drinking had gotten too bad for jokes。 He had claimed that Excedrin was the only
nonprescription drug ever invented that could stop a hangover dead in its
tracks。 Absolutely the only one。 He had begun to think of his morning…after
thumpers as Excedrin Headache Number Vat 69。
〃No Excedrin；〃 she said。 〃Sorry。〃
〃That's okay；〃 he said； 〃these'll do just fine。〃 But of course they wouldn't；
and she should have known it； too。 At times she could be the stupidest bitch 。。。
〃Want some water？〃 she asked brightly。
（No I just want you to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE！） 。
〃I'll get some at the drinking fountain when I go up。 Thanks。〃
〃Okay。〃 She started up the stairs； good legs moving gracefully under a short
tan wool skirt。 〃We'll be in the park。〃
〃Right。〃 He slipped the tin of Anacin absently into his pocket； went back to
the reader； and turned it off。 When he was sure she was gone； he went upstairs
himself。 God； but it was a lousy headache。 If you were going to have a vise…
gripper like this one； you ought to at least be allowed the pleasure of a few
drinks to balance it off。
He tried to put the thought from his mind； more ill tempered than ever。 He
went to the main desk； fingering a matchbook cover with a telephone number on
it。
〃Ma'am； do you have a pay telephone？〃
〃No； sir； but you can use mine if it's local。〃
〃It's long…distance； sorry。〃
〃Well then； I guess the drugstore would be your best bet。 They have a booth。〃
〃Thanks。〃
He went out and down the walk； past the anonymous Civil War general。 He began
to walk toward the business block； hands stuffed in his pockets； head thudding
like a leaden bell。 The sky was also leaden； it was November 7； and with the new
month the weather had bee threatening。 There had been a number of snow
flurries。 There had been snow in October too； but that had melted。 The new
flurries had stayed； a light frosting over everything it sparkled in the
sunlight like fine crystal。 But there had been no sunlight today； and even as he
reached the drugstore it began to spit snow again。
The phone booth was at the back of the building； and he was halfway down an
aisle of patent medicines； jingling his change in his pocket； when his eyes fell
on the white boxes with their green print。 He took one of them to the cashier；
paid； and went back to the telephone booth。 He pulled the door closed； put his
change and matchbook cover on the counter； and dialed O。
〃Your call； please？〃
〃Fort Lauderdale； Florida； operator。〃 He gave her the number there and the
number in the booth。 When she told him it would be a dollar ninety for the first
three minutes； he dropped eight quarters into the slot； wincing each time the
bell bonged in his ear。
Then； left in limbo with only the faraway clickings and gabblings of
connection…making； he took the green…bottle of Excedrin out of its box； pried up
the white cap； and dropped the wad of cotton batting to the floor of the booth。
Cradling the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder； he shook out three of
the white tablets and lined them up on the counter beside his remaining change。
He recapped the bottle and put it in his pocket。
At the other end； the phone was picked up on the first ring。
〃Surf…Sand Resort； how may we help you？〃 the perky female voice asked。
〃I'd like to speak with the manager； please。〃
〃Do you mean Mr。 Trent or — 〃
〃I mean Mr。 Ullman。〃
〃I believe Mr。 Ullman is busy； but if you would like me to check — 〃
〃I would。 Tell him it's Jack Torrance calling from Colorado。〃
〃One moment； please。〃 She put him on hold。
Jack's dislike for that cheap； self…important little prick Ullman came
flooding back。 He took one of the Excedrins from the counter； regarded it for a
moment； then put it into his mouth and began to chew it； slowly and with relish。
The taste flooded back like memory； making his saliva squirt in mingled pleasure
and unhappiness。 A dry； bitter taste； but a pelling one。 He swallowed with a
grimace。 Chewing aspirin had been a habit with him in his drinking days； he
hadn't done it at all since then。 But when your headache was bad enough； a
hangover headache or one like this one； chewing them seemed to make them get to
work quicker。 He had read somewhere that chewing aspirin could bee addictive。
Where had he read that； anyway？ Frowning； he tried to think。 And then Ullman
came on the line。
〃Torrance？ What's the trouble？〃
〃No trouble；〃 he said。 〃The boiler's okay and I haven't even gotten around to
murdering my wife yet。 I'm saving that until after the holidays； when things get
dull。〃
〃Very funny。 Why are you calling？ I'm a busy — 〃
〃Busy man； yes； I understand that。 I'm calling about some things that you
didn't tell me during your history of the Overlooks great and honorable past。
Like how Horace Derwent sold it to a bunch of Las Vegas sharpies who dealt it
through so many dummy corporations that not even the IRS knew who really owned
it。 About how they waited until the time was right and then turned it into a
playground for Mafia bigwigs； and about how it had to be shut down in 1966 when
one of them got a little bit dead。 Along with his bodyguards； who were standing
outside the door to the Presidential Suite。 Great place； the Overlook's
Presidential Suite。 Wilson； Harding； Roosevelt； Nixon； and Vito the Chopper；
right？〃
There was a moment of surprised silence on the other end of the line； and then
Ullman said quietly： 〃I don't see how that can have any bearing on your job； Mr。
Torrance。 It 〃
〃The best part happened after Gienelli was shot； though； don't you think？ Two
more quick shuffles； now you see it and now you don't； and then the Overlook is
suddenly owned by a private citizen； a woman named Sylvia Hunter 。。。 who just
happened to be Sylvia Hunter Derwent from 1942 to 1948。〃
〃Your three minutes are up；〃 the operator said。 〃Signal when through。〃
〃My dear Mr。 Torrance； all of this is public knowledge 。。。 and ancient
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；