Уолтер Тевис - The Hustler

It began to drizzle slightly, and the sprinkling of rain that fell was surprisingly cold. Eddie ducked his head down and walked fast until he found an open café.

Inside he got coffee and scrambled eggs and listened idly to the juke box while he ate. The eggs were better than Sarah would have cooked them, and he caught himself grinning wryly at the thought of Sarah’s poorly cooked eggs. He looked at his watch. A quarter of twelve. He would probably be having coffee with her now, if he were home. Home? What in hell did that mean—he didn’t have any home. Certainly not with Sarah. But the idea stayed with him for several minutes, the idea of a house somewhere and Sarah, doing whatever women are supposed to do in houses. Him, reading the paper, buying a new car every year. Children—a back yard. At first it was amusing, but after a few minutes thinking it became unpleasant. He had lived in a home for too many years, with his parents, and he did not want any part of it. It had occurred to him once before that the whole institution—marriage, the home, the paycheck—was something invented by women, something they grew fat on at men’s expense. What had Bert said—about wanting glory? Maybe that was right, maybe that was what was wrong with the house and the paycheck and the cute wife. Maybe that was why the married men all talked about the war they had once been lucky enough to be near to, while the women could make a whole, stupid life out of the new kitchen and what the baby was doing. He thought of his father, the tired and confused old man who had never quite made it. There were two things his father could talk about with love: what he had done during the first war, and what he was going to do when he got money. The poor bastard was probably right about the war, but he had never done anything about the money. Eddie had not seen him in four years, but he was probably running the same beat-up electrical shop, the We-Fix-It, in Oakland, and still wishing for a new car or a house or whatever tired old men wish for—maybe just a good lay.

He grinned to himself again—he could use a good lay himself. Then, struck by an unpleasant thought, he asked the man behind the counter, “What time do the liquor stores close?”

“In ten minutes, mister. Twelve o’clock even.”

He paid his check quickly and left. For some reason which he did not fully understand he felt that it was very necessary to buy a bottle. He found a store in time and got a fifth of bourbon, which cost him forty cents more than the same brand in Chicago. It was Kentucky bourbon, and the label said, “Made in Bardstown, Kentucky.” It didn’t figure; but the types of hustle used in business seldom did, since the ways of the dollar were always devious. Or maybe it was taxes.

Bert had given him a key to the hotel room, which he had not been in yet. Still restless, he walked the four floors to the room and, bottle under his arm, unlocked the door.

The room was the living room of a suite; that was immediately obvious from the long and elegant gold couch, the big, soft armchairs, the little bar in the corner, and the door leading into the bedroom.

On the couch were two girls, both overdressed, both drinking.

He stopped in the doorway, holding the cue case, bottle and dangling key, thinking that maybe he had opened the wrong door, entered the wrong room. But one of the girls, the taller one, a blonde, said, giggling slightly. “You must be Eddie.”

He paused. “That’s right,” he said. Then he walked in, set his things down in an empty chair, and began looking around the room. Inside now, he could see that there were two bedrooms. The living room was very big and expensive-looking. The carpet underfoot was thick.

“My name’s Georgine,” the blonde said. “Have a seat.”

“Have a drink,” said the other. She had brown hair and was prettier than the blonde.

“She’s Carol,” the blonde said. “Carol, meet Eddie.”

“Hi,” Carol said, smiling. Her teeth were somewhat uneven and she wore too much lipstick, but she was pretty.

“Hello,” Eddie said, sitting in one of the armchairs. He wondered if Carol’s bosom were real. Probably not, but nice if it were. Also the blonde’s—Georgine’s. Georgine walked to the bar and began pouring him a drink. She was wearing a black silky dress and it seemed that her butt might split it at any moment, but it did not. Her shoulders, he noticed, were round and very smooth, with a nice color to them. He wondered if they painted or powdered their shoulders, or if that was the way they looked naturally.

The blonde gave him the drink and then went back to the couch to sit down. She put a cigarette in her mouth, and when Eddie made no move to light it for her, shrugged her shoulders and lit it herself, with a match.

Eddie tasted his drink, which was strong. Then he leaned back and said, “You girls welcome all strangers in town this way?” He was watching the blonde’s bosom as he said this, speculatively.

The brunette seemed to think this remark was very funny. When she had stopped laughing she said, “We’re friends of Bert’s. Didn’t he tell you we were coming up? I mean, he told us you were coming.” She seemed to think this was funny, too.

“Somehow, honey,” he said, “I didn’t get the word. But now I’ve got it I’m glad to hear it.” He was not certain how he felt about all this, and with Bert it didn’t figure. Anyway it was interesting enough.

“I’m supposed to be your date,” the blonde said.

“I’m glad to hear that too,” he said. It occurred to him that the blonde had already drunk too much.

After a few minutes Carol turned the radio on and got dance music and when he finished his drink Georgine fixed him another.

And then Bert came in, looking very neat and collected but his face slightly flushed. “Hello, Georgine,” he said, “Carol.” Then to Eddie, “How’d you come out?”

“Fair. You were right about him. How did you make out?”

“All right.” He took off his glasses and began wiping them with his handkerchief. “Fix me a drink, Carol, will you?” Eddie noticed an unfamiliar looseness in his voice. Then Bert smiled at him. “As a matter of fact I did very well. The game’s still going on.”

Then, when the girl brought Bert his drink he did a surprising thing. An amazing thing. He pulled the girl down beside him gently, took her chin in one hand and said, “Honey, you look great tonight.” Then he laughed. Eddie had never heard Bert laugh like that, and he found it shocking.

Eddie watched him while he finished his drink. Then Bert set his glass down, stood up, and began dancing with Carol. He danced too precisely, but well.

“Come on, Eddie, live it up,” he said.

For Christ’s sake , Eddie thought. Then he laughed himself. “Okay, Bert,” he said. “You’re the boss.”

Georgine had come to sit by him on the arm of the chair. “You wanta dance?” she said.

“I’m a lousy dancer.”

“That’s the kind I like,” she said. Then she pulled him up from the seat and he took hold of her and began moving around in approximate time to the music. She stood so close to him, however, that he could not do even that very well, and he finally stopped trying to move his feet and just held her and swayed. She seemed to go for this. She was all round protuberances, all of them very warm, all moving, and she rubbed against him a good deal. After a while this had the intended effect, and he was forced to sit down, pulling her into the seat beside him. He started to kiss her, and then stopped. Something was not right. “Get me a drink, will you?” he said.

“ Now? ”

“That’s right. Now.”

She got it and he drank it. Then he leaned around and kissed her.