The Spiked Heel

“Have you any plans, Mr. Kurz?” Griff asked. Quite curiously, his joy had suddenly ebbed. As much as he had disliked Kurz, there was something painful about seeing a man lose his job, even when the man was a bastard.

Kurz laughed nervously. “Oh, I’ll find something.”

“Well, good luck,” Aaron said.

“Yes, yes, thank you. I… ah… don’t want to keep you away from your work. I know you boys are always busy, eh? But I just thought I’d stop in to say… ah… good-by.”

No one said anything. Kurz shook hands with Aaron and then Griff and then Marge. He went to the door, and then turned with a worried look which suddenly changed to a pasty-white smile.

“Ah… take care of those wonderful legs, Marge,” he said weakly, and then he turned and walked off down the corridor. They were silent for several moments after his departure.

“Well, that’s that,” Griff said at last.

“Good riddance,” Aaron said.

“Imagine,” Marge said from the filing cabinet. “Who’d have thought he even noticed my legs.”

2

The call from Boris Hengman came at one o’clock that afternoon. Griff said, “I’ll get it, Marge,” picking up the receiver. “Cost,” he said. “Griffin here.”

“Griffie?” Hengman asked. “Is dot you, boy?”

“Hello, Boris,” Griff said, smiling at the thick accent which was mimicked all over the factory. The accent, coupled with Hengman’s spasmodic outbursts of temper, had earned him the nickname “The Hengman.” The term was sometimes used affectionately and sometimes not so affectionately. Hengman was the factory supervisor and as such could really play the hangman whenever he wanted to.

“Griffie, you busy maybe?”

“Not too,” Griff said. “Can I help you, Boris?”

“Can he halp me?” Hengman said to himself. “Can he halp me, he esks. Griffie, you know dis Titenic Shoe?”

“Yes,” Griff said. “What about it?”

“What abott it, he esks. I got now here in d’ottside office a young men from Titenic. All the way from Gudgia, he comes. He says he’s gung be here for ah while, and he wants I should show him ahround d’fectory. Meshugah.”

“From Titanic, you say?”

“Sure, what alse? So my hends are tied, Griffie. I got work here up to my ess, and here comes a snotnose from Gudgia, I’m supposed to drop ever’ting and snep to attention. Dis I ken’t do at d’moment.”

“So?”

“So who knows d’fectory like nobody’s business, I esk myself. Who stotted in d’Shipping Room end worked opp his way, I esk myself. Who’s d’ideal men for dis partic’lar slop detell?”

“Who indeed?” Griff said sourly.

“Raymond Griffin, dot’s who,” Hengman said. “So I’m sanding him opp t’ you.”

“Thanks a million,” Griff said.

“He nids, also, office spess. So I’m thinking maybe you end Erron you could maybe mekk room for him in your office while he stays here, okay, Griffie?”

“How long will he be staying?” Griff asked.

“Do I know? Does anybuddy tell me notting? I’m gung cull Chrysler soon as I get off d’phone with you. Den I’ll see what dis whole ting is abott, you follow me, Griffie?”

“I follow you,” Griff said. “What’s his name?”

“Who? Oh, this Gudgia guy. McQued.”

“Who?”

“McQued. Jafferson McQued.”

“Jefferson McQuade?”

“Sure, dot’s what I said. Be nize to him, Griffie. Dis is Gudgia end Titenic we’re dealing with, you follow?”

“I follow.”

“I think maybe he snoops ahround ah little end then goes back don South, let’s hope so.”

“When’s he coming up?” Griff asked.

“I’ll sand him right ahway. Be nize, Griffie.”

“I’ll be nize,” Griff said.

“Good boy. You’re ah good boy, Griffie.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll cull Chrysler. So lung.”

“So long,” Griff said, hanging up. He stared at the phone disconsolately, and then shrugged. He had grown used to these tour requests from Hengman. Whenever a class of squealing high-school fashion students came to the factory to “see how a fashion shoe was made,” the guiding job was passed on to Griff. True, he probably did know the entire factory operation better than any man working for Julien Kahn. In his slow rise to head of the Cost Department, he had worked on almost every floor of the building learning the business from top to bottom as the Kahns tried to find him a niche suited to his talents. He had even worked in the Sales Offices for a while, making him unique in that he understood the selling end as well as the problems of production. The job that had taught him most about the operation had been that of tracer. He’d worked directly for Hengman, checking the production-schedule control board against the actual production of the shoes. He’d rushed from floor to floor, pushing priority shoes through the factory, finding out why a particular lot had not yet left Lasting, or why another lot was still in the drying machines, learning each step of the process as he went along. If Raymond Griffin knew nothing else, he damn well knew how a shoe was made.