The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis Page 12

  “Man in public life has to be careful, you know,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “Not that I miss it,” he continued. “I live a very simple life—plain, wholesome food, a good book in the evening, fishing in the summer in our glorious lakes, hunting in the fall in our glorious woods—”

  “What do you hunt?” I asked.

  “Glorious deer,” replied McBride.

  “That must be fun,” I said. “All I’ve ever shot are glorious pheasants.”

  “Ah,” he said passionately, “this state abounds with glorious game.”

  “It’s got people too,” I said.

  “Glorious people,” he said.

  “Who deserve a glorious governor,” I said.

  “Dobie,” he said.

  “Mr. McBride,” I said.

  “Dinner,” Pearl said.

  We sat down to a plain wholesome meal of vichyssoise, lobster Newburgh, artichoke hearts, sirloin Chateaubriand, button mushrooms, and peach melba.

  After this snack I asked McBride whether I could take Pearl out for a little while.

  “Of course, son,” he belched, “but be careful with my little girl.” He rose laboriously from his chair and put a Neanderthal paw on her shoulder. “My little girl,” he bellowed tenderly. “I like to think of Pearl as my own daughter. I’ve never had any children of my own.” He sighed mightily. “Oh, I can’t complain. Life’s been good to me. But I think I’d trade all this”—his arm swept around the room, indicating a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of overstuffed furniture—“for a child of my own. But that’s life, I guess.” He blew his big red nose.

  “Tough,” I said.

  “Dobie,” he said, “I want you to be the first to have one of these.” From his breast pocket he removed a MCBRIDE FOR GOVERNOR sticker. “Paste it on your windshield.”

  “How can I thank you enough?” I said.

  “Don’t try. Run along now and be sure to have Pearl home by ten. Or else,” he chuckled, “I will drive you into the ground like a wicket.”

  I saw him lumbering toward the bourbon as we left. In the car Pearl said, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “No,” I answered, “but just the same, I’m going to get you home by ten. No sense crowding our luck.”

  “All right, dear. What shall we do?”

  “How about a movie? There’s supposed to be a very unusual picture at the Bijou. It isn’t told in flashback.”

  “It isn’t?” said Pearl. “Then how is it told?”

  “They just start at the beginning of the story and go right straight through to the end.”

  “Revolutionary,” said Pearl.

  I headed the car toward the Bijou. “Tomorrow night,” I suggested, “let’s go canoeing.”

  “Marvy,” said Pearl.

  “And Friday night we’ll go dancing.”

  “Terrif,” said Pearl.

  I took her hand. She smiled. I smiled back. Our eyes met. The car ran up on the sidewalk and into a barbershop.

  At 11:35 that evening Pearl and I limped up the walk to her house. She had a few yards of tape on her hand. I was uninjured except for a couple of civil and criminal actions pending against me.

  McBride came bounding out the door like a big fat jack-in-the-box. “What happened?” he roared.

  “Flatter him,” Pearl whispered to me and ducked prudently into the house.

  “What happened?” repeated McBride, grabbing a handful of my shirt and holding me out at arm’s length.

  “Oh, sir,” I cried, “I can hardly wait until you’re governor. The roads in this state are deplorable.”

  “What,” he gritted, “happened?”

  “What we need,” I said, “is a governor who is also an expert in construction. That’s what we need.”

  He put me down slowly. “What happened?” he asked again.

  “You should have seen that disgraceful hole right in the middle of the street,” I said. “We’d have both been killed if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to drive into a nearby barbershop. Oh, how I wish it was next fall and you were in office.”

  He rubbed his head for a minute. “How’s Pearl?” he asked at length.

  “Just a scratch, thank heaven. But there’s no telling what will happen to our citizens on these treacherous roads until you are elected and straighten things out.”

  He sat down on the stoop. “Dobie, listen. You got to be more careful with Pearl. If anything like this ever happens again, I’ll—”

  “Yes, sir,” I interrupted quickly. “I’ll be very careful. Good night.”

  “Good night,” he mumbled.

  The next night in the canoe, the water lapping softly on the gunwales, the moon bright on Pearl’s bandages, she said, “You are a genius.”

  “Pshaw,” I said.

  “What a great talent you have for handling people.”

  “I’ve got another talent too,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I can tell time. Pearl, it’s 9:35. I’ve got to paddle back to the boat dock and then drive you home by ten. I don’t think your uncle Emmett can be pushed much further.”

  “We’ll go in a minute, Dobie. Now lean back.”

  “Pearl, I think we better leave now.”

  “Just a few seconds more.”

  “No.”

  “Aw, Dobie.”

  “Well, just a few seconds.”

  In just a few seconds it was 9:50 and I was frantic. “We’ll never make it,” I wailed.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “It will take you three minutes to get to the boat dock and seven minutes to drive me home. We’ll make it.”

  “Three minutes to the boat dock? You’re off your trolley. It took me fifteen minutes to paddle out here.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You were sitting down. Can’t make any time that way. Stand up and paddle.”

  “Stand up?” I asked, aghast.

  “Sure. Come on, get up.”

  “But you’re not supposed to stand up in a boat.”

  “A myth,” she said lightly. “Indians did it all the time.”

  I got up shakily. “I’ll tip over the boat,” I said.

  “Nonsense,” said Pearl as I tipped over the boat.

  It was a little after midnight when I brought Pearl home in a blanket. “Good luck,” she sneezed and ran past Uncle Emmett into the house.

  “It’s shocking,” I yelled as McBride chased me around the lawn, “the things that go on in this state. Do you know,” I asked, vaulting an iron deer, “that there are boats for rent that are not seaworthy? Things,” I said, flattening a tulip bed, “have gotten out of hand. What we need in this state is a strong man in the governor’s mansion. A man subject neither,” I said, capsizing a deck chair, “to fear nor favoritism; a man who will stamp out corruption in high and low places; a man”—he was getting pretty winded—“who will protect the weal of the people; a man stern but just; in short”—he sat abruptly on the grass—“a man like you.”

  “Dobie,” he gasped, “now what have you done?”

  “An accident,” I replied. “The kind of accident that will not be allowed to happen in your administration.”

  “Dobie, I’m a patient man—”

  “An admirable quality in a governor.”

  “But this is positively the last time that—”

  “Yes, sir. It will never happen again.”

  “If it does, I’ll—”

  “Well, I’d better get home now and do some studying for that fascinating political science course. We’re having a fascinating test tomorrow. Good night.”

  He didn’t answer.

  The next night at the dance I was firm. “We are leaving,” I told Pearl, “at nine-thirty.”

  “But,” she protested, “it only takes ten minutes to drive home.”

  I shook my head and repeated, “We are leaving at nine-thirty.”

  And promptly at nine-thirty we left. I drove carefully aw
ay from the curb. I signaled for all turns, stopped for all lights, passed no cars, kept both hands on the wheel, and never let the speedometer needle get above 25. But all these precautions notwithstanding, halfway home tragedy struck. The motor coughed and died.

  I displayed admirable calm. “Pearl,” I said quietly, “let us keep our heads. It is twenty minutes before ten. We are a mile from your house. We will get out of the car and walk.”

  “In these shoes?” asked Pearl, pointing at a pair of flimsy gold things with an arch like a ski slide.

  “You can take them off and go barefoot. Or, if you prefer, I’ll carry you. In either case, we are leaving immediately. Come on.”

  “Aren’t you even going to lift up the hood and look at the motor?” she asked. “Everybody always does that before they abandon a car.”

  “I don’t know any more about motors than I do about the Koran,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  She got out of the car. “Come on, Dobie, let’s take a look at the motor. Maybe we’ll see something loose or something. Come on, Dobie. It will only take a second to look.”

  “Oh, all right,” I surrendered.

  “Goody,” she said. “I love to look at motors.”

  I opened the hood and we peered inside. “You have a nice motor, Dobie,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  “All those wires and bolts and things.”

  “All right, Pearl. We’ll start walking now.”

  “Just a minute, Dobie. I think I see something loose.”

  “Never mind, Pearl. Let’s get going.”

  “No, Dobie. Look at this little thing over by that little thing.”

  I looked at this little thing over by that little thing, and sure enough it did seem to have come loose. I fastened it with a pin that seemed to be made for that purpose.

  “Now start the car, Dobie. I’ll watch.”

  After extracting a promise from Pearl that we’d leave instantly on foot if the car failed to start, I got back behind the wheel. I stepped on the starter, remembering just too late that the tip of her long, frilly sleeve was resting on the fan belt. There was a ripping and tearing and a pinwheel of flying taffeta.

  “It started! It started!” she cried, standing in the street in her dance set.

  Uncle Emmett was nowhere in sight when I escorted Pearl up the path, she rakishly dressed in a seat cover. She slipped into the house. I started tiptoeing back to the car. Then I saw him. Or, rather, I saw a garage door racing toward me like an express train. I executed a twenty-foot standing broad jump, landed on all fours, left the knees of my rented tux on the sidewalk, leaped into the car, and set a world’s record for speed in first gear.

  For the next several days no moon shone on our romance. We saw one another only by daylight, and when I took her home, I dropped her off a safe six blocks away. It was very unsatisfactory. To our credit it must be said that we worked hard on plans to win over Uncle Emmett, but the best of these plans—for me to grow a mustache and call on Pearl under an assumed name—was none too good. Things looked black.

  Then one day before our political science class, Pearl ran up to me in a state of high excitement. I could almost hear her brain clicking. “I’ve got an idea,” she said.

  “It better be good.”

  “It’s perfect. Listen, Dobie, what does Uncle Emmett want most in the world?”

  “To hit me with a garage door.”

  She made an impatient gesture. “I’m serious. What does he want most?”

  “To be governor.”

  “Exactly. And there’s nothing he won’t do for anybody who can make him governor.” She prodded my chest with her forefinger. “Dobie, you are going to do it.”

  “It’s too dirty a trick on the people of Minnesota,” I said. “I won’t do it.”

  “I don’t mean real governor,” she said. “I mean mock governor.”

  “What’s that?” I asked. “Someone who goes around mocking the governor?”

  “You don’t understand,” she began as the bell rang for the start of the political science class.

  “Let’s cut class,” I suggested, “and you tell me all about it.”

  She said, “No, we’ve got to go to class. That’s part of the plan.”

  I shrugged and followed her in. For an hour I nodded through Professor Pomfritt’s lecture. When the class was over I asked Pearl, “Now what?”

  “Now we go up and see Professor Pomfritt.”

  “What are we going to do with him?”

  “First we’ll flatter him.”

  “That,” I said, “seems to be the standard approach with you.”

  I followed Pearl up to the lectern where Professor Pomfritt was gathering up his notes and wondering how he was going to live out the year on his salary.

  “Professor Pomfritt,” said Pearl, “we want to tell you how much we’ve been enjoying your lectures. Haven’t we, Dobie?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, thank you, thank you,” crowed the professor, his little old eyes crinkling with pleasure.

  “We think you give the most stimulating lectures on campus. Don’t we, Dobie?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You should have heard me twenty years ago when my lecture notes were still legible,” said the professor.

  “Nobody,” said Pearl, “can accuse you of being an ivory-tower professor. Political science is a living, breathing subject, and the way you teach it is real and vital. Isn’t it, Dobie?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well,” chirped the professor. “Well, well, well. I’d ask you up to my rooms for tea only I don’t have any tea. However, if you’d like a cup of warm water—”

  “No, thanks,” said Pearl. “We got another class.”

  “Bless me, so do I!” exclaimed Professor Pomfritt and started away. “Come up and chat again.”

  Pearl grabbed his frayed elbow. “There’s one thing, Professor. As you know, a new governor will be elected in Minnesota next fall, and there’s been a lot of talk about it among the students.”

  “So that’s what they all talk about while I’m lecturing,” mused the professor.

  “Your inspirational teaching,” said Pearl, taking a deep breath, “has got us all so interested in politics that we can’t think of anything else.”

  “We must talk about this some more,” said Professor Pomfritt. “Come over tomorrow afternoon. I will borrow some tea leaves from my Chinese laundryman.”

  Pearl yanked his elbow, shredding the ancient tweed. “This can’t wait,” she said urgently. “The talk about the election is getting very heated. I’m afraid the students may come to blows.”

  “Dear me,” said the professor. “What’s to be done?”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” she replied, “why not hold a mock election in class? It will be a good practical exercise in political science and it will pacify the students.”

  The professor looked doubtful. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “I’m sure,” Pearl continued, “that there will be a lot of publicity for our mock election. This being an election year, the newspapers will certainly send reporters.”

  “Newspapers?” said the professor, brightening. “Ah, good. The last time I had my name in the newspapers I got a raise. It was in 1927. I fainted at the Lindbergh parade. Malnutrition, the papers said, and the dean was forced to increase my salary.”

  “Then it’s all settled?” asked Pearl.

  “Very well. But you’ll have to help me organize this function. I know so little about these things.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Pearl reassured him. “I’ll take care of everything. We’ll have the mock election on Friday. Just leave all the details to me. Goodbye, Professor, and we wish we had more teachers like you, don’t we, Dobie?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  We left the professor and went outside. “Now,” said Pearl, “let’s get busy. I’ll go aroun
d to the newspapers and see that they send reporters. You start working on your speech.”

  “My speech?”

  “You are going to nominate Uncle Emmett with a great speech, a stirring speech, a magnificent speech.”

  “About him? That’s a good trick.”

  “You can do it, Dobie.”

  “I can?” I said uncertainly. “Well, I’ll try. Tell me something about him. Maybe he has an attractive side that I haven’t noticed. What about his education?”

  “He quit school in the fifth grade,” said Pearl. “He was eighteen and so big that all the other kids used to laugh at him.”

  “Hm,” I said. “Well, maybe that’s not so bad. So he didn’t have an education. He went to work, rose from the ranks, rags to riches. That’s good stuff—a self-made man.”

  “No,” said Pearl. “His father left him the business.”

  “Maybe,” I suggested, “I could say that he’s real strong.”

  Pearl shook her head.

  “I doubt,” I said, “that I can get him any votes by telling how much he eats.”

  Pearl had an idea. “Why don’t you say something like this? In times of reconstruction we need a construction man.”

  “And in times of retrenchment we need a trencherman.”

  “Wait,” said Pearl. “You’ve given me an angle. Reconstruction and retrenchment. For reconstruction, a construction man. For retrenchment, a businessman. Even if Uncle Emmett did inherit the company, you can show that it was his own business ability that made it pay off. He’s made scads of money. I’ll dig up some facts and figures. You will cite evidence to prove what he has built and how much he has earned. A construction man for reconstruction. A businessman for retrenchment. Uncle Emmett, you will demonstrate, is both.”

  “It might work,” I allowed.

  “It will work and Uncle Emmett will read all about your speech in the papers and he will welcome you back like a long lost son and we can start necking at night again.”

  “What are we waiting for?” I said, rubbing my hands briskly. “Let’s get started.”

  By election time on Friday we were ready. Pearl had alerted the newspapers. I had composed an eloquent speech based on data that Pearl had copied from a ledger she found in her uncle’s desk. Our plans were well laid and synchronized. We were confident.