Hollywood Studio Magazine (July 1966)

THE TATTLE TALE TYPEWR I TE R A STORY IN TWO PARTS Continued from last month. by Jonathan Tyler His nervous hands lit a cigarette then fished through his pockets for his little address book which he al- ways carried with him. Finding it, he thumbed through it quickly. Enter¬ ing a nearby telephone booth, he dialed several numbers, but to no avail. None of his friends ventured the offering of a small loan. Checking the money he had left in his wallet, he dialed several more numbers, but his hopes dwindled like dying flames, when the voice on the other end said “No,” to the few remaining dollars he needed. With all hope gone, he returned to his room where he sat sulking in a dis- concerted manner. For the remainder of the night, he lay awake staring at the ceiling trying to think of a way to solve his problems. Suddenly, while half dozing, his inner voice whispered to him saying, “I know a way out!” Rai sat up in bed as his subconscious voice added further, “Your friend Nick has a nice NEW typewriter . . . why not borrow it . . . then PAWN it to get Lucys out . . . it’s simple . . . this way, no one will euer know the difference.” “No . . . no . . . no!” Rai cried out to himself. I won’t listen to you. You’ve caused me enough trouble already.” He placed his hands over his ears to drown out the sound of his subcon¬ scious voice. As soon as the sun rose and he knew Nick would he up and about, Rai paid him an early visit. Luckily for Rai, Nick was home and sober. Wading through an aftermath of freshly done wash, which lay strewn about in every available spot, Rai was invited to breakfast, an invitation he graciously accepted. Düring the course of the meal, Rai eagerly convinced Nick that he needed the typewriter for his Work and the loan was made. With a cross the heart and a hope to die promise to have it back in three days, Rai left the apartment carrying the typewriter with him. Several minutes later, he entered the loan shop on Vine Street and walked straight up to the IN section. Feeling more Professional now, he call out to the familiär bald head who stood with his back to him. “Good morning, sir.” Rai said, “remember The clerk turned towards him. With a gurgling sound in his voice which sounded worse today, Rai thought to himself, than it did yesterday, the clerk waddled up to him. “Oh . . . yes.” his voice rattled. “How could I ever forget you. What can I do for you this morning?” “I’d like to pawn another type¬ writer!” Rai said, with a smile as he flopped the case on top of the counter. The clerk looked at him for a mo- ment, then glanced skeptically at the typewriter sitting upright. “What do you do boy? Make these things over- night?” “No, sir.” Rai said happily. “I own three . . . you see, I’m a writer and I like to change off frequently. Right now though, I need money.” “Really . . .?” the clerk wheezed, shaking his head up and down, with lips pertruded, as if playing along with the idea. “That’s nice . . . very nice. Most writers I know can’t even afford to own one.” He wheezed a giggle to himself, as he started to open the case, then added glancing up at Rai. “It is all right to open this one?” “Yes, sir.” Rai answered with a quick firm nod of his head. “It’s per- fectly all right . . . this one doesn’t talk!” “Talk?” the clerk sputtered loudly, almost causing another spasm. He dropped his pen to the counter and eyed Rai quizzically for a moment, then nodded his head in a positive manner. “Typewriters don’t talk son. Take my word for it . . . I’ve been in this business for over forty years . . . and I’ve seen ’em come and go, but I’ve never heard one talk.” He filled out the form and handed it to Rai to sign, adding, “You need a rest son . .. yes sir . . . you need a LONG rest!” “I was only kidding,” Rai replied with a laugh as he signed the form. After the clerk had given him the twenty dollars, Rai took the pawn slip for Lucys typewriter from his wallet. He unfolded it neatly placing it on the counter in front of the clerk, who stood looking at him morß puzzled than ever now. With a broad smile that brought forth a twinkle in his eyes, Rai re- marked. “I’d like to take this one out please.” “Out?” the old clerk gasped, now thoroughly confused, as a wheeze sprang from his throat. “You just put it in!” “I don’t mean this one,” Rai shrugged. “I want to take out the one I pawned yesterday . . . you know . . . the ... er ... uh .. . talking one.” The clerk stood for a moment with a feeling of helplessness enveloping him and looked at Rai. Finally, he groaned weakly, “Talking! yes sir . . . talking . . .” He pulled the case from the counter and walked towards the back of the Store mumbling to himself. A few minutes later, he returned still mumbling to himself and handed Rai Lucys typewriter. Removing the pawn tag, he scoffed in an irritable manner. “That’ll be twenty one dollars” then added at length, after studying Rai for a moment, “We’ll let the consultation fees ride this time.” Rai smiled and handed him the money. Reaching for the typewriter, Rai heard the muffled voice inside the case squeak. “I’ll teil . . . I’ll teil . . .” Rai patted the case with an embar- rassed laugh and glanced at the clerk. “You do that!” he answered, picking it up, “teil anybody you want.” “Teil who son?” the clerk asked, with a puzzled frown. “Nothing sir,” Rai answered, “that remark wasn’t meant for you.” With a wave of his hand, he added, “Goodby sir, and thanks a lot.” “Goodby kid.” the clerk wheezed, shaking his head from side to side in pity. “See you tomorrow.” All the way home, the typewriter kept mumbling inside the case, “I’ll teil. . . I’ll teil. . . murderer . . .” until Rai was almost in a state of hysteria. He dared not say anything to it for fear people would take him for a lunatic. He kept a tight lip, while the typewriter talked on and on until he reached home. Once in his room where no one could hear, Rai locked the door se- curely, throwing the case on the couch. He stood looking at it with scorn. Pointing a finger, he said with a trembling voice, “I’ve had just about enough of this nonsence! There’s no such thing as a talking typewriter . . . you know it . . . I know it . . . and the whole damned world knows it . . . so SHUT UP!” He banged it hard with his fist, shouting loudly, “If I hear one more peep from you, I’ll take you part . . . BOLT by BOLT. Is that clear?” “Yessssss.” The. muffled voice moaned unhappily, then added after a long pause, “I’ll teil anyway.” In a fit of anger, Rai grabbed the typewriter and threw it hard across the room where it lay in the corner sputtering to itself. He feil on the coudi, which folded up then sprang out again with him in it, cursing to himself. He covered over his head with a pillow to drown out the muffled sounds of the typewriters voice. Later that evening, after he had re¬ turned the typewriter to Lucy, and Continued 8