Two Much! Read Online Free Page B

what he was calling about. Would he do just one more, prior to payment? It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
    Buzz. Gloria said, “Linda Ann Margolies.”
    â€œFine. Get me Charlie Hillerman.”
    â€œYou must be crazy.”
    â€œJust get him.” I switched to the outside line, and said, “Miss Margolies?”
    â€œYes, it is.” Gloria’s description had been absolutely on the money: sexy, cuddly and young. “Is that Arthur Dodge?”
    â€œDepends,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
    â€œI’m a graduate student at Columbia, Mr. Dodge,” she said. “My master’s thesis is on humor, and I’d like to interview you about Folksy Cards and your theory of comedy and, oh, all sorts of stuffy things like that.”
    â€œWell, you can’t hope for too much from a first date,” I said. (She had a nicely throaty chuckle.) “When did you want to get together?” Not that I was set on fire by the thought of a master’s thesis on the theory of comedy—my own theory, which could quickly have been transmitted by telephone, is if they buy it it’s funny—but the voice was intriguing. And, as John Ray pointed out back in 1650, “A maid that laughs is half taken.”
    â€œAs soon as possible,” she said. “Could I come down there today?”
    â€œNot today,” I said. “Umm, how about next Wednesday?”
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œOne o’clock.” Late enough for me to definitely be in town, early enough so I wouldn’t have to leave for a while.
    â€œFine,” she said. “See you then.”
    â€œTry to stay cheerful,” I told her, hung up, and Gloria buzzed me. “Hah?”
    â€œHillerman.”
    â€œAh.” I pushed the button. “Hi, Charlie.”
    â€œSo you’re in town, are you?” He sounded dangerous, and I was recalling now that he’s a large fellow for an illustrator. He comes from Oregon, and he’s no stranger to woodchopping. “Just wait there,” he said, “I’ll be right over.”
    â€œNo need, Charlie,” I said. “I can describe the idea on the phone.”
    That bewildered him. “What idea?”
    â€œThe idea I’m calling about. It’s a Get Well Soon, and what we want—”
    â€œYou want me to do another ?” He became briefly falsetto. “You son of a bitch, you’ve been avoiding me with that out-of-town gag, all of a sudden—”
    â€œCharlie, Charlie,” I said, “what makes you talk that way? I have been out of town. You can ask Gloria.”
    â€œI was there yesterday,” he said. “And I went to your apartment, talked to that freak you’ve got in there.”
    â€œYou’ve got my home address, Charlie? That’s wonderful; now we can see each other after business hours, too.”
    â€œYou’re in town now , you bastard, and—”
    â€œCharlie, what are you upset about?”
    â€œ You owe me three hundred and fifty dollars, you son of a bitch! ”
    â€œThat much?” With my free hand I opened my checkbook, which I keep edged in black.
    â€œI’ll take it out of your ass, Art, if I can’t get it any other way.”
    â€œCharlie, you know how bad the greeting card business is in the summer. Don’t act as though I’m not your friend, buddy, you’ve cashed my checks before.”
    â€œSome of them,” he said. “And some of them I used to fix bicycle tires.”
    â€œThat’s good, Charlie, that’s very funny. Listen, I’m looking at my checkbook right now, and—”
    â€œThe bank repossessed mine,” he said.
    â€œCharlie, you’re really in top form today. You ought to write this stuff down.”
    â€œI’ll tell you what I’m writing down. Never trust a dirty son of a bitch.”
    â€œThat’s a good rule, Charlie. Listen, to be serious for a