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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78912 ***
+
+
+
+
+                               The Agent
+
+                           by Stephen Marlowe
+                      [Pseudonym of Milton Lesser]
+
+
+
+
+  _There’s no business like show business! You do one-night stands in
+  one-horse villages. You sleep in flea-bitten rooming houses, eat
+  sandwiches three times a day, ride from town to town in creaking
+  busses whose springs went out with Coolidge...._
+
+  _And all the time you have your eyes on a dream that keeps slipping
+  over the horizon, and one day you wake up with no more bookings and
+  you realize that maybe you’ll never catch up to your dream. But then
+  you meet a dark little man who promises to make you a star without
+  even looking at you twice! It sounds too good to be true...._
+
+  _It sounds out of this world...._
+
+
+[Illustration: Illustrator: Mort Lawrence]
+
+
+
+
+I wasn’t exactly the best crooner in the business, but I could sing,
+and they even told me I could make the dames’ hearts palpitate if I
+tried hard enough. It wasn’t my fault that I was out of a job just now,
+and not too far from trying to bum a meal.
+
+So when I ran into Vera and Vera told me she had a job, I felt hopeful.
+Vera was an old timer on the stage, and now she had begun to sag in the
+wrong places--but she still insisted on lead-roles. The result was that
+Vera lost more weight than a dame with six months at a slenderizing
+salon behind her, and she was even hungrier than me.
+
+“Mike,” she said, “I got a job. Placed by a new agent. I never even
+heard of the guy, he comes outa nowhere. But he got me a job and the
+pay’s good and I start soon.”
+
+“Honey,” I said, “you just tell Mike all about it. Who is this guy?” I
+wanted to meet him--if he could place Vera, he could place anybody.
+
+At this point, Vera noticed I, too, could use a few vitamins, so she
+bought me a hot dog. I overflowed the bun with mustard and sauerkraut,
+and then I said: “Well, where do I find him?”
+
+“He--it’s kinda a different sort of office, Mike. I’m going out there
+now.”
+
+I gulped the last chunk of bun. “Vera, you need a chaperon. Let’s go,
+eh?”
+
+Vera nodded, and I didn’t even realize that she sagged in the wrong
+places. She looked beautiful.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a stupid place for an office. I wondered how the guy could do
+business out here in the sticks. But I couldn’t complain. He had given
+Vera the taxi fare and the trip took two hours--out into Pennsylvania
+somewhere, and the place was so deserted, there wasn’t even a telegraph
+pole. But this office stood out there in the middle of all that
+wilderness, a big round barn of a place with a pasteboard sign out
+front. The sign said:
+
+  QUONTAS QUORON: _Theatrical Agent_
+
+  WANT A JOB? I CAN PLACE YOU.
+
+Then, in smaller print:
+
+  _No experience necessary._
+
+Vera squeezed my arm as we got out of the taxi. “See?” she said.
+
+“Honey,” I said, “I wanna meet this guy.”
+
+The door of the big, round barn was high up off the ground, and we had
+to walk up a ramp to reach it. When we got inside, we weren’t alone.
+There was a big room, swanky as hell, with indirect lighting and plush
+seats all around. This guy Quoron sure had the shekels. Maybe twenty
+people were sitting around, waiting, and because I’ve been around in
+this game a long time, I knew most of them. I didn’t exactly teach Rudy
+Vallee how to sing, but I’m no youngster.
+
+Here was just about the weirdest collection of theatrical has-beens. I
+saw them all--the would-be Shakespearean hams, the musical comedy stars
+who were on the way out when Oklahoma was nothing more than a state,
+the ventriloquists, singers, sword-swallowers, bearded ladies--everyone
+who had ever been on a stage and couldn’t get back on one.
+
+This Quoron was no dud, and word got around.
+
+I said hello to a few people, but I kept it selective; I couldn’t be
+associating with the riffraff of the profession who would wind up in a
+tank-town carnival somewhere, if Quoron could place them. He may have
+been a miracle man, but sword-swallowers were as passé as ragtime.
+
+We all waited and I swallowed nervously each time I looked at the
+little door marked “Quontas Quoron, Private.” My courage soared up
+and down like an express elevator. Every time I thought of how hard
+jobs were to get, I shuddered. But when I looked at sagging Vera and
+realized Quoron had placed her, I felt much better.
+
+It was like the scene after the big act which leaves everyone gasping
+when the guy finally came out. I mean, we waited so long that we didn’t
+know what to expect, and when the little guy came out it was sort of a
+letdown.
+
+“I am Meldon Quoron,” he said, “Quontas’ brother. He’ll be along soon.
+Meanwhile....”
+
+He went into the old familiar spiel about jobs being hard to get and
+placement being necessary in out-of-the-way places, but I didn’t give a
+damn. If he got me a job, I didn’t care if it was in Squedunk--as long
+as he paid the carfare.
+
+He was a little guy, almost as big around the middle as he was tall,
+and in his dark blue--almost black--suit he looked like a bowling ball.
+But his face was ridiculous--I noticed that now. The body was short and
+plump--he could make Costello look like Charles Atlas, but the face was
+angular. It was more than that--it was elongated. I never saw anything
+like it. His chin was long, narrow and pointed, and his nose could have
+been a small white salami. Then, at the top, his head started to come
+to a point; at least it looked that way, but it probably was the way he
+combed his hair. And anyway, this was stupid as hell. Here I was, out
+of a job, and unconsciously making fun of the guy who could maybe get
+me one.
+
+I nudged Vera. “Ever see this guy before?”
+
+She shook her head. “No. I dealt directly with his brother, but they
+look alike. Quontas is a little older, and fatter, and with a skinnier
+face. You’ll see him soon.”
+
+“...and so,” Meldon was saying, “acting is pretty much like any other
+job, and jobs are hard to come upon. If there were too many shoemakers
+in this town, and if you were a shoemaker, you’d go someplace else.
+That’s the general idea....”
+
+This guy Meldon seemed amiable enough, but he could have gone on all
+day, and I was glad when his brother came out. Like Vera said, he was
+shorter and fatter and he had a face even more elongated, like a big
+yam.
+
+He was preceded by a secretary. She must have been a secretary or she
+wouldn’t have been in front of him with a pad and pencil in her hand,
+but she would have made the girls at the old Minsky’s turn green with
+envy. Vera looked her up and down and then sniffed.
+
+“Cheap-looking hussy,” she observed.
+
+Preoccupied, I said yeah. But I’ve been around, and this dame had it.
+
+The girl’s voice could have got her a job in the top Broadway musical,
+and even when she spoke it sounded like singing. “Mr. Quoron,” she
+said, “is ready to see you. One at a time.”
+
+Quontas Quoron bowed, and then he stepped back into his office, and the
+secretary said:
+
+“Who’s first?”
+
+A little guy in one of the seats near the door got up, and a seal,
+oinking like he had just seen a bathtub full of fish, followed him into
+Quoron’s private office.
+
+In less than a minute, the guy and the seal came out. Meldon was still
+talking, droning on about how hard it was to get jobs, but no one was
+listening. This time I didn’t even hear the seal oinking, because the
+little guy said, “I got the job! I got the job!”
+
+He must have been out of work even longer than me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That went on for twenty minutes. Someone went inside, and a moment
+later, he came out, smiling and nodding his head. No one was turned
+down; everyone got a job.
+
+Meldon was still talking when I walked past the secretary into his
+brother’s office. Quontas Quoron sat at a big desk with a bottle of
+liquor in front of him.
+
+“Drink?” he said.
+
+I nodded and he poured me a stiff one. I downed it fast and a hot dog
+doesn’t exactly fill your stomach, so the liquor went to my head pretty
+quick. And the odd part of it was that I had had a lot of drinks in
+my day, but I couldn’t place this one. It wasn’t bourbon, but it was
+more like bourbon than either Scotch or rye, and I shrugged. I wasn’t
+going to be impolite, and maybe Quoron made home brew. I wouldn’t be
+surprised at anything.
+
+“What do you do?” he said.
+
+“I sing. If you want. I can show you clippings from _Variations_. I’ve
+been around, Mr. Quoron, and most of the reviews are good. If you want
+I should sing now....”
+
+I began to tune up my voice, but Quoron only looked irritated. “No,” he
+said. “Please. It won’t be necessary.”
+
+I shrugged. If he wanted to put me on without an audition, I wasn’t
+going to argue.
+
+Now he smiled, and his elongated head nodded up and down. “I’m sure
+you’ll do,” he told me. “There’s no need for an--audition. There’s only
+one thing....”
+
+I frowned. There had to be a catch in all this. A guy just doesn’t
+go around hiring everyone who comes looking for a job, placing them
+without an audition. Not in these hard times.
+
+I sighed. “Okay, Mr. Quoron. What’s the rub?”
+
+“Rub?”
+
+“Gimmick. Gimmick. What’s the gimmick?”
+
+“Eh?”
+
+This guy was a rube. “I mean, what do I have to do to get the job?”
+
+“Oh. You don’t have to do anything. Simply sign this.”
+
+He handed me a sheet of paper. I looked at it. Some kind of contract
+no doubt--and again I frowned. Long legalities always confused me. But
+here, happily, there only were a few lines, and I scanned them rapidly.
+
+  I hereby agree to accept the job which my agent, Quontas Quoron, has
+  for me, and I further agree that the location of the position is of
+  no consequence. It is understood, of course, that Quontas Quoron and
+  his brother will provide means of transportation.
+
+I smiled. “Hell, is that all?”
+
+Quoron nodded and handed me a pen. “A pleasure,” I said, and signed the
+paper with a flourish. Then I waited.
+
+“There is something else, Mr. Hennesy?” Quoron demanded, looking at my
+signature.
+
+I was a little dubious, and my face must have showed it. “Yeah. Yeah,
+there is. First, how much?”
+
+“How much what?”
+
+“How much do I get paid?”
+
+“Umm. That’s hard to say. It will be up to my client. But the important
+thing now is that I can guarantee you good living quarters and good
+food.”
+
+My stomach gurgled. He was right--that _was_ the important thing. “But
+one more thing,” I said. “How can you have this job for me without
+hearing my singing and without even contacting anyone about me? Er, you
+don’t mind the question, do you?”
+
+Quoron shrugged. “No. Why should I mind? I can assure you this: there
+is a great demand for your talent, and the job is a certainty. Any
+further questions?”
+
+I shook my head.
+
+“All right, Mr. Hennesy, just wait outside in the sitting-room with the
+others.”
+
+Outside, I sat in the plush chair next to Vera. “See?” she said. “What
+did I tell you? You got the job, didn’t you? As easy as pie. I’ll bet
+the Quoron brothers will be the top agents in the business pretty soon.”
+
+I nodded. Little Meldon was still talking about how hard it was to get
+jobs, and I wondered for a moment why he wanted to impress that on us
+so much. But then I shrugged, especially when the gorgeous secretary
+brought about refreshments for everybody. And this was surprising--the
+stuff looked like little cubes of candy, and you sucked on it like
+candy, only it tasted like filet mignon. But I wasn’t complaining.
+
+Meldon could talk all he wanted to. I wouldn’t complain a bit. They had
+a job for me, and that’s what counted.
+
+Presently the last of the hopefuls came dancing out of Quoron’s office,
+his ventriloquist-dummy riding jauntily on his shoulder. The dummy’s
+head bobbed up and down, and the dummy said, in a high, squeaky voice.
+“We’re hired. I don’t know what they want with my lousy sidekick here,
+but we’re hired.”
+
+I fidgeted about against the plush cushions. “Well, what do we do,
+just wait?” I directed the question at no one in particular, but Vera
+nodded. Vera had taken me to her sagging bosom, it seemed, since she
+had given me wind of this agency, and I didn’t mind at all. If she were
+fifteen years younger, I could have loved the gal.
+
+“Of course we wait,” she said. “We don’t want to be impolite.”
+
+For the first time, I noticed that there were no windows in the
+building. That struck me as strange, but I hardly had time to think
+about it. A buzzer sounded and a red light glowed above Quontas
+Quoron’s door.
+
+Meldon’s head jerked up. He muttered, “That’s all this trip, I
+suppose.” And he disappeared inside his brother’s office.
+
+Then I jerked upright in my chair, and Vera screamed. A great peal of
+thunder ripped through the building, and the whole structure shuddered.
+
+I patted Vera’s hand. “Take it easy, honey. It’s only a summer storm.
+Relax.”
+
+But that thunder had been close; I could still feel the structure
+shuddering. And then, suddenly, I was slammed back hard in my seat like
+some invisible giant had pushed me with a hand the size of a Greyhound
+bus.
+
+“What the hell....” I started to say. But then I couldn’t talk. I could
+hardly move and the words wouldn’t come out. I could only move my eyes
+around slowly, and everyone was sitting around like I was, paralyzed.
+
+In a little while, the giant hand lifted up. It did more than that--it
+lifted and took something with it, because, abruptly, I leaned forward,
+and I found myself _floating_ off my plush-cushioned chair. Floating is
+the only word I can use, because that’s what I was doing.
+
+There were a lot of screams all around, and I could see most of the
+other people floating, too. Even the seal, and he was oinking like
+crazy. After a while, I learned. It was almost like swimming, swimming
+in water. This was crazy, this couldn’t be happening--but I did a neat
+breast-stroke through the air and reached Quoron’s door.
+
+I pounded on it but it was locked, and then I kicked off again with my
+feet, but I kicked too hard and I hurtled across the room, bumping into
+the far wall like a battering ram. A lot of stars exploded in my head,
+and then I felt myself floating down to the floor like a feather, only
+I never remember hitting....
+
+I awoke slowly, like you do when you’re having a bad nightmare, and I
+tried to shake my head to clear the stars out of it, but I couldn’t.
+The giant hand was pressing against my chest again, and I couldn’t move.
+
+No one was floating any more. Everyone was on the floor, stationary,
+and Vera looked like she was trying to whimper, only no sound came out.
+
+Then I heard the thunder, booming through the structure once more,
+and then, with a gentle bump, the giant hand was gone. I stood up and
+brushed my clothing off and, brother, was I furious. I didn’t know what
+was going on, but I intended to find out. I almost ran to Quoron’s
+door, but it opened before I could reach it, and Quontas Quoron stepped
+out.
+
+“Well,” he said, “we have arrived.”
+
+I stuck out my hand and prodded my index finger into his chest to say
+something, but there was just nothing to say. I didn’t know what this
+was all about. And Quoron walked right by me, heading for the outer
+door.
+
+He opened the door and I saw a lot of red light come spilling in, and
+when I strode over to the door I saw the craziest damned place....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here on Mars, there are no cities like we have on earth. Instead, they
+have these long canals with urban and rural communities stretched out
+along them for hundreds of miles. You just keep traveling and traveling
+in one direction, and all you see is houses--but look off to the right
+or the left, and there’s that rusty desert, a wilderness which would
+make the Sahara look like an oasis. These canals give the Martians
+water and life on a very thirsty planet. The water famine of 1950 in
+New York was a Deluge compared to the constant trouble here. But don’t
+get me wrong: I like it here.
+
+Here on Mars, there are no nations like we know them on earth, no
+international boundary lines, no wars, warm or cold, no disputes--just
+one huge planetary nation, extending along the network of canals.
+There’s no time for squabbles: everyone’s too busy keeping warm and
+getting enough water to drink. And in one huge network city there’s
+an artificial supply of air, because Mars’ atmosphere is too thin to
+support a kite. Ever have an oxygen jag? It’s a lot more fun than
+bourbon. So I like it here.
+
+And best of all, I like the status of Martian entertainers.... But
+before I go further, let me answer your question--yeah, sure, we’re on
+Mars.
+
+Quontas Quoron’s “office” was a spaceship: the first earth
+interplanetary travelers came to Mars via a theatrical agent. Quontas
+Quoron is a Martian.
+
+The most amazing thing is the fact that there _was_ no entertainment
+on Mars. Don’t ask me where Quoron got the idea, but it was a natural:
+all the Martians are too busy trying to eke out their existence.
+They have no music, no plays, no movies, no Minsky’s, no sports, no
+television--not even the Martian equivalent, with pointed head, of
+course, of Milton Berle.
+
+We couldn’t miss. We were a success overnight, all of us--all except
+the poor ventriloquist who can’t do much since he doesn’t know the
+language. Instead, he’s started an Actor’s Equity for us, and already
+it’s functioning better than it ever did on earth. Mars will do
+anything to keep us. We’re wonderful. Everything is still pantomime
+because we don’t know the language, but we’re learning it. Even Vera
+is a hit. Sagging, dragging, round where she should be flat, and flat
+where she should be round, she’s still the answer to a Martian prayer.
+
+Popular? We gave them a pantomime of Romeo and Juliet last night,
+and Vera had ’em roaring for more. They don’t applaud on Mars; they
+jump up and down, and, because the gravity is lighter here, a lot of
+pointy heads almost made a lot of holes in the ceiling of our brand new
+theater!
+
+Me? I don’t sing--I can’t until we learn the language, and I’m learning
+that fast. Meanwhile, all I do is hum. Ever hear _All the Things You
+Are_ hummed to an audience of screaming Martian females? I won’t
+comment because I don’t want to sound egotistical but Sinatra should
+see me now....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Tonight, Quontas Quoron had a bright idea. He’s taking his ship back to
+earth for more talent. Or that is, he thinks he is. But Actor’s Equity
+voted him down. He can bring in new talent: but only five people a
+year, and theatrical people of our choosing. They’ve got to be out of
+work and they’ve got to be guys and gals who won’t conflict. Take me:
+one crooner on Mars is enough--we leave for the Northern Hemisphere
+tomorrow on the first swing of our Canal Circuit. And I wouldn’t want
+to think there’s another crooner here down south while I’m gone. All by
+myself I want to melt the ice cap out of every Martian gal’s heart.
+
+Vera just came in. Vera looks radiant, making allowances, of course.
+But anyway, it’s all a matter of standards, and these Martian
+women, too busy with the nasty matters of water and temperature,
+are beauty-starved: as a sideline, Vera is starting a planet-wide
+beautician’s organization.
+
+And, as I’ve said, it’s all a matter of standards. Everything is
+relative.
+
+Vera looks more beautiful every day, and right now she’s the most
+beautiful woman on Mars--that is, discounting Quontas Quoron’s
+secretary--but technologically Mars has an advanced culture, and rumor
+has it that Quoron’s secretary is a robot.
+
+Pardon me, please. My wife is calling to me from our kitchen.
+
+“What’s that, dear? Tired? Well, why don’t we turn in, Vera?”
+
+You’ll have to excuse us. Tomorrow there’s a matinee. Vera and I will
+kill ’em!
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s note:
+
+
+  Milton Lesser changed his legal name to Stephen Marlowe in 1960.
+  Before this he used it as an occasional pseudonym.
+
+  This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader,
+  April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).
+
+  Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but
+  minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78912 ***
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78912 ***</div>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="cover" style="max-width: 107.5625em;">
+  <img class="w20" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Transcribed from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader, April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+<h1>
+The Agent
+</h1>
+
+
+<p class="f15 center">by <strong>Stephen Marlowe</strong></p>
+<p class="f15 center">[Pseudonym of <strong>Milton Lesser</strong>]</p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+<blockquote>
+<p><i>There’s no business like show business! You do one-night stands in
+one-horse villages. You sleep in flea-bitten rooming houses, eat
+sandwiches three times a day, ride from town to town in creaking busses
+whose springs went out with Coolidge....</i></p>
+
+<p><i>And all the time you have your eyes on a dream that keeps slipping over
+the horizon, and one day you wake up with no more bookings and you
+realize that maybe you’ll never catch up to your dream. But then you
+meet a dark little man who promises to make you a star without even
+looking at you twice! It sounds too good to be true....</i></p>
+
+<p><i>It sounds out of this world....</i></p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp51" id="94" style="max-width: 46.875em;">
+  <img class="w20" src="images/94.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Illustrator: Mort Lawrence</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+
+
+<p>I wasn’t exactly the best crooner in the business, but I could sing,
+and they even told me I could make the dames’ hearts palpitate if I
+tried hard enough. It wasn’t my fault that I was out of a job just now,
+and not too far from trying to bum a meal.</p>
+
+<p>So when I ran into Vera and Vera told me she had a job, I felt hopeful.
+Vera was an old timer on the stage, and now she had begun to sag in
+the wrong places—but she still insisted on lead-roles. The result
+was that Vera lost more weight than a dame with six months at a
+slenderizing salon behind her, and she was even hungrier than me.</p>
+
+<p>“Mike,” she said, “I got a job. Placed by a new agent. I never even
+heard of the guy, he comes outa nowhere. But he got me a job and the
+pay’s good and I start soon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Honey,” I said, “you just tell Mike all about it. Who is this guy?” I
+wanted to meet him—if he could place Vera, he could place anybody.</p>
+
+<p>At this point, Vera noticed I, too, could use a few vitamins, so she
+bought me a hot dog. I overflowed the bun with mustard and sauerkraut,
+and then I said: “Well, where do I find him?”</p>
+
+<p>“He—it’s kinda a different sort of office, Mike. I’m going out there
+now.”</p>
+
+<p>I gulped the last chunk of bun. “Vera, you need a chaperon. Let’s go,
+eh?”</p>
+
+<p>Vera nodded, and I didn’t even realize that she sagged in the wrong
+places. She looked beautiful.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>It was a stupid place for an office. I wondered how the guy could do
+business out here in the sticks. But I couldn’t complain. He had given
+Vera the taxi fare and the trip took two hours—out into Pennsylvania
+somewhere, and the place was so deserted, there wasn’t even a telegraph
+pole. But this office stood out there in the middle of all that
+wilderness, a big round barn of a place with a pasteboard sign out
+front. The sign said:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>QUONTAS QUORON: <i>Theatrical Agent</i></p>
+
+<p>WANT A JOB? I CAN PLACE YOU.</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>Then, in smaller print:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p><i>No experience necessary.</i></p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>Vera squeezed my arm as we got out of the taxi. “See?” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“Honey,” I said, “I wanna meet this guy.”</p>
+
+<p>The door of the big, round barn was high up off the ground, and we had
+to walk up a ramp to reach it. When we got inside, we weren’t alone.
+There was a big room, swanky as hell, with indirect lighting and plush
+seats all around. This guy Quoron sure had the shekels. Maybe twenty
+people were sitting around, waiting, and because I’ve been around in
+this game a long time, I knew most of them. I didn’t exactly teach Rudy
+Vallee how to sing, but I’m no youngster.</p>
+
+<p>Here was just about the weirdest collection of theatrical has-beens.
+I saw them all—the would-be Shakespearean hams, the musical comedy
+stars who were on the way out when Oklahoma was nothing more than a
+state, the ventriloquists, singers, sword-swallowers, bearded ladies—everyone
+who had ever been on a stage and couldn’t get back on one.</p>
+
+<p>This Quoron was no dud, and word got around.</p>
+
+<p>I said hello to a few people, but I kept it selective; I couldn’t be
+associating with the riffraff of the profession who would wind up in a
+tank-town carnival somewhere, if Quoron could place them. He may have
+been a miracle man, but sword-swallowers were as passé as ragtime.</p>
+
+<p>We all waited and I swallowed nervously each time I looked at the
+little door marked “Quontas Quoron, Private.” My courage soared up
+and down like an express elevator. Every time I thought of how hard
+jobs were to get, I shuddered. But when I looked at sagging Vera and
+realized Quoron had placed her, I felt much better.</p>
+
+<p>It was like the scene after the big act which leaves everyone gasping
+when the guy finally came out. I mean, we waited so long that we didn’t
+know what to expect, and when the little guy came out it was sort of a
+letdown.</p>
+
+<p>“I am Meldon Quoron,” he said, “Quontas’ brother. He’ll be along soon.
+Meanwhile....”</p>
+
+<p>He went into the old familiar spiel about jobs being hard to get and
+placement being necessary in out-of-the-way places, but I didn’t give a
+damn. If he got me a job, I didn’t care if it was in Squedunk—as long
+as he paid the carfare.</p>
+
+<p>He was a little guy, almost as big around the middle as he was tall,
+and in his dark blue—almost black—suit he looked like a bowling
+ball. But his face was ridiculous—I noticed that now. The body was
+short and plump—he could make Costello look like Charles Atlas, but
+the face was angular. It was more than that—it was elongated. I
+never saw anything like it. His chin was long, narrow and pointed, and
+his nose could have been a small white salami. Then, at the top, his
+head started to come to a point; at least it looked that way, but it
+probably was the way he combed his hair. And anyway, this was stupid as
+hell. Here I was, out of a job, and unconsciously making fun of the guy
+who could maybe get me one.</p>
+
+<p>I nudged Vera. “Ever see this guy before?”</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. “No. I dealt directly with his brother, but they
+look alike. Quontas is a little older, and fatter, and with a skinnier
+face. You’ll see him soon.”</p>
+
+<p>“...and so,” Meldon was saying, “acting is pretty much like any
+other job, and jobs are hard to come upon. If there were too many
+shoemakers in this town, and if you were a shoemaker, you’d go
+someplace else. That’s the general idea....”</p>
+
+<p>This guy Meldon seemed amiable enough, but he could have gone on all
+day, and I was glad when his brother came out. Like Vera said, he was
+shorter and fatter and he had a face even more elongated, like a big
+yam.</p>
+
+<p>He was preceded by a secretary. She must have been a secretary or she
+wouldn’t have been in front of him with a pad and pencil in her hand,
+but she would have made the girls at the old Minsky’s turn green with
+envy. Vera looked her up and down and then sniffed.</p>
+
+<p>“Cheap-looking hussy,” she observed.</p>
+
+<p>Preoccupied, I said yeah. But I’ve been around, and this dame had it.</p>
+
+<p>The girl’s voice could have got her a job in the top Broadway musical,
+and even when she spoke it sounded like singing. “Mr. Quoron,” she
+said, “is ready to see you. One at a time.”</p>
+
+<p>Quontas Quoron bowed, and then he stepped back into his office, and the
+secretary said:</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s first?”</p>
+
+<p>A little guy in one of the seats near the door got up, and a seal,
+oinking like he had just seen a bathtub full of fish, followed him into
+Quoron’s private office.</p>
+
+<p>In less than a minute, the guy and the seal came out. Meldon was still
+talking, droning on about how hard it was to get jobs, but no one was
+listening. This time I didn’t even hear the seal oinking, because the
+little guy said, “I got the job! I got the job!”</p>
+
+<p>He must have been out of work even longer than me.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>That went on for twenty minutes. Someone went inside, and a moment
+later, he came out, smiling and nodding his head. No one was turned
+down; everyone got a job.</p>
+
+<p>Meldon was still talking when I walked past the secretary into his
+brother’s office. Quontas Quoron sat at a big desk with a bottle of
+liquor in front of him.</p>
+
+<p>“Drink?” he said.</p>
+
+<p>I nodded and he poured me a stiff one. I downed it fast and a hot dog
+doesn’t exactly fill your stomach, so the liquor went to my head pretty
+quick. And the odd part of it was that I had had a lot of drinks in
+my day, but I couldn’t place this one. It wasn’t bourbon, but it was
+more like bourbon than either Scotch or rye, and I shrugged. I wasn’t
+going to be impolite, and maybe Quoron made home brew. I wouldn’t be
+surprised at anything.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you do?” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“I sing. If you want. I can show you clippings from <i>Variations</i>. I’ve
+been around, Mr. Quoron, and most of the reviews are good. If you want
+I should sing now....”</p>
+
+<p>I began to tune up my voice, but Quoron only looked irritated. “No,” he
+said. “Please. It won’t be necessary.”</p>
+
+<p>I shrugged. If he wanted to put me on without an audition, I wasn’t
+going to argue.</p>
+
+<p>Now he smiled, and his elongated head nodded up and down. “I’m sure
+you’ll do,” he told me. “There’s no need for an—audition. There’s
+only one thing....”</p>
+
+<p>I frowned. There had to be a catch in all this. A guy just doesn’t
+go around hiring everyone who comes looking for a job, placing them
+without an audition. Not in these hard times.</p>
+
+<p>I sighed. “Okay, Mr. Quoron. What’s the rub?”</p>
+
+<p>“Rub?”</p>
+
+<p>“Gimmick. Gimmick. What’s the gimmick?”</p>
+
+<p>“Eh?”</p>
+
+<p>This guy was a rube. “I mean, what do I have to do to get the job?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh. You don’t have to do anything. Simply sign this.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed me a sheet of paper. I looked at it. Some kind of contract no
+doubt—and again I frowned. Long legalities always confused me. But
+here, happily, there only were a few lines, and I scanned them rapidly.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>I hereby agree to accept the job which my agent, Quontas Quoron, has
+for me, and I further agree that the location of the position is of no
+consequence. It is understood, of course, that Quontas Quoron and his
+brother will provide means of transportation.</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>I smiled. “Hell, is that all?”</p>
+
+<p>Quoron nodded and handed me a pen. “A pleasure,” I said, and signed the
+paper with a flourish. Then I waited.</p>
+
+<p>“There is something else, Mr. Hennesy?” Quoron demanded, looking at my
+signature.</p>
+
+<p>I was a little dubious, and my face must have showed it. “Yeah. Yeah,
+there is. First, how much?”</p>
+
+<p>“How much what?”</p>
+
+<p>“How much do I get paid?”</p>
+
+<p>“Umm. That’s hard to say. It will be up to my client. But the important
+thing now is that I can guarantee you good living quarters and good
+food.”</p>
+
+<p>My stomach gurgled. He was right—that <i>was</i> the important thing. “But
+one more thing,” I said. “How can you have this job for me without
+hearing my singing and without even contacting anyone about me? Er, you
+don’t mind the question, do you?”</p>
+
+<p>Quoron shrugged. “No. Why should I mind? I can assure you this: there
+is a great demand for your talent, and the job is a certainty. Any
+further questions?”</p>
+
+<p>I shook my head.</p>
+
+<p>“All right, Mr. Hennesy, just wait outside in the sitting-room with the
+others.”</p>
+
+<p>Outside, I sat in the plush chair next to Vera. “See?” she said. “What
+did I tell you? You got the job, didn’t you? As easy as pie. I’ll bet
+the Quoron brothers will be the top agents in the business pretty soon.”</p>
+
+<p>I nodded. Little Meldon was still talking about how hard it was to get
+jobs, and I wondered for a moment why he wanted to impress that on us
+so much. But then I shrugged, especially when the gorgeous secretary
+brought about refreshments for everybody. And this was surprising—the
+stuff looked like little cubes of candy, and you sucked on it like
+candy, only it tasted like filet mignon. But I wasn’t complaining.</p>
+
+<p>Meldon could talk all he wanted to. I wouldn’t complain a bit. They had
+a job for me, and that’s what counted.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the last of the hopefuls came dancing out of Quoron’s office,
+his ventriloquist-dummy riding jauntily on his shoulder. The dummy’s
+head bobbed up and down, and the dummy said, in a high, squeaky voice.
+“We’re hired. I don’t know what they want with my lousy sidekick here,
+but we’re hired.”</p>
+
+<p>I fidgeted about against the plush cushions. “Well, what do we do,
+just wait?” I directed the question at no one in particular, but Vera
+nodded. Vera had taken me to her sagging bosom, it seemed, since she
+had given me wind of this agency, and I didn’t mind at all. If she were
+fifteen years younger, I could have loved the gal.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course we wait,” she said. “We don’t want to be impolite.”</p>
+
+<p>For the first time, I noticed that there were no windows in the
+building. That struck me as strange, but I hardly had time to think
+about it. A buzzer sounded and a red light glowed above Quontas
+Quoron’s door.</p>
+
+<p>Meldon’s head jerked up. He muttered, “That’s all this trip, I
+suppose.” And he disappeared inside his brother’s office.</p>
+
+<p>Then I jerked upright in my chair, and Vera screamed. A great peal of
+thunder ripped through the building, and the whole structure shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>I patted Vera’s hand. “Take it easy, honey. It’s only a summer storm.
+Relax.”</p>
+
+<p>But that thunder had been close; I could still feel the structure
+shuddering. And then, suddenly, I was slammed back hard in my seat like
+some invisible giant had pushed me with a hand the size of a Greyhound
+bus.</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell....” I started to say. But then I couldn’t talk. I could
+hardly move and the words wouldn’t come out. I could only move my eyes
+around slowly, and everyone was sitting around like I was, paralyzed.</p>
+
+<p>In a little while, the giant hand lifted up. It did more than that—it
+lifted and took something with it, because, abruptly, I leaned forward,
+and I found myself <i>floating</i> off my plush-cushioned chair. Floating is
+the only word I can use, because that’s what I was doing.</p>
+
+<p>There were a lot of screams all around, and I could see most of the
+other people floating, too. Even the seal, and he was oinking like
+crazy. After a while, I learned. It was almost like swimming, swimming
+in water. This was crazy, this couldn’t be happening—but I did a neat
+breast-stroke through the air and reached Quoron’s door.</p>
+
+<p>I pounded on it but it was locked, and then I kicked off again with my
+feet, but I kicked too hard and I hurtled across the room, bumping
+into the far wall like a battering ram. A lot of stars exploded in my
+head, and then I felt myself floating down to the floor like a feather,
+only I never remember hitting....</p>
+
+<p>I awoke slowly, like you do when you’re having a bad nightmare, and I
+tried to shake my head to clear the stars out of it, but I couldn’t.
+The giant hand was pressing against my chest again, and I couldn’t move.</p>
+
+<p>No one was floating any more. Everyone was on the floor, stationary,
+and Vera looked like she was trying to whimper, only no sound came out.</p>
+
+<p>Then I heard the thunder, booming through the structure once more,
+and then, with a gentle bump, the giant hand was gone. I stood up and
+brushed my clothing off and, brother, was I furious. I didn’t know what
+was going on, but I intended to find out. I almost ran to Quoron’s
+door, but it opened before I could reach it, and Quontas Quoron stepped
+out.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he said, “we have arrived.”</p>
+
+<p>I stuck out my hand and prodded my index finger into his chest to say
+something, but there was just nothing to say. I didn’t know what this
+was all about. And Quoron walked right by me, heading for the outer
+door.</p>
+
+<p>He opened the door and I saw a lot of red light come spilling in, and
+when I strode over to the door I saw the craziest damned place....</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Here on Mars, there are no cities like we have on earth. Instead, they
+have these long canals with urban and rural communities stretched out
+along them for hundreds of miles. You just keep traveling and traveling
+in one direction, and all you see is houses—but look off to the right
+or the left, and there’s that rusty desert, a wilderness which would
+make the Sahara look like an oasis. These canals give the Martians
+water and life on a very thirsty planet. The water famine of 1950 in
+New York was a Deluge compared to the constant trouble here. But don’t
+get me wrong: I like it here.</p>
+
+<p>Here on Mars, there are no nations like we know them on earth, no
+international boundary lines, no wars, warm or cold, no disputes—just
+one huge planetary nation, extending along the network of canals.
+There’s no time for squabbles: everyone’s too busy keeping warm and
+getting enough water to drink. And in one huge network city there’s
+an artificial supply of air, because Mars’ atmosphere is too thin to
+support a kite. Ever have an oxygen jag? It’s a lot more fun than
+bourbon. So I like it here.</p>
+
+<p>And best of all, I like the status of Martian entertainers.... But
+before I go further, let me answer your question—yeah, sure, we’re on
+Mars.</p>
+
+<p>Quontas Quoron’s “office” was a spaceship: the first earth
+interplanetary travelers came to Mars via a theatrical agent. Quontas
+Quoron is a Martian.</p>
+
+<p>The most amazing thing is the fact that there <i>was</i> no entertainment on
+Mars. Don’t ask me where Quoron got the idea, but it was a natural: all
+the Martians are too busy trying to eke out their existence. They have
+no music, no plays, no movies, no Minsky’s, no sports, no television—not
+even the Martian equivalent, with pointed head, of course, of
+Milton Berle.</p>
+
+<p>We couldn’t miss. We were a success overnight, all of us—all except
+the poor ventriloquist who can’t do much since he doesn’t know the
+language. Instead, he’s started an Actor’s Equity for us, and already
+it’s functioning better than it ever did on earth. Mars will do
+anything to keep us. We’re wonderful. Everything is still pantomime
+because we don’t know the language, but we’re learning it. Even Vera
+is a hit. Sagging, dragging, round where she should be flat, and flat
+where she should be round, she’s still the answer to a Martian prayer.</p>
+
+<p>Popular? We gave them a pantomime of Romeo and Juliet last night,
+and Vera had ’em roaring for more. They don’t applaud on Mars; they
+jump up and down, and, because the gravity is lighter here, a lot of
+pointy heads almost made a lot of holes in the ceiling of our brand new
+theater!</p>
+
+<p>Me? I don’t sing—I can’t until we learn the language, and I’m
+learning that fast. Meanwhile, all I do is hum. Ever hear <i>All the
+Things You Are</i> hummed to an audience of screaming Martian females? I
+won’t comment because I don’t want to sound egotistical but Sinatra
+should see me now....</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Tonight, Quontas Quoron had a bright idea. He’s taking his ship back to
+earth for more talent. Or that is, he thinks he is. But Actor’s Equity
+voted him down. He can bring in new talent: but only five people a
+year, and theatrical people of our choosing. They’ve got to be out of
+work and they’ve got to be guys and gals who won’t conflict. Take me:
+one crooner on Mars is enough—we leave for the Northern Hemisphere
+tomorrow on the first swing of our Canal Circuit. And I wouldn’t want
+to think there’s another crooner here down south while I’m gone. All by
+myself I want to melt the ice cap out of every Martian gal’s heart.</p>
+
+<p>Vera just came in. Vera looks radiant, making allowances, of course.
+But anyway, it’s all a matter of standards, and these Martian
+women, too busy with the nasty matters of water and temperature,
+are beauty-starved: as a sideline, Vera is starting a planet-wide
+beautician’s organization.</p>
+
+<p>And, as I’ve said, it’s all a matter of standards. Everything is
+relative.</p>
+
+<p>Vera looks more beautiful every day, and right now she’s the most
+beautiful woman on Mars—that is, discounting Quontas Quoron’s
+secretary—but technologically Mars has an advanced culture, and rumor
+has it that Quoron’s secretary is a robot.</p>
+
+<p>Pardon me, please. My wife is calling to me from our kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s that, dear? Tired? Well, why don’t we turn in, Vera?”</p>
+
+<p>You’ll have to excuse us. Tomorrow there’s a matinee. Vera and I will
+kill ’em!</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter"></div><div class="transnote">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note">
+    Transcriber’s note:
+  </h2>
+
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>Milton Lesser changed his legal name to Stephen Marlowe in 1960. Before this he used it as an occasional pseudonym.</p>
+
+<p>This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader,
+April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).</p>
+
+<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but
+minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p>
+</blockquote>
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78912 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+
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+
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+[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#78912](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78912)