Ten Tales Tall and True by Alasdair Gray Page A

night after. Suppose we meet the night after that? You choose where.”
    Suggest lounge of the Grosvenor.
    â€œFine! Half seven, then.”
    Go upstairs yawning and wondering (withoutmuch pain) if tomorrow night he will bed Tall Jenny or Hunky Harry, since obviously he can get anyone, anything he wants. Only wish had called off tomorrow before he did. But next day these ideas become a torment, why? Why care for someone so dislikeable? But he has usually been loving, gentle, pleasant, why dislike him? Is it bad to call out a hotel chef late at night if you pay the hotel enough to compensate for the extra trouble? When the bill came he glanced at it, grimaced slightly, wrote a cheque and gave it to the waiter without looking at him. And the waiter, glancing at it, became less stiff and expressionless, said, “Thank you very much sir,” in a low voice, so he had been well tipped. One dull night after three lovely exciting nights is not bad, though he is far too obsessed with ragged jeans.
    So here in the Grosvenor, ten minutes early, are dressed in a different high-heeled Cinderella way because that excites him, so slightly excited and hopeful too. Buy a lime juice, and for him a Macallan, the first thing you have ever bought him. Sit facing the door, whisky on table beside your lime juice and wait. And wait. And wait.
    He arrives at half past eight, not smiling, and sits beside you muttering, “Detained. Unavoidable.”
    He sips the whisky, pulls a face, says, “What is this?”
    Tell him.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    Tell him that was what you ordered.
    â€œThey’ve watered it.”
    Silence. Tell him something funny the boss did today. He nods twice and sighs. Silence. Ask him how his own work is going.
    â€œRottenly.”
    Say you are sorry.
    â€œA woman of few words.”
    Ask why things have gone rottenly.
    â€œI am sick of your unending probing into my personal affairs. If you have not already noticed I dislike that trait in women you are not just stupid, you are a cretin. A cretin may be good for three nights fucking in a filthy hole like Glasgow but three nights is the limit. Remember that.”
    He has not lost his temper. He stands and goes out, leaving the whisky almost untasted.

Internal Memorandum
    TO : LUMLEY
    FROM : LESLEY
    The following will seem bad-tempered and in fact is. It says what I meant to raise at yesterday’s meeting but my only chance came at the end when Phimister said, “Is there any further business?” and Henry Pitt (looking at me out of the corner of his eye) said, “No, I think that’s everything,” and suddenly I felt too tired. I seem the only manager in this firm who is allowed – indeed expected – to complain about practical everyday details. When I start doing it our directors exchange little smiles, stop listening and retreat into private dreamlands. They think everyday practical details are not their business but the business of Mulgrew the buildings manager and Tramworth the accountant. Nobody, not even Mulgrew, denies that what I ask to be done ought to be done, but only he and Tramworth can authorize it so it is never done. I have raised items on this list at meetings from last month to years ago. You joined us less than two months ago so the first and longest item on the list may strike you as an accident. I assure you that something of the sort happens every winter.
    1. Heat. Monday was bloody cold. I asked Mulgrew to do something about this. He agreed to turn up the thermostat a little but not much becausepart of upstairs was already warm – the part where he and Tramworth have their office. Soon after 10 a.m. I noticed it was cold. When this happens I know others are freezing, so tried to find Mulgrew with the usual results. He had gone to the Sauchiehall Street depot, but when I phoned there he had just left it and nobody knew where he was supposed to be. By this time people on my floor were asking me