by David Goodis
Kerrigan smiled at her. “What’s the gripe this time?”
“Take a walk,” Bella snapped. “I told you a week ago you’re off my list.”
He sat down beside her on the doorstep. “I still don’t know what you’re sore about.”
Bella stared straight ahead. “You got a short memory, mister.”
Somehow tonight he found her presence invigorating and her nearness gave him a feeling of comfort and pleasure.
He said, “I think it was something about a blonde.”
She scowled. “Can’t you remember which one? Maybe you got so many on the string, you forget their names.”
“Was it Vera?”
“No, it wasn’t Vera. And while we’re at it, who the hell is Vera?”
Kerrigan shrugged. “She’s a waitress. When I’m in a diner I gotta talk to the waitress. I gotta tell her what I wanta eat.”
Bella didn’t reply. Kerrigan offered her a cigarette and she grudgingly accepted. He pulled a book of matches from his trousers pocket and lit it. For a while they sat there just smoking.
Finally Bella said, “It wasn’t no waitress I saw you with. To me she looked like a two-dollar type. You took her for a walk up Second and then you went in a house with her.”
“What house? What are you talking about?” He frowned with genuine bewilderment and rubbed the back of his head. Then, as the incident came back, “For God’s sake, that was no house, it was a store. She’s married and has five children. Her husband sells secondhand furniture. I told her we needed another lamp for the parlor. If you don’t believe me, go inside and take a look. You’ll see the lamp I bought.”
Bella was convinced, but not mollified. She said, “Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked you the first time?”
“I didn’t like the way you asked me, that’s why. Didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Just came leaping at me like a wildcat.”
“Did you have to punch me in the face?”
“If I hadn’t, you’d have torn my eyes out.”
“One of these days I will.”
He showed her an easy grin. “Don’t do it when your mother’s around.”
“She won’t stop me the next time. Nothing will.”
Kerrigan let the grin fade. He didn’t like the look on Bella’s face. There was a grimness in her eyes that made him know she meant every word she said.
“What’s the big beef?” he said. “What’s eating you?”
For a moment she was quiet. Then she said, “I’m tired of waiting.”
“Waiting? For what?”
Her eyes drilled him. “You know.”
He looked away from her. “Hell,” he muttered. “Are we gonna start that again?”
“I want it settled once and for all,” Bella said. “We getting married or ain’t we?”
He took a final pull at the cigarette and flipped it into the street. “I don’t know yet.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What’s holding you back?”
He groped for an answer, and couldn’t find any. His shoulders were hunched, his folded arms pressing on his knees as he scowled at the pavement.
“Why shouldn’t we get married?” Bella demanded. “We go for each other, don’t we?”
“It needs more than that.”
“Like what?”
Again he couldn’t provide an answer.
“Where’s the complication?” Bella wanted to know. “We’re living in the same house, we eat at the same table. It ain’t as if you gotta make some major changes. All we do is kick Frank out of your room and put him in mine. Then I bring my clothes across the hall and we’re all set.”
His scowl deepened. He tried to say something but his lips wouldn’t move.
She inclined her head slightly, studying him with open suspicion. “Maybe you got some other plans that don’t include me.”
He didn’t reply. He had the vague notion she’d spoken an important truth that he couldn’t admit to himself.
Bella said, “Whatever you do, don’t play me cheap. I ain’t in the market for any raw deals.”
He frowned at her. “You’re too jealous.”
She didn’t say anything for some moments. Then, very quietly, “I got every right to be jealous.”
His eyes flared, his voice climbed. “Whatcha want me to do, lock myself up in a closet?”
“I wish you would.” She wasn’t looking at him. She stared at the cobbled street as though its lifeless stillness were the only audience for her deeper thoughts. “What is it with me?” she murmured. Then, moving her head slightly to indicate Kerrigan, “I got this guy in my blood like a disease. It’s reached the point where I can’t think about anything else.”
Kerrigan gaped at her. For the first time he was fully aware of Bella’s great need for him, the extent of her want, which went far beyond the physical drive. He had long known that she was genuinely attracted to him, and her behavior on the mattress was always sufficient proof that he gave her something special. But he’d never anticipated that her hunger for him would become the major factor in her life. He realized now that he’d been taking Bella for granted, that although he always looked forward to being with her, he’d never had the deeper feeling, the feeling she was now expressing toward him.
Suddenly he sensed that he’d been giving Bella a bad time. His eyes clouded with guilt. He wanted very much to say something affectionate and reassuring, but he couldn’t find the phrases.
She was looking at him. She was saying, “Some nights in bed I sit up wide awake, trying to figure out what it is with me and you. For some crazy reason I keep having a dream where I see you standing on top of a mountain. I’m somewheres around, just where I don’t know. And there’s a hundred thousand other women reaching up to get you. For months now I’ve been having that same dream.”
Kerrigan smiled gently. “Don’t let it bother you. You got no competition.”
“If only I could believe that.”
“I’m saying it, ain’t I?”
“Saying it ain’t enough.” There was worry in her eyes, and her voice was dull and heavy with doubt. “I just can’t get rid of this jealous feeling. Why should it hit me so hard?”
He shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. All I know is, I haven’t messed with any other skirt since you and me got started.”
It was evident that she believed him. And yet the worry stayed in her eyes. “It’s not that I’m imagining things. And it ain’t the way you look at women, either. It’s the way they look at you. Even when they’re on the other side of the street and you come walking past, I see them turning their heads. I know just what’s in their minds.”
He shrugged again. “These Vernon dames’ll look twice at anything wearing pants.”
“No, they won’t,” she said. “I’m one of them, I ought to know. It’s just that there’s something about you that women go for.”
There was nothing complimentary in the way she said it. Her tone was sullen and resentful. “I’ll be damned if I know what makes them so weak for you. After all, what are you? Just a big chunk of beef, an ordinary dock-walloper who never even finished high school. And you sure as hell ain’t pretty. I’ve seen punch-drunk pugs who could give you cards and spades and come out in front. So I know it ain’t looks. And it ain’t brains. I wish to God I could figure out what it is.”
Kerrigan was vaguely uncomfortable and somewhat annoyed with this probing of his physical and mental make-up. “Don’t knock yourself out trying to figure me. Just relax and take me as I am.”
For a long moment she just sat there and looked at him. Then gradually her lips shaped a smile, the sparks came into her eyes, and the red of her cheeks grew redder.
She stood up and said, “Come on, let’s go in.”
He started to move. But something kept him seated there on the doorstep. He frowned slightly and said, “I want to sit here for a while.”
“How long?”
“Just a few minutes.”
>
“All right,” she said. “But don’t make it longer. I don’t feel like waiting.”
He heard the door opening and closing behind him, and told himself that he was alone now. It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. But at the same time he wondered why he was thinking in terms of a burden instead of enjoyment.
As he sat there gazing moodily at the pavement, there was the purring sound of an automobile approaching at low speed. He looked up and saw an open-top sport car gliding toward the curb.
He winced, then stiffened, staring at the golden hair of Loretta Channing.
5
THE SPORT car came to a stop directly in front of the Kerrigan house. Loretta climbed out and walked toward him. He winced again, trying to ignore a strange stir of excitement. Gradually he managed to get a sullen look in his eyes. And he could feel his resentment growing when he saw how relaxed she was. As she came up to him, he muttered, “You sure you got the right address?”
She nodded. She wasn’t smiling. “I’m accepting your invitation.”
“It’s a little late for dinner.”
“I didn’t come for dinner.”
He sat there on the doorstep and scowled at her.
She said offhandedly, “It’s just a visit. Just felt like seeing you.”
“That’s nice.” He gazed past her. “You make a habit of calling on people at two-thirty in the morning?”
She shrugged lightly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be asleep.”
“If I was, you’d probably wake me up. Maybe you’d force the door open and break into my room.”
“Not really,” she said. “I never take it that far.”
He gave her a side glance. “I’m not so sure about that.”
It was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, “Like to go for a ride?”
It caught him off guard. He frowned at her, his eyes asking questions that were aimed mostly at himself.
She said, “It’s a perfect night for a ride.” She pointed backward to the car. “The top is down and we’ll get a breeze. Nice way to cool off.”
Before he realized what he was doing, he stood up and followed her to the car. It was a pale gray MG with yellow leather upholstery.
She climbed in behind the wheel. He stood there hesitantly. Then he saw her looking at him. She was smiling. It was a dim smile, like a dare. He had the feeling he was bracing himself for a test. His teeth were clenched as he walked around to the other side of the car.
He opened the door. He started to climb in and then he stopped and said, “This is very nice upholstery. You sure I won’t get it dirty? I’m wearing my working clothes.”
“Please get in.”
She was starting the engine. He got in and settled back in the seat. The car moved away from the curb. They took a corner and then another corner and the MG came back onto Vernon. She wasn’t pushing it, just letting it glide. He settled back and told himself to enjoy the cruise. The hell with her. It was a nice hunk of automobile and it was giving him a smooth ride and that was all. But then he wondered if his grimy trousers were dirtying the upholstery. He bit at the side of his mouth.
Then he noticed they were headed in the direction of Wharf Street and he said, “We’re going toward the docks.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You been here before?”
“Many times,” she said. “But I’ve never seen the river at night. Do you mind if we have a look at it?”
He shrugged. “You’re the driver.”
The MG came onto Wharf Street and turned left and moved parallel to the docks. They were going very slowly now, cruising past the hulking shadowy shapes of piers and warehouses. In the black water along the wharves the big freighters were settled like motionless oxen waiting for morning. Within another hour the river activity would begin, the trucks would arrive to receive cargo from incoming ships, and workers would be straining under the weight of bales and crates and heavy cardboard boxes. But now, in the moonlight, the piers were deserted, and the only sound was the engine of the MG.
The car made a sudden and unexpected turn. He saw she was taking it onto the planks of a wide pier. On one side of the pier there was a big Dutch tanker, and the other side showed the suspension bridge that spanned the river like a huge curved blade of silver in the black sky. In front, the edge of the pier gave way to a couple of miles of deep water, its blackness streaked and dotted with the reflection of city lights. It was like millions of varicolored sequins on black satin.
They were parked at the edge of the pier and she was gazing out at the river. “It’s breath-taking.”
He didn’t know what she meant. He looked at her.
She moved her hand to indicate the river and the sky and the ships and the bridge. “It’s really magnificent.”
He grunted. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.” Then, with a shrug, “I guess it’s a nice view for the sight-seers.”
“Why do you say that? Don’t you think it’s a nice view?”
“Maybe I’d think so if I didn’t work here.” He gazed down at the calloused palms of his hands. It was quiet for a long moment, yet he could sense the question she was putting to him. And finally he said, “I’m a dock laborer, a stevedore. It’s rough work, and I guess it gives me a different outlook.”
“Not necessarily,” she murmured. She pointed to the moonlit river. “We’re both seeing the same thing.”
“Take a closer look,” he said. He gestured toward the splintered pilings of the pier, where scum and garbage were floating. “See that green stuff ? That’s bilge from the holds of the ships. There’s nothing dirtier. If it gets on your skin it crawls right through you. You never get it off you, no matter how hard you scrub. The smell—”
She shuddered. He saw her mouth twisting in a grimace of disgust. She swallowed, pulling in her lower lip.
“Feel sick?” He was grinning at her.
“I’m quite all right,” she said.
His eyes were wide and innocent while he told himself to rub it in deep, really let her have it. “I’m only trying to give you the full picture. You come down to see the dirt, I’m showing you the dirt.”
“Why do you call it the dirt?”
“That’s as good a name as any.” He saw the way she was watching him, her eyes intent, and he said, “Don’t get too curious, Miss Channing. You’re messing around with rough company.”
“You’re not rough,” she said lightly. Then, more seriously, “You remembered my name.”
He looked away from her. He didn’t say anything.
“You’re attracted to me,” she said.
He was staring past the windshield, at the dark water of the river. He told himself the best move was to get out of the car and take a walk.
“You’re really interested,” she said. “Why don’t you admit that you’re interested?”
There was a strange thick feeling in his throat. He wanted to look at her and he was afraid to look at her.
“Of course,” she murmured, “I could be wrong about this. Maybe you just don’t go for my type.”
“Let it ride.”
“I can’t.”
“That’s tough,” he said.
“For both of us.”
“Not for me.”
“You’re lying,” she said. “You know you’re lying.”
His fingers gripped the door handle. He begged himself to open the door and get out and walk away.
He heard her saying, “You excite me.”
“All right, cut it out.”
“But you do,” she murmured. “You know you do.”
Without looking at her, he knew that she was leaning toward him. He tried to open the door but somehow the handle would not move.
“Look at me,” she said.
He looked at her. She was entrancing and he could feel the warmth coming from her body and flowing into him. He told himself he mustn’t touch her. His brain pulled frantically at the reins, but she was clos
e and coming closer, sort of floating. Or maybe he was moving toward her, he wasn’t sure. The only thing he was sure of was that he was getting dizzy with the nearness of her. And then the reins snapped and there was nothing he could do about it. He had his arms around her and his eyes were closed and he was kissing her.
It was something he’d never felt before, something he’d never known or even imagined. It put him on a cloud going up and away from Vernon Street and the docks and the city, and far away from all the world. It was a feeling of immeasurable delight and it had a flavor that made him terribly thirsty for more and more. But all at once he was able to think. And his brain said, She’s just fooling around; all she’s doing is getting her kicks in a new way for her.
He pushed her away. He did it roughly and she winced. Then she sat there staring at him and shaking her head slowly. She said, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t talk.
“Please,” she said. “Please tell me what’s the matter.”
He opened the door and got out of the car. But he couldn’t take it past that. He was standing away from the car and wondering why he couldn’t move.
“You look frightened,” she said. Then, her eyes widening, “You are frightened.”
He looked at her. He said very quietly, “Get going.”
For a long moment her eyes remained wide. Aside from that, she was quite calm. Finally, with a slight shrug, she started the engine. The MG backed off the pier and drove away.
6
IT WAS several minutes later and he was on Vernon Street, headed toward home. But as he came closer to the Kerrigan house, he thought of Bella and the battle that would undoubtedly flare up when he got there. She was probably sitting in the parlor waiting for him, and chances were she had some heavy object in her hand, all set to heave it at him the instant he opened the door. Momentarily there was something downright appetizing in the prospect of a clash with Bella. He wanted to hear some noise, and make some himself, and maybe hand her a clout or two. He sure was in the mood for hitting something.
He came to an abrupt stop under a street lamp. No, he told himself, he didn’t feel like fighting with Bella. The only thing he felt like hitting right now was his own face. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his work pants and jabbed one between his tightened lips and struck a match. He leaned against the post of the street lamp, gazing out at the street and taking deep drags of smoke.
