No Pockets in a Shroud

by Horace McCoy

'I know, but—'

  'You're goddam right, you know. I canvassed this town from Weston Park to the river, getting two bucks here and a buck there and four-bits from somebody else. And we won the lousy tournament. And we went back and won two more. And then what happened? The Chamber of Commerce decided to cash in on us. They got the Kiwanians and the Rotarians and the rest of those goddam luncheon clubs together, and the first thing you know we're out here in a hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollar Little Theatre, this great Greek-Byzantine-Gothic-Mayan-Moroccan Temple of Art. Now it's an institution with expenses to meet; out the back door goes everything all of the old gang ever worked for and in the front door come all the goddam club women and their cheap politics and all the lesbians and homosexuals in town. That's what's sticking in my craw. The Chamber of Commerce!'

  'I'm sorry you feel that way, Dolan, truly I am,' the Major said, taking his arm. 'You're a leader around here. I'd counted on you to help me.'

  'I've got nothing against you, Major,' Dolan said. 'Hell, you couldn't help it. You're a marvellous director. When they got this magnificent theatre, they had to get a paid director to go with it—somebody with a national reputation. It was too big a job for us. I'm not sore at you.'

  'I want you to know I'm your friend—'

  'I'm your friend, too, Major. The way I feel has got nothing to do with you. It's the theatre. It's that goddam Chamber of Commerce. Why couldn't they have let us alone?'

  'Don't blame them—they only did what they thought was right. I'm sorry you feel this way, Dolan, truly I am,' he said again. 'You could be a terrific force for good if you'd only try. Underneath this hard-boiled shell of yours you're a nice kid—'

  'Don't start that again, Major. What the hell!'

  'All right, Dolan,' he said, plainly aggrieved. 'I'm only trying to help you find a little happiness—'

  '—Morning,' David said, coming in from the steps. 'Sorry I'm late.'

  'Hello,' Dolan said slowly, ill-at-ease, wondering how much of the conversation David had overheard.

  'See you tonight, Dolan,' the Major said, going abruptly into his office.

  'What's the matter with him?' David asked.

  'Nothing. You know the Major. Giving me another fight talk.'

  'I ought to give you a fight talk, too,' David said, looking at him slyly. 'I called you around three o'clock this morning, and Larry said you were still out.'

  'Oh,' Dolan said. 'Yeah.'

  'Come on in,' David said, taking off his hat, going through a door.

  'I like this office better than I do the Major's,' Dolan said.

  'It's much smaller,' David said, throwing his hat on the davenport, crossing to the desk, and sitting down.

  'That's why I like it. Hell, when I think about the old barn—we had an office a little bigger than a dry-goods box, and at night we had to use it for a dressing-room.'

  'I've heard plenty about that old barn. Must have been fun.'

  'It was. Say, those are new, aren't they?' Dolan asked suddenly, pointing to the wall.

  'Yes. I painted those.'

  'You did?' Dolan exclaimed, moving over, looking at them. 'They're nice. I didn't know you went in for water-colours.'

  'I didn't know you went in for art,' David said, smiling.

  'I have to in self-defence,' Dolan said, laughing. 'I live with four painters, a budding young writer, and a German war ace. They sit up all night talking about it.'

  'That's an interesting group over there.'

  'I don't know how interesting it is, but I guess we've got a lot in common. Look, David, I don't want to be rude, but—'

  'But you want the check, huh?'

  'Well—'

  'Sit down, Mike—'

  'I hope you haven't changed your mind about letting me have it,' Dolan said, sitting down, wondering what was coming.

  'I haven't changed my mind. I'm just curious to know if you realize what you're getting into.'

  'Getting into?'

  'Johnny told me all about it last night. When you were rehearsing. I'd hate to see you make a mistake.'

  'I'll pay you back—'

  'It's not that I'm thinking of. It's your magazine. I wouldn't like to see you get into trouble.'

  'I'm not going to get into trouble,' Dolan said shortly.

  'You're going to try to tell the truth, aren't you?'

  'I'm not going to try to, I'm going to do it.'

  'Have you stopped to think what might happen if you stepped on the wrong toes? This is an overgrown country town, filled with narrow-minded people, bigots—and they'll resent anybody who makes an effort to change conditions, I know. I know what towns like this are like.'

  'I know too. I was born here.'

  'They'll crucify you—'

  'Look, David, for God's sake, don't lecture me. Everybody is always lecturing to me. I know what I'm doing—do I get the money or not?' he said, standing up, biting his lip.

  '... All right,' David said finally, opening the drawer, taking out his check-book.

  * * * * *

  Lawrence met him as he came in the door of the printing plant and took him upstairs to a vacant office.

  'I think you'll find this room satisfactory,' he said. 'I'll have it cleaned out for you in the morning. We've been using it as a storeroom for our layouts and art work.'

  'This'll do fine,' Dolan said. 'All I need is a desk and a typewriter, and what about a key to the place?'

  'I'll have a key made for you,' Lawrence said. 'I want you to have a talk with Mr. Eckman about the advertising. Eckman handles the advertising for several of the house organs we print. He'll handle yours. Just make yourself at home,' Lawrence said, going out.

  'When do you plan to put out the first issue, Dolan?' Eckman said.

  'In about a week—'

  'Got anybody in mind who might throw us some business?'

  'Not right now I haven't. I hadn't given that angle much thought.'

  'It's rather an important angle. Got to have business to pay the freight, you know—'

  'I know.'

  'What about your friends? You ought to have some friends in some of the stores who could give us an account.'

  'I haven't,' Dolan said. 'I'm sorry. I'm pretty new to this racket, but I'll try to think up some prospects for you.'

  'Well, in the meantime I'll make the usual rounds,' Eckman said. 'Have you decided on a name for the magazine yet?'

  'I think I'll call it the Cosmopolite.'

  'The Cosmopolite! Not bad,' Eckman said. 'Not bad.'

  'Do you think you can get any business for the first issue?'

  'I don't see why we can't get some,' Eckman said, moving towards the door. 'Of course, the advertising business is always tough, but the novelty of this ought to get us some.'

  'It certainly will be a help if we can,' Dolan said.

  'I'll give it a whirl,' Eckman said, smiling. 'Well, so long—'

  'So long,' Dolan said, looking out the window into the street below...

  'Good afternoon,' Myra's voice said.

  'Hello!' Dolan said, turning, surprised that he had not heard her come in.

  'How are you?'

  'Fine... all right.'

  'Well,' she said, smiling, 'aren't you going to ask me to sit down?'

  'Sure—excuse me,' Dolan said, coming around and getting a chair for her. 'There you are—'

  'Thanks... What's the matter with your face?'

  'Oh,' he said, rubbing the short beard, 'I didn't feel like shaving this morning—'

  'I don't mean that,' Myra said, shaking her head. 'I mean that—' she leaned over and touched his cheek with her finger. 'Right there.'

  'It's a bruise, I guess. I must have hit something.'

  'Looks like a bite,' Myra said. 'You don't go around letting women bite you, do you?'

  Dolan flushed, feeling a little uncomfortable ...

  'Nice place you've got here,' Myra said, looking around. 'Is that my desk over there?'

  'Your desk?' />
  'Yes. I'm going to help you, you know—'

  'I don't need any help.'

  'You'll need plenty before you get through with this,' she said, with conviction. 'I don't think you realize quite what you're up against.'

  'It's not as bad as that,' he said, smiling. 'Anyway, I'm not in a position to put anybody to work. I told you that yesterday. I haven't got any money. I intend to do all the writing myself.'

  'Travelling on your nerve?'

  'In a way—'

  'And your hatreds?'

  'Oh, I don't have any hatreds—'

  'That's the nicest thing about you,' she said, smiling, parting those red, red lips. 'You do have. Keep 'em. Keep 'em alive. They'll be very useful to you.'

  'Who are you?' Dolan asked abruptly, beginning to feel like shivering again.

  'Why, I'm Myra—' she said.

  'I know you're Myra. Where'd you come from?'

  'New York. I've been here a couple of months.'

  'Where'd you meet Bishop?'

  'I met him here. I had a letter to him from a friend of his in New York. That's how I met him. Why are you so curious?'

  'I'm damned if I know,' Dolan said, looking out the window. 'I've never been curious about women before. Usually I take 'em or leave 'em and ask no questions. But this is different. It's damned funny about you and me,' he said, turning back to look at her. 'Goddam funny'

  'So you've finally realized that?'

  'I knew it yesterday when I first met you. You know what's been going through my mind off and on since then?'

  'Certainly I know. You've been wondering about that cup of coffee I missed—and just what bearing that's going to have on your future.'

  'That's it exactly,' Dolan said, no longer surprised to hear her put his own thoughts into words.

  'Something like that's been going through my mind, too,' Myra said. 'Yesterday I thought it was strange, but that was because under the impact of first meeting you I didn't stop to think about it. We think it's strange, because we don't understand it. Look. A man stops to buy a newspaper in the lobby of his office building. This particular man has never bought a paper here before. On the way to his office he has passed dozens of newsboys with that same paper for sale. He didn't buy one then. But in the lobby of the building, for no explainable reason, he does buy one. In that second he misses the elevator. In that elevator is a woman who would have been his wife—or a business friend who would have tipped him off to a million-dollar deal. Or—the elevator falls and kills everybody in it. But this man paused to buy a paper—something he had never done before. Do you understand why he did it?'

  'No,' Dolan said; 'not exactly'

  'Well, that's what happened to us. I did not stop to get my usual cup of coffee—'

  'I just wonder,' Dolan said, 'whether that's going to be bad for you and good for me or bad for me and good for you—'

  'I wonder too...' Myra said. 'At any rate, I'm going along with you. What time shall I come down in the morning?'

  'But—'

  'What time will you be here?'

  'Around nine, but—'

  'I'll see you then, Michael Dolan,' she said, getting up, going out, not looking back ...

  * * * * *

  Dolan worked until late that afternoon, planning his new magazine, thinking up new titles for the various departments, writing stuff for 'The Main Stem', which was almost identical in style with 'The Talk of the Town' in the New Yorker, but the thought of Myra Barnovsky kept popping in and out of his mind, and he could not be clever no matter how desperately he tried, and he would think of her red, red lips, and then he would make a mistake and would go to his typewriter, and then he would curse because he hated dirty copy, and if he made a single mistake on a page he would take it out and start all over again, and finally it was late in the afternoon and he gave up, thinking he would be down in the morning and get a good start; he would go home to the house and take a nap, because he and April had had a hell of a night out in the country on the banks of a brook with their clothes off in the moonlight, and he hadn't got much sleep.

  'This'll wear off,' he said to himself, going down to get in his car, thinking of Myra. 'By tomorrow I'll be used to this dame, and then I can settle down to work.'

  He drove home, to the big three-storey house he shared with the four young painters, the would-be writer, and the German war ace, and went upstairs and slept an hour. It was a peaceful hour in which he dreamed of absolutely nothing. When he waked up it was dark. He turned on the light and went in the bathroom—and came promptly out, swearing.

  'Hey, Ulysses,' he yelled. 'Ulysses! Goddam it!'

  'Yes, sir, Mister Mike,' Ulysses called, coming up the back stairs. He was the Negro major-domo of the house.

  'What the hell about that?' Dolan asked, pointing to the toilet bowl on which was propped a small framed canvas with 'out of order' printed on the back of it.

  'Mister Elbert stuck that up there,' Ulysses said. “That's one of his old oils.'

  'I don't mean the painting. I mean the bowl. Why the hell hasn't it been fixed? Why didn't you call Mrs. Ratcliff?'

  'I did, Mister Mike. She said she didn't mind us all artists living here without paying rent, but that she wasn't going to fix no plumbing till she collected some money from us.'

  'Hell,' Dolan said. 'I'll go downstairs. Bring my shaving stuff, will you?'

  'Yes, sir. And, Mister Mike, would you mind if I picked out one of your ties to wear tonight?'

  'I guess not, Ulysses. I guess if we can't pay you your twenty dollars a month we can at least let you wear our ties. It's too bad you're such a little buck that you can't wear my clothes.'

  'That's all right, Mister Mike. Mister Elbert let me have one of his suits and Mister Walter loaned me his car—'

  'Is his gas tank empty again?'

  'Yes, sir. I promised to put in five gallons.'

  'Ulysses, he's taking advantage of your reputation as a great lover. Hot stuff, tonight, huh?'

  'Yes, sir,' Ulysses said, grinning, getting the shaving stuff out of the medicine cabinet.

  'You take any tie you want, Casanova. And get me a clean pair of socks, will you? I'll take a shower downstairs,' Dolan said, going out, downstairs to the ground floor.

  'Ulysses upstairs?' Tommy Thornton, one of the artists, asked, as Dolan went through the living-room.

  'Yeah. He'll be down in a minute.'

  'Goddam coon. He piled all the dishes in the sink and left them.'

  'He's got a date.'

  'He's always got a date. He hangs on the phone all day long talking to those high yellows. I'm getting sick and tired of it.'

  'Somebody better use it while the using's good. We won't have it much longer,' Dolan said, going on to the bathroom.

  'Come on in,' Walter said, looking around, drying his hands.

  'Goddam bathroom upstairs is still out of order,' Dolan said. 'Ratcliff won't fix it until we pay the rent.'

  'So Ulysses was telling me.'

  'Can't say as I blame the old dame much. She's been pretty nice so far.'

  'I might be able to do something about it tomorrow. I think I've got a painting sold.'

  'I hope so, Walter. A couple of sales under your belt and you'll be a new man. Put the stuff down there, Ulysses.'

  'Yes, sir,' Ulysses said, putting the socks and the shaving stuff in a chair. 'Anything else I can do for you?'

  'That's all—'

  'Anything you want, Mister Walter?'

  'No, thanks—'

  'Good night,' Ulysses said, backing out.

  'Goddam good nigger,' Walter said.

  'The best,' Dolan said. 'He'd go to hell for any one of us. Except Tommy. Tommy's a snob. Can he paint?'

  'He could if he'd work. He won't work.'

  'He thinks he's a genius, that's why. He wants to sit on his ass and have fame come up and lay her head in his lap,' Dolan said, taking off his clothes.

  'And you seem to be doing all right with your wom
en, too,' Walter said. 'I heard you come in this morning with the milkman.'

  'Yeah,' Dolan said. 'But this afternoon I was with the most interesting girl I've ever met—'

  'Where have I heard that before?' Walter said, laughing.

  'I mean it,' Dolan said. 'Sort of olive complexion, black eyes, black hair, and the reddest goddam lips you ever saw. One of those cruel types. Looks like a sadist.'

  'Sounds mysterious.'

  'It is mysterious,' Dolan said, lathering his face. 'I've always been a sucker for mystery anyway. The trouble with me is I'm too goddam dramatic. Everything that happens to me is a situation.'

  'Maybe you're a genius too,' Walter said. 'Wouldn't it be funny if we were all geniuses?'

  'I guess we're on the way, at that. Plumbing is out of order, and we can't pay the rent. That's usually a prerequisite.'

  'Mike,' Tommy said, sticking his head in the door, 'there's a lady out here to see you.'

  'A lady?' Dolan asked, turning round. 'Who?'

  'She said her name was Marsden—'

  'Mary Margaret?' Dolan asked.

  'Her mother,' Tommy replied.

  'I haven't got time to talk to her now,' Dolan said, frowning. 'I've got to shave and bathe and get to rehearsal.'

  'I told her that, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.'

  'Okay,' Dolan said heavily, putting down the shaving brush, wiping the lather off his face.

  'I thought you were finished with Mary Margaret,' Walter said.

  'I am. I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks. Except for that thing the other morning.'

  'That's pretty good understatement—“that thing",' Walter said. 'She fell in the front door at three o'clock screaming for you.'

  'She was drunk,' Dolan said, putting on his shirt.

  'She was raising enough hell so's you could hear her in Weston Park. What do you do to 'em, Mike?'

  'Search me,' Dolan said. 'I'm just plain hoodooed, I guess. Every dame that falls for me is a nymph. Well, kid, stand by for emergencies,' he said, starting out.

  'Mike—can you spare me a fin?'

  'I wish I could, Walter,' Dolan said. 'I haven't got that much.'

  'Okay. I wouldn't have mentioned it except I thought you got paid when you quit the paper.'

  'I only had one day's salary coming. I told the cashier to buy Brandon a new pair of shoes with it.'