While Mortals Sleep_ Unpublished Short Fiction - Kurt Vonnegut [59]
Carmody chuckled appreciatively. “What a card, Bomar.”
Miss Daily snorted.
“Now, now, Miss Daily, you mustn’t get mad at Bomar,” said Sterling. “He’s just playful and high-spirited is all. We’d all live high, if we could.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Miss Daily hotly. “It’s the wickedest thing I ever heard of. That nasty boy—and here we are, sending him more money, money he won’t even notice, so he can throw it away. It isn’t Christian. I wish I were already retired, so I wouldn’t have to face doing this.”
“Grit your teeth, the way Mr. Sterling and I do,” said Carmody.
“Bite the bullet, Miss Daily,” said Sterling.
Two weeks later, Carmody and his protégé, Sterling, were in the Acme Grille, with Carmody speaking to Sterling sternly for the first time in their relationship.
“Man, you’ve killed the goose that laid the golden eggs,” said Carmody. “You’re weak. You succumbed to temptation.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” said Sterling miserably. “I can see that now. I over-did. I wasn’t myself. Twenty-four-hour flu.”
“Overdid!” said Carmody. “You had Bomar charter the Queen Elizabeth.”
“Madcap Bomar,” said Sterling ruefully. “When she doubted it, I tried to turn it into a joke.”
“You turned the whole thing into a joke. When she started cross-examining you about everything we’d ever told her about Bomar, you went all to pieces.”
“It was a lot of material to keep track of,” said Sterling. “What can I say, after I’ve said I’m sorry? What gets me is how hard it hit her.”
“Of course it hit her hard. She’s humiliated, and it takes a big piece out of her life. The lonely old soul took to Bomar like a cannibal to a fat Baptist missionary. She loved Bomar, he made her feel so righteous. Now you’ve taken Bomar from her—and from us, boy.”
“I didn’t admit we’d made the whole thing up.”
“It was plain enough. The only thing that would convince her now would be for Bomar to show up in the flesh.”
Sterling stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “Well—is that utterly inconceivable?”
“Not utterly,” Carmody admitted.
“There—you see?” said Sterling. “It’s always darkest before the dawn. Think of what it would mean to Miss Daily to be able to square off Bomar Fessenden III, to his face! In three more months she retires after forty years of service. What a way to wind it up!”
Carmody nodded interestedly, and chewed. “Your crumb-bun taste a little funny?”
“Order a crumb-bun, you get a crumb-bun,” said Sterling. “Now, about Bomar: he should be fat and dissipated, short and insolent—”
“With a sports coat down to his knees,” said Carmody, “a tie like the flag of Liberia, and gum-soles as thick as fruitcakes.”
Miss Daily was absent from the office when Carmody and Sterling returned after an extensive search for a replica of the Bomar Fessenden III of their imaginations. They’d found their man in a supply room of the Research and Development Laboratory, and bought his services for five dollars. His name was Stanley Broom, and, as Bomar, he was perfect.
“He doesn’t have to act worthless,” said Sterling happily, “he is worthless.”
“Shh!” said Carmody, and Miss Daily walked in.
She looked terribly upset. “You’re making fun of me again,” she said.
“Why would we do that?” said Carmody.
“You two made it all up—about Bomar.”
“Made it up?” said Sterling incredulously. “My dear Miss Daily, Bomar is going to be in this very office before twenty-four hours have passed. I just received a telegram. He’s stopping off here on his way from Monte Carlo to Catalina.”
“Please, please,” said Miss Daily, “you’ve done too much already. You don’t know what you’ve done.”
“Miss Daily, it most certainly isn’t a joke,” said Sterling. “He’ll be here tomorrow, and you can see him for yourself. Pinch him, even. He’s real, all right.” He watched her closely, puzzled by the importance she seemed to attach to Bomar. “If Bomar were a joke—what difference would that make?”
“He is real? You promise?