James Cain - The Magician's Wife

“Well, once again, why not?”

“It doesn’t match up, or doesn’t seem to anyhow. With these things, this place, or even — you.”

“I wanted something big.”

“Oh. Now I begin to see.”

“Railroads, coal, copper, things like that, which may have been big once, are all washed up now. Power, steel, oil, automation, things like that would have meant more years in college — MIT, some place like that. So I happened to think of meat. It’s big and has to get bigger — so long as the population keeps increasing and people have to eat.”

“It begins to make sense now, and is sort of poetic at that. In a rugged, masculine way. This was before, during, or after Lafayette College?”

“During. But where did you hear about that?”

“You were graduated from there, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell Sally.”

“Oh, I haven’t discussed you with her .”

“Then how do you know so much?”

“There’s no mystery. Sally, when she goes somewhere at night, has to be reachable, in case something comes up about Elly. And as I’m sure to be called if she doesn’t answer her phone, she always leaves me a number — usually Bunny Granlund’s or one I’m familiar with. But the other night it was one I didn’t know, and when it happened night after night, I got curious about it and called Information. So once I had your name the rest was ridiculously easy — Fisher’s credit department did me your bio sketch, of course thinking it routine, and not knowing my personal interest. I know your New Jersey origin, which accounts for that drag on your speech, your very elegant drawl, also your swimming career and your great success at Grant’s.”

“Nothing scandalous, I hope?”

“No, it’s all most impressive.”

“Let’s talk about you, Mrs. Simone.”

He waved her to one of the sofas, then took a seat on the other, facing her. “Meaning,” she said, “get to it? What I came about?”

“Well? What did you come about?”

“I’m not sure I’m going to say, Mr. Lockwood. You’re — not at all what I expected, and I’ve been getting the shakes. Talking and talking — postponing as long as I can. I may have been losing my nerve.”

“I’ll make it easy for you. I think I’ve guessed why you came, so why don’t we — be civilized about it? Go somewhere, have soft crabs on toast or something, maybe wine with bubbles in it — and have our discussion friendly .”

“I don’t understand you at all.”

“You came to bust it up, so O.K., start busting.”

“To — bust what up?”

“What’s between me and Sally.”

“Then I’m right in suspecting that something is? ”

“No — that something has been, that’s all.”

She sat staring, trying to guess what he meant without trying to straighten it out by questions that made her seem stupid. He smiled, said: “You’re very good-looking. I’d enjoy champagne with you. So, if you’re busting it up, then bust.”

At last getting the point, she asked: “And you think I’d do that? Try to bust it up by cutting in on my little girl? Myself? ”

“If you’re busting, that’s how it’s done.”

“And you, Mr. Lockwood, after seeing her every night, would now start up with me? I’m her mother — I thought I made that clear.”

“Invitation withdrawn. What did you come about?”

“I can say, if permitted.”

“I’ve just been trying to help.”

“I’m not busting it up! I came to egg it on! ”

She closed her eyes as she said it, as though horribly embarrassed, but pronounced every word distinctly, as though she desperately meant it. He was speechless he was so startled, and sat staring. Then he got up, and after marching around, asked: “ Why? ”

“Well, Sally’s my daughter, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, as you’ve said quite a few times.”

“And — I want her happy. Isn’t that enough?”

“Wait a minute. Did Sally ask you to come here?”

“No! No, Mr. Lockwood — she hasn’t said one word about you to me! And you mustn’t divulge to her that I came here tonight. You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“Then, I will. Now, what’s the rest?”

“The — rest?”

“ What the hell did you come about? ”

He snapped it impatiently, then plowed on fast, to say what a queer thing it was for a mother to pay such a call, “out of the blue — with no more to go on than a name from Information, a gumshoe job by her store and — that’s all. Talk about not matching up, this is just plain queer — unless there’s more to it. So there is more to it. So why don’t you say, Mrs. Simone?”

“Mr. Lockwood, there’s nothing more to it!”

“Then O.K., let’s have the soft crabs.”

“I tell you, I’m Sally’s mother.”

“And I tell you, Sally and I are through. Maybe you’re her mother, but you’re good-looking, I like you and — so let’s get at the crabs.”

“No! No!”

“Why no in that tone of voice?”

“Well, Mr. Lockwood, perhaps I should have said more. I haven’t quite made myself clear. I not only came to egg it on, but to egg it on now , Mr. Lockwood. Sally’s been — marking time, as she calls it, but why should she, after all? It only puts things off. If she breaks up her marriage now, it’s something that had to come. And if it helps, that you’ve appeared on the scene then, then that could be a way out. The thing would be done and — at last would be over. Now, does that help, Mr. Lockwood?”

He didn’t answer at once, but sat looking at her, and then at last said quite slowly: “So what you’re afraid of, what you’re terrified of, wouldn’t happen, would it? ”

“I — don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t! I swear I don’t! I—”

“Won’t admit it, and I don’t expect you to. You’ve made things clear just the same, and I get it at last, why you came. And all I can say is, I like you better and better.”

“And — I like you, Mr. Lockwood.”

“What’s your name, Mrs. Simone? Your first name.”

“Grace.”

“Mine’s Clay.”

“Yes, I know, and—”

“Grace, when Sally left last night, we didn’t say good-by, and she may not know that that’s what it was. Just the same, I won’t see her again. But to let you get things straight, I didn’t bring her here just for a few evenings’ fun. The very first night, and last night too once again, I put it on the line — asked her to do what you want: make the break now, leave that guy, go to Reno and have it done. I even begged her to stay here with me. Her answer was I was nutty — that to do what I wanted she’d have to give up that dough, what she thinks she’ll get of the fortune that Mr. El will leave, what she’ll get and what her boy will get. But that wasn’t all, Grace. It showed through, like the blue on a corpse’s fingernails, what she’s hoping for. What she means to do, perhaps. If she gets help — of the kind she thinks I can give. I won’t! Get that straight, Grace. I won’t be her patsy.”

“I haven’t the faintest notion—”

“What I’m talking about. That’s O.K.”

“But if you took her now—? ”

“I told you: I tried it. We’re past that.”

“But, Clay, you can’t give up that easy!”

“Why can’t I?”

“You’re in love with her, that’s why.”

“What makes you think I am?”

“Clay, a woman knows. You give yourself away with every word you utter. When you draw your breath in you tremble. Did you know that?”