Chapter 12
Shelly was filled with pleasurable desire as she walked briskly down the crowded sidewalk. Her decision to organize herself better gave her a feeling of newness, of suddenly living in a different world, and she immediately felt better as these thoughts coursed through her. Her mind was relieved and, gradually, she felt almost bouyant.
Shelly looked more like her old self this morning. Her hair was done the way she had done it many years before, loosely, and showing its gentle curl with deep coils circling her head high in front and low at the back. She was wearing a small blue hat tilted sharply forward, and she was dressed better than she had been in many years. She had color in her cheeks, aided by a dab of rouge, and her eyes were alive, almost merry, not showing their deep hurt of yesterday. She wasn't letting her worry tear her apart as it had threatened to last night.
Close ahead, she saw a man coming her way who looked familiar. For a moment, she could not recall where she had seen him before but did not give the matter much concern as she and the man neared each other. Then the man turned sharply and made his way toward a small restaurant.
Then she recognized him. It was Ted Kingswood.
He paused before the restaurant door, and was reaching for it when he saw Shelly.
Shelly's glance swung his way and came acutely alive.
He let his hand fall and turned slightly, facing her. Shelly's eyes veiled over as she took in the move and understood that he recognized her. He looked away momentarily, then let his eyes bore into her as a slight, knowing smile crossed his lips. He nodded curtly, then looked away and indolently pushed the restaurant door open, as though in a gesture letting her know she was extremely unimportant to him. And that he knew exactly what she was.
The realization of the meaning in his look infuriated Shelly. She had an almost irresistible urge to follow him into the restaurant and slap his smug face. But she walked on, the embarrassment of this chance meeting causing the anger to burn in her as it had the night before. But she realized that by making an issue of this thing between them, she would only increase the uneasiness in her and, she thought with horror, only whet Kingswood's appetite to further devour her. Nor did she feel comfortable about his, or anyone else's curiosity about her.
She tried to regain her composure, for she knew that anger would not help her in achieving what she had set out to do ... find a job.
Methodically, Shelly made the contacts she had planned, was interviewed countless times, and at the end of the day she had agreed to take a job as a cashier in a medium-sized restaurant in the downtown area. Although she had no experience, the owner had agreed to give her a chance.
"I'll let you work a couple shifts," he said, "and we'll see how you make out. There's really not much to it, but you do have to be able to make change accurately and quickly."
"Oh, I can do that easily enough," Shelly said. "I've been handling money all my life." She laughed lightly at this and smiled in return.
The restaurant owner, Ira Williams, was a small man, standing barely five-foot-three. A bushy black shock of hair sat almost defiantly atop his head, showing premature streaks of gray that made him look both older and more belligerent than he was, for he hadn't yet reached thirty-eight and was ordinarily mild-mannered.
"Handling money is one thing," he said, "but making correct change is another." His manner had changed to one of apprehension, and he looked like he might change his mind.
"Oh, I'm sure I won't make any mistakes," Shelly assured him. "I'll be very careful."
"I hope so," Ira said, half to Shelly and half to himself.
Elated, Shelly thanked Mr. Williams, then rushed home to prepare for the next day's work. The thought of going to work both pleased and troubled her. She was happy that she would have an income but worried that she might not be able to perform her duties as expected. She was disturbed, too, that she had finally been reduced to the role of employee.
Elation and pleasure over being employed, unfortunately, were not enough. Somewhere, ability entered into the picture. Although she was adept at handling money in and out of her own purse, Shelly soon found it was quite another thing to make change, quickly and accurately, while customer after customer pushed money at her. She made mistakes, she flustered easily and she found that eight hours on her feet were quite different from eight hours sitting at home or at a bar.
Nor did her incapabilities go unnoticed by Ira Williams. Time after time, shaking his head, he had to correct the errors of his novice cashier. Along with being mild-mannered, one of Mr. Williams' virtues was patience. He seemed to be determined to correct Shelly's mistakes even if it meant an almost continual turmoil around the cash register. He would step in, inform her patiently where she had erred, then go ahead with his other duties.
Then, after a month, Shelly improved. This gave her confidence. It also brought a new friendliness from Ira.
Along with her confidence, Shelly also acquired a touch of bravado and daring. She noticed whenever the register did not check out right, nothing was said. Most of the time it came up short, very seldom over.
This small failing on her part and the apparent indifference of Mr. Williams began to disturb her. The gentle nip of larceny entered Shelly's heart. She wondered if the small shortages were to increase, what Ira's reaction would be. Certainly, she reasoned, if a small shortage brought nothing but a mild comment from him, a slightly larger one would bring nothing more.
Her wages could be supplemented with a small dip into the till. She told herself this was not wrong. She was entitled to it. After all, eight hours on one's feet was worth a little extra. With her past history of numerous errors, Ira would not suspect that she was actually taking money.
But then another thought struck her. Why risk being accused of errors at all? Surely, with the countless items not accounted for with guest checks, she could slip small amounts into her pocket without in the least jeopardizing her job. Candy, gum, cigarettes and the many other items in her charge could be sold and the money pocketed without being noticed.
This, then, was her plan, and each day she brought home the money she had managed to pilfer. It did not disturb her. Furthermore, the mild little Ira Williams had it coming, she told herself. Not once had he as much as made one suggestive remark to her. Instead, he seemed almost to ignore her. No matter how flirtatiously she looked at him, no matter how many openings she left him, he brushed them aside, seeming not to notice.
This, as much as anything else, was the reason Shelly had decided on taking money out of the till. She did not feel guilty about it. She felt she had a right to take money and she justified her action to somehow hurt Ira Williams for ignoring her. He had rejected her feminine offerings-he must be made to pay. It was as simple as that to Shelly.
But as clever as Shelly was with her petty pilferings, she was not clever enough. She underestimated the detective qualities of Ira Williams. She suddenly found herself in his office, answering his calm but demanding questions. While Ira talked, that mood of Shelly's, that same feeling of frustration and helplessness and impotent anger, was beginning to settle heavily through her once again.
Ira was angry, too, and his voice rose higher and higher, when suddenly he began swearing-a strident, low-voiced cursing that had all the venom in it the small man could command. He came up to Shelly, went silent for a moment, then all at once took the cigar from his mouth, tore it savagely in two, and hurled it on the floor.
"You stupid bitch! You goddamned stupid bitch!" he yelled. "I put up with all your mistakes, try to help you earn an honest living, and what do you do? The goddamn gall of it!"
"Mr. Williams, I-I didn't...."
Ira's face was livid. He held up his hand as Shelly tried to speak. "Cut it out! I don't want to hear anything you have to say ... !"
"But you're trying to say...."
"What the hell else would I be trying to say? Christ, first you try to put the make on me, and when that doesn't work, you start clouting the till! Jesus, you must think I'm awfully stupid!"
Oddly now, a keen relief was crowding Shelly, a feeling that after all that had happened, Ira had noticed her efforts to make him. Even though she was guilty of everything he was telling her, she had allowed herself to become inwardly angry. It was not an anger stemming from his words but, rather, anger with herself for being caught.
When Ira saw this change come over her, his eyes went wide with wonder. A subtle change rode through him; he was suddenly calm as he breathed heavily. "Now, do you have anything you want to say?"
"No, not really. You seem to have your mind made up about what I am. What could I say to change your mind?"
Ira turned brusquely away. "Oh, forget it!"
"I couldn't possibly forget it," she purred, trying to agitate the little man still more.
"You may not forget what I've told you, but you can sure as hell forget about working here! I've had it with you!"
"You're firing me, Mr. Williams? For what reason, may I ask?"
Ira glared at her. "You know as well as I do that I can't discharge you for stealing unless I have witnesses. Let's just say you didn't work out."
Shelly smiled, knowing Ira spoke the truth about firing her for theft. It was a difficult charge to prove. If it couldn't be proved, Ira would be wide open for a lawsuit.
In the end, Shelly and Ira parted company without further unpleasantness. Ira promised he would not mention what she had done to any prospective employers, which Shelly knew was a lie.
At the door, she turned, smiled, and said, "And I won't tell anyone you tried to make a pass at me. Well, maybe if someone asks me, I might mention it."
"Get the hell out of here, you bitch!" Ira screamed after her. The realization of what Shelly could do angered Ira still more, but there was nothing he could do about it.
On her way out of the restaurant, Shelly stopped one of the waitresses, brought her close, and said loud enough for some of the nearest customers to hear, "Better watch that little boss of yours, honey. He just offered to get a room so he and I could have a party. Can you imagine?"
"Wh-what?" the waitress stammered.
"That's right. I'm quitting. I don't like to work in a place where you have to be afraid of the boss and his damned hot pants!" She gave the girl a somewhat hurt look, then strode out.
It was a thing that pleased her, although some strange inner prompting kept telling her that she was as wrong about this as she had been about almost everything else in life. No matter, she told herself, it was what she had wanted to do and that was the most important thing-to do what one wanted. It was the creed by which she lived.