Read Online Seconds by David Ely - Free Book Online

a kind of logic to it all. Let me put it this way. This morning, for example, certain remarkable things have happened to me, not the least of which was the act of adultery, to use a prudish term. Now, I’m not an adulterous man, really, but I feel no guilt at the moment nor do I think I ever will, simply because it all seems quite natural and simple, and—well, logical. I suppose it’s partly because, as you have said, you are a wifely kind of person. And then yesterday, what happened then was logical and familiar, too, in a way. Granted that I was in a semi-drugged condition much of the time, still it amazes me, in retrospect, that the whole process didn’t strike me as being fantastic—beyond belief. I did believe it, though, and that’s why I went through with it, barring an occasional objection, and I think the reason for this was that the whole framework of the operation was businesslike and efficient. In short, I was confronted with a process that was, perhaps superficially, quite familiar. The process of providing guidance, advice, and services to a client, roughly similar to the manner in which I myself have been trained, with the exception, of course, that where I have dealt with money, this company deals with human beings.”
    â€œOh, yes,” the woman said, “the company’s very up to date. The whole idea is to treat the client as a complete person and make him feel at home, whether at work or play. Only, the difference is that we care. I mean, our entire purpose is to serve the client. His happiness is all that’s important to us. Really,” she added, waltzing her fingers playfully across his chest, “if we don’t succeed in providing that service, then we’ve failed. That’s what our president says, over and over.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s right,” Wilson said, remembering the kind-faced old man who had conversed with him so reassuringly the night before. “As a matter of fact, that’s supposed to be the guiding principle in banking nowadays, too. We adopted a new motto a few years ago, for instance. ‘The Friendly Bank.’ ” He smiled drowsily. “Of course, it didn’t make any difference. We didn’t care any more about our clients, personally, than before, but our public relations man made a very strong case at the time for that motto. He said, as I recall, that people were terribly anxious to feel that they were wanted, and that if our corporate image—that was his phrase, not mine—if our corporate image could only wear a friendly smile, why then they would come flocking to us with their funds. Well, nothing happened. I suppose it was because we were still too strongly bound to the old tradition, thinking that people wanted us to handle their money, when they really wanted us to love them . . . Now,” he added, from the depths of his sleepiness, “that’s a strange thing for a banker to say.”
    â€œBut you’re right. That’s the whole point—loving. We love you, Mr. Wilson. Yes we do.” Her voice seemed inexpressibly soothing to him now, and with a sigh of gratitude, he turned toward her. “You just cuddle up and forget about everything,” she went on, drawing his head down so that his face nestled into the warmth of her bosom, and clasping him close with a faint rocking motion of her arms. “Isn’t that better now?”
    â€œMmmmm.”
    â€œYou’re going to sleep, aren’t you?”
    â€œMmmmm.”
    â€œThat’s the boy. That’s the good boy.” She continued the rocking motion and at the same time began to hum softly what sounded like a little nursery tune, which sent a purr flowing from her body to his. He seemed to be sinking deliciously into a fragrant sea of tenderness, lulled by her faraway voice. “That’s my goodykins. That’s my sweet lamb . . .” The sea received him