I Wake Up Screaming

by Steve Fisher

  There was a draft and the half open door banged shut. The sound froze us up.

  “Is that you, Henry?” A woman’s voice from another room.

  We were in a dank little living room. There was a lamp on the reading table, and a portable radio. I heard the sound of splashing water. The woman was in the bathtub! Jill turned back to the door. Footsteps sounded harshly in the hall. The cop!

  “Henry—is that you?”

  “Say something,” Jill whispered.

  ”You say it. Say there’s nobody here but us chickens.”

  “Henry!”

  “Yeah?” I said. I muffled my voice.

  “It took you long enough to answer. Did you bring the eggs?”

  “Yeah—”

  Jill turned on the radio. Dance music flooded into the room. It helped disguise whatever there was left of my voice.

  “You were certainly gone long enough,” the woman in the bathroom said.

  ”My God!” said Jill. “Henry must already be overdue!”

  ”That’s nice! The detective’s out there in the hall phoning for a radio car!”

  Jill and I both saw the divan at the same time. It had a tall back, and we could probably hide there and wait awhile. There was a window nearby, and if the cops did come in here we could make a break that way. We started for the divan. Just then there was the sound of a key in the lock of the hall door. I don’t know yet how we did it. It was not ours to reason why! But when Henry walked in, a lanky longshoreman, a bag of eggs in his big hand, we were out of sight.

  “I say, Henry—must you play the radio so loud?” She was splashing.

  Henry rubbed his lean jaw, walked over and turned off the radio. “If you didn’t want it—what the hell’d you turn it on for?”

  ”I? Me?”

  “Yes, you. Who do you think I’m talking to?”

  “Are you saying I turned on the radio?”

  “I know God-damned well I didn’t!”

  “Well, who did?”

  “Go on, you Irish bitch, tell me it was the fairies! Go ahead, say it was fairies that done it!”

  “Henry you yourself turned it on this minute. What are you talking about?” She splashed furiously.

  He stood in the middle of the room, yelling. “You’re the funniest woman I ever saw. A man never knows what you’re going to say next!”

  ”You never know what I’m going to say next? I ask you a civil question—such as did you bring the eggs, and what kind of an answer do I get? Yeah. You mumble yeah! You talk like you’ve got a mouthful of oysters. All you ever eat. Oysters!”

  “I mumble yeah?”

  “Henry—don’t try and tell me—” It sounded as though she were climbing out of the tub. The bathroom door was open, and he went in.

  ”We’d better get out,” Jill whispered.

  ”Can’t—he’d see us!”

  I was holding my stomach. I was sick as a dog. The pain stabbed and wrenched at me. “A fine place to have appendicitis,” I said. “You must try having appendicitis behind a divan sometime.”

  The woman had one leg up on the bathtub and was wiping herself with a towel. She was about thirty-five but she had a good, round figure. Her hair was grayish-brown and she had it tight in a knot. Her buttocks moved like jelly as she rubbed herself with the towel.

  “You’re a crazy damn woman, aren’t you?” Henry said.

  “I distinctly heard you say yeah.”

  “You’re just crazy, aren’t you?”

  “I distinctly—”

  “You’re crazy, but you’re—nice.”

  “Henry—”

  He picked her up and carried her into the living room. I heard her body thump solidly as he laid her on the divan.

  I looked at Jill. We were crouched way down. Only the pain in my guts was so bad I didn’t give a damn. Jill’s face was scarlet. Now there was a loud knocking on the door.

  “Henry, dear …”

  “God damn it!” Henry said.

  The third time the knock sounded Henry got up. In a moment he started for the door. The woman rose and fled for the bedroom. Henry yanked the hall door.

  “Well?”

  “It’s the police … we’re looking for a man and a woman who—”

  “There’s nobody here!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Damn right I’m sure. Has a man no privacy! Can’t a man—”

  “All right. Sorry we had to bother you.”

  Henry slammed the door. He rubbed his chin again. His eyes were glazed. Now he started for the bedroom.

  The bedroom door closed.

  I could scarcely get to my feet. I wanted to bend over double with the pain in my stomach. I got to the window and pried it open. I lifted Jill out, lowered her to the ground. I jumped down beside her.

  It was very dark, and there was a mist from the harbor. We crept along the side of the building to the street. I didn’t know if I could stand up much longer. A patrol car stood in front of the apartment house, but it was empty. I kept my hand on my stomach. It was hard for me to breathe. On the nearest corner there was a taxi. Jill and I plunged out from the side of the building and made a run for it. Running—I thought I’d tear my insides out. The taxi was a big and very old Cadillac. When I was inside, on the back seat, I almost passed out. I was only half conscious.

  Jill was leaning forward and shaking somebody. It was the cab’s driver. His car was parked and he’d been dozing behind the wheel. I remember seeing Jill shake him. Then the car started. I was doubled up in the seat. Jill was saying:

  “Yes, the tourist camp wifi be fine. Dear, he says there’s a tourist camp just three miles from here.”

  “I take calls there all the time,” said the driver. “There’s never any trouble.”

  “Do you get a commission?” Jill asked.

  I was doubled up and holding my stomach. Pains were shooting from it and going all through me.

  “Well, I get a little,” the driver admitted. He was a Portugee.

  “That’s all right,” Jill said. “We don’t mind. Do we, dear?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I suppose you’d even register for us,” said Jill.

  “Sure, I’ll do that,” the driver said.

  “You know how it is,” Jill said. “Sometimes it is very embarrassing.”

  “I can understand that,” said the driver. “I will be glad to be of service.”

  “You are very considerate.”

  “I’m not considerate at all. It’s only what I’d do for any couple who’d rather have it that way.”

  “Well, we would rather have it that way, wouldn’t we, dear?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “These tourist cabins are near Long Beach,” the driver said. “They are comfortable and you will like them.”

  “I’m sure we will,” said Jill. She was looking out through the back window.

  ”Are we being followed?” I whispered.

  ”No.”

  ”Did they chase?”

  “Did you say something?” the driver asked.

  “We were just talking among ourselves back here.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

  “It’s quite all right.”

  “I was sound asleep when you woke me,” said the driver. “I’m much better now.”

  We were on the road for Long Beach and there were oil wells, and some big tanks, and the smell of oil, and the smell of the ocean. The winter stars were very dim and there was no moon. I wanted to vomit, but I held it back. I couldn’t be still. I kept moving from side to side.

  The tourist cabin was dirty and the light was dim, but the sheets were dean and I took off my clothes and got into bed. The driver had brought the key of the cabin to us. He said he had registered and that we were Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. He said everybody liked the name Thompson, and he always used it. Jill sent him back for a pitcher of cracked ice and when he returned he collected for the cabin. He said the price was five dolla
rs. Jill was almost sick and she no longer thought she had been so smart. But I paid him and got rid of him.

  “That’s an awful price.”

  “Not under the Circumstances.”

  “I hate his filthy mind,” Jill said.

  “His filthy mind came in very handy. We didn’t have to risk registering7 I said. “Do you think he’d suspect us?”

  “No, darling. He’s apparently used to this and I don’t believe any other thought will cross his little brain. Besides, he was half asleep.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “He was, really.”

  “If he tells the cops he brought us here,” I said, “we’re cooked.”

  She locked the door and propped a chair against it, the back of the chair up under the knob. I was crawling into bed.

  “How do you feel?”

  “No better. I’m glad you thought of asking him for ice.”

  “Yes, I thought you might need it. We had a close scrape with that policeman, didn’t we?”

  “Very close.”

  “Shall I make you an ice pack?”

  “That’d be swell. Use a face towel and wrap the ice up in it. That Henry was a card, wasn’t he?”

  “He was a beast!”

  ”Jesus!”

  “Is the pain getting worse?”

  “Yes, all the time.”

  “Darling, you look dreadful. Like—like an oyster!”

  “That’s the way I feel.”

  “You’re very white. Do you think it’s really appendicitis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’d better call a doctor.”

  “No. Just get the ice.”

  “All right. You frighten me.”

  “Don’t be frightened,” I said.

  She made a very good ice pack and I lay back on the pillow and let it freeze my side. I did not feel cold where the ice touched me but numb. I no longer had nausea, and the pain was no worse. Jill put her hand on my forehead and she said I was very hot. I wanted to move around but I lay very still with the ice pack on my side. There was no lamp but Jill turned off the main light and left the light on in the bathroom and the bathroom door open. Then she pulled up a chair, and sat in the semi-darkness and stroked my head.

  I didn’t remember going to sleep but when I opened my eyes Jill was still there. I was wearing a fresh ice pack and the pain was much worse. I was seized with a convulsing nausea.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Almost four hours.”

  “I can’t believe it. I—”

  I got up out of bed and went into the bathroom. I was very sick in the bathroom. In the next hour I went there a number of times and was sick. Then I lay on the bed and turned from side to side. I was covered with sweat. There was no more ice. The sweat kept rolling off my body.

  “You look ghastly, Peg. I’m going to call a doctor.”

  “No.”

  “But you have acute appendicitis!”

  “Don’t call a doctor. I couldn’t stand to have this end that way. What rotten luck!”

  “How are you now?”

  “I’m better,” I lied.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I am. I’m a little better.”

  “Your appendix might burst, you know,”

  “Not now. It’s getting better.”

  “You’d die if it burst.”

  “Would I go to hell, mommy?”

  “Yes, darling. A very special hell. Can’t you lie still? It must be awful if you can’t lie still”

  “Sure, I can lie still.”

  “You’re making yourself do it!”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh, darling!”

  “You’re very good to me, Jill.”

  “I wish I had the pain.”

  “Don’t wish that.”

  “Isn’t there something I can do for you?”

  “No—nothing.”

  “If I got a doctor he might not be suspicious.”

  “No. He’d have to turn in a report. Then they’d—you know what they’d do”

  “Yes, I know what they’d do! You precious sweet, it’s so—”

  “They’d lock you up, too,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter about me.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Darling, you’re rigid!”

  “I’m trying to lie still,” I said. “Jesus—”

  “Is the pain awful?”

  “No—it’s—I’ll be all right in a minute—oh, Jesus God!”

  “Peg, are you—”

  “No—I’ll be—okay.” (I will be, won’t I?)

  “Is it all right if I move a little bit?”

  “You poor darling, the pain is worse, isn’t it?”

  “No. I just want to change my position.”

  “I’m going to get a doctor.”

  “No. Stay close to me. Please stay close to me, Jill—”

  “I’m right here, darling.”

  “Keep hold of my hand.”

  “You’re very weak,” she said.

  “I’m tired.”

  “Try and go to sleep. Keep your eyes closed.”

  I kept my eyes closed and the pain was just as bad. She stroked my head. I was thoroughly exhausted and there was a sour taste in my mouth and my throat burned. I could taste the hamburger and the chile. I did not open my eyes and after a long time I was so tired I could not stay awake.

  When I woke the sky was a dirty gray and there was the smell of oil wells, and very far away I heard a boat whistle. Jill sat on the chair holding my hand but she had dozed off. I felt very shaky and hollow but the pain was gone. Either your appendix bursts or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, the attack subsides. The sour taste was still in my mouth and the sheets on the bed were wet with sweat. I reached for a cigarette. My hands trembled as I lit it. It felt good to smoke. I thought I must need a shave very badly. I looked at Jill. She was nodding, her head on her chest. I lifted her hand and kissed it.

  Outside the fog was rolling in from the sea and the room was very cold.

  20

  ON THAT DAY we took a small apartment in Long Beach. I paid twenty-five dollars for two weeks’ rent and a dollar deposit on the electric lights. Jill went to an open air market and came back with two large sacks of groceries. I was still very weak and I stayed in bed. The next day at a rummage sale of old clothes Jill found a corduroy skirt and a brown and white sweater for herself. For me she picked out a pair of faded dungaree trousers and a seaman’s blue wool cap. She paid very little for these things and we still had twelve dollars left. Jill looked fine and full-breasted in the sweater, and the skirt was tight and lovely across her hips.

  “Now no one can identify us by our clothes,” she said

  “Not unless they look at your shoes.”

  “I’m going to dye them brown.”

  “And your hair?”

  “I’m going to leave my hair alone. Would you want me to change it, darling?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I’ll change it if you don’t like it.”

  “No, you have lovely hair. I was only thinldng of the police.”

  “There are so many blondes,” she said, “I don’t think it’d make much difference.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Are you hungry? What would you like for supper?”

  “What have you got?”

  “Lamb patties,” she said. “They were twenty cents apiece.”

  We had a fine supper. We sat in the kitchenette, and the window was on the court. You could hear a kid wailing, and somebody’s radio that was turned up too loud. The radio went from morning to night and you always heard it. When supper was over I sipped my coffee and read the evening paper. The search was going on very intensely. The police announced they had a clue and it would only be a matter of time before we were brought into custody. On the second page there was a picture of the handcuffs and the tan coat we had left behind in the San Pedro hotel. All of t
he old publicity photos of Vicky had been dug up and different ones were used. The reward stood at five thousand dollars. It seemed Ed Cornell was the kind of guy who had always saved his pay and it was he who had put up the dough. The papers were making quite a fuss over him.

  I laid the news aside and went into the other room. I looked in the mirror at the dungarees, the sweat shirt and my beard. It was getting to be quite a beard, and tomorrow I would straighten it up with a razor and it would look legitimate. Jill came in and I turned toward her.

  “Who are these people the police want?”

  She laughed.

  “I don’t think we look like them at all,” I said.

  But the next morning the headlines of the local papers announced that we were believed to be in Long Beach. I felt as though an icy wind had suddenly blown over me. The Portugee cab driver had come forward with the story that he had taken a couple of our description to a tourist camp. He said it was an ordinary trip and he had suspected nothing that night, but reading the papers had made him think. The tourist cabin had been ransacked and it was thought we had proceeded from there into Long Beach.

  “They aren’t far behind.”

  “No,” Jill said.

  “Do you think we should go on?”

  “We wouldn’t have a chance,” she said. “We haven’t enough money; besides, they’re watching all the roads.”

  We stayed inside all day. That night Jill went out to the dime store and bought toilet articles and a cheap deck of cards. She brought me a razor, and I trimmed up the beard. Then I sat on the bed, wearing dungaree trousers and an undershirt, and we played cards. She taught me Russian Bank. It was a fascinating game but I was very stupid and she always beat me. Outside, we could hear the traffic on the boulevard; and across the court there was dance music on the radio that was turned up too loud.

  “Darling, you can play better than this. You know a ten doesn’t go on a queen.”

  “What does go on a queen?”

  “A jack,” she said.

  “Mm!”

  “Silly!”

  My mind wasn’t on the cards. I was thinking about Hollywood. It seemed remote and far away; and all the time now I kept thinking of the murder. I’d remember Hollywood’s tension, the feverish nights, the rotten little jealousies, the screaming ego, the petty smugness … and only a few sweet guys.