The Cocktail Waitress

by James M. Cain

  “All done.”

  “Then, Flo—?”

  But Flo didn’t get up from the chair she’d dropped into. “Ah, for Christ’s sake, Jim,” she growled. “Wake up, this is it, you’ve had it.”

  “What’s the matter, you scared?”

  “I guess so, call it that.”

  “Well I’m not. I’m going.”

  He grabbed the dispatch case up and jammed the remaining money and the clothes back in any which way. He didn’t even bother buckling it closed before heading for the door.

  I wanted to scream from disappointment. “You’re going to let him go?” I demanded.

  “He’s fully paid up now, Mrs. Medford,” Mr. Christopher said. “We have no way to hold him.”

  At the mention of my name, I saw Lacey’s face blanch. He bolted the rest of the way to the door and clutched at the knob. I leapt after him, but he got it open before I could lay a hand on him. I saw my last chance escaping.

  Then he stopped dead, and so did I, my heart hammering.

  “Hello,” said Tom, blocking the way. He was still in his full regalia, but not for long. With one hand he took off the glasses and with the other he whipped off the wig. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Get out of my way!”

  “Try and make me, Jim.”

  Lacey tried to push past him. But Tom pushed back, and it was no contest, Tom’s strength against Lacey’s, the younger man against the older. And then, then at last, came a flash of blue, as the Maryland officers appeared behind Tom in the doorway. “I’ll take that,” said Deputy Harrison, making a grab for the dispatch case and getting it. “You’ll get it back, of course, any of it that’s legal, but as of now we have to impound it. You’re under arrest, Jim, for skipping bail. I’m sorry.”

  Lacey put his hands up. “O.K.,” he answered. “O.K.”

  “That all you got to say?” This from the woman, Flo, still seated where she’d landed earlier.

  “What else is there to say?”

  “If this is the Mrs. Medford you told me about, the one who stood your bail, you could at least speak to her, and say how sorry you are.”

  Then Lacey faced me, quite solemnly. “Mrs. Medford,” he began, “I assure you, I give you my word, I’d have seen to it that you wouldn’t forfeit the bail you pledged for me. All I wanted was time to prepare my case, and once it was ready I’d have been back, long before you’d have been required to—”

  “Jim, you’re a goddam liar,” Tom told him, coldly furious.

  Deputy Harrison cut in: “You’ll get your chance to settle it in court. Come on—let’s go.”

  He jerked his head at two of his men, and they hustled Lacey out.

  “What about me?” Flo asked.

  “There a warrant out for your arrest?” Deputy Harrison asked.

  “Not on your life.”

  “… You owe any income taxes?” Mr. Christopher said.

  “I’d have to have income first.”

  “Well, then, you’re free to go,” Deputy Harrison said. “Might want to think over your choice in men next time, but that’s free advice and worth as much as you paid for it.”

  She stood up, half nodded to me in a sort of sisterly solidarity, then walked out the door. I thought of my promise to Mrs. Lacey, to keep her out of the story, but figured I could trust Flo’s sense of selfpreservation to steer her away from any newspapermen with cameras that might have gotten tipped and be waiting upstairs.

  “Thanks so much,” I told the two IRS men, who returned their thanks. Then I let Tom take my arm and lead me out. I suddenly felt weak, and frightened of the stairs. He let me lean against the wall and then in a minute put his arm around me to help me. We took it six stairs at a time, with a little rest in between. Then we were up, walking out in the parking lot, and at last reached my car. “I’m O.K. now,” I said, though my heart was still racing. “I think.”

  “O.K.’s not the word for what you are. You’re a goddam wonder.”

  I looked in his eyes. “Give me a five-minute start, and then when you get to the motel, come on up to my room, without ringing or anything. That is, if you want to come up—?”

  “What do you think?”

  My head was clear enough driving back, and when I parked and went up to the suite, I knew what I meant to do. I slipped into the bedroom and took off every last stitch. Then I pulled down the corners on one of the beds and folded them over to leave most of the undersheet clear. Then I went into the sitting room, sat down, and looked out. When the buzzer sounded I opened the peephole, and when I made sure it was Tom, opened. “So pretty out there,” I said, waving at the windows with their view of the airport. “Or—would you rather we went in here?”

  I led the way to the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and pulled the covers over me, but only to the waist. He stood looking down at me and I closed my eyes. When I opened them his clothes were on the chair. Then he was slipping in beside me and taking me in his arms.

  19

  When it was over I felt as though drugged, and lay limp, letting him hold me close. Then my head cleared a little, and I realized it wasn’t only the sense of relief, that I wouldn’t lose the house after finally getting it out from under its mortgage, or my feeling of gratitude to Tom, or, leave us face it, the ordinary pleasure of good, honest love, but also the months and months of deprivation. So it wasn’t too terribly long before my mouth found his once more, and we had what he called a “retake,” whispering as though it was a naughty word. It was almost the only talking we did. Then I lay close again, he whispered the word again, and found my mouth with his mouth. It went on all afternoon, till at last we had to get up and eat. For that we had to dress. Then we put the table out in the hall and went to bed again. But this time, whether from stomachs full of food, or plain, utter exhaustion, we were barely able to finish. When I opened my eyes a clock was striking three.

  I could feel him warm beside me, but his breathing told me he was asleep, as I had been. I lay there, clear-headed for the first time since I left the airport. Then thoughts began to come, and the first one of all was: I wanted this man as I’d never wanted anything in my life but my little boy—wanted to lie beside him forever. But the next thought that came to me was of the grass in front of that mansion, so soft, so green, so smooth, and how my little darling would look, rolling and romping in it, and crowing from sheer joy. I lay there a long time, while the clock struck the half hour, and then struck four o’clock. Suddenly, not knowing I was going to, I slipped out of bed and began pawing around in the dark. I found the clothes I had taken off, put them on and eased open the bureau drawers. I found the nightie I’d worn the night before, my toilet set, and spare underwear. I took my coat from the closet and took everything to the sitting room. There, with motel pen and on motel stationery, I wrote Tom a note, saying “Love, thanks, and goodbye.” It seemed a little flat, but at least was what I had to say. I slipped out and the clerk looked up in surprise, from the book he was reading, but checked me out: seventy-five dollars for the suite, twenty-two dollars for food, forty cents for some phone call I couldn’t remember making.

  I picked up my suitcase, put on my coat, walked out to the car, and drove off into the dawn—of another life.

  20

  That night, I was back in the Garden of Roses, and five minutes after I got there, it was as though I’d never been away. Bianca at first acted insulted, but when I mentioned “money, Bianca—too much to lose just by turning my back,” she eased off ever so little, and then life went on as before. Liz said: “Baby, have I missed you—but never mind that. The main thing is, you’re back. And how’s our Tom …?”

  “He’s fine,” I told her, betraying not a hint of emotion. “He helped me quite well in a matter we were both concerned in.”

  “An overnight matter, as I understand it—some three nights running. I knew the boy had it in him! Now, spill, Joan, and don’t leave anything out.”

  It was hard, as I would have lo
ved to tell it all, but I answered, “Nothing to spill, I’m afraid, Liz. It was a legal matter, and it’s done.”

  “A legal matter?”

  “… And it’s done.”

  An hour later, after business had got started, she was beside me saying sidelong: “Couple of big shots, Joan, here in the corner booth —they want to know if I have a pal, and would we like to see them later, after we close for the night. They already have rooms in a motel, and what they’re flashing at me is hundred-dollar bills. So if it’s true that you and Tom aren’t an item…” I told her, “Another time, Liz—tonight I have to catch up on my sleep.”

  “O.K.,” she said, “I’ll take care of them both, I guess—it’s what legs are for, one of the things anyhow.”

  “The main thing, maybe.”

  “We could even say that, yes.” But then she blew out her lips and said, “Not an item …!”

  The next night was nothing but one more night. The night after that Mr. White came in.

  I saw him first and turned to the bar, where Jake had seen him too and was already fixing his drink. When it was ready to go he was at his table, the same one he’d always sat at. I served it without saying a word to him, and he asked: “Well? Aren’t you speaking to me?”

  “Are you speaking to me is the question. It’s been quite a while, Mr. White. I wasn’t sure you placed me.”

  “I place you.”

  “I don’t take things for granted. It’s been weeks, after all. Was your business successful?”

  “Very much so. It should be signed shortly.”

  “And the other matter?”

  “It’s a tricky situation, but my lawyer says it can be done.”

  “… If you still wish to do it, of course. Let’s not pretend you didn’t go away for a month at least partly to try and forget me.”

  “I don’t deny it, Joan,” he said simply. “I did.”

  I opened my mouth to go on with it, trade some more blows back and forth, but looking at his expression I knew, the time had come to switch. I hadn’t jumped in his lap, I hadn’t yelped for joy on seeing him, had acted as though neglected, and not too pleased about it. But now I thought maybe it was best that I calm down, and remember the things that had been between us. So I said nothing until a minute at least had passed, and then, very quietly, asked, “So? Could you?” And then: “Did you?”

  He let at another minute pass, and then, barely whispering it, said: “… No.”

  “… Why don’t you ask what I did while you were gone?”

  “O.K. What?”

  “Tried to forget you was all.”

  “So? Did you?”

  I let him wait for a bit, then told him: “No.”

  And then he said it, what I’d left Tom’s side to hear: “Joan, we have to get married.”

  “Your way?”

  “It’s not the way I’d want it—it’s the way the doctors dictate, the way it has to be.”

  I stood there with my heart beating up, for I knew the way the doctors dictated was the only way for me—with him. I’ve asked myself, many times since that fateful night, if I was leading him on, pretending one state of mind while really being in another. The answer has to be yes. If I tell what I really felt, there on the floor that night, it was sure exultation, that I’d put it over at last, this gigantic plan I’d had, that would give my darling to me, on a lawn that he could play on, in a house we both could live in, as part of a world that we could be proud of. I’m trying to tell it as it was, not leaving anything out that matters, or putting anything in that isn’t true. So, I was two-faced and now I admit it. But, if you’re a woman, how about you, what would you have done? If you had exactly been in my shoes, with this opportunity offered you and that little boy to think of, I think you’d have done what I did. But not more than I did, not the things the newspapers later accused me of. And I swear on my life, on my blessed son’s life, I didn’t do them either.

  “… When?” I asked.

  “Not sooner than a week. My lawyer raised some questions that have to be answered—or at any rate, gone into. I want you to be protected—fully protected, by law.”

  “On that, I trust you completely.”

  “I appreciate that, Joan—but with the best intentions in the world, I could leave you wide open for trouble in case of a certain eventuality.”

  “What eventuality, Mr. White?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Then, if you mean what I think you mean, I’d rather not, either. I hereby withdraw my question.”

  “You sound like a lawyer, Joan.”

  “I grew up around the sound. My father is one.”

  “I’ve often wondered about him.”

  “… I’d rather not discuss him.”

  The bitterness I felt must have been in my voice, as he did something he very seldom did—reached out and patted me tenderly, on the side of my trunks. Suddenly he announced: “We’ll be married, Joan, but actually, as we’ll order our life, I’ll be a father to you. That way we can be together. I can see you all the time, and fill what must be a void in your life.”

  I took his hand and held it, sealing the bargain.

  During the night, it occurred to me that if he needed a lawyer, so did I, and once more I called Mr. Eckert in Marlboro, and around noon the next day I drove over to see him. He cut me off when I mentioned a retainer, saying the two-fifty I had already paid “still had some time to run, as I’ve done nothing to earn it—so, you’re all paid up, and what’s on your mind, Mrs. Medford?”

  I told him.

  When I was done he got up and started walking around. “I don’t like it,” he growled. And then: “I don’t like it even a little bit.”

  I waited, and he went on: “You’ll be married, but then if he changes his mind you won’t be. I mean, suppose he seeks an annulment. No consummation, no marriage—you know about that, I assume? So, say you’re willing to consummate, which you might think knocks his suit in the head. But not if non-consummation was part of the contract— a court would hold, I’m afraid, that you can’t have it both ways. If you entered into a marriage that wasn’t a marriage, that’s the marriage the court has before it, not some marriage you’re willing to make after the fact. And if I were a judge, I’d have to hold that a marriage that excluded consummation was never a marriage at all.”

  “… So? What do I do?”

  “You mean, to get the money?”

  “Do you have to put it that way?”

  “If you want my legal advice I must know what you’re aiming at.”

  “… Well—naturally I think about money. I imagine everyone does. It’s not all I think about. Certainly not, Mr. Eckert.” And more of the same for ten minutes. When at last I ran down, he said: “In other words, you want me to tell you how to get the money, and at the same time pretend it’s not what you’re thinking about?”

  “… Then—yes.”

  “O.K., now we’re getting somewhere.”

  I took another ten minutes on Tad, explaining where he came in, and he let me talk, but didn’t seem to be listening. Then suddenly he cut in: “O.K., so you have a child, and you want grass for him to play on. So, what you do is go along—you get married this crazy way, and do your best to go through with it. But, Mrs. Medford, there’s a possibility you don’t seem to have thought about: He may want to consummate anyhow—take a chance the doctors could be wrong. My advice to you is: If he wants to consummate, consummate. Because the invitation could be only his way of entrapping you, of getting you to refuse, and in that way achieving an impregnable position in court.”

  “… Why would he do that?”

  “He fell in love, didn’t he? He could just as easy fall out—and just as quick.”

  “And what makes you think I’d refuse?”

  “I don’t say you would. I only said you shouldn’t. If it were really the man’s company you wanted, I’d advise differently—but I think, with you, it’s the money.”

/>   I felt ashamed, and got up to go. He said: “I’m not quite done yet. Whatever you do, put nothing in writing, Mrs. Medford. Don’t sign any marriage contract, or agreement, or anything that mentions this stipulation—except for the routine papers, such as the application for a license, don’t sign anything. Then, when it happens, if it happens, the one thing that can win for you, there’ll be nothing in this safety deposit box to louse you in Orphan’s Court.”

  “What ‘thing’ are you talking about?”

  “The same ‘thing’ you’re thinking about.”

  “You certainly make it plain.”

  He stood there, looking down at me, and I stood looking up at him, and his gaze reminded me of Sergeant Young’s, only without any of the kindness. After a moment he said: “If, after you’re married, you want any help of any kind, legal or otherwise, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  I asked: “Otherwise? What kind of help would that be?”

  “Platonic marriage, to a dame as good-looking as you, might be a bit of a strain. If that’s how it works for you, you might let me know—you might drop over some day and I’ll take it from there. You’re a goddam good-looking gold-digger, and I go for you, plenty.”

  He reached out with one finger and stroked it along the side of my face. I wanted to grab it and bend it backward, snap it clean through, but what I did was smile my prettiest smile and lift the digit off me ever so gently.

  “If I want you, Mr. Eckert, I’ll let you know.”

  I drove back to Hyattsville, with butterflies in my stomach, and a feeling that I might be playing with fire.

  21

  The week didn’t pass, it flew. Then it was the day, and when I woke up I was panicky—I knew I was holding back, flinching from what I had to do. I found myself furious, frantic with rage at Tom, that he hadn’t called, hadn’t shown up at the bar, not once. He had to have known, the moment he woke, why I left him—I’d told him I meant to get married. And he had to know now when it would happen, since he was in touch with Liz, as she’d betrayed for two or three nights, by the questions she asked of me and the ones I asked of her, the ones she chose not to hear. So she’d told him about it, and why hadn’t he come? To say goodbye, perhaps see me home one night, or something. But no, not even a kind look. He’d kept himself away from the Garden entirely.