Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler [89]
“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself,” I said, my giggles uncontrollable now.
“You’re in need of a laugh? Good. Because I’ve got a real hee-haw for you. There isn’t a person here who isn’t looking for a job somewhere else. Big shot. Whoremaster. You think you’re David Selznick, but they call you Hitler and sometimes Dean Martin behind your back. Not because of your good looks — don’t worry, you’re so fucken ugly — but because you’re a drunkard like him. What are you anyway? Nothing squared. Your father is a cop on the take and your mother was a laughing-stock from day one. She got that letter from Hedda Hopper that time, with the autographed photo — it was printed, her signature — but your mother showed it to everybody on the street, they didn’t know where to look.”
“You’re digging yourself a deep hole, Arnie.”
“Francine once went to deliver some documents to you and she says she caught you wearing a silly straw hat, dressed like the Jack of Hearts, she said, wearing tap-dance shoes. Ha, ha, ha. Fred Astaire, look to your laurels. Whoop-de-do, here comes Gene Kelly Panofsky. Boy, did we ever have a laugh at your expense! So up yours, you putz from way back, I can’t tell you how glad I am to be finished here.” And he was gone.
Charging out of my office in a rage, in pursuit of Arnie, I all but collided with Hugh Ryan. “This is all your fault, Hugh. You’re fired. You’re finished here today.”
“I have no idea what you’re burbling about, but methinks somebody has had one too many.”
“I won’t have you tormenting Arnie any more. Clean out your desk and get out.”
“What about my contract?”
“You’ll get six months’ salary, and that’s it. Bonjour la visite.”
“In that case, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. What had I done? I could manage without Arnie, that peckerhead, but I couldn’t do without my prized goyische bank connection. In my mind’s eye, I saw demand notes surfacing on my desk first thing in the morning. Loans being called in. Maybe government auditors sent over to rake through my files. “What’s everybody staring at?” I demanded.
Heads lowered.
“Hitler here is thinking of cutting staff. Downsizing.37 So if anybody here wants a job elsewhere, now’s the time to make your move. You’re dispensable. Every last one of you. Like Kleenex. Have a nice day.”
Feeling wretched, deeply embarrassed by my unforgivable outburst, I made straight for Dink’s, in search of sustenance.
“Hard day at the office, darling?” asked John Hughes-McNoughton.
“You know something, John? You’re not nearly as witty as you think. Especially when you’ve been boozing all day. Like now,” I said, and moved on to the Ritz bar.
It must have been eight o’clock when I staggered out of there, slid into a taxi, and drove to Arnie’s apartment in the wilds of Chomedy. Abigail answered the door. “You dare to come here?” she hissed, aghast.
“To see him, not you,” I said, brushing past her.
“It’s Shit-face, Arnie. For you.”
Arnie switched off the TV. “I went to see my lawyer this afternoon and anything you have to say should be said to him. Because in Lazar’s opinion, I have a good case for damages. Unfair dismissal.”
“But you quit.”
“You fired him first,” said Abigail. “He’s got that in his notes.”
“Anybody mind if I sit down?”
“Sit.”
“Arnie, I did not fire you today. I called you in to say I was firing Hugh,” I said, emphasizing the “H.”
“Oh, my God,” said Arnie, rocking his head in his hands.
“Don’t start snivelling. This has already been too long a day for me.”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Fire Hugh?”
“Yes.”
“About time,” said Abigail.
“Have you got anything to drink here?”
Arnie hurried over to a cupboard. “We’ve got some peach brandy left over from Craig’s bar mitzvah. Wait. There’s something left in this bottle of Chivas.”
“He doesn’t drink Chivas. He drinks — how would I know? I’m all mixed up. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ll get you a glass.”
“So what happens now?” asked Arnie, rocking, his hands squeezed between his legs.
“Well, you said some very harsh things to me today.”
“But I was going crazy in there. I take it back.