Chapter 43
October 22
Refinements and Improvements
He whose penetration extends to remote consequences, and who, whenever he applies his attention to any design, discovers new prospects of advantage, and possibilities of improvement . . . will superadd one contrivance to another . . . multiply complications, and refine niceties, till he is entangled in his own scheme.
Samuel Johnson, Rambler 134
’Tis with a poet, as with a man who designs to build. . . . He alters his mind as the work proceeds, and will have this or that convenience more, of which he had not thought when he began. So it has happened to me; I have built a house, where I intended but a lodge.
John Dryden, “Preface to the Fables”
ONE STEP FORWARD, one step back. With two clients for Memoirs While You Wait, I spent hours planning how to deal with the crush of new clients that was clearly on its way, or would be on its way just as soon as Manuel and Porky did their word-of-mouth work. I made a list of ways to recruit writers, figured out the appropriate markup on the work of those writers, laid out organizational charts for MWYW (“mew yew”), Incorporated, at various stages of its growth, calculated the growth in revenues, and the growth in profits. I made a tentative list of sidelines and marketing gimmicks — pens, leather-bound notebooks, mouse pads, clothing (“Memwear, the Duds Mnemosyne Dons”), that sort of thing. I calculated the likely response to an initial public offering, and I counted the years, months, weeks, and working days until Albertine and I could retire in comfort to Florida. I was so absorbed in this work that the hours flew by unnoticed, and I only turned from the screen when I heard a knock at the door.
It was Manuel.
“I’m sorry for interrupting you,” he said, “and for violating the sanctity of the third floor, but I have something to say to you in private, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind talking to me here for a few minutes.”
“Come on in,” I said.
“No, that’s okay. This’ll only take a minute, and I — well — Tony T is warming up the runabout — ”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah — I — look — ah — you know — I called a friend of mine on the phone and I read him some of my memoirs, and he listened to what I’d written — you know, he’s a friend of mine, so he’s got to listen, right — but — ah — when I finished I said, ‘What do you think?’ and — ah — for a little bit he didn’t say nothin’ — then he said, ‘Well, Ray, it’s — ah — it’s okay, but where’s the action, man?’ and I got to thinking about that you know, so — ”
He stopped talking. He shrugged. He grimaced. He shrugged again.
“So?” I prompted him.
“So I took out that stuff about the dignity of small lives and that kind of stuff — ”
“You mean ‘that kind of crap.’”
“Aw, no, no — I didn’t say — ”
“Go on, go on.”
“Well, I got rid of that — stuff — and I went back to some of those hideous urges I had — you know, the stuff we were going to suppress? — and I put all of that back in and now it’s got a kind of — it’s got a kind of edge to it, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“The action — it — it kind of gets me pumped, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“So I guess I’m gonna, like, follow my own path, you know what I’m saying?”
“I do, Manuel. I do.”
He thrust his hand at me, and I shook it. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll walk you to the dock.”
At the dock, over the rumble of the runabout’s engine, I said, “Manuel, let me give you one last piece of advice. You don’t have to take it.”
“Okay.”
“If you’re going to keep all those hideous urges in, don’t use your real name. That is, assuming that Manuel Pedrera is your real name.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Just think about a pseudonym, something like — oh, I don’t know — Rock — Rock something — Rockwell Kingman. Put it in quotation marks so that everyone will know it’s a pseudonym. Think about it. It could add an air of mystery to the whole production. ‘Who is “Rockwell Kingman”?’ That kind of thing.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”
“De nada. But — ah — you could, if you don’t mind, when you get around to it — just write me a brief testimonial to use in my advertising.”
“Hey, no problem.”
“Thanks, Manuel — or should I say ‘Rockwell’? And good luck.”
He got into the runabout, and Tony T pulled smartly away from the dock. I stood watching Rockwell Kingman make his exit from my life, and I remained on the dock, watching, despite the ripe odor of rotting fish, until they were out of sight, and even after that I remained on the dock for a while, because I thought that there was at least a slight possibility that the boat might blow up.
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