Корнелл Вулрич - A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

They walked a block or two along glaring midnight Broadway; it was Broadway’s “noon” hour, and instead of one sun there were hundreds to light their way. She gave him another confident smile.

“Everything seems so different tonight. I almost like the lights and crowd — walking through them with you. Do you understand that?”

He didn’t seem to. “Shall we hop a taxi?” he said.

“What! And have you throw away your good money? I should say not!” He gave her a peculiar look as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “Because I know how it is,” she assured him. “I have to work hard enough for my money. Why should we be extravagant? If I like anybody, I like them for themselves and not just for how much they can spend. Chase.”

“Chase?” he said blankly.

“Well, that’s your name, isn’t it? You said it was over the phone. That was the name you gave me when you sent your wash that time.”

“Oh — er — yeah,” he said lamely. “I forgot for a minute. I wondered how you knew. Yeah, when I sent my wash, that’s right.” And he eased his neck around inside his collar. They passed one of the glaring all-night Broadway delicatessen-restaurants. It seemed to give him an inspiration. “As long as you want to be economical,” he suggested, “suppose I stop in and get some sandwiches and ginger ale and we take ’em around to your room and have a little party by ourselves. We can get better acquainted that way.”

She halted momentarily and her eyes sought his. “You’re sure you haven’t any wrong impression about me?” she asked doubtfully. Trixie’s warning returned to her. He was a man after all — and she worked in a dance-hall.

“You trust me, don’t you?” was all he said. “You don’t think I—” Had Trixie been present she would have sighed impatiently and asked her friend: “What did you expect him to say, you little fool? They all say that. It doesn’t cost them anything. You didn’t think he’d come out openly and say, sure, I’m on the make, did you?” But Trixie wasn’t there; Faith was on her own now.

“You won’t let me down,” she said. It wasn’t a statement; it was a plea. “All right, go ahead; I’ll wait here for you. And never mind the ginger ale. I’ll make us some coffee to go with the sandwiches. I make very good coffee; wait’ll you see!” she said happily. She stood there by the curb while he went in, and she tapped her toe and hummed a little song, she felt so swell. There were a million stars hanging low over Broadway while she waited there for her love. “What did you do, buy out the store?” she laughed when he came back to her burdened with brown-paper parcels, and insisted on sharing them with him.

A brownstone house split up into furnished rooms way over west on one of the Fifties. She struggled with her latch-key and they went in. A flight of stairs painted white, a dim little apricot bulb at each landing, a door on the top floor front.

“Don’t mind the way it looks,” she said, snapping on the light. “Here, we’ll leave the door open like this.”

“Nah,” he said tersely. “Too much of a draft.” And took a step back to close it.

“But that wouldn’t look good,” she said unsuspectingly. “I don’t want to get in any trouble here—”

Almost at once, as though summoned by her remark, a hard-faced, middle-aged woman appeared in the open doorway without any warning sound of footsteps whatever. “Could I see you a minute, Miss Moore?” she remarked, staring vacantly over their heads.

“No, it’s me you wanna see,” the man said, and he stepped out into the hall and partly closed the door after him. “Here, forget it,” he murmured and slipped something into her hand. “You know how it is. The kid works late and don’t get much chance to talk to her friends.”

“Oh, I know how it is,” agreed the landlady with a shrug. “She can talk to her heart’s content — only keep the door closed and don’t kick up any row. I — er — knew this was coming sooner or later; she’s held out longer than I gave her credit for. Matter of fact,” she confessed, carefully tucking what he’d given her into the recesses of her wrapper, “I’ve had a bet on for quite a while with one of the other tenants that she’d give in.” She chuckled. “I stand to collect ten dollars on you two tonight.”

He nudged her in the ribs with typical Broadway camaraderie. “It’s in the bag,” he said behind the back of his hand. Her laughter went trailing down the hallway. He turned and went back into the lighted room. Faith was emptying the contents of the paper bags onto two rather chipped plates.

“Landlady says it’s gotta stay closed,” he told her, and fitted the door tightly into place behind him. The triangle of yellow light that had splashed out into the hall narrowed, disappeared, leaving only darkness. A key turned slyly in the lock. It couldn’t have been heard unless one’s ear was up against the keyhole.

“Only trouble with these little chinkie cups without handles,” Trixie was saying, “is you’re liable to swallow one whole if you’re not careful.” She eyed hers comically, then put it down. “Whew! Is there chow mein coming out of my ears? If there isn’t, there should be, I’m up to here.” He laughed a little. “You’re sort of a bashful guy, aren’t you?” she went on. “Didn’t know they came like that any more.”

“Am I?” he said. “I thought you knew that by now.” He stared down at the tablecloth. “You know,” he said abruptly, “you’re not exactly a shrinking violet by any means. I don’t mean I expected you to bring along your Bible or anything—”

“Don’t have to,” she flipped. “I know the whole thing by heart. Read a chapter every night in a different hotel room.”

To her surprise he scowled at that. “Quit talking that way,” he ordered almost roughly. “Somebody’s going to come along some day and take you at your word.”

“Am I to infer that you’re not going to?” she wanted to know. She loved to bait them even when she knew she was going to give them the slip.

But he didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor.

“What do you think?” he asked her. “Have I been acting phoney with you up to now?”

“No,” she admitted, “but you can’t always go by that. Still waters run deep, you know.”

He flung his napkin down irritably and signaled for the check. Trixie collected her things and prepared to put her disappearing act into execution. “I’ll be right with you,” she said, “just go back there a minute and powder my nose—”

“Don’t bother making yourself beautiful,” he said suddenly. “Not for me, anyway. We’re not going any place together. I’ll just take you downstairs and put you in a taxi at the door—”

“What is this?” she cried in amazement. “Am I getting the bum’s rush?”

“That’s what I want to know,” he told her. “We got our wires crossed, I guess, that’s all. No offense, but you’re not my type at all. You had me fooled completely until I met you tonight. You weren’t this way at all, all these months over the wire. I had you figured entirely different. So suppose we just call all bets off and chalk it up to experience.” The waiter brought his change and he pocketed it. “Coming?” he said without even looking at her.

But Trixie had suddenly stopped kidding. She was a little white under her rouge and staring at him with unblinking intensity.

“Let’s get this straight,” she said in a hoarse voice. “You — you had a blind date on the floor of that shimmy-palace tonight, with — with a girl in a green dress. Am I right?”

“Why the post mortem? You know that as well as I do.”

She was almost incapable of speech. She pointed at the lapel of his jacket.