David Goodis - The Blonde on the Street Corner

“It’s cold out,” Dippy said.

“Good,” Lenore said.

“What should I tell him?” Dippy said. “Say it slow this time.”

“Tell him I said if he wants his overcoat he should come over himself and get it. Go on. Go tell him that.”

Dippy walked to the door. He turned around. He looked at Lenore. He did not wonder why she wanted Ralph to come over for the coat. He knew only that it was very cold outside and that a sweater was not enough to keep the cold away. He wanted Ralph to have the coat. He walked out and hurried up the street, and over to Ken’s house. Ralph was not there. Ken asked Dippy where he was going. Dippy did not answer. He was in a big hurry. He ran over to Ralph’s house. Ralph came to the door. Dippy told him what Lenore had said.

Ralph looked at the floor. Then he looked at Dippy and he said, “Will you do something for me?”

“Of course,” Dippy said.

Ralph said, “You go back to Lenore and tell her I’ll be over for the coat. Tell her I’ll be over in a little while — a few hours. And in the meantime, don’t tell anyone about this.”

Dippy ran back to the house and told Lenore what Ralph had said.

“Is that all he said?” Lenore murmured, looking at a page and smoothing her hand along the pale orange satin that was tight and smooth across her soft fatness.

Dippy said, “Certainly.” He walked to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Over to Ken’s house.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Until late tonight, I imagine,” Dippy said.

“That’s good.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Dippy walked out of the house. He started toward Ken’s house. He was almost there when he stopped. He turned around. He was thinking about Lenore. He was thinking about what he knew about her. He was thinking about the time he had seen her get out of a convertible that had stopped in front of the house early one morning, and he was thinking about the time he had seen her coming out of a house a few blocks away, and a man came out and ran after her and they started to argue and he heard what they were saying and what they were calling each other.

He was thinking about those times, and other times. He was thinking about once when he had been coming home at five in the morning and he had seen Lenore and a man in front of the house. And he had sneaked around the alley and crawled up near so that he could hear what they were saying. Lenore was telling this man that if he knew what was good for him he better do what she told him, because she had enough on him to give him plenty of trouble. If this man knew what was good for him, he better do what she told him to do, and keep his mouth shut. Dippy was thinking of that. And he was thinking of how Lenore always explained to Clarence that she was going to see her sick sister. Dippy was remembering the nights, all the nights when Lenore was supposed to be at the sick sister’s place, and he had seen her getting out of cars, walking down the street with a man, walking out of a house a few blocks away.

Thinking about Lenore, he was thinking about Ralph. He was thinking about Ralph and the overcoat. He was thinking about what Lenore had said, that he should go over and tell Ralph to come over for the coat himself. Thinking about that, he was remembering the time when Lenore had looked at Ralph, who was drunk and asleep on the couch, and he was remembering the way Lenore had looked at Ralph. He told himself there was no use thinking about the situation because there was nothing he could do about it. But he couldn’t help feeling sorry for Ralph. He shrugged and resumed walking toward Ken’s house. His lips moved and he was saying aloud to himself, “What is this?”

From upstairs there was a lot of noise. Doors were slamming. There was yelling and screaming.

In the living room, on the sofa, Lenore rested on her side, and slowly turned the pages of the picture magazine. She ran her other hand slowly down the soft smoothness of the satin that was tight and smooth against her flesh. She slowly smoothed her hand behind her, down along her spine and over her hip and down around the soft fatness, slowly smoothing her hand along the satin, over the softness.

Upstairs, Clarence was screaming.

Lenore looked upstairs and yelled, “Goddam it, shut up!”

The mother ran into a room and slammed the door. Clarence followed, yelling and screaming.

Lenore yelled, “Bring me down my box of candy!” She smiled contentedly, knowing how it would end. It always ended with the two of them running out of the house.

The mother was yelling, “Leave me alone! Oh my God, Why don’t he leave me alone?”

“And if I do leave you alone? Then what? Suppose I do just that? Suppose I leave you entirely alone?”

Lenore slid slowly off the sofa. She walked to the foot of the stairs. She yelled, “Tell her, Clarence, tell her!”

“Oh, God help me!” the mother was yelling. She came running downstairs, twisting her arms as she tried to get a coat on. She was sobbing and yelling. She nearly fell on her face. She did not look at Lenore. She ran out of the house.

Clarence raced downstairs. He was breathing fast and hard. He opened his mouth to say something and he choked and opened his mouth to yell and he choked again. Then he gasped, “Where did she go?”

Lenore put her hands on her hips and said, “How the hell should I know?”

Clarence put his face in his hands and shook his head. Slowly Lenore turned her head to the side and looked at Clarence. Her mouth was open. Her tongue worked slowly around her lips, sliding back into her mouth to collect wetness and wetting her lips slowly. And she was saying, “Maybe you better go out and look for your mother. Maybe you better find her before she does something to herself.”

“My God, what do you mean?”

“Maybe you better go out and look for her,” Lenore said. Clarence ran into the next room and grabbed his hat and coat. At the front door he buttoned the coat and pushed the hat low over his forehead. Then he ran back into the next room and opened a closet door and took out a muffler. He raced back into the living room. He was breathing very hard. He unbuttoned his coat. He wound the muffler around his neck. He buttoned the coat and ran out of the house.

Lenore walked upstairs. She took the box of candy downstairs. On the sofa she rested on her side and filled her mouth with candy and slowly turned the pages of the picture magazine. She looked outside, at the snow and the ice and the wind. She looked at all the cold outside. She smiled and reached for a big piece of candy.

Hearing the feet scraping against the ice, Lenore looked out the window. She saw Ralph coming up the steps.

When he walked into the house she was slowly turning the pages of the picture magazine.

“I came to get my overcoat,” he said.

She looked up slowly. She rolled slightly to one side. “Is that all you come to get?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure about that?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Come here, you,” she said. “Come over here to me.”

“Nothing doing.”

“Come here, I said.”

“Not a chance. I came to get my overcoat.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’m getting out of here.”

“And then?”

“That’s all,” he said.

“Oh, you think so?” she said slowly. She was rolling slowly back and forth on the sofa, on her side, and where the satin curved big and round she smoothed her palm back and forth.

“Give me my overcoat,” he said.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I want my overcoat and I want to get out of here.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like this house?”

“No.”

“You seemed to like it well enough last night.”