James Cain - The Cocktail Waitress

“… Why don’t you ask what I did while you were gone?”

“O.K. What?”

“Tried to forget you was all.”

“So? Did you?”

I let him wait for a bit, then told him: “No.”

And then he said it, what I’d left Tom’s side to hear: “Joan, we have to get married.”

“Your way?”

“It’s not the way I’d want it-it’s the way the doctors dictate, the way it has to be.”

I stood there with my heart beating up, for I knew the way the doctors dictated was the only way for me-with him. I’ve asked myself, many times since that fateful night, if I was leading him on, pretending one state of mind while really being in another. The answer has to be yes. If I tell what I really felt, there on the floor that night, it was sure exultation, that I’d put it over at last, this gigantic plan I’d had, that would give my darling to me, on a lawn that he could play on, in a house we both could live in, as part of a world that we could be proud of. I’m trying to tell it as it was, not leaving anything out that matters, or putting anything in that isn’t true. So, I was two-faced and now I admit it. But, if you’re a woman, how about you, what would you have done? If you had exactly been in my shoes, with this opportunity offered you and that little boy to think of, I think you’d have done what I did. But not more than I did, not the things the newspapers later accused me of. And I swear on my life, on my blessed son’s life, I didn’t do them either.

“… When?” I asked.

“Not sooner than a week. My lawyer raised some questions that have to be answered-or at any rate, gone into. I want you to be protected-fully protected, by law.”

“On that, I trust you completely.”

“I appreciate that, Joan-but with the best intentions in the world, I could leave you wide open for trouble in case of a certain eventuality.”

“What eventuality, Mr. White?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Then, if you mean what I think you mean, I’d rather not, either. I hereby withdraw my question.”

“You sound like a lawyer, Joan.”

“I grew up around the sound. My father is one.”

“I’ve often wondered about him.”

“… I’d rather not discuss him.”

The bitterness I felt must have been in my voice, as he did something he very seldom did-reached out and patted me tenderly, on the side of my trunks. Suddenly he announced: “We’ll be married, Joan, but actually, as we’ll order our life, I’ll be a father to you. That way we can be together. I can see you all the time, and fill what must be a void in your life.”

I took his hand and held it, sealing the bargain.

During the night, it occurred to me that if he needed a lawyer, so did I, and once more I called Mr. Eckert in Marlboro, and around noon the next day I drove over to see him. He cut me off when I mentioned a retainer, saying the two-fifty I had already paid “still had some time to run, as I’ve done nothing to earn it-so, you’re all paid up, and what’s on your mind, Mrs. Medford?”

I told him.

When I was done he got up and started walking around. “I don’t like it,” he growled. And then: “I don’t like it even a little bit.”

I waited, and he went on: “You’ll be married, but then if he changes his mind you won’t be. I mean, suppose he seeks an annulment. No consummation, no marriage-you know about that, I assume? So, say you’re willing to consummate, which you might think knocks his suit in the head. But not if non-consummation was part of the contract- a court would hold, I’m afraid, that you can’t have it both ways. If you entered into a marriage that wasn’t a marriage, that’s the marriage the court has before it, not some marriage you’re willing to make after the fact. And if I were a judge, I’d have to hold that a marriage that excluded consummation was never a marriage at all.”

“… So? What do I do?”

“You mean, to get the money?”

“Do you have to put it that way?”

“If you want my legal advice I must know what you’re aiming at.”

“… Well-naturally I think about money. I imagine everyone does. It’s not all I think about. Certainly not, Mr. Eckert.” And more of the same for ten minutes. When at last I ran down, he said: “In other words, you want me to tell you how to get the money, and at the same time pretend it’s not what you’re thinking about?”

“… Then-yes.”

“O.K., now we’re getting somewhere.”

I took another ten minutes on Tad, explaining where he came in, and he let me talk, but didn’t seem to be listening. Then suddenly he cut in: “O.K., so you have a child, and you want grass for him to play on. So, what you do is go along-you get married this crazy way, and do your best to go through with it. But, Mrs. Medford, there’s a possibility you don’t seem to have thought about: He may want to consummate anyhow-take a chance the doctors could be wrong. My advice to you is: If he wants to consummate, consummate. Because the invitation could be only his way of entrapping you, of getting you to refuse, and in that way achieving an impregnable position in court.”

“… Why would he do that?”

“He fell in love, didn’t he? He could just as easy fall out-and just as quick.”

“And what makes you think I’d refuse?”

“I don’t say you would. I only said you shouldn’t. If it were really the man’s company you wanted, I’d advise differently-but I think, with you, it’s the money.”

I felt ashamed, and got up to go. He said: “I’m not quite done yet. Whatever you do, put nothing in writing, Mrs. Medford. Don’t sign any marriage contract, or agreement, or anything that mentions this stipulation-except for the routine papers, such as the application for a license, don’t sign anything. Then, when it happens, if it happens, the one thing that can win for you, there’ll be nothing in this safety deposit box to louse you in Orphan’s Court.”

“What ‘thing’ are you talking about?”

“The same ‘thing’ you’re thinking about.”

“You certainly make it plain.”

He stood there, looking down at me, and I stood looking up at him, and his gaze reminded me of Sergeant Young’s, only without any of the kindness. After a moment he said: “If, after you’re married, you want any help of any kind, legal or otherwise, I hope you’ll let me know.”

I asked: “Otherwise? What kind of help would that be?”

“Platonic marriage, to a dame as good-looking as you, might be a bit of a strain. If that’s how it works for you, you might let me know-you might drop over some day and I’ll take it from there. You’re a goddam good-looking gold-digger, and I go for you, plenty.”

He reached out with one finger and stroked it along the side of my face. I wanted to grab it and bend it backward, snap it clean through, but what I did was smile my prettiest smile and lift the digit off me ever so gently.

“If I want you, Mr. Eckert, I’ll let you know.”

I drove back to Hyattsville, with butterflies in my stomach, and a feeling that I might be playing with fire.

The week didn’t pass, it flew. Then it was the day, and when I woke up I was panicky-I knew I was holding back, flinching from what I had to do. I found myself furious, frantic with rage at Tom, that he hadn’t called, hadn’t shown up at the bar, not once. He had to have known, the moment he woke, why I left him-I’d told him I meant to get married. And he had to know now when it would happen, since he was in touch with Liz, as she’d betrayed for two or three nights, by the questions she asked of me and the ones I asked of her, the ones she chose not to hear. So she’d told him about it, and why hadn’t he come? To say goodbye, perhaps see me home one night, or something. But no, not even a kind look. He’d kept himself away from the Garden entirely.