Chapter 13 12

------------------ 12 With great hopes and a feeble heart (with yet another award-winning Kaufman title), I walked into Bernard Jay Kaufman & Partners.Really handsome.I marveled at the excess and extravagance of the outer office and its affectation.There are posters all over here, there are teeth that have not been eaten by moths, there are various stages of holding your head in pain when you have a weird headache disease, and there are dogs laughing at canned dog food.Bernie's name was swashbuckled on the pale blue wall, two inches in size.I whistled once.The floor was covered with a snow-white carpet that must have consisted of 800 poodle skins.

Bernard Jay Kaufman & Partners Associates.What a great design!Yes, I did imagine his office would be this comfortable, but I didn't expect it to be this way.This outer office is like a VIP reception room, which can be used as a public toilet in the Pharaoh's Court.I was so surprised.Looking at the large leather sofa, I thought I should have slept on it last night.How luxurious, I thought as I brushed the dirt off my buttocks and slowly sat down, suddenly sank into the thick foam plastic, and buried my whole body in the dark brown luxurious leather sofa cushions.Hey, smell it.If I had an outside office, I would never go into an inside office, let alone work.I thought to myself, bouncing my ass up and down on the couch to prove it was true - people don't have to be too cautious in today's society.

"Sir, do you need help?" I was politely asked by a man, I daresay she was the front desk lady, who I used to watch on 59th Street before the troublemakers forced the police to crack down hard. "Yes... yes." I murmured inexplicably, and stood up quickly, but my eyes were on the man suffering from a strange headache. "Has Mr. Kaufman gone out to lunch?" I asked.My mind starts to figure out how to handle this meeting... Should I just admit my mistake and show it off, get down on my knees at Kaufman's desk, and throw myself on the white poodle rug begging him with remorse give me one more chance?Perhaps I should cool down, adopt the Madison Avenue approach, and explain to him that the new packaging of The Heart and the Hymen is a new concept that should be thoroughly tested before its basic program is rejected, and that it should be tested after a thorough investigation of all sectors of society. Market testing by people of different classes, classes and beliefs?Should I court him to gain his trust?Or try to pamper and appease his whims and whims?Am I supposed to play the all-knowing hard-hearted but jaundiced and tired-faced writer, scrambling against the pale blue walls and high-end leather sofas?

① Refers to the propaganda that engages in demagoguery in order to achieve political goals. "Sir?" Bernie's little whore woke me from my contemplation. "am I--" "Just tell him Pete Miller's coming. Haha." "return--" "No. No! I was just kidding. A joke that only the two of us understand. On a different note, please tell him—"Should I give him my real name?Maybe he thought I wouldn't open the heavy oak door and go straight in.Be brave.What do you have to lose?What? 800 yuan.A huge sum of money.Oh lord why on earth should I get tangled up in his novels?This is too cruel, too vicious, too inconsiderate, and too uneconomical.Who am I, why do I want to be favored by others——

"I should say who came—?" "Say... say that Mr. Nudelman is coming to visit." I sighed and sat back on the soft sofa cushion, wishing that the soft cushion would bury me alive. "...a Mr. Nudelman came—" "Nudelman? Yes. That's the man I want to see. Let him in immediately." I heard the voices of Bernard Kaufman and Mr. Partner from the microphone. "you can--" "Okay," I put on a smiling face, hurriedly adjusted my clothes, and hid the bag with the broken zipper behind the sofa.The girl watched me complete the routine.I hurriedly glanced at myself in the mirror.how does it lookIs it malaise or artistry?Am I like this to take or to give?

I tapped lightly on the door marked "Director①" and heard Chief Bernie say hoarsely, "Come in, come in." President②!I'm Errichman, Haldeman, John Dean and Cucker Kelso, come to pay homage to the Commander, I take my hat in my hand to salute him in any way that suits me, As long as it doesn't annoy my boss. ① "Director" is President in English. ② "President" is also President in English. It was only at this moment that I began to understand the poor, the suffering that must be endured by those who suffer.He would do anything for a few nickels, a job, a position in his little habitat in George Town.

"Nice to meet you," said Director Kaufman. This person not only holds my fragile stack of 800 yuan, but also holds the power of life and death. I started looking for Bernie Kaufman in his hallowed long office, knowing Director Kaufman was sitting somewhere between the clutter of medicines and chemicals and the long bookshelves and the aisle . "Come in," he said again, and finally emerged from behind a desk piled high with cans, bottles, test tubes, and boxes.Although he was standing, the man who had always struck me as tall and dignified looked like a dwarf in this office that looked like a grocery store.Rows and rows, stacked or leaning against the edges of the bookshelves, are medicines, enough for a gigantic army to cure constipation, athlete's foot, hemorrhoids, and iron-deficiency anemia.

"Sit down, don't be shy." Bernie Kaufman said with a warm smile.The owner of the Band-Aid Beach Water Balloon Foam Supermarket might be selling something small to cheer him up when he gets tired of amassing the company's unrelenting wealth. "What are these?" I finally asked him. "Client." He explained and held out his hand respectfully to me. "Oh, really." I nodded.I paced back and forth in the store on the 40th floor, tried the pure fragrance brand, sprayed some Zengmei brand, and sprinkled some pre-made cleaners, thinking about how to avoid the imminent "death penalty".

"Let's," said Bernie, after giving me enough time to satisfy my curiosity, "to talk about Heart and Hymen—" "What's this?" I asked procrastinatingly, picking up a bottle. "Synthetic W skin cream. Hmm - 'helps get rid of warts'...too bad I don't have-" "About Heart and Hymen—" "Look, I was just about to explain," I turned suddenly to my accuser, my heart racing in my throat, dazed from various aerosols. "Is there anything to explain?" Mr. Kao pouted his lower lip and asked. "Just wanted to tell you why I made some changes to it, and—"

"Listen, I don't want to know why you changed it, and what went through your head. The only thing I want you to do is do exactly what you're doing." "Oh? But I thought—" "I thought so too!" Bernie said, shrugging and laughing, "but the publishers like it." "What?" I was really taken aback, wondering if this might be another trap set by the maintenance committee. "Listen, in business, you should be magnanimous, know your mistakes and correct them. This is the key to success. I know I was wrong!" "What's going on?"

"It's really simple. After I told Mr. Z I was giving up your rewritten book, he insisted that I send it to his office. Then he sent it to an editor, and she read it right through— She couldn't put it down—and then got two or three other people in the room to read it. They called Mr. Z back that afternoon and agreed with it." "Consistent?" "praise!" "praise?" "The funniest book they've ever read. They called it Sex and Humor—although I don't appreciate that." "Of course not." I shook my head in disgust, but tried to look calm on the surface. "But, look, if the sales..." Bernie laughed. "If you look at..." I replied sincerely. "That's a good thing." "should be." "I'm so happy," Bernie said, gripping my hand across the table. "Listen, don't thank me." I said sheepishly, while he still held on to me. "This is your book." "wrong." "wrong?" "This is our book. I have decided to have both our names signed on the cover." "Well... you're very generous," I said pretentiously, making up my mind not to have any overt relationship to Heart or Hymen or a combination of the two. "Does this mean I can get my share early?" I said tentatively. "Of course. I hope we can still act according to the original contract." Mr. Kao said, his meaning is very clear, it is not possible. "Oh," I said with a little disappointment, "forget it, I can't sign it," I shook my head, "I can't infringe on your rights as the real author of the book. I just made some minor changes." Reaching upwards, I made a very generous gesture. "Oh, I can't describe how happy I am," said Bernie excitedly. "Hey, wait! I'm going to give you something to take home," said the Director, jumping up. "Come on, come with me," he said aloud, walking down the passage, and I followed with my arms outstretched. "Take some Demfax next time you're in Puerto Rico," he said, grabbing a handful from the shelf. "Here's Colin Toothpaste. And this. More of this. More of this... this... and this..." he said.The two of us stumbled up and down the aisles, and Bernie, to show his gratitude, scrambled down the shelves for bottles of degreaser, boxes of feminine pads, and jars of polish. and a case of Foresty Instant Meals for 17 meals. "Take one of these. And . . . these!" Bernie Kaufman sang as he walked, like a master of ceremonies at a charity rally leading a donkey laden with donations.As Uncle Bernie's gratitude escalated, bottles, spray cans, and plastic single-use containers clattered from the precarious pile onto the poodle fur rug, I bent over and greedily Carefully put these valuable things together. "Here, mouth sanitizer—it doesn't taste good, but it works," he joked, imitating the ad, "and this—no, you don't need this." He threw the tray away went back. "Need, need. Bring it," I said boldly, lest I lose something free. "How about Aldorf's meat softener," I suggested.Or how about a roll or two of "quick and easy" paper towels?How about some more "bug see death" radar?Row.Row.Come more.Take more.Don't leave it to me.Some mascara, some natural Shampoo from Earth.Amen, praise the Lord.Time is passing.Should be economized.Maybe I could open a drugstore in Goobsville, if I could get enough of these things.Sure it will work, Bernie, just keep going.Who doesn't need high-efficiency painkillers?What normal man doesn't want his panties to smell like "April Freshener" and his hair to be washed with nutrients?If I don't need body nutrients, I can constantly give them to those poor Kwashiorkor malnourished patients in Bangladesh. "Is that enough?" Bernie laughed as he watched me lying on top of a mountain of various medicines.These things are enough to make beauty-loving housewives benefit from a variety of organics. "Enough! Enough. Enough." I laughed too.How could a decent person have the nerve to ask for more (except for lunch and the very little money before incapacity)?Come to think of it... Thanks to American Industry, Bernie Kaufman & Partners Associates and Vesco Collar Clean, I will never have to suffer the embarrassment of having a shirt collar stain again.Plus, thanks to benefactors like them, I can live a normal life, take a pill or two or drink a drop or two, and maybe get twice the iron I need.I'll be using Viserne with Tetrahydrate for skin redness and Cascade Stain Remover for stains.My skin glows after using Avon body balm.I'm going to savor every bite of the alpo dog food, which is pure meat and contains no soy protein or starch fillers - read the directions if you don't believe me.Every morning I would rinse my mouth with the mouthwashes of Levros, Skop, and Cypker at the same time, and rub my armpits with Arid's secret potent desiccant.I'll also exercise in No Lie leggings, sanitize toilets with Vanishing, and remove oil, grass, and ketchup stains with Magic. Finally, when life in Coopersville is dull, I can open my jar of Betty Crock's icing.Open.wipe! "Shouldn't be having lunch yet?" I reminded, looking at the non-existent watch and dreaming of the luscious faux-chocolate fudge coaxing endless slush in my mouth. Lunch was simple, the usual mid-day snack for the staff, steak with wine and gravy, artichoke crumbs and warm bread just out of the oven.Desserts are mille-feuilles or exotic ice-creams, or beautifully made puddings—everything I have to try.The director and I sat at a small table against the wall, usually well-dressed senior executives sat on either side of this table, eating slowly - an ideal place, at least the best place to talk about business. "I have a little idea," Mr. Nu said as he wiped off the pudding crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth and sucked his fingers again. "Actually, I've been thinking," faltered the stutterer, "...about the money for rewriting." "Oh?" Bernie asked, tapping his lips lightly with his fingers and raising his eyebrows discreetly. "I was thinking," I said, feeling a little discouraged, "that what should be written is so popular with readers, then... maybe you can..." "Pay you in advance?" the old gentleman blurted out. "That's it, you said what I hadn't said," I said with a smile, forcing myself to be amiable, even though there was tension in the laugh. Bernie giggled. "We can prorate," I said, a little sheepishly. "Yes, yes," said Mr. Kaufman, "but I've always kept the contract—the document. Don't you?" "Of course." I quickly said cautiously. "My feeling is that if you start to change a little bit—" "That would change everything," I interjected, "and I agree with you." "Business must be done." "Absolutely. Of course. It's just art." There was a meaningful silence.We looked at each other while the waiter quietly put the bill on the table. "Are you desperate for money?" Bernie asked, looking me straight in the eye, and for a moment, I saw more than just Bernie Kaufman, cosmetics dealer and corporate boss.All of a sudden I detected tiny blemishes on this flawless smooth face—little crevices that exposed his compassion and emotional fragility, and my image of him in my mind had always been a crappy one. businessman.He asked me if I had encountered any difficulties in life. At this time, I saw through his eyes—if I was not deceiving myself—to see his weakness and sadness.do i need moneyThat's what he asked me?Am I down and out?Is it penniless?Orthogonal bad luck?Am I wearing this because I'm a crazy bohemian or because I can't afford high fashion?I eat like an Auschwitz prisoner, is it because I'm hungry or because I'm strong and hungry?Although these questions are the most common, they stabbed my heart deeply.do i need moneyIt's a well-intentioned and insidious question.Of course I need money, I want to shout, but I choose to remain silent.If I had money, I'd look Bernie in the eye and say, Yes, I do.But I have no money, so I can't say!Is this unreasonable?Of course it doesn't make sense.Everything no longer makes sense.My mind became perverted and preposterously prepared for self-defense, so that it was simply and absolutely impossible to admit a fact as obvious as a lice crawling on a bald man's head. "Need it?" Bernie asked again. "Who doesn't need it?" Mr. Nu laughed and reached for the bill. "No." Bernie hurried to grab the list. "let me--" "No, no." Mr. Nu clutched the bill for high-grade enjoyment tightly in his hand. "You paid last time, this time you should—" The amount of 18 yuan and 30 cents jumped in front of his bloodshot eyes, and he was suddenly dumbfounded. "I'll pay," Bernie said, fighting over the bill. "Absolutely not!" Mr. Nu said and counted out 18 yuan from his wallet.The courteous reception takes the payment casually, as if you can get a lot of these notes every day.This generous tip is to you, sir, for your good service, as you make trips to the kitchen to satisfy our whims: these three rattling new bills are to thank you for giving us Humans run errands, there are some things we can't do in person, thank you for bringing ice water again and again, thank you for pouring this second cup of coffee, and these knives and forks, these napkins-everything you provide is tiny But excellent service. "Thank you for the lunch." Bernie nodded gratefully.He stood up and buttoned his stomach button.After spending a lot of money, Mr. Nu, who only had 50 cents and 3 cents in his pocket, waved his hand easily, expressing that he does not need to thank you.It's nothing.Who needs money?Do you know what money is?Stinky shit.Money is that thing!It can get hands dirty with money.Hi.Anyway, it's time for me to entertain you.Once per person.No one can always be a pig to be slaughtered, can they?Sometimes a man has to look like a man and pay the bills.right?right! Bernie and I were out on the curb, and the sky was gray as we expected. "I'll send those to your house." He pointed to the items still piled on his poodle-skin rug. "Anytime," Mr. Nu said, wondering if he could order more cans of Alpo's dog food and Foresty's instant food without drawing attention. "I would like to make a few suggestions, if I may," Bernie said.We stood in front of the restaurant, the heat from a sumptuous lunch keeping us poised in the cold rain and snow.At the end of the meeting, we were still discussing the future direction of "Heart and Hymen". At this time, I saw a hunched old woman in shabby clothes from the corner of my eye. I couldn't help but pay attention to her. She walked towards us muttering Come along, trying to get a few pennies from passers-by along the way, but without success once. "Send the written part to my secretary as soon as possible." Wait, wait, I listened to Bernie explaining and peeked at the beggar--the old woman is naked, smells bad, and keeps releasing Harmful gas, people infected by the stench walked around her in fear.The sidewalk was bustling with people coming out for lunch, but she moved forward as if on a lonely island, muttering words, and stretched her dirty, cancerous hands limply toward the sky. "I'll ask my secretary to retype it and send it to you, so..." Bernie said, the old woman was right in front of me, and she was pulling a pair of shoes with a split front, and I could almost count how many toes she had. .She paused for a moment to look beseechingly at Mr. Cow, while Bernie seemed to revel in the shifting vision of the soot-black atmosphere. "I have to go back," he said, checking his watch.His eyes deliberately avoided her.Her weighty gaze shifted to me. "Thank you again for the lunch." Bernie patted me on the shoulder and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing there with this woman.She was very disappointed, but she was still muttering words, her palms were up, and she was about to turn around and continue to rub down. "Hey, lady. Wait a minute!" I yelled and ran towards her, getting ahead of her in no time. "I'm sorry, you almost went away. I was thinking. You can't imagine how many things I have on my head these days. Hey, look, here," I said, and I reached into my pocket , and finally took out the few remaining steel coins, "I don't need it anymore. Every time I count it, it's either less or more. It's really troublesome. Let me tell you." I laughed loudly and put all the steel coins into her dirty, smelly hands.There was a dazed expression on her wrinkled face, and I walked away before she could speak. need money?Are you kidding me, Bernie?I need peace.Peace of mind is what I need.