Spitting off tall buildings - By Dan Fante Page 0,20
in his office, Murphy glanced at me from across his desk, scooped up my job application and began reading. He knew already from talking to Brad that I needed the gig, that I’d been out of work for weeks.
He completed reading and looked up. Studied me. My face, my hair, giving me an embarrassing once-over. Then he glanced back down at the top of the application where my name appeared. It happened to me a lot at job interviews, especially in New York. My name, contradictory appearance and coloring would cause people to do double-takes. Murphy’s aggressive leer made me feel like a lab specimen.
‘Your name’s Dante?’ he asked.
‘Correct, Bruno Dante.’
‘You don’t look like a Dante. You don’t look like no I-talian.’
He was right. But he was being too pushy with his authority. He twisted his gelatinous neck around the side of the desk to see the rest of me. Because of my shortness my legs barely touched the floor when I sat upright in the chair. Murphy noted this and grunted. I watched his big lips curve downward and form a sneer. Hating him instantly was no problem.
‘My mother’s people are English-German,’ I said. ‘I get my light coloring from her side.’
You’re not from New York either, are ya?’
‘Los Angeles.’
Another sneer. ‘Oh, Hollywood?’
‘I was brought up in L.A.’
‘Everybody in the city would give their dick to get to the sunshine. And you go the other way?’
I didn’t answer.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I talked to Braddie. Braddie says you’re okay, that you’ll give me a day’s work. It so happens I may have an opening.’
‘I appreciate Brad’s recommendation.’
‘A lot of men apply here, Hollywood.’
‘Anyway, I’m appreciative.’
‘You are, huh?’
‘Correct.’
‘Ever do glass before, Hollywood? High-up work? Forty, fifty, sixty floors up?’
‘No. But it’ll be okay.’
‘Did Braddie tell you about how it gets when you’re up there?’
‘We didn’t discuss how it gets. What Brad told me was what you just said; that some of your buildings are over fifty floors. He mentioned that he worked for you for a while.’
‘Yeah, for about fifteen fuckin’ minutes. Braddie ain’t cut out for this deal. Did he tell you about cleaning the outside glass?’
‘You mean about using the belt to hook on? I know about that. We talked about that. I’ve seen it done.’
‘You scared?’
‘Scared? No. I need the work.’
‘I start my new guys off on the state contracts. Smaller jobs. Smaller buildings.’
‘Heights don’t bother me.’
The fat fingers of Murphy’s hands came around from the top of the desk and knitted themselves behind his neck causing his gut to thrust toward me like a charging sandbag. ‘Not yet, Hollywood,’ he cackled. ‘You ain’t eighty floors up in five degrees temperature with the wind up your ass yet, either. I pay good. I bet he told you that, didn’t he?’
‘Right. That’s what peaked my interest.’
Murphy was a true asshole. ‘Peaked…your interest? Peaked?’
‘Is there something wrong with wanting to make money?’
‘I pay by the pane; inside and out, up and down. A full window. Three bucks a pane. Sometimes we get more depending on the size of the windows. Four bucks, sometimes more.’
My mouth now said something stupid. I regretted the words immediately and wanted them back. ‘So we earn by the pane. That’s how most people learn, isn’t it?’
The fat man’s instincts were prehistoric. What amused him most was another human’s discomfort. ‘How tall are you,’ he sniggered. ‘Five-four, five-five?’
‘Approximately.’
‘What does that mean? Approximately. Then approximately how much do you weigh? Approximately?’
‘One fifty.’
‘Approximately?’
‘One fifty…How much do you weigh?’
Suddenly two massive, moist fists were clasping my wrists, effortlessly flipping my arms face up. I struggled for a second but realized I was pinned. ‘Let’s see your hands,’ he snarled.
After inspecting my palms, seeing no calluses, Murphy sneered again. ‘Small hands! This is a hard job, Hollywood. You gotta bust your ass here. We ain’t chauffeuring people in an airport van…or seating guests in the loge…This ain’t a fucking clerical employment opportunity.’
I freed myself and yanked my arms back against my body. ‘Am I hired or not?’
‘My new guys top out at thirty to forty panes a day. That comes out to roughly a hundred bucks, your end. Take home.’
‘I’m ready.’
He glanced back down at my application. ‘Yeah, well, I ain’t there yet…Tell me something; what’s the “S” stand for? The “S” here in your name on the paperwork? Bruno S. Dante?’
‘Just “S.”’
‘“S” what? A letter in someone’s name stands for something. What’s the “S” mean?’
I completely despised this prick. ‘The “S” stands for Smart.’
A new sneer. Murphy crossed his