Джеймс Кейн - Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

It was more than a month before I saw Mr. Holden, which didn’t surprise me, as the papers were full of the water-front trouble on the Coast and I assumed he had been pretty busy. But one day I went to see the lawyers again and we went over the divorce case and then when I came back to the hotel Mr. Holden was waiting for me. We went up to my suite and again he was very preoccupied, and seemed to have large affairs on his mind. He began at once asking me questions about my divorce, and wanted to know how soon it would be disposed of. I said in two or three weeks.

“Good. That’ll just work in with my plans. I’ll wash this thing up out there, then stop by for you. As soon as your decree is granted we’ll be married, and then—” and here he looked very confident and mysterious—” and then, Carrie, you’ll see something.”

I didn’t want to discuss marriage, so I quickly seized the chance to switch over to whatever it was he was talking about. “Yes? And what will I see?”

“Never mind. But it’s ready. We’ve got what we’ve been waiting for.”

“Which is?”

“A break on conditions. It’s our market, not theirs. The wheels are going round once more and they’ve got to settle with labor. And if they don’t, labor is going to force them. The war is over, and now we strike.”

“When?”

“You’ll see. Soon.”

From then on things began to move fast and it seemed almost no time before my case was set for trial, so of course when he phoned me from Los Angeles one night I had to tell him when it would come up. So sure enough, the night before I was to appear in court he came again, marched into the hotel with his bags and took a room he had wired for. We had dinner in my suite, however, and he was exuberant and greatly excited. “It’ll be the biggest thing in the history of the American labor movement, Carrie. No comic opera affair like what you had at Karb’s. This is real.”

“You talk a lot but don’t tell me what it is.”

“We’re driving at whole industries.”

“...What industries?”

He hesitated, then said: “For the moment, we’re keeping it secret, but you’ll see. Big industries.”

“That’ll take quite a while, won’t it?”

“Not too long, and this time we land on their button. They’re wide open. And we’ve got the punch.”

I was so excited I began talking about the trips I had taken around Reno, for I didn’t trust myself to discuss his plans anymore. Around ten o’clock I remarked that I had a trying day ahead of me and that I ought to get some sleep. So he went, and I took good care that time to lock the door. Then I went into the bedroom, picked up the telephone and gave the operator Mr. Hunt’s home number in New York. I didn’t make it person-to-person, as that would be quite expensive, and as it was one o’clock in New York I was pretty sure he would be home. So when the call was put through it was Mrs. Hunt who answered, and I told her who I was and she was very polite but I could tell she was worried. He came to the phone, and as soon as I had answered his inquiries about the divorce, I got down to business. “Is anybody listening, Bernie? Can you talk?”

“I’m alone on the library extension.”

“Very well. If anybody asks you, I called to give you particulars on the divorce suit.”

“Right.”

“But this is what I really want. Tonight by air mail I’m sending you a check for ten thousand dollars.”

“Thanks offering?”

“No. You buy and sell stocks, don’t you?”

“I hope so.”

“I want you to put that ten thousand to my credit in your brokerage house. Tomorrow, as soon as the divorce goes through, I’m leaving Reno for some place, I don’t yet know where. But wherever it is, I’ll call you and give you instructions as to what you’re to do with the money. Tonight all I want to know is: Can I count on you to carry out my instructions exactly as I give them to you?”

“Now wait a minute, Carrie. Stocks are my business, but after all, I like you. I don’t want you to lose your shirt—”

“That’s my lookout.”

“What is this, anyway?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m not sure it’s anything except a brainstorm. But... it may mean a lot to me. I’ve got to have somebody in New York I can trust. Bernie, you’ll do this much for me, won’t you?”

He thought so long over this that I began to worry about my charges, but at last he said: “I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it. I can tell from the way you talk you’re gambling your money on some kind of tip you expect to get, and there’s a special room on the Street where they shear lambs like you. Still, it’s your own affair and your own money. All right, send on the money. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.”

The next day in court I stammered through my recital of Grant’s ungovernable temper, his threats to strike me, and all the other things I was required to tell, and they were all true, so I could swear to them with a perfectly clear conscience. And yet they had so little relation to the real story that it seemed as though I was taking part in a trial that concerned somebody else. Hardly anybody was there, for the Reno courts do not permit the newspapers to treat people as they do in New York, and it only took a short time anyhow. The decree was granted a few minutes after I left court, and then I went over with Mr. Hyde to his office to sign papers. He then turned over to me his own check for the remaining $25,000, shook hands with me, and that seemed to be all.

I walked around to the second-hand dealer’s where I had left the car on my way to court. He offered me $750, which I didn’t think was enough, considering how little I had driven it, but I was in no mood to argue, so I said all right and he gave me his check. I went over to the bank where I had started a local account and deposited both checks, the one for $25,000 and the one for $750. Then I started back for the hotel. When I came to the bridge over the river I stopped and stood looking down into the water. You are supposed to throw your wedding ring into it as soon as you have your divorce, but I had no wedding ring. What I was thinking about was: What am I going to do about Mr. Holden? I can’t marry him, at any rate not now, and yet I have to go with him if I am going to succeed with the stock market operations I have in mind.

He was waiting for me in the lobby and came up with me to my suite. For the first time in two months he became personal, put his arms around me, took my hat off and ran his fingers through my hair. I sat down on a chair, not the sofa, but he sat down on the arm beside me and continued to lift my hair and let it fall back against my neck. “So. Now you’re free.”

“Yes.”

“How do you prefer to be married?”

“I... don’t quite know what you mean.”

“I prefer the clerk of the license bureau, myself, but if you want a minister I’ve made a list of six — all different denominations.”

“...Do you mind sitting over there? I have something to say to you.”

He looked a little hurt but in a moment crossed over to another chair and sat down. I wanted to be friendly, but I am afraid I sounded very curt and businesslike when I spoke. “I can’t marry you today.”

“...I had planned on it, Carrie.”

“I know. So had I. Anyway, I had taken it for granted. But I’m not ready yet. I’m not readjusted. I want time to think and to know you a little better — under circumstances when I’m not all mixed up inside.”

It was all false and phony, and the halting way I said it gave it a sound of sincerity that made me ashamed of it all the more. He looked at me a long time, and then he burst out: “Damn it, Carrie, why do you have to feel this way? I’ve been counting on you! I have a devil’s own time ahead of me, and I’ve been looking forward to having you with me! I—”