and said, “Everything’s fine.”
“Oh,” she said. “Whew. Ever since I made that stupid call—”
“Forget it, okay?” he said impatiently. “I’m not kidding. Forget about that.”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, how would you like to be Vernon Ford’s new finance officer?”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. It makes perfect sense. Look, whenever we sell a vehicle, we need to put together financing, right? Ever since Marv’s been retired part-time, we’ve been pretty much on our own to work out loans directly with the banks. Costs us time, makes us look unprofessional having people hang around while we scramble. You with me?”
“Yes.” Rae smiled, as though his mind had ever been quicker than hers.
He picked up the pace. “So I was thinking you could stay on top of lender programs, you know, and once we close a sale, we hand customers over to you to work out loans. We look better, and you get a promotion.”
“I wouldn’t be selling anymore?”
“Only if one of us is out at lunch or sick or something and a customer comes in.”
“Huzzah.”
Hack squinted at her. “What does that mean, huzzah?”
“It means there may be a God after all.”
“Oh.” Hack grinned. “Well, I’ll still need to clear it with Marv, but I think he’ll go for it. There might not be a pay raise, though. He’s a cheap son of a bitch. I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up.”
Rae smiled thinly. “I haven’t had my hopes up since we moved here,” she said. “I wouldn’t even know what hopes to
get
up here. That it will stop raining? That we’ll finally get a decent speaker at Rotary?”
“So how’s your poetry going?”
“Oh, slow, you know. I just had a piece accepted by the
Kenyon
Review
, though.”
“Yeah?”
“It has a small circulation, but it’s a prestigious journal.”
“Oh.” Hack cast around for something to say. “Hey, did you ever read that poem about Little Orphant Annie?”
“An’ the Gobble-uns \’at gits you / Ef you / Don’t / Watch / Out,” they recited in unison. Rae laughed. “I
love
that poem. God, I’d forgotten all about it. Did your folks used to read it to you?”
“Nah,” Hack said. Folks. He’d never had Rae Macy’s kind of folks, a mommy and daddy who tucked you into your bed every night, all snug and safe.
Then he heard himself say, “I used to read it to my kid sister sometimes. She always liked that one.”
What the fuck was he doing?
“I didn’t know you had a sister. You never talk about your family.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Oh.” She looked at him curiously, catching him with that smart-girl lie detector of hers. The cave yawned. Jesus, his heart was pounding.
“So I’ll talk to Marv as soon as he comes in.”
“Marv?”
“About your promotion.”
“Oh! Right.”
“Well, I better get some work done,” Hack said, shuffling empty file folders around on his desk. She stood—God, that back of hers, like it could withstand even the worst earthquake —and clicked out of his office in her courtesan heels and expensive suit. He’d never seen anyone dress like that before, except on TV. Her husband ought to kneel down every night and give thanks. He’d come into the dealership to pick Rae up a couple of times, narrow-chested guy with a long nose and five o’clock shadow, a Jew, maybe. Not that Hack had anything against Jews; they were good at making money, an ability Hack respected greatly. Guy sure must be doing something right if he could afford to dress Rae in those expensive clothes. Hack could have been a lawyer too if he’d had money like them. Lawyers weren’t as smart as they wanted you to think. Guy Ferguson, who’d been a Hubbard lawyer forever, was drunk by eleven o’clock every morning, regular as clockwork. Some days his shoes didn’t even match.
What would it take to keep a woman like Rae Macy? More than a baby grand and a million stuffed rabbits, probably.
At his elbow the
“Oh,” she said. “Whew. Ever since I made that stupid call—”
“Forget it, okay?” he said impatiently. “I’m not kidding. Forget about that.”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, how would you like to be Vernon Ford’s new finance officer?”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. It makes perfect sense. Look, whenever we sell a vehicle, we need to put together financing, right? Ever since Marv’s been retired part-time, we’ve been pretty much on our own to work out loans directly with the banks. Costs us time, makes us look unprofessional having people hang around while we scramble. You with me?”
“Yes.” Rae smiled, as though his mind had ever been quicker than hers.
He picked up the pace. “So I was thinking you could stay on top of lender programs, you know, and once we close a sale, we hand customers over to you to work out loans. We look better, and you get a promotion.”
“I wouldn’t be selling anymore?”
“Only if one of us is out at lunch or sick or something and a customer comes in.”
“Huzzah.”
Hack squinted at her. “What does that mean, huzzah?”
“It means there may be a God after all.”
“Oh.” Hack grinned. “Well, I’ll still need to clear it with Marv, but I think he’ll go for it. There might not be a pay raise, though. He’s a cheap son of a bitch. I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up.”
Rae smiled thinly. “I haven’t had my hopes up since we moved here,” she said. “I wouldn’t even know what hopes to
get
up here. That it will stop raining? That we’ll finally get a decent speaker at Rotary?”
“So how’s your poetry going?”
“Oh, slow, you know. I just had a piece accepted by the
Kenyon
Review
, though.”
“Yeah?”
“It has a small circulation, but it’s a prestigious journal.”
“Oh.” Hack cast around for something to say. “Hey, did you ever read that poem about Little Orphant Annie?”
“An’ the Gobble-uns \’at gits you / Ef you / Don’t / Watch / Out,” they recited in unison. Rae laughed. “I
love
that poem. God, I’d forgotten all about it. Did your folks used to read it to you?”
“Nah,” Hack said. Folks. He’d never had Rae Macy’s kind of folks, a mommy and daddy who tucked you into your bed every night, all snug and safe.
Then he heard himself say, “I used to read it to my kid sister sometimes. She always liked that one.”
What the fuck was he doing?
“I didn’t know you had a sister. You never talk about your family.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Oh.” She looked at him curiously, catching him with that smart-girl lie detector of hers. The cave yawned. Jesus, his heart was pounding.
“So I’ll talk to Marv as soon as he comes in.”
“Marv?”
“About your promotion.”
“Oh! Right.”
“Well, I better get some work done,” Hack said, shuffling empty file folders around on his desk. She stood—God, that back of hers, like it could withstand even the worst earthquake —and clicked out of his office in her courtesan heels and expensive suit. He’d never seen anyone dress like that before, except on TV. Her husband ought to kneel down every night and give thanks. He’d come into the dealership to pick Rae up a couple of times, narrow-chested guy with a long nose and five o’clock shadow, a Jew, maybe. Not that Hack had anything against Jews; they were good at making money, an ability Hack respected greatly. Guy sure must be doing something right if he could afford to dress Rae in those expensive clothes. Hack could have been a lawyer too if he’d had money like them. Lawyers weren’t as smart as they wanted you to think. Guy Ferguson, who’d been a Hubbard lawyer forever, was drunk by eleven o’clock every morning, regular as clockwork. Some days his shoes didn’t even match.
What would it take to keep a woman like Rae Macy? More than a baby grand and a million stuffed rabbits, probably.
At his elbow the
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