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SWEET NECTAR #7

CHARLES CHAIM WAX

��Two days ago a blast of arctic air slammed into Brooklyn. It was like the sweet nectar of life to me. I loved with weather, perhaps because I imagined my spiritual birthplace to be the northern reaches of Outer Mongolia, even though it was merely the Bronx. A stroll through a winter’s night snowfall forever hurled me into delight.
��When I arrived at school the boilers were busted, actually, partially busted. Apparently, not enough pressure existed to shoot heat past the first floor. In my fourth floor classroom I left my wool knit cap on, but that was about it. The two students who showed up shivered. I felt sorry for the youngsters and tried to explain the Yoga of Inner Heat to them. Unfortunately, the principles didn’t seem to penetrate, as did the cold.
��After class I went to the Teacher’s Center on the first floor. The place was crowded. I guess a lot of teachers were here rather than in their refrigerated classes. The room was positively hot. I pulled a chair near the window, sat down, and promptly began to sweat. I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt, but that had little cooling effect. Then I lifted the heavy window just a bit from the bottom. A strong blast of frigid wind hit me in the chest. It felt exhilarating.
��Hugo Balch who sat a few feet away at the long table exclaimed, “Can you please close that window.”
��“It’s just open a little. I’m boiling alive.”
��“If I wanted to freeze I’d be in my room.”
��Just then Michael Tarr appeared at the entrance to the Teacher’s Center with his stepfather, Szabo, the renowned Hungarian Diet Doctor, now retired. I hadn’t seen the old guy since he was fired from his job here as a substitute biology teacher because he was caught fornicating with Miss Fanny B. in his room. Everyone became furious because the door was locked, and black construction paper covered the glass panes. They were consenting adults, it was noted, but that argument didn’t impress the Higher Ups. Szabo was well liked, and, at seventy-four years of age, had became known as “Daddy” to many of the teachers. He responded in kind and regarded them as his children.
��“Here,” I called out. They strolled over to me.
��“I’m waiting,” Hugo intoned.
��“You want me to stick my foot up your ass, fat boy.”
��As soon as I said that the expression on his face changed. And then it struck me. Hugo liked to argue well enough but when someone showed real aggression he folded up. Kate had done that and the same thing happened. “If you feel that way,” he whined, “keep it open. See if I care.” Then he triumphantly wound his scarf three times around his neck.
��Tarr whispered, “Pretty rough there, Bernstein.”
��“Nothing,” I laughed, and closed the window. “But I had a bad dream last night.”
��“Lord, no,” Tarr moaned. I stood and began to walk to the door. “Where you goin’?”
��“To get you and Szabo a chair from next door.” He smiled. The man could never get enough of the feeling that someone loved him. A moment later I returned with two chairs and placed them near the window. We all sat down. I immediately asked, “What are you doing here, Szabo? You could be arrested.”
��“What crime I do? Bullsheeet,” Szabo exclaimed in his thick Hungarian accent.
��Tarr moaned, “They’re paintin’ his place. The apartment is all upside down. My dear mother said I should look after him.”
��“Bullsheeet. He no do ice, like me. I drive tank in snow on Nazi bums.”
��“Well, uh, what he says, uh, ain’t a hundred percent false bein’ that last time there was so much ice I cracked up the car against a light pole, so, so to speak, Addie suggested, for the time bein’, uh, until they salt the streets properly, Szabo transport me.”
��“Oh.”
��“And then I come into this dungeon and they ain’t got no heat in classrooms. I ain’t goin’ and I ain’t goin’ home, neither. They should close the damn school.”
��Hugo leaned over a bit and said, “This is criminal action on their part. I should bring them up on charges.”
��“Now you’re talkin’,” Tarr exclaimed. And as soon as Tarr said that Hugo took it as a signal to move his chair and join us.
��Kate walked into the Teacher’s Center. She held a chair in her right hand. Apparently she had seen their absence and fetched one, as I had for Tarr and Szabo. I waved to her to join us. She sat next to Szabo. Hugo glanced at Kate for a moment. He waited for her to say something to him, but she said nothing.
��Tarr exclaimed, “Well, what was the cottonpickin’ bad dream you had last night?”
��“I woke up with an erection...”
��“Lord, no,” Tarr moaned.
��“What’s wrong with that?” Kate asked. “I like it when a man wakes up hard, shows he’s sincere.”
��“Yah, good, sonny boy,” Szabo exclaimed. Kate smiled. He noticed her smile.
��I blurted out, “Why is everyone so interested in my erection?”
��“I’m not,” Hugo muttered.
��“What are you interested in, Hugo?” Kate sneered.
��“Well, certainly not what happens to another man’s thing. I’m not like that. I was brought up different.”
��Then suddenly we heard “DADDY.” followed by a laugh. It was Earl at the entrance to the Teacher’s Center. He had especially taken to Szabo as a kindly surrogate father to replace his own who had beaten him with barber strop consistently throughout his childhood. This abuse caused him to add a laugh after every utterance, to placate his irrational father by showing him that no matter what Earl said no aggression was intended. And even though his father was now dead for many years the habit had continued until Szabo cured him by his kindly presence. Unfortunately, after Szabo’s dismissal the laugh returned.
��Earl rushed in to kiss Szabo on the cheek. After that he exclaimed, “Gettin’ a chair.” Then he laughed, and quickly left the room. A minute later he returned. Tarr moved a bit closer to me so Earl could sit next to Szabo. But when Earl sat he seemed to upset the equilibrium of the group. There was an awkward silence.
��Finally Tarr exclaimed, “C’mon, Bernstein. So, you woke up with an erection...”
��“Heavy,” Earl sighed, and then he laughed.
��“Why?” Tarr asked. “It’s natural.”
��“No, it’s not,” Hugo said.
��“Is to,” Kate snapped.
��“Is not.”
��“Is to.”
��“Is not.”
��“Is to.”
��“How do you know? You’re not a man.”
��“I been around.”
��“Don’t happen to me.”
��“Yah, me,” Szabo blurted out.
��“Same,” Tarr said casually.
��“Half and half,” Earl said, and then he laughed.
��“How does a woman do that?” Tarr blurted out.
��“Yeah,” Hugo exclaimed.
��“Yeah, what?” Kate snapped. I knew if she snapped at Hugo once more he’d clam up.
��I asked softly, “Don’t nobody want to hear the rest of my bad dream?”
��“I do, buddy boy,” Tarr exclaimed.
��“So, I woke up rubbin’ against the blanket...”
��“Lord, no, Bernstein. Spare us the intimate details...”
��“And there was Kathryn Hollwegs in a skin tight silver lame jumpsuit with it so tight I could see where the crack was...”
��“Front? Back? Be plain, sonny boy,” Szabo exclaimed.
��“Front. And she was on stage, a Las Vegas Revue, and she sported a blonde wig with curls piled high, one on top of the other.”
��“And?” Tarr asked.
��“That’s it.”
��“Who’s Kathryn Hollwegs?” Tarr asked.
��“You don’t know?”
��“No.”
��“It ain’t gonna sound like a bad dream if you ain’t never watched her TV show.”
��“She got a TV show?” Earl asked, and then he laughed.
��“Sunday morning.”
��“Never get up before 11 o’clock on Sunday,” Earl said, and then he laughed.
��“Kate?” I asked.
��“No.”
��I shook my head back and forth. I couldn’t believe no one had heard of the world renowned Kathryn Hollwegs. Finally I said, “She’s like a Guru to an entire generation of Yuppies, and especially those in Connecticut, and American Express had her doing commercials even.”
��Just then Earl exclaimed, “Ho, Hugo, you’re growin’,” and then he laughed.
��“Huh?” Hugo grunted.
��“It’s alive,” Earl exclaimed, and then he laughed.
��“What?”
��“Your pogo stick. It’s hoppin’,” Earl said, and then he laughed.
��Everyone immediately stared at Hugo’s crotch. He always wore the same pair of sweat pants to work. Unfortunately, he had been gaining weight steadily but hadn’t purchased a larger size to fit his expanded girth so his erection was clearly visible in outline form.
��“Huh?” Hugo grunted.
��“You got a hard-on. Stay away from me,” Kate snapped.
��Hugo looked down and saw what everyone else was looking at. He quickly reached for his coat and put it over his lap. Everyone continued to stare at him. Finally he mumbled, “I didn’t touch it so it don’t matter.”
��“You are one sick mope,” Kate exclaimed.
��“WHO IN THE HELL IS KATHRYN HOLLWEGS?” Tarr roared.
��Before I could answer two people appeared at the door. Irving Greenberg was one of the three new Project Directors appointed by the Higher Ups to run the place. The school had been divided into three separate units to improve education. We all knew this to be simply a ploy to employ more administrators, but since the union went along with this scam, the teachers couldn’t oppose it. The other person was a Higher Up from the Brooklyn Superintendent’s Office. I knew her sole concern was to keep the school open because if it were closed an investigation would launched by the Chancellor to determine why such an action was necessary, and that would mean a bad mark, a very bad mark, on the Superintendent’s Office. She wore a large fur hat and a full length mink coat, at least I think it was mink. She began, “Everyone who is not in a classroom and should be in a classroom will be cited for Insubordination.”
��Each person in the room stared at her, and at her full length mink coat.
��She continued, “I want their names now, Mr. Greenberg, every last one.”
��“Yes, Miss Van Deusen,” Irving Greenberg whispered.
��“Speak up, man. And I prefer, Miss V.”
��“Yes, Miss V.,” Irving whispered.
��“That one,” Miss V. said, and pointed in the direction of the long table but to no one in particular, as far as I could tell. When Miss V. did that Henrietta Hulskamp, Rose Jurka, Edith Penney, William Conboy, Laura Stork, and Irena Rosenberg trudged from the room.
��Since Eddie Hogan, a twenty-six year veteran, contentedly snored away he didn’t hear the threat of Insubordination and thus continued his nap, as was his custom in the Teacher’s Center because he worked most of the night driving a taxi to pay for the last six months of medical school for his twin daughters, Jane and June. They could have taken out a loan but Eddie’s wife, Peggy, on her deathbed, made the family promise never to be in debt on account of the fact her father died because of it. Apparently, Tony Fanuzzi, the loanshark, murdered him when he failed to repay his loan, including interest, on time. Ever since that sad day, in her mind, debt equaled death.
��“AND THE REST OF YOU?” Miss V. howled.
��“Yah, you make good Nazivoman,” Szabo exclaimed.
��She asked “What?” and Tarr moaned “Lord, no” at exactly the same moment, thus canceling out each other’s remark.
��She turned to Irving Greenberg and blared, “Get me the other two Project Directors and the teaching schedule of every pedagogue in the building.”
��When Miss V. said that Jim Feathergill, John Reed, and Kathryn Tucker trudged from the Teacher’s Center. The place was emptying out very quickly.
��She stared at the rest of the people in the room and exclaimed, “Insubordination is a serious offense, make no mistake about it. Your license could be revoked and your teaching career ended.” She paused and once again stared around the room. She smiled and said very slowly, “Don’t let this moment be the moment which ruins your entire life.”
��Tim Swanander said, “I’m going home. I don’t feel well.”
��“Fine. The day will be deducted from your sick leave bank. I hope you feel better so you can return tomorrow.” He trudged out.
��Just as he left Sarah Kirkup strode into the room. She sat at the long table. There were plenty of chairs now. A moment later the two other Project Directors showed up. Each one had a schedule of all teacher programs. Miss V. snapped, “Look around. Any Insubordinates present?”
��Sarah Kirkup immediately said, “Listen Tillie...”
��“What did you say?”
��“Tillie. I believe that is your Christian name...
��“What gives you the right to address me in such a manner, Ms. Kirkup?”
��I settled back into my chair. Apparently they knew each other, and had tangled before. From what I had seen Miss V., or Mrs. Van Deusen, or Tillie was a formidable opponent, but I knew Sarah would not back down, as the others had done so easily.
��“Let’s stop wasting time. This isn’t about personalities. No one is required to teach in a classroom if the temperature falls below 50 degrees,” Sarah asserted.
��Miss V. replied gently, “My dear, the children need their teachers. Teachers are so important. The education of the children is so important.” Then she turned to the three Project Directors and exclaimed, “I’m toasty. Is anyone cold?”
��Cora Wiggens said, “It is a bit chilly...”
��“Not to me. Are you really sure it’s chilly?”
��“Well...”
��Just then the bell rang. Miss V. immediately switched her tone and snapped, “Point out the ones who should not be here.”
��Cora pointed to everyone sitting in our little group, including Szabo. Perhaps she thought he was a substitute, or had forgotten he was thrown out of the school for public fornication.
��“We’ll do one at a time,” Miss V. said ominously. “Ladies first. What is your name, dear?”
��Kate babbled, “I ain’t goin’. It’s too freakin’ cold. I got sick with pneumonia last year. And plus there ain’t hardly no students in the building. They left cause of the cold.”
��“The repair men are working on the boiler, even as we speak. What’s the problem, my dear?”
��I looked outside. I didn’t see any truck. They had to be out front to run hoses for the compressed air since the boiler was directly under the Teacher’s Center.
��Kate shrieked, “I ain’t gettin’ sick for nobody. I’m a teacher, not no penguin.”
��“Get going, honey, before something happens to you which you will not be able to handle.”
��“Are you threatening me?”
��“Informing you, my dear.”
��“Kate, please. I’ll give you my coat to wear, a long down coat, warm as toast,” Cora pleaded.
��“Move it,” Miss V. commanded.
��“Suck my pussy,” Kate replied.
��Before Miss V. could respond Earl asked, “Did I hear someone say, ‘Suck my pussy’?” and then he laughed.
��“Terminated,” Miss V. said. “Who’s next?”
��“Suck my pussy,” Kate repeated. This time Earl said nothing.
��“Who said that? Not that one. She doesn’t exist. She’s been terminated.” Kate growled. I was sure if this Higher Up said another word Kate would leap up and deck her.
��“You,” Miss V. intoned, and pointed to Hugo.
��“Me?”
��“You.” Then she turned to the three Project Directors and asked, “Who owns that one?” Philip Schupbach nodded his head. “Does he have a class now?” He nodded his head. Miss V. turned to Hugo and shrieked, “MOVE IT.”
��“It’s too cold,” Hugo mumbled.
��Miss V. smiled her gentle smile and soothingly intoned, “A big boy like yourself...” And then in the middle of the sentence she effortlessly switched to the mode of Imperial Commander and shrieked, “...MOVE IT.”
��“It’s too cold. I can’t get sick. I got a frail stepmother who can’t do nothin’ so I gotta do everything. If I get sick the whole house is lost.”
��“If you lose your job what is your dear stepmother going to do then?”
��I reached into my pocket and pulled out a licorice chew stick and began to alternately suck and chew it.
��Hugo moaned, “You can’t fire me. There gotta be Due Process.”
��“A lawyer. Fine. This is the way it works. If you do not approve of a decision by an Administrator you may file a grievance, but you do not have the right to refuse to follow a decision. It’s in the contract. I suggest you read it carefully. If you do not follow the order of an Administrator it is called Insubordination, and the consequences for Insubordination are serious, very serious.” Then Miss V. turned to Irving Greenberg and asked, “Where’s that Joke, Jake, Jerk...what’s his name?”
��“Jack, Jack Guterman, UFT Chapter Chairman.”
��“Oh, yes. We must have the United Federation of Teachers Chapter Chairman explain the contract to him since we’ve already lost one teacher.” Kate’s nostrils flared when she heard that but she didn’t say a word.
��Hugo moaned, “Is she right? Could I lose my job?”
��“Don’t ask me,” Earl said, and then he laughed.
��“Don’t know,” Tarr said. “What about it, Steve? You know these things.”
��I took the chew stick out of my mouth and held it as if it were an elegant cigarillo and blew imaginary smoke rings into the air. Szabo seemed very interested in that action, although he was not before when I simply chewed it.
��“Yah. Give daddy one.”
��I reached into my bag and rummaged through the chew sticks to find an especially good one for Szabo. I found one with great dignity, gave it to him, and said, “You chew it, you suck it. Make believe it’s a cigar. Cuts down on the nicotine intake.”
��“Yah, good. Smart boy.” I handed him the chew stick. He put the twig in his mouth, gave it two quick sucks, and blew imaginary smoke rings into the air.
��Then I heard, “Who are those two?”
��I don’t know what got into me but I said, “Talk to me direct, Tillie, or don’t talk to me at all.”
��“Lord, no, Bernstein, please, please, don’t start with this one. Hold your tongue. I know how you get. I seen you. But you can’t win here.”
��Miss V. said calmly, “One at a time. Go to your class. Think of your dear stepmother and how much she needs your paycheck, especially in these difficult times of government cutbacks.”
��Hugo desperately stared at me and moaned, “What’s the contract say, Steve? On my side? Cause if it is I’ll stand my ground.”
��“She’s correct. Follow the order then file the grievance.”
��Hugo stood and put on his coat. Unfortunately, the erection was still there and very apparent. It pounded to be released from the confines of his constricting sweat pants.
��Miss V. caught sight of it and was thrown for a loop. Finally she babbled, “What? What? What in God’s name is wrong with you?”
��By now Hugo was a shell of his former self, such as that was, and clearly felt he was soon to be homeless, as was his stepmother. “What?” he whimpered.
��“Your pogo stick is hopping about,” Earl said, and then he laughed.
��“What?” Hugo moaned.
��“COCK UP,” Szabo roared.
��Hugo looked down and saw the long thick bulge. He shook his head back and forth and babbled, “I ain’t touched it, swear to God I ain’t, cross myself hope to die.”
��“AND DO YOU EXPECT TO WALK INTO A CLASSROOM LIKE THAT?” Miss V. shrieked.
��“Down boy,” Hugo pleaded, but to no avail.
��“I think you should go home. I think you should be examined...”
��“GET DOWN, YOU NASTY WORM,” Hugo bellowed, and then he slapped his penis which unfortunately only perpetuated the erection.
��A young girl walked past, looked in to see what the commotion was all about, and wailed, “That white man got a big dick...”
��Miss V. immediately ushered everyone into the Teacher’s center and closed the door.
��It was clear that the more nervous Hugo became the stiffer his penis became.
��Then Hugo turned his back to Miss V. and moaned, “Make it go down.”
��“Who you talkin’ to?” Earl asked, and then he laughed.
��Suddenly Hugo began to cry. A look of pity even flashed across Kate’s face. But I was surprised when she said, “Leave the freakin’ guy alone, you bitch, can’t you see he’s got problems.”
��“Who said that? What said that?” Miss V. chirped.
��“God, help me please,” Hugo moaned. “She’s gonna send me to a shrink. I don’t wanna go to a shrink. I don’t do good with shrinks. They don’t understand me.” His left leg began to twitch, and then suddenly his right hand was down his sweatpants and he began to masturbate compulsively, out of terror, certainly not for pleasure, as a last desperate act of self-soothing before panic was utterly victorious.
��“Oooohhh,” Earl laughed.
��“What is he doing?” Miss V. demanded to know. But by this time his thrusting pelvis must have spelled it out for everyone.
��“Don’t turn around, Hugo,” I said calmly.
��Miss V. began to walk toward us. Suddenly Szabo flashed out his hand, grabbed Hugo’s testicles, and squeezed like a vise, but only for an instant, and the erection disappeared. Hugo’s face twisted quickly from pain to a smile. Szabo held the licorice chew stick in his left hand and serenely blew imaginary smoke rings into the air. Hugo slid his trembling arm from his sweatpants and shook Szabo’s rock steady hand. Then he turned. There was nothing to see.
��“In the future sweatpants are not appropriate for a Professional,” Miss V. said.
��“Yes, I understand. May I go now?”
��“On your way,” Miss V. commanded.
��“You better go also, Earl,” Sarah said.
��“You think so?” he asked, and then he laughed.
��“No telling what you might do under pressure.”
��“True,” Earl said, and then he laughed.
��“Do you always laugh after every statement you make?” Miss V. asked. “That is not normal.”
��“Me?” Earl asked, and then he laughed.
��“You did it again.”
��“Did what?” Earl asked, and then he laughed.
��Szabo stood and roared, “SONNY BOY. BE MAN. DADDY LOVE YOU.”
��“You do?” Earl asked.
��“Yah.”
��“Thanks, daddy,” Earl said, and pranced from the Teacher’s Center.
��Sarah exclaimed, “You’ve won this time, but that won’t always be the case. Not after I become President of the UFT.”
��Miss V. intoned, “My very dear friend, and President of the United Federation of Teachers for life, the wonderful Lotte Hagelstein, eats pip-squeaks like you.” Then she cackled, “Like after dinner mints.”
��Sarah left the Teacher’s Center.
��Tarr whispered, “What are we gonna do, Bernstein?”
��“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Miss V. shrieked. “Name.”
��“Michael Tarr.”
��“Move it. You’re late for class.” Then she turned to the Project Directors and asked, “Who owns that one?” Cora raised her hand. “See that he spends fifteen minutes in after school detention to make up for the time he’s missed so far.” Cora nodded her head.
��Tarr whispered, “What should I do, Steve?”
��“Go to class. When the time comes vote for Sarah. We can’t do anything by ourselves. It’s the system. Sarah got the right idea.”
��Tarr stood.
��“Give daddy kiss,” Szabo said.
��“Not now,” Tarr moaned.
��“Give daddy a kiss, Michael. Honor thy father and thy mother. It’s in the Bible. They can’t do nothing to you for following the Ten Commandments.”
��“Well, uh, he’s only my stepfather, so, uh, they could get me on a technicality...”
��“Kiss the guy already. Show respect.”
��Tarr bent and kissed Szabo on the cheek and then began to walk out of the room. He turned and said, “Wait here, daddy.”
��“Yah, yah. Don’t vorry. I get you home safe.” Then Tarr trudged out of the room.
��I noticed tears silently streamed down Kate’s cheek. She faced the window so Miss V. could not see.
��I said, “Cora, can’t you say somethin’ to get Kate another chance? She’s a good girl...woman. She didn’t mean what she said.” I waited for Kate to respond but she faced resolutely away from Miss V. and shed her tears secretly. I knew this job, the money anyway, gave her the independence to pursue her poetry, and being fired might even jeopardize her chances of getting the Fullbright Scholarship for which she had applied.
��“Oh, she’s such a wonderful teacher,” Cora proclaimed. “The children love her. She’s come up with so many wonderful projects. Kate is a real innovator, and we so desperately need creative teachers. I’m sure this will never happen again...”
��As she was speaking Szabo leaned to me and asked, “Where daughter?”
��“Ottelia?”
��“Yah.”
��“Michael didn’t tell you?”
��“He tell me nothing. Mmmm, this good twig, get daddy hundred.”
��“OK, yeah. She went to Hollywood to act in...”
��“Ah, actress. Yah. Oh, what country we live...”
��“But I haven’t spoken to her since she went there, about two weeks ago.”
��“Give daddy number. I call.”
��“I don’t know her number.”
��“Find out for daddy. I vorry for children, to be happy.”
��When I looked up Kate was standing and wiping the tears from her eyes. She said softly, “I’m sorry. This will never happen again. I assure you.” Then she trudged from the Teacher’s Center.
��Szabo stood and farted.
��“YOU,” Miss V. shrieked.
��Szabo farted six or seven quick short bursts and moaned, “Bad oatmeal...” Thereupon he belched loudly and a moment later sighed, “Better.”
��“WHAT RUDENESS,” Miss V. shrieked.
��Szabo stared at her and said casually, “Chondrocranium specimen.” Then he turned to me and said, “Tell sonny boy I take taxi home. He drive. He learn. Too much bullsheeet. I no punk. Kiss daddy good-bye.”
��I stood and kissed him. He smiled, turned, and brushed past Miss V., as if she were a cut out cardboard figure.
��“You. Name,” Miss V. snapped.
��“Steve Bernstein.”
��“Oh, he’s such a wonderful teacher,” Cora proclaimed. “The children love him. One of his students won the Columbia University Annual Spring Poetry contest last year...”
��“Third place actually...”
��“Yes, yes, whatever...”
��“Thank you, Cora,” Miss V. said. Then she turned to me and asked, “Is there a problem?”
��“I love the cold,” I mumbled.
��“I KNOW YOU,” Miss V. shrieked.
��Her shrill voice must have awoken Eddie Hogan because he lifted his head from the table and exclaimed, “Ya buncha whooahs. Shut ya yaps.”
��I was shocked by his outburst, even though I knew sleep deprivation often induced irrational behavior. Then, just as unbelievable as his remarks, he placed his head on the table and resumed snoring. Perhaps he was sleep talking, but from the expression on Miss V.’s face that wouldn’t have made any difference. She had been called a “whooah.”
��“ARREST HIM,” she wailed. Each of the three Project Directors looked at one another and wondered to whom she was talking.
��Eddie lifted his head once more and exclaimed, “What’s it gonna take for you buncha bums to pipe down.”
��“TERMINATEDTERMINATEDTERMINATED,” Miss V. yowled again and again.
��“Eddie,” I blurted out, “say you’re sorry.”
��“The hell I will. A man got a right to sleep, and God knows I need it.”
��“THROW HIM OUT,” Miss V. howled. When none of the Project Directors moved she asked, “Who owns that?” Philip Schupbach raised his hand.
��Eddie removed his glasses from his breast pocket and put them on.
��Philip Schupbach stepped towards him and mumbled, “I think you should leave...for your own good.”
��“Write me up, Phil, won’t be the first time, won’t be the last time.”
��“Just say you’re sorry, Eddie,” I whispered.
��“For what?”
��“You called Miss V. a ‘whooah.’”
��“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THAT WORD AGAIN IN THIS BUILDING AGAIN,” Miss V. bellowed.
��Eddie blinked several times and muttered, “Had a drunk in the cab last night. Threw his guts up. Do you know who hadda clean that shit? Me. And you got any idea what a pound of half digested oysters looks like?”
��I didn’t know who he was talking to. Nevertheless I mumbled, “Not really.”
��“DO YOUR DUTY, SCHUPBACH,” Miss V. roared.
��“Eddie, please,” he whined. Then he added, “If not for you, for me.”
��Eddie closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them he sighed, “I quit.”
��“What about Jane and June?” I gasped. “They ain’t finished with medical school yet.”
��He stared at me for a moment and then asked, “Can you lend me the ten grand, Steve?”
��“PEGGY,” I gasped.
��“Ah, Peggy, sweet Peggy...”
��“That you should never be in debt, from her deathbed she begged you.”
��“You ain’t no Tony Fanuzzi.”
��“No, but...”
��“Can you do help me out?...so I don’t gotta put up with these monsters no more.”
��“MONSTERS,” Miss V. shrieked.
��When I heard her shrill ear-splitting voice I sighed, “Yeah.”
��“So what am I doing here?” Eddie laughed. “I’m goin’ to retire.”
��“And I’m goin’ to room 224,” I declared, “to teach these kids of the sweet nectar of life.” Thereupon I ambled gracefully past a somewhat confused and strangely silent Miss V.



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