David Goodis - The Moon in the Gutter

As Dora backed away from Loretta, the humpbacked wino let out a quiet laugh of disdain. Dora whirled on the wino and began to blast him with a stream of curses. Loretta turned away from them and told Dugan she wanted whisky. At the table, Frieda was telling Channing that he ought to get himself a wife and settle down. She began to speak in low tones, discussing the various benefits to matrimony. Channing had turned in his chair to face her and give her his undivided attention. Frieda declared that every man needed a woman to live with, that in order to preserve one’s health it was necessary to lead a wholesome domestic life. Channing agreed with her. He said he was definitely in favor of a wholesome domestic life. He asked Frieda what her age was, and she said forty-three. Channing nodded thoughtfully and then he asked her what she weighed and she said one-seventy. He told her that one-seventy was all right and then he asked her if she knew how to cook. She said no. Channing’s eyes were steady and level on the shapeless hag with orange hair. His voice was serious as he told her that she might as well start learning how to cook.

Kerrigan sat there and listened to it and he was staring at the camera. He heard Frieda saying, “You mean it?” and Channing said, “Yes, Frieda,” and then Frieda said, “Well, I’ll be goddamned.” Kerrigan was trying to drag his eyes away from the camera. He told himself to get up and get out of here. He heard the gin-rusty voice of Frieda as she said, “You mean I’ll actually be your wife and you’ll be my husband?” Without the slightest hesitation, Channing answered, “Absolutely, if that’s what you’d like.” Kerrigan took hold of the table edge and tried to lift himself from the chair, but the lens of the camera had hold of his eyes and he couldn’t move. Frieda was saying, “When do we do it?” and Channing said, “You set the date.”

The legs of Kerrigan’s chair scraped the floor, and then he was up from the table. He looked down at the shapeless hag and said, “Why do you let him tease you?”

Frieda gazed up at him. Her mouth sagged. “Is that what he’s doing?” She turned her head to study Channing’s face. She said, “You just sittin’ here and havin’ fun with me?”

Channing was pouring more whisky into his glass. He took a long, slow drink, the equivalent of three shots. He said, “I told you to set the date.”

Kerrigan scowled at Frieda and said, “You damn fool. Can’t you see he’s pulling your leg? He’s making you pay for the gin. Only thing he wants is entertainment.”

“Aw, dry up,” Frieda said. “I ain’t askin’ for your opinion.” She turned to Channing and smiled fondly at him. There was some sadness in the smile. “It’s all right, I know it’s just a gag. I know you can’t really mean it.”

“But I do mean it,” Channing said. His voice was soft, his eyes were tender. He spoke to her as though Kerrigan weren’t there. “Believe me,” he said. “Try to believe me.”

Kerrigan snorted. He pulled away from the table and turned toward the door. He took a step in that direction and then he saw Loretta at the bar on the other side of the room. He stood motionless, looking at her as she leaned over the bar. Gradually his eyes narrowed. He went back to the table and picked up the camera. He walked slowly across the room and came up beside her and put the camera on the bar.

He said matter-of-factly, “You left this in the pier office.”

He was turning to leave. She put her hand on his arm. “Please don’t go.”

“I have a date.”

She looked him up and down. “Is that why you’re all dressed up?”

He didn’t reply.

For a long moment she studied his eyes. Then she said, “Of course you have a date. With me.”

“Since when?”

“Since you took a bath and shaved and put on your best clothes.”

He frowned. “I didn’t do it for you.”

She slanted her head, regarding him from a side angle. “For who else would you do it?”

He opened his mouth to give her a fast vicious answer, but no words came out. He waited for her to let go of his arm so he could walk away from her. Then he realized she wasn’t holding his arm, she’d released it several moments ago. He wondered why he had the feeling she was still holding onto his arm.

Behind the bar Dugan was waiting to be paid for a whisky and water. Loretta opened her purse and took out a dollar bill and gave it to him. He gave her the change, two quarters and two dimes. The transaction was made without haste and Kerrigan wished they’d speed it up. He couldn’t understand his impatience. For some unaccountable reason he was in a hurry, and it was as though he couldn’t move unless she moved along with him.

He stood there and waited while she put the seventy cents in her purse and slipped the purse into her skirt pocket. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and watched her sipping the whisky and water. She sipped it slowly, and without sound he said, Come on, come on. She turned and looked at him. She placed the glass on the table, picked up the camera, and smiled at him as she murmured, “I’m ready now, if you are.”

The floor seemed to slide under his feet, taking him away from the bar. The ceiling moved backward and the walls moved and the door came closer. Behind him there was the sound of Dora’s shrill voice as she went on yapping at the humpbacked wino. And the sound of lower voices, the continued conversation of Frieda and Channing. And also the sound of a squeaky tune that came humming from the lips of Dugan. But all the sounds were meaningless, a chorus adding up to nothing. What he heard was a roaring in his brain as he walked with Loretta toward the door, and past the door, and out of Dugan’s Den.

He stood with her on the corner outside the taproom. He saw the little sport car parked across the street. It was clean and shiny, and the moonlight seemed to give it a silvery gleam. It glimmered like a jewel against the shabby background of shacks and tenements. He thought, It don’t belong here, it just don’t fit in with the picture.

He looked at Loretta. She was waiting for him to say something. He swallowed hard and mumbled, “Wanna go for a walk?”

“Let’s use the car.”

They crossed the street and climbed into the MG. She started the engine. He leaned back in the seat and tried to make himself comfortable. He felt very uncomfortable and it had nothing to do with the seating arrangement. She saw him squirming and she said, “It’s such a tiny car. There isn’t much room.”

“It’s all right,” he said. But it wasn’t all right. He told himself he didn’t belong in the car. He wanted to open the door and get out. He wondered why he couldn’t get out.

The car was moving. He said, “Where we going?”

“Any place you’d like. Would you care to ride uptown?”

He shook his head abruptly.

“Why not?” she asked.

He didn’t have an answer. He had his arms folded and he was staring straight ahead.

“I can show you where I live,” she said.

“No.” His voice was gruff.

“It isn’t far away,” she urged mildly. “Just a short ride. Not even twenty minutes.”

“I don’t want to go there.”

“Any special reason?”

Again he couldn’t answer.

She said, “It’s very nice uptown.”

“I bet it is.” He spoke between his teeth. “A damn sight nicer than it is down here.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” His hands put a tight grip on the edge of the seat. “Do me a favor, will you? Quit trying to put things on an equal basis. You’re from up there and I’m from down here. Let’s leave it that way.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. That’s stupid.”