James Chase - Get a Load of This

The sailor put his head on his arms. “You go to hell,” he said, and began to snore drunkenly.

The boy pushed back his chair hurriedly and went across to the woman. “Take me to your place,” he whispered urgently. “Now—at once.”

The woman stared at him. What she saw didn’t give her any confidence. This was just a down-at-heel bum. A kid without any dough. “Go climb an alp,” she said, “I’m busy.” And she shook the sailor roughly.

Shivering, the boy pulled out some money. He opened his fist under her eyes and showed her several crumpled bills. “Don’t wait for him—take me.”

The woman looked down at the notes. She forgot the sailor. A fixed smile came to her lips and she got up. “Sure,” she said, “you come along with me. For that amount of dough I’ll give you a good time. I’m Therese. It’s a nice name, ain’t it?”

The boy was so anxious to get out of the bar that he didn’t hear what she said. He said, urgently: “Is it far? Come on, let’s get outta here.”

She went with him into the dark, hot night. “It’s behind the Custom shed,” she said. “Hey, not so fast! Where’s the fire?”

The boy went on, moving through the narrow back streets fast. He didn’t look back, although he wanted to, because he was scared that Therese would suspect something was wrong and would not give him shelter.

She almost had to run to keep up with him. “You’re a hot one,” she panted, with a giggle. “I ain’t goin’ to run away—we’ll get there soon enough.”

The boy shuddered, but kept on.

“Look, over there,” Therese said, as they stepped into a dark square, “that’s my joint—where the stairs go up the side of the house.”

The boy said, “Lead the way.” His whole body was tense with listening, but he could hear nothing that alarmed him.

They went up the stairs, and Therese groped her way into her room and fumbled for some matches. “Just wait a second, honey,” she said, “I’ll get the lamp goin’. You’ll be fallin’ over somethin’ an’ hurtin’ yourself.”

The boy felt the bile in his stomach rise. He stood in the darkness with his back to the room, looking down on to the dark square.

The lamp flamed up suddenly and Therese adjusted the wick. She walked over to the window and pulled the faded cotton curtain. “Come on in, handsome,” she said, “an’ shut the door.”

With the light behind him, the boy no longer felt safe. He moved further into the room, and shut the door. He stood looking round uneasily. The unfinished wooden walls were decorated with cheap lithographs, and immediately over the bed was a photogravure sheet of a nude, taken from some magazine. A faded, rather ghastly Chinese screen partially concealed the small bed, and the inevitable Singer sewing-machine stood against the wall.

The boy said, “Put the lamp out.”

Therese threw back her head and laughed at him. “Don’t you wantta see what you’re buyin’,” she said, “or are you coy?”

The boy hated her with all his vicious little soul. He said, “Put out that lamp.”

Therese took the hem of her skirt and raised it over her hips. She was naked under the dress. The boy felt the blood surge into his face. He shifted his eyes, feeling revolted and frightened. Therese had quite a nice little body, but the proximity of any woman nauseated him.

Therese stared at him. “What’s the matter with you,” she said sharply, letting her skirt fall, “don’t you like me anymore?”

The boy wanted to scream that she was the filthiest thing he’d ever seen, but he stopped himself in time. Outside, the soldiers were looking for him. With Therese he was safe for a little while. He must not risk anything.

He said: “I’m all right. The lamp worries me—that’s all.”

Therese held out her hand. “It’s cash, honey. That’s the way I run my business.”

The boy hated parting with the money. He hated parting with his money almost as much as he hated being shut in with this whore. The money was buying him safety and he pushed the crumpled bills across the table. Therese scooped them up and shoved them down the top of her stocking.

“There,” she said, “now you can have the lamp out.” She leant forward and blew sharply down the glass funnel. As she leant forward, her breasts swung against the thin cotton of her dress. The boy stepped back. He thought, “In another minute she will be coming to me.” He blundered across the room to the window and drew the curtain aside.

Therese said: “What’s up with you, honey? Don’t you feel well?”

The boy didn’t hear her. He was looking on to the dark square. Three soldiers were standing in the shadows. Now and then one of them moved, and the moonlight glinted on a naked bayonet. He hastily dropped the curtain and stepped back. His hot hands touched Therese’s bare arm, and he jerked away.

“Come on, honey,” Therese said, “let’s get it over. I got to get out again tonight.”

The boy stepped away from her voice, collided with the screen and abruptly sat on the bed. Before he could rise, Therese put her arms round him and drew him down. His hand touched the soft inner part of her thigh, and he stiffened with the horror of it.

She said, “I bet you ain’t had a woman before.” She said it quite kindly.

“Don’t touch me,” the boy almost whimpered; “getaway from me.”

Therese put her hand down on him. “Don’t be screwy. You got nothin’ to be scared of.”

Under her touch, a long-forgotten lust stirred in him. The quickening of his blood terrified him, and he threw her away from him so violently that she rolled on to the floor. He sat up in the dark. His shirt was plastered against his thin chest, and his eyes glared into the suffocating darkness.

For a moment there was a thick silence in the room, then she said, “All right, John, if that’s the way you want it.”

He swung his legs to the floor. “That’s not my name,” he said unevenly.

He heard her get to her feet and grope over to the table. “I don’t care a——what your name is, John. You’re gettin’ out of here quick.”

She struck a match and relit the lamp. She was quite naked, except for her shoes and stockings. The crumpled bills he had given her made a disfiguring lump in her leg. She adjusted the wick carefully and then turned. The boy saw she was furiously angry and he suddenly felt frightened of her. She mustn’t turn him out now. He would run into those soldiers, waiting outside for him.

He said hurriedly: “Don’t get mad. I don’t want it that way, see?”

She came and put her arms on the top of the bed rail. Her heavy breasts swung away from her olive-skinned body. “What way do you want it, John?” she said. She looked like the great grandmother of all the whores in Cuba.

“Can’t a guy feel lonely and talk to a dame?” he said, not looking at her. If she knew he was scared she would play hell with him.

Therese said, “You came here to talk?”

“Sure, can’t a guy pay you to talk to him?”

This got Therese. She ran her fingers through her thick, black hair. “I guess you’re screwy,” she said at last. “We ain’t got anythin’ to talk to each other about. You better get outta here.”

The boy slid off the bed and wandered to the window again. Maybe the soldiers had gone. He lifted the curtain a trifle and peered into the street. The shadowy silhouettes were still there. He straightened and backed away from the window. Therese watched him curiously. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Why do you keep lookin’ out of the window?”

The boy stood by the table. The ray of the lamp lit his white, pinched face. Therese could see a faint tick in his cheek.

She suddenly felt compassion for him. He looked so lonely and frigid.