Джеймс Кейн - The Enchanted Isle

“Well? It’s what hay is for, isn’t it?”

We both laughed and that’s all there was to it — but telling the truth about it, I wasn’t too excited one way or the other. And I added on real quick, “I tell you one thing, though: you’re taking a bath first, Rick. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to smell the way you do. You heard what I said: you smell. We could almost say S-T-I-N-K.”

“Well, look at the life I’ve been leading.”

“And you could dunk some of what you’re wearing. You wash those things out good, then hang them up over the tub to drip-dry on that shower-curtain rail.”

“OK, OK, OK.”

“Take one of my nighties to sleep in.”

I got it for him. “What’s the matter with skin?”

“I’m a nice girl. Put something on.”

But he’d hardly closed the bathroom door when I dropped him out of my mind. Because I thought: why must I wait? Wait till I have an apartment before calling my father? I could do it right now. I could do it here from this room. I don’t have to give him that name, the one Rick wrote on the register. I could give him my real name, his name of course, and then meet him downstairs in the lobby — be waiting for him there when he comes. Then I could make a fresh start, forget this thing with Rick and the roll in the hay he expects. It’s still early evening, exactly the right time, so I got the phone book from the night table, took it to the window, and looked, and sure enough he was in it, Edward Vernick, at an address on West Lombard Street. I called the desk and gave the woman the number, then sat on the bed, patted myself on the heart, and tried to make it calm down. But all it did was pound. After some rings a woman answered. I said, “Mr. Vernick, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“...He doesn’t know me, Ma’am.”

“I have to say who it is.”

“...Tell him Mandy.”

“...Tell him — who?”

“He’ll know if you tell him. Mandy.”

All that got was a long silence, but then a man came on the line. “Edward Vernick talking. Who is this, please?”

“Mr. Vernick, it’s Mandy.”

“I’m sorry, the name means nothing to me.”

“I’m your daughter, Mr. Vernick. Mandy.”

It was so long before he answered that I thought the connection was broken and asked him if he was there. At last he said, “Yes, I’m here, but I don’t have any daughter and don’t know anyone named Mandy. You’re under a misapprehension, or someone’s been telling you falsehoods. But whatever the reason is, don’t call me again, and don’t come to this house. You’ll not be let in if you do. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“And don’t expect any money.”

“...Money? Is that what you said, money?”

“I said don’t ask it. You’ll not get it.”

“Well, who’s asking money of you? Who wants money of you? Who needs money of you? How did money get in it?”

“Whether you ask it or want it or need it, you’re not going to get it. Am I making myself clear?”

“You make yourself any clearer I can see right through to your backbone how much like a snake it looks.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I hope to tell you there’s not.”

“Then I bid you good-bye.”

Next off Rick was there in my nightie, which was so short on him it was funny, a foolish look on his face, and I was in the chair, with no idea how I got there. I’d been on the bed with the phone and didn’t remember moving or anything. All I knew was I was gooped from that call, like I’d been hit by a truck. I mean I didn’t feel anything except queer between the eyes. And when he began making comical cracks, about me not being undressed, and then trying to drag me to bed, I wasn’t with it at all. I just sat there, shaking him off and not saying anything. I came out of it little by little, but when I did, brother, did I burn. I started to burn and started to talk, saying what I thought of that Vernick. And when Rick finally got it, put it together from what I was saying, what had been said on the phone, he joined in and helped out. “But, Mandy, who told you so from the start? That that idea was a louse?”

“You did, I give you credit.”

“And who told you the guy was no good? Because he walked out on your mother? Who let you sit there year after year, in Hyattsville, without once calling you up or even sending a card?”

“You did, I have to say you did.”

“That crummy son of a bitch.”

“It’s what I want to call him.”

“Then call him, you’re entitled.”

“That crummy son of a bitch.”

“Feel better now?”

“Little bit. Thanks.”

“Then come on to bed — I’ll make you feel well all the way. My but you’re pretty, Mandy. Your legs are out of this world.”

“...Rick, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I feel sick, that’s why.”

“But I got the medicine for it.”

“Please, don’t ask it, Rick. I’m sorry, I meant to, just now when we talked about it, and even on the bus it’s what I thought we would do. But I’ve been hit, something has happened to me, and I can’t. It’s bugging me, what he said, and until I do something about it, it’ll keep on bugging me.”

“Yeah, like I said, do it with me.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What are you talking about?”

“...Mink coat.”

Because that was it, I knew a nun habit wouldn’t do for what I was dreaming about: that I’d taxi to Lombard Street, parade myself up and down in front of his door in that coat, and holler, “Does this look like I need your money? Does your wife have one, Mr. Vernick? Are you sure it’s me that needs dough?” And more of the same in my mind, which, of course, I could not say to Rick. So what I did, I repeated, “Mink coat,” sounding more or less off.

“What in the hell are you talking about? Mandy, maybe I’m dumb, but between this Vernick and mink coats, I just don’t see the connection.”

“There is one, at lease for me.”

“Well, the hay might cool you off.”

“Rick, I told you forget it.”

“Oh, that’s all, it’s nothing, forget it.”

“OK then, go ahead and spoil everything.”

“Me spoil it? Mandy, you’re the one.”

There was quite a lot more, as he had his mind on one thing, and he even yanked me by the arm, trying to get me to bed. But when a girl don’t want to be yanked, she don’t yank so easy, and so I didn’t move. At last he went to bed, and by what was left of the twilight I opened the Evening Sun. He said, “Quit rattling the paper, will you? If you’re not going to do anything, at least you could let me sleep.”

“Have to look in the want ads, find me a job.”

“Job? Job, did you say?”

“That’s right, J-O-B, job.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake, Mandy! First it’s a mink coat, now it’s a job! What’s it going to be next?”

“Oh, one thing can lead to another.”

“What thing? Leading to which other?”

“Well, I don’t know yet, but I have to eat and have to have an apartment — even you said that.” And I didn’t say it, but thought: the apartment can lead to the shame and the shame can lead to the mink coat. And if you think about it, well, shame was right there in the bed, if that’s all I was thinking about. It meant nothing to me at that time, as he couldn’t give me a coat, a mink coat I’m talking about. He sat up in the bed and stared, then said, “Mandy, I think you’re nuts.”

“Well, maybe two of us do.”

“Will you come to bed?”

“Soon as I look through the paper.”

In the morning he was still sleeping when I got up, and I expected to do a sneak, leaving a note for him while I went out and had breakfast and took the bus for the job I’d picked out. It said “Waitresses Wanted,” in a place called Gardenville, which I looked up on the Yellow Pages map and found out was on Bel Air Road, the other side of town. It meant a ride to the bus terminal, to start a new trip from there, and as “Apply Before 10 A.M.” was what it said in the ad, I had to start pretty early if I was to get there in time. So by 6:30 I was up. I took his things from the bathroom, where they were hanging over the tub, spread them out on the chair, then went in and bathed and put on my clothes, the same ones as the day before. But when I came out he was standing in front of the bureau, all dressed, combing his hair, and smelling of my cologne. “What you doing, Mandy? Taking a powder on me?”