to than Farouk in his golden exile; so far everything seemed consistent with the rumor.
After what I would have called an inordinate amount of chalking, the player blew across the top of the cue, and I swear I heard the particles falling to the carpet. They made a faint sizzling noise, like new snow settling on green grass. Then a furnace kicked in somewhere close with a click and a rush, and the throne room atmosphere drifted away on the stench of fuel-oil and suburban survival.
Reuther appeared to notice the difference, and something like annoyance rippled under his incipient bulldog features. It came out in his tone. “If your head’s cold, Jerry, I can tell May to crank up the thermostat.”
Pierpont swept off his Panama. “Sorry, Walter. I forget I have it on, you know?” He looked older without it. His hair, white on the sides and greasy black on top, lay flat on his scalp with alleys of pink skin showing through, and his ears stuck out like car doors. His head, as was the way with men who wore hats most of the time, looked naked and almost obscene. Looking at it I remembered the night I was driving with Agnes on Jefferson when a souped-up Model A coupe pulled alongside and a teenage boy hung his pimply bare ass out the window on the passenger’s side. My reaction was the same now as then.
The pool player arranged an almost impossible combination on the table and plunked the eleven-ball in the opposite side pocket without taking more than a second to aim. Then he threaded the stick into the wall rack and came around to our side, scooping the rubber ball off the rail on the way.
“This is Minor?”
“This is him. Didn’t I say I’d get him?” Pierpont’s voice cracked with pride. It was a high thin pioneer twang of a sort I hadn’t heard in a long time; that was dying out with his generation.
Reuther stopped in front of me. He was shorter than I’d expected, although taller than either Pierpont or myself, and slight. Union people especially photographed large. As he looked me up and down he squeezed the ball rhythmically in his right hand. “Who’s paying you?”
I turned the question over like the foreign coin it was. “Ford.”
“You admit it?”
“I said it.”
“You don’t look the part. I guess that’s the idea.” He squeezed the ball once, twice. “Funny, I thought Sonny was more subtle than the old man. Back in thirty-seven it took us months to spot the spies.”
The word surprised me so much I laughed in his face. That was a mistake. The skin of his forehead darkened suddenly, the muscles in his jaw stood out like rivets. I thought for a second the rubber ball would explode in his fist.
He held fast. The storm receded. He spoke quietly. “I didn’t ask you here to entertain you. How long have you been spying for Ford?”
“Who says I’m a spy?”
Squeeze, squeeze. What had begun as therapy for the shoulder chewed up by the shotgun blast had become a fixation. If the muscles hadn’t recovered by now they never would.
He changed his tack. “Do you shoot pool?”
“I tried a few times. I was banned from the billiard room at the Press Club after I tore my third felt.”
“It isn’t like life. Each ball has its own number and color. You can tell them apart. When I joined labor I thought it was us and them, the suits on one side and the coveralls on the other. One of my best friends on the line at River Rouge gave Harry Bennett a list with my name on it. The only time I ever saw him in a coat and tie was at his funeral.”
“Natural causes, I hope.”
Squeeze, squeeze. “I learned from the experience. I have people in Personnel at Ford. The files there have you down as a public relations consultant hired by Israel Zed. I find that fetchingly vague. When you don’t know what a man’s duties are it’s hard to tell when he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. I do have to wonder why a Glass House executive has been spending so much time on the floor at
After what I would have called an inordinate amount of chalking, the player blew across the top of the cue, and I swear I heard the particles falling to the carpet. They made a faint sizzling noise, like new snow settling on green grass. Then a furnace kicked in somewhere close with a click and a rush, and the throne room atmosphere drifted away on the stench of fuel-oil and suburban survival.
Reuther appeared to notice the difference, and something like annoyance rippled under his incipient bulldog features. It came out in his tone. “If your head’s cold, Jerry, I can tell May to crank up the thermostat.”
Pierpont swept off his Panama. “Sorry, Walter. I forget I have it on, you know?” He looked older without it. His hair, white on the sides and greasy black on top, lay flat on his scalp with alleys of pink skin showing through, and his ears stuck out like car doors. His head, as was the way with men who wore hats most of the time, looked naked and almost obscene. Looking at it I remembered the night I was driving with Agnes on Jefferson when a souped-up Model A coupe pulled alongside and a teenage boy hung his pimply bare ass out the window on the passenger’s side. My reaction was the same now as then.
The pool player arranged an almost impossible combination on the table and plunked the eleven-ball in the opposite side pocket without taking more than a second to aim. Then he threaded the stick into the wall rack and came around to our side, scooping the rubber ball off the rail on the way.
“This is Minor?”
“This is him. Didn’t I say I’d get him?” Pierpont’s voice cracked with pride. It was a high thin pioneer twang of a sort I hadn’t heard in a long time; that was dying out with his generation.
Reuther stopped in front of me. He was shorter than I’d expected, although taller than either Pierpont or myself, and slight. Union people especially photographed large. As he looked me up and down he squeezed the ball rhythmically in his right hand. “Who’s paying you?”
I turned the question over like the foreign coin it was. “Ford.”
“You admit it?”
“I said it.”
“You don’t look the part. I guess that’s the idea.” He squeezed the ball once, twice. “Funny, I thought Sonny was more subtle than the old man. Back in thirty-seven it took us months to spot the spies.”
The word surprised me so much I laughed in his face. That was a mistake. The skin of his forehead darkened suddenly, the muscles in his jaw stood out like rivets. I thought for a second the rubber ball would explode in his fist.
He held fast. The storm receded. He spoke quietly. “I didn’t ask you here to entertain you. How long have you been spying for Ford?”
“Who says I’m a spy?”
Squeeze, squeeze. What had begun as therapy for the shoulder chewed up by the shotgun blast had become a fixation. If the muscles hadn’t recovered by now they never would.
He changed his tack. “Do you shoot pool?”
“I tried a few times. I was banned from the billiard room at the Press Club after I tore my third felt.”
“It isn’t like life. Each ball has its own number and color. You can tell them apart. When I joined labor I thought it was us and them, the suits on one side and the coveralls on the other. One of my best friends on the line at River Rouge gave Harry Bennett a list with my name on it. The only time I ever saw him in a coat and tie was at his funeral.”
“Natural causes, I hope.”
Squeeze, squeeze. “I learned from the experience. I have people in Personnel at Ford. The files there have you down as a public relations consultant hired by Israel Zed. I find that fetchingly vague. When you don’t know what a man’s duties are it’s hard to tell when he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. I do have to wonder why a Glass House executive has been spending so much time on the floor at
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