Ladies Man by Orrie Hitt

Author:Orrie Hitt
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Munsey's
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9

HE AROSE late the next morning, phoned the station from the drugstore on the corner and told Alice that he wouldn't be in until some time in the afternoon.

“Have to scratch up some business,” he said. “Tell Marie, will you?”

Alice's voice sounded the same as ever. In a way, it was almost as though nothing had happened the night before. But it had. And it had happened to him.

He left the drugstore and drove down to the diner.

“A bromo,” he told the waitress. “Coffee, black. And toast.”

Actually, he felt all right. There was no hangover to remind of the quantity of rye which he'd consumed. His head didn't ache. His stomach didn't growl. But he felt empty inside. Empty and dead. He had thought of Alice as being a good girl, not an experienced slut. It was, he supposed, just as well. He could do what he had to do now with a clear conscience.

He departed from the diner and drove cross-town. He wondered, not seriously, about how, Marie had made out with the Pennywise account. Marie was, he thought, somewhat better than Alice: She hadn't tried to fool him.

Some of the stores were open and he made a few calls, picking up copy changes, admiring window displays which he thought were horrible. Almost everybody, including the clerks, spoke to him about the One Man's Opinion program. Their enthusiasm made little impression on him. So they liked it. So what? It would be just another headache if it were sold, something else to wrestle with. Why the hell was he knocking himself out this way?

He decided that he wouldn't sell it. Maybe it was a good public service pitch but who was he to try to reform the city of Chesterville? What could it possibly mean to him? He'd be around just long enough to pick up a few fast bucks, or get fired. Why was he rubbing his nose in it? Just for kicks?

“You've got a good voice,” one store owner told him. “I wish you could do our commercials for us, Mr. Weaver. Your sportscast last night was mighty good.”

Others said the same thing. Some told him that his world-wide news had been really on the stick. He found their comments baffling. He had thought his efforts amateurish and weak. But, apparently, he had come over the air well; in fact, he had come over fine. It didn't make sense.

At noon he had a Coke and a tuna fish sandwich. He laughed. He wasn't a radio man. He wasn't an announcer. Why not admit the truth to himself? He was a buck-chaser and nothing more. Sure, he could sell radio time. Maybe, even, he was a fair announcer. But where would it take him? He knew. Nowhere, that's where it would take him. Nowhere. And he'd been there before. He wasn't going back a second time.

He phoned the Delafield woman from a pay booth in the lobby of the Penn Hotel.

“This is Weaver,” he told her. “Nicky Weaver. Remember me?”

“Oh, yes, Mr.

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