Джеймс Кейн - The Enchanted Isle

But I cut in on her and asked, “Speaking of him, why would he say what he did? That I wasn’t his child at all?”

“To save himself money is why! He owes me nine thousand six hundred and fifty dollars of the fifty-a-month I was given that the court awarded me for your support, of which he’s never paid me one cent! That’s why he pretends you’re not his. But you are, just the same. And a chip off the old block, I would say. My, how your character resembles his!”

So, of course, that made me feel fine, but she went right on, feeling sorry for herself, “And here now at last, when I thought I might have some peace, a change, a chance to relax, perhaps enjoy myself a little, you have to do this to me!”

But on that Steve got in it. He said, “Sal, maybe to you it’s just an interrupted good time, but to her, to Mandy, it could mean going to prison, years out of her life, and perhaps even worse. So knock it off about your trip. We got real things to worry about.”

“My, my, my! Listen at him!”

She went over and popped a kiss on his cheek, which for some reason ’furiated me. I said, “Whatever the truth about me, between you and this awful rat Vernick, this much seems to be clear, which nobody can deny: last night, Mrs. Wilmer, was the first night in your life that you had the connubial bliss while united in holy wedlock. So I can well understand that you hated to be interrupted by such a crumb as me. Is that what you call it, connubial? Like in nubial? Which means hot in the pants but light in the head?”

That settled her hash but good. She gave a yelp, staggered to the sofa, stretched herself out, and bawled. But even during that all I could really think of wasn’t how I had clobbered her but how pretty she was. She was still a month less than thirty and just about my size, medium verging on small. Her face was good-looking all right, but slightly beat-up, so it seemed. I don’t mean from somebody banging it, but from banging on the inside, like she didn’t sleep good at night. Her eyes, like I said, were hazel, with a friendly, flirty expression, ’specially for men when she looked at them, but at the same time had kind of a hunted expression, like she wasn’t quite sure of the look she’d get in return. Her hair was something to see, dark glossy red, and she combed it out on her shoulders in big, thick curls. But the main thing about her, what you couldn’t take your eyes off of, was her figure. It was slim and soft and willowy, about my size. And did she know how to dress it! Today she had on a bottle-green linen suit to go with her hair in contrast, the skirt short as the law allowed to show off her beautiful legs. She was something to see all right, doing her stagger, but not any stumpy stagger like she was going to fall. It was a slow, sad, and slinky stagger, kind of sexy if you know what I mean, much like her regular walk, except not with the bottom twitch. When she finally got to the sofa, she didn’t flop down kerbam . She kind of melted down till she was all stretched out, one toe touching the floor in a graceful way, the back of her skirt hiked up to show her good-looking bottom. Then, one sob at a time, she commenced doing her stuff, till she was bawling good, with Steve still there saying nothing, and me hollering at her, saying over again what I had said, till he cut me off with a wave of one hand.

That’s when the bell rang and Steve let in Mr. Wilmer, who had been gassing the Caddy up. He waved at me from the hall, and I have to say I was impressed. He’s a blond guy, not much older than Mother, though two or three years I would say, with light curly hair and a nice clean, well-scrubbed look. He’s big and had on a gray summer suit, but with a collar that hugged his neck and a cut like in the ads. He stood there and smiled when I waved back at him. But then came a whoop from Mother, and he stepped into the room and saw her. Real quick he went over and knelt, taking her in his arms and whispering stuff to her. Then she really hooked it up, “Ben, I can’t help it, I have to! It’s not it, it’s her, that dreadful little viper!”

“That what?”

“Viper!” I screamed. “It means rattlesnake... and shows what she thinks of me, exactly what she thinks!”

“Oh! I thought she said diaper.”

“I had to shut her up,” I said.

But at that, he came over to me, put his hand on my head, and asked, “Don’t you know how to shut someone up? The quickest, surest way?” He waited and then went on, “You go over and give them a kiss. You cover their mouth with your mouth, and then they can’t say anything. It shuts them up complete!”

“You think I would? With her?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

His voice was like ice, and Steve said, “You heard him, Mandy. Get going.”

“I’ll think about it.”

But a big hand grabbed my wrist and yanked it, and then there I was beside Mother, my face being pushed against hers. So then I could taste her tears. So then I wanted to kiss her and did. And then, lo and behold, she kissed back, real hard, the first time in her life, in my life that she had. Then we were holding on to each other, crying and kissing and happy.

Pretty soon Mr. Wilmer lifted me up and led to a chair, where he pulled me down in his lap. Then he said, “OK, begin, Mandy. I have to know what happened.” So I told it once more, like to Steve the night before, but maybe quicker this time, so it took no more than two minutes, call it five. When I finished, his face was screwed up like something was hurting him, and to make him feel better I said, “But no one suspicions us. No one has any idea. How could they? No one knows we were there!” But when I tried to go on, he laid his hand on my mouth and asked, “Can I borrow the phone?” And Steve took him to Mother’s extension upstairs. He was back in a couple of minutes, saying, “I just talked to Jim Clawson, my lawyer, and it took a little persuading but he’s agreed to take charge of the case. He may want a trial lawyer later, but as of now he’s it. He wants us over there, at his office in Baltimore, at two o’clock, and as it’s nearly eleven now, and we’ll have to get some lunch, I’d say it’s time we got started.”

He said we could all go in his car, but Steve wanted me with him “so we each have our own transportation.” I would have liked a ride in the Caddy but went with Steve as he said. But before Mr. Wilmer came down, and while we were waiting for him, Mother beckoned me over, made a place for me on the sofa, then pulled me down beside her and went back to kissing me. She said, “You’re such a sweet, pretty thing, Mandy. I’d die before letting them harm you. You’re my own, my wonderful child. Now I feel it at last. Thanks to that wonderful man, my husband.”

“And me,” said Steve.

“And you!”

She got up and went over and kissed him.

Mr. Clawson was A guy around forty, in a blazer and gray slacks, tall and slim, but with square shoulders that looked pretty strong. He was the middle one of a firm, Digges, Clawson, and Llowndes, though I didn’t meet the others, and he had offices in the Fidelity Building, which is big but pretty old, right in the center of town on Charles Street. It was only a couple of blocks from Marconi’s, a nice place where we all four had lunch. And then we walked to the Fidelity Building, leaving the cars on the parking lot on West Saratoga Street, which was where the restaurant was. Mr. Clawson’s office was one of a suite, with a reception room in front and a girl at a switchboard desk. The ceiling was high, with a mahogany desk, broadloom rug, leather chairs, and bookshelves to the ceiling lined with law books all in maroon. He sat us down very friendly, and after a few minutes’ chat, with expressions of real surprise at the news of the wedding bells, he got down to brass tacks, and once more I had to tell it. But this time it took a lot longer because he kept questioning me about why Rick and I got in it. He kept talking about “coercion” and taking me over and over it, the effect it had on us, when Pal — or Matt Caskey, actually — kept tapping his gun. Then I saw he was heading me off from blaming the coat for it all, as I had when telling Steve and, of course, Mr. Wilmer too.