The sucker, p.6
The Sucker, page 6
“Like I said, I could have gone to Florida. Now I have to stay here.”
The bartender scratched his head and stared at me.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much,” he said.
I bought a round and watched the couple dancing. The guy was holding the girl up tight and she was crying. I wondered, vaguely, how they felt.
“The girl would like to talk to you,” the bartender said.
“What?”
“Marie, the girl playing the organ.”
“Anything for a lady.”
She smiled as I came up to her, holding her head back and closing her eyes. I couldn’t see much of her except from the waist up but she seemed young yet matured. She had on a red dress and it was welded to her, her breasts bulging against it.
“You wanted to see me?”
She opened her eyes and they appeared to be brown and innocent.
“Yes. Thank you for the drinks, but don’t waste any more money on me.” She laughed and touched her chin with one hand. “I’m full — up to here.”
Her fingers rippled across the keys, giving life to the music. Then the tempo slowed and the music faded away. Outside, a car horn blew and fast-moving tires hummed on the pavement.
“Break time,” she said.
“Maybe you need a short snort.”
“I never touch liquor.”
I leaned over the organ, watching her. The place seemed dead without the music, a hole in the wall. The couple had gone back to the bar and I could hear the girl crying. I wondered why they just didn’t break it off and be finished with it.
“What’s your name?”
“Marie. Marie Barker.”
“I know a Doris Barker. Any relation?”
“She’s my sister.”
“You’re a lot prettier,” I said.
Her eyes clouded over and she smiled reflectively.
“We’re a lot different,” she said.
I was going to ask her about putting a nickel in the juke box so we could dance but her fingers moved across the keyboard again, bringing the organ to life.
“Can’t I play something for you?”
“You name it,” I said. “I’m not much on music. The only kind of notes I know about are those you get in a bank.”
“What’s your name?”
“Slade Harper.”
“I’ve heard about you.”
“Nothing good.”
She smiled, not saying anything, and the music rolled out, getting full. I could see that she had the music inside, in her heart, because it poured out of her eyes and the way her lips were apart, showing her white teeth.
I went back to the bar and had another drink. I was almost finished with it, just sitting there and not thinking much, when someone came up and stood beside me.
“Hello.”
I looked into the mirror over the rows of bottles.
“Hello, Ruth.”
She had on a black, strapless dress that slashed across the full mounds of her breasts. Just the nearness of her set my blood on fire. I looked down at the half-dollar on the bar. Why the hell hadn’t it come up tails? I could have been on my way to Florida. But I wouldn’t have gone, anyway. I knew it. This was one time I wanted to stay around. It might be worth it.
“Good evening, Miss Talley.”
“Hi, Don.”
“The same?”
“The same.”
She hitched up a stool and sat down. Her shoulder bumped against my arm and I felt the warmth of her flesh.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Slade.”
“My car’s parked out front.”
“Sure,” she said, tasting the drink. “I’ve been riding around all night looking for it.”
“I didn’t know I was so much in demand.”
I swung on the stool, looking at her. My knee touched her thigh, digging in, and she didn’t try to move away. The dress was made of some sheer material and it dipped down between her legs.
“You like, Slade?”
“I like.”
She threw a ten on the bar and ordered a round for us. Her glance went from my head all the way to my feet, counting inches. Her arms were smooth and white and her shoulders were a naked invitation.
“Slade,” she said, slowly, “you’re a bastard.”
“Well, thanks.”
She laughed and her breath washed across my face, clean and hot.
“Nothing bothers you, does it?”
I let my eyes wander down her face to the high points of her breasts. “Some things bother me plenty.”
“How about the girl down at the bus station?”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’ll bet you don’t. I’m talking about the blonde who came to town with you.”
The couple from down the bar went past us on their way out. The girl was still crying and the guy was swearing at her, calling her a bum.
“I’ll tell you something,” Ruth said. “I was looking for you. Sometimes we send a rush order to a garage in New York by bus. We had one of those today and when I took it down there I found your girl friend hanging around, looking like she was ready to die.”
I finished my drink and lit a cigarette.
“You’re quite a detective,” I said.
“Oh, it wasn’t anything much. That Buick of yours is rather easy to spot and you and the blonde have been out and around town. I was just curious when I saw her waiting there, so I introduced myself.”
“Thoughtful of you.”
“Yes; wasn’t it?” Ruth stood up and the dress billowed out from her hips. “She was grateful to me.”
“I’ll bet.”
“She said she might have to get in touch with you.”
I’d wondered about that, if she’d put up a holler about the money.
“You’d make a lousy father,” Ruth said and walked toward the door.
I sat there for a long time after that, drinking, trying to kill that hollow feeling in my belly. Maybe Cleo was that way and that’s why she had kept yelling about getting married. With Cleo, something like that would be much more important than money. God, she was a funny one. She had values that I didn’t understand.
Kathy, I thought, God damn you why’d you have to be such a tramp? Why did you have to give so little and then take so much? And you, Johnny. Jesus, Johnny, why didn’t you tell me the truth about that gas station, that it was just a shack on the road to nowhere? I dropped my dough in there that night because I believed you and I took the station because I believed you. And that letter to your sister — for Christ’s sake, were you that weak, kid? Couldn’t you lose something and then stand up like a man? You could have made it easier for your sister if you’d told her the truth about the Icelandic girl and how you’d lost everything because you’d been looking for a quick way out. Sure, you were gambling but nobody twisted your arm. Some people play Russian roulette and the loser gets his brains scattered around. But does that make the winner guilty? You damn fool, Johnny, you set her up for it and I couldn’t walk away. She’s just a kid, a clean stupid kid who’s grown up right and don’t know from diddly nothing. She’s got your insurance money and I could get that, too. You want to bet on that, kid? All I have to do is find her on a day when the bank is open and she can write her name. And I wouldn’t have to marry her, either. That’s too big a price to pay for anything. A guy never gets over the down payment. And he never gets a clear title.
“Hey, mister, you gettin’ loaded?”
“No.”
“You been drinkin’ steady for three-four hours.”
“Well, set up another. And one for the girl.”
The bartender shook his head.
“I keep tellin’ you she don’t want no more. It’s almost time for her to knock off.”
“Sure.”
I turned and looked at the girl, grinning. She started to smile and then she glanced away from me. I thought she looked disgusted. I didn’t blame her much. I was the only customer in the place.
“Last one,” the bartender told me.
“Make it a double.”
“You must have two insides. One for booze.”
“Shut up.”
Ruth, I thought. A dame a guy couldn’t figure. She had the looks and the class, but what was she like inside? Warm? Dynamite? There was one way to find out. I wished I had another drink.
I looked at the girl playing the organ. She was pretty. A nice face, quiet and glowing, the kind of a face a guy could hold in his hands and kiss. A face that wouldn’t bother him the next morning because it was so much like the many other faces he’d seen in other places. A face without memories. Ships in the night. A diamond in the dust.
“You owe me a buck,” the bartender said.
I got out a five and threw it at him.
“Buy yourself a hat,” I said.
I walked over to the girl and I knew that I was staggering. I’d had plenty to drink. Too much to drink and no supper. Maybe a diner would be open and I could get some eggs, or soup, or something else. I leaned across the organ and grinned, staring down into her eyes. I didn’t want anything to eat. The night was young and I was trying to forget something. Maybe she could help me.
“I’ll drive you home,” I said.
She shook her head.
“My car’s right outside,” I said.
Her fingers ripped at the keys, driving the music wild. The bar was filled with it, sliding off the walls, and the lights began to dim. A small part of yesterday and tomorrow lived and died in that frantic spasm of melody.
She sat there looking up at me.
“I’ll drive you home,” I said again.
“Why?”
I shrugged. I could see it in her face, the way her lips came up at the corners. She knew.
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” she said.
I shrugged again and bent over her. My lips touched her forehead just once.
“Can you drive all right?”
“I can do anything,” I said.
The bartender slammed the cash register shut and turned off the rest of the lights. The moonlight came in from outside and lay flat on the floor.
“You want I should call a cab for you, Marie?”
“No. This gentleman said he’d take me home.”
I heard the bartender moving things around over there and then he came toward us, pushing something.
“You’re going to be sorry,” the girl said.
The moonlight made tiny stars out of the tears in her eyes. This time I kissed her very carefully on the mouth.
“It’s all right,” I said, staring at the metal wheelchair. “I won’t be sorry at all.”
And I wasn’t.
7
THERE’S something fascinating about the mail order business. You can count other people’s money and not have them worry about it. And you learn a new way of adding. You take two and two and you get three — one for yourself and three for the other guy.
It’s fun.
And profitable.
“Someday we’re gonna get closed up,” Eddie kept saying. “The guy with the whiskers is gonna sling an axe through that door and somebody’s gonna get hurt.”
“Not me,” Clarke Mitchell maintained. “I got my application in at the Willow Ranch. I’m gettin’ a job up there.”
“What doin’?” Eddie leered. “Bell-hoppin’ towels?”
“Shut up.”
“I think I’ll tell Miss Talley about you fellows,” Doris threatened, her face getting red. “You oughtn’t to talk that way when a girl is around.”
“Oh, God,” Eddie said. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Doris crouched over her desk, trying to hide behind her glasses. She’d gotten a new pair, with blue rims. They looked terrible.
“Slade doesn’t talk that way,” she said. “He just does his work.”
“Well, he’s new around here,” Clarke said. “He’ll learn. How about that, Slade?”
“Knock it off, guy.”
“You still on that crank thing?” Eddie wanted to know. “Must be quite a job.”
“It is.”
“Leave it to Midge and Ruth,” he said. “They’ll clean up a bundle on it.”
“Oh, why don’t you stop that!” Doris exploded. “The way you fellows talk, you’d think they were crooks.”
“They are,” Eddie said.
“Amen,” Clarke agreed.
I was supposed to be finishing up an illustration for the instructions but I was actually fooling around with a doodle of a guy in an apple tree. The guy wasn’t picking apples. He had a bagful of dollar bills. I made a couple of more passes with the pencil, bringing out the guy’s face. I recognized him. Me.
“You know how it is,” Midge Dalton had told me one night. “You start something small, just for the hell of it, and all of a sudden it gets to be a monster. You do a lot of business and you don’t make a nickel.”
“Things seem to be rolling along,” I’d said.
Mornings I’d heard them talking about the mail, how it was coming in, the number of paid orders, how many C.O.D.’s and whether the magazine ads or the catalog were pulling strongest.
“There are some things here you don’t understand,” Midge had said. “Things under the surface.”
He hadn’t said so, but I knew one of them was Ruth Talley. She rode shotgun on the whole place. During working hours she was cold and methodical, determined to get the last dollar from every possible source. She was a beautiful woman of purpose, a woman a guy ought to leave alone. But I knew that I wouldn’t, that I couldn’t. She was my type. All promise and all danger.
“Ruth coming back today?” I wanted to know.
Eddie made a face like he was going to spit and Clarke shook his head and kept on playing with the papers he was supposed to file.
“She won’t be back until late,” Doris said. “She went down to Philly to see a man about getting some stuff made for us. She thought she could get it done cheaper than Midge.”
“I know how she could get it done for nothing,” Eddie said.
Doris took off her glasses and stood up. Her face was ash white and I noticed her hands trembling.
“You’ve got a filthy mouth,” she told Eddie. “Some day I’m going to tell Ruth about the things you say.”
Eddie ducked out into the hall.
“Lover,” he yelled back at her.
“He’s awful, just awful.” Doris closed her eyes and looked as if she was going to cry. “He’d better stop talking that way. He really had better stop.”
I pushed the doodle aside and began sketching the crank.
“Slade?”
“Yes, Doris.”
“You like it here?”
“Sort of.”
“I didn’t know you knew my sister, Marie.”
“She can really hump that organ,” I said. “She’s a nice kid.”
“She thought you were rather — nice, too.”
“I’d been as loaded as a pair of carnival dice and I’d almost upset her getting her from the gin mill out to the car. She hadn’t been scared at all and when I’d tried to start the car without turning on the ignition she had just laughed about it. I’d marked her down as being a real woman, even if she was crippled. Maybe it was because being a cripple made her a lot bigger inside than other people. I didn’t know. But, for my money, she had been very real and very human.
“Thanks,” I said. “Tell her I said hello.”
Clarke left, remarking that he was going out for cigarettes, and it got very quiet in the office. Pretty soon Doris came over and sat down in the chair alongside my desk.
“Mind telling me something, Slade?”
“If I can.”
“Did Marie say anything about me?”
“Just that you were her sister.”
“Oh.”
“Anything wrong?”
“Why — no.” She bit down on her lower lip and looked past me. “Only I wondered. We don’t get along very well.”
“I see.”
“She’s been a cripple a long time. Ever since she was a child.”
“I guessed that she’d had polio,” I said.
“No. It was an accident. We were sleighriding and we came around a sharp curve. There was a horse and wagon standing there. I — I couldn’t miss the wagon. She’s been like that ever since.”
Doris walked over and stood at the window. I could see the mountains in the distance, the snow up near the peaks washed red by the sun. I’d almost completed drawing the crank before she spoke again.
“It should have been me,” she said. “She’s pretty and it should have been me. My mother was already dead but I know that my father thought it, too. He never said so but I know he thought it, right up to his death. And I’ve thought it. I’ve thought it all along. It should have been me.”
“That’s no way to talk,” I said.
“Don’t tell me how I should talk!”
“All right. Have it your way, then.”
“She’s a cripple, and still she’s prettier than I am.”
“Jesus,” I said, getting up.
Doris swung around, her eyes fierce.
“Well, isn’t she? Isn’t she?”
“Stop blowing your whistle,” I said. “You can’t argue about a thing like that.”
Her chin began to tremble and she blinked her eyes furiously.
“She’s going on the local radio station next,” Doris said.
“That’s fine.”
“I’m glad you think it is. It’s tearing me apart, that’s what it’s doing. Sure, she can play that organ but I can do things, too. I can tell you every account payable of Rockland Motors, from memory, and I can tell you how to juggle one dollar and make three out of it. But what does it get me? It gets me nothing. It gets me slurs and forty dollars a week, that’s what it gets me.”
“Some of us get the breaks,” I said. “Some of us don’t.”
“Marie tells me to go out and get married. God, if that isn’t a laugh!”
I didn’t even bother undressing her with my eyes. It wasn’t worth the effort. She was just a homely kid with a skinny frame and a disposition that would sour anything she came in contact with.
“You can never tell,” I said. “I might decide to take a whirl at it myself.”
“Now, you’re laughing at me.”
