Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

by Sloan Wilson

  “Thanks for telling me all this,” Tom said. “I don’t know why, but I feel a lot better knowing.”

  “Your father’s death was a great shock to your grandmother,” Sims said. “She was determined never to tell you about it. And she never wanted any member of her family to have anything to do with her money after that, either. That’s understandable, of course, but she carried it to extremes. She never wanted you to meet me–she was afraid I’d tell you about your father. I think she’d be angry if she knew I was telling you now.”

  “She gave me your name,” Tom said.

  “She knew you finally had to know. Anyway, there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of. He was a fine man.”

  Sims wheeled his chair to a cupboard near his desk and took out a bottle of sherry. Tom noticed that his hand shook as he poured it into two glasses. Suddenly the older man looked up and smiled.

  “You see,” he said, “I understand your father. The war hit me too. Not only my legs–my hands.”

  “It almost happened to me,” Tom said.

  “You were in the last one?”

  “Not Korea. The one before that.”

  “But you came out all right.”

  “I wasn’t in sustained action,” Tom said. “We didn’t have trench warfare. I don’t think I could have taken that. I was usually thrown in for a few days and then taken out.”

  “I remember now,” Sims said. “I know what you were in. It scares hell out of me just to think of it.”

  The sherry tasted good. When they had finished it, Sims said, “I’ve prepared a dossier on the whole estate–a complete history of it, in fact. I’ll have it typed up and mailed to you. It may take several months to get the will through the probate court. If you need cash in the meantime, I can arrange for a bank to give you a loan on the securities.”

  “I may need cash,” Tom said. “I’m broke. And until the house is sold, things are going to be tough.”

  “Don’t sell it too fast,” Sims said. “Your grandmother has twenty-three acres of the best land in South Bay. It ought to be worth something.”

  10

  THAT NIGHT when he got home to Westport, Tom found a letter from United Broadcasting. “We’re sorry to have taken so long before getting in touch with you,” it said, “but Mr. Hopkins has been on an extended trip to the West Coast, and it has not been until now that we have been in a position to discuss final arrangements with you. Mr. Hopkins enjoyed meeting you, and if you would care to drop into my office Friday at 11 A.M., I hope we can work something out.” The letter was signed by Ogden.

  “It’s good news, isn’t it?” Betsy asked.

  “I guess so.”

  “You don’t sound very excited.”

  “I’m confused,” Tom said. “I don’t see how we can do everything we’re supposed to do.”

  He had already told Betsy about his conversation with Sims. They both sat thinking about the necessity to make some sort of decision about old Edward, and how to sell the big house most advantageously, and how to keep it up meanwhile, and how at the same time to start a new job.

  “The trouble is,” Tom said, “I have no idea what we’re going to net on the estate, and it may be months before we know. That old house is pretty much a white elephant, I’m sure, but until we sell it we won’t have any idea whether we’re going to end up in the hole, or with quite a lot.”

  “You worry about United Broadcasting,” Betsy said. “I’m feeling pretty well now. I don’t need Mrs. Manter any more, and I’ll make all the arrangements about your grandmother’s house. Don’t worry about it for the next month. I’ve already talked to Edward and told him we wanted him to stay on for another month, until we know what arrangements can be made. He’s going to live there as a caretaker.”

  “You’re already spoken to him?”

  “He telephoned here for instructions.”

  Tom sighed. “The funeral’s tomorrow,” he said, “and the next day, I’ll see Ogden and make some kind of decision there. After that I’ll worry about Grandmother’s house.”

  The day after the funeral when Tom went into the United0 Broadcasting building, he did not think at all about the familiar-appearing elevator operator until he saw the man standing outside his elevator, smoking a cigarette. Instinctively wishing to avoid him, Tom quickly walked into another elevator. When he got to Ogden’s outer office, a secretary told him he might have to wait quite a long while, because someone from out of town had come in unexpectedly to see Ogden. Tom sat in a comfortable leather chair. His thoughts kept returning to the elevator operator. It was ridiculous to be preoccupied with such a matter, he told himself; what possible meaning could it have? Still, it was maddening not to be able to place the man’s face and that deep, familiar voice. With an effort Tom forced himself to think about his coming interview with Ogden.

  “Have you made up your mind whether you want to work with us?” Ogden asked when Tom finally got in to see him.

  “I don’t really know enough details to make a decision,” Tom said. “We haven’t discussed salary.”

  “We discussed it, but I guess we didn’t reach an agreement,” Ogden said casually. “I understand your salary at the Schanenhauser Foundation has been seven thousand a year. We are prepared to offer you eight.”

  Tom hesitated. It didn’t seem feasible for him to bargain with United Broadcasting, but it also didn’t seem possible that Hopkins would worry about two thousand dollars more a year if he really wanted him. “I’ve had a long talk with Dick Haver,” Tom said finally, “and I understand my prospects are fairly good at the foundation. . . .”

  “We don’t believe in starting people at high salaries,” Ogden said. “If new employees prove themselves here, their compensation is adjusted accordingly.”

  Tom visualized himself going back to Dick Haver and saying he had decided not to go to United Broadcasting. Dick would probably let him wait a long while for a raise after that. Still, if Hopkins really wanted him, now was the time to hold out.

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said. “There is always a certain amount of risk in starting a new position, and I feel I should be compensated for it. I want ten thousand a year.”

  “We wouldn’t feel justified in giving you that,” Ogden said easily. “We don’t like to quibble about these things, for we feel that if a man really wants to work for United Broadcasting, it isn’t necessary. Nevertheless, we might stretch a point and give you nine thousand. I’m afraid we couldn’t do more than that now.”

  If I still held out, I might be able to get more, Tom thought, but he dreaded the possibility of another week’s indecision while Ogden and the others conferred. “All right,” he said. “I’m very pleased to accept the position. I feel it will be a great privilege to work for Mr. Hopkins.”

  “Fine!” Ogden said. “We’re delighted to have you. Can you start in a week?”

  “I ought to give the foundation at least two weeks’ notice.”

  “We need you right away–Mr. Hopkins has a speech he has to prepare. I’ll see if we can fix it up with Dick Haver.”

  “If Dick approves, it’s all right with me,” Tom replied.

  “One more thing,” Ogden said. “You’ll be working with Mr. Hopkins, but you’ll be responsible directly to me. And for the first six months you’ll be on a temporary basis.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good luck,” Ogden said, concluding the interview. “We’re looking forward to a very happy relationship.”

  When Tom got home that night there was a long bright-red Jaguar convertible parked in the driveway of the little house in West-port. In the living room Betsy was seated on the sofa, talking to a short thin man dressed in a soft tweed suit.

  “This is Mr. Swanson Howard,” she said to Tom as he came in the front door. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Swanson,” Tom said.

  “It’s Swanson Howard, not Howard Swanson,” the man said, getting to his feet. He was almost a foot
shorter than Tom.

  “Of course,” Tom said. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  “Anybody want a drink?” Betsy asked.

  “Martini?” Tom suggested to Howard.

  “A little Scotch on the rocks,” Howard said.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have any Scotch,” Betsy said.

  “A Martini will be fine then,” Howard replied, and lit a cigarette. “I was very sorry to hear of Mrs. Rath’s death.”

  “You knew her?” Tom asked.

  “I knew of her.” Howard looked around the room, and Tom imagined that his eyes dwelt on the crack in the wall, and the soiled upholstery on one of the chairs. “I understand she left you her house,” Howard said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you plan to move into it?”

  Betsy came from the kitchen, carrying a tray with a pitcher of Martinis and three glasses. “I’m sorry, but there aren’t any olives or pickled onions or lemon peels or anything to go in it,” she said. “Anyway, we’ve got the essentials.”

  Howard accepted a drink, but kept his eyes on Tom.

  “We expect to sell it,” Tom said.

  “I might be interested in buying the place,” Howard said casually, and took the first sip of his drink. Betsy sat down suddenly in the nearest chair.

  “The estate won’t be settled for quite a while,” Tom said.

  “I understand that. Of course, a place like that isn’t easy to sell, as I’m sure you know. The property needs a lot of work. The house is old-fashioned, and far too big for most people. The taxes are about twenty-two hundred dollars a year, and it would cost about twenty-four hundred a year to heat the place. And of course it couldn’t be run without servants. You won’t find many prospective purchasers for a property like that, and it will be expensive for you to hold for long.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it,” Tom said.

  “I like the place. I like the view. We might be able to work something out.”

  “Do you want to make an offer?”

  “My offer would probably sound low to you,” Howard said. “It would be based solely on the value of the land. Although I might live in the house, I’d figure it had almost no market value.”

  “How much would you offer?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “I’ll have to consider it,” Tom said. “I won’t be able to give you an answer for a long while.”

  “I’m afraid I’d have to know within a week or so,” Howard said. “We’re considering several properties.” He took an engraved card from his pocket and handed it to Tom. “Hearthside Restaurants, Inc.,” it said in large letters, and in smaller letters at the left-hand bottom corner, “Mr. Swanson Howard.” In the right-hand corner was an address on Thirty-third Street in New York and a telephone number.

  “Would you be buying the house as a residence for yourself?” Tom asked.

  “Of course. If we can get a decision within a week or so.”

  “I’ll be in touch with you,” Tom said.

  Howard thanked him for the drink, smiled mechanically, and left. A moment later the engine of the Jaguar roared–apparently he had a cutout on the exhaust.

  “What do you think?” Betsy asked excitedly. “You’ll hold out for more, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said, stretching out exhaustedly on the couch. “By the way, United Broadcasting hired me today. The salary’s nine thousand, and I’m on a temporary basis for six months. I’m supposed to start in a week.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Betsy said. “Oh, Tommy, let’s put this damn little house on the market tomorrow! Everything’s going to be wonderful for us–I can just feel it!”

  The front door slammed, and Barbara rushed in, followed by Janey and Pete. “Momma!” Janey said excitedly. “There are some boys across the street with knives, and they said they’re going to stick us!”

  “They’re probably rubber knives,” Betsy said.

  “They’re real knives!”

  “Play upstairs then,” Betsy said. “Your father and I are talking.”

  “They said they were going to chop off our hands and our legs and our heads and everything!”

  “They were just fooling,” Betsy said. “Upstairs!”

  “But they weren’t fooling!”

  “UPSTAIRS, or I’ll call Mrs. Manter!”

  The three children immediately went upstairs.

  “The name Mrs. Manter still works,” Betsy said gratefully. “I don’t think you ought to sell Grandmother’s house to that man. He’s in too much of a hurry. With a salary of nine thousand we could afford to hold it for a while.”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said. Unaccountably, he felt depressed and pessimistic. “Suppose we turn down this offer,” he said, “and suppose that after six months, they tell me I’m through at United Broadcasting. And suppose we can’t sell Grandmother’s place. Then what do we do?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Betsy said. “I’ll bet that at the end of six months you get a big raise at United Broadcasting. Hopkins seemed to like you, didn’t he?”

  “Sure, he seemed to like me. Hopkins seems to like everybody. With the money he makes, why shouldn’t he? I tell you, Betsy, I’m uneasy. I don’t like this guy Ogden, and it’s him I’m really going to be working for. I don’t like being responsible for old Edward. What are we supposed to do, pay him a salary for the rest of his life, or give him a lump sum? You can’t throw an old man like that out on the street. And I’m worried about Grandmother’s house. It would cost us at least six thousand a year to hang onto it, counting mortgage, taxes, minimum repairs, and a caretaker of some kind. You’d have to have a caretaker there, or it would go to hell in no time. Are you going to keep a house that costs you six thousand dollars a year on a salary of nine thousand? And what happens when you lose the job paying you the nine thousand?”

  “You can’t look at things like that,” Betsy said. “You’ve got to plan on things going all right. I’ve never seen you lose your self-confidence!”

  “I haven’t lost it, but maybe it’s time we started being sensible. All we’ve ever thought about is getting out of this house. The more I think about it, the more I think that’s crazy. This house is plenty comfortable enough. With nine thousand a year, we could afford some life insurance. Did you ever stop and think what would happen to you if I dropped dead some morning?”

  “Don’t think about it!” Betsy said. “I’d drop dead right alongside you.”

  “Then what would happen to the children?”

  “What’s gotten into you, Tommy? I’ve never heard you talk like this before!”

  “I think we’ve both always assumed that Grandmother would be waiting to catch us if we tripped,” he said. “Maybe it’s time we grew up. She’s not there any more.”

  “All right, get some more insurance,” Betsy said, “but when we sell Grandmother’s place, we can still afford a better home.”

  “Can we? Let’s say that after we take care of old Edward, we net twenty thousand dollars out of Grandmother’s house. Let’s say I hang onto my job, and over the years get a few small raises–I’m beginning to doubt like hell I’m going to get rich quick on a mental-health project. Let’s say, though, that in ten years I’m making fifteen thousand. How are we going to send the kids to college?”

  “On fifteen thousand it would be easy!”

  “Maybe–but we’ve never lived on a budget yet. For a while, all three kids will be in college at the same time. We ought to figure at least three thousand dollars a year for each child at college. That’s nine thousand a year, after taxes. That means we’ll need thirty-six thousand dollars to send three kids through college. Do you think you could take that out of my salary?”

  “We’d manage it somehow. Anyway, they wouldn’t need three thousand a year.”

  “I needed it, and that was fifteen years ago, almost. We’ve never talked about this, Betsy, but I figure we owe our kids the same kind of education we got, and
that’s what Grandmother’s money really should be used for.”

  “You plan to live the rest of our lives here?”

  “We could do worse.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” she said. “I won’t be noble. Not unless you make me.”

  “Think it over,” he said.

  “I have thought it over. It’s not fair to the children to bring them up in a neighborhood like this!”

  “What’s wrong with this neighborhood?”

  “it’s dull.”

  “You mean “The Senator’ wouldn’t like it?”

  “That’s cruel,” she said. “Anyway, “The Senator’ is your ancestor, not mine. I mean that I don’t like it, and I’m not ashamed to admit it!”

  “It’s time we forgot the Rath family’s dreams of glory, and your family’s dreams of glory too,” he said. “It’s time we started being sensible.”

  “My family never had any dreams of glory!”

  “Didn’t your father borrow ten thousand dollars to throw that coming-out party where I met you?”

  Betsy flushed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “He told me himself. He was very honest about explaining to me that I wasn’t marrying any money.”

  “Dad borrowed it to keep a promise,” she said. “Ever since I was a little girl, he promised me a big coming-out party, and when the time came, he couldn’t afford it. So he borrowed the money. That’s the kind of a man he was. And he paid every cent back.”

  “It was nice of him,” Tom said, “but don’t you think that was a crazy promise to make to a little girl? Hell, when you were a little girl, you didn’t care! He was making a promise to himself.”

  “It was a lovely party,” Betsy said. “I’ll never forget it. And if I hadn’t had it, I might never have met you.”

  “Most expensive damn introduction in the world!” Tom said. “We’ve got to get that kind of stuff out of our minds.”