Ties! Yeah I got a bunch of ties, pal. Yeah...Mr Goldstein is always yackin' about ties: "It really does make a man what he is. How else can you tell a no goodnick punk from a true Prince Of Industry?" He yaps and he yaps, cigar in one hand, the other slouching outta his pocket like maybe he has a gun there or something. Anyway, when I'm down beneath his sight and he's calling me a talentless green horn, I get to thinking that maybe The Boss is right and maybe I oughta have at least a few classy ties kicking around. I want to be a captain of my domain, after-all.
So I got a bunch of pinstripe ones mostly, buncha novelty pieces for the fun days and something bold for the interviews. I'm a lion of the side walk with these goddam ties on, people look at me in the office and they say to me, they say "Hey there killer, go get 'em! You make them pray to you out there! Fuck 'em in the ass twice, champ!"I turn back to them and I smile my wry smile and I say Boy! I'll make 'em wish they never got up that morning. I'll take them out in the street and I'll fight 'em till the last man! Boy I will!
There is a silent agreement and a solemn nod of respect at this point. I get back to my drawings. Paint is my collateral.
Yesterday I was painting in the kitchen and spilt ink all over my sandwich. Sometimes the Big City just takes me in its jaws and eats me. I must taste like a winner.
One Tuesday this month Ol' Goldy calls me into his office. I have a bunch of illustrations for him to look over and maybe we'll toss a couple of ideas around, he wants me to design a whore house for him. Says the place has to be real swanky, the kind of whore house an airline pilot would frequent. So yeah, I'm in his office and I'm showing him my work in progress. He's wearing a new suit and chomping on a Cuban. He laughs a couple times as he's flicking through my portfolio:
"I do love the dames you know, I mean Mrs Goldstein aint so keen on some of the skirt I bring back, but I paid for her tits twice! Fucken bitch."
"Yes, sir! No doubt about it, I never met a man as commanding as you Sir! But what about the paintings, I was trying something new with my strokes. Lotta my heart in this one, Mister Goldstein, Sir...."
"Blow it out your ass kid, you don't know shit about heart! What is this crap you've handed me here? Holy shit. I wanted nubile baby dolls wrestling on a mountain of sexual viscera! You've ass fucked my vision to hell and back, Kid! Strokes? Like I give a fuck about you and your strokes! Pissant kids don't listen for shit this day an' age. Holy shit , this is real collegiate level garbage."
The Boss knows that mincing words is for the weak, real men of power and standing speak with a frank and brutal honesty. My boss is a crack pot son of a bitch, I've got to put him right about those strokes, those were real hearty brush strokes I did for him.
"But Bossman, what about the way the strokes communicate both high flying valour and untamed animal lust? These are my children, my way with the brush is the linchpin of this whore house. Heart, Sir! I'm not kidding when I say heart and soul Mr Gold!"
He looks impressed, he pulls the cigar outta his mouth, blows smoke in my face, punches me in the nose and says:
"Well awwrite, Kip Calvin you handsome sunnuvabitch! You got some balls in ya yet, don't ya kid? Say, hows about I give you an advance on this gig and you can take Clarice, my secretary out on a date this evenin'. She's a little lonely since I hired the new copywriter. Put some tissue under that nose and be at La Blandos at nine o'clock sharp!"
I was in the bathroom later that hour, washing my nose out under the tap. I wondered if Clarice would like my paintings, I decided I'd bring them along on our date.
I hoped she'd like my tie. It was pinstripe, I like my ties.
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