“And all from one unsubstantiated story,” Holl sighed. The Anti-Keithites were unappeased. “I wonder if he’s the only fool.” He put away Keith’s letters in a box in his hut.
***
Chapter 27
“I got your Christmas card,” Keith told Marcy.
“I got yours, too,” she said. “Did you have a nice holiday?”
“You bet. Everyone was home, so it was a non-stop parade with brass band.”
“With your family, I’m not surprised.”
“Playing in seven different keys, I’ll wager,” put in Holl, stepping over to greet them both.
“Hello, Teri Knox,” Maura left Holl to touch her friend gently on the sleeve. “It is good to see you.”
“Maura! Hi! God, what a wonderful dress!” The blond girl stepped back to admire the little elf as she twirled, billowing out the skirts of a parti-colored dress, white on one side and red with tiny stars on the other. “That’s more of Keith’s weird Christmas materials, but wow! I love what you did with ’em. I ought to have you make my clothes.”
“Hey, Barry!”
“Hey, Carl, how was the vacation?”
“Great. Went cross-country skiing. My mother broke her leg, so we went out for Christmas dinner. My folks gave me a color mini-TV for the dorm.”
“Hand-sewn?” Teri squealed. “My fingers would fall off!”
“If you please?” the Master said, coming into the room from the tunnel and holding his hands up.
Nobody heard him.
“Mom tried roasting a goose this year. It wasn’t done for hours.”
“Got a new snowmobile. It does zero to—”
“If you please!” he raised his voice over the din, banging a pointer against the easel chalkboard for emphasis. “The hour is long past vhen ve vere to begin the class.”
There was more socializing and good cheer before the Elf Master was able to call the class to order. Nobody mentioned the wall outside which had been damaged and repaired, and Keith didn’t want to voice any suspicions in class about the vandal. The spring semester was just beginning at Midwestern, and everyone was fresh and full of new energy from the vacation. Most of the human students were laden down with new books from their other courses. The Master was starting a new course, too.
“The topic is biology,” the Master announced. “The science of the life of plants and animals.”
Keith was nonplused. As a business major, biology had limited application for him, unless he went into selling medical equipment or something. He had done all right in high school biology, but it hadn’t thrilled him much. Still, anything the Elf Master taught was likely to be interesting, whether or not he had any use for it. It was clear that other humans had different feelings about the change in subject. Teri was happy. She had a new Bio textbook already under her desk. Barry looked queasy and ambivalent.
“Do you mean we’ll be dissecting things?” Barry asked, raising a hand for attention.
“No. Ve haf not the laboratory facilities for practical study, though microscopes and prepared slides are available to us in the science department. Ve vill be exploring the theory only.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Um, Master?” Keith raised his hand.
“Ye-es, Mr. Doyle?”
“Will we be examining elf biology, too?”
The teacher looked at him over the top of his gold wire glasses. “In theory only, Mr. Doyle. Haf you any specific questions?”
“Uh, no, sir.” Keith subsided. “Just general curiosity.” Holl elbowed him in the ribs with a snicker.
“Gut. There is nothing random about the accrual of knowledge. There is always a purpose to vhich research can be put. Curiosity can be a useful tool. If you think of your questions, ask them.”
O O O
“Keith Doyle!” Holl leaned out the door. Keith turned back. The elf waved a rubber-banded bundle at him. “Your mail, saved faithfully throughout the vacation. There are some letters here that look important.”
“Thanks for taking care of it while I was gone,” Keith said.
“My pleasure,” Holl assured him, letting the door swing closed behind him. As the light vanished, Keith dashed along the aisle toward the elevator. In the darkness ahead, he could hear Barry exclaiming over his good luck. “I’m really weak in science. I’m going to see if I can drop into a basic biology course for the credit.” Keith remembered that he was a Liberal Arts major, and had to have one lab science to graduate.
“We’ll help you out, too, won’t we, Carl?” Teri asked.
“Sure,” Carl agreed amiably.
“See if you can get into my class,” Teri went on. “I’m registered in BIO 202, Tuesdays and Thursdays at 11 A.M, Dr. Mitchell. He’s a doll.”
“I think I have that free,” Barry said.
“That’s what I like about this group,” Keith declared, joining them just as the elevator rolled down. “Teamwork.”
O O O
Teri took him aside on the steps of Gillington as the group dispersed. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing, Keith. I saw the wooden stuff in the gift shop in town. I knew it came from … there.” She tossed her head meaningfully in the general direction of the stacks.
“You did? How?”
Teri leaned close to him, lifted the wave of hair away from the side of her face. Attached to a scented earlobe by a hinged wooden clasp was a small ring and carved bead of the same shade of wood. “Maura gave me these earrings for Christmas. I love them so much I wear them all the time. The design is of a style that’s kind of hard to miss. And if there’s one thing I do know, it’s style.” Keith recognized the twisting ivy pattern Holl favored, and acknowledged that it appeared on a lot of the Hollow Tree merchandise.
“I’d never deny that,” Keith said, giving her an appreciative up and down glance. “I didn’t think that anyone would really notice things in gift shops.”
“Why? Your customers have to come from somewhere,” Teri pointed out. “Not everyone goes to Chicago to shop. Can I suggest adding jewelry to your inventory? These are nicer than anything I’ve ever bought in a store. I was interested, so I did a little detective work.” Teri smiled, “I know Diane Londen over at Country Crafts. When I asked her where the great boxes and things came from she described you.” Teri paused, her head cocked to one side. “Why don’t you ask her out?”
“I don’t know” Keith was enchanted, the bundle of mail clutched forgotten under his arm. “What makes you think she’d want to go out with me?”
Teri dimpled. “Just call it a little more detective work.”
O O O
“Hi, Ms. Voordman,” Keith sang, in tune with the jingling doorbell the next day. He stamped the snow off his shoes with a happy little one-two dance step.
“Oh, Mr. Doyle,” the shop owner said, straightening up from a shelf she was arranging. She pushed aside a metal cart with discarded price stickers stuck all over it, and came over to shake hands with him. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Keith, please. Only teachers who hate me call me by my last name,” Keith assured her with a smile.
“Keith. Do you want to know why I was thinking about you?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Come this way.” He walked behind the black-haired woman to a small end-cap of shelves. “This. This is where I had the Hollow Tree display all through the Christmas season.” It was empty except for a porcelain statue. Keith grinned at it. It was the elf-in-a-tree that had inspired him to name the company. She waved a hand through the space between the shelves. “I have never seen anything go out the door so fast. It was like magic! The customers loved everything. How quickly can I get another shipment?”
Keith considered. “I’ll have to ask my craftspeople, but it shouldn’t take too long. I hope.”
“And I’m sure you want the balance on my account.” Ms. Voordman led him to her office, took out her checkbook and a pen, and wrote the date on a lon
g blue check. “It’s been sixty days. I presume that’s why you’re here.” She noticed Keith’s attention turned out toward the main room of the shop. “Or is it?”
“Is Diane here today?” he asked, accepting the check with an absent little grin.
Ms. Voordman smiled back at him. “Two birds with one stone, eh? She’s doing inventory, but I suppose she can take her break. If she wants to.”
“Thanks,” said Keith.
“Hi, there,” Diane said, coming into the back room. Seeing her boss, she flipped her hair back over her shoulder, looking studiously nonchalant. “Ms. Voordman, may I…?”
“Yes, of course,” the shop owner smiled, and turned to Keith. “I would say she wants to.”
O O O
“I hope orange juice is all right with you,” Diane asked, opening the refrigerator behind the shelves in the stock room and drawing out a plastic quart bottle. “I get so sick of sugary stuff I could barf. And the water here is too mineral-heavy to drink.” She set the bottle and a couple of Styrofoam cups onto a low, battered coffee table and plumped onto an ancient brown satin-upholstered couch. Dust flew up from the cushions and they both coughed. “So, what are you doing selling handcrafts door to door?”
“Helping out some friends. And the commission doesn’t hurt,” Keith admitted, sitting down next to her on the couch. More dust flew up from the cushions and they both coughed again.
“Sorry. This thing smells moldy, but it was free. We’re going to recover it one day,” Diane apologized, fluttering an annoyed hand under her nose. “Your merchandise is great. It has class. Believe me, you see the height of tacky come through a gift store. You should have seen what the last salesman wanted to sell Ms. Voordman: ashtrays made of little seashells glued together and shaped like houses. Yuck!”
“My friends couldn’t picture their work in the same shop with that sort of thing, but it makes a great contrast, though. So,” he asked, toasting her with his cup of juice, “How about …”
“Diane!” Ms. Voordman’s voice cut him off. “Customers!”
“Sorry,” she said, gulping down her juice and shoving the bottle back into the refrigerator. “I’ve got to take care of them. Coming, Ms. Voordman!”
“Hey, wait!” Keith pleaded. “Would you like to have dinner with me at Frankie’s tonight? I just got my commission check. The sky’s the limit. Anything up to three bucks apiece.”
“I can’t. Busy tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
Diane laughed. “Yes, that’s fine. I’d like that. I get off at six every day.”
“I’ll be here,” Keith promised.
“Diane!”
“Aargh!” Diane cried in exasperation. She gave him a friendly smile and ran out to the front of the store. Keith threw her a silent toast with the last of his juice.
***
Chapter 28
Keith’s cheerful mood lasted until he returned to his dorm room, when he discovered that his bed had vanished. In its place lay a ton of announcement flyers circulated by the Power Hall management, telephone books, and a variety of notebooks, plays and drama digests.
“Hey,” Keith protested, pointing. It all belonged to Pat, who was piling more possessions on his own bed.
“Sorry,” Pat said, dropping the stack of books. “Ungh! Rick came by, said the administration lost all record of our damage deposit, and wants to collect it again.”
“What? Why?” Keith joined in and helped him move everything off his desk.
“Your pal, the one who trashed our room twice? He owes us. The rug is ruined under where the Coke dripped off the wall. They want us to pay again to replace it. I’m trying to find the receipt. You know, you’re expensive to live with. You could funnel some of your new business profits back to deserving folk like me.”
“No way,” Keith asserted. “Are they sure the rug’s ruined? I know you can get pop stains out of carpeting. My mother does it all the time. Wait a minute, here it is.” He brandished a flimsy piece of paper stamped with the University seal.
“Than-kew!” Pat plucked it out of his fingers and stalked out of the room to find Rick.
Keith bent to clear his bed off. Pat hadn’t started with his own desk. Under the first layer of papers was the detritus from Keith’s. In the midst of a heap of books, he found the bundle of mail Holl had set aside for him. Ignoring the rest of the mess, he slumped down on the floor to go through his mail. The package contained the usual mix of junk mail and advertisements aimed at the college community. “Students—earn up to $6.00 per hour!” “Word processing, $1.00 per page.” Holl had been right, though. Keith noticed a few unfamiliar and very official looking envelopes with official looking return addresses in amongst the others. They were addressed to Keith Doyle, D.B.A. Hollow Tree Industries. He tore them open, letting the remainder of his mail drop to the bed. Two of them contained copies of IRS tax forms; one for paying in quarterly income taxes, and one that informed him he had been granted an Employer’s I.D. number. Attached to these by a paperclip was a note in Holl’s perfect handwriting that the originals had been filled in and sent out.
The third contained a computer-generated form letter, check marked in ink on the third possible clause, advising him of penalties he owed for not submitting a quarterly return for the fourth quarter of last year. These penalties were being levied because of an administrative crackdown on small businesses. An immediate reply was requested. A pre-addressed envelope was enclosed for his convenience.
There was a phone number for the local IRS office on the letter. Hurriedly, he grabbed for the phone and dialed it. The IRS wasn’t in a hurry to hear from him. He sat through an endless pre-recorded message, before there was a click and a nasal female voice from very far away said, “Internal Revenue.”
With panic rising in his belly, Keith explained that he had received the letter and needed to talk to someone about it. With a “just a moment, sir,” the voice clicked off. Keith sat on hold for another eternity half-listening to another pre-recorded message advising him to file his 1040 early while he fought down mental pictures of anonymous men in dark, narrow lapelled suits and sunglasses taking the elves away in handcuffs. Another click came. A dry voice informed him, “This is Mr. Durrow.”
Keith swallowed. He hadn’t realized before how terrified he was of the IRS. His voice came out in a squeak as he introduced himself. “Mr. Durrow, I got this letter, telling me I’m liable for a tax penalty for not filing a fourth quarter quarterly return. My associate filed that while I was home for spring break. Can’t you check to make sure that you have received the form?”
“Who is your ‘associate?’” the dry voice wanted to know. “You have filed as a sole proprietorship.”
“Just a matter of speaking, uh, sir. It’s a sort of wholesale manufacturing operation, and we haven’t brought in any profits yet. I take things on consignment. You see, I had to … in the beginning it was necessary to give away a lot of merchandise … you know, woodcrafts … so I’m in the hole. All expenses, but no profit. I live in a college dorm,” he explained. “I only just back to school today.”
Durrow’s tone told him he’d heard those excuses before. “I see, Mr. Doyle. You must understand that we cannot afford to make exemptions. Except the standard one per person, of course.” It was a joke, and Durrow let out a little snake’s hiss of a laugh at his own wit. “It is admirable that you have started your own company, but you are responsible for your debts as much as for your successes.”
“Yes, sir. Just send the forms again,” Keith pleaded, “I’ll be more careful.”
“See that you are. The first quarter estimated tax is due April 15th.”
“I know that, sir. I’m doing better,” Keith promised him, eager to sound as if he knew what he was doing. “Lately, business has been improving. Black ink is actually appearing on my books.”
“Fine,” said Durrow, his tone indicating it was nothing of the kind. “We like to see small businesses doing well. You will
need to file a 2210 stating you had no income during the last quarter, and make sure you keep up with the tax payments over this fiscal year.”
“Yes sir, I won’t make that mistake again,” he vowed. Then Keith hung up the phone and dashed off to find a 2210 before going to Voordman’s to pick up Diane for dinner.
O O O
“Haven’t I seen you before?” Diane asked Keith, putting down her soup spoon and looking at him closely across the restaurant table.
“Sure, yesterday,” Keith insisted playfully. “Remember?”
“No, I’m sure.…” she studied his face. Keith gazed at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “I know. You rescued my term paper. That day in the street.”
Keith’s facial contortions stopped as his jaw fell slack. “You’re right. The girl in the pink jacket. How could I not remember someone as beautiful as you?”
“You must have had something else on your mind,” Diane said gravely. “I could tell by the look on your face. Of course, it could have been pain. Your ears were sort of a dull red.”
Keith grinned at the memory: standing outside Marcy’s apartment in the wind and the blowing leaves, waiting for her to lead him into the library basement, and finding what he found there.… It might have been a million years since he had met the elves, seeing how completely his life had changed. In fact, he had been sitting at this same table in this same restaurant with Marcy.
It felt different with Diane, though. He liked Marcy, but she had never been his girlfriend. She had deliberately avoided having him think of her as one, first because of Carl, and later, Enoch. He was glad she had. The look on Enoch’s face when he told him what the score was.… Those two really do belong together. Now Diane was sitting here, waiting to hear what he was going to say next. She was interested in him. He twitched his invisible whiskers happily.
Diane watched his face with amusement. “Doing a spell?” she inquired, imitating him.
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