“You don’t know what he’ll do next,” Eddie argued. “I’ll bet he’s used to people hiking along up here, kids playing hooky or hunting jackrabbits. If we try to go near the house, he’ll raise hell.”
“Well, let’s test him.” Skip jumped to his feet and strode off downhill through the trees toward the lights of the house. Eddie stood rooted in the dark. The dog whined a couple of times, circling Eddie as if asking a question about what to do next, then suddenly sat down on his haunches. Eddie moved into a still darker spot, then clucked to the dog; and the collie ran to him, frisking.
“Hey, boy. Nice boy.” Eddie rubbed the dog’s warm silky head, feeling the hard bones of the collie’s skull under the fine fur. He liked dogs generally, most especially big golden dogs with a friendly way.
Skip whistled a summons, an eerie killdeer kind of noise, but Eddie hung back, telling himself he and Skip would be better off if he stayed to keep the dog from the house. He didn’t move until Skip returned, which must have been more than ten minutes later. Skip was walking lightly, confidently, hissing the killdeer cry between his teeth. He came up to Eddie, and Eddie sensed the grin.
Skip patted the dog. “The mutt likes us.”
“He’s a good dog.”
Skip said, “I was right down there, real close, looking in the windows. Chrissakes it’s big, but it’s old—old furniture and high ceilings and regular granny shelves full of knickknacks. I didn’t see the old lady. There’s a man inside, though. He’s in a room, must be a library, looking at something on a desk. I thought maybe account books, but I couldn’t be sure.” Skip cuffed the dog playfully, and the dog growled and pretended to chew his hand. “The guy from Vegas. He’s brought more dough.”
“That’s a crazy place to keep money!” Eddie blurted.
“You trying to knock this thing?” Skip cried in sudden anger.
“No, of course not.”
“I got a good look at the guy,” Skip boasted, “real good. I’d know him anywhere. You know what I’m going to do? Before we pull this, that is? I’m going to hitchhike to Vegas and look him up.”
Eddie felt his heart lurch against his ribs. “That’d be crazy!”
“Oh, I’m not going to charge in and let on I’m itching for his green stuff. What this’ll be—making sure. Karen thinks he’s big in Nevada, has a chunk of one of the clubs on the Strip, but she could be wrong. He could be tinhorn, full of wind, maybe even making a play for the chick. One thing more, is he really old lady Havermann’s ex-son-in-law? I’ll need to check on it.”
“He’ll have you thrown out,” Eddie said.
“You think I’m dumb enough to speak to him, let him get a look at me?” Skip was outraged, on the verge of violence. “The thing is, if he’s who Karen thinks he is, and he’s coming here every few weeks, staying overnight, why not, if not to stash some winnings?”
“And why should Karen tell you about it?” Eddie cried from his own uncertainty.
“Because.” Skip leaned toward him in the dark beneath the trees. “She’s mine any time I want her. Just any time, anywhere, anyhow. Want me to prove it?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll come back here when classes are out, I’ll show you. Right here on the ground under these trees.”
“Ah, can it.”
“No, I’m serious.”
They started to walk west, then downhill out of the trees. They had forgotten the dog, and he rushed by them suddenly, scattering leaves and dirt, and Eddie stumbled with fright. Skip whirled to look back, as if someone might have sent the dog after them: but there was only the bank of towering evergreens and the glimmer from the house.
The dog jumped around, wanting to play, but Skip ignored him.
Finally they started off again. Skip didn’t say anything until they got to the car. The dog frisked off home, and Skip faced the street light and said, “If anything goes wrong on this thing, someone’s going to get hurt. Bad hurt.” His tone was sharp and mean.
Eddie thought, Skip’s thinking about Karen. But he couldn’t be sure. Skip might be thinking about him, too. It was right at that moment, stepping into the car, that Eddie realized how utterly intent Skip was on getting the money.
CHAPTER TWO
Karen Miller laid her coat across the back of the chair and looked with a touch of shyness around the room. A few students were already at their typewriters, one or two pecking desultorily at the keys, but most were still in the hall, smoking a last cigarette or lingering to finish a conversation. Karen sat down, adjusted her skirt across her knees. Her motions were deft and graceful. She put out her hands, settling her fingers on the keys of the typewriter. She ticked off a few imaginary phrases.
A buzzer sounded in the hall. There was a bustle of entry, chairs scraping, a last whisper of talk. The teacher, a tall thin man with a storklike gait, came in from the hall and smiled at the assembled class. He laid a couple of books on the desk. “Good evening, students.”
The chorus answered as usual, “Good evening, Mr. Pryde.”
Karen opened the exercise book on the desk beside the machine, and the memory of a whole series of nights like this, Mr. Pryde and his greeting, the waiting, hopeful, or indifferent ones around her, ticked off in her mind. The faces, the figures were familiar, and Karen thought of them as friends, though in some way she was not able to comprehend she seemed unable to make the opening overtures which might lead to actual acquaintance. It was part shyness but mostly a lack of practice in social give-and-take. She felt awkward in the presence of strangers. It seemed to Karen a sort of miracle that Skip had sought her out and forced her to talk to him.
She knew that Skip must be in his place behind her now. A feeling of warm awareness stole through her; she could almost feel his gaze on her. She wanted to glance back at him, afraid at the same time that this glance would betray all that she felt.
Mr. Pryde left his desk and stalked over to the old phonograph in the corner. He wound the old machine. “Time for an exercise in rhythm. You ain’t got a thing, you know——” He paused for effect. “—if you ain’t got that swing.”
Titters answered the sally, not because of any humor in it, but because poor old Mr. Pryde had worn the remark to death. Karen felt a surge of sympathy for him. Mr. Pryde glanced at his watch. “Page twenty-two. Keep in time to the music. Now. Dum dum de dum.” A Sousa march, hoarse and brassy, roared from the machine. Karen began to type rapidly.
When the exercise was finished she took a quick glance behind her and was surprised to find Skip’s place vacant. He didn’t come in until the first period was almost over. He crowded close to Karen as the class poured out into the hall for the break. “Hiya.”
She looked at him shyly, pink color coming into her face. “How are you?”
“Really want to know?” He made it sound as if he kept a dangerous secret, teasing her.
“Oh, tell me.” They were in the hall now, strolling away from the others. She noted a certain real excitement in Skip’s manner. “You must have had a good reason to miss the rhythm exercise.”
He caught her elbow and took her through the door, out upon the terrace which overlooked the grounds. Lights bloomed across the campus lawns; a sprinkler sent a shower of silver over the dark shrubbery. “I feel like cutting class—period. Never coming back.” With his fist he chucked up her chin, put his mouth on hers, pressed hard. Finally she drew away, gasping. “What do you mean?”
“Ah, I’m disgusted, I’m not getting anywhere.” He took out a cigarette and snapped flame to it from a match, all with an elaborate air of anger.
“Oh no, Skip! You mustn’t get discouraged!”
He leaned on the railing, smoking moodily. Karen stood close, as if her nearness might soothe him. “Is anything the matter? More than usual?”
“Does it have to be more than usual? Isn’t the regular grind en
ough?”
“You’re bored, Skip? Is that it?”
“Aren’t you, babe?”
“No. Mrs. Havermann wants me to learn something to make a living at. She thought nursing, but I couldn’t stand that. I was sick a couple of years ago, I had to have my appendix out, and I saw how those nurses worked and what they had to do. I know I’d never be a success at it. I’m not patient enough, kind enough. Why, a woman in our ward used to——” She broke off suddenly.
Skip was interested. “Used to what?”
“Oh, it wasn’t a nice thing, the thing she did.”
“Well, what was it?” When Karen remained abashedly silent he said, “For Chrissakes, what do you think I am? A baby? The woman wet the bed, I bet.”
Karen looked embarrassedly back at the door. “Well, it was something like that, only worse. She’d use the bedpan, and then when the nurse came to take it she’d make it spill. Over and over. They must have known she did it on purpose. You could see she got a kick out of it. But those nurses just cleaned and cleaned—and I’d have blown my stack.”
“So now you’re taking typing,” Skip put in.
“It’s not exciting, but it’s something I can do,” Karen said.
Skip turned to her and grinned. “You know what I’d have done? I’d have taken the nursing course like Mrs. Havermann wanted. And then I’d have looked around for some rich old geezer to nurse, some old bachelor or widower loaded with dough, not too bright, and I’d have married him.”
Karen was disgusted. “Some sick old man? Oh, heavens!”
“And then, being a nurse, I’d have helped him get sicker and sicker until finally he croaked and I had the dough for myself.”
The thought shocked her. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
He moved closer and put a hand behind her head and pushed her mouth against his own. All of Skip’s kisses had an experimental quality about them, as though the act of embracing contained some novelty he couldn’t get used to. “Now I’ve made you mad.”
“Well, I’m getting over it.” She kissed him in return, solemnly, and as if humbly offering a gift. The buzzer sounded; he yanked her back.
“I don’t think I’m going in there.”
“Why not? You’re doing as well as anybody. Don’t quit just because tonight you’re bored and disgusted,” Karen begged. “They’ll give your place in class to someone else, and then you’ll have to start all over again next semester, just like a beginner.”
“I don’t know——” He seemed to hesitate. “What about afterwards?”
“You asked before; I told you how Mrs. Havermann gets nervous if I’m not there on time. She doesn’t like being alone.”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s crazy about you.”
“No, she’s not. I’m not her child. It’s because of her own feelings.”
“Suppose there was a meeting after class, you had to stay for it?”
“There never is.”
“She knows there never is?”
“Oh, Skip, I don’t want to worry her!”
He nodded indifferently. “Sure. I see exactly how it is. Go on inside then. I’ll see you around sometime.”
She hesitated in the doorway, her expression harried and anxious. “You make it seem as if I’m letting you down.”
He shrugged, turned to lean on the railing, lit a fresh cigarette, and expelled smoke into the dark. The stony eyes looked past her as he glanced into the hall. “They’re all inside. You’d better hurry.”
She rushed back to him headlong. “What would we do? I couldn’t take time to eat, or go dancing, or anything like that.”
He laughed shortly in surprise. “Who the hell said anything like that?”
“Well, then . . .” She was confused.
“I’ll drive out somewhere close to the house, a lonesome spot, we’ll sit in the car for a while.”
She couldn’t help coloring a little. “I’m not supposed to do anything like that.”
“Like that? Or like this?” He threw away the cigarette, put both hands against her waist, backed her against the wall. He kissed her. “We’ll leave a little early, give us plenty of leeway.” He put up a hand and touched her throat with his fingers, lazily.
The idea he suggested, parking near the house in the car, the thought of the warm and dark interior and she and Skip enclosed in its privacy, filled Karen with a rush of almost dizzying sensations. A melting weakness poured through her. She nearly tottered, there against the wall with Skip’s fingers touching her throat.
Then Skip muttered, “I’ve got to pick up a friend in metal class.”
She was looking at him as if dazzled. “You mean someone’s coming with us?” It didn’t fit into the mental picture she had created; her thoughts whirled in confusion. But suddenly Skip moved off, taking her with him into the building. “Tell old man Pryde you’ve got a headache. I’ll just walk out as if getting a drink of water or something. Meet you outside that door in thirty minutes.”
She stumbled to her place, began mechanically working on the machine, meanwhile trying to sort sense from what Skip had told her. Under the emotional uproar she was aware of something else, a kind of dread at what she might be willing to do for Skip.
During the years of growing up which she had spent in the Havermann house, certain taboos had been instilled, not by anything as direct as spoken advice, since Mrs. Havermann never mentioned such things, nor lovingly by example, because temptation had no truck with that household, but rather by punctilious omission. Mrs. Havermann no longer lived in a world where people worried about anything more compelling than running out of sugar. Passion was a pale flare on the horizon of memory, growing dimmer year by year. The things she recalled from her marriage were the turmoil of its social obligations and the tantrums of her husband over his mislaundered shirts. And in some way of which both women were unconscious Mrs. Havermann had imposed her withdrawal upon the young girl.
Now Karen sat before a typewriter, the bulwarks trembling, and tried to force herself to be clear-headed, tried to keep from drowning in the emotional tide.
Skip meant to pick up a friend, she reminded herself. This must be Eddie, the one he had mentioned to her previously. Perhaps he just meant to give Eddie a lift first, before driving her home.
She wondered if Skip’s friend would be able to see how she felt, to sense the turmoil inside her. The thought was disturbing and at the same time steadying. She found herself drawing a deep, relaxing breath. What she felt for Skip was too strange, too raw and new, to be betrayed to anyone. It was a secret which she must keep to herself.
Skip parked the car by the curb and Eddie and Karen stepped out. All the way from school Karen had been puzzled and embarrassed, and Eddie knew it. He knew that she kept glancing at him as if wondering when he would leave them. On his part, Eddie wished in disgust that he had refused to return with Skip. Skip had a new air about him, and the way he drove and the way he whistled through his teeth told Eddie that he was feeling mean.
Skip came around the car, carrying the old blanket he used to cover the car’s torn upholstery. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he said. Remembering what Skip had promised on the previous trip here, Eddie felt his face go tight and hot. He tried to mutter something about getting home, but Skip ignored it. Above them the trees climbed the rising ground, and all was as dark as a tomb.
Karen said in a shivery voice, “I thought we were going to sit in the car.”
Skip gave an elaborate start of surprise. “Damned if we weren’t. But it would be kind of crowded with Eddie in there, wouldn’t it?” He walked uphill to the dark trees, the girl and Eddie following, and when he found an open spot he spread the blanket on the ground and flopped on it. There was nothing but a little starshine. Skip sighed and stretched out. “Come on, you two. Sit down.”
Karen tucked in her skirt an
d sat down gingerly at the edge of the blanket. Eddie didn’t sit down at all. He was beginning to get an idea that Skip was having a big joke here, that this amused him. He was tickled by their embarrassment and by their uncertainty over what he meant to do next. He felt that he held them in his power. He could do some outrageous thing, or nothing at all; it was just up to him.
“Sit down, Eddie. You’re blocking the view.”
Eddie said, “Ah, I’m not tired right now. I want to stretch my legs.”
“Sit down anyway.” The tone was a trifle ugly. Skip lay on his back and lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the sky. Eddie sat down. He could see the girl’s face turned his way, a pale patch against the dark; he couldn’t make out her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking, what she expected Skip to do. Around them the young trees whispered under a touch of wind, and there was a wild dusty smell. It was quiet, a long way from the city.
“Who’s home at your place?” Skip asked all at once.
The girl didn’t catch on at once; then she said, “You mean at Mrs. Havermann’s?”
“Sure I mean at Mrs. Havermann’s.”
“Well, Mr. Stolz is there. He came this morning. There’s her, and me, and that’s all.”
“How long is Stolz going to be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he ever make a play for you, get fresh or funny, anything like that?”
“Why, of course he doesn’t. He’s real nice. You’d hardly know he was in the house. He reads, or types in the library, or takes walks. He’s friendly and . . . just sort of keeps to himself.”
“Does he ever count his money where you can see him?”
Karen threw a glance toward Eddie; Eddie saw the quick turn of her head and sensed her eyes on him. She was beginning to realize that Skip was in an unpredictable mood; perhaps she was wondering, too, how much he had told Eddie. “No,” she said uncertainly, “I’ve never seen the money.”
Fools' Gold Page 2
