sk.cujo-第45节

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at　had　been　wrong　had　been　wrong　with　the　business。　Incredibly；　he　felt　a　wave　of　nostalgia　for　that　day　and　wondered　what　Tad　and　Donna　were　doing。　Got　to　call　them　tonight；　he　thought。　If　I　can　stay　sober　enough　to　remember；　that　is。
'So　what　now？'　Rob　asked。　'You　hangin　out　in　Boston　or　going　on　to　New　York？　I　can　get　you　guys　tickets　to　the　Boston…Kansas　City　series；　if　you　want　them。　Might　cheer　you　up　to　watch　George　Brett　knock　a　few　holes　in　the　Ieft…field　wall。'
Vic　looked　at　Roger；　who　shrugged　and　said；　'On　to　New　York；　I　guess。　Thanks　are　in　order；　Rob；　but　I　don't　think　either　opus　are　in　the　mood　for　baseball。'
'There's　nothing　more　we　can　do　here；'　Vic　agreed。　'We　had　a　lot　of　time　scheduled　on　this　trip　for　brainstorming；　but　I　guess　we're　all　agreed　to　go　with　the　final　spot　idea。'
'There's　still　plenty　of　rough　edges；'　Rob　said。　'Don't　get　too　proud。'
'We　can　mill　off　the　rough　edges；'　Roger　said。　'One　day　with　the　marketing　people　ought　to　do　it；　I　think。　You　agree；　Vic？'
'It　might　take　two；'　Vic　said。　'Still；　there's　no　reason　why　we　can't　tie　things　up　a　lot　earlier　than　we'd　expected。'
'Then　what？'
Vic　grinned　bleakly。　'Then　we　call　old　man　Sharp　and　make　an　appointment　to　see　him。　I；　imagine　we'll　end　tip　going　straight　on　to　Cleveland　from　New　York。　The　Magical　Mystery　Tour。'
'See　Cleveland　and　die；'　Roger　said　gloomily；　and　poured　the　remainder　of　his　beer　into　his　glass。　'I　just　can't　wait　to　see　that　old　fart。'
'Don't　forget　the　young　fart；'　Vic　said；　grinning　a　little。
'How　could　I　forget　that　little　prick？'　Roger　replied。　'Gentlemen；　I　propose　another　round。'
Rob　looked　at　his　watch。　'I　really　ought　to　…'
'One　last　round；'　Roger　insisted。　'Auld　Lang　Sync；　if　you　want。'
Rob　shrugged。　'Okay。　But　I　still　got　a　business　to　run；　don't　forget　that。　Although　without　Sharp　Cereals；　there's　going　to　be　space　for　a　lot　of　long　lunches。'　He　raised　his　glass　in　the　air　and　waggled　it　until　a　waiter　saw　him　and　nodded　back。
'Tell　me　what　you　really　think；'　Vic　said　to　Rob。　'No　bullshit。　You　think　it's　a　bust？'
Rob　looked　at　him；　seemed　about　to　speak；　then　shook　his　head。
Roger　said；　'No；　go　ahead。　We　all　set　out　to　sea　in　the　same　pea…green　boat。　Or　Red　Razberry　Zingers　carton；　or　whatever。　You　think　it's　no　go；　don't　you？'
'I　don't　think　there's　a　chance　in　hell；'　Rob　said。　'You'll　work　up　a　good　presentation　…　you　always　do。　You'll　get　your　background　work　done　in　New　York；　and　I　have　a　feeling　that　everything　the　market…research　boys　can　tell　you　on　such　short　notice　is　all　going　to　be　in　your　favor。　And　Yancey　Harrington。。。。　I　think　he'll　emote　his　fucking　heart　out。　His　big　deathbed　scene。　He'II　he　so　good　he'll　make　Bette　Davis　in　Dark　Victory　look　like　Ali　MacGraw　in　Love
'Oh；　but　it's　not　like　that　at　all　…'　Roger　began。
Rob　shrugged。　'Yeah；　maybe　that's　a　little　unfair。　Okay。　Call　it　his　curtain　call；　then。　Whatever　you　want　to　call　it；　I've　been　in　this　business　long　enough　to　believe　that　there　wouldn't　he　a　dry　eye　in　the　house　after　that　mercial　was　shown　over　a　three…　or　four…week　period。　It　would　knock　~body　on　their　asses。　But　…'
The　beers　came。　The　waiter　said　to　Rob；　'Mr。　Johnson　asked　me　to　tell　you　that　he　has　several　parties　of　three　waiting；　Mr。　Martin。'
'Well；　you　run　back　and　tell　Mr。　Johnson　that　the　boys　are　on　their　last　round　and　to　keep　his　undies　dry。　Okay；　Rocky？'
The　waiter　smiled；　emptied　the　ashtray；　and　nodded。
He　left。　Rob　turned　back　to　Vic　and　Roger。　'So　what's　the　bottom　line？　You're　bright　boys。　You　don't　need　a　one…legged　cameraman　with　a　snootful　of　beer　to　tell　you　where　the　bear　shat　in　the　buckwheat。'
'Sharp　just　won't　apologize；'　Vic　said。　'That's　what　you　think；　isn't　it？'　Rob　saluted　him　with　his　bottle　of　beer。　'Goto　the　head　of　the　class。'
'It's　not　an　apology；'　Roger　said　plaintively。　'It's　a　fucking　explanation。'
'You　see　it　that　way；'　Rob　answered；　'but　will　he）　Ask　yourself　that。　I've　met　that　old　geezer　a　couple　of　times。　He'd　see　it　in　terms　of　the　captain　deserting　the　sinking　ship　ahead　of　the　women　and　children；　giving　up　the　Alamo；　every　stereotype　you　can　think　of。　No；　I'll　tell　you　what　I　think　is　going　to　happen；　my　friends。'　He　raised　his　glass　and　drank　slowly。　'I　think　a　valuable　and　all　too　short　relationship　is　going　to　e　to　an　end　very　soon　now。　Old　man　Sharp　is　going　to　listen　to　your　proposal；　he's　going　to　shake　his　head；　he's　going　to　usher　you　out。　Permanently。　And　the　next　PR　firm　will　be　chosen　by　his　son；　who　will　make　his　Pick　based　on　which　one　he　believes　will　give　him　the　freest　rein　to　indulge　his　crackpot　ideas。'
'Maybe；'　Roger　said。　'But　maybe　he'll
'Maybe　doesn't　matter　shit　one　way　or　the　other；'　Vic　said　vehemently。　'The　only　difference　between　a　good　advertising　man　and　a　good　snake…oil　salesman　is　that　a　good　advertising　man　does　the　best　job　he　can　with　the　materials　at　hand　。。。　without　stepping　outside　the　bounds　of　honesty。　'Rat's　what　this　mercial　is　about。　If　he　turns　it　down；　he's　turning　down　the　best　we　can　do。　And　that's　the　end。　Toot…finny。'　He　snuffed　his　cigarette　and　almost　knocked　over　Roger's　half…full　bottle　of　beer。　His　hands　were　shaking。
Rob　nodded。　'I'll　drink　to　that。'　He　raised　his　glass。　'A　toast；　gentlemen。'
Vic　and　Roger　raised　their　own　glasses。
Rob　thought　for　a　moment　and　then　said：　'May　things　turn　out　all　right；　even　against　the　odds。'
'Amen；'　Roger　said。
They　clinked　their　glasses　together　and　drank。　As　he　downed　the　rest　of　his　beer；　Vic　found　himself　thinking　about　Donna　and　Tad　again。
George　Meara；　the　mailman；　lifted　one　leg　clad　in　blue…gray　Post　Office　issue　and　farted。　just　lately　he　farted　a　great　deal。　He　was　mildly　worried　about　it。　It　didn't　seem　to　matter　what　he　had　been　eating。　Last　night　he　and　the　wife　had　had　creamed　cod　on　toast　and　he　had　farted。　This　morning。　Kellog's　Product　19　with　a　banana　cut　up　in　it　…　and　he　had　farted。　This　noon；　down　at　the　Mellow　Tiger　in　town；　two　cheeseburgers　with　mayonnaise　。。。　ditto　farts。
He　had　looked　up　the　symptom　in　The　Home　Medical　Encyclopedia；　an　invaluable　tome　in　twelve　volumes　which　his　wife　had　gotten　a　volume　at　a　time　by　saving　her　checkout　slips　from　the　Shop　'n　Save　in　South　Paris。　What　George　Meara　had　discovered　under　the　EXCESSIVE　FLATULENCE　heading　had　not　been　particularly　encouraging。　It　could　he　a　symptom　of　gastric　upset。　It　could　mean　he　had　a　nice　Iittle　ulcer　incubating　in　there。　It　could　be　a　bowel　problem。　It　could　even　mean　the　big　C。　If　it　kept　up　he　supposed　he　would　go　and　see　old　Dr。　Quentin。　Dr。　Quentin　would　tell　him　he　was　farting　a　lot　because　he　was　getting　older　and　that　was　it。
Aunt　Evvie　Chalmers's　death　that　late　spring　had　hit　George　hard　…　harder　than　he　ever　would　have　believed　…　and　just　lately　he　didn't　like　to　think　about　getting　older。　He　preferred　to　think　about　the　Golden　Years　of　Retirement；　years　that　he　and　Cathy　would　spend　together。　No　more　getting　up　at　six　thirty。　No　more　heaving　around　sacks　of　mad　and　listening　to　that　asshole　Michael　Fournier；　who　was　the　Castle　Rock　postmaster。　No　more　freezing　his　balls　off　in　the　winter　and　going　crazy　with　all　the　summer　people　who　wanted　delivery　to　their　camps　and　cottages　when　the　warm　weather　came。　Instead；　there　would　be　a　Winnebago　for　'Scenic　Trips　Through　New　England。'　There　would　be
'Puttering　in　the　Garden。'　There　would　be　'All　Sorts　of　New　Hobbies'。　Most　of　all；　there　would　be　'Rest　and　Relaxation'。　And　somehow；　the　thought　of　farting　his　way　through　his　late　sixties　and　early　seventies　like　a　defective　rocket　just　didn't　jibe　with　his　fond　picture　of　the　Golden　Years　of　Retirement。
He　turned　the　small　blue…and…white　mad　truck　onto　Town　Road　No。　3；　wincing　as　the　glare　of　sunlight　shifted　briefly　across　the　windshield。　The　summer　had　turned　out　every　bit　as　hot　as　Aunt　Evvie　had　prophesied　…　all　of　that；　and　then　some。　He　could　hear　crickets　singing　sleepily　in　the　high　summer　grass　and　had　a　brief　vision　out　of　the　Golden　Years　of　Retirement；　a　scene　entitled　'George　Relaxes　in　the　Back　Yard　Hammock'。
He　stopped　at　the　Millikens'　and　pushed　a　Zayre's　advertising　circular　and　a　CMP　power　bill　into　the　box。　Ibis　was　the　day　all　the　power　bills　went　out；　but　he　hoped　the　CMP　folks　wouldn't　hold　their　breath　until　the　Millikens'　check　came　in。　The　Millikens　were　poor　white　trash；　like　that　Gary　Pervier　just　up　the　road。　It　was　nothing　but　a　scandal　to　see　what　was　happening　to　Pervier；　a　man　who　had　once　won　a　DSC。　And　old　Joe　Camber　wasn't　a　hell　of　a　lot　better。　They　were　going　to　the　dogs；　the　both　of　them。
John　Milliken　was　out　in　the　side　yard；　repairing　what　looked　like　a　harrow。　George　gave　him　a　wave；　and　Milliken　flicked　one　finger　curtly　in　return　before　going　back　to　his　work。
Here's　one　for　you；　you　welfare　chiseler；　George　Meara　thought。　He　lifted　his　leg　and　blew　his　trombone。　It　was　a　hell　of　a　thing；　this　farting。　You　had　to　be　pretty　damn　careful　when　you　were　out　in　pany。
He　drove　on　up　the　road　to　Gary　Pervier's；　produced　another　Zayre's　circular；　another　power　bill；　and　added　a　VFW　newsletter。　He　tucked　them　into　the　box　and　then　turned　around　in　Gary's　driveway；　because　he　didn't　have　to　drive　all　the　way　up　to　Camber's　place　today。　Joe　had　called　the　post　office　yesterday　morning　arou