David Goodis - The Blonde on the Street Corner

“No,” Ken said. “Something’s the matter with that guy. He’s snakebitten.”

“What is this?” Dippy said.

George muttered, “One thing I know. If somebody walked up to me and threw a couple hundred bucks in my lap, I’d be very much obliged.”

Ken sighed. “Florida’s the place. Florida’s the only place.”

“When are we going?” Dippy said.

“Any day now,” Ken said.

They sat there, looking at the slow-moving curtain of grey smoke, looking at it as it drifted toward the ceiling and faded away. They lifted the gin glasses and grinned at each other.

Ralph was in his room, putting words on paper. He had taken three pieces of paper from Addie’s loose-leaf notebook. The three pieces of paper were filled, front and back. Ralph looked at the words he had put down. He shook his head slowly. He tore up the three pieces of paper. He walked out of his room. The house was quiet. His father and mother were asleep. Addie was at a rollerskating rink. Ewie was on a date. The hall light was dim orange. He walked through the hall and down the steps. He put on his overcoat and went out. It was very cold. He walked to the corner. It was empty. He remembered about the party. He started toward Ken’s house. He wished he had a cigarette. In the park there was nothing to break the biting wind, and it whizzed hard at him. He turned up the collar of his coat, walked to the lake. The lake was freezing. The blackness of the ice and the grass and leaves and sky was hard and cold. He walked around the lake, watching his shoes glimmering against the cement. He looked up. There was nobody around. The lake and the park were empty of people and the sky was empty of stars. The cold sliced through him and he figured he would walk once more around the lake and then go home and go to sleep. Then he swerved off and moved slowly across the park and two blocks down to the corner. He glanced into the candy store, at the clock on the wall, and saw that it was eleven-thirty. He leaned against the wall and shivered and put his hands in his pockets.

He saw Dippy and George and Ken as they approached the corner. They were singing and shouting and cursing. They were staggering. Dippy cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Extra! Extra! Big earthquake!”

Windows and doors were opening. People were sticking their heads out.

“Paper — paper,” a man said. “Hurry up with that paper.”

“Go to hell,” Dippy said.

George and Ken were howling, throwing their heads back and laughing with all their might.

The three of them weaved over to Ralph.

He looked them up and down and said, “You guys are a mess.”

“How dare you say a thing like that?” Dippy said.

Ralph laughed. “What happened?” he said. “Where’s the party?”

Ken said, “The bitches didn’t show up. We got the address of one of them, though. We’re going down there and set her house on fire.”

“That would be nice,” Ralph said. “So they stood you up.” He laughed.

“Yep, the girls stood us up,” George sang, “but the liquor came through, didn’t it, boys?”

“I most certainly agree with you,” Dippy said.

“And we got more,” Ken yelled.

“We got gallons,” George said.

“Hundreds of gallons,” Dippy said.

“Really?” Ralph said.

“Sure,” Ken shouted. “Let’s show him! Onward!”

They pulled Ralph along. Dippy ran in front and waved an imaginary sword. “Onward!” he yelled.

They went charging into Ken’s house.

There was still a lot of liquor left. They started to drink. Ken grabbed a bottle of Irish and pushed it toward Ralph.

“Nix,” Ralph said.

“Don’t be a fool,” Ken said.

Ralph looked at the bottle. He didn’t want to drink. Every time he started with liquor he wound up very sick. When he started he couldn’t stop. It had not happened many times, but when it did happen it was bad. He remembered one time at a party he had started in and afterward they told him he had killed off more than a quart. He knew he had no right to monkey around with the stuff. He had his teeth on the lip of the bottle, and he threw his head back. The liquor flowed into his mouth, flaming down his throat. He gulped it fast, kept gulping.

“Look at this guy go,” Ken said.

Ralph had the glass between his teeth and out of the bottle came the Irish whiskey, flowing fast down his throat.

Trying to stand on his head, in the center of the room. George fell on his face.

Dippy was making a speech.

Ken was watching Ralph gulp liquor.

George was sliding into third.

Dippy silenced a heckler.

Ken put his hand to the side of his face. His eyes, focused on the liquor draining from the bottle tilted to Ralph’s head, were steadily widening.

George played it deep. It was a hard ground ball, searing close to third. It took a bad hop and George played it brilliantly. He addressed himself to the ball, got his glove under it, had it in his right hand. He pegged it to first. Shibe Park rocked with acclaim. George bowed and fell on his face.

Dippy waved his arms and urged his listeners to try a new cereal.

Ken turned away, slowly shaking his head.

The bottle, tilted almost vertically, was half-empty. Ralph took it away from his teeth. He looked at Dippy. He looked at the bottle again. He saw George face down on the floor. He saw Ken trying to find a dial on the radio. He saw the ceiling and the walls and the floor and the bottle again. He lifted it to his mouth, and the glass lip was between his teeth. The liquor blazed down his throat.

George and Ken were asleep. They were on the floor. Ken’s shoe was on George’s chin. They slept soundly.

Dippy sat with his ear close to the radio loudspeaker. Police calls were coming through. Dippy made out he was a policeman, racing to the scene of disturbance.

Upstairs there was a thud.

Dippy hurried upstairs. Ralph was on the bathroom floor, cursing. He was underneath the washbowl. He lifted his head and bumped it against the washbowl. He moaned and went flat on the floor. He was out. Dippy stood there, looking at him. Then Dippy let cold water run into the washbowl. He lifted Ralph and pushed his head into the cold water. There was only a slight bump on Ralph’s head. The liquor, more than the collision, had knocked him out. His eyes were open now and he was mumbling. Water dripped from his head.

He shook his head and blinked a few times and said, “I’m all right now.”

“More or less,” Dippy said.

Ralph walked out of the bathroom and into the hall and fell to his knees. He got up and took a few more steps and fell flat.

“I’m all right,” he said. Dippy nodded.

“Everybody’s all right,” Ralph said.

“Everybody.”

“Everybody in the whole world,” Ralph said.

“Why not?” Dippy said.

Ralph straightened and was on his feet and weaving toward the stairs. He jolted forward and started to fall down the stairs and Dippy caught him. Dippy helped him down the stairs. In the living room Ralph pushed Dippy away and said, “I’m all right.”

“Of course,” Dippy said.

“What time is it?” Ralph said.

Dippy skipped into the kitchen and skipped out again and sang, “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“Late,” Ralph said.

“Somewhat,” Dippy said.

Ralph moved toward the front door. He fell. He got up again. He fell again. He got up again. He sat down and his legs were sprawled out and he said, “It’s no use, pardner. I’m done. Go on alone. There must be water ahead.”

Dippy lifted Ralph from the floor. He put his arm around Ralph and held him up. Together they staggered out of the house. They staggered down the steps and down the dark street. Ralph fell. Dippy fell on top. They got up.