James Cain - The Cocktail Waitress

“I’d have to have income first.”

“Well, then, you’re free to go,” Deputy Harrison said. “Might want to think over your choice in men next time, but that’s free advice and worth as much as you paid for it.”

She stood up, half nodded to me in a sort of sisterly solidarity, then walked out the door. I thought of my promise to Mrs. Lacey, to keep her out of the story, but figured I could trust Flo’s sense of selfpreservation to steer her away from any newspapermen with cameras that might have gotten tipped and be waiting upstairs.

“Thanks so much,” I told the two IRS men, who returned their thanks. Then I let Tom take my arm and lead me out. I suddenly felt weak, and frightened of the stairs. He let me lean against the wall and then in a minute put his arm around me to help me. We took it six stairs at a time, with a little rest in between. Then we were up, walking out in the parking lot, and at last reached my car. “I’m O.K. now,” I said, though my heart was still racing. “I think.”

“O.K.’s not the word for what you are. You’re a goddam wonder.”

I looked in his eyes. “Give me a five-minute start, and then when you get to the motel, come on up to my room, without ringing or anything. That is, if you want to come up-?”

“What do you think?”

My head was clear enough driving back, and when I parked and went up to the suite, I knew what I meant to do. I slipped into the bedroom and took off every last stitch. Then I pulled down the corners on one of the beds and folded them over to leave most of the undersheet clear. Then I went into the sitting room, sat down, and looked out. When the buzzer sounded I opened the peephole, and when I made sure it was Tom, opened. “So pretty out there,” I said, waving at the windows with their view of the airport. “Or-would you rather we went in here?”

I led the way to the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and pulled the covers over me, but only to the waist. He stood looking down at me and I closed my eyes. When I opened them his clothes were on the chair. Then he was slipping in beside me and taking me in his arms.

When it was over I felt as though drugged, and lay limp, letting him hold me close. Then my head cleared a little, and I realized it wasn’t only the sense of relief, that I wouldn’t lose the house after finally getting it out from under its mortgage, or my feeling of gratitude to Tom, or, leave us face it, the ordinary pleasure of good, honest love, but also the months and months of deprivation. So it wasn’t too terribly long before my mouth found his once more, and we had what he called a “retake,” whispering as though it was a naughty word. It was almost the only talking we did. Then I lay close again, he whispered the word again, and found my mouth with his mouth. It went on all afternoon, till at last we had to get up and eat. For that we had to dress. Then we put the table out in the hall and went to bed again. But this time, whether from stomachs full of food, or plain, utter exhaustion, we were barely able to finish. When I opened my eyes a clock was striking three.

I could feel him warm beside me, but his breathing told me he was asleep, as I had been. I lay there, clear-headed for the first time since I left the airport. Then thoughts began to come, and the first one of all was: I wanted this man as I’d never wanted anything in my life but my little boy-wanted to lie beside him forever. But the next thought that came to me was of the grass in front of that mansion, so soft, so green, so smooth, and how my little darling would look, rolling and romping in it, and crowing from sheer joy. I lay there a long time, while the clock struck the half hour, and then struck four o’clock. Suddenly, not knowing I was going to, I slipped out of bed and began pawing around in the dark. I found the clothes I had taken off, put them on and eased open the bureau drawers. I found the nightie I’d worn the night before, my toilet set, and spare underwear. I took my coat from the closet and took everything to the sitting room. There, with motel pen and on motel stationery, I wrote Tom a note, saying “Love, thanks, and goodbye.” It seemed a little flat, but at least was what I had to say. I slipped out and the clerk looked up in surprise, from the book he was reading, but checked me out: seventy-five dollars for the suite, twenty-two dollars for food, forty cents for some phone call I couldn’t remember making.

I picked up my suitcase, put on my coat, walked out to the car, and drove off into the dawn-of another life.

20

That night, I was back in the Garden of Roses, and five minutes after I got there, it was as though I’d never been away. Bianca at first acted insulted, but when I mentioned “money, Bianca-too much to lose just by turning my back,” she eased off ever so little, and then life went on as before. Liz said: “Baby, have I missed you-but never mind that. The main thing is, you’re back. And how’s our Tom …?”

“He’s fine,” I told her, betraying not a hint of emotion. “He helped me quite well in a matter we were both concerned in.”

“An overnight matter, as I understand it-some three nights running. I knew the boy had it in him! Now, spill, Joan, and don’t leave anything out.”

It was hard, as I would have loved to tell it all, but I answered, “Nothing to spill, I’m afraid, Liz. It was a legal matter, and it’s done.”

“A legal matter?”

“… And it’s done.”

An hour later, after business had got started, she was beside me saying sidelong: “Couple of big shots, Joan, here in the corner booth — they want to know if I have a pal, and would we like to see them later, after we close for the night. They already have rooms in a motel, and what they’re flashing at me is hundred-dollar bills. So if it’s true that you and Tom aren’t an item…” I told her, “Another time, Liz-tonight I have to catch up on my sleep.”

“O.K.,” she said, “I’ll take care of them both, I guess-it’s what legs are for, one of the things anyhow.”

“The main thing, maybe.”

“We could even say that, yes.” But then she blew out her lips and said, “Not an item …!”

The next night was nothing but one more night. The night after that Mr. White came in.

I saw him first and turned to the bar, where Jake had seen him too and was already fixing his drink. When it was ready to go he was at his table, the same one he’d always sat at. I served it without saying a word to him, and he asked: “Well? Aren’t you speaking to me?”

“Are you speaking to me is the question. It’s been quite a while, Mr. White. I wasn’t sure you placed me.”

“I place you.”

“I don’t take things for granted. It’s been weeks, after all. Was your business successful?”

“Very much so. It should be signed shortly.”

“And the other matter?”

“It’s a tricky situation, but my lawyer says it can be done.”

“… If you still wish to do it, of course. Let’s not pretend you didn’t go away for a month at least partly to try and forget me.”

“I don’t deny it, Joan,” he said simply. “I did.”

I opened my mouth to go on with it, trade some more blows back and forth, but looking at his expression I knew, the time had come to switch. I hadn’t jumped in his lap, I hadn’t yelped for joy on seeing him, had acted as though neglected, and not too pleased about it. But now I thought maybe it was best that I calm down, and remember the things that had been between us. So I said nothing until a minute at least had passed, and then, very quietly, asked, “So? Could you?” And then: “Did you?”

He let at another minute pass, and then, barely whispering it, said: “… No.”