"I thought I heard somebody calling," he said.
David walked up to him. "I'm supposed to see the foreman about a job."
"Oh, are you the one?"
David was confused. "What d'yuh mean?"
"The new boy," the elevator operator replied. "Old man Norman's nephew."
David didn't answer. He was too surprised.
The elevator operator got ready to swing shut the doors. "Nobody's here yet. They don't get in till eight o'clock."
The steel doors closed and the elevator moved creakingly down out of sight.
David turned from the elevator thoughtfully.
Uncle Bernie had told him not to say anything. He hadn't.
But they already knew. He wondered if his uncle knew that they knew.
He started back toward the desks. He stopped suddenly in front of a large poster.
The lettering was in bright red – Vilma Banky and Rod LaRocque. The picture portrayed Miss Banky lying on a sofa, her dress well up above her knees.
Behind her stood Mr. LaRoque, darkly handsome in the current Valentino fashion, staring down at her with a look of smoldering passion.
David studied the poster. A final touch had been added by someone in the warehouse.
A milky-white condom hung by a thumbtack from the front of the male star's trousers.
Next to it, in neat black lettering, were the words: Compliments of Henri France.
David grinned and began to walk up the aisle. He looked into the steel bins.
Posters, lobby cards, displays were stacked there, each representing a different motion picture.
David looked them over. It was amazing how much each looked like the next one.
Apparently, the only thing the artist did was to change the names of the players and the title of the picture.
He heard the passenger elevator stop, then the sound of footsteps echoed down the aisle.
He turned and waited.
A tall, thin man with sandy-red hair and a worried look on his face turned the corner near the packing tables. He stopped and looked at David silently.
"I'm David Woolf. I'm supposed to see the foreman about a job here."
"I'm the foreman," the man said. He turned away and walked over to one of the desks. "My name is Wagner. Jack Wagner."
David held out his hand.
"I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Wagner."
The man looked at the outstretched hand.
His handshake was soft and indecisive.
"You're Norman's nephew," he said accusingly.
Suddenly, David realized the man was nervous, more nervous even than he was himself.
He wondered why.
It didn't make sense that the man should be upset because of his relationship to Uncle Bernie.
But he wasn't going to talk about it, even though it seemed everyone knew. "Nobody is supposed to know that but me," Wagner said. "Sit down here." He pointed to a chair near the desk, then took out a sheet of paper and pushed it over to David. "Fill out this personnel application.
Where it asks for the name of any relatives working for the company, leave that one blank."
"Yes, sir."
Wagner got up from behind the desk and walked away. David began to fill out the form.
Behind him, he heard the passenger-elevator doors open and close. Several men walked by.
They glanced at him furtively as they walked over to their packing tables and began to get out equipment.
David turned back to the form.
At eight o'clock, a bell rang and a faint hum of activity began to permeate the building.
The day had begun.
When Wagner came back, David held out the application. Wagner looked it over carelessly.
"Good," he said vaguely, and dropping it back on his desk, walked away again.
David watched him as he talked to the man at the first packing table.
They turned their backs and David was sure they were discussing him. He began to feel nervous and lit a cigarette.
Wagner looked over at him and the worried look on his face deepened.
"You can't smoke in here," he called to David. "Can't you read the signs?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," David answered, looking around for an ash tray.