much　I　understand　of　you　already。　One　little　fact　about　me；　I　have　always　been　a　student　of　languages；　and　I　am　extraordinarily　meticulous　in　my　choice　of　words。　I　detest　euphemisms　and　circumlocutions；　and　I　am　acquainted　with　all　the　verbs；　including　those　of　the　argots；　which　mean　to　cause　the　death　of。　What　did　I　say　happened　to　this　man　Moore？〃
　　〃You　said　he　was　murdered。〃
　　〃Very　well。　That's　what　I　meant。〃
　　〃Okay；　Mr。　Naylor；　but　I　like　words　too。〃　I　had　a　strong　feeling　that　no　matter　what　his　reason　had　been　for　tossing　this　at　me　right　off　the　bat；　if　I　fielded　it　right　I　might　at　least　end　the　inning；　and　possibly　the　game；　that　first　morning。　I　tried。　I　grinned　at　him。　〃I　have　always　been　fond　of　words；〃　I　declared。　〃I　never　got　worse　than　B　in　grammar；　clear　to　the　eighth　grade。　Not　that　it's　any　hide　off　of　me；　but　since　we're　speaking　of　words；　when　you　say　Moore　was　murdered　I　take　it　to　mean　that　the　driver　of　the　car　knew　it　was　Moore；　wanted　him　dead　or　at　least　hurt；　and　aimed　the　car　at　him。　Doesn't　it　e　down　to　that？〃
　　Naylor　was　looking　up　at　the　wall　behind　me。　His　eyes　stayed　that　way；　with　no　glint　showing　because　they　were　upraised；　until　I　twisted　my　neck　to　see　what　he　was　looking　at。　All　that　was　there　was　a　clock。　I　untwisted　back　to　him；　and　his　gaze　came　down　to　my　level。
　　He　smiled　again。　〃Twenty　minutes　past　ten；〃　he　said　resentfully。　〃I　understand；　Mr。　Truett；　that　Mr。　Pine　has　hired　you　to　survey　our　personnel　problems。　What　do　you　think　he　would　say　if　he　knew　you　were　sitting　here　at　your　ease；　prolonging　a　discussion　of　a　murder　which　has　no　possible　connection　with　your　job？〃
　　The　damn　little　squirt。　The　only　satisfactory　way　to　field　that　one　would　have　been　to　pick　him　up　and　use　him　for　a　dust　rag。　Under　the　circumstances　that　satisfaction　would　have　to　be　postponed。　I　swallowed　it；　stood　up；　and　grinned　down　at　him。
　　〃Yeah；〃　I　said；　〃I'm　a　great　talker。　It　was　nice　of　you　to　listen。　Why　don't　you　put　through　a　voucher　in　triplicate；　or　however　you　do　it；　docking　me　for　an　hour？　I　deserve　it；　I　really　do。〃
　　I　left。　If　the　〃uh；　plexities〃　that　Pine　had　mentioned　included　a　desire　on　the　part　of　his　brother　executives　and　him　to　tie　a　can　to　Kerr　Naylor's　tail；　I　was　all　for　it。　He　sure　was　tricky　and　mean。　He　had　me　so　sore　that　I　went　from　his　office　straight　to　the　main　arena；　took　a　random　course　through　the　labyrinth　of　desks；　glancing　in　all　directions　at　faces；　shoulders；　and　arms；　and　took　my　time　picking　one　who　had　probably　been　a　Powers　model　and　got　fired　because　she　made　all　her　colleagues　look　below　standard。
　　I　sat　on　the　corner　of　her　desk　and　she　looked　up　at　me　with　the　clear　blue　eyes　of　an　angel　and　a　virgin。
　　I　leaned　to　her。　〃My　name　is　Peter　Truett；〃　I　told　her；　〃and　I've　been　hired　as　a　personnel　expert。　If　your　section　head　hasn't　told　you　about　me。。。〃
　　〃He　has；〃　she　said；　in　a　sweet　musical　voice；　a　contralto；　which　is　my　favorite。
　　〃Then　please　tell　me；　have　you　heard　any　gossip　recently　about　a　man　named　Moore？　Waldo　Wilmot　Moore？　Did　you　know　him　when　he　worked　here？〃
　　She　shook　her　head。　〃I'm　awfully　sorry；〃　she　said；　sweeter　than　before　if　anything；　〃but　I　only　started　here　day　before　yesterday；　and　I'm　leaving　on　Friday。　Just　because　I　can't　spell！　I　never　could　spell。〃　Her　lovely　fingers　were　resting　on　my　knee　and　her　eyes　were　going　straight　to　my　heart。　〃Mr。　Truman；　do　you　know　of　any　job　where　you　don't　have　to　spell？〃
　　I　forget　exactly　how　I　got　away。
　　
　　Chapter　Seven
　　I　had　been　assigned　a　room　of　my　own；　about　the　right　size　for　an　Irish　setter　but　not　big　enough　for　a　Great　Dane；　about　midway　of　the　row　of　offices　that　ran　along　the　uptown　side　of　the　arena。　It　contained　a　cute　little　desk；　three　chairs；　and　a　filing　cabinet　with　a　lock　to　which　I　had　been　given　the　key。　Apparently　there　were　nothing　but　shanties　across　the　street；　since　the　window　had　space　outside；　and　if　you　took　it　at　a　slant　there　was　a　good　view　of　the　East　River。
　　I　went　there　and　sat。
　　It　seemed　I　had　breezed　into　something　with　insufficient　consideration　of　strategy　and　tactics。　As　a　result　I　had　already　pulled　two　boners。　When　Kerr　Naylor　had　unexpectedly　jumped　the　gun　by　shoving　Moore　and　murder　at　me；　I　should　have　shrugged　it　off　as　a　man　with　a　single…track　stomach　and　no　appetite　for　anything　but　personnel　problems。　And　when　he　side…stepped　and　caught　me　off　balance；　I　should　have　backed　clear　up　and　looked　it　over；　instead　of　getting　peeved　and　spilling　Moore's　name　to　a　vision　of　delight　that　couldn't　spell。　I　was　too　exuberant。
　　On　the　other　hand；　I　certainly　didn't　intend　to　spend　a　week　or　so　just　getting　myself　established　as　a　personnel　expert。　I　sat　there　through　two　cigarettes；　thinking　it　over；　and　then　went　and　unlocked　the　filing　cabinet　and　got　out　a　couple　of　the　folders　I　had　stowed　there。　On　one　of　them　the　tab　said　STOCK　DEPARTMENT…STRUCTURAL　METALS　SECTION/font》；　and　on　the　other　STOCK　DEPARTMENT…CORRESPONDENCE　CHECKERS　SECTION。　With　the　folders　under　my　arm；　I　emerged　to　the　arena；　crossed　it　by　a　main　traffic　aisle；　and　knocked　at　the　door　of　an　office　on　the　other　side。　When　a　voice　told　me　to　e　in　I　entered。
　　〃Excuse　me；〃　I　said；　〃you're　busy。〃
　　Mr。　Rosenbaum；　the　head　of　the　Structural　Metals　Section；　was　a　middle…aged；　bald…headed　guy　with　black…rimmed　glasses。　He　waved　me　on　in。
　　〃So　what；〃　he　said　without　a　question　mark。　〃If　I　ever　dictated　a　letter　without　being　interrupted　I'd　lose　my　train　of　thought。　No　one　ever　knocks　around　here；　you　just　bust　in。　Sit　down。　I'll　ring　later；　Miss　Livsey。　This　is　the　Mr。　Truett　mentioned　in　that　memo　we　sent　around。　Miss　Hester　Livsey；　my　secretary；　Mr。　Truett。〃
　　I　was　wondering　how　I　had　ever　missed　her；　even　in　that　colossal　swarm　outside；　until　it　struck　me　that　a　section　head's　secretary　probably　had　her　own　room。　She　was　not　at　all