history。〃
〃It formed no part of my knowledge；〃 Jack said。 〃I doubt if many other people
know it； either。 Not all of it。 They remember the Gienelli shooting； maybe； but
I doubt if anybody has put together all the wondrous and strange shuffles the
Overlook has been through since 1945。 And it always seems like Derwent or a
Derwent associate es up with the door prize。 What was Sylvia Hunter running
up there in '67 and '68； Mr。 Ullman？ It was a whorehouse； wasn't it？〃
〃Torrance！〃 His shock crackled across two thousand miles of telephone cable
without losing a thing。
Smiling； Jack popped another Excedrin into his mouth and chewed it。
〃She sold out after a rather well known U。S。 senator died of a heart attack up
there。 There were rumors that he was found naked except for black nylon
stockings and a garter belt and a pair of high…heeled pumps。 Patent…leather
pumps； as a matter of fact。〃
〃That's a vicious； damnable lie！〃 Ullman cried。
〃Is it？〃 Jack asked。 He was beginning to feel better。 The headache was
draining away。 He took the last Excedrin and chewed it up； enjoying the bitter；
powdery taste as the tablet shredded in his mouth。
〃It was a very unfortunate occurrence；〃 Ullman said。 〃Now what is the point；
Torrance？ If you're planning to write some ugly smear article 。。。 if this is
some illconceived； stupid blackmail idea。。。〃
〃Nothing of the sort；〃 Jack said。 〃I called because I didn't think you played
square with me。 And because — 〃
〃Didn't play square？〃 Ullman cried。 〃My God； did you think I was going to
share a large pile of dirty laundry with the hotel's caretaker？ Who in heaven's
name do you think you are？ And how could those old stories possibly affect you
anyway？ Or do you think there are ghosts parading up and down the halls of the
west wing wearing bedsheets and crying 'Woe！'？〃
〃No； I don't think there are any ghosts。 But you raked up a lot of my personal
history before you gave me the job。 You had me on the carpet； quizzing me about
my ability to take care of your hotel like a little boy in front of the
teacher's desk for peeing in the coatroom。 You embarrassed me。〃
〃I just do not believe your cheek； your bloody damned impertinence；〃 Ullman
said。 He sounded as if he might be choking。 〃I'd like to sack you。 And perhaps I
will。〃
〃I think Al Shockley might object。 Strenuously。〃
〃And I think you may have finally overestimated Mr。 Shockley's mitment to
you； Mr。 Torrance。〃
For a moment Jack's headache came back in all its thudding glory； and he
closed his eyes against the pain。 As if from a distance away he heard himself
ask： 〃Who owns the Overlook now？ Is it still Derwent Enterprises？ Or are you too
smallfry to know？〃
〃I think that will do； Mr。 Torrance。 You are an employee of the hotel； no
different from a busboy or a kitchen pot scrubber。 I have no intention of — 〃
〃Okay； I'll write Al；〃 Jack said。 〃He'll know； after all； he's on the Board of
Directors。 And I might just add a little P。S。 to the effect that — 〃
〃Derwent doesn't own it。〃
〃What？ I couldn't quite make that out。〃
〃I said Derwent doesn't own it。 The stockholders are all Easterners。 Your
friend Mr。 Shockley owns the largest block of stock himself； better than thirty…
five per cent。 You would know better than I if he has any ties to Derwent。〃
〃Who else？〃
〃I have no intention of divulging the names of the other stockholders to you；
Mr。 Torrance。 I intend to bring this whole matter to the attention of — 〃
〃One other question。〃
〃I am under no obligation to you。〃
〃Most of the Overlook's history — savory and unsavory alike — I found in a
scrapbook that was in the cellar。 Big thing with white leather covers。 Gold
thread for binding。 Do you have any idea whose scrapbook that might be？〃
〃None at all。〃
〃Is it possible it could have belonged to Grady？ The caretaker who killed
himself？〃
〃Mr。 Torrance；〃 Ullman said in tones of deepest frost； 〃I am by no means sure
that Mr。 Grady could read； let alone dig out the rotten apples you have been
wasting my time with。〃
〃I'm thinking of writing a book about the Overlook Hotel。 I thought if I
actually got through it； the owner of the scrapbook would like to have an
acknowledgment at the front。〃
〃I think writing a book about the Overlook would be very unwise；〃 Ullman said。
〃Especially a book done from your 。。。 uh； point of view。〃
〃Your opinion doesn't surprise me。〃 His headache was all gone now。 There had
been that one flash of pain； and that was all。 His mind felt sharp and accurate；
all the way down to millimeters。 It was the way he usually felt only when the
writing was going extremely well or when he had a threedrink buzz on。 That was
another thing he had forgotten about Excedrin； he didn't know if it worked for
others； but for him crunching three tablets was like an instant high。
Now he said： 〃What you'd like is some sort of missioned guidebook that you
could hand out free to the guests when they checked in。 Something with a lot of
glossy photos of the mountains at sunrise and sunset and a lemon…meringue text
to go with it。 Also a section on the colorful people who have stayed there； of
course excluding the really colorful ones like Gienelli and his friends。〃
〃If I felt I could fire you and be a hundred per cent certain of my own job
instead of just ninety…five per cent；〃 UIIman said in clipped； strangled tones；
〃I would fire you right this minute； over the telephone。 But since I feel that
five per cent of uncertainty； I intend to call Mr。 Shockley the moment you're
off the line 。。。 which will be soon； or so I devoutly hope。〃
Jack said； 〃There isn't going to be anything in the book that isn't true； you
know。 There's no need to dress it up。〃
（Why are you baiting him？ Do you want to be fired？）
〃I don't care if Chapter Five is about the Pope of Rome screwing the shade of
the Virgin Mary；〃 Ullman said； his voice rising。 〃I want you out of my hotel！〃
〃It's not your hotel！〃 Jack screamed； and slammed the receiver into its
cradle。
He sat on the stool breathing hard； a little scared now；
（a little？ hell； a lot）
wondering why in the name of God he had called Ullman in the first place。
（You lost your temper again； Jack。）
Yes。 Yes； he had。 No sense trying to deny it。 And the hell of it was； he had
no idea how much influence that cheap little prick had over Al； no more than he
knew how much bullshit Al would take from him in the name of auld lang syne。 If
Ullman was as good as he claimed to be； and if he gave Al a he…goes…or…I…go
ultimatum； might not Al be forced to take it？ He closed his eyes and tried to
imagine telling Wendy。 Guess what； babe？ I lost another job。 This time I had to
go through two thousand miles of Bell Telephone cable to find someone to punch
out； but I managed it。
He opened his eyes and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief。 He wanted a
drink。 Hell； he needed one。 There was a cafe just down the street； surely he had
time for a quick beer on his way up to the park； just one to lay the dust 。。。
He clenched his hands together helplessly。
The question recurred： Why had he called Ullman in the first place？ The number
of the Surf…Sand in Lauderdale had been written in a small notebook by the phone
and the CB radio in the office…plumbers' numbers； carpenters； glaziers；
electricians； others。 Jack had copied it onto the matchbook cover shortly after
getting out of bed； the idea of calling Ullman fullblown and gleeful in his
mind。 But to what purpose？ Once； during the drinking phase； Wendy had accused
him of desiring his own destruction but not possessing the necessary moral fiber
to support a full…blown deathwish。 So he manufactured ways in which other people
could do it； lopping a piece at a time off himself and their family。 Could it be
true？ Was be afraid somewhere inside that the Overlook might be just what he
needed to finish his play and generally collect tip his shit and get it
together？ Was he blowing the whistle on himself？ Please God no； don't let it be
that way。 Please。
He closed his eyes and an image immediately arose on the darkened screen of
his inner lids： sticking his hand through that hole in the shingles to pull out
the rotted flashing； the sudden needling sting； his own agonized； startled cry
in the still and unheeding air： Oh you goddamn fucking son of a bitch 。。。
Replaced with an image two years earlier； himself stumbling into the house at
three in the morning； drunk； falling over a table and sprawling full…length on
the floor； cursing； waking Wendy up on the couch。 Wendy turning on the light；
seeing his clothes ripped and smeared from some cloudy parking…lot scuffle that
had occurred at a vaguely remembered honky…tonk just over the New Hampshire
border hours before； crusted blood under his nose； now looking up at his wife；
blinking stupidly in the light like a mole in the sunshine； and Wendy saying
dully； You son of a bitch； you woke Danny up。 If you don't care about yourself；
can't you care a little bit about us？ Oh； why do I even bother talking to you？
The telephone rang； making him jump。 He snatched it off the cradle；
illogically sure it must be either Ullman or Al Shockley。 〃What？〃 he barked。
〃Your overtime； sir。 Three dollars and fifty cents。〃
〃I'll have to break some ones；〃 he said。 〃Wait a minute。〃
He put the phone on the shelf； deposited his last six quarters； then went out
to the cashier to get more。 He performed the transaction automatically； his mind
running in a single closed circle like a squirrel on an exercise wheel。
Why had he called Ullman？
Because Ullman had embarrassed him？ He had been embarrassed before； and by
real masters the Grand Master； of course； being himself。 Simply to crow at the
man； expose his hypocrisy？ Jack didn't think he was that petty。 His mind tried
to seize on the scrapbook as a valid reason； but that wouldn't hold water
either。 The chances of Ullman knowing who the owner was were no more than two in
a thousand。 At the interview； he had treated the cellar as another country a
nasty underdeveloped one at that。 If he had really wanted to know； he would have
called Watson； whose winter number was also in the office notebook。 Even Watson
would not have been a sure thing but surer than Ullman。
And telling him about the book idea； that had been another stupid thing。
Incredibly stupid。 Besides jeopardizing his job； he could be closing off wide
channels of information once Ullman called around and told people to beware of
New Englanders bearing questions about the Overlook Hotel。 He could have done
his researches quietly； mailing off polite letters； perhaps even arranging some
interviews in the spring 。。。 and then laughed up his sleeve at Ullman's rage
when the book came out and he was safely away The Masked Author Strikes Again。
Instead he had made that damned senseless call； lost his temper； antagonized
Ullman； and brought out all of the hotel manager's Little Caesar tendencies。
Why？ If it wasn't an effort to get himself thrown out of th