I'll Call Every Monday

by Orrie Hitt

  I sat on the porch, far back against the side of the cabin, listening to the water drum down off the eaves and slip down over the bank. The wind sucked at the screening on the porch, and occasionally a fine rain spray came in and over my bare arms.

  I picked up the bottle of Three Feathers and had another drink. I’d been doing that ever since I’d got back to the cabin that afternoon. Have another drink! The son-of-a-bitch!

  “It’s a good thing you’re paid to the end of the summer and that I’ve spent the money already,” Johnson had told me when he’d come puffing up the hill around six. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t spend another night here.”

  “Well, I’m spending it.”

  He’d come up on the porch and sat down.

  “Look,” he said. I’d slid a glass over to him and he’d looked at the jug and grinned. “You corked that guy good, Mr. Weaver.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nose is all busted to hell.”

  “I’m crying about it.”

  Johnson had taken his liquor straight, and plenty of it.

  “I ought to fire Jack,” Johnson said.

  “He didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Well, he did last summer. He sold pictures for that guy.”

  “I should have hit him, too.”

  “No,” Johnson had said. “Good bartenders are hard to get.” He’d taken the second drink without being asked. “You know, Mr. Weaver, I didn’t know that girls went in for that stuff.”

  I’d almost dropped my drink.

  “The queers,” he said. “That’s what I heard.”

  “I guess it takes all kinds, Johnson.”

  “And the guys,” he’d said. “How do you figure them? I don’t mean that a guy shouldn’t want to look at a beautiful woman — show me the man who wouldn’t. But I mean the guys who — ”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I’d said, not wanting to think about it just then, wishing that he’d get the hell out of there and leave me alone.

  “It sure doesn’t. I like mine regular.”

  “So do I.”

  “Which puts me in mind of that Sally,” he’d said. “She’s all right, Mr. Weaver.”

  He’d almost worked himself up into Schofield’s class.

  “I mean about her job,” he’d said, a little nervously. “Nothing else, Mr. Weaver. I mean she’s good on the job.”

  “Okay, as long as I know what you mean.”

  He’d had a couple of more drinks and I’d been about to ask him for a free jug on the house when he decided to go.

  After he’d gone I’d got out the other bottle, changed into slacks and a T shirt and gone back out onto the porch. Then I’d sat there, trying to figure things out.

  There was a lot down there at that Schofield place that I didn’t know about. I had an idea that I’d be better off if I stayed just as dumb as I was. But I didn’t want to be dumb. I wanted to know more about Irene. I wanted to know why she had bought all those insurance policies on herself in the last few years. I wanted to know how a girl could pose for that kind of picture. And there was something else I wanted to know. I wanted to know if she was as good as she looked.

  The storm drifted on, moving across the hills beyond, the lightning growing weaker and the thunder only a murmur in the sky. A warm fog drifted in, curling around the porch, and from down on the lake I could hear the grunts of frogs and the squeak of oars in a boat lock. I thought of another time, years before, and of another place back near Port Jervis, and of a warm summer night when I had fished for catfish and this girl had jumped overboard because she’d been afraid of the eel I’d hauled into the boat. I’d lost the eel and got the girl back into the boat and taken her over to the island in the middle of the lake. I’d started a fire and she’d taken off her dress and hung it on a pine limb to dry. She’d looked pretty good in her wet panties and the brassiere that was two years behind her growth. We didn’t get around to leaving that island until the sun came up. It had been the first time for me.

  I tried to get another drink out of the Three Feathers bottle but it was empty, so I left it on the porch and went inside.

  There was a light by the side of the bed in the bedroom and I turned that on. The pink shade threw a soft rose glow on the pine walls and the place looked cheerful. I opened the windows up wide and let the air crawl in. Then I sat down on the bed and tried to get the liquor sorted out of my brain.

  It was too early to go to bed, but there wasn’t anything else to do. It was too far to walk down to the hotel for a drink, and if I went down there I’d probably run into Sally. I didn’t want to run into Sally. She was a nice kid and I wasn’t sure that I had that extra shirt. Besides, the next day was Monday.

  I lay down on the bed and let my eyes drop closed.

  When I woke up I had the impression that I was being rolled, like the night in Casablanca when I’d had the fifty lifted off of me and I’d been too drunk and tired to do anything about it except laugh. The memory of that came back and I didn’t think this was so funny. I started to get up.

  “Oh, Nicky! My arm!”

  I pulled my eyes open and blinked against the light. Her hair came across my face, brushing my cheek, and I could smell the odor of the cologne hanging around her.

  “Jesus Christ!” I said. “What are you doing here, Sally?”

  “I was trying to cover you up. You want to get sick, lying here like that?”

  A sharp, cool breeze came in gusts through the open window. My head started to pound, but I breathed deep of the clean air and I began to feel better.

  “I saw your light,” she said. “I waited for you, and then I came up.”

  “I got lit.”

  “I know, Nicky.”

  She sat down on the side of the bed. I could feel her weight there against my hip, and the warmth of her crept through. She had just a little make-up on her face and her hair was held in the back in a bun with a green ribbon.

  “What’s that you’re wearing?”

  She laughed.

  “A dress, silly.”

  “I mean the cologne. What flavor?”

  “Midnight Charm.”

  “I thought so.”

  We let that hang in the silence for a while. I wanted her to go away, but I didn’t tell her that. I was afraid that she would and then I’d be sorry. I didn’t want to hurt her but I knew that she shouldn’t be there with me like this.

  “I heard about your fight,” she said.

  “It wasn’t much of a fight.”

  “Everybody was talking about it.”

  “It just happened.”

  “Why, Nicky?”

  I reached out for my cigarettes, but she beat me to it and lit one for me.

  “This guy,” I said, “wouldn’t buy a policy.”

  She laughed and slowly blew the smoke over my head.

  “Well, I don’t care. As long as you won, Nicky.”

  The way she said it, I could tell that she was saying it because she wanted to, that she felt that way. That was the hell of Sally. Everything about her was so honest.

  She stirred around on the bed and I had to keep myself from grabbing her.

  “How old are you, Sally?” I asked her suddenly.

  “Twenty-two,” she said.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “About thirty-one.”

  She must have been looking at my birth certificate.

  “I’ve been around,” I said. My head was clearing now, and I began to see how I’d have to handle this. “I’m no lily.” She was quiet for a moment, staring at the tip of her cigarette. “I know that.”

  “You know what happened the other afternoon,” I said, my voice almost brutal. “There have been others, Sally — a lot of others.”

  I could see the deepening color of her face, hear her sharp intake of breath. Her breasts pushed out hard against her dress. Then she turned to me, her lips parted in a smile, her eyes bright.

  “We don’t have to ta
lk about it,” she said. “I know. It had to be that way.”

  “Sally,” I said. “Sally, have you ever been in love?”

  “Yes.” She looked away from me, past the window, at the lightning bugs that flickered on the opposite side of the screen. “Twice.”

  “That’s not many times,” I said.

  “There was a boy in school,” she told me. “He was just a nice fellow. I hardly knew him and I never went out with him. Isn’t that funny, Nicky? He didn’t know I was alive and yet I know that I was in love with him. No one else knew it, but I did and that was enough. I’ve often thought about how cruel it is. You see someone and you know it would be right for you. But the other person goes on — moves away, like this boy did — and it’s still all right. It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “Sure, it does,” I said. That’s why I wanted her to go, that’s why I couldn’t let her stay. The water was fine until it got too deep.

  “And the other one, Sally? What about the other one?”

  She leaned past me and put the cigarette in the ash tray. She took a lot of time stubbing it out. When she sat back she dropped one of her hands down and patted me on the cheek.

  “Feeling better, Nicky?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe I’d better go.”

  “All right.”

  “It’s late, Nicky.”

  “It must be.”

  She still sat there, looking down at me, smiling just a little. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the night. Somewhere out in the woods I could hear a whippoor-will noising it up. A cricket under the floor started making a racket. Out near the porch a field mouse chewed on dry wood.

  “Don’t you want to know about the second one?” she asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I want to tell you, Nicky.”

  I kept my eyes closed, waiting. The bed creaked and the pink glow against my eyelids turned dark. I felt her moist lips press down briefly against my mouth.

  “I can’t tell you about him,” she said. “Because I don’t know.”

  I grinned at her and opened my eyes. Her little nose was just a short distance away and I reached up and touched it. Then I got my arms around her and pulled her down to me, bringing her in tight, molding our lips together.

  “Nicky!” she whispered into my ear. “Oh, Nicky!”

  We lay there like that for a moment, just the two of us, her hands up there in my hair and her body trembling all over.

  “You must think I’m terrible, Nicky.”

  “No.”

  She pulled her head back and looked at me. “I wanted you to that afternoon, Nicky.” I couldn’t meet the shine of her eyes. “I want you to, again,” she said.

  My feet were numb and aching. A little pain slid across my stomach and something dry and hard gathered in my throat. “I love you, Nicky,” she said.

  If she hadn’t said that it would have been all right. I wanted her because she was beautiful and she was there and I was a man. But when she started talking about love, that made a difference. It made a difference with a good girl. If she’d been a slut or a whore I’d have known that she was saying it because it was the only way in which she could speed up her emotions, get to thinking like that before she gave you what she had left. But with a girl like Sally a thing like that was important. You couldn’t just step on it and walk away. You had to go for it all the way or leave it alone.

  She pulled the covers back and slid in next to me. Her dress was thin and I could feel the hard swell of her breasts against my chest. She moved some more and her flat middle was right up against me, grinding in. Her lips met my mouth and I could feel her teeth going after me. The ache in my feet crawled up and met the pain in my stomach.

  “You could get yourself in a fine fix,” I told her.

  She pressed her wet face up tight to my cheek. I could feel her fast, short breathing. Her breath came in hot little waves against my neck.

  “I’m not afraid, Nicky.”

  “Not now you’re not.”

  “Or later.” Then she started to cry, low and soft. She kissed me again and the tears came down mingling with the warmth of her lips. “I’m not afraid of having a baby, Nicky.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

  “If I did, Nicky — Nicky, I’d want it to be yours.”

  She was crying harder now, and I knew how it was with her. She was straight and clean, and she was slightly ashamed of this new thing she had discovered and wanted to experience again.

  “I guess you think I’m awful.”

  “No,” I said. “You just said a wonderful thing.”

  “I love you, Nicky.”

  And then her arms found me, not seeking anything this time, but holding on and letting everything inside of her break loose. I held her close, thinking about how lovely and fine she was, how good it was to hold a girl like this in my arms. I felt like crying, too.

  Much later she went to sleep and the tears dried up and her face became peaceful there in the quiet light. She didn’t move as I reached over and turned off the light and the darkness poured into the room. I got a cigarette and lit it. Once in a while, as I pulled in the smoke, the red glow shot across her face and I looked away. It was no use. I’d have to stop thinking about it.

  I didn’t own another shirt.

  CHAPTER VIII

  ALL MONDAY MORNING I RATTLED THE doors on my debit, getting my collections done as fast as possible. I didn’t spend any time talking about Johnny’s new tooth, or why the hell the doctor didn’t come when he was called, or the high cost of food, or anything like that. I just went in houses, grabbed my money, knocked off the premium receipt books, and got my feet going again. This was Monday and I had plenty of things to do.

  We were supposed to call the office on Monday afternoon and I did that around two. Marie answered, told me to hang on, that Austin wanted to talk with me.

  “Nicky?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s collections?”

  “Not bad.”

  There was a slight pause. I had a feeling that I should have told him collections were terrible.

  “Well, I’ve got a little job for you. Hop over to the office and I’ll explain.”

  “Okay.” What else could I say?

  “In half an hour?”

  “Less than that.”

  I drove down to the office. It wasn’t very far and I made it quick. I still hadn’t balanced out my collections for the day and I wanted to get that done. Before seven. I had a hell of a busy night coming up and I didn’t want anything in my way while I was working.

  I rode the elevator up and went into the agents’ room. Austin’s door was open and I could see Marie and the boss in there at his desk. They were in papers up to their necks. I strolled in.

  “I guess you know what happened,” Austin said. “No, I don’t.”

  He pulled a piece of blue paper out of a drawer and handed it to me. I didn’t look at it. I knew what it was.

  “That’s your check. Dell won’t be needing it just yet.”

  I tore the check into small squares and let them drop into the wastebasket.

  “I called on Dell last night,” Austin said. “He was working on his book and your check was there. I brought it all along.”

  I wondered what Dell was telling his wife. And his kids. Why hadn’t they given the poor guy a break?

  “When we get the shortage figured out, you can loan him the money if you want, Nicky. We get ours from the bonding company, but he’ll have to square with them or stop breathing. Suit yourself about that.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “We’re splitting up Dell’s debit. You get some and the other fellows get the rest. That’s why I wanted to see you. A few of the cases you’ll be getting need collecting today.”

  “How many?”

  He referred to a typed list.

  “Seven.”

  “That’s not so bad.” />
  “No.” Austin stood up, handed me the slip. For just a second he stopped being a manager. “It isn’t Dell,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s this God-damned business. You’re always selling in thousands and you lose your perspective of the dollar. Don’t ever do that, Nicky.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  I stuck the slip in my pocket and left. I looked at it once as I rode down in the elevator, but the names didn’t mean anything. The addresses were on streets just on the edge of my present debit. I didn’t know how much business I was getting transferred to me and I knew it would be more money, but I didn’t think very much of the idea.

  I sat in the car for a while and balanced out my collections. I was a dollar short and no matter how I figured it I still came out the same way. I threw the dollar in and buttoned up the sheet.

  Then I drove down to Pine Street and started working on the sheet.

  It was still early in the afternoon and I had to have some business to report the next morning, so I gave those accounts a good going over. That’s one thing about getting transfers to your debit. It means strange faces. And strange faces mean prospects. Prospects mean sales. Sales mean money. After that you start spinning the wheel all over again.

  I picked up a twenty-cent-a-week industrial on a school kid in one of the places, and stuffed an additional quarter policy down the pocketbook of a one-eyed lady. Another woman told me to come back and see her husband. But he was only home on Sundays and I forgot about him. I was in a good mood when I hit the last call at 534.

  534 Pine Street is a brick building with a Grand Union downstairs and a bunch of apartments on the second and third floors. My client, Ragna Dolan, occupied apartment 2B. I climbed the stairs, found the door all right, and let go with my fist.

  The girl who opened the door was short, inclined to be stout, and she had reddish-blond hair. Her face was just a face, not distinctive, but the old blue robe she was wearing hung apart in such a way that I wasn’t too interested in her face, anyway.

  “Yes?” she said.

  I told her who I was and why I was there. She stepped back and nodded for me to come in. Then she closed the door and leaned against it.

  “What happened to Dell?”

  “He quit,” I said. In the debit business a man never gets fired; he just quits or resigns or gets promoted. “When-did this happen?”