here?”
“I could not say, sir,” Mr. Browning answered coolly. “However, there does appear to be a great deal of competition for a limited number of positions. And those are mostly going to the locals.”
“Yes, well, we’ll just see about that,” Tolley said. “The name Tolbert Phillips carries a bit of weight around here, you know. Why, were it not for my family, there would be no train service to this hellhole. Now, Giles, I insist that you go on up to the room and get yourself cleaned up. Then meet me back down here in the bar.” Tolley winked and looked around conspiratorially. “I have a little something that will liven up our lemonade.”
And so I installed myself in Tolley Phillips’s suite. I took a hot shower, changed clothes, and met him downstairs in the bar. The place was noisy, crowded with recently arrived volunteers for the expedition; a certain excited, festive atmosphere prevailed. Tolley ordered lemonades for us into which he surreptitiously poured from a pint bottle of tequila. “Picked this up across the border,” he said, flashing the bottle at me. “Ever had a margarita, Giles?”
Though I’ve spent time with my college buddies in some of Chicago’s speakeasies, drinking contraband whiskey and sundry homemade rotgut concoctions, I’d never tasted tequila before. Tolley raised his glass. “I have a hunch we’re going to become the best of friends, old sport,” he said. “And, of course, I mean that in a strictly platonic way. Here’s to our adventure in old Mexico.”
We clicked glasses and took a drink. “That’s not bad,” I admitted.
“Not bad? You’re damn right it’s not bad,” Tolley said. “Now, I’ve been giving some serious thought to your situation, Giles. And I’ve decided that we should get you signed on for the expedition as my valet. Each of the volunteers is allowed to bring one servant with him.”
“Your
valet
? Gee, I don’t know about that, Tolley. I don’t have much experience in that area. What does a valet do, exactly?”
“Oh, don’t be put off by the term, old sport,” Tolley said. “It’s just a matter of semantics. You know I had my own valet growing up. He would lay out my clothes every morning, and help me to dress. It was the first inkling I had that I liked the touch of a man.”
“I’m definitely not going to dress you, Tolley,” I said. “Let’s get that clear right up front.”
Tolley laughed again. “Of course you aren’t, Giles,” he said. “Wouldn’t ask you to. Quite capable of dressing myself. Perhaps we’ll call you my assistant, then, rather than my valet. Does that sound better to you?”
“Not that much, really.”
“You can be my man Friday, so to speak,” Tolley said. “Part secretary, part valet, part groom—”
“Part groom?”
“Yes, the expedition committee encouraged volunteers to bring their own mounts with them,” Tolley explained. “And so Father sent along three of his prize polo ponies for me to ride into Mexico. But I’m afraid that I had to dismiss my groom in St. Louis. Fellow had a bit of a drinking problem. Do you have any experience with horses, Giles?”
“Hardly any,” I said. “Just the little I learned about them on the ranch. I grew up in Chicago, Tolley. I’m definitely not qualified to be the groom for your polo ponies. In fact, the job as your assistant is beginning to sound less and less appealing.”
“I treat my people very well,” said Tolley, mildly offended. “And if I may say so, Giles, you’re hardly in a position to be particular. You do want to get on the expedition, don’t you?”
“I’d do just about anything to get on,” I admitted. “I’m just not sure that I want to be one of your
people.
I was really hoping to get hired on as a photographer.”
“Oh,
please,
Giles,” Tolley said mockingly. “Why on earth would they hire
you
as a photographer? Don’t you think they’ll have a professional covering such an important event?
“I could not say, sir,” Mr. Browning answered coolly. “However, there does appear to be a great deal of competition for a limited number of positions. And those are mostly going to the locals.”
“Yes, well, we’ll just see about that,” Tolley said. “The name Tolbert Phillips carries a bit of weight around here, you know. Why, were it not for my family, there would be no train service to this hellhole. Now, Giles, I insist that you go on up to the room and get yourself cleaned up. Then meet me back down here in the bar.” Tolley winked and looked around conspiratorially. “I have a little something that will liven up our lemonade.”
And so I installed myself in Tolley Phillips’s suite. I took a hot shower, changed clothes, and met him downstairs in the bar. The place was noisy, crowded with recently arrived volunteers for the expedition; a certain excited, festive atmosphere prevailed. Tolley ordered lemonades for us into which he surreptitiously poured from a pint bottle of tequila. “Picked this up across the border,” he said, flashing the bottle at me. “Ever had a margarita, Giles?”
Though I’ve spent time with my college buddies in some of Chicago’s speakeasies, drinking contraband whiskey and sundry homemade rotgut concoctions, I’d never tasted tequila before. Tolley raised his glass. “I have a hunch we’re going to become the best of friends, old sport,” he said. “And, of course, I mean that in a strictly platonic way. Here’s to our adventure in old Mexico.”
We clicked glasses and took a drink. “That’s not bad,” I admitted.
“Not bad? You’re damn right it’s not bad,” Tolley said. “Now, I’ve been giving some serious thought to your situation, Giles. And I’ve decided that we should get you signed on for the expedition as my valet. Each of the volunteers is allowed to bring one servant with him.”
“Your
valet
? Gee, I don’t know about that, Tolley. I don’t have much experience in that area. What does a valet do, exactly?”
“Oh, don’t be put off by the term, old sport,” Tolley said. “It’s just a matter of semantics. You know I had my own valet growing up. He would lay out my clothes every morning, and help me to dress. It was the first inkling I had that I liked the touch of a man.”
“I’m definitely not going to dress you, Tolley,” I said. “Let’s get that clear right up front.”
Tolley laughed again. “Of course you aren’t, Giles,” he said. “Wouldn’t ask you to. Quite capable of dressing myself. Perhaps we’ll call you my assistant, then, rather than my valet. Does that sound better to you?”
“Not that much, really.”
“You can be my man Friday, so to speak,” Tolley said. “Part secretary, part valet, part groom—”
“Part groom?”
“Yes, the expedition committee encouraged volunteers to bring their own mounts with them,” Tolley explained. “And so Father sent along three of his prize polo ponies for me to ride into Mexico. But I’m afraid that I had to dismiss my groom in St. Louis. Fellow had a bit of a drinking problem. Do you have any experience with horses, Giles?”
“Hardly any,” I said. “Just the little I learned about them on the ranch. I grew up in Chicago, Tolley. I’m definitely not qualified to be the groom for your polo ponies. In fact, the job as your assistant is beginning to sound less and less appealing.”
“I treat my people very well,” said Tolley, mildly offended. “And if I may say so, Giles, you’re hardly in a position to be particular. You do want to get on the expedition, don’t you?”
“I’d do just about anything to get on,” I admitted. “I’m just not sure that I want to be one of your
people.
I was really hoping to get hired on as a photographer.”
“Oh,
please,
Giles,” Tolley said mockingly. “Why on earth would they hire
you
as a photographer? Don’t you think they’ll have a professional covering such an important event?
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