Read Online Even the Butler Was Poor by Ron Goulart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ron Goulart
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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out various voices and reading in a faint murmur, he checked the important words in each line of dialogue. The First Muffin carried on conversations with the Second Muffin, a snooty type, rejected by Chumley for lacking crispness, crunchiness and Honest-To-Blighty flavor.
Ben tried his Stanley Holloway voice, then blended in a touch of Roland Young.
"What is it this time?" The thickset graying conductor was standing in the aisle beside his seat.
"Hum?"
"You're going in to do another commercial, aren't you, Mr. Spanner?"
"Yeah, I am." Slipping his ticket out of his breast pocket, he handed it over. "I'm going to play a part in some My Man Chumley radio commercials."
"Do you know him?"
"Who?"
"Chumleyâthe guy who plays him, that is."
"That's Barry Katbkart. I've met him a few times over the years, but we aren't chums."
"Seems like a very warm, likeable person."
Ben looked out the window. "I hear he's not exactly that in real life."
Nodding, the conductor punched the ticket. "What are the chances of you getting a job like that for yourself? They not only use that guy on television and radio, but in magazines and newspapers, and even on all the cups and napkins. Just about everything but the toilet paper, but maybe they just haven't thought of that yet."
"I'm basically a voice man, not an in-front-of-the-camera actor."
"He must earn a lot of money."
"I've heard tell Kathkart makes more per year than a Metro North conductor," confided Ben. "Though I find it hard to believe any mere performer can do that well."
The conductor chuckled and moved on.
Ben returned to his scripts. He paused, leaned back, muttered the word "Blimey" several times in different voices. When he finally found the reading he was satisfied with, he returned to marking his lines.
He yawned twice, took another drink of juice. By concentrating on the commercials, he had hoped to keep his mind off H.J. This whole business he was now entangled in with her failed to cheer him.
She still looked great, though. Prettier than ever actually, if you were honest about it. But you had to keep in mind that there's more to a marriage than a wife who looks great. H.J. sure hadn't overcome her tendency to wander into trouble. This Rick Dell/ninety-nine clop clop business was considerably more horrendous than her usual run of trouble, but it followed pretty much the same pattern he'd grown familiar with. She'd get into a screwed up situation, he'd feel obliged to help pull her out.
His life really had been different in the three years since they'd separated and divorced. He'd risen in his chosen profession, met new women, led a much less stressful life and a more content one, too.
A duller life, though. Yeah, and he had to admit that every so often he'd missed H.J.
Such thoughts were dangerous.
"Blimey," he said aloud.
Chapter 12
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H ead low, mumbling his lines in the muffin voice he'd pretty nearly decided he'd go with, Ben stepped out of the elevator twenty six-floors above Third Avenue and 51st and walked smack into a very pretty blonde woman who was searching for something in her large scarlet purse. He became briefly entangled with her, executing a wobbly half turn before getting free.
"Asshole," remarked the blonde, elbowing him aside so that she might jump into the elevator just before its doors came hissing shut.
Backing across the thickly carpeted corridor, clutching his attaché case to his chest, Ben stared at the closed silvery doors of the elevator. His nose wrinkled once as he muttered, "Same smell."
The young woman was the model Trinity Winters and she was wearing the same scent as the woman in the ski mask with whom he'd wrestled on Long Island the night before.
The perfume must be Crazed. A popular one, worn probably by thousands of women. Except that Trinity Winters, judging by his quick go-round with her just now, also felt a lot like the masked female burglar.
That's a hell of a subjective judgment, though, based on a
Ben tried his Stanley Holloway voice, then blended in a touch of Roland Young.
"What is it this time?" The thickset graying conductor was standing in the aisle beside his seat.
"Hum?"
"You're going in to do another commercial, aren't you, Mr. Spanner?"
"Yeah, I am." Slipping his ticket out of his breast pocket, he handed it over. "I'm going to play a part in some My Man Chumley radio commercials."
"Do you know him?"
"Who?"
"Chumleyâthe guy who plays him, that is."
"That's Barry Katbkart. I've met him a few times over the years, but we aren't chums."
"Seems like a very warm, likeable person."
Ben looked out the window. "I hear he's not exactly that in real life."
Nodding, the conductor punched the ticket. "What are the chances of you getting a job like that for yourself? They not only use that guy on television and radio, but in magazines and newspapers, and even on all the cups and napkins. Just about everything but the toilet paper, but maybe they just haven't thought of that yet."
"I'm basically a voice man, not an in-front-of-the-camera actor."
"He must earn a lot of money."
"I've heard tell Kathkart makes more per year than a Metro North conductor," confided Ben. "Though I find it hard to believe any mere performer can do that well."
The conductor chuckled and moved on.
Ben returned to his scripts. He paused, leaned back, muttered the word "Blimey" several times in different voices. When he finally found the reading he was satisfied with, he returned to marking his lines.
He yawned twice, took another drink of juice. By concentrating on the commercials, he had hoped to keep his mind off H.J. This whole business he was now entangled in with her failed to cheer him.
She still looked great, though. Prettier than ever actually, if you were honest about it. But you had to keep in mind that there's more to a marriage than a wife who looks great. H.J. sure hadn't overcome her tendency to wander into trouble. This Rick Dell/ninety-nine clop clop business was considerably more horrendous than her usual run of trouble, but it followed pretty much the same pattern he'd grown familiar with. She'd get into a screwed up situation, he'd feel obliged to help pull her out.
His life really had been different in the three years since they'd separated and divorced. He'd risen in his chosen profession, met new women, led a much less stressful life and a more content one, too.
A duller life, though. Yeah, and he had to admit that every so often he'd missed H.J.
Such thoughts were dangerous.
"Blimey," he said aloud.
Chapter 12
Â
H ead low, mumbling his lines in the muffin voice he'd pretty nearly decided he'd go with, Ben stepped out of the elevator twenty six-floors above Third Avenue and 51st and walked smack into a very pretty blonde woman who was searching for something in her large scarlet purse. He became briefly entangled with her, executing a wobbly half turn before getting free.
"Asshole," remarked the blonde, elbowing him aside so that she might jump into the elevator just before its doors came hissing shut.
Backing across the thickly carpeted corridor, clutching his attaché case to his chest, Ben stared at the closed silvery doors of the elevator. His nose wrinkled once as he muttered, "Same smell."
The young woman was the model Trinity Winters and she was wearing the same scent as the woman in the ski mask with whom he'd wrestled on Long Island the night before.
The perfume must be Crazed. A popular one, worn probably by thousands of women. Except that Trinity Winters, judging by his quick go-round with her just now, also felt a lot like the masked female burglar.
That's a hell of a subjective judgment, though, based on a
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