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diff --git a/78912-0.txt b/78912-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d16781d --- /dev/null +++ b/78912-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,473 @@ +*** 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 *** |