David Goodis - The Moon in the Gutter

On the wall of his closed eyelids a light showed and then widened and it became a series of pictures that told him what had happened. He saw himself placing the ring on her finger. Then sound came into it and he heard the old man saying, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” And then the old man was telling him to kiss her. She stood there smiling at him and waiting to be kissed. The old man said, “Go on, kiss her.” He glared at the old man and growled, “Goddamnit, mind your own business.” He heard her saying to the old man, “Please forgive my husband. I think he’s upset about something.”

The pictures continued. He saw himself walking out of the old Greek’s house, and heard her footsteps following. He turned and looked at her and said, “Where d’ya wanna go?” She shrugged and murmured, “It’s up to you.” He said loudly, “I guess we ought to celebrate.” She shrugged again, smiling pleasantly and saying, “Anything you say, dear.” And then the smile faded as she said, “You look as if you need a drink.”

He closed his eyes and saw more pictures. They were in the car and she had it headed down Third Street, then coming up Fourth and arriving on Vernon. She said, “You really need a drink, I know you do.” And then the MG was parked outside Dugan’s Den and they were entering the taproom. The place was empty now and Dugan was getting ready to close up for the night. Loretta put some money in Dugan’s hand and Dugan put a bottle on the bar. She poured the whisky into the jiggers. Then she lifted the glass and proposed a toast. “Here’s to our wedding night,” she said. He lifted his glass, gazed moodily at the amber liquor, then shot it down his throat. Again she tilted the bottle and filled the jiggers. She said, “Another toast. Here’s to my husband.” He looked at her and muttered, “Let’s get out of here. I don’t feel like drinking.” But a moment later he had the glass to his lips and then he was waiting for it to be filled again.

Then the picture got hazy. They stood there at the bar, and the glasses were filled and emptied and filled again. It went on and on like that, and then they were walking out of Dugan’s Den. Or rather, she was trying to keep him on his feet while he staggered toward the door. Then she helped him into the car and said, “Now you’re really drunk.” His head was down and he tried to lift it to look at her. But he couldn’t. And he couldn’t say anything.

The pictures were fading away but he managed to get a vague impression of the car coming to a stop, the weaving and stumbling as she helped him up some steps and through a doorway. He didn’t know what house it was, he didn’t know what room he was in now. For just the fraction of an instant he caught a flash of Loretta sitting on a sofa and watching him as he staggered across a room. Then everything was black and it stayed black. He buried his head deeper in the pillow and thought, The hell with it, in the morning you’ll find out where you are. But just then he felt the hand on his thigh.

My God, he thought, she’s in the bed with me.

He tried to pull way from the hand. An arm circled his middle and drew him closer to the warm softness of a woman.

“Come on,” the woman said. Her voice was languid. “Come on,” she said sleepily.

Again he tried to pull away. But now her grip was tighter.

“You hear me?” Her voice was louder. “I said come on.”

“No,” he mumbled. “Let go of me.”

“What? What’s that?”

“You hear me. Just keep away. Go back to sleep.”

“You kidding?”

“I’m telling you to let go. Stay on your side of the bed.”

“Are you talking to me?” Her tone was incredulous. “What’s wrong with you? Why do you have your clothes on?”

He frowned. Either her voice had changed or his drunkenness caused him to think it was someone else’s voice.

Or maybe it really was someone else’s voice.

His head moved on the pillow, and very slowly he turned over so that he could look at her face. While he turned, his eyes were wide open, and he saw the dark wall, the moonlit ceiling, then the window that showed the moon far out there. The moon was like a big spotlight that seemed to be focused on himself and his companion.

He was staring at her.

It was his stepmother.

Their eyes were only inches apart and they were gaping at each other as though they couldn’t believe what they saw. Lola had her mouth opened as wide as she could get it. Her lungs made a dragging sound as she gasped for air.

Kerrigan groaned without sound. He seriously pondered the problem of how to become invisible.

For a long moment neither of them could move. They just went on gaping at each other. Then all at once Lola gave him a violent push that hurled him off the edge of the bed. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud. For purely practical reasons he decided to stay there for the time being. He stayed there and listened to the sound of the bedsprings as Lola’s ponderous weight came off the mattress, then rapid and frantic sounds as she moved around and tried to find something to cover her.

The sounds went on as he sat there on the floor and groaned and sighed and pressed his hands to his head. He heard the noise of the closet door, the rustling of fabrics as clothes were pulled from hangers. He was half sobered now, and he began to consider the feasibility of a fast exit from the room.

But before he could arrive at a decision, there was the click of a wall switch and the room was brightly lit. He blinked several times and then he looked up and saw the big woman who stood there wearing a nightgown. She had her hands on her hips, her eyes a pair of seething caldrons.

“What is this?” she demanded. “What the hell goes on here?”

He choked, gulped hard, choked again, then blurted, “It’s nothing, I just made a mistake.”

As he said it, he realized how stupid and crazy it sounded. He blinked again, gazing blankly at the face of his stepmother. But she was looking at the empty bed, focusing on the pillow that should have shown her husband’s face but showed only a question mark.

“Where is he?” she asked loudly. “Where’s your father?”

Kerrigan lifted himself from the floor. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He made a vague guess as to where his father was. Chances were that Tom was in the house of Rita Montanez.

Lola said, “He claimed he hadda go to the bathroom.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m gonna have a look,” she muttered grimly, “and he’d better be in there.”

She went out of the room. Kerrigan groped through the haze of his drunkenness and told himself to make a rapid trip to Rita’s house and drag Tom out of there. But as he lifted himself from the bed, the floor seemed to slant and he had trouble staying on his feet.

And as he moved toward the door, the whisky in his veins made it several doors instead of one. He was still trying to find the right door when Lola re-entered the room.

“He ain’t in the bathroom,” she announced through tightened lips. She glared at Kerrigan. She said accusingly, “What are you and him up to?”

He sat down very slowly and carefully on a chair that wasn’t there. Again he was on the floor, wondering what had happened to the chair.

Lola studied him for a long moment. “How many quarts did you drink?”

He shrugged kind of sadly. “I didn’t have much. Guess I can’t hold it.”

“The hell you can’t. From the looks of you, you’re holding a gallon.”

She took hold of his wrists, pulled him up from the floor, and put him in the chair that he hadn’t been able to find. “Now then,” she said, “I want some information. Where is he?”

Kerrigan stared dumbly at Tom’s wife and said, “Maybe he went for a walk.”