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Flies buzzed furrily along the snaking hillock of sand above the high…tide mark。 The spindrift； drying； was like a lock of a child's fine white hair。 Beyond； the bers rolled in； purple…blue； then white as their tops turned to foam； spending themselves upon the wet sand at his bare feet。
He dug his toes in； very much as he had done when he was younger； but； of course； it did no good。 The sea leached away the footing from under him and he grew shorter by inches as the land was eroded by the tide's inexorable progress。
Until then it had been a quiet afternoon； Dune Road lazy in midweek； even though this was the week after the Fourth of July。 He reached unconsciously for the pack of thin black…tobaccoed cigarettes which he no longer carried。 He had given up smoking six months ago。 He remembered the date well enough because it was the day he had quit his job。
He had arrived at the agency one chill sullen winter's day and had stayed in his office only long enough to place the ostrich…hide briefcase that Vincent had presented him with for no apparent reason … it was some months past his birthday and longer than that since he had been promoted … on his rosewood and smoked…glass desk that was much too modern to hold anything remotely resembling drawers。 Then he went out； turning left； past the curious； upturned face of Lil； his secretary； down the beige…carpeted； rose…neon indirectly lit hall。 When had he actually made the decision？ He had no idea； really。 On the way in； in the cab； his mind had been empty； his thoughts like ashes swirled in the dregs of last night's coffee。 Nothing else seemed to remain。
He went past the pair of female guardians who； like perfectly carved sphinxes before a great pharaoh's tomb； flanked the enormous carved mahogany door。 The thing of it was； they were damned efficient； too。 He gave a brief knock and went in。
Goldman was on the phone … the dark blue one； which meant a conversation with a high…level client； rather than the beige one； which would indicate inter…office brainstorming … so Nicholas stared out of the window。 They're all high…level these days； he thought。 There were days when being on the thirty…sixth floor had its advantages； but this was not one of them。 The sky was so dense with leaden clouds that it seemed as if a lid had been clamped down on the city。 Perhaps； near nightfall； it would snow again。 He couldn't think whether that would be good or bad。
'Nick； my boy 1' Goldman cried as he cradled the receiver。 'It must've been ESP； you walking in now！ Guess who that was on the phone？ No。' He waved one hand。 It looked like a duck； eager to take off。 'Better yet； don't guess。 I'll tell you。 It was Kingsley。' His eyes got big。 They always got big when he was excited。 'Know what he said？ He was talking my ear off about you and the campaign。 The first results are already in。 They're 〃a dramatic improvement〃； he says。 Those are his words； the schmendric。 〃A dramatic improvement〃。'
Nearing sixty； Sam Goldman did not look a day over fifty。 He was fit and trim and always tanned。 This； Nicholas had always supposed； he maintained to set off his shock of brilliant white hair which he wore long and bed straight back。 Goldman was enamored of contrasts。 His face was somewhat long； lined； pitted slightly on the crown of each cheek。 It was a proud face； dominated by large brown eyes； despite the long nose and generous mouth。 He wore a blue pinstripe shirt with solid white collar and a navy and maroon Italian silk tie。 He knew how to dress； Goldman did。 Despite this； his sleeves were rolled half way up his forearms。
Looking at him now； Nicholas abruptly knew why this was going to be so hard for him to do。
'I'm glad； Sam；' he said。
'Well； sit down； sit down then。' Goldman waved him to a beige suede and chrome chair in front of his enormous desk。
It was not； perhaps； what he would have chosen himself but all his clients were happy with it。
'No； I'm fine where I am； thanks。' Now that he was down to it； he realized that there was just no easy way。 'I'm leaving； Sam。'
'Leaving？ What； you want a vacation already？ You've only been creative director for six months …' 'Seven。'
'So who's counting？ Anyway； you want a vacation？ Okay； you got a vacation。 Where're you going？'
'I don't think you understand； Sam。 I want to leave the pany。 Resign。'
Goldman swivelled around in his chair； stared out of the window。 'You know； it's going to snow today。 On the radio they said no。 But I knew better。 An old campaigner can always tell。 My feet tell me。 Every time I play tennis。 I said to Edna this morning …'
'Sam； did you hear me？' Nicholas said gently。 〃That Kingsley。 What a schmuck！ He may know publishing but he doesn't know shit from advertising。 It took him long enough to e here。' He swivelled back； abruptly。 'You； Nick； you know advertising。' 'Sam…'
'Resign； Nicky？ Resign？ What's this resign？ I don't believe it。 You have everything here。 Everything。 You know how much we're gonna net … not gross； mind you； but net … from this one goddamn campaign of yours？' 'I don't care； Sam。'
'Two hundred fucking thousand； Nick。 Now why would you leave？'
'I'm tired； Sam。 Honestly。 I feel like I've been in advertising so long that lately … lately； I've been waking up feeling like Count Dracula。〃
Goldman cocked his head； a non…verbal sign of query。 'You know； like I've been in a coffin。' 'You're going back to Japan。'
'I hadn't really thought about it。' He was far more pleased than surprised； Goldman was unusually perceptive about these things。 'I don't know that it matters。'
'Of course it matters I' Goldman exploded。 'I think about going back to Israel all the time！'
'You didn't grow up in Israel；' Nicholas countered。
'I would have if it'd've been in existence then。' He snorted。 'But that's irrelevant。' He waved a hand again。 'History。 History is all that matters。' A call came through for him and he barked at one of the sphinxes outside to jot it down as a callback。 'Listen； I don't give a good goddamn what we make outa Kingsley； Nicky； you know that。 But it's a sign。 Can't you see that？ You're hot now。 I felt it was gonna happen a year ago and now I know I was right。 You really want to walk away from that now？'
'I don't think want is the right word；' Nicholas said。 'Have to is more like it。'
Goldman took out a cigar from a thick wooden humidor； contemplated it。 'Nick； I won't bore you by telling you how many bright guys would give their left nut for your job …'
'Thanks；' Nicholas said dryly。 'I appreciate that。'
'Everyone's gotta do for himself。' Goldman's eyes regarded the cigar's tip。 He took a bite off the end； struck a long wooden match。
'I wish you wouldn't？' Nicholas said。 'I've given up smoking。'
Goldman eyed him； the flame in mid…air。 'Just like you；〃 he said flatly。 'Everything at once。' He puffed at the flame； flicked the match into a wide glass ashtray。 But； unwilling perhaps to admit unconditional defeat； he stuck the cold cigar unhappily in his mouth； chewed on it meditatively。 'You know； Nick； I like to think of myself as more than just your boss。 It's been a lotta years since I picked you up right off the boat。'
'Plane。'
Goldman waved his hand。 'Whatever。' He took the cigar out of his mouth。 'As a friend； I think you owe me some kind of an explanation。'
'Look； Sam …'
He put his hand up； palm outwards。 'Hey； I'm not gonna try to stop you from going。 You're a big boy now。 And I can't say I'm not disappointed； because I am。 Why the hell should I lie to you？ Only； I'd just like to know。'
Nicholas got up； went over to the window。 Goldman swung his chair around to follow his progress like a radar tracking station。
'It's not even very clear to me yet； Sam。' He rubbed a hand across his forehead。 'I don't know； it's like this place has bee a prison。 A place to get out of instead of e into。' He turned to face Goldman。 'Oh； it isn't this place； itself。 There's nothing wrong … I suspect。。。' He shrugged。 'Perhaps it's advertising。 I feel lost within the medium now； as if the electronicization has no meaning for me。 As if I've slipped back； somehow； into another age； another time。' He leaned forwards； a peculiar kind of tension lacing his up