Уильям Макгиверн: Odds Against Tomorrow

“Yeah, it was nice,” he said slowly. It had been a fine time; clean air and walks through the woods, a good, healthy time.

“We could get the same cabin,” she said smiling quickly as she felt the tension easing in his body. “We could broil steaks and sit around the fire at night. Remember Tony, the fellow at the hotel you used to chop wood with? Well, you could see him again. Please, please, Earl. Let’s go away.”

“Well, it seems kind of childish,” he said rubbing a hand over his short black hair. “I mean, just pulling out without any plans or anything.”

“Let’s do it that way, Earl. Please, please. Let’s just pack and leave.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Poole won’t like it.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care about him. Don’t say any more about it. You’re starved, and it’s my fault. You need food.” She laughed and hugged him tightly. “You’re too big for your own good, that’s your trouble.”

As she turned toward the kitchen the front doorbell rang, and she hesitated, glancing at Earl with a frown. “Now who could that be?”

“Well, you’d better see.”

Lory dabbed at her eyes as she hurried across the room. “What a time to bother people,” she murmured under her breath. “It’s probably something that would wait until tomorrow morning as likely as not.” When she opened the door Earl saw Margie McMillin’s blond head shining in the dim hallway light. He sighed and lighted a cigarette. Margie lived upstairs. Lorraine got along with her fine but he could only take her in small doses; she meant well enough, but her incessant chatter ground on his nerves like a file. She came in saying, “This is a ghastly time to bother anybody, but I know you two are a pair of night owls. I knew you’d be up. Hi, Earl. How’s my favorite boy friend?” She peeked into the kitchen, and clapped a hand to her forehead. “You haven’t had dinner yet!”

“I got home a bit late,” Lory said.

Margie grinned at Earl. “Boy, if I’d just known you were down here all alone.”

“Lory was about to fix dinner,” he said, hoping she’d take the hint.

“That sounds cozy,” she said. “I wish Frank would get home late some nights. So we could have a real late dinner. Like the French.” She struck a pose to show off her body, ripe and compact in slacks and a white silk blouse. “Oui? Non? How’s my French, Earl? Pretty sharp?”

He was trying to control his exasperation. “What’s on your mind, Margie?”

“Seriously, very seriously, we want to ask you to do us a big favor.”

“Me?” Earl said.

“I haven’t talked to Earl about it yet,” Lorraine said sharply. “I’ll call you in the morning, Margie.”

“I’ll ask him myself then,” Margie said. “Don’t go shaking your head at me, Lorraine. After all, it’s my anniversary.”

“Look, what’s this all about?” Earl said.

“Just this, lambie pie.” She came toward him with tiny steps, and smiled demurely into his eyes. “Frank’s talked his boss into letting him have Thursday and Friday off — because it’s our anniversary. Well,” Margie held up her hand and counted on her fingers, “with Thursday and Friday and a little cheating on Monday, that’s five full days almost.”

“It sounds great,” Earl said, watching her with a little frown. “You going away?”

“To Florida,” she said, pretending to swoon. “Swimming, lying in the sand, dancing all night — I can’t even bear thinking about it.”

“Let me talk to Earl later,” Lorraine said. “We haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I’ll hurry, I promise,” Margie cried. “There’s one hitch, Earl. Frank’s mother was coming down from Scranton to watch the baby but she wired us yesterday that she can’t get here until Saturday morning. I told Lorraine about it, and she suggested—” Margie put the tip of her forefinger against his chest. “She suggested that you could help out until Frank’s mother arrived.”

“What do you mean?” Earl said. He looked at Lorraine. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

“I just told her I’d ask you,” Lorraine said, wetting her lips. “It’s no real work. The baby sleeps all day and I’d take over at night.”

Margie hugged herself. “And Frank and I will take over nights in Florida,” she said. “Say yes, Earl — please.”

Earl smiled uncertainly. He looked at Lorraine then and the smile faded, and a little frown settled between his eyes. “You figured I could baby-sit for them, eh? Is that it?”

“I told her I’d ask you about it. They’re really stuck—” She smiled anxiously. “It wouldn’t hurt you, really it wouldn’t. Tommy’s an angelic child.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t know he’s there half the time,” Margie said. “I could show you about the formula and everything...” She glanced quickly at Lorraine. “Well, I’ll let you talk it over. Maybe I should have let Lory prepare you for the shock. Frank says—” The look on Earl’s face brought an uneasy smile to her lips. “He says I’m always rushing in where angels fear to tread.”

“That’s a fresh way of putting it,” Earl said. “What’s he driving a truck for when he can think of sharp things like that? Why doesn’t he get a job writing on television?”

“Well,” Margie said, with color moving up in her cheeks, “well, that’s nice, I must say.”

“Now stop it, both of you,” Lorraine said.

“So what’s wrong with driving a truck?” Margie said. “It’s a lot better than sitting around doing nothing, if you ask me.”

“You’re right,” Earl said slowly. “Dead right.”

“I’m sorry, Earl. I didn’t mean to be catty. I’m sorry.” She backed toward the door, trying to smile into the anger in his face. “I just thought I’d ask — because we’re stuck, like Lorraine said. I’ve got to get back upstairs. Frank was just pouring me a beer. Good night all.”

When the door closed, Lorraine said quickly, “There’s nothing to be upset about — they’re friends of ours. You can’t blame them for asking a favor.”

He stood watching her with cold, furious eyes. “That’s how you figure me, eh? A baby sitter?”

“No, Earl, no. But they’re neighbors, after all, and they feel — Where are you going?”

He went to the closet and pulled a sweater over his bare shoulders, then got into his black overcoat. “I’ve got a job, in case you’re interested. I’m not available for baby-sitting.”

“No, Earl, I won’t let you.”

He turned to her, his anger a steady, powerful support to the decision he had made. “Get yourself another bus boy,” he said. He picked up the note from the top of the television set and threw it at her feet. “You want your gray dress from Berger’s? Well, goddamit, go get it.” His voice shook with emotion. “You want the potatoes peeled, you peel ’em. You want to baby-sit with McMillin’s brat, go right ahead. But count me out, Lory.” He was so angry his voice broke like that of a child trying not to cry. “What do you want of me? That’s what I want to know. You want me wandering around the streets without even a bar I can go into? A bar where I’d be welcome like other guys? You want me to smile at that little whore upstairs, and change her kid’s diapers while she’s off in Florida with that stupid jerk of a husband of hers? Is that what you want?” His voice rose in a fury. “Is that it, Lory? Do you want to beat me into nothing? Nothing at all?”

“I just want you to stay with me,” she said, shaking her head in anguish. “That’s all, Earl. I swear it.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said, breathing heavily. “You don’t know yourself, Lory. But I’m different. I know what I’ve got to do.”