Джеймс Чейз - So What Happens To Me?

That was the first day I don’t know how I endured the next seven days, but somehow, because of my old man I did. He was at the bank all day and I was on my own I went around and met the girls but I found them so dreary, so dull and so goddamn awful after Mrs. Victoria Essex that I stopped going out. I stayed home, watching the telly, smoking and counting the hours until September 24th.

On the night of September 23rd, I suggested we two might go out and have a farewell dinner together.

‘I could cook you something Jack,’ he said, ‘but if you want to go out...’

‘Don’t you? I bet you haven’t been to a restaurant since Mum died.’

‘That’s true. Well, it will make a change. Yes, let’s do that.’

We went to the best restaurant in town: nothing special, but decent enough. The restaurant was fairly full and everyone there seemed to know my old man. It was quite a procession to our table. He had to stop and shake hands, introduce me before he moved onto the next table. All small time people and they bored me rigid, but I was as pleasant as I could be.

‘You’re quite a personality here. Dad,’ I said as we finally settled at our table. ‘I had no idea you were so popular.’

He smiled happily.

‘Well, son, you don’t work in a town for forty-five years without making friends.’

‘I guess that’s right.’

The Maître d’ came over and shook hands. He was a tired, fat looking little man and his tuxedo was shiny and worn, but he treated my old man as if he were the President and I dug for that.

‘What would you like Dad?’ I asked. ‘No... not steak!’

He laughed. He looked really happy. His reception had done him a load of good.

‘Well...’

‘Let’s have oysters and the game pie.’

His eyes lit up.

‘Well... the oysters come high Jack.’

We had the oysters with champagne and the game pie with a decent claret. After the food I had eaten in Paradise City, this was pretty poor fare, but my old man really enjoyed it.

After the meal, a couple of old guys, fat, faded and pompous, came over and joined us. One of them was the Mayor, the other the Commissioner of Parks. My old man had a real ball. I went along, thinking of tomorrow.

When we got home, my old man said, ‘Well, Jack, that was the nicest evening I’ve had since Mum passed away. We two could have a good time together if you took over Johnson’s garage.’

‘Not yet, dad.’ I said, ‘but maybe some time,’ and I felt like a heel.

I picked up Bernie’s Buick at the Paradise City airport and drove along the highway.

I thought of my old man, working at this small time bank, aged sixty-nine, and how he would react when he learned that I had died in an air crash. I thought too of the fact that I was now on Essex’s payroll at thirty thousand dollars a year and could earn more. Maybe I was nuts to go ahead with this hijacking. Why couldn’t I accept the job Essex had given me and not take the risk of stealing this kite? Then I thought of what a million and a quarter dollars meant. I could never hope to make a sum like that even if I remained in the Essex set-up until I was retired. One thing I was sure of: once I got paid my cut, I would leave Bernie. I had no faith in the Blue Ribbon Air Taxi Service Corp. I would take my money and go to Europe. Just where I would settle I had no idea, but I would settle somewhere and with all that money, well invested. I could lead a life that had to have interests.

I reached the secluded cabin around midday. I wondered if Mrs. Essex was waiting for me. Mrs. Essex? I found it hard to think of her as Victoria... even Vicky. There was something about her that didn’t encourage familiarity even though I had slapped her behind and had screwed her. She was a very special woman.

I pulled up outside the cabin. As I got out of the car, the cabin door opened and the negro groom came out, smiling.

The sight of him really shook me. I stared at him as he came towards me. He was lean, tall with a flat nose, sparkling black eyes and he had on a white coat, green slacks and his splayed feet were in green sandals.

‘Hello there, Mr. Crane,’ he said.

‘Hi!’

What the hell is this? I was thinking.

‘Mrs. Essex won’t be here until after lunch, Mr. Crane.’

‘Oh... well...’ I was floundering.

‘I’ll get your bag.’ He paused and smiled at me ‘I’m Sam Washington Jones. You call me Sam: okay?’

‘Sure.’

He opened the trunk and took out my bag.

‘I’ll show you to your room, Mr. Crane.’

He led the way into the cabin, paused at the door, nodded at it, said, ‘That’s Mrs. Essex’s bedroom.’ He moved along the passage and opened a door. ‘This is your room, Mr. Crane.’

‘Thanks.’

‘May I unpack your bag, Mr. Crane?’

‘I can do it.’

He put my bag by the bed.

‘Lunch in half an hour. May I get you a drink, Mr. Crane?’

‘A whisky on the rocks, please.’

I stood for a minute or so. Then I told myself she would have to have someone to take care of her. A woman like her wouldn’t be able to cook, look after the cabin, make the beds. I wondered how she had corrupted this nice looking negro.

I unpacked, put my things in the closet, washed up in the bathroom and then went into the lounge. A double whisky on the rocks stood on an occasional table. I sat down, drank, lit a cigarette and waited.

Sam came in after twenty minutes.

‘You ready to eat. Mr. Crane?’

‘I’m always ready to eat.’

He grinned and went away. A few minutes later, he came in wheeling a trolley. As a starter I had ten king sized prawns. The main dish was kebab served with a curry sauce. There was coffee and brandy to finish.

‘You’re some cook Sam,’ I said.

‘Yes, Mr. Crane, Missy likes good food.’

I sat there, smoking and relaxing, then around 15.00 I heard the sound of an approaching car. I got up and went out into the open.

Mrs. Essex came belting up the drive in a Porsche and she waved to me as she nailed the car a few feet from me.

‘Hi! Jack!’ She got out of the car.

God! She looked marvellous. She was wearing a jazzy shirt, like a Picasso painting and white slacks that looked painted on wet.

‘You look terrific,’ I said.

She gave me an up from under look and smiled.

‘You think so?’

She came to me and linked her arm around mine.

‘Did Sam take care of you?’

‘Sure. He’s a marvellous cook.’

We walked into the cabin and she moved away from me and dropped into a lounging chair.

‘Surprised?’ She smiled up at me.

‘You say that again!’

‘Pleased?’

‘That’s to put it mildly.’

She laughed. God! She was a gorgeous looking woman! ‘Right now I am spending five days with my sister in New York,’ she told me. ‘She has the same problem as I have so we cooperate. I lie for her and she lies for me.’ Again she laughed. ‘Lane is far too busy to take care of me.’ She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling. ‘You will, won’t you?’

I held out my hand.

‘Why wait?’ I said.

The next five days slipped away, following a pattern. We slept together, made love, got up around 10.00, had breakfast served by Sam, then rode in the forest. She was marvellous on a horse. I kept looking at her as she rode. Then we came back to the cabin and Sam served us a meal. We went to bed after the meal and she was always wildly excited when I covered her. Then we took a long walk with the sun shining on us, through the forest, holding hands. She didn’t talk much. She just seemed to want me by her, holding her hand and wandering. Then when the sun set we returned to the cabin and closed the shutters. We had drinks and watched telly, then Sam brought in a light supper, but Sam’s light suppers were extra special: a lobster soufflé, trout with almonds, an egg salad with smoked salmon and so on. Neither of us attempted to talk as ordinary people will talk. This was a sexual thing. She wanted me as if I were a stallion: personal feelings didn’t exist. The surroundings were wonderful. Sam’s food was wonderful and she was wonderful.