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EPISODE 52
While a contrite Howard clasped his
hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, Betty rolled her eyes. The Civics smiled. Waldo and Marlene smiled.
The firemen smiled… the fire blazed
on…
“But Mr. Gray... sir… your, your
h-house..." Howard stammered…
Waldo frowned, glancing towards the
fire. He removed a pair of glasses from
his pocket, wiped them on his shirt and put them on.
"Why there it is, it is! Well, how about that... after all these
years. Marlene... we'll never have to
put up with that rickety washing machine again.
How about that, Howard... finally burned up on me! After all these years. Well, all that I can say is burn, you
bastard... burn!"
"Mr. Gray!" Howard
protested. "It's your home, how can
you..."
"All insured, young man,"
the boss assured him, "all insured.
I'll build a better one... in fact, I'll start tonight. Marlene!"
Mrs. Gray, in her old brown coat and
pearls, provided Waldo with one of the fire department telephones. Waldo removed a cigar, lit it, and traced a
Chinese dragon across the sky.
"Get me my contractor,"
Waldo ordered. "Not the guinea...
Robinson! Wake him if you have to! I want his newest continental model... and order
aluminum siding and, especially, the all-fluorescent lighting."
Marlene saluted and began to
dial. A fireman approached.
"Beg pardon, sir, we've saved a
few of your things." He motioned
over his shoulder. "This
way, boys."
A queue of firemen with their hands
swathed in protective rags proceeded to offer up tribute to the President of
the Waldo Gray Insurance Agency. The
first held a scorched, black box.
"The accounts and policies of the
Waldo Gray Insurance Agency," Waldo cried, gleefully. He opened the safe
with the key that he kept around his neck, held up a fistful of papers and the
juvenile delinquents and rubber neckers
cheered. "Saved... saved, through the miracle of insulation! Next!"
Another firefighter handed Waldo a
smaller, black box, as outwardly burnt as the other.
"The silver! Good silver is second only to insurance as a
keepsake and investment."
He opened the box... which had not
been insulated. The Grays' dinnerware
had melted into fantasmic shapes and
parallelograms. "Well, so is
abstract art... I think." He passed
the box of silver abstract art to Marlene and picked up the receiver.
"At once,
Robinson! Yes... I'll be writing
myself a check this very evening."
He returned the telephone to
Marlene. A fireman lay the last,
unopened bottle of champagne at his feet, another brought forth the alabaster
Owl; two more tugged his rocking chair forward.
"Set it up the other way," Waldo pointed. "Towards this wonderful fire."
"Yes,
sir."
"Good man. Marlene," he called, "...bring some of those calendars we have in the trunk. They still have two months to run."
As the grateful firemen pretended to
squabble over his insurance calendars, Waldo settled in his rocking chair to
watch the fire.
"Bye bye,
house," Marlene said, behind him, as a blue smoke ring blew past. "Bye bye,
Timmy."
"But Timmy's safe," Betty informed her.
"He was in the cemetery with us, I think
he's around, somewhere..."
"Oh! How... nice," Mrs. Gray said with an
abstracted frown.
The house collapsed with a roar and a
shower of sparks. Blazing mice raced
across the lawn in every direction, firing up the lawn. The lieutenant called to his firemen...
"Stomp them out!"
And Waldo watching, blowing another
ring of pure, blue smoke. "And that's
the last of my Santa Marta Sixes, too," he noted, shaking his shaggy
head. "Next fishing trip, I'll be
casting for a case of Premium Eights and, for the special occasion, I hear that
those Cuban people have developed Number Tens!" He blew another smoke ring, and Howard
nodded.
"All of them, lost!" Betty said, confronting one
of the firemen, who had turned his back to her.
"The salesmen and their wives... and Mrs.
Harwood, too! Who cares?
Do you?"
The fireman turned, and
sympathetically extended her a wooden stake, on which was impaled a sizzling
haunch of flesh. "It
sort of tastes like lobster.
Good! There's lots of it
around... want some?"
"Go stomp mice!" Betty
snapped, and returned to Howard's side.
"Why it's as simple as baseball
and Ballantine," Waldo was explaining, and motioned the Slacks
closer. "Now listen, Howard...
Betty... there's no reason for alarm.
They may all be gone..."
He paused to blow a great smoke ring,
enclosing them within a moon of blue trust.
"...but every one of them had
life insurance! Their beneficiaries...
even Ferdie's new kitten... all will be cared for in
the manner of their custom and the dictates of their estates for the remainder
of their natural lives, Betty, and this is all made possible under the terms of
their insurance policies. These policies
need never fear that they may lapse again!
They have been paid to the capacity of their beholden. Do you, for a moment, think the Waldo Gray
Insurance Agency such an ephemera as to be lain low by
the loss of an auxiliary office and a few of its salesmen? No, Betty... it is more than that! Why, do you know that, if headquarters
downtown were to be taken from us, yes, were even we, ourselves, enveloped by
the Reaper's cloak... the policies of the Waldo Gray Insurance Agency would
remain in full force and effect! Stop,
it is true... were the town itself to vanish, this would not be changed, nor
even all of Hartford... for, you see, the Waldo Gray Insurance Agency is buttressed
by the powers of insurance everywhere
and, beyond that, by forces such as we dare not even comprehend. So let the fire have their play, the elements
their day, I say... here's one last bottle of champagne. A toast!
Waldo raised the bottle and aimed it
at the reddening moon. Five red, loud,
hot explosions answered, punctuating the night.
"The cars!" a fireman called
out. "We couldn't save them. All the doors were locked."
"Quite reasonably," said
Waldo, setting the bottle down with visible regret. Yours was
insured, wasn't it?"
A voice intruded. "Mr. Slack! Mr. Slack!"
"Who is that?" said
Howard. "Paula? What are you doing, here?"
The baby sitter was holding a big,
wooden box, with pictures of cabbages.
Something inside, covered by blankets, rustled and yawned.
"Here are the babies," Paula
said. "I saved them from the
fire." She glared accusingly at
Betty. "They say your old hi fi
couldn't handle my Elvis Presley record."
"Glory be,"
said Howard, "...safe! You'll get
another album, and a fine, big tip for this! Just wait... oh, my wallet was in my coat,
and my coat was... well, I'll pay you as soon as..."
His outstretched hand dropped slowly,
as through pudding. "Wait a
minute... Paula... this is the
fire!"
"The other fire, young man," Waldo corrected from his rocking
chair. "The fire
at your house! But with these..." he gestured to the
blackened box of policies... "you'll shortly be
resettled. And Marlene presented Howard
with his hat.
"We found it by the side of Deer
Point Road, rolling and rolling along on its merry little way; no doubt towards
your residence. It would have been
disappointed, poor thing, or even burned to a crisp, so we picked it up."
Howard brushed it off on his trousers,
and placed it on his head. And then, as
if electrocuted, began to shake, and fell to his knees before Waldo.
"Mr. Gray," he coughed,
"sir, all the others... I don't think they made it out..."
"So I gather," the boss
concurred. "Well, I guess this
means that you are our new Vice
President! Congratulations, Howard. You'll find an extra twenty dollars in your
envelope, come Friday."
The news struck him like a second
jolt, and pitched Howard to his belly, where he groveled before Waldo like a
viper.
"But... but..." he
slithered, "...sir, I don't deserve this..."
"Howard," Betty warned. Her expression was icy, as she pounded the
bloody heel into her palm. Howard rose
to one knee.
"You see," he said,
"I've done a foolish thing. I
bought a Canadian insurance policy. This
lady charmed me, the saleslady. She
caught me in a weakness." Howard
bowed his head, and slapped his knee for emphasis. "And, dammit, she sold me!"
Waldo extended a hand, snapping his
fingers. "I trust you have the
policy? Hand it over!"
"Certainly. Certainly." He dug the policy, crumpled and sooty, from
his pocket and handed it up to Waldo.
The boss glanced at the first page, flipped through the small print to
the signatures, squinted, nodded... and returned it to Howard.
"A bit damp, but looks fine to
me. I guess, with all that extra money,"
Waldo grunted, "you'll be moving up to Haddon Heights sooner, rather than
later. That's a good neighborhood for
the up and coming sorts, like you. Smart investment, Howie... just the sort of thing that I'd expect from a Vice President. I'll fix things up with Hartford so you won't
have to attend any more liability seminars... there are better things to do
with life. Like
fishing!"
Marlene winked at Betty.
Howard leaped up, triumphant.
"Gee, Betty, did you hear
that? We'll have a house in Haddon
Heights... on the bright side of the street.
A new car and a color television!
Thank you, Mr. Gray, thank you..."
"Why don't you accustom yourself
to calling me Waldo," the boss remarked.
"And don't thank me... you're merely earning your keep. Beginning at once! Here are some of Henry Harwood's old business
cards. All of these people here... some
are the clients of tomorrow!"
"Gee Mr. Gray... Waldo... a Vice
President doesn't sell insurance, not to people like those." Howard gestured
towards the rubber neckers,
Civics and the juvenile delinquents.
"He delegates authority, to the sales force. But without a sales force... Waldo, what
about Mr. and Mrs. McKee, the slaves whom I met in the tunnel? They will need jobs. Can you use your influence to get them out of
jail? I want to hire them."
"Former
slaves?" Waldo raised an
eyebrow. "A
woman?" He raised the other,
pondered, blew a great, blue smoke ring that drifted towards the fire. "Well... why not? The winds of change are breaking, and we must
stay up to date. Marlene... a
telephone! Get me the Chief of
Police..."
"Mr. Gray," said Betty,
firmly, "I have to..."
"All in
time," Waldo put her off, taking the telephone, "...all in due, due
time. Hello, Chief... yes, those
vagrants whom you've picked up at my fire?
Yes, I'll vouch for them... have them brought right back! See you Tuesday morning at the Country
Club. What's that... yes, I've a
candidate in mind. Good night!"
"I'll let them pass out my
business cards until they have cards of their own," Howard suggested. "That way, nothing goes to waste."
"Capital!" Waldo
agreed. "A Vice President must be
mindful of economies. Statistics,
accounts, economies... these are the number we live by, as surely as the ancient
wise magicians of Chaldea lived by the movement of the stars. The fundamental nature of a system is that
its performance is never merely the sum of its parts; rather, it is a
consequence of the interaction of these part... the idea, the man, and his
tools of the trade."
He removed an object from his pocket
and delivered it up to Howard, who held it against the moon as more fire sirens
pealed.
"This is a calculator, Howard, by
which the tedious percentages of commerce may be swiftly and accurately
resolved. If it had existed in poor
Henry's time, perhaps he would have lived a longer, more productive
life." Then Waldo chuckled. "Actually, I've had it for months. But why teach an old dog
new tricks?"
"Thank you, sir," said
Howard. "You won't regret it."
The sirens began winding down, and
Howard observed they were not fire engines but police cars and, in their midst,
rumbled the black maria. The back door was unbolted and, surrounded by
surly police, the slaves gingerly approached Waldo and
Howard. Waldo raised his hand in a
gesture of dismissal, and the police melted away.
"Welcome to the Waldo Gray
Insurance Agency," he said, extending a hand upwards to the slaves. "Work hard and cheerfully and, some day,
you'll be standing in my shoes... or sitting, rather, in this fine old
rocker! Perhaps, before that time,
you'll be promoted," he added, with a sideways wink that Howard found
disconcerting. "Say, what are those
medals that you're wearing?"
Howard stared, despite himself. He had only seen the slaves dimly, inside the
black maria and, before
that, by matchlight in the tunnel.
Elias fingered his medal. "That me makumbah!"
he said, softly. "It protect us from de evil eye..."
Waldo nodded as he unlocked his
strongbox, removing a sheaf of blank policies.
"I understand perfectly, I understand! Have either of you ever seen an insurance
policy?" he asked. "No... of course not. Well,
think of this, Mr. and Mrs. McKee, as merely one more makumbah. A talisman against the
darkness and unknown, which you have been authorized to sell to all those
people, out there in the night."
Waldo gestured outwards, then brought his fingers together in a snap. "Howard... the
business cards!"
"Thank you, Massa Howard,"
said Elias and Althea. "Thank
you! We sell up dese paper makumbah to de people out dere...
eat 'em up right quick!"
Armed with their policies and business
cards, the freed slaves left to begin their careers. Waldo reached into his pocket.
"Howard, you look like a man who
could use another cigar. I foresee a future
for you, even, ahem... an expense-paid vacation in a year or two..."
"Really, sir..." Howard
objected.
"I'll warn the fish in
advance. Why, I feel so happy,"
Waldo stated, rising from the rocker, "I could play the
xylophone." He knotted his eyebrows. "But, it's gone! No matter... it was covered. Instead, I'll buy a saxophone! Let the salesmen pass out business cards and
knock on doors. You'll play golf with
doctors, bankers and the people who invest in real estate. That's where the real money is." He
tapped his finger to his nose, three times.
As Howard was agreeing, perhaps too
enthusiastically, the tape had gradually been snuckering
back up into the Bloodmobile; consumed and digested by corrective machinery in
the front seat. Presently it was working
again... first haltingly, and then in firm, confident cadences.
'Vote for William Blood, Incumbent,
who will never confuse a healthy moderation with the interests of this
community for firm and forthright representation. And now, in his own words…
here's Bill Blood..."
The politician's disembodied voice
beguiled fire-watchers as the police shepherded two bedraggled men with long,
black beards and broken, snuffed-out lanterns towards the black maria, wherein the slaves and Howard had so recently
reposed.
"Look!" said Howard. "Those
are the bounty hunters who attacked us, under ground! They followed us out of the tunnel!"
"Well it serves them right,"
said Betty, and she put her palms to her lips.
"Hooray for the police!" she shouted.
Waldo sat back down in his chair and
blew six intertwining smoke rings.
"Well, that may be so. All
the same, they were only trying to make a living in a manner perfectly consistent
for the circumstances of their upbringing."
"Golly, sir, you're right!" Howard realized. "They should have the same chance as the
rest of us!"
Waldo smiled as Howard whistled for
Elias McKee.
"Go tell those police," he
told his salesman, that we understand
the Slakers, and we want to rehabilitate them. If they
wish, the brothers can join our sales staff... that will restore it to its
former strength... almost," he added, counting his fingers. "Give them business cards, and show them
what to do."
Elias left to confer with the
confounded, thrice-disappointed army of police.
Again, they reluctantly opened up the black maria. Peaked
hats in hand, the bounty hunters shuffled back towards Howard.
"Ah sure wish to thank you for yo' trouble, suh," said
Jared Slaker.
"Most folks would stay vengesome but,
next to Gen'rals Jackson and Lee, Augustus an' myself esteem you the most honorable man we ever have done
met. Now, we'll try to do the best we
can, an' be civil for the former slaves, as well. We will lay aside our brotherly oaths and
mythological abominations, and try to get along with other folks."
"Indeed, do so," Waldo
advised. "And be sure to set aside
a portion of your pay for policies of your own!"
August Slaker
begged Betty's pardon. "An' ah
don't blame you, ma'am for the having
to put out my eye. We wuz just trying to do our job..."
"Well, that's that!" Betty answered. "And someday, if it all works out, we'll
all go back down in the tunnel, just to reminisce... and then we'll have a
picnic."
Their hell-hound, Caiphas,
trailed behind the Slakers, followed close by a
sniffing, excited Spot.
"Do you see that, Betty?"
Howard nudged her. "Looks like our
ferocious Caiphas wasn't nothing
but a she-bitch!" Spot barked,
delightedly, and mounted the Slakers' dog. "Getting ideas?" Howard nudged his
wife.
"Oh shut up, you!" Betty
replied.
Far across town, the church bells
tolled the hour.
"Midnight!"
Howard solemnly declared.
"Tomorrow's here."
"How true! How true!" said Waldo, settling back
into his rocking chair, beneath which he had stashed the blistered box of policies. "There is the full moon, watching, like
an onion in an ice-cold martini. And the
Red Cross, with their coffee and those jelly donuts, which I love so dearly. Beneath us, the bedrock of
insurance and, before us... this delightful fire!"
And the boss picked up the last,
unbroken bottle of the blue champagne, again, as Marlene tapped the Civil
Defense triangle.
"Mr. Gray," said Betty,
"I am overwhelmed and pleased by all that has occurred, but there are
things I feel it is my duty to point out.
You see... we found a box with Chinese writing in your kitchen. And there was a pile of poison ivy... two
piles, a bird and radio, and lobsters, too, so... Mr. Gray... are you a Communist?"
"A Communist?" laughed
Waldo. "Why, of course not... I am an insurance man. That champagne comes from Good China, a gift
from Toy Sun, one of my oldest, dearest clients. And here's the last of it! We'll drink to risk. To risk!"
The cork popped upwards, and passed in
an arc across the sky, towards the moon.
The amateur astronomer erupted from his garden, aiming his telescope,
but too late... too late! The Red Cross,
with their donuts, closed in. Waldo
beckoned with his cigar towards the Red Cross ladies as Marlene passed out
paper cups of champagne.
"And now," he said,
"let's eat... and drink!"
"If I may, sir..." Howard
interrupted.
"Call me Waldo," snapped the
boss, distracted from the promise of the Red Cross donuts. Nonetheless, he held his cigar up for Howard,
to touch to his own, and both accepted paper cups of blue champagne from
Marlene. Betty glowered, but accepted
champagne, too.
Then Waldo, rising from his rocker,
raised his cup.
"A toast!" he
proclaimed. "A
toast, to all of us. To
glory! Glory! And to the world, and God,
and to the Waldo Gray Insurance Agency!"
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