Read Online Cocksure by Mordecai Richler - Free Book Online Page B

all the other old editorial hands, he naturally wanted the first two titles in the Our Living History series to fail, but now, with publication day approaching, his loyalty to Oriole and what it stood for overrode his distaste for Tomasso. Mortimer suggested that he would try to book a provincial speaking tour for the Labour politician. “Forget it, baby,” Tomasso said. Mortimer offered to try to cajole one or another of the art cinemas into doing a season of the faded star’s films. “Skip it,” Tomasso said, chuckling.
    “Look here, if my services have become redundant under the new order of things, all you have to do is let me know.”
    “But, Mort, you are being groomed to take over. Didn’t you know that?”
    “What?”
    “The Star Maker especially asked to see your file. The Star Maker was enormously impressed.”
    “What, may I ask, did he find so impressive?”
    Tomasso narrowed his eyes; he grinned smugly.
    “Dino, I think the time has come for you and me to have a serious talk. There’s a lot going on at Oriole that baffles me.”
    “Tomorrow maybe,” Tomasso said, dismissing him.
    Hy hadn’t shown up for the morning conference and so immediately afterwards Mortimer went to his office. He wasn’t there, either. Mortimer stopped Jennifer Mills in the hall. “Seen Hy?” he asked, concerned.
    “No. But my guess would be the library. Or haven’t you had the pleasure yet?”
    “No.”
    “Our new librarian. Splendid body metabolism. And,” she added acidly, “mammary glands that are absolutely super.”
    Mortimer didn’t actually get to the library until six o’clock. The lights were out; it looked deserted. Mortimer was about to leave when a husky voice called out, “I’m in here.”
    The girl’s voice came from behind the stacks, where the reference office was situated. The new librarian was the good-looking, elegantly dressed colored woman Mortimer had encountered in Lloyd’s bank.
    “Well, hullo there,” she said, her smile teasing.
    “Sorry to trouble you so late. I was looking … um … for Mr. Rosen.”
    “I don’t recall a Mr. Rosen. Mind you, everyone else has been and gone. Now if you have a minute,” she added, “I’ll show you how I swing from stack to stack.”
    “Eh?”
    “Or don’t you think a colored librarian is a curiosity?”
    “Certainly not. But, um, if people have been dropping in, perhaps it’s because a girl as young and, ah, attractive as you are …”
    “Well, thank you. My name is Rachel Coleman.”
    “I’m Griffin. Mortimer Griffin.”
    Rachel was wearing a green cashmere sweater and a white leather skirt, cut stylishly short. Mortimer coughed studiously loud so that if anybody happened to come into the library they would realize at once that he was making no attempt to conceal his presence. On the contrary. Then he helped Rachel into her coat. Her perfume was bewitching, but he dared not sniff emphatically lest she think he believed colored people had a peculiar smell.
    Outside, they bumped into Jacob Shalinsky, of all people, carrying an enormous stack of his magazines. Touching his hat, Shalinsky grinned too knowingly for Mortimer’s taste. “Good evening, Mr. Griffin … Ah, Miss Coleman.”
    “You know him?” Mortimer asked.
    “Doesn’t everybody in Soho know Jake? He’s charming.”
    “He’s an obnoxious bastard, that’s what he is!”
    “I had no idea,” Rachel said, “that you were an anti-Semite.”
    She made that sound as if, to her delight, there was actually hair on his chest.
    “Don’t be absurd,” Mortimer said, startled.
    Which left them immediately outside The Eight Bells. “I suppose you wouldn’t have time for a drink?” Mortimer asked, trapped.
    “I’d love a drink.”
    Just my luck, Mortimer thought, all the regulars were there. The wide boys. Rapani the chemist from next door, Donnelly from the betting shop, Lawson, Gregory the headwaiter, Taylor, Wzcedak, and most of the others. As Mortimer