It took me a week to adjust, to catch up with this change that had come in my life, this tremendous, incredible change. Each afternoon I’d sit and look out the window, checking over things I could do with the money I had come into. It was a problem. I had the wherewithal now to get my son back for sure-but no way to explain how I got it, not and be believed, either by Ethel herself or the members of the court she’d hint to about the immoral things I must have done to get a man to pay me so much. Things that in the court’s eyes would make me unfit to be put in charge of a child’s welfare, and not just for now but permanently. I could hear her voice: Where would you have gotten such a quantity of money, Joan? I won’t use the word for what you are, but you and I both know the only thing you have to sell.
At the same time, doing nothing with the money was hardly sensible, not when I had it and needed it so dearly. I had to find something that could get me out of this bind eventually. And then one day, as I stared at that house across the street, I woke up. I had often admired it: a two-and-a-half-story brick cottage, painted white, with nicely mown lawn and cedar trees each side of the drive. But what woke me up was the sign on the front lawn: FOR SALE, with a realtor’s name on it, his address, and phone number. Suddenly I got up, went to the phone, and dialed. Then I hung up before anyone answered. In the Yellow Pages I looked up another real estate man, Ross P. Linden, with offices in Hyattsville just a few blocks away. I rang, made an appointment, and next day went in to see him. He agreed to take over the job of buying, and at the end of the week closed my deal. He had beat the price down from $35,000 asking to $28,000 offered and accepted. He charged me $1,000 for his work, which I thought reasonable enough considering what he did. Then I went out and bought furnishings for it. I bought them at auction sales, which for things of that kind are usually held at night. That meant taking time off from my job, first telling Bianca. “Telling her,” I said, not “asking her”- and of course she put up a squawk. But, if she wanted me to stay on, there was nothing to say but yes, so she said it, swallowing hard. At the end of two weeks, for $1,200, I had the house very well furnished, with living room and dining room suites downstairs, bedroom things upstairs, and very nice rungs all around. On top of the $ 1,200 in regular furnishings, I put out $495 for a color TV, a beautiful cabinet-size thing that I splurged on deliberately. Because, I was getting this place ready to rent, rent furnished to the kind of people who might be in Washington only a short time, but needed a place to live in, a nice place they could have for themselves, their family, and friends- and a color TV, I thought, would act as very nice bait, something that might well tip the beam, make them decide between my place and some other place, if they liked to watch Steve Allen or Perry Como or Dinah Shore, all of whom were now broadcasting in color, or Howdy Doody if they had a little one. And within a week of the purchase going through I had the house rented, for $450 a month, to a couple from Akron, Ohio, who had jobs of some sort with HUD. When the husband and wife both work, they don’t have to count costs too closely, and can afford a very nice rental. They didn’t have any children and their name was Schroeder.
So, I had spent $31,000 of my $50,000, but still had things to do. On the mortgage, just under $5,000 dangled, and I went to the bank and paid it. I can’t say what a relief that was, what a blessed load off my back, as well as an albatross from around my neck. It still left me with $14,000 of my $50,000, and I went out and bought a car. I didn’t buy a new car, but one off a used-car lot, from a man I knew fairly well, from his coming in to the Garden and sitting with me quite often. He had a very nice Ford, a sedan, nicely polished, two years old but with not too much mileage on it, for $1,100. It was green, to blend with my hair, and when I drove it around the block, purred nicely, as though in good condition. The only thing was, it still had its original tires, and they were beginning to get worn. But I had Mr. Goss put five new whitewalls on it, for just over $100, and lo and behold, I had practically a brand-new car for the price of half of one.
So, I had one house free and clear, with no monthly $110 due, and except for taxes and upkeep, no expense at all, and another house free and clear, paying me $450 a month, subject to taxes and upkeep. Or in other words, with the $19.15 tip I still got every night, or nearly $115 a week, and the $150 a week over that that I made in tips at the Garden, I had about $1,500 a month before taxes, and over $10,000 in savings, making me $50 a month, about. Considering that just a few months before I was practically on relief, I knew I wasn’t doing too badly. I also hadn’t heard a peep from Private Church since the day he’d come to my house, leaving me to conclude that neither my recent transactions, if noticed at all, nor Ron’s exhumation had raised any matter of concern to the police. So I was feeling pleasantly up, quite happy with myself, when I drove out to the Lucases’ Sunday, for my weekly visit with Tad. I played it straight with Ethel, making no explanations at all of the car except to say that I had it, and all she could do was stare, first at it, then at me, and say: “I see, I see, I see.” What she saw I didn’t quite know, or to be frank about it, care. I’d been working long enough to afford a used car, on what I was making now; it wasn’t like suddenly appearing with $50,000 out of nowhere.
Tad was all excitement, as I had hoped he would be, and I loaded him in for a ride I had in mind, to the university at College Park, where they had a dairy building, as part of their farm complex, where you can get ice cream of various kinds, experimental kinds, most of them wonderful, not at all like what they sell in “parlors” as they’re called. They brought a book for Tad to sit on, but I held him on my lap, and ordered something made with diced dates for myself and plain strawberry for him, as being pink, pretty, and tasty.
He loved it. He ate it spoonful by spoonful, in the slow careful way a child has for something like that, and I loved watching him. When he was almost to the end he suddenly stopped, closed his eyes, and said: “M’m! M’m!” like he’d heard them sing on the Campbell’s soup advertisements. It made my heart beat up, the most beautiful sound in the world, of my own little baby being happy. He didn’t even complain when I hugged him tight, forgetting about his shoulder, so I knew he’d finally healed. I let him taste to the last spoonful, then ordered two quart cartons, one of strawberry, one of vanilla with chocolate chip, to take home to the Lucases. When we got back Jack was out on the curb waiting. It seemed odd, as previously he had shown me no special respect, and in fact took me quite for granted, in a way I didn’t much like. But now he was deference itself, opening the door, helping me out with Tad, being so helpful I was crossed up, assuming at first it was respect for the new car, or something of the sort. However, it turned out that wasn’t the reason. “Will you go up to Ethel?” he whispered. “She’s in a state up there-went to bed, believe it or not. You were gone so long she thought you’d flown the coop. She thought you’d taken Tad back. So-you aren’t taking him, are you?”
“He is my son, Jack.”
“I know he is, and you are entitled to have him for the day any time you want. But Ethel feared-”
“I know what she feared, and she should fear it, because someday soon I hope to make it happen. I am the boy’s mother and he should be with me.”
“I thought you weren’t ready yet, that you still couldn’t take care of him, all by yourself-”
I swallowed what I wanted so badly to tell him, to tell Ethel, for I was still afraid of how she would turn it against me. “I’m not. But soon I hope to be.”
“She’s scared to death up there.”
And then, as he walked me into the house, holding my arm, as I held Tad by the hand: “She’s nuts about him, Joan, just nuts. Don’t take him, please-not yet. He’s what she lives for.”
“What I live for, too.”
“Yeah, we know about that. But-”
“I’ll talk to her about it.”
So I did, coming in on her as she lay on their double bed, staring at me with puffy cheeks and red eyes, and giving a little cry when Tad came toddling in, having let go my hand at the head of the stairs, to pull up his sock or something. She jumped out of bed, swept him into her arms, and listened close as he told her: “’Tawberry! ’Tawberry! ’Tawberry!”
“Ethel,” I told her, very calm. “I brought him back-this time. But I’m in better shape now, financially I mean, than I have been-the job has worked out very well, and I could afford a woman, one to come in and stay with Tad while I work. I mean to say I’ve been thinking about it, and though I haven’t done it yet, you should prepare yourself for it.”
She looked up at me from where she was cradling my son by the foot of her bed and wrapped one hand around the back of his head, as if to protect him. To protect him from me, his mother. “You may do that, Joan, when you’re settled proper and have a situation suitable to the mother of a young boy. Not working nights for tips, from men who pay to drink and see your bosom, and if it’s only to see it and not to touch it, and much more besides, I’d be surprised.” She spoke this all in a syrupy sweet voice, as though the tone could hide from my little son what venom the words contained. “I know Luke Goss, and so does my Jack, and he bragged just two nights back about that car he sold you, saying he expected he’d have you in its back seat some night soon if the way you pet him on the arm and give him glimpses inside your blouse at the Garden is any indication of how you feel about him. Now Luke Goss does well enough with that yard of his and I’m not telling you he couldn’t make a tolerable husband for some woman, so if you’ve decided to make a play for him, so be it. But I have to warn you, Joan, you might find marriage proposals aren’t what you get put to you in the back seat of a used car.”
I was frozen, my temper held in check only by the look of distress I saw had crept into Tad’s eyes. He may not have understood all the words but he wasn’t taken in about their meaning, and could tell that there was something like hatred between us. “Luke Goss is a liar,” I said, “a salesman who will say anything to anyone to make himself shine in their eyes. I serve him drinks and that is all, and there never will be more, and if I ever touched his arm it was only to keep him from falling over in his seat from too many Manhattans. I will not be kept from my son by lies, not his, nor yours, nor anyone’s, and if you try you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“… Wish I hadn’t? What are you saying, Joan? That I might have an accident like Ron’s someday?”
“I wouldn’t know, that depends on whether you drink as much as he did.”
She stood. “I’m sorry, Joan, but I don’t think it is appropriate for us to continue this conversation in front of the boy. If you would kindly leave, Jack will see you out.”
I bent to kiss my son, and he saw the tears I was holding back, because he flung his arms around my neck and clung, until finally I had to take his little hands and gently lift them off me and force myself to step away from him. “Mommy will be back,” I told him. “Next Sunday. And the Sunday after. And more than that, soon, much more, I promise.”
“More,” he said, but his voice quavered as though uncertain. And I knew then I couldn’t give up on Mr. White, however impossible it might seem.
13
All that time, I hadn’t said anything, to Liz, Bianca, or anyone there at the Garden, about what had happened to me.
And I said nothing to Mr. White as to what I’d done with his money, not that I minded his knowing, but I feared he wouldn’t approve, and shied off from letting him veto. I also said nothing to Tom, who came in as he had before-not every night, but two or three times a week, always sitting at Mr. White’s table, always taking seltzer, and always staying completely sober, but it must be said leaving me feeling a little tipsy in turn. He kept trying to date me, for an evening, or early morning actually, after I got through work, saying he knew a place where we could go “and not be bothered,” whatever that meant. And I kept putting him off, saying, “Soon, I hope-I’ll take another rain-check,” but it was harder each time. In spite of the way we’d begun, I’d come to like him. Or perhaps ‘like’ is the wrong word, but I was drawn to him, and I was coming to understand better what Liz had told me that first night, about the undeniable appeal of being asked, especially when it’s an attractive man doing the asking.
Then one night he came in earlier than usual and didn’t bring up the subject. He seemed in a very low mood, as though something was on his mind. I asked: “What is it, Tom? Did I pour gravy on your ice cream? What’s on your mind anyway?”
“Plenty. I have a friend that’s in trouble.”
“Someone I know?”
“Jim Lacey.”
“… Oh? The one whose son you spelled the day of the funeral?”
“The one. You may have seen him in the paper. He’s been indicted.”
“Indicted? For what?”
For answer, he dug into his briefcase and tossed a newspaper down on the table between us. The story was on the bottom of page one. James E. Lacey, senior municipal engineer with the county, had been indicted in a matter involving taking bribes to recommend sewer connections for some new development area. It was one of those cases they have all the time in Prince George’s County, where millions are made overnight on the basis of rezoning decisions, the award of sewer connections, of water connections, of paving connections. “Well, I’m sorry,” I said, as pleasantly as I could. “It always hurts when a friend gets in some trouble.”
“What hurts is, I’m not able to help.”
Not knowing what help was called for, I said nothing, but in a moment he explained: “He’s an idiot, a gambler, up to his ears in debt. No one would lend him a dime, and his trouble is, he can’t make bail. It’s been set at $12,000, and will cost over $1,000 for a bond, and he just doesn’t have it. Can you imagine, a man with his power and connections, sitting in a jail cell because he can’t raise a thousand dollars? If I had it I’d stand the bond myself-but it’s out of the question for me.”
“… You haven’t got a thousand dollars either?”
He smiled at me as if to say, What care I about money? But what it said was, No, I haven’t got a thousand dollars either.
“Once some of the things I’m working on ripen, I’ll have that much many times over-but at the moment I’m strapped, at least for that kind of money, so I have to deal myself out.”
Bail was something I knew nothing whatever about. I had heard of bail bondsmen, but just who they were and how they worked was completely out of my world. He waited some more, sipping his seltzer a bit, and then went on: “I have a house, of course. My father left me the place, and I still live there. And it’s worth double the bail, which is what they require. Unfortunately, I borrowed some money on it- so that’s out. I could sign a property bond otherwise, and I’d be only too glad to. But what you can’t do, you can’t. That’s what’s getting me. He knows about the house but not about the mortgage, and wonders why I don’t sign his bond. And for some reason I hate to tell him the truth. It sounds as though I just cooked up an excuse.”
“Start over. Explain about the house.”
He did, in words of one syllable, telling how the bail bondsmen use one house over and over, to sign a dozen bonds, each one for a nice charge, “but the house must be free and clear. If it’s mortgaged it can’t be pledged.”
“And it bothers you, not to be able to help?”
“Well? Wouldn’t it bother you?”
He opened up a little bit then, saying how Mr. Lacey was more than a friend. “He’s someone I badly need, for something I’m shooting for. I have an eye on a position in the administration-I want to run the Department of Natural Resources, and his cousin down in Annapolis could put it over for me. I’m pretty sure she could. She’s close to the governor, and takes an interest in it.” I drew a blank on that, and he said: “I’d give anything to have charge of Chesapeake Bay, on account of an idea I have.” And he came out with the very idea Liz had mentioned, that if he worked things around he might be able to get the bay clear of the nettles. “Chesapeake Bay,” he explained, almost as though making a speech, “is the garden spot of the world, of this part of the world anyway, the garden spot of the U.S.A.-perfect for yachting, swimming, wading, or what-have-you, all except for one thing, the goddam nettles. With them out there it’s no good for anything. It seems to me we could get rid of those goddam things. And it seems to me, that those atomic plants might help. The whole population’s against them, scared to death of what they might do. But suppose I can figure a way, to use those plants somehow? To use the water they spill? That hot water they sluice with their pumps? If all it takes is temperature, a slight change in how hot the bay is, to kill all those nettles we have, then that would do it, and not cost the state a dime. Then, ’stead of opposing those plants, the people would welcome them in-and we got a tremendous problem solved-the nettles, the atomic plants, the energy that we need, all at one fell swoop.”
He got so excited talking about it, and it was all I could do to keep the expression on my face from breaking out in a grin like we both knew he was pulling my leg-because it was pretty clear he believed in what he was selling and didn’t see it as leg pulling at all. It made me feel a little bittersweet, actually, as it put him in a new light, like seeing a beautiful home by day after only previously seeing it in the moonlight, only to realize that the shutters need painting and the roof’s in a terrible state. Tom thought he had the prettiest little house in town and had no idea how rickety it was. Apart from the radiation, I wanted to ask him, wouldn’t the hot water kill off all the fish …? But those were only two of a thousand arguments against his plan, and I didn’t raise them. I just watched him deliver his pitch with all his heart behind it, and in a strange way the very hopelessness of it made me warm to him-not to it, but to him, this handsome young man with a mortgaged house and not a thousand dollars to his name and a castle in the air he’d never be able to sell anyone on but a couple of women at a Hyattsville bar who’d known him as a teenager and were fond of him.
And not even them, necessarily, as halfway through his speech Bianca was there at my shoulder, whispering to me: “He’s a bit gone on the subject. Don’t pay too much attention.”
Then Liz was there, telling me: “Give him a drink.”
They drifted away, but he kept going. I saw in his eyes, behind the unwavering conviction, a sort of desperation I recognized, and my heart went out to him. I saw the chance to do for someone, in a smaller way, what Mr. White had done for me-and perhaps also felt a bit of the same impulse that had led me to promise toys to all the children in Ethel’s yard. I said: “You need someone, is that it? With a house that’s free and clear? Suppose I had that house?”
He stared at me, then said: “Joan, it’s a serious thing. Don’t try to be funny-not on this subject, anyway.”
“Who says I’m being funny?”
I snapped it, the least little bit, and suddenly he knew I was serious. “… You? Could sign that bond?”
“If that’s what it takes, a house.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“I’d have to be asked, nicely.”
“I wouldn’t ask you. I don’t have the right.”
“… O.K. Then for you I volunteer.”
After a long time, still staring at me, he asked: “You’d do that for me, Joan?”
“And why not? It’s just for a time, right? Once he shows up at the trial, the bond is cancelled?”
“Of course. But there’s risk.”
“There’s always risk. If you’d trust him with your house…”
“I would if I could.”
“Then why can’t I?”
“Is it all right, then? That I call his lawyer and get him in? Because, as I understand it, Jim could be out tonight-they do it that quick, I’ve heard. If, as and when-”
“You have a house free and clear. Well, I have.”
He went into the alcove and phoned, then was back, taking a flash at his watch. Half an hour later a bald-headed man came in, dropped down at the table with him, took out a paper, and whispered something to him. Tom beckoned to me, and the bald-headed man, who introduced himself as Mr. Lackman, asked me about my house. Did I have one free of any mortgages, leases, tenancies or other encumbrances? I told him I had one, and he wanted to know where. So, on my scratch pad there on the bar, I wrote the address of my home, the one I’d got upon Ron’s death and now owned free and clear, and laid it down in front of him. He copied it onto his paper, held the ballpoint to his teeth, then motioned me to sit down, make myself comfortable, but I told him it wasn’t allowed. He said he had to make a telephone call to someone in the courthouse or the hall of records, I don’t remember which, to confirm that my name was on the deed for the property and that there were no outstanding liens or claims, and I told him I’d be surprised if anyone would be working so late at night. He replied: “You’re working, aren’t you? You think the justice system closes down at ten o’clock?”
He was on the phone for nearly twenty minutes, then he came back, sat down, and called me over again. He had another paper in his hand, a legal document, and he read it to me. It was a declaration that I owned the property at the address given below and was hereby offering it in pledge as security for the release of the named prisoner, or something of that kind. When he finished reading he told me to sign. So I did, and he waved it around in the air as if to dry it, then jumped up and scooted.
It took the better part of two more hours, maybe three, to the point where I thought we might close up before he made it back. But then there he was, diving back to the table, with another man by his side, a chunky red-faced man in a rumpled suit, unshaven, who shook hands with Tom and sat. When Tom motioned toward me, he got up, came over, shook my hand, and said he was Jim Lacey and how grateful he was that I had helped him out. He said: “You’ll never regret it, I promise you.” And then: “Now, Mrs. Medford, how about joining us? Tom, Mel, and me, for a little drink to celebrate? Celebrate my release?”
“Mr. Lacey, I don’t drink. But thanks.”
“Take seltzer, like Tom.”
“It’s also against the rules.”
“Not tonight it’s not.”
He called to Bianca, to know if it was all right if I sat down with him at the table, and added: “It better be, Bianca, you know what’s good for you.” Bianca told him: “For you, Jim, we make an exception of course.”
So I sat down at the table, and he ordered champagne, with Liz serving the order. I told her: “Ginger ale for me,” and she nodded, but stared, all crossed up. It went on I suppose a half hour, I feeling very self-conscious, but then Mr. Lacey proclaimed: “Got to be going now-come on, Mel, time we both shoved off. We’ll leave these other two here.”
So, in a minute they were gone, and I jumped up to become a waitress again, but there were only two other tables occupied this late, and Liz had already seen to them. I stood by Tom’s chair and looked down at him. He eyed me with an odd expression, and I guess I enjoyed his reaction. He said: “I wouldn’t know how to thank you. You did a great thing for Jim-and for me, you helped me more than I can say.”
“Well,” I said, “there’s a couple of ways, if you really want to thank me.”
“Just say what they are, Joanie.”
“To begin with you could apologize, at long last.”
“For what?”
I didn’t answer him, just stood my ground and waited for him to work it through. I thought perhaps he’d blush when he finally got there, but I suppose some men aren’t made for blushes, and what came out in the end was a smile, and not a trace of shame behind it. “You mean that first night, here at the Garden? For what I did?”
“Now he’s thinking.”
“I do apologize, Joan, if you want me to, for being drunk and giving in to temptation, but I won’t apologize for the temptation itself, since I’m just as tempted now, maybe more so.”
It was not the apology I’d been waiting for, but it set my blood racing as that apology never would have.
I said: “Maybe I am as well, now-but that’s after I’ve gotten to know you. And more to the point, there’s a difference between temptation and action, and you know well enough to keep on the right side of that line.”
“I apologize, then, for straying over the line.”
“Thank you.”
“Or for doing it too soon, if that’s what you mean. So, what’s the other way…?”
“The other way …?”
“To thank you.”
“Oh. Well, all this talk about taking me out, day after day. Now that I know you’re so strapped I wouldn’t expect anywhere fancy, but you could still-”
“You mean you’ll go?”
“I don’t know why not. We could celebrate too.”
“You’re amazing, Joan. I was starting to think you weren’t-” He stopped and waved away whatever he was going to say. “Never mind what I was starting to think, I was obviously wrong. I’d love to take you out. I’d just love it.”
He said we could go to a place called The Wigwam, which I’d never heard of, but that didn’t mean anything, as what chance had I ever had to learn about the area’s nightspots? I explained about the car, how I’d drive there myself, with him following along, so he’d have to give me the address, then meet me beside my car, so he could take me in. He wrote the address down on my scratch pad and when closing time came followed me out, put me in the car, and stood back to see me off. The car startled him too, because actually it was quite nice, a small sedan, but nicely shined up and smart. I drove off, following his directions, and at an address on New Hampshire Avenue spotted The Wigwam in due time. Then he was pulling in beside me and walking me to the door. I didn’t appear to be in my Rose Garden costume, as over it was my coat, my nice little light spring coat, which came down to my knees and made it look as though I was dressed in usual clothes.
The Wigwam looked normal enough on the outside, just a double door with a sign over it, which Tom pushed open as though he’d been there before. But inside, it seemed different from any club I’d been in, though of course I hadn’t been in too many. Instead of the bright, somewhat noisy atmosphere you would expect, it was twilight dark, a large room with a tall leather wigwam at one end and booths all around, with heavy curtains drawn close, shutting them off. And the girls were oddly dressed, if you could call them dressed at all. The hostess, a girl Tom called Rhoda, had on a buckskin coat with fringed bottom, which of course was decent enough, but the waitresses, who Rhoda spoke of as “Pocahontases,” were practically naked-they were topless, and except for a skimpy swimsuit bottom in the French bikini style, bottomless too. Each of them also wore a feather, caught in a lock on top, and lopped down over one ear in a coquettish way. By looking at them, I knew those girls were for sale, and I guess I didn’t mind much, as I knew that such things went on and, from talking with Liz, that women I might like and respect could do them; and yet I began to feel nervous, and sick at the stomach somehow- or if not exactly sick, a bit queasy, as they say. I felt I had my foot in something. But I didn’t want to show it-I wanted to come off as a woman of the world, not a waitress. So I maintained an unruffled demeanor, smiled though my narrowed lips, and tightened my grip on Tom’s arm.
Rhoda called us a Pocahontas, then took us to a booth, pulling the curtain open and sliding the table out, so we could slip in behind. But the table didn’t have seats on three sides, as crosswise booth tables have, but rather just one seat on the far side, and a very long seat at that. It must have been six feet long, with an upholstered pad on it, and a pillow at one end. I slipped in, and Rhoda asked: “Can I take your coat?”
I hesitated for a moment before giving it to her, and she nodded appraisingly when she saw my uniform beneath it. I found myself feeling grateful for the darkness of the room. She put my coat on a hanger that was there, on the rail the curtain ran on. Then she asked what we wanted to drink, and Tom said seltzer, somewhat to my relief, and I said ginger ale. Rhoda didn’t seem much surprised, and as she left us, said: “Amy will be by to serve you in a minute.”
Then she left, and we sat there, very self-conscious, not saying much. Somewhere, a recorded orchestra played Three O’clock in the Morning, and Tom said it was one of the great waltzes of all time. It never had hit me that way, but I said: “Yes, isn’t it?” as though I really loved it. Then one of the girls came with our drinks. She put them down, and said: “Now, when I go I’ll close your curtain, and won’t bother you after that-fact of the matter, nobody will. You want your candle out just blow it, and there’s matches, to light it again, you want to. You want me, I mean you want service, like more drinks or something, there’s your light, that button there.” She showed us a fixture on the table, beside the candle. “Just press it, it puts on the light in front, and pretty soon, I’ll come. Or if not me, some girl. Like, with me, I could be tied up, you know what I mean? I might be more or less busy, but if I am, one of the girls will come, just give her a minute or two. What I mean, don’t get antsy too quick. Take it easy, and one of the girls will come.”
“… You could be busy, you say?” asked Tom. “Doing what, like?”
“Well the customer, he can get lonely.”
“And you keep him company?”
“Something along that line.”
I didn’t much care for her, and couldn’t resist the temptation to ask her: “Still wearing that bikini bottom? Or do you take it off?”
“It all depends.”
Then, looking me straight in the eye: “Like, for a guy with a girlfriend that don’t put out and he wants some help of me, I take it off-it unhooks easy as pie. See?” She unhooked it, to give Tom a glimpse of fuzz, and then, continuing to me: “So, if you want me to help you out, put your light on, just press the button once, and I’ll do what I can. Something else you want to know?”
“No-beat it.”
That was Tom, and she said: “On my way,” and left.
“Well,” I said, “that was making it plain.”
“Drumming up trade, I’d say.”
“Though, I have to admit she’s pretty.”
“I didn’t notice.”
He was quite solemn as he said it, and I guess I made a face. He didn’t say anything, but suddenly blew out the candle. Once more, we could hear the waltz going. Pretty soon, in the half dark, he said: “… Well? Where were we?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Were we anywhere?”
“Yeah, we were somewhere. I recall your making me apologize for it. Maybe we can begin where we left off.” And with that, first putting his arm around me, he slid his other hand right where he’d put it that night, and I locked my legs, in exactly the selfsame way. But he kept sliding his hand higher, up, up, up, stroking with his index finger as he went-until his hand was inside my hot pants, and then working its way across. And then, almost before I knew it, it was in a woman’s most intimate spot, and I was turning to water. Instead of clamping tight to resist, I was quite limp, and have to admit, enchanted his hand was there. It had been a time, not just since Ron’s death but for nearly a year before, and I forgot how much I missed it. Sitting there with Tom’s strong hands on me, I felt like my ribs might crack from the force of my heart’s pounding behind them. Then he suddenly took his hand away, and began unbuttoning my pants, at the placket on one side, and I was wriggling to help, to shuffle them off. My blouse came next, and his shirt, and then he was pushing me back, back against the pillow, his weight pressing down on me, his bare chest against mine.
Then, then at last, I thought of Mr. White, and how important the plans were that I’d made for him, and how it could all go in the soup if I let this thing happen with Tom. And I thought of Ethel, and her charge that I was doing with my customers exactly what I was about to do; and of Private Church, who’d been blessedly silent for weeks, but might not remain so if he got wind of this, a lover after all, even if it wasn’t Joe Pennington. I thought of all of them, and fighting every instinct I had I got my hands clear and pushed, pushed Tom up and away. He fought me, playfully, and I fought him, to mean it, and at last bit him on the cheek. He began to growl, and I pushed some more, until I could sit up. My pushing reached the table, and suddenly it toppled over into the curtain. I jumped up, banging him in the face accidentally with my knee, got clear, slipped around, grabbed my coat, and raced through the nightclub, out the door, and over the lot to my car. I’d left my pants and blouse in the booth; I ran in just my panties, clutching my coat haphazardly in front of my breasts. Then I remembered my bag-and found it under my arm, how it got there I don’t know, I don’t remember grabbing it. Then into my car, snapping the safety catch down and winding the window up. In the bag I found my car key, but by that time Tom was there, shirt hanging loose, belt unbuckled, banging on the window and grunting: “Goddam it, Joan, open that door!”
I didn’t open. I turned the key, stepped on the pedal, and when the motor spoke went into gear and backed. But to get off the lot, I had to turn and go forward. He raced to block me off, standing in front of the car and holding his hands up, like some kind of traffic cop. I ran straight at him, so he jumped up on the bumper and sprawled on the hood as I kept right on. Then I suddenly stopped so he toppled off. I swerved to miss driving over him and then kept right on, going straight home, the coat fallen into my lap, my body exposed by each passing streetlight so that anyone looking in might have seen. But I didn’t stop so I could put the coat on; I didn’t even slow down. I just said a silent prayer that no one would see me, and as far as I could tell, no one did.
When I turned in my drive, the dash clock said three o’clock in the morning. “One of the great waltzes,” I thought, climbing out, unlocking the door, and going in.