Philip Roth - Letting Go

He had to wait a long time for a very short answer.

“Yeah?”

“That’s right.”

He waited again; he could not tell what might or might not push Bigoness the wrong way.

“What about a baby-sitter?” Bigoness asked.

“And a baby-sitter.”

“Well, she makes …” He looked up at the ceiling for a figure — and found one. “She makes herself about sixteen, seventeen bucks a day, that’s about what she makes.”

“That’s good pay for a waitress.”

“Well, that’s what she makes. Who the hell said she was a waitress? Maybe she’s a waitress, maybe she’s isn’t.”

“And how much are travel expenses?”

Bigoness hardly hesitated. “About fifteen bucks.”

“For one person, fifteen dollars?”

“I’m talking about round trip.”

“So am I.”

“What are you saying? I’m a liar? Jesus!”

“I’m only saying that it’s about four or five, from Gary to Chicago and back.”

“Well, what about lunch, huh? Meals? What”—he searched—“what about the general inconvenience?” He seemed to feel he had hold of something with that last phrase. “What about that?”

“Look, someone is trying to adopt a baby; somebody, whether you appreciate it or not, Bigoness, is finally doing you a favor. Did you a favor. Don’t try to turn this into a business venture—”

“Oh man, oh man! Look what’s talking about business!”

“Bigoness, this is not the black—”

“And Jesus, what did I ask for, a million dollars? A brand new washing machine? A TV? Jesus! I’m asking for ten lousy bucks more for fare.”

“For two—”

“Well, I’m busted, damn it! I’ll tell you that — I ain’t ashamed. I didn’t do it. Old Wanda pulled her ass out of here over a year ago, when this one was just born.” He pointed to docile, sleepy Walter, on the sofa. “She just took off, and she took the checkbook with her. I raced down to the bank, but it was too late — she’d wiped me out, the son of a bitch. And now this fuckin’ recession. The bastards are hounding me, Mister. Don’t worry, I get letters all right, I get plenty of letters. I never got so much mail in my whole life. They’re all lining up outside to take my furniture away — take my bed away, my TV away — but I’ll tell you, I didn’t make this recession, and I didn’t ask for it neither. I like nice things too”—he was pointing down at Gabe’s shoes—“I like nice sofas and I like nice big beds to roll around in, just like everybody else. I got a new Plymouth, and that there’s a guaranteed orthopedic mattress on that bed, that’s the best money can buy. I gave that little bitch Wanda the best money can buy. Don’t think I don’t like nice things — don’t worry about that!”

He let Bigoness finish. He let him feel that he was finished. He let him stand there empty-handed. “I’ll give you ten dollars each for the train,” he said finally. “And seven and a half dollars for a half day of your wife’s wages. And four dollars so you can pay a baby-sitter for four hours. That’s thirty-one fifty. Mr. Jaffe will write and tell you the place and the time. Is there a phone where he can reach you?”

“I’m doing business with you. I ain’t doing business with no shyster lawyer.”

“I’m acting for Mr. Jaffe. He’s acting for the family.”

“What kind of jerk you think you’re dealing with?”

“I don’t know what it is that’s bothering you now—”

“Don’t think I ain’t got you figured out, Wallace. You ain’t just spreading cash around for your own fun, don’t kid me. Now you’re a pretty smart fella, all right. I see the way you come in here and act tough and hard, and all the time being fancy and ritzy, sort of like Lepke — I’ve seen all about him on the TV, don’t worry about that. Oh, you’re going to keep me in my place and all that. Well, I’ll tell you one thing — I may be out of work, but nobody’s going to make shit out of me while I’m standing around. You ain’t the first one that’s tried it, and you ain’t getting away with it neither. You want that kid — okay, you take the kid. But don’t come around here thinking you’re going to make shit out of me. That’s what old Wanda thought, you see, but she got it all wrong. And old Tessie thought she’s going to do it too, but she come back for her Thanksgiving dinner, Mister, she come crawling back here for turkey stuffing and candied sweets all right, and now she’s going to be a good mama to those kids, you hear? I’ll take fifteen bucks for the train, like I said — fifteen for me, and fifteen for Tessie. Don’t talk to me about no ten-dollar train rides.”

“You should disabuse yourself of the notion that this is the black market.”

Bigoness nodded and nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to do just that. That’s still going to cost you another ten bucks, Mr. Wallace, even if it’s the red-white-and-blue market.” He was amusing himself, which did not mean that he was not in dead earnest. He was fully alive to the possibilities of the moment. “That’s going to cost you exactly forty-one dollars and fifty cents. Don’t think I don’t know how to add up a row of figures either.”

Gabe reached into his jacket. Bigoness whitened; did he think Gabe had a gun? Only a moment earlier Gabe had been wondering if Bigoness had one … He took out his billfold. “Let’s make it forty-five,” he said. “Four and a half dollars for the general inconvenience. You forget the general inconvenience.” He set three bills, two twenties and a five, into the groove of a small floral ash tray. He set them down just out of Bigoness’s reach. And the fellow could not wait; he took a hurried, desperate walk to the cash, and nearly stumbled on the rug.

There had been moments when he could have backed away. He had not. He had humbled Bigoness — raising the ante had done it, finally. He had remained stern, unmovable; that was his accomplishment. In the flush of success, he tried to think of a single mistake he might have made, and halfway home he came up with one. Whether the train was five, ten, or fifteen dollars made no real difference to a man who owned a new Plymouth. Bigoness would drive into Chicago, as he himself was driving now; Bigoness had known he would all along.

Conned … Really? He made himself relax. Forty-five dollars, fifty or even sixty, wasn’t much when one considered what had been accomplished … by him. Though toe to toe with Bigoness — in that second when, shouting at one another, he had believed himself about to be hit, or shot — he had seen his usurpation of Jaffe’s offices as the most selfish and stupid act of all; he had seen himself seeing only himself. But he’d been mistaken.

When he reached Chicago, he drove directly up Kenwood. Why Kenwood? Why not? Old energies began rising to the surface. He slowed the car; behind Martha’s windows were the lights of a Christmas tree. Ah, she had it … She must be home from work; her car was parked in front. He contemplated his solitude, the injustice of his isolation, and found no reason whatsoever for his having to eat dinner alone again tonight. He did not have to wash his hands of anything. He parked the car. One of the doors of her car was slightly ajar; before heading up the stairs, he slammed it shut. It wouldn’t stay; it slipped and was ajar again.

Everything she has is broken … But the thought no longer filled him with fear and distrust. It was not that which had been building in him in the long ride up from Gary. Forgiving himself, he forgave her.

Martha’s head poked out just beyond the bannister at the top of the short stairway. “Yes?”