James Cain - Serenade

“Now Í have money, I open house.”

“Here?”

“No, no, no. In Acapulco. In Acapulco, I have very nice friend, big politico . Open nice house, with nice music, nice food, nice drink, nice girls — for American.”

“Oh, for Americans.”

“Yes. Many Americans come now to Acapulco. Big steamboat stop there. Nice man, much money.”

“And me, I’m to be a combination professor, bartender, bouncer, glad-hander, secretary, and general bookkeeper for the joint, is that it?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Well.”

The food came along, and I stayed with it a while, but the more I thought about her proposition the funnier it got to me. “This place, it’s supposed to have class, is that the idea?”

“Oh yes, very much. My politico friend, he say American pay as much as five pesos, gladly.”

“Pay five — what?”

“Pesos.”

“Listen, tell your politico friend to shut his trap and let an expert talk. If an American paid less than five dollars, he’d think there was something wrong with it.”

“I think you little bit crazy.”

“I said five bucks — eighteen pesos.”

“No, no. You kid me.”

“All right, go broke your own way. Hire your politico for manager.”

“You really mean?”

“I raise my right hand and swear by the holy mother of God.But — you got to get some system in it. You got to give him something for his money.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Listen, I’m not talking about this world’s goods. I’m talking about things of the spirit, romance, adventure, beauty. Say, I’m beginning to see possibilities in this. All right, you want that American dough, and I’ll tell you what you’ve got to do to get it. In the first place, the dump has got to be in a nice location, in among the hotels, not back of the coconut palms, up on the hill. That’s up to your politico . In the second place, you don’t do anything but run a little dance hall, and rent rooms. The girls came in, just for a drink. Not mescal, not tequila. Chocolate ice-cream soda, because they’re nice girls, that just dropped in to take a load off their feet. They wear hats. They come in two at a time, because they’re so well brought up they wouldn’t dream of going in any place alone. They work in the steamboat office, up the street, or maybe they go to school and just came home for vacation. And they’ve never met any Americans, see, and they’re giggling about it, in their simple girlish way, and of course, we fix it up, you and I, so there’s a little introducing around. And they dance. And one thing leads to another. And next thing you know, the American has a room from you, to take the girl up. You don’t really run that kind of place, but just because it’s him, you’ll make an exception — for five dollars. The girl doesn’t take anything. She does it for love, see?”

“For what?”

“Do I know the Americano , or don’t I?”

“I think you just talk, so sound fonny.”

“It sounds fonny, but it’s not just talk. The Americano , he doesn’t mind paying for a room, but when it comes to a girl, he likes to feel it’s a tribute to his personality. He likes to think it’s a big night for her, too, and all the more because she’s just a poor little thing in a steamboat office, and never had such a night in her life until he came along and showed her what life could be like with a real guy. He wants an adventure — with him the hero. He wants to have something to tell his friends. But don’t have any bums sliding up to take their foto . He doesn’t like that.”

“Why not? The fotógrafo , he pay me little bit.”

“Well, I tell you. Maybe the fotógrafo has a heart of gold, and so has the muchacha , but the Americano figures the foto might get back to his wife, or threaten to, specially if she’s staying up at the hotel. He wants an adventure, but he doesn’t want any headache. Besides, the fotos have got a Coney Island look to them, and might give him the idea it was a cheap joint. Remember, this place has class. And that reminds me, the mariachi is going to be hand-picked by me, and hand-trained as well, so maybe somebody could dance to the stuff when they play it. Of course, I don’t render any selections on the guitar. That’s out. Or the piano, or the violin, or any other instrument in my practically unlimited repertoire. And that mariachi , they wear suits that we give them, with gold braid down the pants, and turn those suits in every night when they quit. It’s our own private mariachi , and as fast as we get money to buy more suits we put on more men, so it’s a feature. The main thing is that we have class, first, last, and all the time. No Americano , from the time he goes in to the time he goes out, is going to get the idea that he can get out of spending money. Once they get that through their heads, we’ll be all right.”

“The Americanos , are they all crazy?”

“All crazy as loons.”

It seemed to be settled, but after the gags wore off I had this sick feeling, like life had turned the gray-white color of their sunlight. I tried to tell myself it was the air, that’ll do it to you at least three times a day. Then I tried to tell myself it was what I had done, that I had no more pride left than to take a job as pimp in a coast-town whorehouse, but what the hell? That was just making myself look noble. It was, anyway, some kind of work, and if I really made a go of it, it wouldn’t make me squirm. It would make me laugh. And then I knew it was this thing that was drilling in the back of my head, about her. There hadn’t been a word about that night, and when she looked at me her eyes were just as blank as though I’d been some guy she was talking to about the rent. But I knew what those eyes could say. Whatever it was she had seen in me that night, she still saw it, and it was between us like some glass door that we could see through but couldn’t talk.

She was sitting there, looking at her coffee glass and not saying anything. She had a way of dozing off like that, between the talk, like some kitten that falls asleep as soon as you stop playing with it. I told you she looked like some high school girl in that little white dress. I kept looking at her, trying to figure out how old she was, when all of a sudden I forgot about that and my heart began to pound. If she was to be the madame of the joint, she couldn’t very well take care of any customers herself, could she? Then who was going to take care of her? By her looks, she needed plenty of care. Maybe that was supposed to be my job. My voice didn’t quite sound like it generally does when I spoke to her.

“... Señorita, what do I get out of this?”

“Oh — you live, have nice cloth, maybe big hat with silver, yes? Some pecos. Is enough, yes?”

“—And entertain the señoritas?”

I don’t know why I said that. It was the second mean slice I had taken since we started out. Maybe I was hoping she’d flash jealous, and that would give me the cue I wanted. She didn’t. She smiled, and studied me for a minute, and I felt myself getting cold when I saw there was the least bit of pity in it. “If you like to entertain señoritas, yes. Maybe not. Maybe that’s why I ask you. No have any trouble.”

Early next morning I shaved, washed, and packed. My earthly possessions seemed to be a razor, brush, and cake of soap, two extra shirts, a pair of extra drawers I had washed out the night before, a pile of old magazines, and the black-snake whip I had used when I sang Alfio. They give you a whip, but it never cracks, and I got this mule-skinner’s number with about two pounds of lead in the butt. One night on the double bill a stagehand laid it out for Pagliacci, and the Nedda hit me in the face with it. I still carry the scar. I had sold off all the costumes and scores, but couldn’t get rid of the whip. I dropped it in the suitcase. The magazines and my new soapdish I put on top of it, and stood the suitcase in the corner. Some day, maybe, I would come back for it. The two extra shirts I put on, and tied the necktie over the top one. The extra drawers I folded and put in one pocket, the shaving stuff in another. I didn’t mention I was leaving, to the clerk, on my way out. I just waved at him, like I was on my way up to the postoffice to see if the money had come, but I had to slap my hand against my leg, quick. She had dropped a handful of pesos in my pocket, and I was afraid he’d hear them clink.