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But there was no time for regrets. Stepa dialled the office of Rimsky,
the Variety Theatre's treasurer. Stepa was in a delicate position: for one
thing, the foreigner might be offended at Stepa ringing up to check on him
after he had been shown the contract and for another, the treasurer was an
extremely difficult man to deal with. After all he couldn't just say to him
: ' Look here, did J sign a contract yesterday for thirty-five thousand
roubles with a professor of black magic? ' It simply wouldn't do!
'Yes? ' came Rimsky's harsh, unpleasant voice in the earphone.
'Hello, Grigory Danilovich,' said Stepa gently. ' Likhodeyev speaking.
It's about this ... er ... this fellow . . . this artiste, in my flat,
called, er, Woland . . . I just wanted to ask you about this evening--is
everything O.K.? '
'Oh, the black magician? ' replied Rimsky. ' The posters will be here
any minute now.'
'Uhuh . . .' said Stepa weakly. ' O.K., so long . . .'
'Will you be coming over soon? ' asked Rimsky.
'In half an hour,' answered Stepa and replacing the receiver he
clasped his feverish head. God, how embarrassing! What an appalling thing to
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