LIFE
The Winking Mr. Tarsdale
Whatcha gonna do when your patron dumps you?
Journal Entry: Sept. 20, 1962 San Antonio, Texas
On Monday, September 10th, I received a letter with my unemployment check. No foreplay, it got right down to business:
“Mr. Squires, you are in receipt of your final California unemployment check. I hope you continue with your efforts and are successful in securing employment in Texas.”
What it didn’t say, but heavily implied, was, “You are now another state’s liability.”
Still, I had no complaints on that day. I had a check to cash, half of which would go toward my portion of the rent.
California had been awfully good to me for the thirty-two weeks, they cuddled me in their loving embrace. I think I had told Howie — who might have been just a tad jealous of having to trudge off to work while I stayed home and wrote — that the State of California was my patron while I wrote the Great American Novel. I mean, Michelangelo had the Medici family as his patron while he completed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch.
I had half a notion to send The California Department of Employment a thank you letter for being my patron for all those weeks, along with a no-hard-feelings postscript for dumping me when I was so close to finishing my great American novel, or getting an acceptance letter from Atlantic Monthly.
I don’t remember the specifics of it, but I’m sure I must have mentioned the letter to Howie, who always asked me every Monday evening if my unemployment check had arrived that day. But whether I had brought it up or not, the following Monday evening — that would have been on the 17th — he plopped on the couch beside me.
“So Jay,” he said, glancing up, which got me following his eyes at what might have been a crack in the ceiling, or something. “So what did the letter say? Something like, ‘What ceiling have you painted for me lately, Leonardo? Huh? …. Buh-bye, Leo?’”
Of course I couldn’t resist correcting it to Michelangelo, but afterward, I waited it out to see what else he had on his mind.
“Any luck finding a job yet?”
“So I did tell you about the letter.”
“Yeah, any luck finding a job yet?”
It would have been futile to explain to someone without my recent experience, the difficulties when you go from pursuing the course of looking not to get a job to seriously and energetically ask someone to hire you. A certain mental corner had to be turned, another wrinkle in one’s psyche reeducated if you will. And the biggest part of my problem was I’d eliminated half the town already, just to satisfy California de Medici.
I took the easier route. “Not yet. I plan on going out tomorrow.”
“What about that clerical place?”
“Time’s Rite Clerical? You know as well as I do it’s an all-girl job.”
“But you went back a few days later.”
“Yeah … and you know that, too. I wanted to talk to Carrie.”
“And?”
“I didn’t tell you about that? She moved or something. Anyway, she quit.”
“Then there’s an opening.”
I slugged him on the meaty part of his arm.
“Jesus, Jay — that — Ow! Jesus. That’s gonna leave a bruise.”
“It should, man!” I pouted some, but you can’t stay mad at Howie. I offered a trace of a smile. “You need to show a little sensitivity.”
“Yeah, well … I’ll show you sensitivity.” With that, he slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket. “No reason for you to go looking for a job tomorrow.” He plucked out a slip of paper and handed it to me.
I read it: Midtown Motor Hotel, and the name, Jacob Tarsdale.
“Tomorrow. Ten A.M. Ask for Mr. Tarsdale.” He delivered these words machine-gun style, and then he stood and made his way to the kitchen. Howie had a flair for dramatic entrances and exits.
I called him back and he turned around. “What can you — Thanks, Howie, but can you tell me a little about this job you got me?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “You’re gonna be a lifeguard.”
“A what — what-what guard?”
Oh, I could swim. Howie knew that, but I always judged an experienced swimmer by the way he did the crawl, with his face looking straight down under water, and every couple of strokes rhythmically turning his head to the side for air, then back under. I couldn’t do that. My head always perched as high on my neck as I could strain it, kind of like a turtle or a dog — though I was more advanced than the dog paddle. I needed to see where I was going, though, and that didn’t include looking under water. I cocked my head and grinned. “Howie. You’re putting me on.”
“What?” He tried to adopt a taken-aback pose, like, Why would you even question it?
“Howie, he’s not gonna hire me. He’ll ask me to swim for him.”
“Why? He knows you can swim.”
“How? How’s he know that?”
“I told him.”
“But damn it all, Howie, you have to be qualified. Don’t you have to pass tests and stuff?”
“Yeah, well, that …” He got a silly smile on his face. “Well, I told him you have your Life Saving Certificate. That it was at your folks’ home in California and you’d send for it. See, he needs someone now, Jay. He tried to hire me, but I’ve built up some pretty good time and grade where I work, so I had to say no. That’s why I threw your name out there. Listen, Jay …” He quieted me with two palms held between us. “It’s just a formality. I’ll teach you CPR and anyway, they have those long rescue poles you hold out and the person grabs onto. It’s a snap! This time next week he’ll have forgotten all about the certificate.”
“Naw … Come on, Howie! A lifeguard? Come on.”
He wagged his head, slowly, a faraway grin on his face. “Girls dig ‘em.”
“Howie recommends you highly, Mr. Squires.” The graying, short-cropped head and appraising, bespectacled face leaned to the side in his chair and scanned me.
“You’ve got the shoulders of a swimmer.” He winked.
“Well, I … ” I shrugged, probably blushed. It was true I had worked out regularly before Howie and I moved to San Antonio, and I suppose I was considered well-built. Since the move and the shortness of money, I’d resorted to push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, and sundry other movements.
“Well, Mr. Squires, let’s get right down to it. Howie warned me not to let the grass grow under my feet, so I guess if you want the job, you’ve got it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tarsdale.”
“You’ll mostly be here as a presence, Jay. May I call you Jay?”
“Sure.” I expected him to follow with, “Call me Jacob, or Jake,” but I would have felt uncomfortable doing that anyway, so it was just as well he didn’t.
“Ask Jim — he’s the one you’ll be replacing since he’s moving out of state. He’ll tell you you’d better like reading. You like to read, Jay?”
“I do. Yes, I do like to read.”
“You just have to walk around in your bathing suit and be seen. You know, so the paying guests know there’s someone in charge. Not much else to do. So you’ll be reading a lot. Oh, and Jim’ll show you how to maintain the chemical levels in the pool. One free meal a day in our café. Let’s see, did I forget anything?” He scrunched up one eye and let out a sigh. “Oh, yes …” and he winked at me again. Your pay.”
I smiled. “Oh, okay.”
“Two-fifty a month paid bi-weekly. That’s the salary Jim’s worked up to now, and he’s been with us for two years, so don’t tell him. Deal?”
“Well, yeah …”
“Oh, and your certificate?”
I froze. Later, when I had a chance to think about it, I wondered if I actually sagged in my chair at hearing the words. I know I did inside.
“No hurry there. We probably should keep a copy of it in your file. Ah, but no hurry, okay?” Another wink. “Start tomorrow morning. You’ll do the paperwork then. Jim’ll show you the ropes. He’ll want to make sure you have a handle on the equipment room. You know?”
I waited for him to wink, but instead, he stood, stuck his arm across the desk and we shook.
“All I can tell you,” Howie said to me that night, “is that he’s never winked at me.”
“Maybe you don’t have the shoulders of a swimmer.”
His eyes grew big. “He didn’t tell you had the shoulders — !”
I nodded him into silence. “Yep. Of a swimmer.” I waited until Howie’s laughter ended. “You think he’s queer?”
“Well, he’s never winked at me. And my shoulders are broader than yours.”
“But you’re taller by three or four inches.”
“Still … You gotta admit, he did wink at you. More than once?”
“Two, three times. Maybe four.”
“He might be a queer, then.”
We were at a conversational impasse.
Finally, I said, “I need to buy a bathing suit.”
“They call ’em trunks, Jay.”
“Mr. Tarsdale called it a bathing suit.”
Howie smiled. “You might ask that Jim guy if he calls them bathing suits. See if he winks at you.” He covered his bicep and flinched. “But-but hey, two fifty a month, plus a meal a day. That’s good.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze, and then squealed like a teenybopper.
“Ohhhhhhhh.”
