Free Even the Butler Was Poor by Ron Goulart

quick feel in the hall, he reminded himself.
    Still, it was odd.
    Everything is odd. Has been since you allowed H.J. to cross your threshold again . He noticed his watch, saw that the time was two minutes short of two and hurried into the Lenzer, Moon & Lombard reception room.
    The place was large and white. The carpeting, the chairs, the reception desk, the platinum-haired receptionist were all shades of white. Three LM&L print ad proofs framed on the far wall provided the only trace of color, and they had wide white frames. Two of the ads were for the My Man Chumley account and featured full color shots of Barry Kathkart as the jovial butler.
    Ben crossed over to the desk. "You know, I debated about wearing my white suit," he confided to the receptionist. "Now I'm sorry I didn't. I would've blended better."
    She gave him a look that lacked sufficient warmth to be disdainful. "Yes?"
    "Ben Spanner."
    "Who?"
    "Spanner. To see Les Beaujack."
    "Oh, yes. If you'll take a seat, Mr. Beaujack will be ready for you very shortly."
    An artist, who looked no more than twenty-two, was the only other person waiting. He was slouched in one of the white chairs, his large black leather portfolio resting across his knees.
    "Afternoon." Ben seated himself two chairs away.
    "You're married to H.J. Mavity," said the shaggy-headed young man.
    "Used to be."
    "She's an interesting lady."
    "She is, yes."
    "Nice bone structure, too."
    "You think so? I've never been quite satisfied with her ribs along this side."
    "Facial bones I mean, speaking strictly from an artist's viewpoint," the young artist explained. "She isn't too terrible a painter either, if you like the trite, traditional paperback school."
    "I do. In fact, I was always after my parents to send me to the trite, traditional paperback school. But they insisted on UCLA instead."
    "Yeah, that's right." The artist folded his arms and turned away. "H.J. mentioned that you were an incurable wiseass."
    Grinning, Ben opened his attaché case and got out his scripts for further study. Eleven minutes later a white door to the rear of the receptionist flipped open and a middle-sized, deeply tanned man of about forty looked out into the room. "Ben, old buddy, come on in," he invited. "We'll be taping right here in our in-house studio today."
    "Hi, Les." Shutting the scripts away again, he got up and went over to shake hands with the advertising executive. "I think I've worked out the right voice for the—"
    "I'm sure you have, which is why we hired you." He stepped back into the office area, holding the door. "Let me guide you through the labyrinth."
    Just about everything on the other side of the door was white, too.
    "By the way, I was glad to hear," said Beaujack over his shoulder, "that you and your lovely bride were back together again."
    "Where'd you hear that?"
    "Oh, around someplace. Isn't it so?"
    "For the moment," admitted Ben after a few seconds. He followed Beaujack deeper into the agency.
    Â 
    T he director up in the booth said, "My Man Chumley, Spot 32B, Take 7." He was a plump black man in his middle thirties. As he pointed at Ben through the glass now, he smiled with just a trace of weariness. The clock on the wall of the small studio showed that it was nearly four o'clock.
    Ben leaned into his microphone and said, "Blimey, but I'm on top of the bloomin' world, I am."
    The small, pale actor beside Ben said, "An' well yer should be, mate. You've been picked to be part of a blinkin' My Man—"
    "Jesus H. Christ, aren't you ever going to read that line right, jerk?" Barry Kathkart, standing at a microphone of his own, lowered his script to glare over at the small, pale actor.
    "Barry, old buddy," said Beaujack from the booth, "Pierce sounds fine to us up here. Suppose we try to get all the way through his second commercial before we—"
    "He sounds like a raving faggot," said the tall, broad actor.
    "I am a faggot," said Pierce Gardener, "but that's no reason for you to