The Animated Pinup
By Lewis Parker
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories ofScience and Fantasy July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
To make it clear how normal everything was when the evening started out,I'll let you in at the time Willy phoned me. I was in my apartment witha lady from down the hall....
I had asked her what she liked and she'd purred, "You." I had asked herwith soda or gingerale and she'd said, "Straight," so I'd obliged andpoured myself a triple too and sank into the sofa beside her.
The phone rang.
"Oh damn," she said.
"Your earlobes—" I began.
"The phone, James."
"Your shoulders—"
"James? Don't you think you'd better answer it?"
So I sighed and handed her the glass and told her not to hold it till Igot back or she'd melt the ice. I crossed the room to the telephone.
"City morgue," I said.
"Uh—unh—"
"Hullo Willy," I said, recognizing the stammer.
While he gulped and stuttered a couple more times I threw a kiss to thelady. She failed to throw it back because she was placing a bet withherself that Willy was short for Wilhelmina.
Willy straightened his tongue out. "Jim, I've got to see you."
Now Willy was a nervous little guy from faulty thyroid but neurotic in abearable way. He sounded even more upset than he usually did. I didn'tparticularly like him, but he was a topflight illustrator and I likedthe way he drew women, and besides I'd been trying for a year to tag himfor our agency. All the slicker art agencies were after him, that's howgood he was. We'd made the highest bid for him but he still had this bugin his noodle for free-lancing, which showed he had more business sensethan the rest of his ilk but which wasn't doing my position at theagency any good. I'd been joed to bag him.
Which was why I hesitated and reconsidered the impulse to brush him off.This was the first time he had definitely asked to see me. Sundaymidnight is one hell of a time to suddenly decide to see a doggingagent, but like I said Willy was neurotic. So I just tested the impulse.
"Well, Willy," I said, "I'm pretty busy at the moment looking after theinterests of the agency artists. They always come first, you know. Couldit wait—"
"Jim, I've got to see you. It's—It's driving me nuts trying to figureout what to do."
"Tax trouble? Or maybe one of your models?"
"No, nothing like that. Listen. Will you come over tonight?"
I let my instincts juggle the stress between pleasure and business. Bothwere practical, well-balanced personal interests. The thunderous nightwas young and the lady had nice earlobes and my apartment had thatfeeling about it. On the other hand the little fair-haired artist was ina jam and if I played fairy godmom bigger and better apartments andearlobes were in the offing from the agency.
So I made the mistake of my life.
I said, "I'll be there in half an hour," and hung up.
"Jim-mee," the lady said. She was pouting, so I pinched her earlobeand patted her shoulders and bemoaned the tyranny of the business worldand helped her into her coat. She went back to her own apartment. Itidied up the place, stacked the etchings in their corner, and took acab outside.
I tossed that part of it in to make it clear that on the fa