Chapter 3
For a few blocks, he walked quickly along the drive. It was past ten o'clock and the streets were quiet. The emptiness and the calm slowed him. He stopped to gaze at the midtown lights shimmering on the black water. The pungent odor of tar and moss from the boat pilings drifted up to him and he thought how good it would be to ride back on the ferry. But then he turned and headed for the bus stop because he was beginning to recall the times he used to ride that ferry with his brother during the hot summer months. Years ago, when he was a kid. Girls were nothing to him then, compared with hand ball or shooting craps against the garbage cans.
The bus was empty too, except for an old woman carrying flowers wrapped in a newspaper. He sat down on a rear seat and let himself jounce along with the loose springs. His mind kept returning to the image of Hilda, small and incompetent in her sprawling house. He remembered the key in his pocket and smiled, knowing he wouldn't throw it away after all.
He stepped out into the congestion of New York, more comfortable, more anonymous here. A line of taxis parked in front of the bus stop. He got into the first one, directing the cabbie to Houston Street. Something uneasy in him didn't want to go home yet. He stretched his feet to rest them on the folded jump seat, whistling a silent accompaniment to the dissonance of his nerves.
The cab stopped and let him out in front of a closed bakery. On the corner people gathered in front of a large delicatessen but the middle of the block was dark. He went in through a small door next to the bakery and started to climb the narrow, musty stairs. The dank wood yielded tiredly beneath his weight. He took the steps three at a time till he reached the top floor. He joggled the loose knob and Nat let Mm in.
"Man, we've got plenty of action tonight." He winked and motioned Eric to the table with a stabbing action of his chin.
The room was a large bare place with dark green curtains hanging at the windows. A round slate table stood in the center where five men were watching the dealer shuffle. Cigar and cigarette smoke hung in wavy disks beneath the railing light. Three of the men nodded hello as Nat brought a chair up for Eric.
"The one behind the bills is Joe Conaty," Nat said with good nature.
Eric saw a stack of twentys and tens anchored by a cigarette lighter.
"Sit down," Conaty said. "You can help me keep this growing."
"Sure," Eric said. He had thirty dollars in fives and singles. He took the fives out.
"That won't help much," Conaty said, running a palm over his bald head. A line of freckles indicated where his hair had grown.
"Let's play," one of the other guys grunted.
They were all good boys. Shrewd players, Eric knew. The Friday night game was ritual with them. Where they scattered to during the week, how they scrounged up enough for the two and five ante, he didn't know and cared less. Eric adjusted himself on the straight backed chair and watched the dealer's smooth fingers parcel out for five card draw.
Eric fanned his cards to see a pair of treys. He sat one removed to the left of Conaty which meant he could take his cue from the new man's betting. Conaty opened.
"Call."
"Call."
Everybody stayed.
"I'll take two," Conaty said.
"Three for me."
"Two dollars," Eric said. He lifted his cards one at a time to find that he hadn't improved his hand. The treys and jack high.
Conaty said, "I'm in for five."
"Drop," said the man between Conaty and Eric.
Eric smiled inwardly, sensing Conaty's eyes on him. He didn't glance back, but put his five into the pot.
Everyone else dropped except Nat. Eric knew from experience that Nat stayed only when he had a powerhouse. But apparently his cautious playing wasn't doing so well tonight. Eric saw Nat's cards curved in the palm of his hand. It could mean that he was bluffing. He might have lost too much already this evening. He could be sticking out of sheer nervousness.
"No raisers?" Conaty smiled. His gray eyebrows twitched with satisfaction.
Conaty put an ace on the table.
Eric spread his pair of threes.
They both turned to Nat and saw him drop his cards, face down.
The game went on, Eric slowly boring a hole in Conaty's bills. He kept taking small pots but the money was obviously shifting toward him. He felt that he was getting on Conaty's nerves. To win consistently with small cards was like hitting a man below the belt. But he had been riding this streak for over a month now and Eric felt that it was never going to break. All his coordination, all his force seemed to focus in his gambling. It had been like this when he was in the Army. He had stopped playing when he had married Hilda. She hadn't thought it quite respectable. Truly, he didn't care whether he played or not. But he did want the choice to make his own decisions. His old self, moving fast and alone, was a satisfying feeling and he enjoyed the game now because of the wild times it brought back to him.
He cut out of the game at two thirty.
"I'll see you next week," Conaty said.
"Right."
He folded the hundred and fifty and went outside. The depressed feeling had left him. The throbbing in his temples was gone and his body felt alive despite the sitting for all those hours. He stretched in the cold night air, hiked up his trousers and grinned at the sliver of moon riding high behind a haze of clouds. He strolled twenty blocks up First Avenue and took a bus the rest of the way home.
It was past three when he put the key in the lock.
The apartment he entered made him stop short at the door. Paper cups spilled amongst ash trays piled high in dishes with bits of food on them. Potato chips were rubbed into the carpet. The place stank of liquor.
Cee-Zee sat cross-legged on the floor beside his radio, its guts spread around her. A little ball of a man puffed the stubby end of a cigar, hovering over Cee-Zee with a screw driver in one hand and a roll of bicycle tape in the other.
"Hey, Spooky," Cee-Zee said, "you keep any spare tubes around this place?"
He picked his way through the Utter and glared down at the plethora of screws and nuts. "What the hell are you doing to that poor radio?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Butchering it."
She shrugged and pulled herself to her feet, hoisting herself up by the fat man's trousers.
"You missed the party Lilio gave for me."
"And who the deuce is Lilio?"
"That is I." The fat man put down the tools and tugged the points of his striped vest. He had managed to combine a gray striped suit with a gray striped tie so that Eric's eyes were led up the front of him to land on his fleshy red nose pitted with thousands of blackheads.
"Oh, don't you know Lilio?" Cee-Zee sounded genuinely surprised. She leaned over and put her arm around his gross middle. "I thought everyone in the world, at least in New York knew you. Aren't you famous?"
Lilio chuckled with a self-deprecating quiver of his narrow slanting shoulders. "Sometimes it misses a few people."
"If you both don't mind, I'm going to sleep," Eric said. "And I'll expect this mess cleared away by the time I get up, Cee-Zee. Famous Lilio can help you if he isn't too famous." He turned and stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door to shut out the mess and confusion. He took off his clothes and climbed into bed, determined not to think about it. If he thought three consecutive sentences, he knew he'd go outside and wallop somebody. He climbed in beneath the sheets and pulled the covers over his head, shutting his eyes tight and training his mind on the vision of four aces.
The sound of their voices drifted in through the door, through the blankets. He felt his legs stiffen. He put the pillow over his head. Their voices came through the pillow too. He sat up. He jumped out of bed and strode to the door in his jockey shorts. He pulled the door open to see Lilio adjusting a navy homburg on his slicked head.
"I am just now leaving so you can sleep well, monsieur."
Cee-Zee looked him up and down. "Spooky, you're just too much tonight."
"I am leaving now. Au revoir. So sorry you do not appreciate a little bit fun sometimes."
He was out the door before Eric could answer him.
"Well now, isn't this nice of you?" She sauntered up to him with one hand on her hip. "I might have known you're too Goddamned narrow minded or stupid or something. Or maybe it's because you're poor, I don't know. So he isn't beautiful and we wrecked your precious nest a little bit. It wouldn't occur to you that I've got my reasons. No. All you can see is your own selfish, possessive ... Oh, I can't even talk to you." She whirled around and plumped down onto the couch. "If I'm such a pain, maybe I'd better leave."
"So leave!"
He turned to go back to bed but this time he didn't close the door. After awhile he heard her get up and begin to collect the debris.
The dull pink of dawn had started to lighten the sky. He lay on his belly wide awake, the covers pushed to one side. Occasionally he heard her sigh or turn the page of a book or get herself a glass of water. She hadn't gone to sleep. Like some strange amphibian crawling between light and dark, she didn't seem to need rest. He wondered about the twisted forces driving her to scatter her life so uselessly. And he told himself he didn't care. Not about her and not about her reasons for encouraging a friendship with the likes of that pig Lilio. No doubt the man had money. He'd probably offered to keep Cee-Zee. On her own terms. It was odd that she hadn't accepted him yet. It wouldn't be the first time.
Stonily he waited, convincing himself that Cee-Zee would come in and apologize. He was determined not to make the first move toward her. If he did, he could see where the path led. His costliest possession was not his home but his independence. She wouldn't know about such things.
Fingers of pain poked into the back of his neck and his tongue felt large and swollen in his mouth. He wished he could fall asleep but his mind remained stubbornly alert. He realized that he was actually expecting her to come in and he laughed at himself for thinking like a jerk.
The alarm clock went off in the middle of nowhere. He reached out a hand and pushed the stem in.
"You work on Saturday?" she called in.
He knew this was her excuse to start conversation. "No. I forgot to turn it off yesterday."
"How do you feel?"
"Lousy. Why?"
"I don't know. I feel lousy too."
"You should," he said flatly.
"Well, I'll be out of here soon and you can get some sleep."
Her words were testing him. He felt too tired to play games. "You know damned well you aren't going anywhere."
Cee-Zee came to stand at the door. She stroked an earlobe as though it were worn out from too much jewelry. "I don't know any such thing. After all, I counted on you for something and look what happened to me."
He sat up and pulled the covers around his waist. The ring of her voice sounded sincere. It put him off guard with curiosity. "What did you count on me for? Come here and tell me."
She remained standing in the doorway. "I know what'll happen if I come over to that bed."
"You couldn't be more wrong." He had to smile. The hours with Hilda had drawn more of his energies than Cee-Zee could suspect. He would be up to it if she made herself more enticing. But he was sure as hell he wasn't going to run after her. He folded his arms. "O.K. Stand there as long as you want, but go on talking."
Her hair fell in straggles over the ears, giving her a jungle look. The skin pulled tautly across her high cheek bones and her wide lips jutted with petulance. The sad child in her was seeping through. Eric knew that this was her most dangerous self. Her knack for softening a man up. It worked because she herself believed in it for a moment. The only difference was that this sadness could dissolve, also childlike, in an instant. And he'd be caught off balance.
"You said you counted on me?" he repeated carefully.
"Well, yes. But it's embarrassing to talk about. After all, I wanted to impress Lilio. He shouldn't think I needed him for anything. You know what those characters are like. One whiff that a girl is interested and they take advantage. Clam up. Become stingy. They certainly don't propose marriage."
A shock ran through him. "Am I hearing you right?"
She came over now and sat down on the edge of the bed. From her brassiere she took out a wad of bills. "Does it really surprise you that much? Do you think diat people like me don't get tired of living out of suitcases?" She fanned the five twenties out on the mattress. "You know what I did when he gave these to me the first time? I threw them back in his face. He had to force 'em on me. At least that's what I made him think." She laughed acidly. "I told him I had a good thing in you and didn't need his money. And just because I said that, he's going to come back. He'll think he's fighting for me. At least I hope he will, after that performance you put on."
She let herself fall backward onto the bed across his legs. "I think we should have a cigarette," he said. "There's something here you're not figuring right."
"It's figured right," she said. "You just can't believe it. Settle down and it'll make very good sense even to you."
He gazed unseeingly at the movement of her diaphragm and tried to get his bearings parallel with the way she was thinking. No matter how he looked at it, the prospect of Cee-Zee sleeping with that repulsive creep was fantastic. Sure, he could see her marrying someone for money. But she was still young and plenty appealing. There were lots of men with money who didn't look like Lilio.
"Is it just his money you're after?"
"He's good to me. And he'll keep being good because I know how to work on him."
"What do you mean by good to you?"
"Freedom."
"Don't kid yourself."
He shifted over to the night table and fished out a cigarette from a half emptied pack. Struggling to be analytical about this crazy scheme, he knew he wasn't really thinking straight at all. A flush of irritation clouded his brain. Quite possibly, she could pull this thing off. She might even manage her so-called freedom once she had the wedding ring. But it was all wrong, even if he couldn't find the gimmick. An uncomfortable sensation of being used pervaded him. Yet she was honest. And if he had let her speak, she'd have told him about this yesterday.
"Look, Spooky, you know me as well as anyone. I have no stability. No security. I can't go on like this. It's too much of a mishmash. Sure it would be fine if I could fall in love with somebody. But there isn't that somebody around who's stronger than I am."
Her words cut him right through the middle. "Maybe you haven't been looking."
"Now don't you kid yourself," she said. She put out her hand and took his cigarette.
It irked him that she could be so blind. Once again she had unwittingly rammed home the fact that he meant nothing to her. Friendship didn't seem to count for much.
"All right," he said after awhile. "If you think Lilio is what you need, I'll back you up." He mashed out the cigarette butt and straightened the covers. "Now let's see if we can get a little shut-eye."
He waited until she had taken off her clothes and crawled in beside him. Then he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. The sport of Cee-Zee was beginning to take on unexpected complications. But there was one encouraging aspect. She was beginning to depend on him for help. He could encourage this dependence, until eventually she would be forced to see that neither love nor money were the really powerful forces in her life.
The thought relaxed him and he drifted off to sleep.
He awoke late in the afternoon to feel her breathing against him. She was still fast asleep, her legs intertwined with his, her cheek nuzzled to the side of his chest. A faint dampness glistened on her forehead. In repose she looked sweet, un-lined, innocent. He shuddered to think what dreams were reeling off behind that innocent face. She sighed gently and snuggled up closer, her warm breasts flattening out against his side.
There were other things to do besides think about Cee-Zee, he told himself as he turned and tried to move an arm out from under her head. Prospects to see for dinner. Prospects meant commissions. And commissions meant a promotion. He had a pad full of telephone numbers which he'd meant to call yesterday. Now they'd have to wait for Monday morning. He remembered his date tonight at Martin Millardson's. To snag the Millardson account would be quite a boost. He twisted around to look at the clock. Two hours to get ready.
He worked his way out of the bed, managing not to waken Cee-Zee and headed for the shower. The buzz of his electric shaver made a loud noise and he heard Cee-Zee turn over in bed.
"Spooky?" Her voice was rusty with sleep, but anxious.
He moved the door open with his foot. "I'm in here."
"What's happening?"
"Nothing. I'm just getting cleaned up."
"Oh." She pulled the covers back over her head and he closed the door again.
The needle shower felt hot and good across his shoulders, working the knots out. He stood in the spray letting it pound him and wishing he could get it even hotter. As he worked the lather down his legs, the door opened. Cee-Zee came in, shutting the door behind her.
"I'm using your toothbrush."
"Enjoy yourself." He was busy scrubbing arms and legs, thinking how best to work on Millardson this evening. They had met twice before. Eric knew that Millardson had a sense of humor and plenty of kids who knew how to spend his money for him. Millardson spoke about them affectionately and Eric got the idea he was a contented sort, proud to have come up the hard way and complacent about having it to squander on his family.
"You're taking all day," Cee-Zee called.
"Then you can take all night," he answered.
She pushed aside the shower curtain. The water splashed on her face and she squinted. "Oh, no. I'm coming in right now." She stepped over the ledge, hunching her shoulders in the quick rush of water and rubbed herself against Eric. "Let me under, hog."
He turned her around and began rubbing the soapy cloth across her back, feeling her sigh and relax. Then he reached with the soap down the front of her, moving the bar beneath her breasts and in circles along the lower part of her belly. She took his hand with the soap and guided it to make a triangle of bubbles. "Mmm. Nice," she gurgled, holding her head away from the spray.
She slipped around in his arms and took the soap from him, rubbing it vigorously at his chest. Then she dropped it to the floor and backed him up against the wall of the shower booth.
"Hey," he said. "Take it easy. I don't have time."
"Time? What the hell is that?" She grinned at him through the drops of water running down her cheeks. She looked very kittenish, very rested, her troubles of the previous night already forgotten.
Eric put his hands on her hips and moved her away from him, laughing because it was pleasant to fool around like this, almost wishing he did have another hour or so for her. "Come on now, quit it. I've got an appointment tonight. You're going to make me late." He tried to get around her to step out of the shower.
"Phooey to you and your appointments." She hooked her arms around his neck with purposefulness, her soapy smooth breasts sliding around on him.
He knew it was no use arguing. He couldn't expect her to honor his responsibilities. With a powerful determined gesture, he reached behind her and turned on the cold water full force.
With a screech, she bounded away from him and out onto the bath mat. He turned off the faucets and stepped out beside her. She stood shivering, her mouth drooping a little with annoyance. "You're pretty high falutin' today, mister."
"I told you. I've got an appointment." He lifted a turkish towel off the hamper and began rubbing himself briskly. "Business. You know what that is, don't you?"
"I'll bet." She took an end of the towel and began patting her chest.
"Seriously, I have this heavy prospect on the list tonight. The kind of thing that brings in green stuff. Money. Remember money?"
"Oh yes, I remember money all right."
But she didn't remain subdued for very long. She pulled the towel away from him altogether and let it drop between them. "Take me with? If it's only business, I'm a very fine asset to have around." She waggled a finger under his nose. "I have a way of softening the enemy."
He stepped over to the sink, wiped the vapor from the mirror on the medicine cabinet and took a comb out, running it quickly through his wet hair. "Not this enemy, sweetie pie. This is a married enemy. A happily married enemy."
"No such thing." She picked up the towel and drew it between her thighs.
He didn't bother to answer her, knowing she could not concede the possibility of a working marriage. And she was so far off the beam about Martin Millardson of all people that it was ridiculous to talk about him.
"I didn't hear you objecting," she said.
"Let's drop the subject."
"Because I'm right?"
"Because you're so very wrong." He handed her the comb and went out into the bedroom.
She came after him, the towel hanging between her legs. "Okay, I don't want to be a drag."
"Good girl." He pulled on fresh black socks and got his black shoes from the closet. Because she had given in so amiably, he felt suspicious.
As he continued to dress, she spread the towel on a chair and sat down, draping her legs over the arm rest and leaning back to enjoy the wash of cool air over her nakedness. "I guess I'll just rest up while you're gone. How late will you be?"
"Not too. Maybe eleven, twelve."
"You have to be tactful about these things? Friendly like, huh?"
"Sure."
"What a bore." She sighed and closed her eyes, slowly lifting her damp hair away from her neck and letting it fall.
Silently, he agreed with her. He didn't much care for the hail-fellow well-met necessary in his job. The art of public relations was something he had a knack for but he wasn't proud to use it. But it was part of the game. He had wrestled this point with himself months ago and decided that a little hp was worth the pay involved. He took a pair of onyx cuff links from the drawer and slipped them through the French cuffs of his shirt. Then he got the dinner jacket and trousers and hung them on the edge of the closet door so he could brush the few bits of lint from the shoulders.
"Pretty snazzy affair," Cee-Zee commented.
"Just part of the routine."
"Well, I hope it's worth all the effort."
"So do I."
She began to hum a little song to herself, spreading her tanned limbs and swinging them casually. "You said about eleven?'"
"Um hm." He was busy transferring all the necessary papers to the inside pocket and checking the contents of his pass case and the bills in his wallet. The hundred and fifty made a comfortable bulge in the morocco leather. He had to admit to himself that it was nicer earning a living at the card table than the dinner table. But he wasn't supposed to think that way anymore. Drifting, idling had gotten him pretty low, once. The conveniences of being a solvent citizen were worth all the inconveniences. He slapped the dresser drawer shut and saw that it caught on the strap of his camera case.
Pushing the camera further back into the drawer recalled Hilda and the early days of their marriage. He smiled sourly at her words of faith to him. They'd proved so hollow. Often he had tried to understand why Hilda had wanted to fool herself into believing she could be happy living on the sporadic income of a free-lance. The first year, her brave attempts were almost successful. She'd even learned to develop negatives to save part of the expense. Doggedly he tried to think that she was content travelling around the country, going to weird places at all hours of the day and night for the sake of special shots. And then the headaches, the tiredness, the inertia began. It wasn't long before the diagnosis of her trouble was plainly evident. So he gave in and opened a photo supply shop. But he couldn't make out with this compromise. Finally, in a flash of good sense, he got rid of the store, got rid of Hilda and went into insurance to pay off the debts.
He knotted the black bow tie and pulled the wings tight, surveying his appearance, his nostrils picking up the odor of after-shave lotion still brisk on his chin. Mentally checking his belongings, he was all set.
"See you." He bent over and kissed her a friendly peck on the forehead.
Her fingers squeezed him on the inside of his thigh. "Have a wonderful business," she said.
"Check."
He went out and hailed a cab to the Fifth Avenue residence, trying to shake off the uncomfortable suspicions about Cee-Zee that still pervaded him.